#good bunts are hard to come by

[tapatiatejana]

Tx HS Bsb Playoffs 🤩⚾️

[esggs]

[Martial arts coach! Sukuna x down bad!reader, huge age gap, couple of god-complex maniacs pining for each other, Sukuna being a tough coach]

“You won’t make it.” Sukuna spits carelessly, unwrapping his sweaty gloves post training. There are promising students he’s scouted in his gym, his favoured ones who’ll be the cash cows winning tournaments, buzzcut boys with tight abs who laugh mid-fight. Growing in his shoes. You’re not one of them. “You’re not good enough.” It’s a statement. 

No, you grit your teeth, it's a challenge. 

Sukuna the Ryomen: beastly calamity in the ring. Raw talent picked off the street, 80 international tournament wins over 25 years, bachelor villa bought with notoriety money. The Undisputed King of the Curses. 

Two-faced, he’d play by the rules as much as he wanted to– ran his tongue over the cheek of an opponent while choking him in a headlock, jammed his knees into countless shattered ribs, snapped spines into halves. He once bit a chunk out an opponent’s neck, goopy blood running down his chin and pecs as he laughed at the horrified screams of the audience, medics running, judges whistling, TV ratings shooting up like firecrackers.

He keeps that piece of chewed flesh, big as your fist, preserved in formaldehyde, on display in his office behind the locker room. It’s oddly captivating– you want to pull his lips up, matching his teeth to the canine marks on the chunk. 

Nutcase. Martial arts fiend. Often disqualified, but never for long: handsome money-maker was he. No one would turn up at a competition if not to watch the fiery Sukuna. His posters filled your childhood bedroom walls, unsupervised access to his gruesome fights on the internet, early 2000’s gossip columns of his many affairs with thin-thighed supermodels, little you copying his moves in front of the mirror. 

So yes, he could be as harsh to you as he wished, who gave a shit now when you’re lucky enough  to bask in his glow? You work just as hard as those boys, deserve his attention just as much, regardless of how cruel that attention comes. If you want to make it, Yuuji tells you, you callus your heart more than your achy knuckles. 

Sometimes at 3.45 am you wonder that if you had gotten more parental love and attention, you wouldn’t have attached yourself so deeply to this retired monster. Too late now, you suppose. 

A few days ago,  Megumi, one of Sukuna’s prize boys, said over a bowl of tteokbokki after practice, “Kamo Noritoshi likes you. So you can go after him and leave the elderly alone, okay?”

“I beat Kamo to a pulp, remember?” You pointed with poked tteok. “There’s only one of you losers I can’t beat and that’s who I’m fucking. Don’t go ruining my ambitions, Megumi-chan.”

The boy just sighed, ordering another bowl to go. Megumi, content being the sacrifice bunt, will never understand and it's not something you can explain. 

It’s that hunger that keeps you awake at night; you don’t want a trophy, you want the trophy– Ryomen Sukuna himself, the greatest one to be won. To be fucked, chewed, swallowed, surpassed. You want to have him, you want to be him. He’s you and you’re him and it’s written fate and oh god you need to go to therapy megumi was right you need to start taking your damn meds on time why is it 3 am again?

……. 

“Sup, coach!” 

You’re a cockroach. You arrive half an hour before session starts, practising kata moves by yourself, grappling dummy puppets double your weight to the ground, turning extravagant somersaults. Standing in front of the line. Every new move Sukuna demonstrates, you ask a billion questions, getting it right exactly as he does it. Running the extra lap, the extra sparring bout with your friends, the extra push-up. 

Sukuna peers inside Megumi's mouth, poking his finger into his gums, checking for any bleeding. Despite his actions, he’s not blind to you, the itchy teeth in your maw. 

It’s not just a sport for people like you and Sukuna. People a little fucked in the head. People whose names, announced out loud, get the audience jumping and cheering, the main attraction of the night. Hurricanes out to flatten the competition. 

See, it’s not about the points. Just the gold doesn’t satisfy: you want blood and broken teeth on the floor after you’re done. You want your opponents to refuse to fight you. You want them crawling, begging for time-outs, their coaches throwing the towel in to save their lives, their teary mothers cursing your very sight. Just like Sukuna.

Sukuna who relishes in your eyes on him. The way your breathing quickens childlike when he wrestles your face to the dirty mat, arms twisted behind you, his heavy foot pinning you down. The way you linger a bit longer when he shrugs his gi off, thick biceps flexing against the overhead lights. What a nut, he thinks: bitten fingernails, daddy issues, all the wrong things that excite you. This one’s gonna kill.  

Your hunger he rears by starvation. The harder you fight for a scrap of his attention to prove yourself, the sweeter you get. He can almost see his own tattoos on your eager face. 

So narcissistic, the way his pants tighten when he watches you fight: it's his devilry that flashes in your young eyes. Too young for him, some noble nonsense of not fucking your student, like he gives a rat’s ass. A rising Alexander, he’ll pick you for himself the second you’re good enough.

He knows to wait for it. Latchkey kids like you, raised to fight for love, you’d never want something you could have. The unreachable glory of Sukuna was what made having him worth it. 

He also knew that once you had him, you’d dig your teeth into him so hard that you’d tear right through him. Maybe preserve him in formaldehyde too. 

Not that he’ll spoon-feed you chances for that. Not that he has to, when you do it for yourself.

“Coach, could you spar with me?”

He’s terribly pleased, but the frown he wears for you remains on his face. “Aiming too high, brat.”

“Sorry,” an apology that you don’t mean in the slightest. “But I think I can qualify for the next tournament, coach. I can start cutting weight tomorrow. Put me in this time, please, coach!” 

“You’re not good enough.”   “Let me convince you, coach.”

“Convince me?” He sounds so bored, as if you’re the greatest waste of his time. I’ll change your mind, you promise. I’d like to see you try– he’s amused. “Oi, Todo! C’mere, beat this one for me. You–” he bends down to hold your chin, privately delighted at your blushing face. “– you score six points in sixty seconds against him, maybe I’ll think of putting you on the tournament roster.”

Right. Aoi Todo, brawler build, has the height and weight advantage on you, which means he’ll go for grappling techniques and try to pin you down to the ground. He’s not the type to go easy on anyone, and he likes to show off, so he’ll keep it short distance and try out some fancy kicks– he’ll waste time on performance and then you’ll get time to return attacks. Here’s the M.O. then: you keep light on your feet, dodge every single attack of his, and go for the head. Amen.

Todo squares up, entering the ring, dabbing you up in a show of good faith before assuming his fighting stance. Just as you predicted, his arms are open to take you down. 

You hold your ground. Todo, my friend, you grin at Sukuna, who for once has all his attention on you, I’m going to kill you. 

Sukuna blows the whistle, and immediately Todo lunges for you. A feint, for he changes tactics immediately and is punching you from the left. You have to jump over his shoulder to avoid it (Yuuji whoops), land behind his back, and before he can turn around, kick his spine so hard that he stumbles forward a bit. 

“2 points!” Sukuna checks the time: it’s been 6 seconds. 

Todo’s impressed too, you can tell. You’re distracted: Sukuna nodded at you! Both of you come back to your original positions, ready for the next point match. The whistle blows. 

He’s cautious this time– you kick his shins but he doesn’t yield an inch, so you attempt an upper-cut, but are caught unawares by his hook straight to your mouth. 

“Todo–1 point!” Your jaw feels dislocated, there’s tears threatening to brim in your eyes. Did you forget your meds again? Why can’t you stop giggling? 35 seconds gone.

Restart. You’re playing dirty now, tripping his ankle as he comes forward to attack. You pass through between his legs (using his height to your own advantage) to get behind him again. As if he was expecting it, you dodge his back kick, taking the moment where he’s off balance to land a 360 kick– right on his face. He groans in surprise, but you’re not done.

This isn’t about winning fair or showing sportsmanship spirit, you remind yourself as you pull Todo’s face into your knee, repeatedly, the sick sounds of his nose cartilage crunching. This is about you, Sukuna. 

He blows the whistle. 42 seconds, the match is over, Todo’s burst his sinuses open, bleeding too badly to avoid medical intervention. A K.O. you’re calling it. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you’ is Megumi’s opinion. 

“Decent.” Sukuna’s smiling. Buzzed giddy on adrenaline and sweat, you want to kill the both of you. “Fine. Start the diet tomorrow.” He’s already leaving, other students to tend to. You’re a tad disappointed: you thought it’d be him checking your bleeding jaw, not the medic. Still, you’re happy taking what you can. It doesn’t come by often. “Come by my office after practice.”

a/n: i wrote this while looping bread by anya nami, really elevated the experience

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #1

CH1. Home Style | The Menu [3.7K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Jim’s Midnight Grill wasn’t the magical place the name made it sound like.

In fact, it was worse at night. Hawkins' only diner sat on the outskirts of town, just before the road that took you out alongside the cornfields. In the height of a sunny day, the water tower cast a shadow over the old building and the gas station next door only had one working pump.

The leather booths were constantly sticky, the table tops grainy with spilled salt, but if you made your visit on a Thursday night after nine, milkshakes were two for one. The back alley was littered with cigarette butts, graffiti on the walls telling you who to call for a good time— and someone called King Steve used Farah Fawcett hairspray? The regulars were permanent fixtures on the bar stools, coffee stains on the counter in front of them, stolen sugar packets in their pockets, frowns on their faces.

The staff didn’t want to be there, the owner refused to replace the flickering lights and the cook had a bad attitude and liked to communicate with heavy sighs and eye rolls. But he made a mean grilled cheese. The walk in freezer was reserved for the pitiful weekly deliveries and breakdowns, a stolen kiss or two. Or three, or four. But no one liked to tackle the clogged sink and god forbid anyone change the TV channel— Mr Creel always had something to say about it.

—————

Honestly, Hawkins wasn’t your first choice when you decided to move to a smaller place. The idea of a big city was all fine and well until you lived a year in Chicago, the dream of a brownstone apartment quickly disappearing when you realised jobs were hard to come by and finding friends was even harder. Living alone wasn’t all that fun, especially when your landlord hinted at sexual favours to justify late payments and he didn’t care to fix the leaking radiator in your bedroom. The nights were never quiet and the city hardly slept, but instead of neon lights and late night bodega runs, you lay awake on the broken spring in your bed and flinched at the sound of backfiring cars and people arguing on the street below.

It was lonely, living somewhere so big and busy and always eating dinner by yourself. So you sold the old car you didn’t really use and cried enough that your landlord eventually gave in and ripped up your lease that still had four months to go. Packing your stuff was an easy enough job, hardly enough belongings to fill the duffel bag you’d dragged with you. You dug into the back of your freezer for the wad of cash your grandma gave you, threw it into the bag and grabbed your greyhound ticket and decided you’d get off the bus when the skyline turned a little more green. When the buildings shrunk, when the smog lifted and when wildflowers sprouted from between the cracks in the sidewalk.

So you rolled into Hawkins before the day broke, way before the sun crept up over the quarry, before the small town came alive. The apartment you’d found was the same tiny size as the one you’d had in Chicago but it was cleaner and the carpet was new. Nothing leaked. Nothing smelled weird. The parking lot was filled with cars and none of them had bullet holes in the side, your trash can wasn’t on fire and god, god, the first neighbour you saw - an elderly woman who was walking with a yorkie on a leash - smiled at you.

She smiled at you.

So despite the lack of twenty four hour stores and pizza parlours, Hawkins was already looking up. There wasn’t much on the Main Street, a library, a tiny bakery run by a couple who offered you a free croissant as a welcome to town gift. There was an outdoor pool with sun bleached bunting across its chain link fence, an arcade next to a video store, a high school that was derelict due to the summer months. The larger houses across from the park were lined with cherry trees, neat lawns with white mailboxes and flowers under the windows and suddenly Hawkins was a million miles away from Chicago and the buzz of traffic and car horns.

The librarian let you print out some resumes the day after you’d settled in, and you found your way around town by asking kind strangers, buying a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in exchange for directions out of your neighbourhood. It was easy to stroll along the sidewalk with an iced latte and your headphones around your neck, blue skies above you and the sound of sprinklers in their yards, breathing in air that didn’t smell like diesel. You found a man by a rundown garage, white haired and tired looking, mechanic scrubs tied around his waist as he smoked a cigarette.

You took a deep breath, and then another one, smiling politely - warily - as you approached. The man lifted a brow at you, a little suspicious, but he held the burning stub away from you, smoke billowing in the opposite direction.

“You lost, kid?”

You were. Just a little.

“I’m looking for Jim’s, uh,” you glanced down at the pink flyer that had been pinned on the library's notice board. “Jim’s Midnight Grill? I got told it was out this way, but—”

You looked around, noting that there wasn’t much out this way. The busiest part of Hawkins was behind you, tidy sidewalks giving way to long roads out of town, a lone bus stop by the garage, a farm in the distance across the street. You squinted against the sun and shrugged.

“You wanna keep going for ‘nother mile or so, it’s just before the town sign,” the man pointed further out where the cornfields were overgrown and the sun faded billboard told everyone ‘thanks for visiting Hawkins!’ You weren’t sure the bus ran that far out. “Jim should be there, but if he’s not, jus’ ask for Eddie, he’ll sort you out.”

“Eddie,” you nodded, peering into the distance. You couldn’t see another building, but this man didn’t seem like he was lying. “Right, okay. Just keep to the road?”

The man nodded and he cracked a smile, small but soft. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette and gestured to an old pick up that looked like it had seen better days. “You needin’ a ride?”

The urge to say yes was strong, especially after walking all the way from your apartment as the heat soared. It snuck up on you like a slow roll, going from pleasant to warm to too hot, far too quickly. Beads of sweat clung to your skin underneath your sundress but you shook your head, shyness crawling up the back of your neck. Accepting a ride from a stranger didn’t seem the wisest idea, no matter how kind he seemed.

“It’s okay,” you told him. “Thank you, though. I appreciate the help.”

The man smiled again, a little bigger this time, crows feet crinkling, the sunlight catching the white of his five o’clock shadow. “That’s alright, kid. Jus’ tell ‘em Wayne sent you, yeah? Follow the road, you’ll see Forest Hills - the trailer park - keep going a lil’ ways and it’s right across the road.”

It turned out Wayne was right.

You kept walking, the heat soaring, the fields on either side of you growing taller but you bit back a smile at the sight of the wildflowers that snuck through the cracks in the concrete. Eventually they gave way to a trailer park, just as Wayne side, a quaint place that hummed with generators and had lines of laundry between each mobile home. Across the road sat a sandy lot, a diner in the middle, a neon sign letting passer-bys know they’d arrived at Jim’s Midnight Grill. Except the ‘r’ was loose, hanging from its wire and buzzing blue and purple.

Cats patrolled along the roadside, going from trailer doorsteps to the back alley of the diner, hoping and waiting for a free meal that they all knew would eventually come. You stopped to pet an orange kitten, a little scruffy looking thing but cute all the same, your CV clutched in one hand as you peered suspiciously at the front of the restaurant. It looked too quiet, like it wasn’t open yet. But there was a black van parked along the side of the building and some steam leaked from a vent on the roof, so you opened the front door.

The bell jingled but the patrons at the dining bar who sat on their stools didn’t move, didn’t turn to look. The place was nearly empty, some people nursing a coffee, some staring blankly at the buzzing television screen that was mounted in the corner. No one stood at the host desk, the menus stacked messily, the phone off the hook. In fact, there wasn’t a server to be seen as you made your way to the counter. You grimaced as you leaned on the surface, elbows sticky, avoiding spilled coffee the best you could. You waited, resume still in your hand, patience on your features.

No one came.

So you rang the bell that was on the bar top for the very purpose of gaining attention, but the man beside you glared at the noise. Still, no one came. The fans overhead squeaked and whirred, the TV fizzed with bad signal and from somewhere behind the open serving hatch, you heard the clatter of pots and pans. You tried to crane your neck to see through the window, steam and smoke billowing from it, the slight shadow of maybe a person moving through it.

The person swore, dropped a skillet and swore again.

You leaned in further, elbows on spilled salt grains and drops of ketchup, trying to gain a better view into the kitchen from the bar top. “Hey, ‘scuse me? Can I— can someone—”

You huffed as the figure moved out of sight, falling back onto the stool that squeaked and the man next to you snorted into his coffee cup. You frowned and took further action, sundress falling back around your thighs as you hopped off the chair and made your way to the side of the counter that lifted up. No one paid you any mind, no one at all, but you still hesitated before ducking under the bar and hovering by the hatch. You could smell garlic and sage and something a little sweet now you were closer, the scents of the kitchen winning over the stale coffee, cigarette smoke and engine oil that clung to the patrons clothes behind you.

You peered into the kitchen, your paperwork still clutched to your chest. It wasn’t much cooler in here than it was outside, the AC unit broken and the fans working overtime to combat the heat. The kitchen seemed empty now, a stovetop still on despite no one to supervise it, flames licking high up the sides of a steel pot, big enough for you to fit both feet in. There was something inside bubbling, foam rising to the top and chopped courgette and red onions sat on the workbench beside it, abandoned. A radio played, staticky and fuzzy, an old sixties tune floating out to mix with the smoke.

“Come a little bit closer, you’re my kind of man. So big and so strong, come a little bit closer, I’m all alone.”

“H-hello?” You cleared your throat and braced yourself to speak a little louder. Stronger. Braver. “Hello?”

No one answered. In fact, it seemed like the entire diner was run by ghosts, no waiting staff, hosts or cooks to be seen. Maybe you’d imagined the silhouette in the smoke, maybe the heat was finally getting to you.

“No customers back here, what d’you think you’re doin’?”

You startled, jumping back a little only to knock an elbow into a half filled coffee pot, the brown liquid thankfully lukewarm but it still spilled across the countertop, soaking into stray packets of sugar and scattered napkins.

“Oh, fuck, uh—” you grabbed at whatever dry napkins were left, hurriedly mopping up the spill before it dripped to the floor. Old coffee dotted the red and cream tiles, into the gaps between your sandals. You grimaced and looked up, only half paying attention. “Shit, I’m really sorry, I just— there was no one there and—”

You stopped, swallowing hard, cheeks hot, eyes wide. The person in front of you was half hidden behind the serving hatch, but he was scowling through the window with a ladle in his hand. Big brown eyes, unnervingly expressive and dark hair to match, unruly looking curls that were pulled back with an elastic band in a bun that wouldn’t have passed a health inspection.

A boy, unfairly pretty, and annoyed looking with tattoos peeking out from his chef whites, a black paisley printed bandana knotted around his neck. There was a furrow between his brow, lines etched there so deep that it made you think they were a permanent fixture on his handsome face.

“—no customers behind the cash desk, sweetheart, you look bright enough to understand that.”

Your mouth fell open, a burn creeping across your cheeks. Annoyance settled in your chest but you realised you weren’t quite brave enough to do anything about it. So you lifted your resume and slapped it on the hot steel ledge that separated the kitchen from the coffee bar. “No one’s working,” you tried to explain, gesturing with one hand to the empty diner behind you. “I rang the bell—”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” The boy scoffed, raising a tattooed forearm to wipe away the sheer layer of sweat from his brow. “Havin’ a spa day? Shit, no one rings the damn bell, don’t you know that?”

You scrambled for a response, the burn on your face growing hotter, an awful clawing feeling coming across your chest. You swallowed, your throat tight, but you pointed at your CV once more. “I’m here for the job opening. I need to speak to Jim? About the kitchen porter role?”

The stranger laughed, a breathy thing that you didn’t think was supposed to come across as mean as it did, but it stung all the same. You shrunk a little, a hardly seen thing as the boy turned his head to check on whatever was bubbling in the big pot. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t wanna be a dick about it, but uh, I don’t think you’re cut out for the kitchen - sorry.” He turned back to you, a slightly more apologetic look on his face instead of the frown. “You understand, right?”

You were speechless, just for a second. Blinking away the confusion, you made noise of protest as the boy started to move away. Your hand touched his bicep and he swivelled back, scowling once more. You snatched your hand away, glancing at your fingertips as if the ink from his tattoos would have stained them black.

“Sorry— it’s just, I, I need a job.” You swallowed, hoping none of the customers could hear your desperate plea. “I just moved into town and honestly, I’ll take anything, like anything. I’m supposed to talk to Jim— or Eddie?”

The boy seemed to mull over your words for a second or two, a passing of sympathy or something just as kind coming over his features. He sighed and shrugged, turning away to stir the pot before it boiled over and he shouted at you through the smoke and steam. Not meanly, just enough for his voice to be heard over the music, the hissing of the stove, the hum of the freezer. “I dunno where Jim is, sorry.”

You deflated, sliding your stack of papers off of the ledge and back to your chest. You tried not to appear too frustrated as you asked, “what about Eddie? Someone - a guy, at the garage - he told me to ask for Eddie.”

The ladle clanged against the pot, some soup - or maybe stew - spilling out the sides. The boy frowned at the mess, dragging a rag over the spots before he glanced up at you. You tried to smile, tried to tamp down the watery doe eyes you knew you couldn’t help but have on show, but you felt desperate. Leaving Chicago with nothing more than the bag on your back and no plans was suddenly seeming like an awful idea.

“Sorry,” the stranger said again. “I dunno an Eddie.”

—————

Sitting in a sticky leather booth in the corner of Jim’s Midnight Grill for another hour turned out to be worth it.

Just before two o’clock, a man walked in, greeting the same customers who were still nursing their coffees with a muttered ‘hello,’ a familiar thing that everyone grunted back at. He was a tall man, broad shouldered with a moustache and a shaved head that was covered with a battered wide brimmed hat. He looked more cowboy than business owner, checked shirt dirt covered boots and all, but you heard someone call him Jim and you were up and running after him.

Your sneakers stuck to the linoleum tiles, the ‘shtick shtick shtick’ of your soles pattering between the aisles of empty tables until you caught up with the man just before he disappeared into the kitchen. He raised his brows at your sudden appearance at his elbow, wide eyed and hopeful as you clutched the same resume you’d tried to hand the cook, the pieces of paper stained with coffee now.

The man lifted his chin to a small table before you could speak, gesturing to two chairs by the window. You startled, wondering what was happening as he pulled out a seat and pointed at you to sit in the other one.

“You’re new, right?” The man - Jim - fumbled with a packet of cigarettes, most of them crushed and bent, but he found a good one to lift to his lips. He lit it and blew smoke upwards, staining the already yellowing ceiling. “Here, in town?”

You nodded, unsure how he knew that. You guessed that news travelled fast in a place as small as Hawkins, so you decided to elaborate for the sake of talking. “Uh, yeah. From Chicago. I’m inquiring about the, um, the porter job?”

“What’s your name?” Jim leaned forward in his chair and poked gently at your forearms. “You don’t got a lot of scars, you done soft jobs? No kitchen stuff before?”

The AC unit kicked in and rattled a vent above you as you stared at the man, trying to work out what he meant. Stammering, you told him your name and passed over a resume, pointing out your last few jobs, doing your best to try and make them sound more professional than they actually were.

Librarian's assistant.

Barista. For two weeks.

Cashier at a knock off Chuck E. Cheese.

“I guess they’re what you could call, uh,” you squinted Jim, floundering for the word he’d used, “soft jobs. But I’ve got a scar on my knee from pulling a kid out of the ball pit. He’d come straight from little league, he still had his spikes on and there was a considerable amount of blood even th—”

Jim stopped your spiel by jamming a thumb back towards the kitchen hatch. You could still see the boy there, pretty and scowling all the same, a dark curl falling from his hair band to fall over his cheek. You watched him blow it away and flip something in a skillet, the sizzle of it just heard over the music, the bad TV in the corner of the bar.

“You ever worked a kitchen?”

You shook your head, stomach sinking. ‘Fake it til’ you make it,’ failed you once before, and the owner of the coffee shop in Lincoln Park quickly realised you were wasting both your times when she discovered you didn’t know the difference between a mocha and a latte. “No, sir.”

“Our line cook is real particular ‘bout who we put in his kitchen with him,” Jim pointed to the boy, who’d now been joined by someone else. Another male, one with even longer hair, sleek and dark and they seemed to be arguing over blocks of cheese. “Now I don’t think it’s a good idea to throw you in there—”

Dread bubbled in your stomach. If you didn’t manage to land this job, you weren’t sure where else to look. A small town brought on few opportunities, and you’d already exhausted most of the businesses on Main Street. “Sir, please, I—”

“—but there is a waitressing gig available.” Jim frowned as he tried to remember the details. “Full time, forty odd hours if you don’t mind doing lates.”

“Yes!” You blurted out the answer too loud, loud enough for the customers to turn away from the TV screen for a second or two. The boys in the kitchen peered out the hatch, one curious, one annoyed. “Yes, sorry, yes. I’ll take it, thank you.”

Jim nodded and stubbed out the amber end of his cigarette in an ashtray beside the sauce bottles. “Easy enough job, minimum wage, you keep any tips you make.” He listed off each point on his fingers. “You start tomorrow.”

You could only nod back, eager and grateful. “Of course, yeah, sure. Uh— do I need—?”

Jim waved you off, already standing as he lit up another cigarette. “Just come by for eight, Eddie’ll sort you out with a uniform, locker, that kinda stuff.”

You frowned, confused. Looking around the quiet diner, you wondered if there was someone you hadn’t noticed before, but the number of visible staff members remained the same. The two boys in the kitchen, the pretty cool who you’d spoken to back at the stove, tasting its contents with a teaspoon.

“Uh,” you coughed awkwardly, feeling stupid. “I thought— I thought there wasn’t an Eddie who worked here?” You pointed warily to the boy with the messy curls, the black tattoos across his exposed forearms, he was staring at you, like he knew you were talking about him. He was scowling. “He said there wasn’t.”

The noise and heat of the diner and the summer outside didn’t do anything to diminish the embarrassment you felt at Jim’s next words. His gaze followed to where you were pointing and snorted. “Kid, that is Eddie.”

[linkspooky]

So I was genuinely surprised last week when we were finally shown Megumi's mental state inside Sukuna and he was predictably at his lowest point ever, and instead of sympathy from the fans most of the responses on twitter I saw were people mocking him.

Which I am going to assume comes from a misunderstanding as his character. You see Megumi doesn't fit into the role of the black haired supporting protagonist / rival well. He's not Sasuke, he's not Uryu Ishida, he's not Yuno but he's not meant to be a rival or even a typical shonen character who's progress is only measured by a series of power ups. Megumi is perhaps one of the most subtly written characters in the manga, and perhaps he's hard to sympathize with because he doesn't fit into easy to udnerstand shonen tropes. Which is why I will try to explain his arc below and why Jujutsu Kaisen does it like no other manga currently running.

1. Meet Potential Man

Let me introduce you to the worst meme on twitter.

Megumi's inability to live up to his potential to reach his full power as a sorcerer is probably his biggest flaw, one that is rightfully called out by the narrative again and again, but apparently an intentionally written character flaw is bad writing.

It's covered in Gojo's "Swing for the fences" speech.

Gojo notices Megumi bunt in the baseball game and decides to confront him about it later. He highlights that while bunting is alright in baseball, and it's good to sacrifice yourself so your teammates can advance in a team sport that being a sorcerer is a solo sport. No matter what Megumi is going to reach a point where he's forced to fight alone, and instead of trying to push himself to be as strong as he can be he intentionally limits himself to cooperate with the sorcerers around him.

Basically, the opposite of Gojo who literally cannot fight with other sorcerers because he won't be able to fight at full strength as they just get in the way.

It's not just that Megumi can't use the ten shadows to its full potential, something pointed out by Sukuna, and then later again by Gojo, it's also that he always prioritizes either the group or someone else above himself when trying to decide how to act. Megumi is a semi-decent strategist so this is not necessarily a bad thing, but because of Megumi's tendency to care more about trying to live up to other people's expectations towards him, and what other people need of him rather than his own needs he doesn't have the attitude necessary for sorcery, especially since the strongest sorcerers don't take others into account at all and act like living calamities.

Megumi doesn't look at himself, he looks at the people around him. He judges himself based on what the people around him want from him, not what he wants. This is going to be a continual theme in his arc.

Sukuna is a living calamity, the definition of the attitude a strong sorcerer has, Gojo Satoru wields sorcerery only for himself, and is a sorcerer because he finds exorcising curses and using his god given talents to be fun for him.

Megumi's reason for fighting, his self worth, are all much, much less than the strongest characters in this series which is why he continually fails to live up to his potential. It's not because Gege is not good at writing or Megumi is a disappointing character, but rather he's been written as someone with tremendous potential under the pressure to live up to that potential but who continually fails to do so. Megumi's low self-esteem, low self-worth, and lack of self-identity explains both his failure to progress as a sorcerer something that requires selfishness and self-identity to reach greater heights in, but also his tendency to pick the suicide option with Mahoraga because Megumi genuinely believes compared to the others even just his classmates his life is simply worth less.

So potential man, is an intentionally written character flaw already called out in canon. The more interesting question is why does Megumi fail to live up to his potential.

2. Meet The Original Potential Man

So, I said that Megumi is not like a lot of characters in Shonen Jump but that doesn't mean he's entirely unique. To help explain Megumi's inability to live up to his potential I thought it would be helpful to compare him to a character he's clearly inspired by.

Killua Zoldyck, is the deuteragonist of a manga called hunter x hunter. You may have heard of it, Gege certainly has. Killua is born into a family of assassins who all have supernatural powers. The assassins inflict incredibly harsh training on their children from birth in order to raise them into assassins because their potential as assassins is all that matters. They also start with a "Z".

Killua is apparently the most talented Zen'in... I mean Zoldyck of this generation, though he's still young so he's weaker than his father and brother he's expected to easily surpass them one. Which is why Killua's family has already decided for him that he's going to be the next one to take over the family, Killua's opinion doesn't matter. Illumi and Silva are both setting him up for success by forcing their "help" upon him. Several other members of the family even point out that Killua probably doesn't have the attitude to be the head of the family, but what does it matter when he's got such great talent?

Killua is a complicated victim. He's a victim of many things, familial abuse is the most obvious one because the Zoldyck have a nasty habit of torturing their children, but the less obvious one is grooming. Not in a sexual sense, but rather the adults in Killua's life have decided to use their authority over him to manipulate him into becoming what they want him to be - the next head of the family.

What's insidious about this is the Zoldyck's don't just torture or beat Killua into submission, they will use any tool in their arsenal, familial love, emotional blackmail, threats, all to undermine Killua's agency and choices in order to make him not only do what they want to do but make him think he has to grow into the person they want him to.

Grooming not in a sexual sense, but definitely in a psychological sense, an adult using their authority as an adult over a child and their maturity to manipulate that child into becoming what they want them to be instead of letting that child grow naturally. When it's used in a sexual sense it's when an adult establishes a connection with a minor, and then uses that connection in the long-term to manipulate them into having a relationship and lower the child's inhibition. Think of that, but without the sexual part - an adult using their relationship with a child often in a long-term manipulation to lower the child's inhibitions and make them more malleable and raise them to do what you want them to do.

Killua has not been sexually groomed, but he has been groomed by both his parents and his brother to make him more suggestible to becoming the family head which is something he explicitly does not want to do. Not only did Killua's family only raise him for the purpose of becoming an assassin and taking over the family one day (raising him as a child into an adult, his emotional maturity, his health and well being are all secondary priorities to what Killua can do for his family) they also manipulate him into thinking he has no choice other than being an assassin.

Killua is a kid put through extremely harsh training from a young age, to do a horrible job that is being an assassin that doesn't let him make normal friends or have a normal life. On top of the physical abuse he's already endured, whenever he expresses a desire to do something else in his life, his parents send Illumi to emotionally manipulate him into thinking that not only is he a natural born killer, and therefore a bad person who deserves all the abuse he's been put through, to further convince him that his only path forward is to be an assassin.

Killua is a character who has a lot of power, but little agency. Agency, in fiction is the ability a character has to take action and make decisions for themselves. Despite Killua starting as a more powerful and more savvy character than Gon, he has little agency and is often very passive. He doesn't act, he reacts. Even running away from his family is a reaction. We don't really see what he wants in life, we just know that he looked at his family and went "NOT THAT". However, his entire identity is still formed in response to his family's abuse. Even when he gets farther away from them, Killua doesn't really do what he wants, he does what Gon wants, and follows around Gon.

However, it's very understandable why Killua doesn't act with a lot of agency, when Killua does try to make decisions his family always shows up to undermine him and make another attempt to emotionally manipulate him into doing what they want. It's not always Illumi showing up to spook him. Silva pretends to be a loving dad for five minutes and has a heart to heart conversation with his son, and lets his son go adventuring with his friends but that too is a manipulation. He only did so to make sure Killua would eventually come back, by giving Killua more positive memories that would make it harder to make the decision to leave the family.

With the extent that Killua's family goes to sabotage any decision he makes, it's no wonder Killua is so passive and afraid to make his own decisions. It's almost like a character flaw he's gotta work on.

Now here's where I'm going to blow your minds. Megumi is an incredibly similar character to Killua, they are both the victims of longterm grooming however people don't like to acknowledge Megumi's victimhood. That's because in Killua's case, his abuser looks and acts like this.

Killua's abuser Illumi is a creepy guy who looks like the girl from the grudge, telling him he's not allowed to make friends and giving off such rancid vibes that he's obviously a bad guy. Whereas, Megumi's groomer this this guy.

Gojo Satoru who is one of the most popular characters in the series, and who also gives speeches about how he wants to let children be able to live out their youths, which is why it's hard for the fandom to see that he has taken advantage of Megumi and stolen his youth away from him pretty much the same way that Silva / Illumi has for Killua.

Megumi, like Killua has no choice in who he wants to be when he grows up, or what kind of person he wants to grow into. Megumi, like Killua has been groomed for a young age and forced into an incredibly dangerous and life threatening job that he does not want to do, that denies him the chance of a normal life, and that does not really allow him to make many friends. Megumi is railroaded onto this path, not by his choice, but by Toji's choice, and later Gojo's choice... because he has potential. Megumi like Killua cannot leave his family and stop being a sorcerer, otherwise his little sister who is the only family member he cares about will be hurt.

Gojo doesn't show up with an evil aura looking like the grudge girl and telling Megumi that he doesn't have the right to make friends, and that he's inherently evil and a puppet that only exists to kill people though so it's harder to tell that Megumi is a victim of the same kind of grooming that has hurt Killua so thoroughly.

This is what I mean when I say a lot of Megumi's characterization flies over your head because his victimization is written really subtly. Gojo does the same thing that Illumi / Silva does to Killua, he may seem like a stand up guy compared to those two but Megumi has about as much choice about what he can do with his life that Killua has.

Not all grooming is Illumi showing up with his spooky eyes to intimidate and coerce Killua into submission. Silva shows up to give Killua the first fatherly talk he had in his life, and lets him go from the mansion.... not because he realized he was wrong for restricting Killua's life choices and giving him no choice but to become heir.

No, it was a ploy to guilt trip him into coming back because he knew if he held Killua there by force he'd just run away the next chance he got. Fear and intimidation wasn't working at keeping Killua in line, so they switched to love instead.

Gojo can encourage Megumi to make friends, let him hang out and spend time with Itadori, even honor his wish to save Itadori and in the end still be manipulating him into becoming a sorcerer and not letting Megumi choose what he wants to do with his life. Gojo just prefers the carrot to the stick.

This is something the databooks confirm, that Gojo hunts prospects like Yuta, Yuji and Megumi not out of the goodness of his heart, but because they are talented students he can recruit to his cause with the added bonus that by appearing as their savior, they "owe" him.

Megumi is also a character lacking in agency, he is someone who's had no agency his entire life and what little agency he did have was stolen away from him by the adults in his life.

Let's analyze Megumi's situation for a second. As soon as Megumama dies, Toji gives up on the idea of fatherhood entirely, and decides to sell his son, literally, like in the sense of human trafficking to be raised by the highly abusive Zen'in Clan.

However, before the deal could be completed his father died in the middle of a mission. Megumi apparently saw his father so little that he didn't recognize him on coming face to face with him years alter, which says a lot about what kind of role Toji played in Megumi's life before he was outright abandoned.

Not only does Megumi believe his father just left him to run away with his new wife (Megumi's stepmother and the mother of Tsumiki) but now he and Tsumiki had to live together in a household without supervision for an indeterminate amount of time and watch their money slowly run out.

When it looks like they're about to start starving, Gojo Satoru shows up to save the day.... or not.

Gojo seems like he's offering Megumi a choice, but it's a loaded one. There's no choice in this scenario where Megumi gets to be a normal kid. The option of calling social services so this orphaned child does not starve doesn't occur to him.

Megumi's options are a) go to the Zen'in Clan and be a sorcerer where Tsumiki will be abused, or b) be a sorcerer under me where Tsumiki will be safe. The unspoken part is that if Megumi rejects his offer not only will he just let the Zen'in Take him, he'll also probably just let Megumi starve. Megumi the uh six or so year old child at this point has to sign away the rest of his life as a sorcerer, and work in order to earn money to eat.

No adult is taking care of Megumi, no one is raising him, even the food and shelter Megumi is given comes with a price tag that he has to pay back by being a Jujutsu Sorcerer and attending Jujutsu High as a teenager. Gojo even kind of subtly uses Tsumiki as a hostage to get Megumi to join with his agenda, because his offer isn't really much better than the Zen'ins but he needs Megumi on his side because he needs to raise kids to be future allies to his political agenda.

At the tender age of six Megumi signed his life away to be a sorcerer and he hasn't looked back since. Considering his severe behavioral problems getting into fights constantly at school, I think it's safe to say Megumi is about as reluctant to be a sorcerer as Killua is an assassin.

Honestly, if Megumi had phrased it like this:

"I'm so tired of being a sorcerer, I just want to be a kid."

Megumi would have a lot more fans, and Gojo would have a lot of explaining to do, but I think the brilliance of Megumi's grooming is that it's not really as blatant as Killua's. Megumi doesn't talk out loud about how he wants to be a normal kid, he's just angry at the whole world, and prone to fits of violence because he's mentall unwell.

Another way in which he parallels Killua, by the way.

Megumi does not talk about his lost childhood out loud. Instead of knowing his thoughts on the matter, instead we are shown his behavior, the effects of having his childhood taken away from him and how unstable it makes him and left to ponder as the audience what Megumi himself thinks of this.

The same way that Illumi steals all of Killua's agency away, robbing him of the chance to be anything other than what the Zoldycks want him to be, so to does Gojo. It's just instead of Gojo using the stick, he uses the carrot. He is Megumi's benefactor, he's the savior, for whose help Megumi owes him, sort of like repaying a loan with interest.

Gojo tries to shape Megumi into Gojo Satoru 2.0. Or maybe a second Geto. That's more likely as it's Geto defection which inspires Gojo to go looking for him after neglecting to do anything about Megumi until a year after finding out about his existence. Gojo says that Megumi is going to have to work hard or else he'll be left behind, just days after Geto had left him behind. Megumi is helped by Gojo, he is protected from the clans by Gojo, he has been taken on missions alongside Gojo his entire life, Maki even refers to Megumi as a treasure that was raised carefully by him.

Gojo invests a lot of time and effort into Megumi and because of that Megumi is expected to "perform." However, he doesn't.

That's the thing, Megumi is supposed to be either Gojo or Geto 2.0 but he just can't be. THe reason why again is Agency. If Killua is limited because of his inability to decide for himself, then so to is Megumi b/c Nen and Cursed Technique Development both depend on things like imagination, ego and self-image to raise them up to their full potential.

However, Gojo has shot himself in the foot with regards to Megumi. Becoming a Jujutsu Sorcerer requires a strong identity, but Gojo by sabotaging Megumi's agency and ability to decide for himself every step of the way has robbed Megumi of the chance to form that strong identity.

Megumi, just like Killua has no sense of self and instead both judges himself according to others, how he meets their expectations, how he measures up to them - he also glorifies others while constantly putting himself down.

Megumi doesn't give speeches about how Yuji is like pure light, but he also refuses to let Yuji out of his sight post Shibuya, and even says it'd be better to be killed by Sukuna alongside Yuji if Sukuna does take over.

In the Chimera Ant Arc Killua defines all of his self-worth around being useful to Gon, and beats himself up for not being able to measure up to him - because Killua has no sense of self his selfhood has always been undermined by his family who wanted to make him more suggestible to what they wanted.

Megumi is flippant with his own life and very willing to lay down his life for another's sake, because Megumi has very little agency in his life and has been taught by both Gojo and his circumstances that he himself and what he wants does not matter. Megumi doesn't fight fate, and fight for what he wants because he's already been shot in the kneecaps by both Toji's abandonment, and Gojo Satoru, and he's having a difficult time just trying to stand with bullets in his knees.

Maybe, the reason Megumi is so willing to risk his life to summon Mahoraga and sacrifice himself if he thinks it will help his allies is because Megumi has been forced into a job where he's gonig to be expected to sacrifice his life for the greater good since the tender age of six years old and therefore everything in life has conspired to tell him his life is worth less than others.

Yuji isn't the first person in story to think of himself as a cog, that's Megumi. He doesn't even need Shibuya to beat him down to accept the cog mindset, Megumi is already there at the beginning of the story.

I think a lot of misunderstanding of Megumi's character comes from the fact that his grooming is more subtle and insidious, and not as blatant as Killua's, and also that it's done by a character well-liked by the fandom. However, if Megumi has all the same symptoms of Killua then it's logical to deduce that they share the same trauma

Even Megumi's summoning of Mahoraga has a tie to Killua.

There's a pattern of KIllua running away from stronger opponent that's established in HXH that's eventually revealed to be because of a needle that Illumi inserted directly into Killua's brain to mind control him to run if he faced someone that was too much of a threat.

Obviously, that's just continuing the metaphor of the fact that Killua isn't able to believe in himself to face people who are stronger, because Illumi has been constantly putting him down his entire life.

Isn't this essentially what Megumi does as well?

When Megumi is faced with an opponent that's too strong or a hopeless situation, instead of running like Killua he summons Mahoraga. He does this because he doesn't believe in his ability to surpass his limits and fight, because he doesn't believe in himself or his own potential.

When is actually able to think more freely and picture a version of himself who can surpass his limits and who can do these things - these are the moments he is shown to grow.

Megumi however, for the most part isn't free. He can't think of himself as free and he can't free himself, because not only does he still have no choice about what he wants to do with his life (even if he becomes the msot powerful sorcerer in the world Gojo won't let him quit, he's gotta pay off those student loans), but he's also internalized the idea that he's not free. Not only has Gojo raised him to be a cog, Megumi has also accepted the fact that he is a cog and what he wants does not matter - the most he can do is hope that his actions will protect the people he loves and give them a little bit of happiness.

Megumi doesn't need a needle in his brain to control him and make him run away from fights and more obedient, because Megumi has already done all of that to himself with the toxic and self-harming ideas he's internalized.

Megumi and Killua having given up on themselves, try to make others happy, the same people they put on pedestals in order to make themselves feel even worse in comparison.

However, from this point Megumi and Killuas arcs go in opposite directions. You see after the Chimera Ant Arc when Killua hits his lowest point and his codependent friendship with Gon is exposed for what it is, Killua returns home in order to try and rescue his sister Alluka who is probably the reason he ran away in the first place.

Alluka and Tsumiki are both at the start of the story taken away from Killua and Megumi respectively, and with them the only genuine familial affection they ever enjoyed in their lives is taken too.

However, Alluka and Tsumiki are inversions. Alluka finds her freedom and agency, and Killua is able to reform his connection with his sister by accepting both pats of her, Alluka and Nanika. Afterwards the two of them finally leave their family home together and go off on a journey together.

If Alluka finds her personhood, Tsumiki remains a plot device. She never awakens from her coma, she's possessed instead and then murdered.

Now, here is where I point out how unfair the audience is being to Megumi. If you're a hunter x hunter fan remember all the character development that Killua gained by reforging his relationship with Alluka, how much confidence it gave him to connect to the one person who's even unconditionally loved him as a family member.

Now imagine that Alluka is brutally butchered right in front of him, and Killua has a first person point of view, because somehow in this scenario Illumi used a needle to mind control him into killing Alluka.

Do you really think Killua would be able to stand after that?

Sukuna is really just the last in line of a long line of people who've stolen Megumi's agency away from him, in order to benefit themselves. Sukuna even saw the same "potential" in Megumi that Gojo did.

Sukuna physically posessing Megumi's body, is just what both the Zen'in Clan, and Gojo Satoru have been trying to do to him in the most literal way possible. Gojo wants to remake Megumi into Gojo Satoru 2.0 with no regards to who Megumi is as a person, what Megumi's wants and needs are. No he just wants to raise someone as strong as him and pass the burden of protecting society onto Megumi, this starving orphan Gojo decided to exploit.

People have always used Megumi as a puppet for their own agenda, Naobito wanted to make him the head of the Zen'in Clan because he had the technique, Gojo wanted him to become the next strongest sorcerer / Gojo Satoru and also to replace the elders with Gojo's political agenda. They all want Megumi's "potential" for themselves to use to their own ends. Sukuna just takes what Gojo did one step further by literally stealing Megumi's body away from him and using him as a literal puppet instead of a metaphorical one. Gojo took Megumi's childhood by making him work as a sorcerer, Sukuna kills the physical embodiment of Megumi's childhood innocence by murdering Tsumiki, the only thing Megumi had in his life besides being a sorcerer, his only family, the only person he grew up with in his childhood years, the only person who loved him for who he was.

Megumi coped with what Gojo did to him the same way Killua did, by building himself around his use to others, and by building his identity around protecting others but now that's all gone. Tsumiki is gone, Megumi is trying to kill his friends, and he's already butchered Gojo Satoru.

Yet the fans are surprised that Megumi doesn't immediately get back on his feet.

However, and this my slightly optimistic ending to the post. Perhaps, Megumi is going the complete opposite of Killua, because what Megumi needed to learn was not to grow strong and confident enough to protect his sister but to learn to fight for himself.

At this point Megumi has nothing else left. It's sink of swim. He either develops a strong enough identity to regain control of his body and push Sukuna out, or he loses and the anti-Sukuna team will just have to resort to killing Megumi along with Sukuna.

Even in that case.

Megumi not being saved by Yuji is a good thing.

Because a victim who gets rescued by a hero still has no agency.

Megumi told Yuji that he needs to start by "saving me."

However, it might just be the opposite. Before Megumi can save anyone else, before he can become a protector, he has to find his own power and save himself. He has to both accept thathe's someone worthy of salvation, and at the same time he can't just passively accept the hand that Yuji's offered to him he has to actively be the one to break free of Sukuna and save himself.

Megumi can't become the strongest sorcerer by becoming the next Gojo Satoru or being what Gojo or Sukuna wants him to be. THe only way Megumi can become the strongest, is by being himself.

[nightmyst14-blog]

Regaining Treasures Part 5

Setting: Bunt Cheese has been moved to the medical bay, watched over by servants and the royal family. A few days later, they received good news.*

Pure Vanilla; *running into the throne room* He’s awake!!

Golden Cheese; *looks up from playing cards with Dark Cacao, gasps* Is he??

Pure Vanilla: *nods* Go and take a look.

Golden Cheese; * *spreads her wings and flies to the medical bay.* *rushes inside, and sees Burnt Cheese sitting up, petting the jackal on his lap*

Burnt Cheese: *blinks a few times, looking up* Ah.. Your….Your R-Radiance.. 

Golden Cheese; *stunned, staring* ….

Burnt Cheese: *bows his head, looking sad.* F-forgive me , my queen. For I failed in guarding our sacred gates from intruders. Any punishment you wish to place upon me, I will-

Golden Cheese: *flies over to him, hugs him tight* My baby!! *cries* My little moon, you’re back!!!

Burnt Cheese: *shocked, looking at her.* Ah- You’re not…

*Mozzarella and Smoked Cheese scramble into the room, Smoked Cheese pushing his sister’s wheelchair while hobbling behind it*

Golden Cheese: I missed you so much.. I’m so sorry, my baby!! You were the first to fall,  and I wasn't there!!!

Burnt Cheese: *shocked* I.. I am just your gatekeeper, I was just-

Golden Cheese: *cups his face* You work so hard to protect my kingdom, you forget yourself. Look at you, you can barely move your limbs..

Burnt Cheese: I-I will recover, your Radiance… The gates still need guarding…

Golden Cheese: Ugh, listen to me! I just-

Smoked Cheese: *interrupts* PRINCE Burnt Cheese Cookie ! Just SHUT UP!

Burnt Cheese: *looks over, his jackal ears laying flat against his head as he growls.*You dont get to-

Smoked Cheese; NO! Let me finish! *He flaps his stiff wings*

Burnt Cheese; *glares* ……

Smoked Cheese: Look here, you idiot. I'm the LAST person to say it, but LISTEN to her as our MOTHER, not as our queen! We thought we LOST you. As if you couldn't be brought back!

Burnt Cheese: Well.. I  failed in my task to guard the gates. I dont think she should have-

Smoked Cheese: No shut up! *grunts* Before being the Gatekeeper, you are our brother, her SON. The second prince of the kingdom! My baby brother! You didn't think we felt the same! YOU DIDN'T DESERVE TO DIE FIRST IN THAT ATTACK!

*the room fell silent, beside hearing the other ancients footsteps coming to the room.*

Burnt Cheese: *looks away, quiet.*

Smoked Cheese: *shaky sigh.* Despite everything… Despite our constant fighting.. You didnt think it HURT to see you all??? When your skull was beaten in?? When your mask cracked to reveal jam spilling from your head?? I was TOO late to save you!

Burnt Cheese: ….

Mozzarella: *worried* Smokey….

Golden Cheese: Birdie…

Smoked Cheese: I.. I couldn't save you.. *dips his head low* So I did all I could to save our sister… yet that failed.. They were too strong..

Golden Cheese:  That is not your fault, Smokey.. They swept down on you all so quick as a brushfire..

Mozzarella; *Nods* Even my best-made defenses couldn't work..

Burnt Cheese; *frowns, looks down at his hands and body all bandaged in places.* I still failed you all… It was my duty to guard the gates..

Golden Cheese; I don't care about that! *Hugs Burnt Cheese tight* 

Burnt Cheese: *grunts a bit in pain, looks at her* You radian- AH.. I mean, M-Mother..

Golden Cheese; *sniffles* M-My little moon forgive me.. You were closest to touching the outside world from our kingdom.. Yet you were chained to your post… unable to move.. It kept you from running.. I'm so sorry…

Burnt Cheese; *frowns, silent tears run down his face as he rests his chin on Golden Cheese’s hair, doing his best to hug her.*

Smoked Cheese: *sighs a bit, smiles. He gently rubs Golden Cheese's back.*

Mozzarella: *smiles* I missed you guys...

Golden Cheese: *Reaches for them* Come here you two. I .. I just.. Let me hold you three.

Smoked Cheese: *Helps Mozzarella over to Burnt Cheese's side, but he and Mozzarella join the hug.*

Golden Cheese: * wraps her wings around all three, cries tears of joy.* My babies.. My little treasures…

Burnt Cheese, Smoked Cheese, and Mozzarella: *hugs her tight, soon weeping themselves*

Golden Cheese: *smiles, sniffles* … all back.. All here… I won't let go of you three again..

*Pure Vanilla and the others watch this scene with tear-filled happiness, letting the little family to rest and regroup. The Golden Sovereign was dimmed for a moment, now it was just Golden Cheese and her little ones, all back together.*

Olive: * gently knocks, peeks in while carrying Fettuccine:* ..May we come in?

Fettuccine: Faba!!

Burnt Cheese: *looks* Little Mummy.. Youre alright...

Olive: She was waiting for you to wake up. *sets Fettuccine down.*

Fettuccine: *waddles out, climbs up into his arms.* Faba…

Burnt Cheese: *Smiles, kissing her head,* Missed you too, my little mummy…

Smoked Cheese: Wait, so Im an uncle?

Mozzarella: *giggles* You didnt know??

Smoked Cheese: No! I barely left the royal quarters! Being advisor is a lot of work you know!!

Burnt Cheese: Hush Smokey.. My head still hurts..

Golden Cheese: *laughs* Already back your antics aren't you? But.. things are going to change around here.

Burnt Cheese: Huh"

Mozzarella: What do you mean, Mother?

Golden Cheese; Well, Our abundant kingdom is still in need of repair and there are many citizens I must help to reawaken... So, I'm establishing trade between the other kingdoms, BUT..

Smoked Cheese: But?

Mozzarella: What is it?

Golden Cheese: I want you three to be the ambassadors for it, traveling to the other regions to spread out the tales of the Golden Sovereign!

Smoked Cheese; W-What..?

Mozzarella: We get to explore.. outside the kingdom??

Pure Vanilla; Yes. Your mother was talking about it with rest of us. THe other ancients and I think this a wonderful idea.

Golden Cheese: Its about time I let you three spread your wings and explore.. O-Only when you all are FULLY HEALED!! Not before then!!

Burnt Cheese, Smoked Cheese, and Mozzarella: *laughs*

Mozzarella: As you wish, mother.

Smoked Cheese; I always want to see the snow of the Dark Cacao Kingdom.

Mozzarella: Ooh! Finally! I get to visit Hollyberry kingdom and try their delicaicies..

Burnt Cheese: it will be odd to leave my post for the first time.... But I suppose I could try..

Golden Cheese: *smiles* Of course, my treasures..

Hope you guys enjoyed the main story of Regaining Treasures!

I plan to make a minisode and a BONUS thing for this. Nevertheless I hope you enjoyed this story!

[malk1ns]

Most definitely talking about Sid's upcoming heat and Sid's yapping that he doesn't need any help but Geno knows he will get a call the first night of a whimpering and desperate Sid

👀

"Stop scenting me," Sid snaps the second Zhenya sits down.

Zhenya rolls his eyes. He hasn't even caught his breath from his last shift. Fuck this altitude, and honestly, fuck the Avs too, Sid's cozy little friendship with MacKinnon be damned.

"I'm serious," Sid continues, scooting down the bench to make room for Rusty, who practically dives over the boards to avoid a too many men. Zhenya obediently scoots along with him, grabbing Rusty around the waist to keep him steady.

"Thanks," Rusty wheezes, and Zhenya pats his shoulder before turning back to Sid.

Sid's glaring at him. He hates being ignored under normal circumstances, and it only gets worse when he's careening towards heat—a fact that Sid is strenuously denying.

"Sorry," Zhenya says, making his eyes big and ducking his head. "Smell good, Sid, can't help it."

Sid's eyes narrow. After so many years, he's wise to Zhenya's tricks, and he's apparently not far enough into pre-heat to fall for them anyway. Zhenya adjusts his mental calculations forward a day. "I don't know what you think you're smelling, but it's not me. I'm not due for another two weeks, and we talked about this. I don't need you this time."

"Okay," Zhenya says placidly, tapping Sid's knee. Sid's cute when he gets all worked up and indignant like this.

"Hey—" Sid sputters, probably picking up Zhenya's amusement, but then coach is tapping his line in, so Sid can't do anything but glare as he swings over the boards.

Zhenya watches as he swings a big arc towards the goal, changing direction so abruptly that the d-man shadowing him loses an edge and hits the ice. Sid turns to snap at the guy, and Zhenya readjusts his math again, this time back a few hours.

Pissing Sid off always makes things move faster.

-

They drop the game in OT, but that's okay. They played well, better than they have since the trade deadline, and the shock of losing Jake is finally starting to wear off. Sid doesn't look hollowed-out whenever he looks to his left any more, and Bunting is the exact type of yappy, determined presence on Zhenya's wing that he's always played best with. The postseason is still a reach, but suddenly the games they're playing seem like they mean something again, and that's all Zhenya wants, really.

Playoffs are nice, but Zhenya's old enough now that he doesn't live and die by each individual season anymore. If he can keep his production up for a few more years, avoid major injury and quiet the people who constantly call for him to be traded, he'll be happy.

Well. That, and getting Sid to finally admit that what they've been doing for nearly two decades now isn't just friends helping each other out. But Zhenya can be patient on that front.

Seeing Jake in Carolina colors is hard, and Zhenya discreetly wipes his eyes during the tribute video. Sid doesn't bother, staring up at the enormous new jumbotron with shiny eyes. The win makes it easier to stomach, though, and Jake stops by the locker room after the game, lingering well past when the Hurricanes' bus must have left for the hotel.

He and Sid talk for a long, long time, tucked away in a hallway while Rusty and Zhenya linger, ready to head off any media that comes this direction. They're left alone, though, and when Jake finally slips past them, he's knuckling at his eyes. Zhenya politely doesn't mention it when he pulls Jake into one last hug.

Sid's marching for the parking lot, and Zhenya has to hustle to catch up with him. When he draws even, he practically trips over his feet—Sid smells ripe, fertile and alluring, like he's minutes from dropping into heat. Surely he feels it by now.

Sid slides him a sharp glare. "Don't fucking start," he mutters, angling away when Zhenya leans towards him. "You were right, okay? But it doesn't mean anything."

Zhenya takes a deep inhale and consciously steps to the side, giving Sid his space. "Call if you need," is all he says, cutting towards his car and speeding up before he can give into the impulse to manhandle Sid back to his house and his bed and keep him there.

"I won't!" Sid calls across the garage. Zhenya shakes his head.

-

It doesn't always go this way. Sometimes Sid invites him back, sends him texts like i think it's starting soon and would you mind...? as if any alpha in their right mind would turn Sidney Crosby in heat down. He gets squirrelly when it happens too many times in a row, though, acts like Zhenya's going to hold him down and bite his claim into Sid's neck without permission, and tries to put distance between them.

It never lasts, though.

Zhenya's in his pajamas and glasses, settling in with his Kindle, when his phone rings.

"G," Sid whimpers over the line, and Zhenya sits upright, the sound of a distressed omega plucking at his instincts even at a distance. "G, where are you?"

Zhenya fists his hand in his duvet. "You say you don't want," he says carefully, listening to Sid's gasps, wondering if he'd managed to get something from his toybox or if he fell into it so fast that he's using his hand. Sid doesn't take care of himself like Zhenya would if they were mated, and he's come over more than once to Sid on his belly and whimpering because his own fingers don't get him right.

That's what Zhenya's always been for.

"I didn't mean it," Sid whines, voice muffled. "G, I need you."

Zhenya pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at the screen. Not even ten, and they have an off-day tomorrow. "Sid, you say I stay home this time," he says, but he's throwing his blanket back and getting up. "You change mind?"

"I was lying," Sid moans, frustration edging into his voice. "I was...G, please, you..."

He's falling deeper into it now. Zhenya hesitates; Sid had sounded so sure, more than usual, but...

"Geno," Sid says, practically a sob, and the decision is made. There's only so much his own instincts will allow him to ignore, and Sid calls him every time—if he didn't want Zhenya coming over, he shouldn't be calling.

It takes Zhenya a few tries to remember Sid's new door code, but when he steps inside, the smell of Sid's heat practically bowls him over. Zhenya has to stop and breathe, adjust to the overpowering sugar-and-marine salt permeating the air, before he can walk without stumbling to Sid's bedroom.

"Oh, Sid," he says, pausing at the doorway.

"Please," Sid begs. He hadn't gotten to his toys after all, and he's practically twisted in a pretzel, two fingers stuffed inside himself while his other hand strips his dick. He's come once already by the mess on his stomach, but his dick is so hard it's purple, and his face is twisted in agony, not pleasure.

"Shh," Zhenya croons, voice dropping to alpha-register all on its own. He's across the room and stripping his clothes off before he's even registered it, but when he gets hands on Sid's torso Sid takes in a deep, shuddering breath and relaxes.

"G," he mumbles, looking up at Zhenya through tear-damp eyelashes. "You left me."

"I'm sorry," Zhenya murmurs, gentling Sid onto his back, pushing at his shoulder until his hand slides free. His fingers are shiny with his own slick, and Zhenya pauses to suck them clean, eyelids fluttering at the taste. Sid watches him, chest heaving, and when Zhenya lets Sid's fingers drop from his mouth, Sid trails them down Zhenya's face and chest, resting his hand over Zhenya's heart. "I'm here now," Zhenya says, leaning down to kiss Sid. "I'll take care of you."

"Yes," Sid sighs as Zhenya slides into him, letting his legs butterfly out and his head loll to one side.

Zhenya stares at Sid's neck, exposed and there, and practically bites through his lip, fucking Sid harder. He wants to bite Sid so, so badly, has for years, but Sid always pulls back just when they're on the precipice of turning this into something more, always ices Zhenya out when it starts to feel too serious, and Zhenya's not going to push—it has to be Sid's decision.

Something of what he's feeling must be leaking through, because Sid opens his eyes and looks at him. His eyes are blurry; he's deep in it now, and every exhale is a half-purr as Zhenya's knot starts to grow and catch at him with every thrust. "Mmmm," he moans, the perfect picture of an omega submitting to his alpha, but the way he tilts his head to expose his neck is all purposeful, as is the way he coyly looks at Zhenya.

"Sid," Zhenya groans, grinding his teeth. He can't stop himself from dropping to his forearms and getting his nose into the crook of Sid's neck, licking frantically over Sid's scent glands. The smell of them blooms in the room, heady and intoxicating, and Zhenya's thrusts go ragged and desperate as his knot swells. "Sid, please." He feels drunk, he doesn't even know what he's asking for, opening his mouth around the meaty muscle where Sid's neck meets his shoulder.

Sid's hand is at the back of his head, but he's pushing, not pulling Zhenya back, and Zhenya's teeth dig into Sid's skin. His "bite me" is barely audible, but it's the loudest thing Zhenya's ever heard, echoing over the roaring of blood in his ears and their breath.

He bites. The world falls away.

-

When Zhenya swims back to consciousness, his knot still hasn't gone down. Somehow, Sid had managed to get them on their sides, and he's petting over Zhenya's sweaty back, nuzzled up against Zhenya's chest and humming.

"Sid?" Zhenya croaks, eyes flying open when he remembers. "Oh, fuck, Sid, I—"

"Shh, it's okay." It's Sid's turn to soothe Zhenya, purring until Zhenya's heart slows down. Zhenya's nostrils flare as he inhales, and all he can smell is happy, contented omega.

"We..." Zhenya's floundering, head spinning as he tries to put the pieces together.

"I asked you to do it, bud," Sid says. He sounds quiet, but sure. "I wanted it. I was..." He sighs, and Zhenya can feel him shrug. "We can talk about it later, but...I was talking to Jake, and he said, you know, we're lucky—it doesn't matter what happens, because in the end we always have each other. And then I got home, and I was thinking about how he's right. You've had plenty of chances to leave, and you never did. And you always come when I need you. So...it felt stupid, to be pushing you away still."

"Sid," Zhenya groans, half infuriated and half overcome with fondness. If they weren't still knotted together he'd pin Sid down and bite at his sensitive, ticklish stomach as punishment until Sid was laughing and kicking him away. "You say to me when you think these things, like, don't make me come run over so late, scare me like I do what you don't want."

Sid shrugs again, and now he smells smug. "You always come when I call," he says, and Zhenya can't even argue that point.

He wouldn't want to, anyway.

[cookie-crumblr]

Desperate Cookies<3

a Dark Desperate housewives/weeds style F!Reader X multiple Yan OC’s (M!doctor/Vet Ivar, F!bully Serana, M!Professor Reichsgraf, +more)

Episode 1~

Episode 2 here>>

MINORS DNI!

CW: Fem! Reader, reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, reader has a bad relationship with food and her body(i usually add a lil comment to hopefully make it a little easier to read), threats with gun violence, guns, HARD DRUG USEAGE by reader and pm everyone else tbh, cervix fucking(just about), names against reader (dumb whore, little cocksleeve, ) p in v, failing marriage(for now 😚✨), cheating on both sides mentioned,

Disclaimer: I fully expect you to not like reader/not relate to reader, this is purely for entertainment and i implore you to think of it more like you’re an actor in a crazy DARK soap opera! :3 or this is a chance to get all the chaos out of your system, like me!

(DISCLAIMER: don’t do drugs plz, coke literally only lasts like 15 minutes, and it’s so dangerous. smoke pot instead if you need something and are able to responsibly an all that🥰✨! this is just how this reader feels)

Song rec: Do I make you Nervous? by Lilyisthatyou

“What!? What do you mean ‘lost’” You scrunch your two fingers in the air to quote the forbidden word in the face of your newest enemy.

“I donno what to tell ya, we just lost it.”

“How do you lose an entire shipping container!?” you rub your temple.

You could just about rip your hair out.

and unbeknownst to you, your face says it all.

Reaching under the diner’s table, you push the barrel of your gun to the thick meat of his left thigh.

“I’m s-sorry ma’am, I dunno what happened, I swear!” he cowers slightly with his hands up.

“Shut up.” When you speak, he instantly zips his lips.

The diner is decorated with paper bat and pumpkin bunting and pumpkin cutouts cover the windows.

A waitress comes to your table and puts a couple things down. She’s cute, you’ll give her a decent tip. two, maybe three hundred? Your eyes follow her rump in that frilly diner dress, the bow from the apron over her front makes her waist look so perfect too. you shake your head, back to the present.

You have a milkshake in front of you, vanilla, with whip cream, a cherry, and a red and white spiral striped straw.

Your delivery boy has a plate of various american breakfast items.

Neither of you touch the food. You’re watching your carbs(stupid disgusting fucking societal standards) and he’s clearly too scared.

You pull the gun away.

“Find it.”

At home~

The trees surrounding your estate are a multitude of golds, and bright orange.

Your “husband” isn’t here, thank the gods, cause fuck, do you never want to see him.

Ever.

Especially now that you’ll have to tell him a shipment is missing somehow. You put your gun in the safe in his office. The dark wood panel closes over the safe seamlessly with a turn of a busts head back into position.

Neither of you hide anything from eachother, affairs and all laid out bare, right on the table. too bad it’s only because neither of you care about the other in the slightest.

You grunt, and your head falls to the side, landing your eyes right on your antique candy dish…

You sigh, and stand to approach it.

Taking a deep breath you take the jagged pattered crystal glass lid and set it to the side. dipping your pinky into the white powder, you’re reminded that:

Every bump you take, you say you’ll quit.

You touch your little finger to your nostril and inhale sharply.

The drip down your throat almost makes you gag, you’ve still never gotten used to it.

But your good at hiding the bad sides of things.

It hits instantly, You feel as though you can do anything, and succeed. This time you inhale freely, without any weight on your shoulders, and exhale blissfully.

Getting the house ready to receive guests is more than a breeze, sure you could do everything without it, but it’s so much more fun while on it.

*Ding Dong*

Double dipping your pinky into that candy dish, and putting the lid back on, you’re now ready to head to that looming front door and open those flood gates.

They rush in in a massive herd, handing off their coats to your doorman, and rushing to complement you on either your attire or your home.

Yes yes, you’re both lovely, don’t let it all go to your head yet reader!

Now back to business.

“Is everyone comfortable? good, good. Now,” you stand in the back of the living room, opposite the closed french doors. “How are we feeling about the last chapters of the book?” You ask.

Yes.

You host your neighborhood book club.

Of course you are an active member of society, why couldn’t you be?

Just because you have a little cocaine empire on the side?

You still have to be a good trophy wife and keep up appearances.

~

A rough hand squeezes your neck, as the man attached pounds his dick deep into you, practically piercing into your womb.

“Yes! Yes! Ye—” Your voice squeaks as he cuts it off.

“Bad girls don’t get to talk,” He slaps your ass, eliciting another squeak from your throat.

The red hot sting comes down onto your ass again and you bite your lip. Your hips are digging into the desk, it hurts so much it’s raw, but holy fuck is his dick amazing.

“P-Professor!” You manage to breathe out.

“How did they lose a SHIPPING CONTAINER! Y/N! You dumb fucking whore. They Stole it!” he seethes as he yells at you through clenched teeth, his hips slapping into your ass.

He lets go of your neck to tangle his hand into your hair and pull you back against his body, and slaps your tit, as he bites your neck.

He’s left innumerable marks across your body tonight.

Your stupid husband.

You were arranged to marry this lazy, asshole, cougar chaser of a man by your parents. It’s not like you love eachother…

But his dick game is truly top tier.

“Ahhh~!” you whine out already too dumb on his cock to speak anymore.

“That’s it, take it, like a good little cocksleeve.” His long, hard dick presses deep inside you, the way he moves his hips while it’s still inside making sure to rub every spot you like makes you melt and shudder against him.

The sweet cashmere scent of him surrounds you, as it rolls off his glistening body in waves.

His thrusts become more unstable, and he bites down harder into your shoulder. It feels as though he wants to tear you open!

His hand comes down to your burning sex, to rapidly massage you.

You cry out, “Ah! mm-mm haaah!”your body twitches as he fucks you through your orgasm. Cum mixes with cum, forming a thick ring around his cock base.

He throws your spent body down onto the bed and then leaves you in the master by yourself to catch your breath.

You push your shaking self off of the mattress, wrapping the silk duvet around your sticky body before you go.

Upon inspection in the mirror, your hair is stuck to your forehead. Uhg.

Dropping the duvet, and without evading the chill of the air, you hop into the shower with Felix.

You don’t notice his eyes roaming your body, you’re too busy trying to stay warm in the water.

He hands you your shampoo with a sly smile.

“What?” Your voice is way more annoyed than you meant it.

“Nothing,” He shrugs and nonchalantly looks up at the ceiling as if it were anything interesting.

[hockeybabe]

hiiii, could you write something for protective matthew knies :))

My Girl || M.Knies

Not my Gif

Pairings: Matthew Knies x gf!reader

Summary: at a club Matthew notices some of his teammates getting a little too close to you for his liking.

Warnings: drinking, both over 21, swearing, jealous matt, matt got some anger issues, suggestive content.

Word count: 696

Note: matt would be so protective especially since he is one of the youngest. also please send in more requests <3

It was nighttime, and the Leafs had won one of their games. It was a normal occasion to party hard after a win. Especially when making the second round for the first time in over nineteen years and fifty-six years since they won the cup. Matthew was part of the first round but got injured. Now that he was healed, the team wanted to party with everyone.

It broke your heart when Matt was told that he wouldn’t be able to play. He loved the game and wanted to go farther with his team, but things just got in his way. You were over the moon when John invited you guys, but Matthew still had doubts, and he also told you that he wouldn’t be drinking.

Matt, stop pouting; they wanted you here, you know, as a team." You said for the hundredth time. "It just doesn’t feel right. I mean, my fucking injury got in-" You placed your finger on Matt’s lips, shushing him. "We are going to go to this club, have a great time, and go home and remember what a great time it was. Got it?" You said with a pointed look.

Matt raised his hand in surrender; he knew better than to upset you at a good event. The cab had come to a stop, stopping right outside the destination. "Can't back out now." You said, smirking at him walking out and giving the driver the right amount of money. Matt grunted behind your back, not liking how your behaviour changed from snapping at him to suggestive faces and comments.

You make it to the front door, waiting for Matt to catch up. "Don’t try anything." He whispered into your ear, pretending to bite it. You shiver as Matt opens the door, waiting for you to enter. Feeling confident, you walked ahead of him, swaying your hips and feeling Matt’s eye watch you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, watching as you ordered a drink.

Matt was now thankful he came because he got to watch his sexy ass girlfriend act like she was the dominant figure in the relationship. At the bar, you were met by Michael Bunting; he was older than you and Matt but always acted like he was younger. "How’s it going, Y/n?" Michael asked, taking a sip of his glass of bourbon.

"I’m great, Michael." You said it quickly, staring at Matt as he talked to Mitch and Auston. Matt watched you intently with a beer in hand. You knew that Michael wouldn’t try anything unless you wanted his help, and at this point, you were contemplating it. "Tryin' to make Matty boy jealous, aren't you?" Michael asked, smirking. You scoffed, "Maybe." You answered him.

"What do I gotta do?" He asked, looking down at you. You gave him a look because Michael had helped you do stuff like this before. "Don’t be an asshole." You said, looking up at him as he leaned in to whisper gibberish into your ear. Matt, on the other hand, had a tight grip on his glass while watching you two talk in a seductive way.

Matt didn’t like the close proximity between you two. "Go get your girl, Bud." Mitch said snapping Matt out of it. "You look like you're about to kill your teammate. Go." Mitch ordered after looking at Matt’s confused face. Yeah, I’ll be back." Matt responded, placing his glass down and walking towards you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Matt stalk towards you with a scowl on his face. "A Little close, aren’t you?" Matt said from behind, wrapping his hand around your waist. "We’re just talking." Michael said, taking a few steps back. "Go talk to a non-taken woman." Matt ordered. You watched as Michael's reaction changed from calm to ‘I’m going to punch him’ really quickly.

"You know what, Michael, we’re gonna go. It was nice talking to you about Matt. I’ll see you around." You said pulling Matt away from his older teammate. Matt sighed and frowned "Now I’m the asshole." Matt mumbled. You laughed as you two headed to the exit. "Good luck in practice."

[assortedseaglass]

🌟Wintering | Yuletide🌟

Tom Bennett x fem!Reader

Summary: The war is over and Tom Bennett returns home, seeking comfort in a friend from his past.

Content Warnings: Drabble, Language, Smut (p in v, oral!f receiving).

Yuletide Masterlist

Wintering, verb. To hide, hibernate, seek comfort or rest, especially after turbulent times (in humans).

“Fuck,”

Your back was beginning to ache. You hadn’t given a moment’s thought as to where you were when you’d burst through the door. Just being at home, away from prying eyes, was enough. Now, the dado rail was bruising the base of your spine with every harsh thrust.

“Fuck,” he hissed again in your ear, immediately silencing himself by covering your mouth with his own. The warmth, the wetness, was delicious.

“Tom, please,” you whined into his mouth. Even through the dull pain in your back, your legs hooked around his waist ever tighter. At your plea he looked down at you, his hips still rolling lazily. When he saw the scrunch of your eyebrows, the sheen of sweat above them, and the way your lower lip pillowed as you bit down on it, Tom Bennett grinned.

He continued grinning as his hips began pistoning at an unholy pace into your wet heat. That wolfish smile was the last thing you saw as your eyes finally closed, too overwhelmed by pleasure to stay open, as you threw your head back against the wall. Bastard. He knew he was good.

You’d heard at the dancehall last night that the final battleship into port, the HMS Valiant, was due to arrive the following day at around 3 o’clock. You also knew, from working with Lois on the ambulances, that this was Tom’s ship. When Mrs Beatty and a few other ladies from your mother’s Women's Institute suggested meeting the last of the lads to come home at the dock, the idea spread through your Manchester suburb like wildfire.

No sooner had your mother come home with the news were you being bustled onto the number 54 bus with a hamper laden with fresh clothes, bottles of beer, spam sandwiches and the little change that each family could spare. Old men, and women of all ages, piled into the buses and made their way to the docks. A few families still had bunting from the King’s jubilee and strung it from dockyard cranes.

The furore was extraordinary. The battleship was already looming large on the horizon when you all emptied from the bus, and young and old cheered themselves hoarse until the ship made its way into port. Sailors, forgetting regulations, leant over the ships’ railings and waved to family and friends. When the battleship finally docked, it let out a long blast of its horn and the crowed roared with glee. Mothers and sweethearts were already crying when the gangway was let down, and you saw that even some fathers were wiping their eyes.

You watched with relief as faces you recognised filed off the boat. Mr Martin’s only surviving son, thirty-eight and with three children who each ran into his arms. Frank Smith, the school bully’s rat-faced sidekick. The lad that worked at the corner shop, nineteen now, having received his papers the day he turned eighteen. Each was greeted by their family members and someone with a ‘welcome home’ hamper.

All, except one. Tom Bennett, one of the tallest lads on the boat, walked down the gangway in a few elegant strides and stopped on the dock with a sigh as he hitched his kitbag over his shoulder. He lifted his eyes to the sky, the October afternoon already darkening to a mournful blue.

As with the rest of the young men, the war had not been kind to him. Shadows haunted his slim face, prematurely aged from the horrors of a war none of them should have fought. At home, he was the stuff of legend. Survived the battle of River Plate, Dunkirk and went on the run in Europe, only to be sent back to war the moment he returned. More lives than the luckiest of cats, your mother said. The worst, of course, was the loss of his father and his home. The grief hit the Bennett children hard. Tom Bennett jumped onto the first battleship in dock, and Lois left baby Vera in England to go nursing in Africa. Now, Tom Bennett stood on the dock with no-one to welcome him home after six long years.

You hurried forward.

“Tom-” As though he knew you were there before you even spoke, he looked down from the sky to your flushed face.

Though he said your name quietly, a smile flashed across his boyish face. Your stomach somersaulted. He’d always been the handsomest rogue in Longsight, and still was with his blue eyes and sandy hair. At least there was one thing the war hadn’t taken away from him.

You held out the hamper. “Welcome home, Tom,” and with a sincere smile you stood on tiptoe to kiss his sallow cheek. A faint lipstick smudge lingered there and you smiled all the more.

“I’d be flattered,” Tom teased, gesturing to the hamper. “If every other Tom, Dick and Harry didn’t have one too.” He laughed as he took the hamper from you. His large palm covered your own and you shivered.

There was history there. Only a few pages, but history nonetheless. At once, you were transported back to the parish dance of 1935. Both seventeen, you as green as the grass, he already-world weary and wandering. He danced with no-one the entire night, though many a girl looked hopeful, yet took your hand for the last dance. When you thought about those innocent years before the war, in the darkest hours of the night or after a few too many sherries, you swore you could feel Tom’s hands burning against your waist, and at your neck as he kissed you. Your first.

Tom too, was remembering the first moment you touched him. A maths lesson with Miss Greene. He’d been caught flicking pencil sharpenings into girls’ hair and was sent to sit in the corner at the back of the class. You, as much a sweetheart then as you were now, were tasked with handing out textbooks. Unfortunately for you and luckily for Tom, they were on the shelf above where he sat. A cocky grin on his face, Tom didn’t move. He loved winding the girls up, and you were something different. At sixteen, you were curvier than the rest, and watching you flush pink was his favourite hobby. And so, he didn’t move. With pride, he chortled as you blushed and reached for the textbooks above him. His smug smile faltered however when, in order to reach the books, your legs came to rest on each side of his spread ones. With one of your thighs either side of his, he swallowed. He could feel the heat coming from the apex between them, smell your perfume and feel the way the soft flesh pressed against his. When you finally retrieved the books, it was your turn to smirk at the red flush peppering his cheekbones.

“Where are you staying, Tom, now you're back?” You asked, voice low. Your mother was not far away.

“Bench in the pub, presumably. Most of the lads are heading that way for a party. Then I’ll find meself lodgings above some dodgy back-alley business.” He huffed a humourless laugh. You looked him directly in the eye.

“Stay out ours tonight.”

Tom leant close to you, wetting his lips. “What would mother say?”

“Don’t know, she’ll be down pub with the rest of them. Loves a sherry and a sailor.”

Half an hour later, you were pressed against the wall of your mother’s hallway, Tom Bennett lapping hungrily at your slick centre. Beneath your skirt and petticoat, the lewd sounds of his tongue against your wet sex filled the quiet evening.

Now, buried to the hilt within you, his swollen head bullying your core, Tom forgot the last seven months he’d spent living on the Valiant. Forgot the suffering of the last six years entirely. For between the softness of your thighs, the scent of your neck as he tucked his face against it tenderly, he’d found, if for a moment, the thing he’d been fighting for. Warmth, kindness, rest­. A place to winter.

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

[redroomreflections]

The Ghost in The Window Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: As a former child star and one-half of one of Hollywood's most powerful couples, you’re no stranger to the dangers of the spotlight. Life has just begun to settle for you as you navigate motherhood, marriage, and your career. When a fan-turned-stalker gets a bit too close for comfort, everything is turned upside down

Warnings: mention of stalking, cursing, semi-smut

w/c:6k

Note: for now this story only three chapters - i am finishing up a few other stories before this one so read at your own risk

As you step into the spacious backyard of your mansion, the warm summer breeze gently rustles the leaves of the surrounding trees. The area is busy with activity, voices heard every which way, and the clinking of silverware. You take a moment to appreciate the stunningly landscaped gardens, creating a picturesque backdrop for the event tonight.

Your annual summer throwback party is known for its fun and charm, and this year's gathering promises to be no exception. Tonight was a night to let loose, get into the groove, and have a good time with friends and family.

You keep an eye on everything, and you catch a glimpse of your attentive staff, clad in crisp uniforms, moving gracefully to fulfill their assigned tasks. The caterers, dressed in pristine black jackets, skillfully arrange an array of meals on the elegantly decorated tables. The aroma of freshly prepared treats wafts through the air, tempting even the most discerning palate.

As you approach the central area, you see the talented event planners overseeing the setup. They expertly arrange vintage-inspired decorations, transporting your guests back in time to an era of hip-hop and oversized t-shirts. Strings of soft fairy lights twinkle above, casting a warm glow, while strands of colorful bunting flutter in the gentle breeze. The atmosphere is vibrant, yet refined—a perfect reflection of your unique style.

Amid the preparations, your attention turns to Rose and Grace. Rose, with her usual curls braided into a bun and infectious laughter, excitedly runs around the yard, exploring every corner with wide-eyed wonder. Meanwhile, Grace rests peacefully in her stroller, her tiny fingers gently clutching a plush toy.

As you continue overseeing the preparations, ensuring every detail is in place, Natasha approaches with a gentle smile on her face.

"Hey, love. I am confirming that the kids will be in bed by the time the party kicks off. I've arranged for Carla to come over so that we can enjoy the evening without any interruptions."

You nod in agreement.

“Now, we just have to break the news to the little one that she’s not invited,” You gesture to Rose who is still running around the yard. Just as you finish speaking, she skips over to you with a wide smile.

“Mommy, can I have ice cream at the party?” Rose looks up to you. She bats her lashes, giving you the best puppy dog eyes ever, and you chuckle.

You share a loving glance with Natasha before addressing Rose's request.

Natasha kneels to be at eye level with her. “Oh, Rose, sweetheart, I'm sorry you can't come to the party this time. It's for grown-ups, but we'll make it up to you, okay? How about before your bedtime story, we have a special ice cream treat just for you?"

“Ah, but I want to see everyone,” Rose pouts. “I never get to come to parties.”

“Well, maybe when you’re a bit bigger,” Natasha suggests.

“How big?” Rose shoots back. “Seven?” Natasha thinks.

“She’s going to hold you to that.” You warn her. Kids never forget anything you promised them. You learned the hard way after promising to take her to get a doll. She begged you for that thing for an entire week. Only for it to end up in a toy box with the others.

Rose deflates. "Can I get chocolate ice cream?”

“Sure, kid, two scoops just for you,” You promise her. “If you give Carla a hard time you’ll have to answer to me in the morning. Do you hear me? You get two scoops and a bedtime story. That’s it. Understood?”

“Mhmm,” Rose nods obediently. It’s just going in one ear and out the other.

She wraps her small arms around your legs, a gesture that warms your heart. “I love you, Mommy, and Mama.”

"We love you too, Rose. Now, go find Carla for your bath, and we'll have that ice cream surprise waiting for you right after."

With a grin, Rose scampers off toward her room, already dreaming of the delightful bedtime treat in store for her. As you watch her go, a sense of fulfillment washes over you—knowing that while the adults indulge in the festivities, your children will be safe, cared for, and treated to their special moments.

“Ready to get this thing started?” Natasha looked at you.

“Something like that,” You shrug. “We still have an hour or two. No one should be here just yet.”

“Can we bet who’s showing up the latest?” Natasha offers. “I’m betting on Yelena.”

“Oh, that’s a good choice. I’ll say, Monica.” You offer her. You two shake on it.

As you look around the backyard, you catch sight of your event planner, Melissa, coordinating the final touches with the staff. Making your way towards her, a wide smile brightens your face.

"Melissa, everything looks fantastic! The decorations are on point. Have you seen my outfit for the '90s party? I want to make sure it's ready in my bedroom."

"Absolutely, y/n! I've made sure your outfit is prepared and waiting for you in your bedroom. It's a fabulous throwback piece that I'm sure you'll rock!" Melissa complimented.

You exchange a knowing nod, appreciating Melissa's attention to detail. As you stroll through the vibrant scene, the event planner leans in to share some exciting news.

" By the way, we have some new staff members joining us today. It's their onboarding day, and I think it'll add fresh and fun energy to the party. I thought you might enjoy meeting them."

Your eyes light up with anticipation, eager to welcome the new team members into your event-planning family.

"That sounds great, Melissa! Make sure to introduce them to me later. Make sure they know they’re allowed to have food too. There’s going to be more than we can keep."

Melissa nods enthusiastically, sharing in your enthusiasm. With a glance towards the staff setting up, you notice a few familiar faces among the seasoned team members, diligently working to set up your party in time for the night.

As Melissa hurries off to attend to her responsibilities, you take a moment to soak in the lively atmosphere. The sounds of upbeat '90s music fill the air, enhancing your meticulously crafted nostalgic ambiance. A surge of excitement courses through your veins as you imagine the party's transformation, transporting your guests back in time to an era filled with iconic fashion and music.

With a sense of purpose, you return to preparing for the party, ensuring that everything aligns seamlessly with your vision. The staff members move swiftly, responding to your instructions with precision and enthusiasm. As you navigate through the crowd of dedicated individuals, you catch snippets of conversations, laughter, and the occasional clatter of glassware, all signaling the harmonious collaboration taking place.

This party, while not exactly the big event you’re making it out to be, is always enjoyable. This would be the night of your life.

*************************

A few hours later, the party has begun with a bang. The music and laughter fill the yard as your family and friends filter in one by one. You excuse yourself for a moment, leaving Natasha to continue hosting, as you make your way to the nursery. You sit in the cozy rocking chair, softly humming a lullaby. You cradle Grace in your arms, gently swaying back and forth.

The room feels serene and warm despite the noise coming from just outside of her window., the soft glow of a nightlight casting a warm ambiance. With the party atmosphere humming in the background, you continue to rock gently in the nursery chair, your focus solely on Grace. You guide her to your breast, embracing the intimate bond that nursing creates. Grace nestles contentedly against your chest, finding comfort in the familiar rhythm.

As you gaze down at your daughter, you whisper sweet words of love, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

After Grace has had her fill, you carefully burp her, tenderly patting her back. The little one lets out a satisfied sigh, and her eyes slowly begin to flutter closed. You cradle her in your arms, standing up from the chair with a gentle sway, ready to put her to bed.

You walk over to the crib, adorned with soft blankets and a mobile of gentle melodies. With care, you lower Grace into the crib, your touch soft and reassuring.

As you turn to leave the nursery, you hear a commotion from Rose's room. The sound of frustrated cries and protest reaches your ears, indicating that Rose is giving her nanny a hard time going to bed. Your brow furrows with concern, and you make your way towards Rose's room.

Inside, you find Carla patiently trying to calm Rose down, but the little one is resolute in her resistance. You enter with a warm smile, your presence instantly drawing Rose's attention.

"Hey there, what’s going on?" You ask, your voice gentle but firm. "It's time for bed now, Rosie. You know you need your rest to have all the energy for tomorrow. We talked about this earlier."

Rose pouts, crossing her arms defiantly. "But I don't want to go to bed! I want to stay up with you and have fun!"

You crouch down to Rose's level, your eyes full of understanding. "I know it's hard to go to bed when there's so much excitement going on. But remember, we all need our sleep to be happy and healthy. Can we make a deal?"

Rose's eyes widen with curiosity, her resistance softening slightly. "What kind of deal?"

You smile, a playful glint in your eyes. "If I take you downstairs to say hello to everyone, and you dance one song with Uncle Steve, you come back up and you go to bed.”Negotiating again. You were never the winner of these things. It’s probably not the best parenting tactic, but it works some of the time.

Rose's stubborn expression melts away, replaced by a mixture of anticipation and compliance. "Okay, deal!"

“Carla, I’ll take her downstairs for a few minutes,” You promise and the other woman nods. She’s fine with that. You place Rose onto your waist, her legs wrapping around your hips, as you carry her downstairs to the party. There’s someone in every room and she lights up whenever someone greets her. You find Natasha at the door, scolding Yelena playfully about being late.

“Yeah, yeah, I made it here on time didn’t I?” Yelena grumbles with an eye roll. She pushes past Natasha to come and say hello to you and Rose. “There’s the flower girl. How are ya?” Yelena grins widely. “I thought you would be in bed by the time I got here.”

“Not a chance,” You shake your head. Rose stretches her arms out to get a hug from her aunt. The commotion is interrupted by Monica, an indication you’ve won your bet, as she walks in with a new beau on her arm and a bottle of champagne in her other hand.

“Diva in the house!’ Monica announces loudly to catch your attention.

“It’s about time,” You chuckle as you move to kiss her cheek. “I guess you lost the bet.” You say to Natasha who takes the loss gracefully.

“Uh, were you betting on me? No way,” Monica shakes her head. “This is my friend, Ryan, he’s here for the weekend. Thought I’d stop by and show him a great time.”

“Oh, I bet you will,” You smile through your teeth. “Nice to meet you, Ryan.” You introduce yourself and Natasha. The first thing you notice is he’s cute with an incredible smile. A win for Monica if you do say so yourself.

“Thank you,” Ryan smiles widely. “It’s a pleasure to be here.” He says.

“Well, you guys could go ahead to the backyard the fun’s already started,” You gesture to the back. You wait for them to leave before looking at Natasha. “I’d like my money in cash. Thank you.” You pat Natasha’s back gleefully. As you begin to walk away, she catches your hand, tugging you back into her, before leaning in for a kiss. You happily oblige, raising a hand to caress her cheek, before you pull back. “I love you.” You sigh.

“I love you too,” Natasha replies. “Where’s the munchkin?” She questions as she looks around the room.

“Probably out there being the life of the party,” You shake your head. “She’s never going to sleep at this rate.” You listen to the sound of cheers and “Go Rose!” praises coming from the backyard. This should be interesting.

As you and Natasha step into the party, the vibrant atmosphere of the '90s hip-hop theme instantly engulfs you. The yard is alive with laughter, pulsating beats, and a sea of people crowded around the dance floor. The DJ spins the classic hit "This Is How We Do It" by Montell Jordan, and the infectious groove fills the air.

You and Natasha exchange knowing glances, feeling the electric energy in the room. With Natasha in tow, you make your way towards the center of the dance floor, where the crowd is most animated. Rose, is wide awake despite being way past her bedtime, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As "This Is How We Do It" blares through the speakers, Rose's little feet start to shuffle, her body moving to the rhythm as if she's been waiting for this moment her entire life. She's drawn to the pulsating beat like a magnet, her laughter and giggles blending harmoniously with the music.

The crowd around her notices her adorable presence and can't help but cheer her on, creating a circle around her, and providing her a stage for her impromptu performance. Family becomes her biggest fans, smiling and clapping along with the infectious rhythm.

Natasha wraps her arm around your waist, her eyes fixed on Rose, her heart overflowing with love and pride. She leans in and whispers, "Look at our little superstar. She's stealing the show!"

You nod. "She's definitely got the groove in her blood. Just like her Mama."

As Rose spins and twirls, her dance moves a delightful combination of her own creativity and the influences of the '90s hip-hop era, the joy on her face is palpable. She bounces with infectious energy, absorbing the positive vibes from the crowd, completely lost in the moment.

Montell Jordan's voice fills the air, and you can't help but join the crowd, clapping and cheering for Rose, basking in her radiant spirit. It's a memory you know you'll cherish forever—the night Rose, with her innocent enthusiasm, became the star of the '90s-themed party, captivating everyone with her authentic joy and carefree dance moves.

As the song nears its end, Rose takes her final bow, having watched you do it a dozen times, a beaming smile spread across her face. The crowd erupts in applause, showering her with love and praise. You and Natasha rush to embrace her, filled with overwhelming pride and love.

“Mama, did you see me?” Rose bounces in place. “I danced around and around.” She makes circles with her pointer finger.

Natasha leans down, brushing a strand of hair away from Rose's face, her voice filled with admiration. "You were amazing, sweetheart. The party wouldn't have been the same without you."

Rose, still catching her breath, beams up at both of you, her eyes shining with happiness. "I love dancing! Can we do it again?"

You share a look with Natasha, your hearts swelling with warmth and affection. "Of course, my little dancer. We'll have many more dance parties together. But now, it's time to head upstairs and get you tucked into bed."

With a last wave to the cheering crowd, you kiss Rose goodnight and send her on her way back to her bedroom and Natasha follows her to ensure she’s in fact going to bed this time.

Behind you the DJ transitions to a remix of a Spice Girls hit, and the infectious beats fill the air, instantly transporting you back to the '90s. A simpler time. You find yourself surrounded by Monica and Wanda all dressed in iconic '90s fashion, ready to rock the dance floor.

Monica grabs your hand, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Come on, y/n It's time to unleash your inner Spice Girl!”

“Oh, no, that’s so corny,” You yell over the music. Despite them both grabbing an arm to pull you further onto the floor. “Guys, I don’t even remember the dance moves.”

Wanda joins in, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Yes, you do. It’s like riding a bike! We won't take no for an answer.”

Feeling their infectious energy, you can't help but surrender to the moment. With a laugh, you let Monica and Wanda pull you toward the center of the dance floor, ready to immerse yourself in the nostalgia of the Spice Girls era.

The rhythm takes hold of you, and you start moving to the music, swaying and grooving alongside Monica and Wanda. As the remix intensifies, you unleash your inner Spice Girl, spinning, twirling, and throwing your hands up in the air with unabashed joy.

The crowd around you can't help but notice the trio of friends, radiating happiness and contagious energy. They cheer you on, appreciating the camaraderie and the lively dance moves that embody the carefree spirit of the '90s.

Monica, with her infectious laugh, grabs your hand and starts choreographing a playful routine, her moves perfectly synchronized with yours. Wanda, always the trendsetter, adds her own flair, creating an electrifying dance trio that captivates everyone around.

With each passing moment, you can feel the bonds of friendship strengthening, the shared love for the '90s music and fashion deepening your connection. As the music reaches its peak, you glance at Monica and Wanda, all three of you breathless but full of life, their laughter echoing in your ears.

The song comes to an end, but the memories and the joy linger. As you catch your breath, you exchange high fives and hugs, reveling in the incredible time you've had on the dance floor.

Monica grins, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "That was epic! We rocked it, y/n!"

“Oh, sure,” You laugh as you hold onto your aching side. “This was more cardio than I’ve had in a while.”

Wanda nods, her smile beaming with pride. "Well, look at it this way, Mel B would be proud."

You take a moment to catch your breath, your heart full of gratitude for these incredible friends. "Thank you both for dragging me onto the dance floor. This night wouldn't have been the same without you.”

Arm in arm, the three of you make your way back to the sidelines, but the joy and energy of the party continue to reverberate in your hearts. This was only the beginning.

*************************

Inside the house, Natasha makes her way downstairs to the kitchen, her eyes scanning the room for the refreshments table. But as she approaches, she notices a new face among the servers. Carissa, a young woman she recognizes from the local IHOP, is diligently attending to the hors d'oeuvres table, her eyes filled with excitement.

A mix of surprise and discomfort washes over Natasha as she realizes that Carissa, seemingly a fan of yours, is now serving at her own party. She knows that fame can sometimes attract attention, but having a fan in her home feels invasive.

Suppressing her unease, Natasha takes a deep breath and approaches Carissa with a polite smile. "Hi there, I don't think we've met. I'm Natasha."

Carissa's eyes widen with delight, clearly recognizing Natasha. "Oh my gosh, Natasha Romanoff! I'm Carissa. I've been a big fan of yours for years. It's an honor to serve at your party! We met at the iHop remember?"

Natasha's discomfort intensifies, but she maintains her composed demeanor. "Thank you, Carissa. I appreciate your kind words. I do remember.” Natasha swallows thickly. “If you need any assistance, please let me or Melissa, the event coordinator, know."

She’s short and to the point. Which it seems Carissa doesn’t pick up on.

“I will,” Carissa nods.

With that, Natasha discreetly excuses herself, heading over to Melissa, who is busy overseeing the event logistics. Natasha briefly explains the situation, voicing her concern about having a fan serving at the party.

Melissa listens attentively, understanding the delicate nature of the situation. "I completely understand, Natasha. Let me handle it. I'll discreetly find a replacement for Carissa so that the atmosphere remains comfortable for everyone."

Natasha expresses her gratitude, relieved to have Melissa's support in resolving the matter. She returns to the party, determined to enjoy the celebration without the unease that had briefly clouded her excitement.

With Natasha gone, Melissa discreetly approaches Carissa, who is diligently attending to her serving duties at the hors d'oeuvres table. She politely taps her shoulder, catching Carissa's attention.

"Carissa, could I have a quick word with you?" Melissa asks, her tone gentle yet firm.

Carissa smiles warmly, eager to assist. "Of course, Melissa. What do you need?"

Melissa guides Carissa away from the busy party area, leading her to a quieter corner. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, wanting to handle the situation with care.

"Carissa, I wanted to let you know that I appreciate your hard work tonight," Melissa begins, her voice sincere. "However, there has been a minor change in the serving staff schedule, and we won't be needing your assistance for the rest of the evening. You can go ahead and take the night off."

Carissa's smile falters slightly, a tinge of disappointment in her eyes. "Oh, I see. Is everything alright? Did I do something wrong?"

Melissa shakes her head, assuring Carissa with a reassuring smile. "No, no, not at all, Carissa. You've been doing great. This change is simply due to some last-minute adjustments in the schedule. It's nothing personal."

Carissa nods, understanding Melissa's explanation. "Okay, I understand. Thank you for letting me know. I'll go ahead and gather my things. Should I let anyone else know before I leave?"

Melissa shakes her head again, her tone reassuring. "No need, Carissa. I'll take care of informing the rest of the team. You can go ahead and excuse yourself. If you have any questions or need anything, feel free to reach out."

With a smile, Carissa expresses her gratitude. "Thank you, Melissa. I had a great time serving tonight, and it was an honor to be a part of this event."

Melissa returns the smile, genuinely appreciating Carissa's positive attitude. "The pleasure was all ours, Carissa. Thank you for your hard work. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Instead of leaving out the front door, Carissa makes her way to the bathroom, and Melissa takes a moment to reflect on the situation. She understands the delicate balance of maintaining a comfortable atmosphere for all guests, including Natasha. With Carissa's departure, Melissa is confident that she has handled the situation in the best way possible, protecting the privacy and comfort of everyone involved.

Returning her focus to the party, Melissa resumes her duties, ensuring the smooth flow of the event and allowing the guests to continue enjoying themselves in the vibrant atmosphere.

In the bathroom on the second floor, after finding the first one occupied, Carissa leans against the sink, taking deep breaths. Had Natasha asked for her to be dismissed? Would she tell you she saw her? Was she in trouble? All she wanted was to get a little close to you. Maybe this would become a wake-up call.

“Mommy?” A voice calls out from the hallway. Carissa looks up. She knows that voice. She’s listened to it plenty of times in the small snippets you would post on your Instagram. Stepping out of the second-floor bathroom, Carissa comes face to face with Rose.

"Hey there, sweetie. It's okay, I'm here," Carissa says, entering the hallway with a reassuring smile.

Rose turns towards Carissa, her eyes still filled with sleep. "Where’s Carla?” She asks tiredly. "I couldn't find my moms. Are they still at the party?" she asks, her voice tinged with worry.

Carissa's heart melts at the sight of Rose's concern. She walks over to the little girl and kneels in front of her, offering a comforting presence. "Your moms are downstairs, taking care of some things. They'll be back soon, but in the meantime, how about we find a cozy spot for you to wait?"

Rose nods, her trust in Carissa growing as she takes in the warmth and kindness in her eyes. She figures as long as the girl has on a uniform like the rest of the staff she’s fine. Carissa gently guides her towards Natasha and your bed, adjusting the blankets and pillows to make it extra comfortable. Looking around, her eyes take in the bedroom. The room is spacious, and adorned with warm, earthy tones that create a soothing atmosphere. The walls are painted in a soft, muted shade of yellow, offering a serene backdrop for the space.

A large, plush bed takes center stage, dressed in luxurious red linens that invite rest and relaxation. The headboard, crafted from rich, dark wood, adds an elegant touch to the room. Soft pillows and cozy blankets are neatly arranged, inviting moments of quiet respite.

To one side, a sleek wooden dresser sits against the wall, adorned with personal mementos and cherished items. Framed photographs capture special moments and loved ones, evoking memories of laughter and joy.

A spacious walk-in closet stands nearby, neatly organized with clothing, shoes, and accessories. The closet is a reflection of your distinct styles, with each section carefully arranged to showcase your individual fashion preferences. This is what catches her attention the most. She notices the light on and decides to check some things out. She doesn’t touch anything, simply looks, but it’s then she notices a familiar item.

She reaches into the closet and retrieves a soft teddy bear, its fluffy arms waiting for a loving embrace.

"I found this teddy bear in the closet. Would you like to have it for a little while? It can keep you company until your moms come back," Carissa suggests, holding out the cuddly bear.

A spark of curiosity and comfort lights up Rose's eyes as she accepts the teddy bear, clutching it tightly against her chest. "Thank you. I like the bear."

Carissa's smile grows wider, a sense of fulfillment warming her heart. "You're welcome, Rose. Just remember, your moms love you very much, and they'll be here soon. If you need anything, just call for them."

With Carissa's words of assurance lingering in the air, Rose settles down on the bed, snuggling closer to the soft teddy bear. As Carissa quietly exits the room, Rose feels a sense of calm wash over her. She knows that her moms will return, and for now, she can find solace in the company of her new furry friend.

In the warm embrace of the teddy bear and the comfort of her moms' bed, Rose's worry begins to melt away. She drifts back into a peaceful sleep, content in the knowledge that she is safe and cared for, surrounded by a home filled with love.

**************************

Downstairs as the party continues to unfold, Natasha notices a brief moment where you and she are alone, away from the lively crowd. Sensing the need to address the situation, she gently pulls you to the side, finding a quiet corner where you can talk.

"Hey, there's something I wanted to discuss with you," Natasha begins, her voice filled with concern.

You look at her, curious and slightly apprehensive. "What is it, Nat?"

Natasha takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "I noticed that Carissa, the girl you told me about, was a server for the party.”

You raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and concern crossing your face. "Wait, really? How does something like that even happen? Did you send her home?”

Natasha nods, her expression serious. "I did. Melissa dismissed her. Having a fan serving at our own home makes me uncomfortable. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about the situation."

You take a moment to process the information, understanding Natasha's concern and the need to ensure privacy and boundaries. "I appreciate you letting me know, Nat. I didn't anticipate this either.” You look around the party to all of your friends having fun. “I’m just going to go and check on the girls if that’s okay?”

“Sure, yeah, I’ll be down here.” Natasha kisses your cheek. She understands your worry. She watches you leave before returning to the party. She’s still unsettled about this entire thing.

Feeling a pang of anxiety in your chest, you excuse yourself from the party for a moment, your instincts guiding you toward the house. You need to ensure that Rose and Grace are safe and sound.

As you enter the house, you head straight for the nursery, hoping to find Grace peacefully sleeping in her crib. And indeed, there she is, resting peacefully, unaware of the commotion outside.

Relieved at the sight, you let out a sigh of relief, but your attention quickly shifts to Rose. She's not in her own bed, and a sense of panic begins to rise within you. Your heart races as you search the room, calling out her name, but there's no sign of her.

Your footsteps hasten as you move towards your bedroom, your mind filled with worry and a million worst-case scenarios. As you gently push open the door, your eyes land on the sight that both confuses and comforts you.

There, lying in the center of your bed, is Rose, wrapped up in the soft blankets, clutching the teddy bear you’d stashed in the closet a week ago. Her face is serene, her breathing steady, indicating that she has found a peaceful slumber.

A mix of emotions floods over you—relief that she is safe, concern about how she ended up in your bed, and a touch of amusement at the sight of her embracing the teddy bear like a dear friend.

With a gentle smile, you approach Rose, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. You brush a stray piece of hair away from her face, marveling at the innocence and tranquility that radiates from her.

Though your initial panic has subsided, you make a mental note to talk to Rose about the importance of staying in her own bed. However, for now, you decide to let her enjoy her peaceful sleep, knowing that at this moment, she feels secure and comforted.

Quietly, you lean in and press a tender kiss on Rose's forehead, grateful for her safety and the love that fills your home. With a final glance at your peacefully sleeping daughter, you exit the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, allowing the soft glow of the hallway to cast a gentle light over her.

After confirming Rose was settled and comforted, you feel a sense of responsibility lingering in your mind. Wanting to ensure the safety and security of your home, you decide to take an extra measure of caution by checking the security cameras.

Making your way to the security system panel, you quickly access the live feed from various cameras placed strategically around your property. The screens come to life, displaying different angles of your home and its surroundings.

With a meticulous eye, you scan each camera feed, examining the perimeters, entrances, and important areas of your residence. The high-resolution images offer a sense of assurance as you observe the well-lit grounds, the steady movement of security lights, and the absence of any unusual activity.

As you navigate through the different camera views, you take note of the familiar faces of your guests, enjoying the party and embracing the vibrant 90s hip-hop theme. It brings a smile to your face, knowing that everyone is having a great time under the watchful eyes of the security system.

Satisfied with your quick inspection, you double-check that all the cameras are functioning properly and the feeds are clear. The security system provides an additional layer of comfort, knowing that you can keep an eye on your home even while being away.

*******************************

Once returning to the party for the millionth time that night, the vibrant energy of the gathering washes over you, lifting your spirits and reigniting your enthusiasm. Laughter and conversation fill the air, mingling with the rhythmic beats of the music.

Joining the lively group, you find Natasha amidst a game of truth or drink. Curiosity piques your interest, and you decide to jump in, eager to partake in the playful camaraderie. You take a seat among your friends, a mischievous grin dancing on your lips.

The game progresses, with questions ranging from silly and lighthearted to revealing and personal. Each person takes turns, answering with honesty or opting for a sip of their chosen drink instead. The atmosphere brims with anticipation, as the group eagerly awaits their turn to pose the next inquiry.

There’s a question from Mikey Tate, one of your long-time industry friends, as he uses his phone to ask.

"Okay, here's one for y/n and Natasha our lovely hosts,” He gestures to the two of you, and a gaggle of “oohs” and “ahhs” surrounds you. “I’ll try to keep it tame. What’s the weirdest position you ever tried?"

The room fills with laughter and incredulous looks, your friends grappling with the absurdity of the question. The wildness of the question has you a bit giddy. You sip from your cup just because before looking at Natasha.

“I think we’re both going to drink on that one,” She raises her glass for cheers before downing the rest of her drink.

A knowing smile spreads across your face as you take another playful sip of your drink, signifying your choice to keep that particular secret locked away.

The room erupts in laughter and playful banter, the momentary diversion bringing a sense of lightness and camaraderie to the atmosphere. You join in, embracing the playful energy of the game, and sharing in the joy and laughter that fills the air.

At that moment, surrounded by friends and loved ones, you realize that it's not always about finding the perfect answer or unveiling every secret. Sometimes, the most memorable moments are found in the shared laughter and the bonds that strengthen with each lighthearted exchange. With that thought in mind, you settle back into the game, ready to relish the amusing and unforgettable moments that lie ahead.

******************************

It’s a few hours later, a few drinks later, and way too many songs to continue when the party dies down. The last of the guests bid their farewells and the echoes of laughter fade into the night, a comfortable stillness settles upon the house. You and Natasha find yourselves drawn to the warm embrace of the kitchen, seeking solace in its familiar walls and the intimate conversations that often unfold there.

You sink into a chair, your body is tired yet content from the festivities. Natasha joins you, her presence a comforting anchor in the quiet of the moment. The lingering aroma of the party lingers, blending with the scent of familiarity that permeates the space.

In the gentle glow of the kitchen lights, you share a gaze that speaks volumes, understanding each other without the need for words. There's a sense of contentment in the air, a shared feeling of fulfillment after a night well spent.

Seated comfortably, you lean against the counter, a steaming cup of tea cradled in your hands. Natasha sits across from you, her presence a soothing balm to your soul.

You take a sip of your tea, relishing in the comforting warmth that spreads through your body. The lingering echoes of laughter and music intertwine with the gentle hum of conversation as you and Natasha reflect on the events of the night.

"So, tonight was quite the adventure, huh?" Natasha says, a playful glimmer in her eyes. "I must say, I didn't expect us to be playing truth or drink at our own party."

You chuckle, the memory of the outlandish questions and the ensuing laughter fresh in your mind. "Definitely unexpected, but it was a lot of fun. I think everyone enjoyed themselves."

Natasha nods, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I agree. And it was great seeing you let loose, even if that last question left you momentarily speechless."

You join in her laughter, a playful sparkle in your eyes. "Well, some questions are just too wild to have an answer, you know?"

Leaning forward, Natasha rests her chin on her hand, her gaze gentle yet filled with curiosity. "Speaking of wild, what are your thoughts about Carissa? It was unexpected to see her here tonight."

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, grateful for Natasha's understanding and openness. "Honestly, it was a surprise, but I don't think she meant any harm. Maybe? I don’t know.” You shrug. Natasha doesn’t look so convinced. You don’t even know what to think either. “I’ll mention it to Roxy tomorrow. After that maybe Melissa. Make sure she’s not hiring new people and if she does let us know.”

Natasha nods, her eyes filled with compassion. "That sounds like a good plan. It's crucial to maintain a sense of security and privacy. But remember, y/n, you're allowed to set those boundaries for yourself and our family."

You take a deep breath, grateful for Natasha's support and understanding. "Thank you, Nat. I just don’t to accuse this girl of anything. I mean it could be a complete coincidence. Everyone takes gigs in L.A."

“Not at our house you don’t,” Natasha shakes her head. “Let’s just shelve it for now.” She says as she rounds the counter. You turn in your chair to wrap your arms around her neck.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the weight of the night's events settling into a peaceful calm. Words are exchanged sporadically, thoughts flowing freely between you as you bask in the warmth of each other's presence.

“I love you,” Natasha says, now up close, you can see her eyes are a tad bit dilated from the alcohol.

“I love you too,” You murmur. Pretty soon the sweet murmurs, and the soft touches, turn into something else. Knowing you dismissed Carla to her own home earlier in the night, Natasha is all too willing to take this a bit further.

“So sexy,” She says more to herself than to you as her kisses trail from your lips to your neck. You lean back slightly, allowing her to hike up the waist of your slip dress. The fabric bunches around your thighs as she kisses down your chest. “You’re not wearing panties?” She raises a brow while massaging your thighs.

“Too restrictive,” You breathe. You receive no complaints from her. Natasha drops to her knees, wasting no time in building you up, as she kisses around your inner thighs. She sucks particularly hard on the skin of your left thigh, guaranteeing a bruise, before she directs her attention elsewhere. You moan, your hand finding its way to the top of her head, ensuring she won’t move. She’s skilled, and enthusiastic, as she begins to pleasure you. Your head drops to your chest, and your eyes open just a sliver before you’re jumping out of your skin, and not in a good way. You gasp, seeing the shadows in front of you in the double doors before you turn around.

“What? What’s wrong?” Natasha pulls back to wipe her mouth.

“I saw something or..” You trail off with a frown.

“What? Rose?” Natasha looks around. “She’s still asleep.”

“N-no,” You stutter. “I’m not sure.” You shake your head. “Did everyone already go home?”

“Of course, I checked the cameras and everything.” Natasha promises.

“Can you check them again?” You ask and she gives you a face that asks “Right now?”

“Fine,” Natasha stands. She kisses your forehead before walking over to the security system. You on the other hand stand, letting your dress fall to its full length again, as you check out the den and the living room. You come up short. “No one’s here,” Natasha calls out to you. “All cameras are clear. Are you sure you didn’t see your own shadow in the reflection?”

“What?” You frown. “I’m sure. I’m not crazy.”

“I’m not saying you are,” Natasha apologizes. “I checked the cameras and the foyer. No signs of life except for Mocha. Maybe you saw him?”

Right on cue, Mocha steps into the room, his collar and tag jingling under him, and you kneel to greet him. He rests his head in the palm of your hand and you reach around to unclip the collar from his neck.

“Time for bed,” Natasha sighs. You both know this means the moment has clearly been ruined as the mood has changed. You look around one last time before reaching to flick on the kitchen light, engulfing you in darkness.

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Not the Time

Doe stood in the doorway. As she watched, Gale scooped Tara into his arms and whirled around the cabin, grinning. The tressym meowed indignantly, but did not fly away. She rested on his shoulder as he closed his eyes, singing to her.

Doe took a step back, not wanting to intrude.

'I know you're there, little siren,' he said, the warm softness of his voice catching her off guard. 'I can feel your magic.'

'Oh,' she said. 'I didn't mean to intrude.'

'Come here,' he said, laughing softly as Tara fluttered to the ground to bunt Doe's legs, chirruping. Gale drew Doe into his arms, twirling her amidst the organised chaos of his cabin. 'Hello, my love.'

'Hello,' she said with a soft smile, melting into his embrace. 'Miss me, did you?'

'Oh, only always.' He gave her a conspiratorial wink. 'I wish you could stay by my side all the time... alas.' He pulled her in closer. 'Still. We make up for it, hmm? Stay for dinner.'

Her eyes sparkled. 'Oh, go on then. If I must.'

'Cheeky. I'll make it worth your while...' His head dipped, warm wine-laced breath ghosting over her lips.

'Promise?' Doe's voice dropped to a husky drawl as she reached up on tiptoes, though he stayed tantalisingly out of reach. 'Gale...'

'Mmhm?' He grinned, watching her with half-lidded eyes, fingers on her lower back pressing her forward even as he moved further out of reach.

'You're a scoundrel and a tease,' she growled.

'Yes,' he whispered.

And then his hands were heavy on her shoulders, her back colliding with the wall as he surged forward to claim her mouth with crushing, passionate weight. His tongue was hot in her mouth, her throat purred with his moans, his hands slid up her neck in a firm gentle grip. Her hands slid into his hair and he broke away for a second to breathe and pressed his advantage again, kissing her breathless and panting. Her lips were swollen and rosy, her cheeks were flushed, warmth radiated from her and he pressed closer, growling softly when she whimpered at the feel of him hard against her thigh.

'Now's not the time,' she rasped, fingers tightening in his hair. 'There's so much to do, I was only supposed to ask you about navig-'

He cut her off with another kiss, nipping at her lip. 'Fuck that. I so rarely have you to myself...'

'But-'

'If you can disappear to the captain's quarters for an entire day, they can do without you for one or two more.'

'I see what you're saying, but- but-'

But Gale was trailing kisses down her throat, his fingers ghosting across her ribs, his mouth pausing its attack as he unfastened her shirt, but only long enough to push it from her shoulders, hot tongue and teeth on her breast as soon as she was divested of it.

'Fuck, Gale, this was supposed to- supposed to- ngh-'

'Then tell me no,' he said, pausing to look up at her with big soulful eyes. 'I'll stop.'

He waited, let go of her, stepped away.

'I don't want you to stop,' she said.

His eyes gleamed. 'Just what I want to hear.'

He knelt, pressing kisses to the soft gentle rise of her belly, licking the salt from her skin, fingers digging pleasurably into her voluptuous thighs.

'You're a work of art,' he breathed, gazing up at her.

Doe caressed his cheek, feeling her heart squeeze as he leaned into her touch. 'Sweet boy,' she murmured. 'You're not so bad yourself.'

He grinned, preening a little. 'I'll have you know I'm very good.'

She couldn't help but playfully roll her eyes. His deft fingers divested her of the rest of her clothes; he licked his lips and peppered her thighs with open mouthed kisses, little touches of his tongue, the graze of his teeth gentle on her skin.

A knock at the door brought them harshly back to reality.

'Gale?'

It was Astarion. Doe could see the navigator thinking, weighing his options. 'Gale, I know Doe's in there. Be a good boy and let her go, will you? I'll come in and get her myself-'

'Sorry captain,' said Gale, waving a hand to lock the door magically. 'Let me be selfish for a little while.'

'Gale-'

'The more you complain, Astarion,' he said pointedly, 'the more days I'll keep her in here. Go.'

Astarion cursed, vanishing back to his quarters.

'He's just worried,' Doe said.

'Why?' Gale tilts his head, a peculiar look in his eye. 'Does he think you'll be ravaged by some kind of feral beast?'

'Gale...'

He gives her a sharp-toothed smile. 'Perish the thought. I plan to unravel you softly and gently.' His eyes flashed with hunger as his fingers tightened on her thighs.

'And completely.'

Tags:

@bluerosetarot @dansnotavampire @further-than-forever

@forget-me-maybe @poetryvampire @sasha199 @wandawillow

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard

@crimson-and-lavender @reeseykins @medra-gonbites

@roguishcat @weaverofnetheril @galedekarioswifey @hyperfixationstation128 @lastlight-inn

@astarryvamp @feedthepheasants @dabigstinky @dreamingofthewild @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

[multiwreckedmess]

February Filth Fest - Day 20

Pairing: Owner!San x Kitten!reader Prompt: Collaring/Deepthroat WC: 1.9k Summary: PWOP pretty much. You’re San’s favorite kitty girl so he gets you a cute collar to try out during your session,

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent San or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.   TW/CW (nonspecific): Collars, dom/sub relationship, preestablished boundaries, bodily fluids, fem pronouns and terms used for reader, subspace. Extended TW/CW under the cut

TW/CW Extended: Deepthroat, throat bulge, egregious use of the terms “kitten, kitty”, lots of praise for the reader, very light scolding, vaguely instructional San, color system, everything is kept pretty playful and loving so it seems more vanilla but it’s nawt.

 “I bought something special for tonight,” he says, revealing a large flat velvet box and offering it to you. Inside a delicate purple collar sits, simple but well made, small gold bell attached to the D ring, glittering brightly.   You gasp, eyes wide. “Oh Sannie! It’s your favorite color!”   “My favorite color on a collar on my kitty!” He bounces excitedly along the syllables, taking the collar from the box to fasten around your neck. “Pretty kitty,” he smiles, hand swatting at the small bell on your collar. “My pretty kitty looks so cute!” He elongates the ‘so’ running his forefinger between your neck and the leathery material, giving it the smallest of tugs. “Does it fit well? Not too tight?”   You nod, the bell tinkles cutely with the bob of your head. With some force you ram the top of your head directly into his chest, rubbing your face and hair all over.   Thumb petting behind your ear, San is beaming. “We aren’t in the scene yet, you can speak.”   “I know, I just like doing it,” you giggle and bunt him again, more forcefully this time. Muscles tensing, he’s a hard one to knock over, like his name suggests. A defender, your defender, a job that San took very seriously.   “You’re so eager to be non-verbal today aren’t you?” You nod and bat your eyelashes before returning to rubbing your body against his.

 Looking at you his heart swells and aches. Darker whispers in his mind repeat words about owning and possessing, claiming. His, you are his, and the collar proves this. The collar that sits dainty on your neck is proof of his devotion to you.   “Be a good kitty and sit pretty for me,” he coos.   Kneeling at his feet, you try your best to follow his instructions, as simple as they are. Still you can’t help but press your face into the growing bulge in his slacks, eagerly nuzzling into his crotch and thighs.   San clicks his tongue, “didn’t I tell you to be good?” He asks while subtly grinding into your soft kisses. Hypocritical encouragement of bad behavior, doting on you as always.   You motion a nod but don’t stop. He smells so unmistakably him, a sharp citrusy masculine mixing with the soft natural scent of his skin. The anticipation of the events to come, the love you feel in your heart, and excitement of your current position all work to overwhelm you. You want to bite and squeeze and mark. Your hands act on your behalf, squeezing his ass suddenly, without prior approval from your brain.  Strongly and firmly his hand tugs you backwards by the scruff of your neck, tilting your face up to him.   “No,” his tone deepens into his chest, quiet but forceful. “Good kitties keep pretty paws.”   Pouting and huffing you stick out your lower lip, waiting for him to smile down at you. Instead he cocks and eyebrow and waits for you to tuck your hands neatly behind you. Only then does one corner of his mouth begin to creep up into a smile.   “No matter how well I train you, you still find a new way to surprise me.” San mumbles more for himself than for you, releasing his grasp on you to undo his belt. His smile continues to grow as he watches the glint of excitement in your eye turn to lust. Barely undoing the button at the top of his slacks. “Since you were so excited before, how about you help me the rest of the way?”   Your eyes flick to the zipper, yet to be undone. Spit pools in your mouth which you gulp down hungrily. Craning your neck you manage to snag the pull of the zipper between your lips and teeth and start to tug it down. Using your hands would be easier but, kittens certainly don’t have that option.   San sucks in air sharply, eyes rolling back in his head as you mouth at him in the guise of undoing his pants. You feel so warm and soft even as you work eagerly away, and San loves warm and soft. He hovers just behind your head, just close enough to feel your hair brush into his palm as you move but not enough to restrict your efforts. It takes everything inside of him to keep himself from grinding against you again. The drag of the fabric pinned to the yielding plumpness of your cheeks would feel heavenly, he knows it would. He could lose himself to that easily when that is very much not the plan tonight. But maybe some other time.

 You manage to pull the slacks down over his hips and to his thighs, letting gravity work to take them the rest of the way off, and sit back on heels incredibly pleased with yourself. San looks positively flushed in front of you, outline of his straining cock pressed to the dark cotton of his underwear.

 Hand cupping your chin once more San runs the pad of his thumb down over your lips, tugging gently at the bottom one. Puffy and warm to the touch, its everything he’d been holding out for. He continues to trail down to your throat, where his newest mark of ownership rests. It’s really a collar more for show than for real usage but it doesn’t take much for you to follow him. The tiny bell jingles as San slides his index finger under the collar, almost taunting you for your easy acquiescence. He watches your eyes sparkle as his other hand pulls the waistband of his underwear down, just enough for his cock to bounce proudly over it against his toned stomach, free from confines and ready. The pretty dusty pink head has cum beginning to bead along the slit, unrepressed by fabric. Quickly you lap at it, tiny little licks as you stare up at him, waiting for his reaction.

 San shudders, biting the inside of his lip to keep himself from moaning. “Eager kitten,” his tone warns, “are you acting out because you’re so hungry?”   You nod, pressing the tip between your lips, just barely covering it as you continue to suckle. His hips press forward into your yielding mouth, not deep enough to pose a challenge. He holds you there, finger crooked around your collar as your lips stretch and work to fit his girth.  “God it’s like your soft little mouth was just made for me, hungry girl,” he moans. Gradually your mouth warms to his shallow thrusts almost enough that he’s sliding past the tight ring of muscle at the back of your throat. You can certainly feel the spongy head of his cock bumping into it but never pushing past it.  San stretches your lips just a little wider, inserting his thumb into the side of your cheek and pulling you taut, drool seeping out around him. “Messy kitty,” his voice is gravelly as he groans. You look absolutely fucked out, eyes big and round, looking up at him in a daze. Back arched, your ass looks fantastic as you kneel below him.  “Big breath for me, okay kitten?” He pulls from you and pets your head, waiting a second for you to collect yourself before he pushes all the way in, past that ring, until your nose is brushing his pubic area. Your throat works around him, flexing and fighting back soft gags. His gut twists, thigh cramping, he’s close from this alone. San releases the back of your head waiting for you to follow.

 You have other ideas, hands quickly grabbing his hips to get a few more bobs in, proof of devotion, that you’re a good kitty. Nails grazing your scalp, San’s fist tightens around a chunk of hair as he pulls you from him fully. Tears streaking your cheeks, nose running, drool bubbling at the corners of your mouth you blink up at him, doe eyed.  “Do good kitties use their claws?”  You shake your head no. A few swipes of his thumbs smears the mixture of bodily fluids. Chasing the warmth of his palm you try to nuzzle him, a consolation for your misbehaving, but he withdraws.  “Then you’re going to have to be reminded how to be a good kitty aren’t you?”  You practically wiggle out of your skin in excitement, nodding your head exuberantly.  Pulling you gently by the collar up onto the nearby bed, he uses it more as a guide than a choke, positioning you just so your head hangs over the edge closest to him. He’s unbelievably gentle with your hair as he guards it from getting caught between your body and the bed. Even looking up at him upside down like this, hearing him shuffle the remainder of his clothes off, you’re smitten.

 “I know you don’t want to but I need to hear you say it out loud babe,” San strokes himself with one hand slowly, lustful eyes raking your spread out form. “What’s your color and what do you do if you want me to slow or stop?”  “Green,” you stretch long down to your toes before sighing. “Two taps to slow and pinch to stop.”  He laughs as you look up at him expectantly, head twisting side to side to better catch the full view of him. “Don’t worry kitty, you’re gonna be fed.” San says as he taps the tip of his cock against your lips. “Open up nice and wide for me, like a good girl.”

 Tongue lolling out again, mouth wide for easy access, he slides into your warm wet cavern, fucking you shallowly at first. Supporting the back of your neck his thumbs caress the sides of your throat, tiny concentric circles over and over. He enjoys watching the way your fingers and toes curl in anticipation the nearer he gets to the tight ring of muscle that flexes each time he bumps against it.

 It’s as fast as a pop when he manages to push through and down your throat. Your body convulses once before stiffening and calming as San pets your stomach.  “There you go, sweet thing, just hold it for a second,” he coos and coaxes. Glancing down, San marvels, watching your throat flex and strain into the collar. Two thumbs pressed to the side he can feel how you widen and stretch to accommodate his girth, the gargled sound of moans reverberating through his shaft. “Just a little more for me pet.” A moan escapes him, loud and uncontrolled, almost a yelp as he loses himself to feeling of you desperately trying to swallow him all the way down. “When i come out just spit it all out kitten okay? Just spit out all that nasty stuff caught in your throat.”

 As he pulls out he tilts your head over. You cough and splutter and spit mucus thickened with precum. Your lungs stutter and spasm, the availability of air grown unfamiliar. A soft towel greets your lips before your eyes can open, careful to keep you just clean enough.  “Color?”  “S’green, more.” You spit with determination.  San kisses your forehead. “That’s my girl. Just a little more and I’ll eat my kitties cute lil’ pussy until she screams.”  Your thighs clench at the promise, San softly chuckles as your knees knock together. It’s going to be a good night.

[jolalibrary]

The day Frankie both loves and loathes the kitchen counter

frankie morales x f!reader | resurrected chances

summary: fall is a season that looks good on you.

warnings: none. autumn vibes. fluff, established relationship. dad!frankie (so mentions of a child - luca). an: i wrote this to make myself smile. wordcount: 2.5k

It changes in the blink of an eye.

One moment, the nights seem long and then they’re swallowed. The sunlight barely able to kiss the world for long, before it sinks back down to the horizon.

Then, there’s the changing leaves. How they fall from the branches without regret—all in a flurry of shades he finds you admiring each morning when you’re holding your morning coffee.

It does something to you, fall. It casts a spell—transforms—sprinkles shaved pumpkin and glitters over you as the wind whispers the incantation. It swoops through and blows away the other cobwebs left by the other seasons, until you’re embodied by autumn.

The change doesn’t just happen to you, but the rest of the home too.

He witnesses how, one day the counters and table are clear, and the next, they are decorated in fall ornaments, and ghouls and pumpkins replace the usual mugs you both drink from. How the fireplace in the living room has decorative ghosts all over it, purple and orange fairy lights, with homemade bunting hanging that features little orange and yellow Luca-sized hands from a craft morning he’d “rudely interrupted”.

Frankie had known what he was getting in for when you’d told him autumn was your favourite time of year—but, he still couldn’t quite believe what the season looked like on you.

How good you looked. How happy. How joy radiated from you and bled out into every corner.

You transition with a click of your fingers from a summer wardrobe to oversized fluffy jumpers (his, always his—specifically ones bought for him, but only ever worn by him once before they are ‘mysteriously’ stolen), black leggings and the fluffiest socks (that when unrolled, come up close to your knee).

And, if you’re able to—which is most of the time—Frankie finds you’ve perfectly matched the shade of jumper to the scrunchie in your hair. Sometimes, with embellishments, such as changing leaves on them or ghosts, but his favourite happens to be the pumpkins.

Before you, he’d never thought that would be a thought he’d even have. Frankie hadn’t ever even thought of himself as someone who loved a season, but just like his son, he’d been bewitched.

Your affection for flickering candles, big blankets and wrapped-up walks rubbed off on him and Luca—secretly both becoming as obsessed with mornings spent doing autumnal crafts as you. Frankie even stupidly got excited about the prospect of another pumpkin patch visit.

But, with that all said, if someone asked him what his favourite part of the season was, it was how your two’s home changed. The way warmth rolled from you—cementing the knowledge that he’d made the right choice. Because with you, there have only been moments when he feels peace, happiness and joy. Each emotion all underpinned by moments involving shadow-touched skin and sun-kissed bodies.

You patting the seat next to you, loading up another movie—your favourite, you’d said—with popcorn in an orange bowl, and a blanket (all earth green and lined with thick fluff) just for him.

He loves curling up, but there’s something about thickened blankets and soft layers that has him excited by the season.

He just feels disappointed that with another autumn arriving, he realises he hasn’t managed to sort the things he wanted to do for you.

The shelving he said last year he’d put up in the kitchen, so you can put more of your ornaments on display. Fix the door to the end cupboard, so you can put your baking and cookie trays away, rather than hiding them in the oven. But mostly, he had hoped to—

“You alright under there, Morales?”

Blinking, he finds you smirking, watching him. “Stop staring at me.”

“Well, it’s hard not to,” you murmur, swinging your legs on the counter.

The one he should have remodelled by now. It makes his jaw tighten, and his teeth slide together.

His head turning, dark pools of brown drinking you in as you swirl the spoon around your mug—not because you need to mix the sugar or milk, but for something to do other than drool over the appearance of him under the dining table he’s fixing.

Because Frankie knows your mug is practically empty. And he also knows that when he begins these home projects, he doesn’t tend to finish them in one day if you’re around.

“Could say the same to you.”

You roll your eyes, because, to you, it’s a jumper and leggings. But to him, today’s attire is a deep forest green jumper, the one with flecks of white and orange woven in periodically—a favourite of his, and apparently yours too.

The socks today, however, are different. Thick, woollen ones he recognised all too well, smirking to himself as he brushes the hair from his forehead, slotting the screwdriver back in place before tightening.

Because the socks are his.

Feeling your eyes on him, until he hears you jump down from the counter.

“Fine, I’ll begin baking before the little man gets dropped off.”

A smile being shot over your shoulder, pulling at the cookbook that’s more flour than paper from the shelf, before splaying it across the counter.

He knows you know what you’re doing when you hinge at the hips, and lean over the counter in front of him. His mouth going dry, just like it always does when you’re teasing him.

Frankie’s about to comment on what a distraction you are, that if you want to eat at the table tonight he needs to concentrate. But then you hiss, pulling your hand back from the edge of the counter—the one chipped and forever catching on clothes, once again catching against your hand.

Then he’s just full of annoyance.

Both at the fucking counter and at himself for not prioritising the kitchen. For not giving you the dream kitchen you deserve.

The emotions shoved into his repair of the table, completing it in record time, that by the time he’s stood, you’ve chosen whatever it is you’re aiming to make. Your fingers twitching—all lost in your mind, likely calculating, mentally checking timings.

It’s what makes it easier to slide up behind you, lose his hand up the jumper of his you’re buried in. Sliding it up until he can feel your skin, all toasty, warm. Your smile slowly grows as he rests his chin on your shoulder, watching you.

Frankie has the pleasure of seeing you smile in Spring, Summer or Winter—three-hundred and sixty-five—but your skin isn’t always tinged with the scent of spiced apple, to the point he’s not sure if the season is pouring from you or if you’re just around the candles and soaps too much. He doesn’t get to see you glow in the same way as you do in Fall, like you do in the other seasons.

“Is it sturdy? The table.”

Lifting his brow, he turns you in his arms. Fingers sliding up your neck, jaw until they’re resting on your cheek.

As much as he tells you that you’re easy to read, Frankie knows he’s not all that difficult himself. Least of all with you. He’s been told he gets a twinkle, a shimmer—a soft tug of his lips that he tries to bury in nonchalance.

Shrugging, he drops his hand as he sighs. “Maybe we should check.”

“How do w—Frankie!”

With ease, he spins your body, moving it backwards, twisting, until the top of your thighs nudge against the lip of the table, fingers fanning out, palm cupping your waist as he sniggers. His palm rests under the fabric, worn and toughened, flush against skin, tasting the warmth that burns from your lips—swallowing the joy which emits from every part of you.

“We can’t.”

“We can’t?”

Shooting him a look, you purse your lips. “If we break another piece of furniture…”

You’re not cross, he can tell. If anything, your eyes are gleaming, swarmed in happiness, so close to cracking and asking him to help you on the surface.

But then, you twist your fingers in the hairs at the base of his neck. Whispering that you love him, that it looks more than sturdy, it looks solid, perfect, amazing—more words punctuated by kisses, before his hands keep you nose to nose.

Because if he does, he won’t stare at the kitchen counter.

The one he despises, hates. The one that’s chipped and was up there at the top of his list to replace when the two of you bought the house you’re both standing in. But then it fell, plummeting, landing somewhere around ‘someday’ rather than ‘today’.

You don’t hate it.

Rarely ever see an issue with it. Barely recognise how ill-fitting it is to the rest of your hand-painted cupboards and thrifted accessories. That at least once a week, if not a day, you catch your hand in the same place—scuffing jumpers, blouses and more on the cracked edge.

You deserve better. A thought which pulsates inside him—constantly doing so, too. It vibrates in his ribs and echoes in the dark when he should be sleeping. He thinks about it like he does much of the house, the one he told you he’d fix, repair, re-build—even if you weren’t fazed then, and aren’t now either.

Your excitement swallows up any of his concerns, his internal beatings. Because I love it Frankie, I love you and I love this for us. He’d have thought you were lying, except your eyes still gush with joy when you look over it, as though you cannot see any of the imperfections he can.

Unable to see how he’s let you down. That he should be providing more for you—even if you never, ever think it or even say it.

“What you thinkin’ about, baby?”

Your knuckles trace his cheek. An answer there, burning on the tip of his tongue. That, thanks to you, it was hard to hate anything, never mind the counter.

The one you did a good job covering in assorted-sized decorative pumpkins and coloured pencils you’d pushed to the side. That in truth, he liked the things which sat on it, like his mail being alongside yours—and the set of mugs that had once housed both your coffees that he’d brought to you in bed this morning and the ones you’d made when he’d begun his table-fixing.

Morning. It seemed so long ago—more than hours, more like days. It forces him to tighten his arm around you and bury his face into your neck.

“Frankie,” you whine, soft, all innocent. “Talk to me.”

“Just thinking about how pretty you look.”

“Oh, shut up.”

His nose brushes against your cheek, eyes finding yours as you try to avert them. “So much so, I really, really wanna put your elbows on the table and take you from—“

“Francisco.”

Laughter flows from the last syllable to paint the room in even more contentment. Coating him in genuine bliss that smooths over the cracks, the rougher parts of him.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “Later?”

Later, you echo. Even if he knows the day has already been swallowed by him visiting the store to fetch nails and a tool, he’s sure he already owns—but can’t for the life of him find. The rest will be filled with hyperactivity and pumpkin carving with his son.

“You do look good in my socks, baby.”

He watches your chin dip, before your hand presses against his chest—fingers and thumb digging into his t-shirt. You try to bite back your shy smile, because even if the two of you have been together a while, you still seem to go shy when he compliments you.

“Really like the sight of you in my clothes,” he continues, hands on you as you head back to your place in the kitchen.

Turning, you swat at him, laughing—the sound you make is like music to his ears. Forever makes his days better. The noise which plays in the back of his head when he’s driving down a long, winding road—desperate to get back to you.

It’s why he tugs on your wrist, pulling your hand from your face, letting him hear it fully, watching it fade as your eyes blink, pupils fixing, lids widening as you take him in. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to how you look at him—full of appreciation and love, like it’s easy to do. Like you’re not forced or feel obligated.

“They’re comfy,” you say, all tinged with embarrassment—as though he would ever mind.

As though the sight of you slowly wearing his wardrobe doesn’t make his chest swell—doesn’t fill the space with warmth where his heart doubles.

Smiling—almost mirroring yours—he brushes your cheek. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Looping an arm around his neck, you press a kiss to his lips—his hips pressing into yours, unable to move from him, arms looping around his neck. They won’t bake themselves, Frankie. And, doesn’t he know it, but neither of you move.

The kitchen counter—the one he hates, and wants to rip out—keeps you in place. Not that he gets the impression you want to be anywhere but here, laughing with him, baking, likely recanting a story about spiders and the reason you had needed to buy new wooden spoons and a spatula.

Your cheek warms under his palm, his thumb stroking a path that curls up with your cheek as you begin to grin. “Shh, Morales.”

And he does.

But only so he can kiss you.

You in his fluffy woollen socks, his jumper and your leggings.

Starting it slow before he deepens it. Before his whole body wants to feel you pressed against his, fingers sliding around your cheek and jaw, feeling the way you move to kiss him back.

It’s intense, fire being breathed into his throat and down into his chest. He laps up every flame—allows it to coat his tongue, and spreads its heat through every nerve as he licks into your mouth.

He’s happy, oh so happy.

Losing himself in you, mouth sliding from your lips to the curve of your jaw and down the pulse of your neck. Your fingers knotting in his curls and his top, leg trying to hook around him—leaning, cautiously and foolishly, against the counter until he stabilises you with his hands.

Because you’re brilliant. Perfect. Beautiful. But, oh so fucking clumsy.

His teeth roll over the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and he groans. Hands dropping from their place, finding a new home on the back of your thighs, lifting, leveraging until you’re safe. Sat all pretty and set to be devoured, upon the counter he can’t wait to replace—

“Stop thinking about the counter, Frankie.”

He smirks, biting back a laugh. “How’d you know?”

Hooking your legs around him, his fingers run up the bare skin—thumb dragging a line more intentionally than the rest—coming to a stop between your thighs.

“Because I know you. Because you look at me like I saved you from a burning building, and you look at the counter like it was the reason the building was on fire.”

Kissing you, he grins—right against your mouth. “I really hate it.”

“I know,” you coo, biting his lower lip. “So, how about we move to the bedroom.”

Pulling his head back, his eyes narrow—your fingers brushing his curls behind his ears.

an: autumn is my fave, can you tell?

[athenaswrath]

Hello, I hope you are well ✨

I was wondering if you could write something with Sebastian Aho please, whatever you want.

thank u 🤍

@yangofyang I'm sorry it took a while to post I hope you like it🫶🏻

Fishy being engaged is so heartwarming, so here's a little something about that (kinda) and also Jarvy being his clueless self

Word count: 1,355

You knew before you started working in a coffee shop near the PNC arena that it was going to be packed at times. What you didn't know, was that the hockey team was going to be there daily, too. You never considered yourself a hockey fan, but you knew about them—city legends, after all. Even if you hadn't known them, they were hard to miss, most of them passing 6'0.

The first time I saw them, there were only three of them: Brady, Bunting and Sebastian, are the names they gave you for their orders. "You're new here, never seen you before" said Bunting while the other two turned to look at me. It was a very calm day so they were the only ones in the coffee shop. "Yeah, I'm new pretty much everywhere around here actually, I just moved in" I said softly. It was hard not to get intimidated by them. I wasn't exactly short, but they could make you feel like you were 3'5

"So you don't know who we are?" said Bunting faking a hurt tone "I mean, it would be hard not to know when your faces are all over the city." - "It's a pretty face though, isn't it?" he said in a flirty way. "You're so full of yourself, I swear" Brady told him while giving him a playful shove before adding "I hope you're liking it here so far, we're gonna be around here a lot so anything you need, let us know, right Fishy?" he smirked and gave Sebastian a side hug, Bunting laughed, Sebastian's face heated, and I felt like I missed something.

What started off as a simple thing became a daily occurrence, Sebastian now would go for a morning walk and stop by the coffee shop before making his way to the arena. He enjoyed his new routine, getting a coffee, talking to y/n, and having a smile plastered on his face as he walks back to his morning training session.

After a couple of weeks, Sebastian finally asked you out. He could tell there was a bit of hesitation on your part but after watching those cute eyes of his, you couldn't really say no to him.

"So who's got you smiling like that all the time now, Fishy?" Necas asked him one day when they were changing into their gear “Don’t start" is the only thing he said, “Oh c’mon, there has to be someone. Serious, sometimes grumpy Fishy, grinning like a fool every day?”

“There is no one” Sebastian said, but he could feel his face heating up, remembering last night's event with you, “Are you going to watch the game tomorrow?” he asked “wouldn't miss it” - “well, in that case, I'll need my good luck kiss, can't risk making a fool of myself” he teased. Closing the distance, you placed your lips over his, and when you went to pull away, his arm snaked around your waist, his hand finding its way into your hair.

Jarvy snapped him out of his thoughts when he said "You think Mr. Aho has time for someone? He's probably been coming up with new ideas on how to be the best in the team". Necas just raised his hands in defeat, but he was not the least bit convinced, at the back of the room Brady and Bunting looked at each other while trying to hold back their smirks.

You two have been dating for 3 months now. Sebastian was away for the last week, so the day he arrived, he asked to see you, to which you immediately agreed. What you weren't expecting was for him to formally ask you to be his girlfriend. He was the sweetest guy you've ever met, so your response was an immediate yes

Sebastian was sure you'd met everyone by now, and even when they didn't know you were officially together, they could see how much you meant for each other, especially because of the special treatment you receive from him. They knew Sebastian was a kind man, but he didn’t treat anyone else like this. So they would abstain from teasing him because you were just so good for Fishy, and they wanted him to be happy.

To say you were nervous the first time you went out with the team and their girls was an understatement, you weren't sure you were going to fit with them. The first to notice you was Jarvy, whom you could tell had already had a couple of drinks. "Oh, hey y/n, I'm glad they all invited you over." Slavin who was nearby, shook his head but immediately introduced you to his wife. After a couple of minutes of being introduced to everyone, you felt yourself starting to relax. All the girls were just as nice as the guys.

A couple of weeks later, you attended your first game with the wags, and everyone was delighted just by watching Sebastian being that happy. Some of the girls were there already, so he knew what you were going to be wearing, but the minute you entered the room with his number on your jacket, he felt himself fighting for air. He could see the blush on your face, along with that cute smile of yours, and he promised himself that he would do anything in his power to keep it there for the rest of his life.

Jarvy, entered the room at that moment and stopped for one second after he noticed you, "huh, I thought only their girls got to wear that, but you look great" he gave you a thumbs up and left the room with a bunch of snacks in his hand.

After what probably was their best game of the season, you rushed to meet Sebastian after he was ready to go home. "Hei rakkaani (hello my love), let's go home, yeah?" Sebastian said, giving a peck to your lips. You were almost outside the room when you heard a confused Jarvy say, "Wait, are they dating?"

...

5 years have passed since you started dating Sebastian, and you remember every single minute you've spent together, from the moment you saw him for the first time; when he asked you out, and you hesitated, worried that he wouldn't take you seriously or that you wouldn't be enough for him, even though he's spent this entire time showing you how much you really mean to him.

There were rough periods where those thoughts came back, like a couple of days ago you two were laying in bed, and he could feel the tension pouring down your every pore, so he said, "I don't get how you are the only person who does not see how amazing, how kind, smart and beautiful you are. I see it, the team sees it, everyone who's been lucky to meet you sees it, and still I find you doubting yourself over and over again."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to come out as ungrateful..."

"No, rakkaani. I didn't say it to make you feel bad; I'm saying it because you are my world. But I promise I'm always going to be here to reassure you, and to give you all the love you deserve"

You couldn't stop the tears running down your cheeks, or the smile breaking through your face. You swore this man couldn't make you any happier, but then he looked at you in the eye and said "Marry me, please"

...

When everyone on the team saw your ring, they couldn't help but be the happiest for you. They knew the moment they met you, that you and Fishy were perfect for each other; they've never seen him as happy as he was when you were close to him.

"What are we celebrating?" asked Jarvy. When you showed him your ring, he took your hand and said, "Oh, it is a nice ring indeed; I didn't know y'all guys were into jewelry", the group broke into a fit of laughter, and you just hoped Jarvy realized what was really going on before he got the wedding invitation

[idontlikeem]

i love geno very much and think he's playing well this season, but a natural winger he is not. do you think they'll move him back to centering his own line soon?

this is a hard question because i have arguments for both possible answers.

no, they won't: sid needs geno this season:

(yes the source of these screenshots is kingerski who i generally avoid BUT these are just stats and numbers, not fabricated trade rumors)

and generally if sid needs/wants a guy on his line to be productive, he gets it. this is of course a small sample size but sid is the most important player on the penguins, and him playing well is crucial if they want any chance of not being total shit this year. i'm not convinced it will help their playoff chances for real, but it's not possible without him performing his best. plus, i think they really should be focusing on getting him to break that point per game record.

yes, they should move him back once sid is fully going again: team can't win with one line that outperforms their opponents and the other three get consistently outscored. geno has been the best player on the team by a pretty wide margin all season, and him centering a second productive line (provided sid manages to have his own functional one without geno) is better for the team.

if i had to make a guess- and watch me be proven wrong as soon as lines come out for tonight- geno and sid will stay together until rusty is back. they'll keep ricky with sid, rusty will drop down with geno and possibly bunting, and they'll rotate people at sid's left until they find the best fit up there- probably DOC unless someone else really clicks. maybe even someone coming up from WBS, who knows.

what we really need is for the depth players to start performing to their stats levels. they're looking good analytically but being badly outscored- if they can get the goals for and against closer to what the stats say they SHOULD be doing, we'll be in much, much better shape no matter what they do with the top six.

it does all depend on sid, though. as per usual.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Retaliation: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Everyone can see just how much you're suffering, Spencer more than most. When he confesses to the team about your nightmares, Derek takes matters into his own hands.

Season Five Masterlist

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"Men are more ready to repay an injury than a benefit because gratitude is a burden and revenge a pleasure." - Tacitus

Dale Schrader was born on February 6, 1967. A lifelong criminal, he began a series of armed bank robberies throughout New York in 1994. He married a woman named Connie on August 17, 1995. On June 16, 1996, the two had a daughter whom they named Jenny, less than a year after the wedding. On May 5, 2001, Dale was sold out by Dan Otey, a fellow bank robber, and was arrested. 

Evidence of his involvement in the other robberies provided by Officer Joe Muller proved damning, and Dale was sentenced to fifteen years in a Lockport prison. While incarcerated, Dale proved to be a model prisoner, and due to good behavior, was released in only eleven years. 

While serving his sentence, Dale plotted an elaborate revenge scheme which he set into action two days after his release. He tracked down the home of Joe, having discerned that he and Otey were the ones who were responsible for his arrest.

At Joe's house, he abducted his wife and two sons at knifepoint, subsequently placing them in a crack house frequented by Stacy Ryan, the sister of a deceased former cellmate, and a group of fellow addicts whom he paid to keep an eye on the hostages. 

With Joe's family taken care of, Dale approached Joe outside a hardware store, showed him a picture and phone recording of his captive family, and blackmailed him into helping him acquire a key in police storage. What the key goes to, you have no clue.

Before getting the key, Dale decided to abduct his daughter to spite his now ex-wife, stabbing Ryan to death en route and dumping her body on the side of a road. Dale abducted Jenny while Connie was away from home and placed her in a cabin near the Canadian border. Jenny's abduction was what called in the BAU, who created a profile for him. 

That's why Derek is chasing Dale close to the middle of the night in the middle of the woods. Jenny wasn't hard to track down which caught Dale red-handed, and Derek wasn't going to let him get away.

"Don't move, Schrader!" Derek yells.

"Dale Schrader, you're under arrest for the murder of Stacy Ryan and the kidnapping of your daughter, Jenny."

Derek pulls him up by his cuffed hands and brings him to the police car that is by the cabin where Jenny is being held.

"Let me say goodbye to her," Dale pleads.

"You lost that right the minute you took her," Emily glares.

"She's my daughter! Jenny!"

Jenny looks frightened by him and coils into the police officer assigned to watch her.

"No, it's okay. He can't hurt you."

"Jenny, I'm sorry."

"Are you going to ride with her?" the officer asks Derek.

"Yeah, I got it. Jenny, listen to me. I promise you he's gonna go away for a long time. It's going to be alright."

Email shoves Dale into the back of the police car and approaches Derek who is talking to Jenny. She takes out her phone and calls Hotch to give him an update, Derek lets Jenny talk to her mom on the phone, and the police officer going to ride with Dale and Emily is canceling the Amber Alert put on Jenny.

Soon after, everyone leaves the cabin in their respective vehicles and heads down the mountain to get on the main highway. Emily is the first car in the group followed by the ambulance followed by the other police cars. Derek relaxes in his seat for the long ride ahead of them when he comes across a sight he never wants to see.

The car that held Emily, Bunting, and Dale crashed into the ditch on the side of the road. Emily is on the side of the road with cuts on her head but it doesn't look like Dale is anywhere near the scene.

"Pull over. That's one of us!" The ambulance pulls over and Derek jumps out before the car has a chance to stop completely. "Prentiss!!"

"What the hell happened?" she groans painfully.

"Are you okay?"

"I think. Bunting's down there. He's dead. Schrader's gone. It was a big truck. New York tags, Victor Alpha 737. They went northbound about ten minutes ago."

"That son of a bitch got away," Derek curses.

"He's got a partner," Emily winces.

You're stuck at the station with Rossie, Spencer, JJ, and Hotch. He took the time he needed off before returning to work. This will be his first case back since the funeral so you're not sure how this is going to go for him. Spencer looks at you and notices how distant you look. He hasn't had time to tell the team how you've been feeling since you got out of prison, and he needs to tell them soon, or else you're going to crash.

You haven't been sleeping well because every time you close your eyes, the nightmares come. They're not even about prison. The energy stuck to you makes you see all sorts of shit at night that you'd rather forget. Spencer looks at his hands and flexes them because he's gonna do something he hates doing. He reaches over to you and grabs your hand as a way to show you that you have his support.

You do something that tells him you're dying inside and need help.

You squeeze his hand without looking at him.

"The first case back, we won, and you'll be home for breakfast," Rossi smiles at Hotch.

"We never figured out why Schrader killed Stacy Ryan. She had no connection to his daughter or his ex-wife."

JJ walks into the office with the phone in her hand.

"There's been an accident. Emily's in the hospital and Bunting's dead."

"Is she alright?"

"She has a concussion. Morgan's with her right now going to the hospital. Schrader escaped the scene northbound in a truck with a partner."

"We need roadblocks now. Do we have a license plate number?"

"Emily remembered a partial."

"It's better than nothing," Rossi comments. "He could be headed to Canada. We need somebody who knows the area."

"I'll get an officer. I'll make sure Schrader's face is everywhere," she says and leaves.

"Schrader was a bank robber. Now he's murdered a woman, kidnapped his daughter, and killed a cop. He's obviously more sophisticated than we originally thought."

"He's got a bigger plan. It's not just about getting his daughter and fleeing the country. We never profiled that he'd have a partner. We don't know this guy at all."

With two agents down, the rest have to reinvent the profile since you never anticipated Schrader to have a partner in all of this. Why did he escalate from robbery to murder and kidnapping? What's his endgame?

"Alright, so Schrader pulled a series of bank heists in the 1990s. He was the only one to ever go away for the crimes. He was a model prisoner, only served eleven of his fifteen years. He was released early on good behavior, and any friends he had are either dead or still in prison," Spencer recaps.

"A three-ton truck was found north of the accident, not too far from Canada. We have the heaviest presence at border crossings. He probably knows that, but I don't think he's gonna sit still for long."

"He might have to depending on how injured he is," Spencer says.

"What do we know?"

"Dale Schrader went to prison for robbery. He was hands-off. All of his crimes were impersonal. Two days after he's released, he kills Stacy and kidnaps his daughter. It's both personal and emotional. It doesn't make any sense.

"When he's not attached to the crime, he pulls it off, but the minute he's invested, he lets his guard down and gets caught. It makes sense. He's not the hard-ass we thought he was."

"If Jenny was what he wanted, he had her. He could have left. He could have taken her to Canada. Why didn't he?

JJ comes back in with pictures in hand.

"Here are pictures from the accident."

It's not as bad as it could have been but you're still worried about Emily.

"Any word on Emily?" you ask.

"Apparently, she's arguing with the doctors," JJ chuckles.

"This took a lot to pull off. What if he's got a group of guys to call on? All those bank jobs were solo but this is a lot for one man to orchestrate."

"Have you figured out why he killed Stacy?" JJ asks.

"We haven't found any connection to Schrader, but she may be connected to the partner. Killing her might have been advance payment for breaking him out of custody."

Hotch calls Pen over video chat so everyone can hear what she has to say.

"Garcia, I need everything you've got on Stacy Ryan."

"She was a junkie. If she wasn't high, she was waiting to get high. The only thread I have between her and Schrader is that Stacy's brother spent time with Schrader upstate five years ago."

"Why would Schrader kill a junkie? It doesn't make sense. Where's the brother now?"

"Dead."

"It doesn't feel like Schrader does anything randomly. Stacy must have meant something to him."

"Yeah, but what?"

"Can you figure it out?"

"I'm on it," Penelope says and hangs up.

You're not completely here but you try your best to think about the current case. Schrader's partner saw everything that happened in the woods but he ran away and stole a truck. He knew Emily and Derek were taking that road back to the station which is why he waited for them and crashed into Emily when the moment was right.

This whole thing feels meticulous. If Schrader didn't need his partner for Jenny, then he must need him for something else. For what, you're not sure of. It doesn't make sense because Schrader had five years to plan all of this in prison. He should have had backup plans for his backup plans. He had more than enough time to escape over the border with Jenny before his ex-wife got home and realized she was missing.

Instead, he stayed local in that cabin. He had what he wanted. He could have run. Logically, there must be something else keeping him in Lockport.

One AM rolls around quicker than you'd hoped, and you yawn from how tired you've been. Not only do you need sleep but you're running only on caffeine and energy drinks. It's not healthy for you but you don't know what else to do.

"Schrader's face is all over the news," JJ says. "He's been on the run for almost two hours and we're no closer to catching him."

"We need to find the partner."

"Hey," Spencer says and everyone looks behind him to see Emily and Derek walking into the police station. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I got hit by a truck."

"Here, sit," JJ says and pulls out a chair for her.

"Thanks." Emily has Penelope on the phone and places her on speakerphone so everyone can hear her. "Garcia, tell everyone what you just told me."

"I have unearthed more of Schrader's past. What we do know is that he robbed fifteen banks in the state of New York in the nineties. However, what your resident glamour-puss smarty-pants just found out was that most of that money was never recovered."

"Where is it?" Spencer asks.

"My guess is that only he knows."

"That might be a good reason to stick around Lockport. The robbery that put him away should have been routine, right? What happened?"

"Maybe someone turned him in."

"I don't know. He kept to himself and always worked alone. Who'd turn him in? We're missing somebody. Garcia?"

"Yes, checking, sir. Records leading up to Schrader's arrest show this other bank robber named Dan Otey. He was looking at copious amounts of time, then he strikes a deal, and all of a sudden Schrader is arrested."

"It can't be a coincidence. You know, it's not uncommon for criminals to buy jobs off one another. Maybe that's what Schrader did but Dan Otey sold him out for a lesser sentence."

"It doesn't make sense. Otey was a rat and now he's the partner?" JJ shakes her head.

"You're right, Schrader wouldn't trust him. If anything, he'd want him dead."

"He'd probably use him first. He'd tell Otey that he owes him one and that he might save his life if he helps him get out of this jam."

"Where is he now, Garcia?" Hotch asks.

"Otey is a local. He lives off Route 7."

You get up from the table and head over to the coffee machines to pour yourself an extra strong cup. Spencer waits until you're in the other room before speaking up. This is his chance to tell everyone what's been going on with you.

"Okay, let's take a pause for a second. There's something going on with Y/N. Prison did something to her but she's pretending like everything is fine when I know it's not. I don't think she's been ready to come back. She's scared to go to sleep, she's crying all the time, and she is terrified. She keeps telling herself that she is fine but I know she'll crash sooner or later. It's not going to be pretty when it does."

"I noticed something was wrong on the last case we were on," Emily says. "She left one of the crime scenes and I found her outside begging for someone to help. It looked like she was locked in her own mind. I didn't want to say anything since it's none of my business but now that you put it out there, I had to say something."

"Let me handle her," Derek says. "Thanks for letting me know."

You come back with your coffee but don't notice how everyone is staring at you.

x

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