#going to go eat bricks and lay down about this

[calliopechild]

Alright, I'm yeeting this one out into the universe as just a tumblr post because then it'll be at least one godforsaken plot bunny that is evicted from my brain and no longer gnawing on my cerebellum. Plus this way I can convince myself there's no need to Write It write it because it already exists in some form. So! Cracky leosagi one-shot idea ahoy.

I know the fandom has played with the idea of Raph being scared of not just puppets but also bunnies in the wake of the whole Mrs. Cuddles thing, and of course that took root in my cracky shipper brain and refused to be evicted. Because few things are funnier to me than Raphael 'Brick Shithouse' Hamato being scared of his little brother's fluffy bunny boyfriend.

Imagine Leo brings Usagi to the lair for the first time to meet the fam--having managed, through excessive use of portals to places that are either on the other side of the world or too boring for his twin to bother tracking him to, to keep his boyfriend if not secret, then at least un-stalked. Sibling promises have been duly wrangled and sworn on prized possessions to at least try and behave (and not tag him, Donnie) if it means Leo will finally introduce them.

So Leo portals them in on the agreed day but at an unspecified time so no one can lay an ambush. Usagi gets introduced to Mikey and April and a very unimpressed Donnie. Raph (who was working out in the dojo to get the nerves out and keep his anxiety stink from gassing out their guest) hears that Leo’s bf is finally here and heads for the atrium because he is going to be THE most supportive big brother about this relationship ever. Leo had been nervous about coming out to them (even though, as Donnie said, it was like Splinter telling them he had bad taste in women; the clues were there in neon lettering), and Raph will eat his weight set before he does a single thing to make Leo think he’s not happy for him.

However, Leo--who is suffering from a terminal case of Down Bad Brain--at no point thought to mention that Usagi was a rabbit because it doesn’t occur to him that anyone would associate Usagi with anything other than “cute as hell.”

So Raph comes charging in with Peak Enthusiasm and a smile ready to go. And everyone’s excited and loud, and despite his size Raph is still a ninja and fully capable of being silent when need be. All of which means that despite his ears, Usagi doesn’t hear a thing, and as such has zero warning until there is suddenly six feet of spikes and intensity Right There looking straight at him with teeth bared.

And rabbit instinct is to freeze--more specifically, to crouch; to make yourself small on the off chance the predator didn’t see you, or to gather your legs under you in preparation to run in case it did see you.

Unfortunately, ‘freeze-crouch in order to run’ looks a great deal like ‘freeze-crouch in order to jump and attack.’

So Raph rounds the corner to see a rabbit that is even bigger than Mrs. Cuddles was Right There in his home, and as soon as it sees him, it drops like it’s about to attack. And Raph’s instinct is to run, but he can’t leave his brothers with an even bigger and potentially more murderous version of Mrs. Cuddles, and it’s gonna attack, so maybe if he waits until it jumps at him he can karate chop it out of the air, then grab his bros and book it.

And then you have the hilarious scenario of the two of them just making the ‘Jake Gylenhal freakout.jpg’ face, not moving, just Vibrating Intensely at each other waiting for carnage.

The standoff doesn’t end until Mikey clambers up Raph’s shell to hang his face in front of Raph’s and calm him down while Leo loops his arms under Usagi’s and drags him out of the room.

Donnie, of course, is just standing there filming everything and cackling.

(Why didn’t Mikey or Donnie warn Raph? The more realistic answer is that it probably did occur to Mikey to do so because they all wanted this meeting to go well, and he did in fact text Raph. However, Raph heard the text alert at the same time that he heard conversation out in the lair, so he just assumed one of his bros was telling him Leo and Usagi were there--and since he already knew that, there was no need to respond to the text just then.

The funnier answer is that they saw Usagi and Mikey went ‘oh shit someone’s gotta warn Raph,’ which was followed by ‘double shit I don't have my phone and can’t just go warn him in person, because how do I dip and then come back and be like ‘sorry just had to tell our biggest brother you’re a rabbit,’ because you can’t meet your brother’s bf and have the first thing you say to him sound like a microaggression.’ So he goes ‘Donnie, you gotta text Raph and warn him,’ because if there’s one brother who always has his phone, it’s Donnie. And Donnie goes ‘ah, good idea.’

And then very much does not text Raph, because this has the potential to be hilarious. Definitely not because he’s bad at sharing and resents how much of his twin’s time is now spent with Usagi)

[youmustfixyourheartt]

thinking about gerry keay and gertrude robinson and "she was there sometimes, the one he followed around the world. there was almost sadness in her eyes" and euthanasia by will wood

[b4kuch1n]

frog documentation. frogcumentation

I think I mentioned a while back I'd post nibling frog momence after the gift's done given. which happened on the 2nd this month I just forgot lmao. anyways we can do it now. I used the boigameista pattern scaled up to four pieces of A4 print paper and decided to double deck it to a two layer thing, not unlike a pillow, for ease of washin. because it was gonna be gifted to a one year old child

took a long time and made a number of mistakes bc hand sewing makes me worse as a person but this guy was done in time for the birthday occasion and that's what matters. chose non-fuzzy fabrics for it because we live in a dense city in the tropics and from personal experience if I hug something made of fur I would explode. the original plan included felt patterns on its back for bonus textures for baby but that wouldn't stretch well along with the rest of the thing so had to hold that back. eventually we got this

zipper across its ass, the coat type of zipper bc I miscalculated when ordering. but it did have a shape and that's all that matters to me. will be a fun game for the baby to grow up and be severely misinformed about what a frog looks like

happy extremely late birthday to this thing also

[rauspberries]

SICK AS A DOG!

summary: spencer comes home to his girlfriend being... well, sick as a dog. pairing: spencer reid x gf!reader. tags: afab reader, no use of y/n, pre-established relationship, just a bunch of comfort and cuteness because i don't write enough fluff

You were stubborn, determined, focused. Everything you did was done until it killed you. There was nothing that knocked you off your game. It was one of the things Spencer admired about you. Nothing made you stumble or stop. Not even the hundred and two degree fever that was weighing down on you like a sack of bricks. 

He’d been away from home for a week now on a case, speaking with you in the small gaps of time he had between work and the minimal amount of sleep he was getting. The updates had been normal, talking about how your coffee tasted that morning or your loud neighbors, until that morning. As soon as he had landed, he’d received your text.

Feel like shit. Will meet you at your apartment. Quieter there.

While it seemed like a nonchalant text, he’d immediately known something was wrong. In the couple of years the both of you had been in a relationship, you’ve never admitted sickness. Even when you had a low fever, even when a cold had your voice sounding raspy and raw, you just stated that you were under the weather and moved on.

Spencer had left for his apartment straight from the airport with nothing more than a wave and a comment about needing to get home, picking up a few things from the drugstore and a Tupperware of soup along the way. It would no doubt be a struggle to get you to eat, hydrate, take painkillers or do anything, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. Slowly stepping through the doorway into his apartment, the first thing he notices is how dark it is. Usually, you found joy in turning on the multiple lamps and lowlights settled through the mess of his apartment, allowing the warm light to cascade across the phthalo walls and his mahogany and walnut furniture. While you shared his distaste for big, bright lights, you also despised how much he tended to brood in the darkness. 

His eyes scan across his apartment, taking it all in. Everything, from the makeshift office to the messy living room, seems untouched. No candle lit on any of the tables, no returned book laying on his kitchen island, not even an attempt at cleaning up. If it wasn’t for the car keys abandoned on the desk closest to the door, hidden among his things, he would think that you hadn’t arrived yet.

Setting aside his go-bag and his satchel, he empties his hands before flicking on a few of the lamps. He steps around his couch to get to the ajar door of his bedroom, opening it slowly with a soft rap of his knuckles against the doorframe and a murmur of your name.

The response you give him is a hazy groan, laying curled up on his green duvet, the blankets kicked to the end of the mattress. Once the light streaming from the living room hits you, his brow furrows. Your body is hidden in one of his hoodies, oversized on him and drowning you, the hood pulled over your head and concealing all of your features.

“You okay?” Spencer murmurs as he discards his shoes and tie onto the floor haphazardly, crawling into bed behind you. A slender hand cups your elbow before he pulls back slightly, shocked by the heat radiating through the thick fabric. “Sweetheart, you’re burning up.”

As soon as he’s laid behind you, you turn around, legs pushing through to press your feet against his calves. Leaning your forehead against his chest, you seek out warmth even despite the fever overtaking your body. “One hundred and two degrees,” you mumble through your haze, trying to cut out any questions he may have and minimize the amount of energy you had to use.

Frowning, his hand slides beneath his hoodie, pushing it up and exposing your skin to the cold air. At your soft mewl of discontent, he shushes you gently, large hand smoothing over your stomach. “I know, honey, but this hoodie isn’t helping. Can you take it off, please? I can get you a shirt, if you want.”

“No. Can’t take it off. Can’t move.” Your tone is slurred, voice muffled by the material of his button-up, fingers curling to fist his shirt and keep him there. “Just wanna sleep.”

To your dismay, he simply shakes his head, one hand untangling yours from the material before he sits up. Another large hand slides behind your neck, fingertips pressing into the sides as he slowly lifts you to a good-enough sitting position. “Come on. Hands up, please.” 

Your movement is slow, his hands pushing up the hoodie higher and higher and coaxing your arms to straighten so he could pull it off. Despite your fever, he can feel the goosebumps sprouting on your skin, rubbing them away with his palm as his other hand tosses the hoodie away. Placing a kiss to your forehead and fighting a grimace at the heat, he slowly brings you to lay down again. “I’m gonna go get you some painkillers and some water. We need to break your fever.”

That pulls a whine from your throat, reaching out and brushing your hand along his thigh as you try to find any way to pull him back down. “Please just come back. We can worry about that later.”

Spencer’s heart thuds a bit harder against his chest at the request, never wanting to be the one saying no to you. But he knows the science, both biological and psychological, behind sickness behavior. Autonomic and behavioral changes triggered by soluble proteins produced at sites of infection. Lethargy, sleepiness, confusion. The body releases cytokines that affect moods and lead to a desire for social connection, hence the need to cling to him.

With another soft hush, he smooths down your hair and places another kiss to your hairline before stepping away from you. Moving quickly to keep himself from giving in and crawling back into bed with you, he heads back into the living room and fills a glass of water, making sure it was cold enough to feel nice but not cold enough to not drink quickly. Last but not least, he grabs a clean rag from off the counter, running it underneath cold water and ringing it out until it was just damp.

By the time he gets back to the bedroom, you’ve pulled the duvet over your legs again, letting it cool your calves as your hands tuck beneath your cheek. He stands in the doorway, watching you fondly and admiring just how small you look in the bed that his feet hang off of. For a moment, he thinks about how he’d love to do this for the rest of his life. Have his apartment be the home you crawl to when you’re not feeling your best, be the person your subconscious deems safe when it’s at its most vulnerable. 

Only once his arms ache from holding the water for too long, Spencer returns to your side, hand cupping the back of your neck to lift you up again. “Take the pills and a couple sips, sweet girl, and then you can go to bed, okay?” He murmurs as he holds out his hand, two white pills balanced in the middle of his palm.

Your nose wrinkles in distaste, eyes glancing at him pleadingly as you hope he changes his mind, only to be met with a soft yet stern gaze. Letting out a deep sigh, you pluck the painkillers from his hand and place them in your mouth before taking the glass he holds out, letting the cool water soothe your throat and the heat of your face.

After a few gulps, he plucks the glass from your hands, setting it on the side table and swapping it out for the cool rag. Leaning his back against the headboard, he pulls your head to lay on his chest, draping the towel over your forehead and ignoring the chill when one corner drapes onto his neck. Fingers work delicately to smooth loose strands of hair away from your forehead and cheeks before working through it, lips pulling down at the corners when they get stuck in a knot. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. “I know you’re probably tired from your flight.”

The sound is so soft that he barely picks it up, although he lets out a gentle hum in response. “I don’t feel as bad as you, that’s for sure,” he teases. His lips find your hairline again, breath brushing against your skin as he keeps his mouth there. “Social and emotional support is scientifically shown to be beneficial towards an individual’s health. Support encourages health behaviors, such as consuming more fruits and vegetables and the ceasing of certain sickness behaviors, like mood changes.”

That pulls a soft laugh out of you, shuddering from a chill. “I think it should be a crime for you to talk all scientifically and sexually to me when you can’t even kiss me,” you grumble playfully.

Spencer scoffs from beneath you, the arm wrapped around your shoulder tilting your chin up towards him. “To hell with that. I take my vitamins.”

And then he’s kissing you, all soft and slow, giving your foggy brain time to catch up to what was happening. You’re still uncomfortably warm in his arms, transferring your higher body heat, but there isn’t a single part of him that can find a problem with that. Not when you’re fully leaning into him, arms and legs pressed against his own, cheek tucked against his chest and lips so soft against his mouth.

The both of you part only after he’s stolen all of the breath out of your lungs, leaving you trembling from a fever and breathless from his lips. Your lips pull into a grin as you open your eyes to glance up at him. “If you get sick, I’m not taking care of you.”

“Shush,” he snips, arm moving down to pinch your hip, soothing it with a brush of his thumb. “I thought you were ready for bed, huh? Not ready to keep ogling me?” He tops off his teasing by pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “In fact, are you sure you’re even sick?” You giggle in response, lifting an arm that feels like lead to swat away his hand. “Leave me alone,” you whine dramatically before nuzzling your face into the fabric of his button-up. As soon as your nose bumps with one of the buttons, you wrinkle it, pulling back to look up at him. “Can you please go and change so we can go to bed? This cannot be comfortable.”

Spencer’s response is quick. “It’s not.” Then, he braces the back of your head with a large hand to lift you, sliding out beneath you to make a mad dash for his closet. Your head falls back onto the pillows as you let out a soft whine of displeasure, even despite being the one to tell him to get changed.

He cannot help but laugh at you as his fingers brush through his clothing options. He can feel your eyes burning through his back as he slowly slips his arms through his shirt, tossing it into the laundry basket tucked in the bottom of his closet before pulling on a larger shirt. They stay on him as he pulls off his belt and socks and tugs on some plaid pajama pants. It’s not the first time he’s undressed in front of you, however your gaze would always cover his body in goosebumps. Once he’s properly dressed and ready for bed, he crawls back in next to you, this time pulling the duvet over the both of you. With the painkillers and the lack of a hoodie wrapped around you, he can feel the change in your body heat. Still too warm, but definitely lowering. 

You let out a soft squeak in surprise as his arms wrap around you, giving you a tight squeeze as you’re brought close to his chest. Immediately, your head is snuggled into the crook beneath his chin, inhaling the spot of cologne he had spritzed there that morning. Despite the small rush of adrenaline you had had in his presence, your exhaustion and illness are quickly catching up to you, eyes heavy-lidded as you relax into him. 

“Get some rest.” Spencer murmurs as he feels the tension relax out of your body, lips brushing against your forehead. A subtle check of your temperature.

The only response you can give him is a soft hum of acknowledgement, curling your fingers into his shirt as you slowly drift into sleep.

[jordiemeow]

this is how art apologize

sorry i need him so bad i may have gotten carried away when i was bored at work this wasnt supposed to b anything. Whoops

warnings: 18+, smut, f!receiving oral, eating out over underwear, stupid stupid art

Oh. You're mad.

Like, actually mad, not just giving him that look you always send him after he does something mildly irritating just to see your pretty face contort in faux-annoyance. No, you aren't even giving him that exasperated look. It's like he's talking to a brick wall. He's pretty sure clay would be more receptive than this, actually.

His smile drops.

"Babe?" He tries again, hands clasping together in front of him, clammy with sweat following the silence that greeted him upon entering your dorm. His joke about you disappearing before you could congratulate him for winning his match fell entirely flat, apparently. He looks like a scorned dog; tail between his legs and ears down, though he's not entirely sure what for.

You hardly spare him a glance, more focused on the Macbook on your stomach as you lay on your bed. Art swallows, moving towards your bed tentatively. It takes him a moment of watching you to work up the courage to actually take a seat, gingerly lowering himself to the edge of your single. Normally you jump his bones after such a crushing victory. Or after a shower, but you aren't turned on in the slightest by the scent of his shampoo. In fact, his presence is quite bothersome.

Why?

That's the question that's been bouncing around in his head since watching you clear out of the stands before his customary victory kiss. He had been happy enough to let your absence slide—or, well, too desperate for your praise to truly be upset over it. But now you're just blanking him, so there's clearly something wrong...

"What's the matter?" He coaxes, one big hand wrapping gently around your ankle. His hand is cold against your warm skin, and you barely bite back a shiver.

A long silence follows, and then, "You played so well, Artie!" He flinches at the high-pitched mocking tone of your voice. And then finally, finally, it dawns on him.

You're mad about the girl that congratulated him first. Some freshman sitting front row with her friends, gushing over the way his hair bounced each time he moved. Hell, you'd even heard them make a comment about how erotic his grunts were. Oh, the poor girl had no idea what other sounds he could make...

But that's not the problem. She can look all she wants, as far as you're concerned. It's just that your boyfriend is the biggest idiot in the world and doesn't know how to shut down someone who is clearly flirting with him. He's all smiles and friendly arm pats, as if you weren't about to clamber down the seats and jump onto his arms on the side of the court. Completely oblivious to the way her hand was wrapped around his sweaty bicep in a decidedly not platonic way, batting her lashes up on him as she praised his forehand. As if she has any fucking idea what she's talking about.

Yeah, no. You weren't sticking around to watch it, and now he's getting the silent treatment. Very mature.

There's another silence, his thumb rubbing against the jut of your ankle. You're both frowning, and the quiet feels stifling. You're about to tell him to go away to let you cool off when movement catches your eye: Art ducking his head, lips pressing chastely to the skin next to his hand. You tilt your Macbook an inch to the side to watch the way he leaves a lingering kiss there. His eyes flit up to search yours for protest, but you're already looking back at your screen, the sound of your fingers clicking against the keyboard filling your dorm.

He takes that as consent to continue. More light kisses placed against your ankle, your shin...

"I love you," he whispers against your skin, as if that erases the frustration of seeing him beam down at that pretty little blonde girl with the tight-fitting shirt. How desperate can you be?

"More than anything," he adds. He's aware he's talking to himself at this point, but he's okay with that. His mouth continues its path upwards, circling your knees, working his way up your thighs, easing your skirt up...

He takes his time here. Lavishing your inner thighs with attention, enough to draw a soft little sigh of content from you. You're still typing away at the Macbook balanced on your stomach; you both know what's happening here. It's time for him to earn forgiveness for that little display.

"So pretty, baby. M'sorry," he murmurs against you. Soft little praises whispered as if he wants them absorbed into your skin. Maybe that way you'll actually talk to him. A real conversation, not just mocking some girl. "Gorgeous. Most pretty girl in the world."

You won't admit it, but you're loosening up under his ministrations. Legs parting a little more readily, breath quickening as your panties dampen more with each kiss. "Love every part of you. But your thighs are so pretty," he tells you, tongue laving over the soft bite he'd just placed to the apex of your left thigh.

"I'm sorry."

It's only when his fingers hook under your lacy panties to tug them down that you speak up. "Don't."

You feel him exhale heavily against your thigh, and his hands move to splay flat against your hips. "Gotta earn it," you add. He'd be embarrassed by the way his cock twitches in his fresh boxers at that if it weren't for the fact he was used to this sort of treatment.

And so, without hesitation, his mouth descends on your clothed cunt. Lapping and sucking eagerly at the material, as if trying to draw out any taste of your sweet juices coating the other side of them. The way he's moaning into you is downright pathetic, fingers curling into your sides. Your panties grow slick with a mix of your own arousal and Art's saliva—borderline translucent, but he's too devoted to his task to really notice that.

He can hardly breathe with the way he's pressed into the cotton, trying desperately to prove himself to you. "S'only you, babe. All I want," he whines into the fabric.

You roll your eyes. "Doesn't feel like that when you're chatting up girls after your games, Art."

"Wasn't—" He insists, pausing to refocus on his task. It's only when he needs a breather that he lifts up just enough to speak again. "M'sorry. Wanted to see you, but she stopped me—"

"Should have ignored her."

"But—"

"Are you really in a position to be talking back to me right now?"

He swallows. "No. I'm sorry."

"Good. Put your mouth to better use."

"Then can I—?"

"I said put it to use, Art."

Well, that's not a no, is it? You don't stop him when he reaches for your panties again, tugging them down your legs just enough to be able to dive right in. He buries himself back into your sweet little cunt, and he groans with satisfaction at the way he can taste you without the boundary in place.

His voice is practically a whimper when he speaks against you. "Tastes so good—"

"Art," you warn. He doesn't waste his breath on an apology, just nods mutely and gives your pussy his undivided attention. Tongue licking flat stripes against you, nose nudging against your swollen clit.

It takes a herculean effort not to reward him with those sweet little moans he's used to. He knows he doesn't deserve it right now, though, and the fact you're even letting him do this is a miracle in itself. He's gone days without you so much as letting him kiss you when you're really annoyed at him.

He won't take this for granted.

You're almost annoyed at how good he is at it. He's supposed to be earning your forgiveness, sure, but it's hard to think about anything except the way his cheeks are hollowed out as he sucks eagerly on your clit. Each little sound drawn involuntarily out of you is a victory in itself for him.

You try to last out, you really do, but your climax is inevitable when he's whining pathetically against you and trying his hardest to please you. Despite your insistence on him not speaking, the occasional plea is moaned into you, and the sheer desperation behind it eventually sends you over the edge.

"Please. Please, wanna make you cum, baby, please, I'm sorry—"

Your thighs clench around his head, fingers stilled against your keyboard. Your head tips back into the pillow, and you don't bother stifling your moan of pleasure as you come undone against his face.

"Nghhh— Art, ah, ffffuck—"

You can't even be mad when you can feel him smile faintly against your cunt before he redoubles his efforts to work you through it. Moaning and eagerly lapping up his reward. He doesn't stop until your thighs are trembling and you're reaching down to push his head away.

His head pops up above the screen of your laptop, chin slick with your release and lips spit-swollen. "I'm sorry, did I—" He starts, panting softly. "Did I do good? Did I make you feel better? Baby, I shouldn't have—"

"Art," you interject, finally setting your laptop aside and propping yourself up on your elbows. He expects some sort of approval here, maybe a kiss and a long overdue congratulations for his earlier win. But you fix him with a hard look. "Don't ever do that again."

He nods, a bit too quickly. "I won't. I'll come to you first. Swear."

You study him for a long moment. Earnest expression, pleading blue eyes as his hands brace on your thighs. Finally, you give him a short little nod. "Okay. Come here."

You shift forward a little, arms wrapping around him. He practically collapses into you with relief, chin hooked over your shoulder as his own arms circle you. It's only then that he finally sees your Macbook screen open on a document filled with several lines of:

sjwkdkeswid wejjdewijjddk ewjdskwaowidfjkdskw iwanjskjdfkdf

He decides not to comment on it. You've already just forgiven him, after all, so he smothers his smile into your shoulder and makes a mental note about not talking to anyone but you and his coach right after his games.

Though, in all fairness, he gets to eat you out either way. A win is a win.

—

taglist: @gracelynnx @tacobacoyeet @blastzachilles @cha11engers @magicalmiserybore @newrochellechallenger2019 @coolgrl111 @artspats @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @misswrldd @kaalxpsia @downtwngrl @s0ftcobra @strfallz @dazedandconfusedlvr @turnerrst @m4lodr4ma @artdonaldsonmalewife @challengersism

[flowersforbucky]

it's nice to have a friend

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: you're having the worst period you've had in a long time. bucky is determined to help you feel better.

author's note: this is a silly and smutty piece that i felt compelled to write when i got my period a few days ago!

warnings/tags: smutty, reader has a period, langauge, use of a vibrator, nipple stimulation, no use of y/n, use of a cbd gummy lol, 18+ only

Approximately every twenty-eight days, you curse the fact that you were born with a uterus and vagina. 

This month, however, you were cursing that fact a bit earlier than expected. Cycle day twenty three, to be exact. 

Your periods never start this early, but as soon as you opened your eyes at six o'clock this morning, you knew what had occured while you were asleep. You could feel the moisture that soaked through your underwear and pajama pants before you could turn on the light to see that your white sheets had been dyed bright crimson beneath where you'd been laying. 

One load of laundry with extra stain remover and as much Pamprin max strength as one can safely take later, you are curled up on the couch of the compound's living room with a cup of coffee and a heating pad turned up so high that you risk first degree burns. 

“Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you today? We can go to Coney Island another time,” Natasha tries to reason with you once again. 

“I promise I'll be okay here,” you assure her. “These cramps are killing me, I won't be any fun to hang out with today. Go, enjoy yourself. When is the next time that you'll all have a free day and weather this perfect?” You gesture towards the sunshine streaming through the living room windows. 

“If you're sure,” she caves after a few moments of hesitation. “Promise I’ll win you that stuffed panda that you wanted so badly last time.” 

“I am going to hold you to that,” you tell her in a faux-serious tone. 

After Natasha and the rest of your friends have left for their day of riding rollercoasters and eating hotdogs on the boardwalk, you turn on your comfort show and settle in for an unexciting and uncomfortable day by yourself. 

A few hours later, you decide you've sat in the same position for long enough - you can practically feel your body morphing to the sofa. You're walking to the kitchen to refill your water bottle and find something to snack on when you collide with what feels like a brick wall. 

A brick wall that happens to smell really, really fucking good. 

You step back, finding that the brick wall is staring at you with a confused look on his face. 

"What are you doing here?” Bucky asks as he glances you over from head to toe, taking in your choice of apparel - baggy sweats that are about two sizes too big for you, a cropped tank, and fuzzy slippers. You resist the urge to cross your arms over your stomach - you didn't think anyone else would be here today and the tank top you're wearing doesn't exactly conceal the period bloat you're currently experiencing. 

"I live here,” you snap, a bit harsher than necessary. “What are you doing here?” 

“I also live here,” he says, returning your attitude. You roll your eyes, maneuvering your way around where he blocks the doorway. 

“What I mean,” he continues as he turns around, following you into the kitchen. “Is why aren't you with everyone at Coney Island?” 

“I could ask you the same question,” you challenge, pouring some more ice into your cup. “Steve never shuts up about the glory days, all the time the two of you spent at Coney Island. I'm surprised you're not there with him right now.” 

He huffs a laugh, pulling out one of the barstools at the kitchen's giant island and taking a seat. “We did spend a ridiculous amount of time at Coney Island,” he admits, his voice almost wistful. He hesitates before continuing, staring down at his hands as he traces a metal crevice on his left palm.

"But I haven't been to Coney Island since the forties. Guess I'm kinda scared it won't live up to my memories of it. Plus, I had a lot of laundry to catch up on, so..” he shrugs, trailing off. 

You're taken aback by the honesty of his explanation. “Yeah, well,” you start awkwardly, turning away from him to search through a cabinet for something to eat. “I can't say that I know what it was like in the forties, but it's one of my favorite places, present day.” 

“Then why are you hanging out by yourself while all of your friends are at one of your favorite places?” 

Damn it, you curse internally. He's really not going to drop this. What should I say, that my uterine lining is falling out in clumps? 

You grab a bag of freeze-dried fruit from the cabinet before turning back to face him, trying to come up with an excuse. 

“I just didn't sleep great–” you come to an abrupt stop in the middle of your sentence as a blinding pain shoots through your lower abdomen. The bag of fruit falls to the floor as you steady yourself on the ledge of the counter with one hand, clutching your stomach with the other. 

Bucky rises from his seat in an instant, closing the several feet of distance between the two of you in one big step. 

"Are you okay? What’s going on?” His hands are both extended to you in an offer of help. 

“I'm fine,” you say through a sharp intake of breath. “It’s.. it’s just cramps. Bad cramps,” you force the words out, propping your elbows up on the countertop to relax your body weight. 

“Oh,” he says as realization dawns on him. He bends down to grab the bag of fruit that lays next to your feet, and then places it on the table in front of you. “I guess that answers my question, then,” he adds, referring to why you didn't go to Coney Island. 

“Ya think?” You stand back upright, grabbing your snack and water bottle off of the counter. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a busy day of bed-rotting ahead of me.” 

“Some exercise would help,” he calls when you're about to exit the kitchen. “Laying in bed won't do much for you. A little bit of light exercise to release some beta-endorphins, maybe an abdominal massage–” 

“Are you really man-splaining menstrual cycle pain management to me right now?” You ask, slowly turning to face him with an incredulous look on your face. “I wasn't aware that you had a medical license or that I asked for your opinion.” 

“Just trying to help, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a mischievous grin. 

“If you want to help, you can go get the Italian food that I'm craving and give me an abdominal massage yourself,” you practically spit at him. “Otherwise, keep the unsolicited advice to yourself and fuck off.” 

You turn back around and all but run out of the room before you can process the shocked, albeit pleased look on his face.  

After you've closed your bedroom door behind you (with perhaps a bit more force than necessary), you sink into the fresh sheets on your bed and shove several pieces of apricot into your mouth. 

Rationally, you knew that Bucky's advice was solid, and that he was just trying to get a reaction out of you. That's just the kind of friendship that the two of you have. Sarcastic, teasing and occasionally… tension-filled. 

You definitely didn't help the matter by telling him to massage your abdomen, but what does he expect when he suggests something as horrible as exercising during a time that you simply want nothing more than to melt into your mattress? 

Your cell phone chimes from the pocket of your sweatpants. You dig it out and look at the text displayed across your lock screen. 

Bucky Barnes: What kind of Italian food, specifically? 

You would never admit it to him, but the corners of your mouth tug upwards into a smirk as you read his message. 

You type: Don't you have a lot of laundry to catch up on? and press send. The message is marked as “read” right away. 

He types. And types. And types some more – until those three dots indicating a message in progress disappear. 

Whatever. You click your phone off and toss it somewhere in the covers around you. 

The next couple hours are spent sitting under the near scalding stream of your shower, and then reading on your Kindle in the dark. As jealous as you are that your friends are undoubtedly having a blast today, you honestly don't mind your current situation - aside from feeling like your organs are being pulled out of your vagina, you hardly ever have days with zero obligations other than to just relax in whatever way you see fit. 

A strong knock on your door causes you to lose your place on the page. 

"You didn't give me a legitimate answer so I hope you like gnocchi, or eggplant parmesan, or traditional lasagna, or extra breadsticks..” 

“You know, it's not funny to joke about carbs to someone when they are–” 

You come to a stop in the middle of your sentence when you swing your door open to see him holding several plastic bags. An aroma of garlic and herbs hits you in the face. 

Oh. Not a joke, then. 

He extends one of the bags to you with his big, blue puppy dog eyes. You take it from him, opening the door further as an invitation to enter your bedroom. 

"Consider this a peace offering,” he says, placing the other bags of food on your bed and perching awkwardly on the edge of your mattress. You close the door behind you, walking back to where you had previously been lounging on the bed. 

“I'm sorry for being a smartass,” he adds more genuinely. “I just.. didn't like seeing you in pain. That's all.” 

“This is far from my first period,” you shrug, not meeting his stare. “You get used to it after a while. But consider yourself forgiven.” 

He gives you a small smile when you finally look up at him. He grabs a smaller bag that you hadn't noticed him carrying, one that is visibly less full than the others. He reaches inside, pulling out a small jar that he hands over to you. 

Your brows furrow as you inspect it closely. “CBD gummies?” You ask, your brows now raising quizzically. You open the jar, popping one of the pink, cube-shaped gummies into your mouth. “Watermelon flavored CBD gummies?” 

You notice the faintest trace of blush bloom across his cheeks. “I take them sometimes to help me sleep,” he starts, fiddling with some of the beading on your comforter. “But they can help with all different kinds of pain too, so I just thought you might like some.” 

You close the jar, placing it on your bedside table before reaching over and grabbing his flesh hand in yours. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze and then releasing it. “Really. I appreciate all of this.” You try to ignore the jolt of electricity that buzzes through you when your skin comes in contact with his. His hand is both softer and warmer than you would have imagined. It brings you back to the last words that you spewed at him in the kitchen earlier. 

"A shit ton of pasta and CBD gummies,” you snort a laugh. “Would I be pushing my luck if I asked for that abdominal massage too?” You say it in a way that sounds halfway serious, halfway joking. 

“If that's what you want,” he says lowly, turning to angle his body towards you on the bed. “Then just say the word.” 

The air in your room suddenly feels suffocating. 

It is what you want - but you're at a loss for words. So instead of a verbal response, you scoot over to the middle of the bed, closer to where he sits on the opposite side. You lay down so that your back is flat against the mattress, your head propped up by a single pillow. 

Bucky's eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly wipes the look of astonishment from his features. He moves so that he's sitting directly next to your legs, giving him a proper angle to put his hands on your lower stomach. 

You're wearing the same sweatpants and tank top from earlier, having thrown the outfit back on after your shower. The loose sweatpants hang low enough to expose your hip bones and the edge of your underwear. 

The intimacy of the entire situation hits you the second that his hands make contact with your skin. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, perhaps sensing your nerves. “Or if I do anything that doesn't feel good.” 

Your eyes shut instinctively at the polar opposite sensations of his flesh and vibranium hands. Skin and metal, fire and ice.

“I will,” you assure him. Your words come out breathier than intended. 

There's an immediate relief in your lower stomach as he rubs languid circles across your midriff. It's a feeling beyond pleasure as the cramps fade the more he touches you. 

His vibranium pinky dances along the waistband of your underwear, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin. You try to focus on the relief he's bringing you - not the fact that you're wearing a thin tank top that leaves so much of your skin on display, giving him a clear view of the goosebumps that he's caused. 

He continues with the precise motions until the pain in your abdomen has faded nearly entirely - you feel so good that you can't stop yourself from letting out the smallest moan when his flesh hand applies just the right amount of pressure near your pelvis. 

You know he heard it - there's no way he didn't. Just as you know there's no way that he doesn't notice your fully hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top. 

You keep your eyes closed, terrified to meet his gaze in this state. You dread the moment that you feel his hands pull away from your skin. 

"You know,” he starts, his voice possessing a strained edge. “I don't think this is good enough for you.” 

Your eyes shoot open, looking at him in a nervous confusion. There's a glimmer in his eyes that you can't quite pinpoint - his stare trailing to your bedside table on the opposite side of you. “But I think I do know what could make you feel much better.” 

“What are you talking about?” Your voice quivers as you follow his stare. You're not sure what he's looking at - all that sits on your nightstand is the CBD gummies he had just given you, your Kindle, a few books, a bottle of lotion, and the Himalayan salt lamp that paints you both in an orange glow. 

He smirks before leaning across you - keeping his vibranium hand pressed firmly on your belly as he uses his flesh hand to pull open the drawer of the small table. 

“Hey! What are you–” but he retrieves the object he’s looking for before you can finish questioning him. You freeze at what he's holding in his hand. 

Your vibrator. Your glittery, lavender colored vibrator. 

“How the fuck did you–” 

“Do you think I can't hear you using this from across the hallway late at night?” He grins smugly. “That I can't hear your little whimpers when you think everyone's asleep?” 

Your face heats up a hundred degrees. You don't know whether to be infuriated or massively turned on. 

Both. You're definitely feeling a mix of both. 

He clicks the power button, turning on the device to its lowest setting. He watches you for a moment, giving you ample time to tell him to fuck off.

Instead, you once again relax against the pillow, your body going limp for him. You spread your legs the slightest bit. 

He takes this as his signal to proceed. Not taking his eyes off of your face, he trails the head of the wand from your lower stomach and over the fabric of your sweatpants until he reaches the apex of your thighs. Your nipples pucker once again, your thighs clenching around the tip of the vibrator. 

Bucky moves the device in a circular motion, making your back arch off the bed and your head tip back. 

How is it that it feels better when he massages you with it through your fucking pants than it does when you use it on your bare pussy? 

You hear the clicking of a button again, and the force of the vibration over your clothed cunt increases. You grind down on the device, desperate for friction. 

Bucky watches you with something akin to pride on his face. 

“You know how I told you to tell me if I do something you don't like?” He asks as he pushes the head of the wand directly down on your clit with the perfect amount of pressure. 

“Yeah,” you answer - it comes out like a moan that you'd hear in a porno.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Remember that.” 

Before you can clear your head enough to wonder what he means, he's tugging up the cotton fabric of your tank top and exposing your breasts. 

You gasp at the sensation of the cool air blowing from the AC coming in contact with your already hard nipples. Bucky leans forward, keeping the vibrator on your core, and captures one of your nipples in his mouth. 

Your hand immediately goes to his hair, tugging the soft brown locks in your fingers to keep him in place. His free hand grasps your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. 

The combination of pleasure radiating from your pussy and his hand and mouth on you is fucking perfect. Fucking perfect, and all too much. 

You clench your thighs together, riding against the vibrator until you feel warmth spreading through your lower belly. 

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you moan - he groans when you say his name, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge. You come hard, possibly harder than any other orgasm you've had in your life, thoroughly soaking your panties. 

When you've finished writhing beneath him, Bucky pulls back, removing both his mouth and the vibrator. He clicks the device off, tossing it towards the foot of your bed. 

You're panting, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process what the fuck just happened when you hear Bucky let out a low chuckle. 

Your eyes snap to him, finding that he looks thoroughly pleased with himself. 

"Can't say that's how I expected the day to go when I decided to sit this Coney Island trip out,” he sighs. 

“You can say that again.” You sit upright, bending your legs and crossing them at the ankles. You lean forward, tugging your shirt back into place before pulling one of the bags of food to you. 

"We should go sometime soon. Together,” you add, somewhat nervously. You aren't sure why - the guy just gave you the best orgasm of your life (and barely even touched you). 

“Are you asking me on a date?” that sly smile reappears. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I suppose I am.” 

"Then my answer is yes. But only if you share some of this food with me.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks so much for reading!!! can anyone tell that i really fucking love food by how often i incorporate it into my writing? 😅

[orphicsun]

eating ellie out from the back🫶

｡‧˚ʚ sub! ellie williams / reader ɞ˚‧｡

warnings and content: 18+ blurb, oral sex (e! receiving), whiny sub! ellie, mentions of teasing & overstim, jackson ellie.

a/n: this is your EARLY valentines day gift from me to you, anon (after letting your request collect dust..)

Ellie tastes delicious no matter how you eat her. From on her back, legs spread wide for you, it’s easy to look up at her and watch her cheeks grow darker with embarrassment. It’s cute; your usually brash, grumbly girlfriend becomes a whiny loser on your tongue. You like the times when you have her standing up, gripping the counter of her garage’s kitchenette as you suck on her clit from on your knees, Ellie so afraid of her knees buckling and sending her to the ground. 

However, you especially like devouring her pussy from the back.

You’ve got Ellie with her face buried in the sheets, clutching the crinkles of fabric for dear life. Almost like a cat stretching, her ass is up in the air, and her knees are a good width apart so you can see the lovely slice of heaven glistening between her lean thighs. Already have you been sucking on her sweet bud for hours, mixing between denial and overstimulation. You admire the way her pussy drips a sticky substance–mix of cum, your spit, and her own natural arousal–onto the sheets. Ellie is dripping like a fucking faucet, and you are almost tempted to tell her it’ll be her job to wash the sheets after you’re through with her.

“Quit fucking around,” she whines, sounding both muffled and pornographic in one go.

You don’t respond to her plea, instead staring at the swell in her clit and the pure beauty of her pussy. You have to hand it to her, Ellie has a pretty pussy. It makes you almost want to dive back in. You opt to place the pad of your thumb onto her clit, pressing further against it to relish in the way her hips wiggle and push back for more. 

You like thinking about those words, though. Quit fucking around. You can imagine Ellie on a patrol or out in the middle of nowhere, frustrated, short of breath. You can just hear those words leave her mouth under her breath or perhaps shouted at someone else in a fit of anger. That contrasts her now, however: that whiny, soft pleading, just a hint of frustration that is as light as a feather, and desperation that is heavier than a wheelbarrow of bricks. The juxtaposition of context makes you want to laugh beside yourself. 

You swear you can see her hole clenching when you lay a hand on the small of your back, and you huff in impatience, leaning down to take her slick-coated pussy lips in your mouth and suck. 

“Fuuuck, babe.” Ellie curses, arching her back almost uncomfortably to have more of your warm mouth on her. You shift further down, flicking at her clit as she writhes above you. You deliberately hum and moan against her pussy just so you can enjoy how she falls apart like roast in a slow cooker, and she is finally almost ready.

The sounds filling the garage-house are filthy, a mix of both Ellie’s lewd, needy sounds and the noisiness of your slurping. You hear the way she begs for you with little to no dignity, and it eggs you on. You let her try her best to grind her hips against your face, shifting needily and nearly frantically as she chases her orgasm. Just one finger dipping into her hole and curling upward at the best angle sends her there, too.

With a moan you’d hear from a 2000’s porno, Ellie’s pussy gushes all over your finger, and she coats your swollen lips and already wet chin with more cum. She moves against you and you have to hold her hips in place to chase her and help her ride out her high. Ellie moans through it, little sounds of “mmm, mmm, mm…” as the fire in her cunt spreads into her dumb brain. 

With a lewd pop, you pull away from between her thighs and sit back. You both catch your breaths, and Ellie sighs in relief. Her hip bones meet the sheets, thinking you’re through with her. You huff out a laugh, flipping her over onto her back to spread her thighs apart. She lets out a small sound of surprise, but you don’t hear it. You stare down at her pussy in awe. From this position, her lips are apart and you can see everything. It’s a vulgar but beautiful sight. You rub the soft, wet flesh around her entrance, smiling down at her almost playfully.

“I’m not done with you. Keep these legs apart.” You instruct, and your mouth dips down to meet her pussy once again. Ellie will writhe and whine against you, but doesn’t complain. She would’ve been disappointed if you had truly been done with her.

taglist: @kaykeryyy

[ahqkas]

“HOLDING YOU, HOLDING ME — dick grayson.

PAIRING! dick grayson x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! he wasn’t just a man in a mask—he was nightwing, gotham’s acrobatic vigilante, a name whispered in both fear and admiration depending on who you asked. and now here he was, slumped on your couch, bleeding out like any ordinary man who’d bitten off more than he could chew

WORD COUNT! 4.7k

WARNINGS / TAGS! wounds and patching up, mention of blood, light cursing + lmk

NOTES! i’ll never let go of this scenario bc no matter how many times i read or write it i know i’ll eat it up ,, header below belongs to @/v6que

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE SOUND OF SHUFFLING OUTSIDE YOUR BEDROOM WINDOW PIERCED THROUGH THE FRAGILE BARRIER BETWEEN SLEEP AND WAKEFULNESS, pulling you abruptly from the fog of dreams. Your heart stuttered, then raced, its rhythm a drumbeat in your ears as your senses stirred to full alertness. The muffled sounds of Gotham’s unrest—honking car horns, distant sirens wailing through the streets, and the occasional shout ricocheting off brick walls—were nothing new. It was the soundtrack of the city, a reminder that safety here was a fleeting illusion. But this sound was different. It wasn’t part of the distant chaos. It was near. Uncomfortably near.

You lay motionless, cocooned in the warmth of your blankets, as a cold tendril of unease slithered down your spine. The shuffle came again, a strained, uneven drag that was too heavy, too deliberate to be dismissed as the wind or the misstep of a stray animal. The hairs on your arms stood on end, your body responding to a primal warning long before your mind could catch up. A knot of tension coiled in your stomach, tightening with each beat of silence that followed.

Your breath hitched as your ears strained, every creak of the old apartment building suddenly amplified. The sound of your neighbors moving around above you had ceased hours ago, and the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen now felt deafening in comparison. Even the street noise below seemed to recede, swallowed by the weight of whatever lurked just beyond the thin pane of glass separating your room from the outside world.

Another shuffle—closer now—was accompanied by the faint scrape of something against the windowsill. A metallic sound? Your mind raced through possibilities, each one darker than the last, as your muscles tensed involuntarily. Instinct told you to stay still, to let the darkness cloak you, but adrenaline screamed at you to move, to act, to do something. The only thing louder than the pounding of your heart was the oppressive silence that followed the noise, stretching thin like a thread about to snap.

Then, a low groan shattered the quiet like a rock through glass—rough, ragged, and undeniably human. Your breath hitched, a shaky inhale catching in your throat as the sound sent a white-hot jolt of adrenaline through your veins. This wasn’t the screech of metal caught in a storm or the hollow clatter of a stray cat tipping over trash cans in the alley below. No, this was something else—someone else. And they were hurt.

Before you could fully process it, the groan was followed by another noise: a faint, rhythmic creak, unmistakable in its familiarity. Metal shifting and bending under weight, groaning as it protested movement along the fire escape just outside your window. It was a sound you had heard a hundred times before, but never like this—never in the dead of night, never accompanied by the guttural rasp of pain. It dragged a sharp, cold edge of dread across your mind, slicing through the thin veneer of safety you’d wrapped yourself in.

You sat up slowly, the mattress beneath you groaning in protest despite your careful movements. The noise seemed deafening in the oppressive quiet, and you froze, lips pressed together as if even the sound of your breathing might give you away.

Your eyes darted toward the window, the one barrier between you and the unknown outside. The curtains hung limply, a thin barrier of fabric that diffused the faint glow of streetlights below but revealed nothing of the shapes or movements beyond. Your pulse thundered in your ears as your mind raced. Every instinct screamed at you to stay still, to melt into the shadows and feign ignorance, to bury yourself under the covers and hope the moment passed.

But there was something else—a treacherous, gnawing pull of curiosity that refused to let you stay frozen. It dragged at you, a siren call that tugged against the fear coiled in your gut. Against all logic, you leaned forward, heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might leap from your chest. The cool air of the room kissed your skin, each shallow breath catching against the weight of the silence as you crept closer, unable to ignore the magnetic pull of whatever—or whoever—waited on the other side of that fragile pane of glass.

You froze just steps away from the curtain, your hand outstretched but trembling in the stillness of the room. Your fingers hovered mere inches from the fabric, the rough texture brushing your skin as you hesitated. The air felt heavier here, charged with the kind of tension that made your chest tighten and your breathing shallow. Each breath you took was deliberate, measured, the faint rush of air between your lips almost too loud against the suffocating quiet. Every nerve in your body begged you to turn back, to crawl under the covers and pretend none of this was happening.

But then another sound broke the stillness—a groan, sharper this time, tinged with desperation. It wasn’t the deep, detached groan of exhaustion but something raw, visceral, and undeniably human. The sound struck you like a slap, your heart lurching painfully in your chest. Whoever was out there wasn’t loitering or trying to scare you. They were hurt. And badly.

The realization sent a shiver rippling through you, but it didn’t stop your fingers from clutching the edge of the curtain. Slowly, cautiously, you pulled it back just enough to peek outside. The cold air from the window seeped through the thin glass, and you instinctively leaned closer, the warmth of your breath fogging the pane as you strained to see into the darkness. For a moment, there was nothing—only shadows twisting in the faint orange glow of the streetlights below, the occasional shimmer of metal catching the dim light. The fire escape stretched out before you like a skeletal bridge to nowhere, its emptiness pressing against your mounting fear.

Then, your eyes adjusted, and the shadows shifted, revealing a figure slumped against the railing. Your stomach twisted painfully at the sight, the breath caught in your throat as you tried to process what you were seeing. A man—larger than you expected, broad-shouldered despite the way his frame sagged—leaned heavily on the railing, his head tipped forward as if even the act of holding it up was too much. His chest rose and fell in uneven, labored breaths, each one visible in the faint puff of condensation against the night air.

His clothes—or was it some kind of suit?—clung to him, dark and soaked in places you didn’t want to think about too closely. The material melted into the blackness of the night, making it hard to tell where he ended and the shadows began. But there was no mistaking the weight of his posture, the way his hands gripped the railing with what little strength he had left, or the crimson stain trailing down the side of his body, catching the faintest glimmer of light. The sight of it turned your unease into something deeper, something colder.

“Shit,” you muttered, the word slipping out before you could stop it, sharp and quiet in the tense air. Your pulse quickened, adrenaline washing over you like a crashing wave as the reality of the situation sank in. Whoever this man was, he needed help—and fast. The knot of fear in your chest twisted tighter, but it was overwhelmed by something more immediate: the urge to act. Your hands trembled as you reached for the window, the cool glass biting against your fingertips as you slid it open. The icy air hit you instantly, sharp and unforgiving, stealing the warmth from your skin and making you gasp.

You leaned out into the night, the cold biting your cheeks and tangling in your hair as you peered down at the figure slumped against the railing. “Hey,” you called, your voice low but urgent, carrying just enough to cut through the silence. Your breath puffed out in faint clouds as you spoke, dissipating into the darkness between you. “Are you okay?” The words felt hollow as they left your mouth, even as they pressed against the lump of anxiety in your throat. Of course, he wasn’t okay—one look at him made that painfully obvious.

For a long, agonizing moment, the only response was the faint whistle of wind cutting through the metal of the fire escape. He didn’t move, his frame slouched in a way that made your chest tighten, the weight of his injuries pulling him down like gravity itself was working against him. Just as panic began to creep in—had he passed out? Was he even breathing?—he shifted, the motion slow and labored, as though even the act of turning his head was a monumental effort.

The faint light from the street below caught on his face—or rather, what was covering it. A mask. Sleek and dark, it reflected just enough light to reveal the harsh contours of his features, obscuring everything but the intensity of his movements. His head lolled slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might collapse entirely, the strength draining out of him like water slipping through a sieve. But then, with an audible effort, he rasped out, “Not really.”

The sound of his voice hit you like a gut punch—low, rough, and laced with pain. Each word dragged out of him felt like a struggle, and the exhaustion clinging to his tone was impossible to ignore. It was the voice of someone on the edge, hanging by a thread. You swallowed hard, your breath catching as you watched him shift again, the barest movement of his hand gripping the railing as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

“Well, no kidding,” you muttered, more out of reflex than anything, the dry sarcasm slipping past your lips before you could stop it. But the sharp edge of your tone faltered as your gaze darted to his injuries. Blood—thick, dark, and all too real—streaked his side, dripping in sluggish rivulets down his torn clothes. You swallowed hard, fighting the rising wave of panic threatening to claw its way up your throat. “Can you… uh, climb inside?” your voice was softer now, but still tinged with urgency.

He hesitated, his shoulders stiffening, and for a fleeting moment, he looked more like a cornered animal than an injured man. His hand gripped the railing tighter, the tension in his posture radiating defensiveness even as he swayed slightly, his balance precarious. “I don’t want to—” he began, his words rasping out low and hesitant, as if he were weighing the consequences of accepting help against the risks of staying put.

“You’re bleeding on my fire escape,” you interrupted, crossing your arms to disguise the nervous tremor in your hands. “I’m not asking. Get in here before someone sees you.” You tried to keep your voice steady, firm, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. You weren’t sure where the sudden boldness had come from—maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation—but you refused to back down. If he didn’t move soon, you weren’t sure he’d be able to at all.

For a split second, you thought he might argue, but then his lips twitched ever so slightly, a faint ghost of a smirk flickering across his face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the grim set of his jaw as he shifted, bracing himself. With a pained grunt, he pushed off the railing, his movements slow and deliberate, every step looking like it might be his last. His knees buckled slightly as he approached the window, and instinctively, you stepped closer, your arms uncrossing as you reached out without thinking.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. He was trying to sound strong, but the unsteadiness in his steps betrayed him. As he climbed through the window, the effort took its toll. He leaned heavily against the window frame, his large frame towering over yours even as his weight pressed into you for support. The sudden closeness made you freeze for a moment, the sheer size difference between you starkly apparent as his broad shoulders filled the small space of your window.

You adjusted quickly, hands instinctively reaching to steady him despite your earlier hesitation. One hand brushed against his arm, and you couldn’t help but notice how solid he felt beneath your touch, even through the bloodied material of his suit. He shifted his weight against you slightly, just enough to steady himself, and the subtle press of his shoulder against yours was enough to make you acutely aware of how much he was relying on you in that moment.

“Easy,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as he finally made it through the window and into your apartment. You stepped back to give him space, resisting the urge to grab his arm again as he straightened with a wince. His movements were slow and deliberate, every motion screaming of pain, but he managed to stay on his feet. For now.

“Couch,” the word tumbled out before you could think too hard about what came next. You gestured toward the battered, threadbare piece of furniture across the room, its cushions sagging from years of use. It wasn’t much, but it was better than your window frame—or worse, the fire escape he’d just been bleeding all over.

He gave a faint nod, the motion sluggish as he shuffled forward, his hand bracing against the wall for balance. Each step looked like a battle he was barely winning, and just as he reached the couch, his knees seemed to give out entirely. He dropped onto it with a heavy exhale, the springs creaking loudly in protest. His head tipped back against the cushion, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your back still pressed against the window as your mind worked to catch up with what had just happened. The sharp contrast of his dark figure against the warm glow of your living room lights made the scene feel surreal, like something out of a movie. But the blood—thick and vividly red against the black fabric of his suit—was all too real.

And now, in the full light of the room, you could finally see him clearly. The sleek black material clinging to him wasn’t just any clothing—it was a suit, one that seemed designed to meld with the shadows. Faint blue lines traced down his sides in sharp, angular patterns, adding a faintly futuristic edge to his appearance. But it wasn’t the design that held your attention—it was the bird emblazoned across his chest, unmistakable in its shape even beneath the layers of grime and blood.

Nightwing.

The name hit you like a freight train, an unspoken expletive rushing to the tip of your tongue as you took another step forward. Nightwing is in my apartment. The realization made your knees feel unsteady, and you clutched the back of a nearby chair for balance. He wasn’t just a man in a mask—he was Nightwing, Gotham’s acrobatic vigilante, a name whispered in both fear and admiration depending on who you asked. And now here he was, slumped on your couch, bleeding out like any ordinary man who’d bitten off more than he could chew.

Your gaze dropped back to the gash across his chest, the jagged tear in his suit exposing the angry, raw wound beneath. Blood was soaking through the material, dark and relentless, and the sheer amount of it sent a chill racing down your spine. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe through the rising tide of panic. This was happening. This was real.

And if you didn’t act fast, he wasn’t going to make it.

“I’ll get some supplies,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of disbelief. Each step felt heavy, your heart pounding like a drum in your ears as you yanked open the cabinet under the sink. The first aid kit sat buried behind a clutter of forgotten toiletries, its edges dusty and worn, but it would have to do. You grabbed it along with a few clean towels, their soft cotton contrasting starkly with the chaos unfolding in your living room.

When you returned, your stomach twisted at the sight of him. He’d slumped further into the couch, his broad shoulders sagging into the cushions as if gravity were trying to pull him under. His head tipped back against the worn upholstery, exposing the pale curve of his neck. The steady rise and fall of his chest—though strained—was the only reassurance he was still alive.

“Don’t pass out,” you said, dropping to your knees beside him and setting the first aid kit on the coffee table with a clatter. The firm edge to your voice was betrayed by the slight tremor in your hands as you unfurled one of the towels. Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced your tone to remain steady. You couldn’t let him see the full weight of your panic—not when he already looked like he was barely holding himself together.

At your words, he cracked one eye open, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering in his gaze despite the shadows of pain etched across his face. “Not planning to,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, each word dragging out like it cost him more than he could afford. The faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was enough to make you pause.

Who the hell manages to look smug while bleeding out on someone’s couch?

But the glimmer faded as quickly as it appeared, his body sagging further against the cushions. You pressed your lips together, swallowing the sarcastic retort building in your throat. There wasn’t time for quips or questions—only action. You unfolded a towel, your fingers brushing against the warm stickiness of his blood as you pressed it gently against the gash across his chest. The sharp hiss that escaped his lips was like a jolt of electricity, and you found yourself murmuring, “Sorry,” even as you kept the pressure firm. His skin was warm beneath the blood and fabric.

You worked quickly, your hands steady despite the rising tide of nerves gnawing at your insides. The fabric around the wound had been torn beyond recognition, and you didn’t waste a second as you cut through the ruined material with swift, practiced motions. Each snip of the scissors felt like a small victory, as though you could fix this, like the clean cut would somehow make everything better. You pressed a towel to his side, feeling the heat of his blood seep through the fabric, the warmth of it sending a chill up your spine. He winced at the pressure, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t pull away. His muscles, tense and coiled under your hands, were the only indication that this wasn’t just a minor scrape. His breath came out in shallow gasps, but he didn’t make a sound of protest.

“You’re awfully calm for someone who just broke into my apartment,” you said, your voice forced to sound lighter than it felt. The words were meant to cover the nerves crawling up your throat, to push away the uncertainty gnawing at you. Humor—it was the only defense you had left in this absurd situation.

He let out a soft laugh, though it sounded more like a wheeze. It was rough and ragged, like even that small act of amusement took everything he had left. “Didn’t break in. Fire escape’s fair game,” he managed to rasp out, his eyes fluttering closed again as though the effort of speaking had drained him further.

For a moment, you stopped, just long enough to take in his words. Fair game, huh? You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, despite the situation. So this is how he justifies sneaking into random apartments in the middle of the night.

“Right,” you muttered, your voice dry, trying to ignore the sick feeling twisting in your gut. You could feel the heat of his skin under your fingertips, the way his body trembled slightly despite his attempt to stay composed. You glanced at his face, the mask still in place, but now that you were up close, you could see the way his eyes flickered with exhaustion and pain. It was like something human was trying to push through all the bravado.

But you had to focus. The towel in your hand was already damp from his blood, and you pressed harder, trying to staunch the bleeding as much as possible. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured my night going,” you muttered, though your tone softened a bit as you reached for the first aid kit. Every instinct in your body told you to move fast, but there was something about him, even in this state, that kept you grounded.

Maybe because I’m not sure whether you’re about to pass out or punch me in the face, you thought, but didn’t say. Instead, you reached for the antiseptic, uncapping it with more precision than you felt, and prepared yourself for whatever came next.

His lips twitched again, a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was enough to make you wonder if he was trying to find some amusement in the chaos that had spilled into your living room. It didn't make sense—how someone could be this battered, this close to breaking, and still manage to show any semblance of humor. But there it was, a quiet resilience you couldn't quite place.

He didn’t respond at first, just watching you work. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, still tracked every movement of your hands, each shift of your body as you carefully cleaned and bandaged the wound on his side. There was something almost unnerving about how still he was, like a predator waiting for the right moment to move, but in the context of the situation, it made him seem more human. Vulnerable.

“You do this often?” you asked, your voice lighter than you felt. It was a simple enough question, but it served to break the silence between you, the quiet hum of the apartment making the space feel far too small. You didn’t look up at him immediately, but you could feel the weight of his gaze still on your face, intense and steady.

“Hmm?” he responded, the sound rough in his throat, as though the effort to form words had started to exhaust him.

“Get beaten to hell and crash on random fire escapes?” you pressed, glancing up at him as you secured the bandage around his chest. You tried to mask the faint bitterness in your tone with humor, the question rolling off your tongue more to distract yourself than anything else. This whole situation felt like something out of a bad dream, and you needed to ground yourself. Even if it meant making jokes about the absurdity of it all.

He let out a breath, his lips pressing together for a moment as he thought, the flicker of amusement still lingering in his eyes. “Only when I’m not at home,” he said softly, his voice rough, barely a whisper, but the sarcasm was clear. The way he said it—like he'd done this enough times to know exactly how it would go—made something twist uncomfortably in your chest. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in this situation, and maybe it wouldn’t be the last.

You couldn’t help but huff out a soft laugh despite yourself, but it was more out of disbelief than humor. "That’s reassuring," you muttered, tightening the bandage with a firm pull. The night had turned stranger than you could’ve ever imagined, and all you could do was keep your hands steady as you finished the task, trying to ignore the fact that this was your reality now. For however long he was going to be here, this was your reality.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but wonder—what exactly had he been doing up there? Was it a routine mission gone wrong? Or was it something else, something far more dangerous than just a bad night on patrol?

But asking those questions, probing further, felt like it would unravel everything you were holding together. You were already way past the point of no return, anyway.

You leaned back on your heels, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you wiped your hands on one of the towels, the fabric already stained with his blood. The light in your apartment, dim as it was, highlighted the mess of the night: the empty first aid kit, the scattered towels, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Everything felt heavier now—like the weight of what had happened wasn’t just about this bleeding stranger in front of you, but about you, too, suddenly pulled into something far more dangerous than you'd signed up for.

"You need stitches, but that’s the best I can do right now," you said, your voice softening as you turned back to him. "Try not to tear the bandages before you... I don’t know, get some actual medical attention?"

You were trying to stay light, trying to keep your tone steady, but the words felt hollow. He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pushed himself up with a grunt, the movement slow and stiff, his pain clear despite the faint determination in his eyes. He steadied himself against the arm of the couch, looking like he might collapse at any moment, but there was something else there too—something that made you stop, heart fluttering painfully in your chest.

He offered you a faint smile, the expression almost shy despite the rough edges of the night, his eyes meeting yours in that quiet, unexpected way that made the room feel too small.

"Thanks. Really," he said, his voice rasping, but genuine.

For a moment, all the noise of the world outside your apartment seemed to fall away. The sirens in the distance, the occasional sound of traffic, even the distant hum of the refrigerator—it all blurred into nothing as you just stood there, staring at him. His gaze was soft, more tender than you would’ve expected from someone who’d just crashed through your window with blood dripping from their body. It wasn’t that it was romantic, per se—at least, that wasn’t what you expected it to feel like. But there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made your heart skip a beat, something you couldn’t explain.

He didn’t move, didn’t look away, and for a long moment, neither did you. There was something raw in the quiet between you, as though both of you were momentarily suspended in this small, messy space. His smile was faint, but it was real—a fragile thing, born of pain and gratitude. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were, how the distance between you had narrowed while you weren’t paying attention.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand moved, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm—just a gentle brush of your fingertips against his skin. You told yourself it was nothing, just checking if he was steady, but even as you pulled away, there was a spark. A quiet acknowledgment that this was different. The way his eyes followed the movement of your hand, the way he hesitated before his next breath, made the space between you feel charged, like something unspoken was hovering in the air.

"You're welcome," you whispered back, voice quieter than before, tinged with something you couldn’t quite define. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, an understanding, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of you in that small, dimly lit room, suspended in time, with everything else forgotten.

And just like that, you both broke the moment—him leaning back into the couch with a soft grunt, and you turning your attention back to the bandages, your pulse still racing in your ears. But the quiet connection lingered, a soft hum under everything else.

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting . thank you if you do 🤍

[puprdou]

I LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE! ⎯⎯⎯⎯ he just loves your butt so much! so plushy, the perfect size to fit it right into his hands. it’s not his fault that you have such a cute ass, he just has to touch and play with it all the time! he’ll simply go crazy if you keep teasing him with those tight jeans and small skirts and not let him touch your butt, he just needs to fuck it! won’t you just be nice and let him? ♡

FEATURING: hanma shuji, ryusei satou, kazutora hanemiya, ran haitani, wakasa imaushi! all chars AGED UP!

𝜗𝜚. HANMA SHUJI!

he just loves your ass. it’s so unfair, those tiny little skirts you wear, the way you tease him as if you were so sly. the way when you’d jump into his arms since he’s so much taller than you and your skirt rides up, fuck, he gets bricked up so quickly whenever you do that. he has no shame when you’re in public, either, he’ll slap your ass whenever your going up or down stairs and he’s behind you, or just blatantly hold and squeeze your butt at the most random times.

but, by far, nothing was better than bending you over and fucking you dumb. the way your ass got so plumpy, just begging to be spanked and squeezed as he shoved his pretty and lean cock into you, it was so perfect that it had him salivating. he’s one of those guys that will grab a hot wheels car and run it over your butt as he fucks you so teasingly, just playing with you the entire time. you hated and loved him for it. not to mention, in the final timeline, he definitely loves taking pornos of you two to keep for himself, and is always taking pics of you for safekeeping.

𝜗𝜚. RYUSEI SATOU!

his playful energy is so infectious, and everybody in toman knows his specific infatuation with not just regular you—but also your pretty lil ass! he’d randomly hug you out of nowhere and place his hands on your butt, squeezing the soft flesh with a cheeky giggle. that was years ago now, but even then, nothing had changed. he still loved teasing you and touching your butt like a damn perv!

he especially adored whenever you asked him if a cute skirt or a pair of shorts looked good on you, cause he didn’t care if it made him go dirt broke, if he got to see your ass jiggling whenever you jump up or when you run over to hug him, he’s a happy man. and oh, god—the way he slowly strips that new skirt off of you, just slipping those pretty pink panties to the side as he admired your soaked cunt in the dressing room, unable to wait until the two of you got home.. it was amazing.

𝜗𝜚. KAZUTORA HANEMIYA!

he gets so shy about it, he feels like such a pervert whenever he’s taking sneaky looks at your butt whenever your skirt flies up in the wind. he’ll always try pulling your shorts or your skirts down, his face so flush it looked like a tomato. his hands trembled and shook just getting anywhere near your hips cause he knows that if he doesn’t control himself, it’ll end with his hands on your ass. whenever you sit on his lap, he straight up buffers and needs to reboot himself just to function properly.

he gets so submissive at times, letting you kiss all over the sensitive column of his neck and take control. his hands will be roaming all over your hips, shakily toying with the edge of your skirt and pulling it up shyly. don’t get him wrong, though, cause he gets so hard from your dominating personaly that it hurts. he’ll throw you into the backseat of his car where you were parked in a random parking lot, stripping off your clothing and practically drooling at the sight of your soaked panties. he’ll turn you onto your tummy and start placing kisses along your butt, before lifting you up on your tummy and laying on his back so that he can eat you out.

𝜗𝜚. RAN HAITANI!

he’s so smug about it. it’s infuriating, the way he’ll pat his lap with the same charismatic smile that he always has on his lips, pulling you by your waist to straddle him. he doesn’t care if he’s at a club, especially if it’s his and his brothers’, of if he’s at a casino, or if he’s just at home. he didn’t care if this was in public, you wanna know why? cause, sitting on his lap, every single time, only ends up with one thing happening and one thing only: riding him.

and he gets you so worked up that you simply have to ride him, whether or not your embarrassed doing this in public or not. he’ll whisper both praises and degrading words in your ear the entire time after you’d pulled your panties to the side and undid his trousers, slowly moving up and down as he caressed the curve of your butt. he’ll say things like ’you’re such a slut, doing this in front of all of these people, you just can’t get enough of me, can you?’ with such a sly grin on his face, or he’ll say ’come on, don’t be shy. you’re doing so good, you can go faster than that.’

𝜗𝜚. WAKASA IMAUSHI!

he was so casual the first time you met him, you never thought he would be like this after you started dating. he was nonchalant about it, but he would randomly sling himself over you and hold your butt, and he would play with it and squeeze your ass as if it was some adhd toy to fidget with. he said he likes your tits more, but his actions said otherwise. whenever you were laying on your tummy, he would plop down on the bed with you and just wrap his arms around your hips, his face buried into your plushy butt—and he always fell asleep so quickly like that.

but, don’t get him wrong, he might be casual and nonchalant, hell- even affectionate about it, but he’s not any nicer when in sex. he loves fucking you lazily, making you stay up in doggy as he caresses your butt, watching the way his dick slides in and out of you.. but nothing could beat whenever you sat on his face! you got so worried about it at first, and he had to drag you down onto him just for you to do it. he’ll randomly pat or slap your ass as he eats you out, tongue lapping up all your juices. he plays with your ass as a sign for you, to tell you that he’s okay since he’s aware of your worries.

© 2025 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐔, all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, steal or translate my works onto other social media platforms. | 🏷️; @sweetcrunchygrapes

[yanderemommabean]

Another event has left my brain swarming with yandere thoughts. This time it was a rock show where the opener and headliner didn’t seem to like each other, where the opener picked me out of the crowd for knowing all his songs and the headliner seemed to push his way to the front when my attention drifted away from the stage and now my delusional ass can’t decide what’s hotter.

Yandere opener, obscure but with a lot more energy, first flattered that I gave him so much love and attention, then arrogant when he saw that I wasn’t enjoying the main performance nearly as much as I did his own. Catching my eye from the merch table and gesturing for me to leave the show and follow him, taking me out to the tour bus and showing me just how appreciative he is that I was so sweet to him. Letting his bandmates hold down the fort inside so he can instead hold down my hips and eat me out until I cry, saying just five orgasms isn’t nearly enough to express his gratitude. Finally giving in and holding my wrists over my head as he rocks into my overstimulated cunt, cooing about how cute I had looked with my tits bouncing up and down to the beat, how badly he wishes he could carry me inside like this and give them all an encore.

Or, yandere headliner, having seen the passion and energy I held for the first act and feeling insulted that I didn’t seem as eager to jump around in my skimpy outfit and put on a show for him like I did for the opener. Catching me on my way out of the venue and dragging me backstage, shoving me against a wall and proving that he should be the one getting all that attention. His hand over my mouth as he fucks me into the rough bricks, scratching up my back as he drives his cock into me again and again as if trying to lay a claim to me, muttering that only he can fuck me this good, that maybe he’ll just take me with him and ruin me over and over until I know my place.

…I think I need a lie down.

I'm imagining that the yandere opener has a split tongue and puts it to good use while laughing at how cute you are. Like, you really think he's letting you go? You haven't even squirted yet! You /know/ he loves to be smothered in that.

But I'm also feral for the idea that both end up butting heads when you're captured. arguing and shouting at one another about how "I'm way better suited for her!" and "No, fuck you! It's me!" and instead of killing each other, they come up with a plan.

You're now on your back, legs spread and held up, as both share in tasting you. There's satisfied groans, lewd sucks and wet slurps, and the headliner is being cruel with how skilled his fingers are playing with you. when one is done torturously sucking your clit, the other one dives in, their tongues sharing in your dripping cunt, delving them deep inside your core while you writhe and pitifully kick out from overstimulation. But all you can really do is take it, your hands bound in their belts.

Of course they aren't done with you by your sixth orgasm. Are you joking? They're rock hard and leaking precum, they need a bit of relief too! However it turns into a fight of who gets to take you first before they just grin, and look at you like you're a tasty meal before starved predators.

You can handle both. They know you can.

-Mommabean

[mev-fizzah-writes]

𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭

A/N: This was cross-posted on AO3, and is just the backstory. Promise there will definitely be more writing soon, i've been really busy and my life is just filled with endless tasks. This was also written a while back so it..kinda sucks!! TW: Suicide, Child abuse, Child endangerment, SH, SA, Murder, Graphic violence.

Alone.

You were always alone.  

In the rowdy clubs, your mother dragged you into, alone.  

The school halls, alone.  

The run-down food courts, alone 

It was peaceful though, as peaceful as Gotham gets really. You and your mother against the world, or so you told yourself. Deep down, you were aware of her late-night partners and the way she indulged in moments that blurred your reality. It was just drugs—everyone did them... It never crossed your mind just how foolish she was being. Perhaps it was her drooping eyes that gave her an air of tranquillity, or how she cuddled you when the alcohol clouded her judgment. Maybe it was simply that she didn’t hit as hard when the redness overtook her gaze.  

She wasn’t a good mother; you understood that from the moment you could understand language.  

No mother should ever let their child know they’re a constant reminder of deep-seated failure, yet she did. But she was all you had, and so you clung to her hand—the same hand that marked your skin with black and blue bruises—hoping, just hoping, she might hold you back, if only once.  

You don’t ever remember her holding you.  

But it didn’t bother you, not really. Touch was never something you craved anyway. Still, it would have been nice, just once, to feel her warmth against you for one last time before she slipped away into a pit that she dug within her mind.

How could you have known? It was just like any other Friday afternoon.

The winter mist hit your tired eyes, making them sting just like your bruised lip. It was another fight, the same two idiots that always got on your nerves. Today they decided to pick on some small street kid, you had seen his curly head of hair before. He lived on the floor above or used to, it had been a while since you heard a complaint from his mother. It was normal for the kid to get in trouble, and of course, you had to throw yourself into his trouble.

Jason, was that his name? He was maybe a few years younger than you, you can never tell with the small ones, but recently he seemed healthier. It was almost as if he had been eating well, but he still had that look in his eyes.

Desperation, to prove himself.

You couldn’t help it, the kids on your street always pulled on your heartstrings. So you helped him out and got injured in the process. Just a small busted lip, nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. Plus you had other things to worry about, like peeling mom's ‘work’ clothes off and making sure she’s clean.

Mom, probably, didn’t cook and most likely didn’t eat so that’s another thing you have to take care of. Was there even anything in the fridge? 

You can’t remember, you’ve been living off your friend's school lunches since Mom deserved fresh homemade food. Lately, her boss had been giving her longer hours, some nights she would come back covered in hickey-like bruises that made scrubbing her wince in pain when she lay down. You didn’t like her boss, whenever she complained about him it sent a shiver crawling down your back, all you can remember about him is his calloused hands. You hated his hands, they were rough and seemed to have a mind of their own. You shook your head, pushing the thought of Kyle away, getting home mattered. With a turn of the corner, you were met with home. Once vibrant red bricks now a withered brown, poking from the badly painted grey that matched the concrete entrance. It was bleak, it had dead trees tethered around it, somehow still standing. The old stairwell creaked with every step you took, usually, you would rush upstairs but today your legs felt like they were going to crumble apart. The thought of turning away gnawed at your brain the closer you got to your door. The familiar croaking of the wood underneath your feet now felt threatening, you rubbed your index finger against your thumb, and your hands now felt clammy. In your pockets lay your keys, yet you felt like there was no need to pull them out. In front of you stood the tall red door to home, was it always towering over you? It was almost suffocating. The worst part of it all is that it’s quiet, why is it quiet? The usual lively hum of the building seemed to be non-existent. It wasn’t always a happy hum but there was always a hum-where is the hum? The silence was deafening, it was like the world had been put on pause. You pressed your ear against the door, hoping to try and hear the clinking of bottles or the sound of an obnoxious static-like laughter instead you almost tripped over yourself. 

The door was unlocked.

It feels like all the air in your lungs has suddenly been pried out, the sound of the creaking door sends a jolt of fear up your body. The familiarity of the apartment was now shattered, replaced with chilling wariness. The chaos was gone, every surface seemed to be wiped spotless and the clutter was just…gone! The once broken glass was replaced with a sterile orderliness that made your heart drop. You had only seen the apartment be clean a few times and it was usually met with the sight of a dear mother and a few syringes around her. In the corner of your eyes, you saw the bathroom light flicker, everything in your mind was telling you to run, just go get the neighbours, it was the safe thing to do. But your heart, your heart needed to see her, your heart needed to see her just cleaning the bathroom. That’s all she had to be doing, it was Christmas soon, so surely she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

“Mom? Mom…” Your pathetic voice called out, your legs moving faster than your mind. As you reached the door you felt your jaw drop. The white lights bounced of the wall tiles and landed on your Mothers face. She lay in the bathtub, her breathing laboured and her eyes low. The flickering light distorted her shadows, along with the shades of the empty bottles and forgotten syringes. Your eyes widened with fear as the stench of it all hit your nose like a drunken Saturday punch, you felt your hands shake and your knees buckle. “Mommy?” You called out, a sob bordering your lips as you dropped your jacket and climbed into the bath next to her. No matter how much you shook her cold body, there was no response.

“No. No! You can’t do this to me again…please,” the tears pooled in your eyes, but you wouldn’t dare to cry. Not until she responded.

“I love you my little Luna…tic.” 

It was weak, and her voice was hoarse. It was already so far gone, there was no emotion behind her eyes but she managed to bring her hand to your face. She rubbed her thumb against your cheek, rubbing a stray tear that escaped your eyes, there was no car in the gesture. You felt her blood smudge on your face as her wrist went heavy and her arm fell to her side.

It was only until you felt the heaviness of a blanket being placed over your shoulders that you finally snapped out of whatever you were doing. The day was a blur, you didn't even know why the cops had been called. The silence around you was loud, it was overwhelming. No one in the station spoke, they acted like a sigh would break you. Your nails dug into your palm, what a load of shit, no one even seemed to care. Expect one man, he had a thick bushy moustache and he was the only one looking at you-no he was staring at you. It felt like a spider was crawling down your back with the way you shivered. His eyes were tired, probably like yours at the moment, but he couldn’t stop staring.  

His face remained neutral as he spoke but inside a bubble of confusion sat inside him. Commissioner Gordon had seen those eyes before, he had seen those shaken hands and he had seen the anger. There were loads of kids like her who had the same pitiful look in their eyes, but he had seen her eyes before. He had seen them on a boy years and years ago. He felt his mind blank for a second, he couldn’t help but stare. Not only did this add to his increasing headache, but it also made the girl's case worse. The funny thing is, the mother's body had clear signs of struggle, there were clear fresh, red hand marks on the woman's neck. But the worst part? The kid knew.

You knew. It was obvious that someone else was with her, sure Mom was a ditz, but she knew not to leave the door unlocked. There was no point in sitting here crying over her, there was no point in crying. You shut your eyes, feeling the panic slowly set into your mind.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Hey could you write a fem!reader x Spencer reid where reader was kidnapped by an unsub?

liaison!reader

all your belongs were left in your bedroom, phone included. there did appear to be a struggle, a chair was knocked over and your purse was slipped onto the floor with the contents scattered about. there was a dent, almost a punched hole in the wall near the door. specks of blood left behind.

“i- i was supposed to meet her. we- we always leave the office together, but she was staying behind and- and insisted i go home. it’s my fault.” spencer was shaking as he recalled seeing you just last night in your office. the two of you were talking for a while and you told spencer to head home, said you needed to finish some paperwork you forgot earlier.

if he just walked you home- “it’s not your fault.” hotch’s stern voice stopped spencer’s racing thoughts. “reid, i need you to focus. has she mentioned anything within the past week about strange occurrences happening? feelings that she was being watched?” jumping into ssa mode, looking for breadcrumbs on your trail.

spencer closed his eyes and shook his head, fingers twitching at his sides. “no- nothing. but maybe they- they were following our route after work. saw the opportunity when she was alone.” again the thoughts were screaming at him.

hotch just nodded and pulled out his phone, “garcia, i need you to pull up the security footage from last night. i need all angles of y/n, she’s currently missing.”

three days. it’s been seventy two hours since you were taken. spencer tried not thinking of the statistics that came with the chances of surviving a disappearance, but everyone knew they dwindled each second the clock hit another hour.

but there hasn’t been a body reported yet, so your chances were still high. the team is assuming that the unsub is planning to keep you hostage for up until a week at most, so they have four days left.

he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep. he didn’t bother leaving the office, just camped out at his desk or in the conference room to lay on the couch as he thought. he wanted to tell you he loves you, that each second you spend together is a new memory he can always look back at clearly and yearn for more.

he can’t say he’ll protect cause that would be a lie now, but he’ll always try his hardest to stop this from happening again. spencer would wrap you tight into his embrace to keep the outside world from ever laying a harmful finger upon you.

“reid,” a call of his last name. he spun in his desk chair to see hotch running from his office. “we found him, now we just gotta get her.” spencer never moved that fast in his life than when him and hotch bolted for the stairs.

“y/n! y/n, it’s reid! y/n!” spencer ran through the houses layout with hotch and swat behind him. he didn’t care about himself in this moment, just finding you alive and breathing was his goal.

“found a basement,” he heard over his inear. he scurried down the stairs just as they bashed the heavy door down. he was about to call your name again when his was called first.

“spence,” a whisper in the dark space. flashlights flickered around the room before landing on you, chained to a brick wall as you sat on a dirty mattress. you were disheveled and bruised, you started to sob when spencer pulled you into his gentle hold.

“i got you. i got you, love.” spoken into your ear as his palm caressed the back of your head. your were a shaking leaf and he held you closer and let his lips press into your temple. “i got you.”

[hayakawalove]

Let Me Eat It

Summary: Suguru eats you out.

A/N: Hey! I haven't posted anything in awhile. I feel like I'm in a rut. This isn't the most descriptive, but I wanted to write it. Thoughts? I would love to know what your thoughts are!

CW: Smut, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, He doesn't touch himself, Gender Neutral Reader, AFAB Reader

W/C: 1,005

Credit to cafekitsune for the banner

Suguru is patient. He knows this, his friends know this, everyone knows this. He has no problem waiting for the result he wants. He thinks it pays off better that way. In most areas of his life, his patience is a good thing. It helped in school, it helps in work, and in his personal life. You would disagree though. 

You love how patient he is, 99% of the time. However, you can’t stand it in bed. He knows you feel this way. Suguru always draws sex out, just because he likes seeing the pleasure on your face. He likes the way your brows pitch up and your moans increase. This is true even more so when he’s eating you out. 

Suguru loves to watch you fall apart on his tongue. 

Which is what you were currently doing. 

You’re laying on your back, arms reaching down to grasp at Suguru. He’s got your legs pushed down on either side, exposing your wet pussy to him. He’s never seen a sight so beautiful before. You’re whining above him, but he’s not paying much attention to you. 

Suguru’s tongue sticks out as he drags it against you, rubbing it on your clit. His pace is one that leaves you breathless. You pull him against you in response, needing him closer. You could cum any second now. Suguru wraps his lips around your clit, sucking it. His mind swims with your moans, with the feeling of you beneath him. 

“S-Suguru!” You moan, hips shaking as you get closer. 

Suguru hums against you, his eyes falling closed as he detaches his mouth from your pussy. It’s dripping wet, and swollen with need. He’s having a hard time deciding what to do next. Everything sounds good. 

He drags his tongue down and sticks it into your pussy, smiling at the way you clench around him. The salty taste of you is covering his face, nothing has ever tasted so good. Suguru’s cock is so hard, it feels like brick. If he was a lesser man, he may reach down with a hand to grasp at himself to relieve some of the build up. But he isn’t. Instead, he’ll focus on you until you cum, he’ll keep going until he’s sure you’ve had enough. Suguru won’t even think about how wet his cock is, how hard it is. 

You’re groaning, the pleasure of his mouth almost too much. You look down at him and watch as he eats you out. His eyes are low but his movements are measured. You never watch him as he eats you out, you remember why once you look at him. It makes you that much closer. 

Suguru swipes his tongue against your clit, before sucking it once more. You’re smooth against him, making him want to eat you out even more. Suguru’s a patient man, and he’s enjoying that very much right now. 

“You’re gonna make me, Suguru,” you moan, feeling it build up in your pussy. 

If he had the chance, Suguru would do this for hours. He would, if you’d allow out. Something told him you wouldn’t though, so he’ll settle for this instead. His lips press against your pussy, while his tongue brings you closer. 

He really wants to taste your cum. 

He wants it all over his face and in his mouth, it’s something that never gets old. 

Suguru doesn’t let up, focusing on your sensitive clit. He finds it sweet how badly you need him. He can take care of you. He knows exactly how to. Even if you don’t. 

He pulls back for a moment to look back down at your pussy. It looks best right before you cum, swollen and dripping. It always looks good, but if Suguru had his way it would always look like this. 

Even though he was only taking a momentary pause, the sight makes him want to keep going. He has a hard time keeping his mouth off you. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” 

“Yes, yes!” 

You need it. Suguru thinks he’ll give it to you, finally. He wraps his tongue around your clit again and sucks, paying attention to how you get louder. You hold onto his shoulders, not giving him the option to pull away. Suguru makes you cum easily and effortlessly. He smiles as you do so on his mouth, and he keeps going until he knows you’ve had your fill. 

As he pulls away he looks down, watching your cum drip from your hole. He knows you get self conscious if he stares too much, but he can’t help it. 

His eyes flick back up to you, your figure relaxing against the bedding. Suguru likes this part almost just as much as making you cum. 

You reach a hand out, eyes droopy as you silently request him to be close. His chest tightens at the sight. So cute. He crawls up to you, laying down beside you where you nuzzle against him. His arm wraps around you, forcing you against him more. 

“You’re mean, Suguru.” He hears you speak against him. 

“I am? Why’s that?” He asks. 

He doesn’t even mention how he wasn’t mean seconds ago when you were cumming on his mouth. 

“You always make me feel so good,”

“And that’s a bad thing?” 

“It makes me want to cum immediately! But you always want it to last.” 

Suguru thinks about how to respond. You were right. He didn’t even think about how that might make you feel. You still got to cum though, so he didn’t see a problem. 

Suguru hums, his arm keeping you against him. You were laying on him more than anything. He was fine with it. He would be your bed for you. 

“You look so good, I just wanted to watch you for a little longer.” He reasons. 

You murmur something against him which he can’t understand. Suguru doesn’t reply, instead opting to be quiet as your eyes close. 

He’s a patient man, even if you aren’t grateful for it. 

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @kimi01985, @sad-darksoul, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @mikisspeak, @dinolvrrr, @sakui1, @reiluvr, @gothiccwhore666, @bunviixo, @slutshamethesquirrels

If you want to be added to my taglist let me know, just specify what you want to be added to

[sailorholly]

Between Us Pt. 3

Summary: You and Spencer had a casual relationship. A misunderstanding ruins it all.

Pairing: Spencer Reid × F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Friends with benefits. Pregnancy.

See my Masterlist Here

Part Two

The stomach bug you had caught was so strange. You would be perfectly fine, eating whatever you wanted for hours. Then a certain smell would hit you like a ton of bricks, sending you running to the nearest bathroom or trash can.

It had been two weeks and you were still puking your guts up randomly. You made an appointment with your doctor at the end of the week to make sure nothing was seriously wrong with you.

You and the team had to fly out to Colorado for a case. You were so exhausted, you could barely keep your eyes open on the trip there. Penelope texted you for the fiftieth time today checking on you. You insisted you were fine, you just couldn’t get rid of whatever illness you had.

Spencer and Ashley sat across from you, her hands playing with his unruly curls like you used to. When he looked at you, concern written all over his face after you puked in the bathroom, she grabbed his face, pressing a kiss to his lips. That act alone made your stomach turn. Thankfully, Hotch cleared his throat, shooting them a warning glance.

When you finally landed, you were alone with Spencer. Hotch paired you up often because you worked well together. “Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you. You vomited six times yesterday. You’re having trouble holding down anything but crackers and ginger ale. You took a nap on the way here. You’ve never done that.”

“I’m fine, Spencer. Don’t worry about me. You should be worrying about your little girlfriend getting you in trouble for PDA.” He scrunches up his nose. “Are you jealous?” You laugh at that. “No, I’m not. I feel like death, and I don’t want to argue with you. I just don’t want to see you sucking face right in front of me when I’m nauseous anyways. I want to solve this case so I can go home and lay down.” He tried not to bother you with frivolous questions the rest of the day.

The next morning, you felt great. Your skin was glowing, you took time to style your hair and do your makeup. When you walked in the local police station to start work, everyone complimented you. Everyone except for Ashley, who rolled her eyes and seemed annoyed that you didn’t have your hair in a rat’s nest pooled on top of your head with dark circles under your eyes.

You ate all three meals with the team without needing to vomit. You couldn’t believe it was finally over. You decided to call your doctor first thing in the morning to cancel your appointment.

Your joy was short lived, when the next morning you felt awful again. Luckily, you hadn’t called your doctor yet. The day went by quickly. Rossi came up with the information you needed to find the unsub. You slept the whole way home.

You check into the doctor’s office filling out form after form. When the nurse calls you back, she gives you a cup and sends you into the bathroom. You wait in the small room for the doctor. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest while you wait for her to come in.

When she finally arrives, she checks your vitals, writing them down on your chart. “How long do I have?” You ask, only kind of joking. She smiles, placing her stethoscope around her neck. “You’re not dying. You’re pregnant! Congratulations! According to the information you gave us, it looks like you’re about six weeks. We will schedule an ultra sound for another time to give you a more accurate prediction.”

You start to tune her out as she continues speaking. Pregnant? How could this happen? You and Spencer were always so careful except… Your mind flashes with memories of that night. How his feverish hands were all over you. How he couldn’t wait to have you so he took you against the wall. How beautiful he thought you looked with his cum dripping out of you. Now those actions had consequences. How were you going to tell him?

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @spenciesprincess @kimm4710 @tmilover1993 @nomajdetective @cynbx @comboboo @134340ona @wannabewolf @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck @lover-of-books-and-tea @maybe-not-this @drewsandsebastianswife @lamentis-10 @lizzyk137 @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @rosylnsworld @amortencjja @ah-blossom

[norrisleclercf1]

Day 1 of 25 Days of Christmas: Decorating the House

Pairing: Mick Schumacher x Reader

Rating: PG

Words: 800

Warnings: None, just fluff

Mick didn't know how many boxes he could lug up the stairs. This was his sixth trip already, and there were still about 10 more boxes full of Christmas gifts. "Angel, are you sure we need all this?" Mick asked, his breath coming in short gasps. He was sweating, and it was the end of November in Switzerland. The sight of Mick struggling with the boxes was comical, and you couldn't help but chuckle. "Mick, it's Christmas, of course. We need all the boxes; what kind of question was that?" You ask, wrapped in garland.

"Angel," He sighs and returns to the basement to grab the rest of the boxes. You hum as the first snowfall starts to fall. You climb up the ladder to lay the garland on the fireplace mantel. It was a rather tall fireplace, one of those old-school brick ones, something you can rarely find, but this house in Switzerland was gorgeous, and the fireplace was the main selling point. Mick comes back up with a couple more boxes, and you can't help but giggle.

"I thought you WEC slash, F1 drivers were in perfect shape to drive?" You joke, and Mikc rolls his eyes and pulls you back, making you shriek as he catches you, kissing all over your face. "Please, you learned how in shape I was last night," He teases and slaps your ass gently before going back, making you blush.

"Touche," You yell and hear him giggle down the steps. Rolling your eyes, you climb the ladder and hum as Christmas music fills the house. Mick finishes bringing up more boxes, and you sigh, putting gold, red, and green ornaments throughout the garland. "Looks pretty, Y/n. Are we going traditional this year?" He asks, and you nod as you got a red and pink vibe last year.

"Yeah, figured we could give the old 90s Christmas vibe. What do you think?" You ask, and Mick smiles. "I think it'd be fun, come here," He says, holding his hand up and helping you down the ladder safely. "Want to do separate Christmas trees or one big one?" You ask, staring at your tree boxes. How about we do the outside porch ones and then the main one in the living room" He asks, and you think it over.

"Perfect," you smile, lean up, and kiss him gently, which has him pulling you close by the waist. Mick smiles into the kiss before pulling away. "Alright, we better start before we're doing this all day," Mick says as you nod and move in different directions. The Christmas music turns up as you two start decorating. You both move through the house, boxes and Christmas decorations thrown around.

"It looks like Santa threw up in here," Mick mumbles as he moves around stuff and fixes you two lunch. You sit on the counter watching your pretty husband. "I know, but think about how pretty our house is going to look, Micky," Mick chuckles and turns to steal a kiss as you smile; Mick turns back to making you two chicken salad ceaser wraps, and you swear you could marry him all over again. "I was thinking we hang lights in the house, just not in the Christmas tree," Mick says, licking his fingers before washing them and handing off your wrap.

You bite into it and moan slightly, "Micky, if I could marry you again, I would," you mumble, making him smile. Leaning forward, he steals a kiss, smiling. I'd marry you again as well," he hums and kisses you again as you two eat, watching the fresh snowfall. "What do you want for Christmas?" You ask gently, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I don't really know, kinda have everything already," He hums as Angie comes running in, lying at his feet.

"Come on, you must want something," you whine. What could you get someone who could get anything he wanted? "Actually, there is something I want," He mumbles, unsure how to bring up this conversation, but now was the perfect time. "Yeah, what's that?" You ask gently, taking the last bite of your wrap. "How about we start having kids?" He asks softly, and you smile gently. "Yeah, I'd like that," You smile softly as you turn and stare at all the boxes behind you.

"But before we try for kids, maybe we should finish decorating," you hum, causing Mick to groan softly and want to bang his head on the counter. "We have too many Christmas decorations," He whines, and you can't help but laugh a little. "Please, there is never enough," Mick shoots up, "Y/n, please, don't go shopping and buy more, please, baby," He begs, and you laugh, moving quickly through the house. You were never going to promise that.

[hxney-lemcn]

Hope Reignited — botw! Link x gn! reader

summary: you had awoken in a strange place, overtime remembering who you were and what your purpose was.

tw: uhhh, I'm not sure.

a/n: I tried starting to make a pt. 2 but it doesn't feel right at the moment, but the poll had a majority yes to post so here you go.

wc: 3.5k

Master List

Part One | Part Two

Gasping for breath you sat up violently, droplets of water rolling off your body. You looked around at your surroundings in panic, unsure of where you were or why. Your head felt foggy as you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. The walls were made out of sandy bricks, the cavern nearly completely dark save for the bed you were laying in that glowed an aqua blue. Sitting up, you noticed that you were only in your undergarments. Looking around once again you noticed a few chests strewn about, so you tried to stand up, legs wobbly from misuse, but you felt as healthy as ever. Once you finally found your footing, you crawled out of the…was it even a bed? It looked more like a bath or tub. Anyways, you made your way towards the chests, opening the one closest to you, which seemed to hold brightly colored clothes with gold ornaments and accessories. 

Putting on the lightweight breathable clothing and accessories, you opened the second chest which held an old leather bound book and a satchel. Curious, you picked up the book, you couldn’t help but think that the old worn pages seemed oddly familiar as your fingers ghosted over the words written, but before you could read anything the sound of rocks rumbling reverberated throughout the entire cave made you snap it shut. Reflexively, you found yourself tense, eyes scanning as much of the dark cavern as possible. As stealthily as you could, you tiptoed towards the noise, seeing no other exit. A sweltering breeze hit you before you could see the sunlight that poured through, an opening to the cavern seemed to have unsealed itself.

The scenery was a bit disheartening. I mean looking around at the vast emptiness of a hot fiery desert...not the best place to be stranded in, but it explained why the clothes were light colored and made of such breathable material. Observing your surroundings once again, you tried to come up with a plan to ensure your survival. In the distance you noticed a city that seemed to bend with the heat. Glancing up, the sun that shined brightly in the sky seemed like it was going to set soon, and your best bet at surviving would be to leave right away. The heat was stifling as you trekked across the sandy expanse. Each step you made felt like you had barely made any progress, but you kept walking. Pulling the scarf tighter over your head, you couldn’t help your mind from spiraling. 

Who were you and what were you doing here? Of course it had been eating at you since you first awoke, but survival was your top priority, now? You had time to ponder the whole situation. Everything was strangely familiar, like you had walked these paths before but you can’t remember the details as to why. Not to mention this weird feeling like you should be rushing, that someone was in danger, that you needed to find them as soon as possible. But who? Why couldn’t you remember anything? You felt like you were going insane, like the word was on the tip of your tongue but for the life of you you couldn’t get it out. 

“Sav’orr,” A woman greeted you, a guard by the looks of it. You hadn’t even realized you made it to the city already.  “I haven’t seen you before. Welcome to Gerudo.”

“Thank you,” You replied with an uncertain smile. Entering the city you felt in awe as water cascaded down aqueducts, women littering the center, many vendors calling out about their goods. It felt overwhelming, and you quickly found a vacant alley, sitting on a barrel. Pulling out your only item from your satchel, you gazed at the cover for a few seconds before finally opening to the first page and started to read.

Dear Diary,

Today I was hired as the Princesses personal servant.

Your brows furrowed, these words creating a sense of deja vu in your scrambled mind.

I was given a uniform, it wasn’t the most flattering. With the same colors that represented the royal family, yet exceedingly boring. I suppose that makes sense since I’m merely a servant but it doesn’t mean I’m happy. Once I changed, a guard escorted me into a tea room, a maid was standing next to the one and only princess. 

I was terrified as she quietly drank her tea. I bowed in greeting, unsure if I should speak or not, and when I glanced up she held an expecting look. I felt like a fool, feeling as if I had already failed her in some way. I greeted myself, not sure what else I could possibly say. The princess sounded as sweet as ever, just like during her speeches, a warm smile on her face as she welcomed me.

I blinked as the entry ended. This…was this your diary? No wonder it screamed familiar, these were your memories, your writing, your life. It still felt all scrambled in your head, but just as things were being answered ten more questions popped up. You were a royal servant, Princess Zelda’s right hand…so what were you doing in the desert? Why were you in some sort of shrine? What…happened? Did you even want to know?

Dear Diary,

Today I met the hero knight, and not in the way you’d think. I am required to know basic fighting. Even though I am merely a servant I suppose protecting the Princess is the most important part of my job since I’d be traveling with her outside of the castle. Learning to protect myself would be important as well I suppose.

It was a bit nerve wracking at first, I felt out of place and unsure where to go. I was merely told I would have a trainer waiting for me in the training hall, nothing more nothing less. Seriously, how do they expect me to do my job without giving me details? I felt my inner thoughts spirling as I stood there, sticking out like a sore thumb. I felt so foolish, something I am getting used to. Anyways, I was lucky to have someone approach me first, guiding me to my personal trainer.

A blonde haired knight was sparring with a brunette. The kind man pointed out that he was whom I would be training with. I remember that blonde hair, stoic as always as he stood by Zelda’s side during her public appearances. It would make sense that her personal knight trained her personal servant, but I felt myself worry. I don’t think I can live up to the standards they’re putting on me.

I learned quickly that he didn’t speak much, relying on gestures more than anything. Hylia help me.

You felt your heart drop, one name reverberating through your head as you read that segment. Link. How could you forget? Everything in you screamed that he wasn’t important, someone you cared about, but you just couldn’t remember why. You couldn’t remember these moments on your own, the only thing bringing them to life was your words on the paper. You had to read more, put the pieces together on why you’re here and what happened to land you with such a blank in your memory.

Dear Diary,

The princess had a meeting with the champions today. Brave people who represented their people’s alliance with Hyrule. The meeting was hopeful as the Princess described the Divine Beasts and how each champion would control their own. I shouldn’t write any more down as it is classified information.

I felt severely out of place, but I knew my role. I was the Princess’s personal servant, her right hand, someone who was to stand by her side 24/7, just like the champion. We had a mutual understanding, we shared similar roles, mine more domestic and his more violent, yet we held our heads high with pride. I have become more accustomed to my role over the past few months, and the Princess and Champion have been nothing but kind.

I believe in these people, their determination and hope shall pave a way to peace for all of Hyrule and Ganon will be defeated. I’m sure of it.

You felt your eyes water as you read. Your heart felt inexplicably heavy reading the last line, but you were unsure why. You had a feeling your past words were inexplicably naive, as what else would explain your current predicament?

Dear Diary,

I must keep this brief. My future self, when you read this do not lose hope. Link has been gravely injured, the Princess has escorted him to the Shrine of Resurrection, she will be stuck keeping Ganon at bay until he awakes again. She has tasked us with accompanying him when he does. Head to Kakariko village, speak to Impa, she will guide you next. 

And please, take ca-

The last part cut off, clearly you had ran out of time, the paper smudged with water stains. It seemed that things had gone wrong, terribly wrong. Once again your heart was pounding with adrenaline, your mission clear. Standing up with a newfound purpose, you had only stepped one foot in the central square before you were stopped by two guards, posture pristine as they regarded you.

Speaking up, one of them mentioned your name, asking if it was you. You nodded in apprehension, unsure of what this meant. 

“Please, follow us,” The other bowed her head before they turned their back to you and walked towards the palace-like building. A short, child-like lady sat on a throne that sat in the center of the main room, she was adorned with more gold and jewels than anyone else, and when her emerald eyes landed on you she perked up.

“Hello, my name is Lady Riju” She greeted you, eyes squinting suspiciously. “I’ve brought you here because my mother has tasked me to help the person who was locked in the shrine. That is you, correct?”

“Yes,” You nodded, bowing your head. “I have awoken mere hours ago, my lady.” It seems your servant instincts have stuck with you. 

“Buliara, gather the proper resources for this traveler’s journey,” Lady Riju commanded her right hand guard. “Make sure it’s enough for their travels to…”

“Kakariko village, my liege,” you supplied. 

“Yes, my lady,” Buliara kneeled before rushing off to order the other guards to help. 

“Thank you for your help,” you bowed your head once more. 

“My mother’s mother, my mother, and therefore I was tasked to aid the hero's companion,” Lady Riju explained. “Do not fail your task.”

“I won’t.”

…

The trek through the desert was long and arduous. Lady Riju was kind enough to have two guards escort you to the end of Gerudo Valley. You thanked them both profusely as they wished you well on the rest of your journey. That had already taken a night and one and a half days to complete. It would take you well over a week to complete the rest. You didn’t take much time to rest, only when the weather was bad or if your eyes were begging for just one night. You needed to get to Kakariko Village as soon as possible, what if Link had already awoken? What if you were late? What if Link was already completing his journey and it was a waste to put you to sleep in that shrine? 

Though you can’t remember things clearly, you could still feel that tinge of nerves in your gut that the Princess put too much trust in you, that she deemed your role more important than it really was. So you pressed on through heavy wind and rain, crossed treacherous bridges, killed the enemies that stood in your way (thanks to the sword and shield gifted to you by the Gerudo), and nearly wept when you finally stepped foot in the village, bright red banners welcoming your entrance. Farmers glanced at you curiously as you walked through, your brightly colored garb and golden bangles catching their attention. You would have to find clothes better suited for the fields of Hyrule as you found yourself chilled more often than nought. 

All you knew at the moment was that you needed to find Impa, and something told you the huge house at the center of the village was where she resided. With newfound passion, you climbed the grand amount of stairs that lead up to the house. Should you have gotten some rest beforehand? Probably, as you found yourself stumbling and tripping every so often. But you were close, so close. Close to finding Link, close to starting your journey by his side, close to truly beating Ganondorf. You were nearly there as you climbed the last step, your shoulders untensing. Nearly there as you opened the door. Nearly…there…as you swayed, eyes landing on an incredibly old woman who stared at you knowingly. Nearly…there

CRASH

…

Sunlight that snuck past the curtain caused your face to scrunch, your head pounding and bones achy. It seems the past week or so had finally caught up to you. You heard a soft voice that sounded nervous, and as you opened your eyes, a pale haired woman was revealed to you. Letting out a gasp, she jumped away from your form, shuffling backwards while she clasped her hands.

“My apologies,” She murmured, head bowed. “You had fallen from exhaustion and my grandmother tasked me with taking care of you.”

“Th-thank you,” Your voice was raspy as you spoke, both from disuse and not drinking enough water. 

“Ah! I’ll go fetch you some water,” She had run out the door before you could deny her help or learn her name. Sitting up, you tried to stifle a pained groan as your limbs felt sore every way possible. 

The kind lady was back quickly, water sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup she held. You thanked her before taking a sip, quickly chugging it all down. 

“Thank you,” You thanked once more as she took the empty cup. “And I apologize for my disrespectful display, I shall repay you for your kindness.”

“O-oh…you really don’t need to,” She waved her hands erratically, a small blush dusting her cheeks. “You are the one who is to accompany the hero, correct? Grandma Impa has talked about you and the hero much over the years. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well…” You trailed off, still not knowing her name.

“I’m sorry!” She exclaimed, hands raised to cover her face. “I’m not used to talking. Please, call me Paya.”

“Thank you, Lady Paya,” You bowed your head. 

“Y-yes, of course,” She mumbled in response, fidgeting with her hands. “Grandma wishes to meet with you when you’re ready.”

“I’ll go now-” Flipping the blanket off of you, your legs nearly gave out on you when you put your full weight on them.

“Be careful,” Paya gasped, hands held out to catch you. “You really should get some more rest.”

“I don’t mean to worry you, miss,” You smiled awkwardly. “But this is of utmost importance.”

“Right,” She frowned slightly. “Then I’ll escort you to the main room.” The stairs seemed to taunt you as your legs just begged for you to let gravity take its course, but Paya stood dutifully by your side, eyeing you carefully, arm out and ready to grab you before you took a potential tumble. Once you entered the main room, the same lady from before watched you both with a twinkle in her eye. She called your name out like you were an old friend, a chuckle tumbling past her lips.

“Still as selfless as always I see,” She shook her head with a sigh, the chains on her hat swaying. “Take a seat.”

You sat across from her without question, Paya scurrying away the second you seemed stable. “Are you Lady Impa?” You asked, eyes trailing over the elderly woman whose smile turned solemn at your question.

“What do you remember,” The lady asked, hands folded in her lap. 

Squinting your eyes, you looked down at the floorboards, “Not…not much. I’ve read my old diary, I don’t fully remember living those moments…but deep down I know it was me.”

“I see,” Impa hummed. “Do you remember your purpose?”

“To aid Link on his journey,” You spoke without missing a beat.

Impa let out a short laugh, “You seem to care greatly for him still. I suppose some things will never change. Unfortunately, he has not shown his face yet.” A mix of relief and concern filled you. You were glad you weren’t too late, but concerned as to why he hasn’t come yet. Had you woken up at the same time? Was he still sleeping? Perhaps you should go search for him-

“In the meantime I will let the owner of the inn know of your predicament, and you will be given a room there,” She explained before grabbing an item you didn’t even notice resting next to her. “But it is clear you know your reason for fighting, so I shall give this to you. Now it is time for you to rest so you are prepared for Link’s arrival.”

“Thank you, Lady Impa,” You bowed, accepting the clothes she handed you with grace. “I shall do my best to uphold the honor of standing by Sir Link and Princess Zelda’s side.”

“I’m sure you will.”

…

Getting rest was easier said than done for you. Perhaps your brain couldn’t remember your past, but your body seemed to remember all too much. You felt so jittery and antsy that sitting down felt like a chore. It didn’t help that bits and pieces of memories were flitting through your head each night. Whispers of those who have already departed from this realm, hopeful memories dashed by reality, it made you feel sick. 

And so you found yourself preparing what one would need to go and fight the demon king Ganon. You had asked the villagers if you could work for some rupees, whether it be by fighting nearby monsters to hauling vegetables. It wasn’t much, but it gave you enough to stock up on arrows, food, and even some clothing pieces that looked useful.

It was two weeks later when the hero had finally stepped foot into the village. You had been feeding some chickens when the whispers of the other villagers reached your ears. A strange hylian had appeared with branches for a sword and donned a toga. Apparently he had headed for Impa’s hut, and you were soon to follow. You rushed to finish your chores, thanking the old man kindly for the rupees before dashing up the grand amount of steps that lead to Impa’s hut. 

Before you could open the door Paya stood in your way, eyes wide at your desperation. 

“Uh-uhm,” She stuttered, pale cheeks turning a light pink. “Grandma is busy at the moment…she said she needs some time alone with the hero.”

You bit your lip, anticipation killing you. Your memory was still fuzzy, peoples faces still blurry, but the two you remembered the most were Princess Zelda and Link. Link who had trained you, Link who was quiet but cared overwhelmingly so, Link who you fought side by side at the end, who sacrificed himself to protect the Princess, who sacrificed himself for you…

But Paya’s anxious demeanor made you keep your wits about you. Letting out a sigh, you took a seat on the first step. You had made it this far, waited for so long, you could wait a few more minutes…at least that was what you had to repeatedly remind yourself as your leg bounced. Your fingers fumbled with the fabric of your past uniform, every second felt like an hour, if you thought waiting days was tough, now that he was here, waiting felt even worse. 

Your head snapped back when the door creaked open, revealing the familiar head of blonde hair you regret forgetting. Those cerulean eyes landed on you, but your heart broke when he didn’t seem to remember. No smile like he usually wore around you, no questioning tilt of his head when he worried you were hurt, just a blank look that seemed to question your existence. 

“Li…Sir,” You greeted, falling to your knee in front of him. With your head bowed, you missed the way his eyes widened in surprise. Stating your name, you continued your greeting, “Tasked by Princess Zelda, I shall accompany you on your journey to defeat Ganon. My sword is yours. If you need anything, do not be afraid to ask.”

You only lifted your head when you felt him touch your shoulder, Link kneeled across from you, shaking his head. Fear coursed within you, was he rejecting your help? Noticing your fear he opened his mouth before his eyebrows furrowed. Noticing his predicament, you raised your hands and started to sign, ‘Is there a problem with this arrangement?’

His eyes widened, gazing at you in slight awe before signing back, ‘I don’t remember anything.’

‘That’s okay,’ You signed back, a gentle smile resting on your lips. ‘I can help you try and remember.’

‘Thank you,’ Link signed, eyes softening slightly.

‘Of course,’ you signed back. ‘I promise that I will do my duty and help you with any problem that may arise.’

It was then that your long adventure with the hero of Hyrule had begun.