#i just want something about this ending to feel like it's knitted into the fabric of the whole show

[nereidprinc3ss]

weber's law

in which spencer reid comforts fem!reader when she's having a panic attack at the rossi mansion

fluff warnings/tags: panic attack lol, spencer is really cute and sweet my little perfect cutie pie angel baby, classic spencer info dumps bc they're pretty much his love language, established relationship, cheesy and sweet at the end a/n: this one is for my queens with panic disorders who are triggered by literally nothing and everything i see you have this ilysm

When Spencer had invited you to a small get-together at Rossi’s, you’d imagined a small get-together at Rossi’s. 

And maybe that makes you a complete idiot. 

Or maybe Spencer is just so used to FBI work functions that to him, this really is small.

But now you’re sitting on an expensive couch in a very nice house, and you’re surrounded by FBI agents who are all milling around and talking and laughing, and you’re worried maybe your outfit doesn’t look as nice on you as you’d thought it did, and you keep having very vivid visions of spilling your drink all over a furry throw rug that probably costs more than your rent does. 

Music that could reasonably be considered relaxing or at the very least not objectionable plays over the sound system throughout the whole house and thus is inescapable—not that you’d get up from the couch even if you could, because Spencer is sitting to your right and he has his hand on your thigh and it’s the only thing that has until this point been keeping you from a full blown panic attack.

Maybe that makes you a complete idiot, too.

Regardless, you try to focus on nothing but the weight of his hand as it travels slowly up and down from knee to hip over the jeans you’re not so sure about, and the feeling of your breath coming and going, as slow as you can possibly summon it without passing out. 

Spencer is laughing at something JJ is saying as she stands next to the couch with Will and you really like JJ but her voice seems so loud right now, and nothing is going particularly wrong but everything feels so, so wrong it’s scary. 

All the buzzing tension in your body telling you to run away because you’re unsafe and at the same time locking you into place builds until you have to express it somehow. So you revert to an old habit—bouncing your leg rapidly like a rabbit thumping its foot. It’s not entirely conscious, but it feels better than being completely still. That is, until Spencer’s hand strays inward and cups just above your inner knee, where he begins fanning his thumb back and forth over the fabric. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, head angled toward you and voice low enough to not draw attention. You force yourself to plant your heel to the ground even though it worsens the feeling of gears crunching in your chest. 

“Nothing. Sorry.”

That gets his attention. 

Because of course it does. He’s always telling you to stop saying sorry so often. 

His tone solidifies, still quiet but committed to this conversation now and no longer the whispery apparition of a quick aside. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I don’t know, it wasn’t—it’s nothing.”

You barely avoid apologizing again. 

For a moment he doesn’t speak, just watches you—and you make the mistake of raising your gaze to meet his. He has that curious, analytical look about him, concern tightening his eyes and knitting his brow. He’s doing that annoying mind-reading thing again, and as soon as he actually sees your eyes, he’s figured you out. 

“Do you want to go outside for a minute? Get some air?”

After examining his face for any clues that he’d rather stay in here, (not that you’d really know what to look for), you nod hesitantly. Spencer mirrors your nod and stands, holding out his hand for you to take as you follow suit after setting your drink on a side table (without spilling.)

JJ is now wrapped up in conversation with another agent and the two of you manage to abscond without attracting unwanted attention, which makes you feel slightly better as Spencer leads you deftly through rooms with high-vaulted ceilings and big windows and heavy, expensive looking oak furniture. It seems like you’ve been wandering through a maze when you arrive to a quieter part of the house and he opens a french door for you—which leads out onto an empty patio. 

A cool breeze immediately sinks into your skin, and your nervous system is so hyper-alert that it gives you chills. Spencer notices the way you shiver and steps closer after closing the door behind him, his hand finding the small of your back immediately. 

“You okay?” he asks, intentionally avoiding impeding your view of the sweeping backyard and the trees beyond. Sometimes focusing on something stationary is less overwhelming, but they’re so tall they seem imposing. Threatening, even. 

But then again, everything feels threatening right now. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Spencer seems unconvinced by your monotone—when you glance over at him he’s still watching you like you’re a puzzle to be solved. 

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re not.”

“Why are you so convinced something is wrong?” you laugh, but it comes out too manic. You cross your arms. He looks pointedly at the motion. 

“For starters, that. Often times crossing your arms is a subconscious way of comforting yourself when you feel defensive or threatened. And you could say it’s because you’re cold, but—” he pauses, reaching out to touch your cheek. “I can feel how hot your face is, and you shivered when we came outside even though it’s 71 degrees because your nervous system is overreacting to external stimuli. The leg-bouncing is also often indicative of an activated parasympathetic nervous system. Is me touching you okay?”

Again, you nod—unsure how to deflect when he calls you out so efficiently. 

Spencer’s hand slides down to just beneath your jaw, where he rests two fingers. Each second that passes has him looking progressively more worried. You wish you weren’t quite so catatonic—the fairy lights hanging from the pergola shine through his hair and make him glow so appealingly you want to kiss his cheek. 

“Your heart rate is really high, honey.”

That would be due to the sense of impending doom. Thanks for pointing it out.

But you’ve lost your words, and along with them has gone your sense of humor. All you can manage for a 30 second span is a meaningless shake of your head as you avert your eyes, staring at the sprawling carpet of blue-green grass soaked in night as each blade doubles with your tears. 

“I think I’m dying,” you finally croak.

“Technically, we all are. Very slowly.”

Ah. There’s that social tact he’s so well known for. 

“Spencer.”

“Right,” he kisses your cheek as you stare up at him, affronted, and pulls you into his chest. “Sorry. I was actually trying to be helpful. Changes in brain chemistry and hormonal activity associated with panic attacks change your perception of time and make things feel really fast which can contribute to feelings of anxiety. But in reality time is moving just the same as it always is. One second is always one second. Sometimes remembering that helps me to slow down. Not literally, of course. My gravitational pull isn’t great enough to have any discernible effect on the passage of time.”

You sniff, pressing your cheek to his tie. His words make your head spin, seeing as you hadn't been prepared for a lecture in psychophysics—but it spins in the opposite direction than it had been going previously. It's nice.

“Change your perception of time?”

“Weber’s law of perception. Stimulus sensitivity will increase proportionally with increased stimulus intensity. You’re only perceiving time to be going faster because your cortisol and adrenaline levels are making you hyper-vigilant and sensitive to all the markers of time passing.”

“Like what?”

Spencer hums, the bass of it a comforting resonance against your ear, and strokes your hair unhurriedly. 

“Like… your internal clock. Your body measures time with your heartbeat, so when your heart rate increases, time seems to go faster. Also environmental cues, which lead you to understand that the world is not stagnant and thus is not frozen in time. Like the sound of the wind chimes…” he pauses, long enough for you to realize that indeed, you can hear the gentle, sonorous ringing and tinkling of steel chimes bouncing against each other. “And the wind itself, which is coming all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. Some studies actually suggest that wind direction can affect your energy levels and mood.”

It’s a gentle breeze more than it is full-blown wind. It feels cool against your hot skin. 

Spencer’s hand on the back of your head, still rhythmically smoothing your hair, seems to slow down the passage of time as well. You focus on that, and the sound of the wind chimes and the breeze on your skin for a few minutes, until your breathing and your heart rate slow and soon you regain your footing in the temporal dimension, exactly sure of where you stand on Rossi’s patio and in your boyfriend’s arms. 

“You tricked me into doing a grounding exercise,” you mumble into Spencer’s jacket. 

“I did not trick you,” he defends, voice quiet to match yours. “I just wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

You pull away from him and he lets you, watching on as you sniffle and wipe your tears on your sleeves. 

“Yeah, it did. Thank you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak as you gather yourself. He leads you by the hand to a cushioned hanging bench at the end of the patio, taking a seat next to you and gently rocking the swing. 

“Do you know what triggered that?” Spencer asks, over the gentle creaking sound. You shrug, observing the dance of the fireflies in the grass. 

“Nothing. Sometimes I just feel like everything’s wrong and scary but I didn’t want to tell you and ruin your night.”

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulder. “You are not ruining my night. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“But all your friends and coworkers are inside, and you’re out here with me.”

He angles his head down toward you and you look up to meet his eyes, even warmer than the sticky summer night. 

“I am. Do you know why?”

“Because I suck,” you sniffle, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you attempt to look away. But Spencer’s not having it. He encourages you to sit up again so you can look at him properly, before wiping tears away gently with his thumb. When he speaks, it’s in soft, soothing tones. 

“No. I’m out here because if all my friends were inside having fun, and you were outside having a panic attack, I would choose you every time.”

You manage a laugh through the crying. 

“I don’t know if that’s healthy.”

“Whether or not it’s healthy is an entirely different discussion,” Spencer smiles wryly, before it melts into something softer and more sincere. “All that matters is that it’s true.”

For a while after that, you simply lay your head on his shoulder. Spencer controls the speed of the swing with his much-longer legs, kissing your head and rubbing your arm as you admire the expanse of Rossi’s lush yard bathed in moonlight and the black silhouette of the forest beyond. 

Eventually, Spencer speaks again, likely to make sure you’re not spiraling alone in your head. 

“Can I tell you an extremely classified secret that I've been trying really hard to keep to myself for three days?” he asks, and the mischievous edge to his voice catches your attention. You hum in assent, already wondering what kind of information Spencer would have a hard time keeping to himself. It could be anything. 

“Anderson is sleeping with Childers from Operational Tech.”

“What?”

Despite not working for the FBI yourself, Spencer and Penelope have you so filled in on the drama that you know exactly why that’s shocking. 

You pick your head up to look at him like do not fuck with me right now. 

His eyes sparkle as he nods.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you tell me Childers was dating that girl in sex crimes?”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth twitches. You gasp. 

“No! What? Does Anderson know?”

“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“Wait—Anderson told you this?”

“Yeah!” He laughs incredulously at your complete disbelief. “People tell me things! I’m an excellent confidant!”

“If you’re relaying all of this information to me then you’re a terrible confidant,” you chuckle, still watery—but feeling light years better. 

Spencer brushes your hair away from your face fondly, leaning a fraction of an inch closer. 

“You don’t count. Telling you secrets is basically the same as keeping them to myself.”

“Basically,” you tease, angling your head up by a few degrees in invitation. Spencer says nothing, does nothing for a long moment—just studies you with soft eyes, continues stroking your cheek. When he takes too long to kiss you, you get impatient. “I’m still kinda anxious, you know.”

He smiles knowingly.  

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, looking pointedly at his lips. “You should kiss me better.”

“I think that would take more than just one kiss,” he murmurs through a smile, leaning ever closer until your noses are bumping. “I think I would have to devote several hours to that. Maybe even a whole day.”

“How does tomorrow look for you?” 

He’s laughing as he finally presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet and lingering. 

“For you? It’s wide open.”

[g-hughes]

maybe kinda like a part two of the quinn fic where she gets even closer to his brothers and family and quinn is just watching as the most important people in his life all fit together so well

Yours Forever - Q. Hughes

part 1 || masterlist || g's graduation celly

synopsis: it's the 2nd annual Hughes Bowl, and Quinn gets a glimpse at what his future is going to look like

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none!

It was the eve before the second annual “Hughes Bowl'' and you were in a panic. Quinn had gone to the airport to pick up his parents, who made the trek across the continent to watch all three of their boys play together. It must’ve been such a surreal feeling for them, watching their sons on the ice, years of hard work and dedication paying off. From what you had gathered, Ellen and Jim were the Hughes boys’ biggest fans, and would try to make as many games as they could. And if they couldn’t make a game, they were always calling Quinn either right after or the next day to talk about it. 

“Are you sure that the couch looks okay against-” 

“Yes, for the tenth time, yes it looks fine against the wall,” Quinn said as you facetimed him. 

“Do not yell at me, Quintin, I am nervous,” You scolded and Quinn let out a laugh. Ellen and Jim haven’t been to your new apartment that you shared with Quinn. You were nervous for them to be staying with you. What if they didn’t approve of it? What if they hated your decorating skills? What if you weren’t a good homemaker? “Oh my god, I should’ve baked like cookies or something.” 

“You? Bake?” Quinn chuckled again, “Yeah and pigs can fly.” 

“Quinn,” You whined, “I want to make a good impression. This isn’t like going to the lake house or anything. This is our house.” 

Quinn smiled as the word ‘our’ fell from your lips. Almost as soon as the summer ended, he asked you to move in with him, and you, of course, said yes. But Quinn didn’t just want you to move into his apartment, for starters, it was a total man cave, with minimal decorations, one set of silverware he bought at target, and the standard blinds that came with the place. He wanted to get something that was going to be comfortable for you, and close to your work. So the two of you picked out a beautiful apartment in a small village area of Vancouver, it was close to your work, and felt like the two of you could have some privacy. 

“Baby,” Quinn said sincerely, “You have already made the best impression on them. They love you, and nothing is going to change that. . . well maybe your abysmal baking skills,” You giggled, “So please stop stressing. It’s going to be okay.”

You let out a breath and looked around the living room, “I guess you’re right.” 

“I know I am,” Quinn winked at you, “But I gotta go. They just landed. Oh! And the boys should be over soon.” 

“Boys?” You asked, your eyebrows knitting in confusion. 

“Yeah, Jack and Luke are on their way over.” 

“Quinn!” 

“Bye, Love you!” 

You groaned, as the line went dead and you were left glaring at your lock screen of your boyfriend. Though you spent the whole summer with the Hughes brothers, you still felt a bit awkward around them. Every time you tried to get to know them a little bit better, one of their friends was whisking them away to partake in some event. You were cordial toward them, but you weren’t sure what you were going to do to entertain them until Quinn and their parents got home. Hell, you weren’t sure what you were going to feed them until Quinn and their parents got home. 

You couldn’t ponder the question long, as there was a knock on your front door. You smoothed the fabric of your clothes and fixed your hair before opening the door, revealing a smiling Jack and a somewhat smiling Luke. 

“Hey!” You greeted, “Come in! Welcome.” 

The boys lumbered in, taking in the place. “Well, it's obvious Quinn wasn’t allowed to decorate,” Luke joked. 

“Yeah,” You chuckled, “As much as I love Gretzky, I didn’t need a life size portrait of him in my living room.” 

“Oh, I bet Quinn was just devastated,” Jack feigned. 

“Cried for days,” You shook your head, a mock pout on your lips. The boys both chuckled at your response and settled in on the couch. You felt a sense of ease wash over you, a smile tugging at your lips. 

— — — 

Quinn leaned against the passenger side of his jeep, his black yankees cap pulled down low on his head to hopefully hide himself from fans as he waited for his parents. Not that he usually gets ambushed in public, but sometimes he was asked for a picture or to sign an autograph or two. Normally, he wouldn’t mind it, but tonight, he just wanted to get his parents and get back home to his girl and his brothers. He didn’t get a lot of downtime throughout the season to see them, so he was going to take advantage of all the time he could get. 

“Quinny,” His mom’s voice called out to him as they walked out of the airport. He smiled and greeted his parents with a hug, “Where’s Y/N?” 

“Nice to see you too, Mom,” Quinn scoffed, “She’s at the apartment. Jack and Luke are there too.” 

“Oh good,” Ellen smiled, and settled in the backseat so Jim could sit up front with his son, “How are things going? Liking the new place?” 

Quinn nodded his head, “Everything is going great, and yeah we really like it. There’s some nice trails and a park nearby. We try to go on walks every morning together.” 

“And?” Ellen asked. 

“And?” Quinn asked back, “And everything is good. Y/N just got a promotion at work, her hours are more flexible. We’ve even been looking at adopting a cat, Y/N says she needs a friend when I’m gone on roadies.” Quinn was not a cat person, not even in the slightest, but seeing the way your eyes light up as you showed him the adoptable cats on the city shelter page made his heart flutter. 

“And?” Ellen asked, once again. 

“And what, Mom?” Quinn shook his head, “Everything is good.” 

“She wants to know when you’re going to propose,” Jim said, filling in the blank that Ellen had left. 

“Oh,” Quinn blushed. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes darted to the glove box, “I uh. . . I might’ve bought a ring a couple weeks ago.” 

“Oh I knew it!” Ellen exclaimed, “Jack said you were asking him about what kind of ring styles Y/N would like.” 

Quinn rolled his eyes. He really needed to stop telling Jack things about his relationship. Jack was like his mom’s spy. 

“When are you going to do it?” Ellen asked, “How are you going to do it?” 

“I don’t know,” Quinn shrugged. 

He thought about waiting until the season was over, but it was only December, and he wasn’t sure he could wait that long without putting that ring on your finger. He also knew that neither one of you liked to be the center of attention, and a big proposal wasn’t what you would want. You guys had talked about it before, you wanted your proposal to be an intimate affair, and a small celebration afterwards with your family and friends. 

“Have you asked for permission?” Jim asked, “You have to ask for permission.” 

“Yeah I did,” Quinn nodded. He invited your dad, who was a lifelong Canucks fan, to a morning skate and then a chance to meet the guys afterward. Quinn had then taken him to a nearby brunch spot, where he had asked for his blessing to marry you. Your dad had never been a man to show his emotions, unless he was watching a hockey game, but he had teared up, and told Quinn that he was the only man he ever thought worthy of marrying his little girl. And those words made Quinn tear up too. 

“I’m so happy for you, Q,” Ellen leaned forward, putting her hand on his arm, “She’s a very special girl.” 

“I know, Mom,” Quinn looked over his shoulder briefly at her, “I’m lucky to have her.” 

Quinn pulled into his parking spot, grabbing his mom’s suitcase for her. The elevator ride was short up to their floor, Quinn talking about how the team was coming along this season. After last year’s historic turnaround and run in the playoffs, Quinn felt the pressure even more in his second season as captain. He needed to prove not only to his team, but to the city that last year wasn’t a fluke. That Canucks hockey was back, and Quinn was going to lead his team back to the playoffs and hopefully to the Cup. 

“Between Yogi and Krog, we’ve been working so hard on the powerplay,” Quinn shook his head, “It was our downfall last year in the second round, but I feel like we’ve really turned it around.” 

“I agree,” Jim nodded his head, “You guys look like a totally different crew when the power play comes around. Toch probably feels relieved to have someone else on that call.” 

“Yeah,” Quinn nodded as he neared his front door, pulling his key out, “Krog has been such a good addition. The guys really like him and-” 

“You fucking suck!” A loud curse came from the other side. He stared at the door for a moment before another loud yell came out, “I fucking hate you!” Quinn’s eyebrows arose in concern as he quickly unlocked his front door. 

“Hey! Everything al-” Quinn shouted as he walked into the apartment. 

“You two fucking cheated!” Jack exclaimed, jumping up from the couch, “You cheated! I know you did!” 

“How do you cheat in Mario Kart?” Luke asked, chuckling. 

“I don’t know! But she cheated!” Jack flopped down on the couch. 

“I’m sorry, Jacky, you just aren’t as good as you thought you were,” You laughed and a feeling of relief flooded Quinn’s body as the familiar sound of the video game filled the space. You looked over your shoulder, a bright smile on your face, “Oh hey!” Then your eyes widened as you noticed Ellen and Jim behind your boyfriend. You quickly jumped up from the couch, and made your way over to them, “Hey! Welcome to Vancouver.” 

You hugged them both, as Jack paused the video game and walked over to his family. 

“Thank you for inviting us,” Ellen beamed at you, “And kicking my son’s ass in Mario Kart.” 

“They ganged up on me!” Jack whined, “I was out numbered.” 

Quinn wrapped his arm around you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. You blushed and looked at him, “How was the drive?” 

“Not bad,” Quinn shrugged, “How were the heathens?” 

“Could’ve been worse,” You chuckled, “Could’ve been better if Jack didn’t suck at Mario Kart.” 

“Alright,” Jack slammed his hands down on the counter playfully, “Rematch. Right Now.” 

“Oh you’re on,” You jested, rushing over to the couch with Jack and Luke in tow. Quinn shook his head with a laugh, his heart feeling full as he watched you interact with his brothers. His brothers’ opinions had always mattered so much to him, so seeing you so casually fitting in with them, made Quinn even more sure of his decision. 

— — —

Quinn love hated playing against his brothers. He loved watching them out on the ice, playing a sport that they’ve all grown to love, chasing their childhood dreams. But he hated having to be the opponent, the enemy. He hated that only one of them was going to go home victorious and with bragging rights for the next couple of months until they played each other again. Quinn loved seeing the bright smiles on his younger brothers faces when the final buzzer would go off, but he hated the feeling of letting his team down. 

You waited by the locker room for Quinn, his mother and father already headed back to the apartment. They knew that the only one Quinn would want to be around or talk to after the loss was you. For years, Ellen and Jim had tried to be the ones who Quinn would talk to after losses, but they gave up once he was about 15. But you managed to crack that tough interior of Quinn Hughes. You gave him a sad smile as he walked out of the locker room, his hair still wet from his shower. You were a bit surprised to see him back in his suit, normally he would have traded it in for some sweatpants and a hoodie. 

“Hi,” You whispered to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers brushed over the red mark on his forehead from his helmet, “You did good.” 

“Not good enough,” He huffed, putting one of his hands on your hip, “We should’ve won,” Quinn shook his head, “But I’m happy the boys won.” 

“I know,” You said, “It sucks to lose, but I’m glad Jack and Luke got the win.” Quinn nodded his head, “C’mon, let’s go home.” 

“Wait,” He said, grabbing your hand, “I think I left my stick in the box. Come with me?” 

“Can’t you get it tomorrow?” Your eyebrows creased in confusion. 

“No!” Quinn said, quickly, “Uh no. The equipment guys want all the sticks accounted for the night after the game. They’re weird like that.” You nodded your head slowly, still suspicious of his motive, but agreed to follow him back towards the arena. 

The arena was dark, except for a single spot light in the middle of the ice on the Canucks logo, and the blue band lighting around the lower bowl. It was weird walking into the rink, and it being quiet, save for your footsteps on the concrete. You were so used to this place being loud and bursting with excitement, it was a nice change to see it like this. In the past year, Rogers Arena has felt like a second home, a safe space. 

“It’s weird seeing this place quiet,” You said, as you walked to the team bench, “I kind of like it.” 

“Then you’ll like this even more,” Quinn said, “C’mere.” He held his hand out, and you took it. There was a carpet laid out from the gate on the boards, to the center of the ice. 

You looked around, in awe at the sight before you, “This. . . is crazy,” You scoffed in disbelief, “I can’t even imagine what it is like twenty thousand people are yelling your name,” You cupped your hands around your mouth, whispering yelling, “Huggy Bear! Huggy Bear! Huggy Bear!” 

Quinn chuckled, reaching out to you and grabbing your hips, “It’s a pretty surreal feeling. Sometimes I can’t even believe that this is my life. That I’m really in the NHL, and I’m really living my childhood dream, playing against some of my childhood icons and-” 

“And beating them,” You winked. 

“And beating them,” Quinn added, “But I was going to say, and I get to do this with the love of my life by my side.” Your heart started beating faster, butterflies taking flight in your stomach as Quinn grabbed both of your hands in his, “Y/N L/N, from the moment you crashed into my life, literally,” You chuckled as tears started filling your eyes, “I knew that you were going to be it. I didn’t know I was missing something until you came into my life and it all just seemed to make sense. I felt complete. You made me feel complete.” 

At this point, both you and Quinn had tears in your eyes. He let go of your hand, as he got down on one knee, pulling out a small light blue box from his pocket. Your hands flew up to your mouth, as he opened the lid. 

“Y/N, will you please-” 

“Yes!” 

“I didn’t finish-” 

“I know, but yes!” You grabbed Quinn’s face in your hands, placing a tender, yet reassuring kiss on his lips. 

“But I have to finish asking you,” Quinn said. 

“Okay,” You nodded, standing back up, “Ask me.” 

“Y/N, will you marry-” 

“Yes!” Quinn chuckled, grabbing your left hand, and sliding the simple, yet beautiful ring on your finger. He stood up, as you threw your arms around his neck, crashing your lips to his. He stumbled for a moment, before wrapping his arms tightly around you. You leaned your forehead against his, “I love you.” 

“I love you,” You said, wiping away a stray tear from his face, “This is the best day ever.” 

“Just wait until we get to say ‘I Do’ for real,” Quinn pressed a quick kiss to your lips, “Now c’mon, Jack said he was getting us a cake to celebrate.” You smiled, as you took Quinn’s hand and walked off the ice. When you reached the locker room you froze. 

“Oh my god,” You gasped and Quinn looked at you in a panic. 

“What? What is it? What’s wrong? 

“Who’s going to be your best man?” You and Quinn both shared a look of momentary panic.

“They can play rock, paper, scissors for it.”

[lialacleaf]

A Touch Too Personal

Chapter 1

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You had a crush on Ghost since you started working for Price in communications, but the gruff, reserved Lieutenant only acknowledged your existence on the job. That starts to change with a simple, thoughtful gift.

Warnings: Fluff, Simon is bad at processing emotions, past trauma

Chapter 2

You cared deeply about every single one of your teammates. It didn’t matter that you were sitting in an office talking to them over the radio, you were still providing them with intel and directions that kept them alive.

They were like a second family, and so Task Force 141 slowly began to feel like having a lot of older brothers.

Johnny was your go to partner in crime when it came to making mischief, and you knew he was always down for a good prank.

Kyle on the other hand was good for having deep conversations and was the one you always went to for advice.

Ghost…well ghost was a bit different. Your feelings towards him weren’t exactly that of a sibling. Maybe it was because he was more reserved than the others, a mystery or puzzle that you couldn’t quite figure out, but you couldn’t help but feel warm inside on the rare occasion that his intense gaze did linger on you.

Which lead to your current dilemma.

Every time you went home, you made sure to bring one of the boys a gift when you returned to base.

Being that Price was like a father figure, you brought him a handcrafted mug from your hometown’s local pottery festival. Soap had gotten a pocket knife with his call sign engraved on it, and Gaz had received a baseball cap with a hand stitched 141 on the side in his favorite color.

However, now it was Ghost’s turn, and you were at a loss. What would he even like to have? You knew he had an array of tactical gear, you’d seen him knit pick through it on occasion, but you didn’t know enough about working in the field to know kind of tools he’d like. He had so many knives already, that it felt redundant to get him another.

What on earth were you supposed to give this man?

“Maybe you could make this Ghost fella something yourself?” Your mother suggested as you sat in your parents living room to ponder the issue.

Your mother liked Ghost’s nickname, and laughed whenever you brought it up. You could only assume she was picturing a little boy in a Scream costume, and you had to admit that was a little funny. Ghost was the only one to not have shared his real name with you, and thus always ended up being teased by your family, not that he was aware of that.

“Like what?” You asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m stopping by the craft store, how about you come with me instead of sulking in the living room?”

~

You watched your mother peruse through the holiday decorations and shook your head. That woman was amassing quite the Christmas village collection.

You wandered through the store with dwindling hope until you saw it. It was in the fabric section that you found the most perfect pattern for your Lieutenant.

The fabric had a black background, with white Ghosts all over it. You picked up the roll with a brilliant smile on your face, and ran over to one of the fabric department employees.

“I need some of this,” you said, giddy and bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“How much do you want?” The woman asked, preparing her scissors.

Ghost was a pretty large man, and you took a moment to think about just how much fabric you were going to need.

“Uhhh, a lot.”

~

“Lass! How was the family?” Johnny asked, pulling you in for a tight hug as you pulled your luggage into your room on base.

“It was good, ate a lot, took my cousins shooting, family stuff,” you said with a grin. “I gotta show you something,” you insisted, pulling him inside your room.

“Oh? What’s that?” He asked curiously.

“You know how I always bring back a surprise?” You began, a grin on your face.

“Who’s the lucky winner?” He chucked.

“You tell me.” You beamed at him as you pulled out the larger than life knot-tie blanket you’d made, and Johnny’s jaw dropped.

“You did not!” He gasped, chuckling at he inspected it. One side was the Ghost fabric you’d found, and the other was made from the softest army green material you could find. In the top corner. You’d stitched in a small British Flag patch, and each corner has a sandbag sewn in.“You made him a bloody weighted blanket? What gave you that idea?” He asked.

“We’ll I couldn’t find anything I thought he’d like at first, but then I saw the fabric and it just fell together so perfectly!”

“Oh man, I would kill to see his reaction to this,” Johnny said, giving you a pat on the shoulder.

“You say that like we ever get to see his reaction to anything,” you stated. You’d never actually seen him without some sort of face covering.

Johnny tisked softly and shrugged. “Alright, you got me there,” he admitted. “He’s in his room now, probably as good a time as any.”

You couldn’t help but grin broadly. “Perfect.”

~

You felt a lump form in your throat as you approached Ghost’s door. You knew it was just the nerves that came along with your little crush on the Lieutenant, but it still made the task at hand a little daunting.

You took a deep breath, knocking softly on the door. Maybe you should have wrapped it for him. What if he didn’t like it? How were you supposed to react if he just brushed you off.

The door opened before you could rethink your decision. It always came as a shock how large Ghost was, no matter how many times you stood mask to face.

“You’re back.”

You felt your heart rate spike. He had noticed you were gone? Had noticed you? Of course he had noticed, it was his job to notice, it didn’t mean anything.

“Yeah,” you said, waiting for him to ask how your trip was, or if you were glad to be back. He didn’t.

“I got you something!” You said suddenly, holding the folded blanket out to him, and his entire body seemed to freeze. He stared at it for a moment or two, as if he were slowly processing the object.

“What is it?”

Your smile faltered. “It’s a weighted blanket,” you said as he inspected it as if it were some kind of trick. “It’s a weighted blanket,” you said as he took it carefully from your hands.

“Where’d you get it?”

Shit, he hates it.

“I- Uhm. I made it,” you admitted, your cheeks blazing. This was stupid. You were stupid.

He looked between you and the blanket in his hands, and nodded. “Thanks,” he said before stepping back into his room and closing the door.

You pressed your lips together firmly in an attempt to not start bawling. You walked off on shaky legs, taking deep breaths. At least he hadn’t told you he didn’t want it.

~

Simon sat on his bed, his thumb brushed over the small flag patched into the corner of the blanket. The fact that you had made him a gift by hand had his stomach in knots. He knew about your little gift tradition with the rest of 141, but he hadn’t expected to be included, nor did he expected you’d go to such trouble. The two of you weren’t even very close.

He swallowed thickly as tears pricked his eyes. This was the nicest thing any teammate had ever given him.

He brought the fabric to his face and gave it a deep whiff. It smelled fresh, like laundry detergent. You must have washed it before you gave it to him.

Simon spread the blanket carefully over his cot, admiring how the fabric felt against his hands. It didn’t catch on his calloused fingers, and wasn’t too fluffy.

It was large too, as if you’d taken his massive size into account. He was certain he could easily caving himself in it. His bottom lip wobbled slightly, and it was an effort to hold his tears at bay.

That night, Simon slept soundly, wrapped in your carefully crafted gift, and you were the only thing on his mind.

AN: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

[flametrashiraarchive]

why do i get the feeling muzan would love endowed! reader in a maid costume- GHGHJBVGFGHHIJHU

Haha I can see it! (and also the other way round someone please please ask me about Maid Costume Muzan)

NSFW below the cut

Muzan x F!reader.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Muzan and the Maid

Part 4 of the Muzan's Epic Titty Sucking Saga

"Put it on." The tone of Muzan's voice told you there was no room for negotiation. He held the skimpy maid's uniform out toward you, the crimson of his eyes half-flooded out by his vertical pupils. His eyes only ever looked like that when he was just about to feed, or he was just about to work out his stress on your ample bosom. You trusted it was the latter.

You knew better than to argue with his demand. Protesting the tackiness of the uniform would only earn you an hour-long diatribe about how everyone disappointed Muzan and he should let the infinity castle crumble to ruin.

Taking the garment with a sigh, you stepped behind a modesty screen and started to change.

"With less attitude next time," Muzan grumbled from the other side of the screen as his silhouette crossed the room toward your, luxurious bed.

As you pulled on the dress, you glanced down to find that the bustier barely covered... anything. It didn't even fully conceal your areola. The blushing crescents peered over the top of the dress as your nipples tented the sheer fabric. You were almost certain that Muzan somehow lowered the temperature in your room whenever he felt like it.

"Well?" you asked, stepping out from behind the screen to find Muzan sat on the end of the bed; knees spread wide and hands clasped in the chasm between them.

He glanced up at you. "Yes. Come here." His hand slipped over your hip as you stepped into the gap between his thighs. "You're nothing more than a cheap slut," he whispered, caressing the mound of your breast. "My cheap slut to do whatever I want with. Isn't that right?"

Heat prickled on your cheeks as you nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"Good," he groaned. "That's my good little harlot." At once his mouth was on you, sucking your nipple through the fabric as his brow raised and knitted together. "Mmmhhh"

Your breath shuttered as you fought the urge to put back your head and moan. For all his faults--of which there were... a couple... Muzan definitely knew how to get you off with the simple act of lavishing his demonic attention on your breasts.

The wet heat of his mouth through the fabric was divine, the graze of his teeth over your hardened bud sending pangs of desire to your core.

He chuckled, fondling your breasts through the fabric with one hand while sliding the other up under your skirt. His fingers slipped through the wetness spreading across the top of your thighs as he continued to tease and lick your breasts.

"Mm... you're always so damn wet for me..." he smirked, giving your nipple a reprieve and pushing his face into your cleavage, covering it in hot, wet kisses. "Maybe one day I'll do something about that. But tonight, my little maid..." He leaned back and scooted his way up the bed, his clothing magically turning to tatters and falling away entirely as he gave you a devilish grin. "Your lord has been a very dirty boy..."

Let me know if you want part 5... where Muzan gets a tit-wank.

[hyunnie04]

summary: changbin loves to spoil you, but you won’t let him.

pairing: changbin x gn! reader

word count: 1117 words

warning: small mention of financial insecurities

genre: fluff

a/n: hi! this is my first drabble/short fic on this blog, i know its a little rough around the edges but i hope you guys like it anyways! any feed back is welcomed ^^

a more recent a/n; i edited this a bit at the end just to make it more coherent!

im having binnie brainrot atm excuse me

------

changbin has always been an observant person. when you and changbin first started dating, he began to notice something you did often. 

when you two would go out to run some errands together, or just simply go out on a date- it would be almost a routine that you two would just walk around, looking at clothes and or just looking at necessities for your shared apartment. changbin trails behind you, glancing and observing some of the random paraphernalia on the shelf.    

you smile at the white knit sweater that you have been eyeing since earlier this year, feeling it’s nice and soft material between your fingers. oh how you wish you could bring it home, but you knew better. your wallet and your conscience was practically yelling at you to not spend a single dime on stuff you probably don't need. you suddenly feel changbin’s gaze on your figure. 

“you like that sweater?” he tilts his head towards the article of clothing, adjusting his thick black frame resting on his nose bridge.

you knew that look, his eyebrows raising in question. he wants to buy it for you. putting the piece of fabric back in it's place, you turn to him and smile. “i-no, it’s alright.” he stares at you again, making you tilt your head at him. “but you’ve been eyeing that sweater every time we pass this place.” 

“you should get it.” he continues and smiles at you. “i’ll get it some other time. I don't… have the money right now.” you lie, voice much smaller. shaking your head and waving him off, you continue to browse the isles. he strides after you, confused. “i can get it for you, you know.”

“bin, it's okay, really.” you smile and insist. you hope that he wouldn’t press on the topic anymore. his keen eyes notice once again when you hold up a ceramic cup with a silly design that he knows you love, but after staring at it for a good minute, you quickly put it back down. changbin sighs and makes a mental note of the things you were eyeing. he’d just have to make an impromptu trip back to this shop once he has some free time.

-

now back at home, you sigh and plop down on the plush couch. your feet are just aching from the miles and miles you two have walked the entire day. changbin presses a kiss onto your forehead and beelines it to the bathroom. grumbling about how he has to pee. you laugh.

after a while, the rumbling in your stomach signals you to finally get up and make dinner for the both of you. shuffling to the kitchen, you start with opening the stove and chopping up some veggies. a strong pair of arms suddenly engulf you from behind, startling you.

“bin! i am holding a knife, don’t startle me like that.” you laugh as he starts to trail kisses on the column of your neck. he chuckles and rests his head on your shoulder for a moment. it takes a while before he starts swaying you side to side without saying anything. you've known him for so long to know when he has something on his mind.

"what's on your mind, honey?" you hum, putting the greens into the pan. "i should be asking you that." confused, you tilt your head at his answer.

"why won't you let me buy you stuff?" you glance at him, he leans on the counter and continues, "i mean- it's just that you've been holding off buying stuff for yourself for so long. you deserve a little splurging y'know."

mouth gaping like a fish out of water, you shut your mouth and continue to stir the pan.

“now, tell me why my baby doesn’t want me to spoil them?” you deflate at his words, knowing this conversation was about to happen sooner or later. 

aside from wanting to save some money on things you probably don't need part, you grew up with this feeling- having to be ashamed of people spending their money on you, you were determined not to make changbin an exception. accepting help from others growing up meant that there we're feelings of being a bother- feelings of being a waste of time.

years and years of conditioning yourself has lead you into believing whatever mental gymnastics you did inside your head was the absolute truth, no matter how absurd it sounded. maybe your strict upbringing also had a hand in it. that's the way it's always been.

so you explain to him. in all your vulnerability, all the while stirring your hot pan of stir fry.

“but i like doing this for you.” he stresses. changbin moves to rub your shoulder affectionately in an attempt to further reassure you.

biting your lip, “i just feel guilty.” you probably say for the umpteenth time. looking at him, you open your mouth to speak but is immediately cut off, “baby, please." he sighs, and turns off the stove from behind.

"why don't we come up with a compromise?" your buff boyfriend smiles at you. "like what?"

"tell you what, if you let me buy you something you want," he leans incredibly close to you, his breath fanning your face. "you'll get a kiss from me." you blush at his proximity and furrow your eyebrows at him, his grin widening by the minute.

"how is that a compromise?" you say after mulling it over.

"well," he starts, hands trailing and drawing simple shapes on your forearms. "you would get kisses and... and...." you look at him with your eyebrows raised, now very interested in his defense.

"and?"

"ah whatever!" he groans and burrows his reddening face into your neck. you chuckle and run your hands through his black hair, comforting your poor whining binnie.

"please just please let me spoil you!" he throws his hands up in defeat. changbin gives up his argument and grabs both of your hands, making his best pleading face. you can't help but laugh at your boyfriend's ridiculous sudden 180 turn. binnie continues to do his over the top aegyo at you, hoping you would crack.

"o-okay. alright! you win." you reluctantly agree with his constant pleading, his puppy eyes certainly winning you over. you turn to plate the poor neglected stir fry on the pan as he lets go of your hands and hug you from behind.

"but seriously- i'm really, really not bothered. and again, i like doing this for you- correction, i love doing this for you. so please let me?"

"...alright." you grin, already feeling lighter about the whole thing.

"thank you for putting up with me."

"anytime, honey."

[tadpolesonalgae]

Piercings[*]

Poly!Batboys x reader

a/n: I realised you probably would have specified poly batboys if you wanted them all together rather than individually but I was feeling a little feral (and also a little tired, I’ll admit it) so I’ve written it as all of them together 🧡💛 — also we’re saying that with fae healing she only needed a week to be sorted and safe from infection

warning: piercings, slight nipple play, poly batboys

word count: 1,270

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Teeth tug at the interior of your lip as you walk into the sitting room, finding all three of them contained within the cozy chamber. 

Three sets of eyes raise when you enter, sensing you have something to say. You shift anxiously on your feet. “Hi…” you begin, toes curling in your socks, a spark of nerves glistening beneath your skin, pulse spiking in your throat—one they can almost certainly pick out. 

It’s Rhys who takes the lead as the closest to where you are, lowering his book and setting it down, open, over one arm of the sofa, Cassian watching intently from the other end, ankle crossed over his thigh. “You look…nervous,” Rhys muses, violet eyes gleaming with satisfaction when you shift, fingers clutching the hem of your thick, purple jumper. “Did something happen?” 

Your lips part to speak, but a rush of nerves has you second guessing yourself, averting your gaze to the floor, heart pounding. “I have…” Fuck, you’re nervous. You swallow. Look back at them. “I have something to tell you…?” 

Rhys’ lips tug upward at their corners, interest sparking in Cassian’s hazel eyes, a neutral but attentive expression from Azriel. You ease in a small breath—you know them; they won’t be angry with you. You just need to show them. It’s easy to admit you’re far more scared of the attention they’ll give you rather than potential disappointment. They’re feral enough if they so much as catch a glimpse of a new set of underwear they’ll be dragging you to their bedroom, pinning you to their mattress, so this…you swallow again. Maybe it was a stupid idea. But they’re going to find out eventually. It’s already been a week, after all. 

“Maybe it would be better if I showed you,” you mumble under your breath, fingers tugging at the deep purple wool, the knit stretching as you lift it to reveal the lacy white camisole underneath—sheer enough for the metal bars to be visible as they push against the soft, creamy fabric. 

Cassian’s book slips from his grip, thudding on the floor. Pages fluttering. 

You bite the interior of your lip, folding the jumper over your arm so your have something to do with your hands. “They’ve finished healing now…” You tell them, glancing down at the individual stitches that make up the purple knitwear, picking out how the yarn wraps around itself to form a repeating pattern. 

“Come here.” Rhys’s voice is deeper; rougher. Strained, as he calls you over. 

“Why…” you ask, a note of warning in your voice, raising a brow. This is exactly what you were worried about. “I’m only telling you so you know. They’re still—”

“That was an order, princess,” Azriel murmurs from the other sofa, tension underlying the rigidity of his wings, hazel eyes piercing in on you like you’re a rabbit that’s about to turn on her fluffy tail and frantically try to hop away. 

Half reluctantly, you step closer to Rhys’ side, fingers fiddling with the jumper to try and keep your nerves soothed. 

Violet eyes look up at you, and you force yourself to remain still as he grips your hip, a sure enough sign you won’t be leaving without their permission. “Is this why you’ve been hiding yourself from us?” He inquires, and you nod. “And you’re saying they’re healed now? Properly healed?” His thumb swipes across the bone of your hip, your every sense keyed to his touch. You feel like you could get lost in his eyes. So strangely hypnotising. Like they’re luring you in. 

His lips tug upward, and then you’re being tugged forward, landing perfectly in his lap under his guidance. You squeak, squirming beneath his touch, trying to shift out of his lap—you knew this would happen. “Rhys, hold on,” you try, gripping onto his wrists as his palms splay across your stomach leisurely, fingers crawling beneath the hem of your close-fitting camisole. “Wait, they’re…” 

“What?” Rhys drawls, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Tell us what they are, darling.” 

“…they’re sensitive.” 

The pads of his fingers stutter briefly over your skin, before his lips are curving into a grin. “How perfect.” 

“Rhys, please…” you murmur, trying to glance at him. 

“Please what?” 

“Be careful?” You request, shifting in his lap. Shaky fingers lightly wrapping around his wrist. 

He hums, attention flicking to his brothers. “Should we?” 

“Rhysand!” You exclaim, trying to turn to look at him, but his grip tightens on you punishingly, reminding you to keep still. 

“Try her out first,” Azriel muses, drawing your attention, hazel eyes boring into you—hot, hungry, and adoring. It gives you a little reassurance, at least. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Az,” you mumble, a little betrayed he isn’t advocating for your release. “When you’re wearing pretty things like that? I think not,” he drawls, a hint of affection in his expression. “Besides, you know very well you aren’t permitted to keep secrets from us.” 

“I wanted it to be a surprise…” you mumble, flushing. 

“I think it’s safe to say we’re surprised, sweetheart,” Cassian drawls, “but a secret is still a secret.” 

“Cass…” 

“Do you disagree?” 

You open your mouth to do just that, but instead a startled sound squeaks from your lips, Rhys’s fingers brushing lightly over the peaks of your nipples. You gasp, trying to grapple with him to get his hands away but you can hardly manage to make him budge as he circles your breasts through the thin fabric. 

“I didn’t want you to have to wait while knowing about them,” you try, cheeks heating as thoughts begin to melt away. “Wouldn’t it have been worse if I had told you?” 

“A rule is a rule, darling.” 

“But Rhys…Rhys!” You gasp as he pulls your top away entirely, and you can practically feel their attention on your breasts. The pretty bars adorning your nipples. 

“How sensitive are they?” Azriel asks, but it’s worryingly not directed at you. 

“Let’s see…” 

A panting moan spills suddenly from your lips, breaths fluttering as Rhys brings his thumbs to lightly drag across the sensitive peaks. You squirm in his lap, nonsensical pleas whispering from your mouth as you try to squeeze your legs together, heat simmering violently and you’re worried how severely they’ll exploit this for their advantage. 

“Pretty sensitive,” Cassian drawls, and you exhale deep breaths of relief when Rhys’ fingers cease their stimulation, already practically trembling in his lap. “I suppose I can see why she wanted to keep these secret, knowing us,” he remarks, your lower lip wobbling at the comment. He grins, and your hairs rise. 

“I have different ones,” you say, trying to halt Rhys’s fingers, trying to figure a way out of his hold. “I got ones with different colours…let me show you.” Rhys laughs beside your ear, breath fanning down the side of your throat, making you shiver. “Darling, that won’t work. You’re staying with us until we decide you’ve had enough.” 

“But that can take hours…” 

“And it’ll take days if you don’t stop whining,” he counters, grazing his thumb across your nipple. “I’m sure between the three of us, we could make it last much longer.”

You squeak as shadows wrap around your ankles, wrapping around your calf, up your knee, lacing around your thighs, pulling them further apart. 

“And if we have to correct your behaviour one more time…” Azriel warns, your skin prickling at the low, raspy tone. Toes curling. Shadows creeping higher.

He doesn’t have to finish that sentence for you to understand the meaning. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[moodymisty]

𝕴 𝖉𝖔𝖓’𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐, 𝖆𝖘 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖘 𝖎𝖙’𝖘 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖒𝖊

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 1, part 2

Author’s note: Decided to have a more fleshed out version of the Cato bullying arc. This is the timeline where Titus and reader are just friendly, and it's all Sicarius/Reader. If you want a Titus/Reader/Sicarius sandwich fic, feel free to say! I'd be happy to make another fic because I have a bunch more ideas that would work for a love triangle version of this plotline. I just really wanted to do this one first, since it's kind of the original idea.

Summary: Cato Sicarius continues to fume over Primarch Guilliman's diplomat, unable to hide his disdain; But neither you or himself are wise to how he truly feels.

Relationships: Cato Sicarius/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Degradation, Sexism/misogyny, Choking, Size difference, Toxic relationship

Word count: 798 (short but don't worry chapter 2 is a doozy this is just plot)

Your steps towards Guilliman’s personal holotable are hesitant, hands knitted at your front. Your skin is mostly covered by the delicate fabric of your dress, but you still struggle to not shiver. The air of the ship is always so cold.

“You called, Lord Guilliman?”

He looks up from the sickly green glow of the table, of which makes the tired, wrinkled expression on his face more exaggerated - and raises his brows.

“Yes, I did. I have a task for you.”

It’s still daunting to speak to him, especially so casually. It is also just as daunting to have him speak so casually to you back as well, as if he doesn't even realize the magnitude of who he is.

Primarchs are- they’re demigods. Gods, to some.

But Guilliman has shown himself to be remarkably human, and you’ve tried to respect his demands be treated as such. It seems most of the time those requests have fallen on deaf ears, as he has begrudgingly remarked about the frequent prayers and prostration of Imperial priests whenever they are in his presence.

You never thought about how a god might find the dedication of his worshipers exasperating, but either way you nod and look at him expectantly.

“I need you to speak to some of the planetary officials here about using their world as a logistics hub.” You don’t need much more information to know the gist of what Guilliman is asking.

He needs worlds- an ever increasing amount of them - to produce and send materials around Ultramar and the broader Imperium. They would need to give up significant independence for that. Permanently. The likelihood of this war ending in any of your lifetimes is a wish upon dead stars.

“I am assuming this isn’t a question you’ll want a no on,” You say partly joking with a hint of a smile at the corners of your mouth. Guilliman nods.

“Convince them this is a good idea so we do not have to apply force. I would like to save the bolter ammunition, if possible.”

You’re used to this type of work, and so you nod with sufficient understanding. Guilliman shifts in his armor, briefly looking down at a blinking dot on his holotable for a moment. One of many; You wonder how he is able to absorb and remember such an overwhelming amount of information as he looks up to speak to you again.

“I will send some of Second Company with you to-“ Guilliman notices you expression sour, and you catch it too late for him to have not noticed.

“...Is there something wrong with that?”

Your hands unknit from your front to try and wave away the disrespect you thought you just showed him, pursing your lips. You were once warm, but not your face feels overwhelmingly hot.

“I’m so sorry lord Guilliman, that was immature of-“

“It’s Sicarius, isn’t it.”

You stop speaking and look away, licking your lips. Guilliman sighs and rakes a gauntlet over his dusty blonde hair, before returning them to rest on the edge of the holotable. You can hear the metal of either the table or his armor creak and groan under his strength.

“I have confronted him on his attitude once before, has he still not stopped with this nonsense?” You swallow a knot in your throat.

Sicarius looked to you with a sneer on his lips, as he faced you. His olive skin shines with a red glow from the hazard lights around the ship's cargohold.

‘I struggle to think of a reason why we need you here.’ You- perhaps naively - spoke up in response.

‘Agriworlds are important logistically and diplomatically, and they’re prime targets for e-‘ Sicarius looked at you like you were nothing more than mud on the sole of his boots.

‘Did I ask for you to speak?’

You pursed your lips, and soaked in the frigid silence of the refiltered air. All the other marines stayed out of it; They have no stake in this and want not to get involved, or know they can’t without punishment from their captain.

Sicarius sighs and shifts in his armor, looking away from you with a petulant expression.

‘It really is true that women do nothing but talk.’

Mouth pursed tightly shut, you looked away from Sicarius to Titus and an astartes beside him; They looked back with stoic, but sympathetic expressions. They can't say anything, but at least you know you aren't alone in this.

Letting out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, the feeling offers a bit of relief; But it does little to temper the frustration you feel overall.

"No, it hasn't stopped. If anything, it seems to have only gotten worse since you spoke to him."

The primarch moves and leans away from the holotable, and you reemerge fully from your memory and speak up. Perhaps you shouldn't speak out of turn to him, but he hasn't punished you for doing so yet in your conversations with him.

“Can you not have Titus lead the retinue?” Guilliman furrows his brow and sighs. Sicarius' unfounded hatred towards you is proving to make something that should be quite simple overwhelmingly difficult; And frustrating.

“I wish to abide by the proper chain of command, but he’s experienced despite his demotion.” He places a hand on his hip. You hope that your hesitation comes across as less whiny as you think it does, but given that Guilliman broached the topic first, you assume that he is in agreement with you that Sicarius' has been, in Guilliman's words of which had made you nearly choke hearing come from the mouth of the Lord Regent:

A colossal pain in the ass.

You take a step forward, crossing your arms shrugging your shoulders at him.

“I don't need the man to like me. But his attitude is so unbearable that I struggle to think of a way where we could co-exist without him despising every moment of it."

Guilliman sighs, and you feel bad for bringing yet another problem to his plate, when he already seems so overwhelmed with it all. You are too in extension; Since Guilliman recruited you as his diplomat he has been desperate to delegate you tasks to give him breathing room. Even if they aren't entirely diplomatic in nature, he seems quite appreciative when you handle things for him.

Getting the Imperial priests to stop praying in his presence had been one of the more amusing non-diplomatic tasks he had delegated you.

"I will have Lieutenant Titus informed so he understands the situation." You try not to smile.

"Thank you for being so understanding about this. Titus is already quite aware of this situation as well." Guilliman raises his eyebrows. "As much as Captain Sicarius seems to expend significant effort in hating me personally, Titus has not been spared his wrath as well. It's why I mentioned him; I, would consider us friends."

Guilliman wears a soft smile; One while gentle, seems quite tired. That would explain why you don't use any sort of title for him, unlike Captain Sicarius.

"I am glad at least one of my men is at least somewhat well adjusted," He continues. "I have been in great shortage since waking in this new Imperium." You wonder what he means by that, as he seems to have a deeper implication than you can understand, judging by the look in his eyes.

Either way, you don't have much time to think about it as he sends you off.

"Your ship is nearly ready to depart, make your way there and I will update your retinue with the changes. Good luck."

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Daylight

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Author's note: Sort of AU; Grace is alive and runs the children's home herself. Do I make this a thing or nah? Summary: Tommy's affair with a school teacher employed at his wife's charity venture reaches a cross roads. Masterlists Warnings: Angst, infidelity

Sometimes, the shame of what they’ve been doing feels like punishment enough. The ache in her chest when she looks in the mirror, the pinch in her soul when she catches the lingering scent of him on her sheets and the bruises that she’s earned from trying to scrub his touch off her skin in the bath- it feels cruel enough to make her stop. 

But she hasn’t. 

Because when he shows up at her door, or she picks up the telephone and its his voice on the other end, her guilt melts, only to be replaced with pride and something that’s akin to a pleasant flutter in her chest. When Thomas touches her, the rest of the world fades away and for an hour or two, they’re in a realm of their own, where the poison tastes like wine and sin feels like the closest thing they’ll ever get to heaven. Perhaps it is. 

What if the warmth of his embrace and the feel of his mouth on her neck is the closest she’ll ever be to paradise and the sound of his voice rasping sweet nothing and empty promises in her ear is the only and truest happiness she’ll ever get? 

What if it starts and ends with Thomas? Heaven, hell and everything in between. 

At times, Y/n can swear he feels the same. When the room goes dead silent while he’s getting dressed or he takes care to not speak her name when they’re on the phone speaks volumes to the guilt he harbors. And even if it shouldn’t, and she doesn’t understand how, it gives Y/n some comfort that he feels the same too. At least its something else they share, something that transcends the weight of his body on hers; a burden that binds them. 

The burden she feels privileged to bear; at least Thomas chose her, his eyes search the room for hers and he seeks her out in private moments. She’s special to him, at least, Y/n hopes she is. 

She has to be, else she’s just another mistress, lurking in the shadows and lurking in the background of another woman’s marriage. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about, eh?” The tips of Thomas’ fingers trail up and down her spine as she traces the tattoo on his chest.

“Huh?” Having lapsed into deep thought, Y/n missed half his question. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” He repeats, “You’ve been….lost in your head all evening,” he raises his hand a little to thread his fingers through her hair. 

“Oh,” Y/n elicits softly, “I’ve just been….” She knits her brows as doubt creeps in; what if she is just a mistress? What if Thomas is just waiting for the next best thing to catch his eye before he moves on from her? If Grace, the woman who he’d been entrapped with from the minute they met couldn’t keep him on the straight and narrow, then she can’t be much more than a good  Friday evening. 

“Do you think….” She hesitates before continuing, wondering if she even wants the truth.  “Do you think….you ever might stay one day?”

Thomas hums in contemplation, “Grace might take Charles to Ireland to see her family next month, maybe I could-”

“I don’t mean like that,” Y/n rolls over and out of his embrace, tucking the worn duvet under her chin in a manner that feels almost childish. 

Sighing heavily, Thomas reaches to give her hip a squeeze before shuffling closer, “Oh come on,” he chides lightly, “Don’t be like that sweetheart,” he plants a chaste kiss on her cheek. 

Blinking away a wave of moisture that prods at her eyes, Y/n huffs, “Be like what?” She retorts defensively.

Exhaling again, Thomas skirts around her question, “Let's not ruin our afternoon, yeah? Why don’t we open the bottle’a  wine I brought? Its one you like,” he offers, hoping the problem is one he can solve with expensive liquor. 

“I don’t want wine,” she spats bitterly. 

“Then what do you want, eh?” Thomas gives her hip soothing rub and she clutches the fabric tighter, “Tell me and you’ll have it. Fuckin’ anythin’.”

“I just told you want I want,” Y/n huffs, shifting so she can settle on her back. Lifting her hand, she reaches to touch his face. Slowly, she drags the back of her fingers up the side of his face, caressing his sharp cheekbone, the tip of his ear and then the side of his head. “Why don’t you ever stay?” She asks softly, searching his eyes. 

 “Its complicated, you kn-”

“Its been complicated,” Y/n rolls her glassy eyes and sniffles. “I love you,” she professes in a hushed, pitiful tone, “But I hate this,” Y/n admits just as Thomas lifts his hand so the tips of his fingers graze her cheek. When he doesn’t respond with anything more than icy blue eyes searching hers, she continues, “It feels like we’re trying to outrun something,” she looks past him, to the plain ceiling above. 

Thomas doesn’t return the profession of her affections, he never has and Y/n often thinks she’ll never hear those words from his lips. But in the absence of them, she’s interpreted every minuscule action- and inaction- to mean that he does love her. The tenderness of his touch, his forehead pressed to hers after they kiss and his arm curled around her shoulders pulling her close. 

Knitting his brows, Thomas regards her curiously, “What do you mean?” His thumb traces her jaw and he searches her eyes, “We’re good, everything’s alright,” it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he is her. 

Swallowing thickly, Y/n shakes her head, “Its not,” she sits up, taking handfuls of the sheets up with her to guard her modesty and Thomas shifts to slide an arm across her back and tuck her into his side, “I see it in your face all the time. That guilt; You don’t want to do this to…” Y/n can’t even bring herself to say Grace’s name, “Her.” 

He doesn’t offer an immediate response, which is enough to tell Y/n that she’s right. “Its complicated,” Thomas eventually repeats. 

Licking her lips, Y/n scoffs, “Is it complicated or is everything alright?” Sniffling, she turns her face towards the wall to her left, pale yellow flowers decorating light pink paper, the orange glow of the evening sun making it seem a bit brighter than it usually is. 

He’s going to leave soon, like he usually does. She doesn’t even know why she even bothered asking him to stay when she’d known the answer before it came. 

“Why’re you changing your mind on me, eh?” He gives her shoulder a squeeze, “What we have is good. You get what you what, I get what I want; it works.”

His words cut deep; they make whatever it is they have between them seem so transactional. His certainty scares her too; is that what's always been to him? Money and sex? 

Y/n has never been a prostitute, before Thomas she held herself in high esteem; she’s a school teacher at his wife’s orphanage, she doesn’t give herself up to just any man, especially not married ones- but he’d walked into that place one morning and her whole world had been turned on his head. He roused a flutter in her stomach that she’d never felt before and his crude charm was unlike anything she’d ever come across. She’d known he was married even then, she knew whose husband Thomas was, but Y/n couldn’t resist his offer to dance at the orphanage’s annual Christmas party or his flirtations when he’d led her to a vacant balcony. 

“I like you,” he’d said, lips close to hers and fingers curled under her chin. 

He liked her. She liked him too. 

“Have you ever been to London?” She hadn’t, but she should’ve said no, “I have a place there, a club. Lots’a rich fuckers,” he’d chuckled and she’s smiled, “But fuckin’ good champagne. I’d like to take you.”

Y/n should have said no, she sometimes wonders what would have happened if she had. 

Would someone else have come along after? Would Thomas have persisted in his pursuit? 

“Not anymore,” Y/n shakes her head, “Not for me,” sniffling, shrugs off his arm and reaches for her slip, which hangs off an iron bedpost. Suddenly embarrassed to be naked around him and burning with the desire to cover up, she tugs on the silk garment and pulls in down her thighs as she shuffles out of bed. 

As she stands, Thomas reaches for her hand before Y/n can walk away, “What can I do, eh? Mm?” His calloused thumb caresses the back of her hand as he gazes up at her with wide, desperate eyes, “Why don’t we go away for a weekend? London, the country- whatever you want.”

Licking her lips, Y/n glances down at their joined hands, “Will you go home after?”  The question ushers in a period of tense silence and Thomas averts his gaze for a moment. 

“Y/n,” he breathes her name and just for a moment, she thinks Thomas is going to give her the answer she’s hoping for- or at least, a worthwhile lie. But when he doesn't, a lone tear slips past tangled lashes and warms its way down her cheek. “You know its not that easy for me.”

“Well this isn’t easy for me either, you know,” Y/n wretches her hand away and hastily swipes at her face, “Next time your bored of your life,” she shakes her head and by then the tears are falling, unchecked, “You should stay home,” her voice breaks and her throat burns. 

Gathering the sheets around his hips, Thomas rises from the bed to follow Y/n as she heads towards the door of the adjoining bathroom, “Sweetheart, think about this, eh,” he tries to reason placatingly, “You don’t want to do this.”

She really doesn’t.

“Doesn’t matter,” Y/n swallows thickly, pausing as she reaches for the knob, “Please….just go.”

When Thomas reaches for her arm, she lets him, almost forgetting herself and submitting to his comfort. “Neither of us want that,” he offers quietly, “Please don’t do this to me,” he pleads.

His desperation seems so genuine that Y/n briefly considers back-tracking. Briefly. But she can’t keep living like that; in the shadows, like a crime. She cannot stand to be just another thing that he needs to atone for; another regret on his ever-growing list. 

And she’s starting to hate that he’s even made her one in the first place. 

“Just go!” In a fit of unbridled anger, she snatches her arm away and then pushes at his chest when Thomas tries to get closer, “Just go and leave me alone!” She snarls, “Go back to your fucking wife,” a sob punctuate her words and Y/n bends her head as she cries, “And leave me alone.”

“Is that what you want, eh?" He swallows harshly, "For me to leave you the fuck alone? So you can....fuck!” She knows he can come up with a million insults that'll hurt as much as a serrated blade hacking away at her heart, but Thomas spares her and she can only hope because deep down, she does mean more to him than a good shag. In the absence of razor sharp words, Thomas’ jaw tightens and his gaze hardens, matching her fury. 

It takes a handful of seconds before she finds the resolve to answer, but when she does, she lifts her head and squares her shoulders, “Yes.” 

Mirroring her defiance, Thomas’ grip on the sheet around his hips tightens until his knuckles are white, “Fine.” 

For a solid minute, they linger there, her back to the bathroom door and Thomas in the middle of the bedroom. She can’t tell whether or not he’s hurt, he’s always been good at protecting his feelings- she’s never known anymore about him that he’s wanted her to. 

And yet, Y/n thinks she’s as close to him as anyone could be. 

But no more. 

“Y/n-” The minute her name leaves his lips, Y/n turns abruptly and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door so harshly behind herself that the frame rattles. Lurching forward, she drops to her knees and turns on the hot water and still gripping the glass knob with one hand, she holds onto the lip of the porcelain tub with the other as her loud wails join the sound of falling water. 

At least she doesn’t have to feel guilty anymore. 

[amsgrey]

request for a kaz brekker x reader one bed trope! literally some of my favorite fics to read ever!!! def with some angst maybe reader gets injured on the heist and kaz has to help. reader insists that they should sleep in the same bed and they end up confessing feelings or something. SO GOOD

Thank you for the request! Sorry it took so long but hey, it's alright.

Warnings: Violence, Blood, typical canon violence, kind of OOC!Kaz, semi-bad writing.

“Hey,” Nina didn’t bother knocking as she stepped into your room, “There’s someone here to see you.” 

You looked up from your small desk, “Who?” 

Nina shrugged, “Wouldn’t say, but she won't leave until she speaks with you.” 

You frowned, getting to your feet and following after Nina. A million possibilities ran through your mind as you descended the stairs, you didn’t know many people from Ketterdam, or you didn’t know anyone that Kaz also didn’t know. WHo had come to speak to you was a complete mystery to you and judging by the way the Crows were gathered at the bottom of the stairs, it was a mystery to them too. 

“Who is she?” Jesper broke the heavy silence first.

You rolled your eyes, “How am i supposed to know, Jes?” 

Walking past him and the others you looked for the woman. There were a few dregs hanging around in the slat, like always. Hiding from the damp Ketterdam air or filling in their afternoons with ale and gambling. It meant the woman stuck out like a sore thumb. When you finally saw her, your blood ran cold. 

“Oh, my,” The woman stepped forward, she grabbed your hands and smiled at you, “Look how grown up you are, my dear.” 

She pulled you into a hug, an awkward show of affection that she had never done before. 

“Mother.” 

She hadn’t changed in the 7 or so years since you saw her last, a few graying hairs and wrinkles around her eyes were the only evidence time had passed. She still wore the same turquoise dress, the fabric stained and dirty where it spent too many years dragging on the dirt. She had tied a knitted shawl around her shoulders, to stave off the cold of the barrel and to make herself look more presentable. When you were a child on the farm with your parents, your mother would refuse to do any of the hard labor or household duties, always dressed in her ‘fine’ clothes and sitting by a window like the queen of Ravka. 

You hated her for it then, the way she forced you to conduct her duties. The hard labor with your father on the farm, the chores inside the home, raising your three younger siblings. Looking at the woman before you now, you hated her just as much. 

“What do you want, mother?” You forced out through gritted teeth. 

The woman batted your hand she still held, a sharp smack to chide you for your tone, “Is that how you speak to the woman who raised you?” 

She didn’t raise you though. Your father was the one who taught you everything you knew, cared and loved you. The marriage of your parents had been of convenience, a rich farmer up the road had fallen on hard times so he married off his only daughter to your father. Something neither of them wanted. 

When your father had died suddenly in a farming accident, your mother had sold you to slavers, without a second thought. You had spent years in Ketterdam trying to bury the memories of your younger brothers screaming for you to stay, the chains that chaffed and burnt your skin and the cruel men who didn’t care about anything but making coins. 

Standing with your mother before you, her soft hands gripping you so tightly, you felt like a young girl all over again. Begging for affection from a woman who hated your existence, cursed to always be nothing to her. You could still remember the beatings and the screaming, the bruises that you tried to hide and the permanent split in your lip which took years to properly heal. 

Kaz was watching the whole encounter, quiet and calculating like he always was. The other crows were growing concerned, there was an air of uncertainty that settled over them all. 

“What can we help you with?” Kaz finally spoke, he stepped closer to you, towering over your mother. Having him at your side brought you ease, a feeling of calm that always came over you when he was near. Kaz was prepared for anything, he always looked out for you and the crows. 

“And you are?” Your mother snapped, glaring at Kaz. 

Kaz didn’t seem bothered, “Are you here for something? Or to terrorize your daughter?” 

You glanced back at Kaz, he had a look of pure rage in his eyes. You hadn’t told Kaz the details of your past, but he knew your mother sold you to slavers. You realized suddenly you didn’t want to be in the middle of Kaz and your mother fighting. 

You grabbed your mothers arm, dragging her away from the gathered Crows and Kaz’s glower and pulling her outside. In the Ketterdam air things were immediately colder, you hadn’t grabbed your coat so you could feel it even more. 

“What are you doing here?” You demanded. 

“Can I not come see my daughter?” 

“You never cared before, I didn’t even know you knew this is where I lived. You sold me to slavers,” You cried, stepping away as you started to get upset. “What in Sankta Alina could you want?” 

“I am married,” Your mother boasted, “He lives in the Zelver district, we want you to come have dinner.” 

You were reeling, so much information was thrown at you all at once. You gapped to answer. 

“Your brothers will be there too,” Your mother waved her hand like she was dismissing your concerns, “They stayed on the farm.”

“Why- why do you want me there?” 

“To make amends, my love,” She took your hands again, “It is time we act like a family again. Perhaps you could bring that guard dog of yours, act civilized.” 

You wanted to say yes, straight away you wanted to say yes and trust that she had true intentions. But there was something nagging in your mind. 

“Who is it that you're married to, mother?”

“A Merchant, trades with the Ravkan crown, Alexei Berezin.” 

You recognized the name immediately, he had one of the largest mansions in the Zelver district, rivaled only by foreign dignitaries. He had brought in a large shipment of Ravkan gold and silk, Kaz had stolen half of it almost immediately, because Berezin had thought himself untouchable. 

“When's dinner?” You forced out, trying not to let your knowledge of the man show. 

“Tomorrow, be there by seven.” 

She wandered away, slipping into the crowd of foot traffic and joining the mess of colours. 

-- 

“Alexei Berezin.”

You forced a smile, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

The man looked over you and Kaz like you were nothing, he grunted in greeting and disappeared towards the drinks cart. 

You looked at Kaz, “Too late to leave?” 

Kaz smiled, it made him look softer somehow, “We don’t have to stay long, let's hope Inej and Wylan are quick.” 

A servant greeted you as you walked further into the drawing room, she offered you and Kaz wine in crystal glasses. You had played being rich at banquets and galas before, it was easy to hide in a crowd of rich people to steal from them, but here holding the crystal glass made you feel so exposed. The only thing that was stopping you from running out the door was Kaz by your side. He always looked out for you, tonight would be no different. 

Your mother had lied, your brothers were not at the dinner. She had spun some more lies about how they hadn't been able to make the journey but you wondered if they were even invited in the first place. You, Kaz, your mother and her new husband all sat at the ridiculously long table, eating silently except for a few forced comments. 

“So,” Berezin belched, downing his fourth glass of brandy, “Mr Brekker, how is business?”

Kaz looked at you from across the table, “As good as yours, Berezin.” 

Berezin snared, “So then you admit to taking my shipment?” 

“A shipment?” Kaz leant back, starting to enjoy the game. 

Berezin started getting red in the face, rage barely contained in his eyes, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Dirty Hands.” 

A smile ghosted across Kaz’s face, “Is this why you extended the invite, Berezin? Hoping to get your silks back?” 

You jumped when Berezin slammed his fist on the table, he stood abruptly, his chair falling backwards loudly, “You listen to me here boy! You will pay me back what I am owed or I will make your life a living hell!” 

“A living hell?” 

“You have no idea who you are messing with, you and your little whore will pay-” 

Kaz was on his feet faster than you had time to process, “Watch your mouth, Berezin, or silks won't be the only thing you lose.” 

Berezin started shouting in rage, his words mostly coming out as jumbled insults and threats which didn’t mean anything for you and Kaz. 

“We’re leaving,” You said to your mother, not bothering to bid her a proper goodbye as you joined Kaz’s side and retrieved your coats. 

You were both halfway through the foyer when things took a turn. 

Somewhere in the garden outside a fire roared to life, a green chemical fire that was Wylan's emergency beacon. Kaz urged you to walk faster, his cane striking loudly against the marble floor as you both tried to leave before Berezin caught on. 

“Thief!” 

Kaz grabbed your hand, and both of you ran the rest of the way out of the house and down the garden path. Berezin was screaming from inside the house, shouting orders to his few guards and screaming for someone to alert the Stadwatch. You and Kaz didn’t stop running until you reached the canal, skittering to a stop and dropping into the waiting boat. Matthias and Wylan were already there, Wylan was heaving like he had just finished a mad dash too. 

“Did you get it?” Kaz demanded as Matthias started to row the boat towards 4th Harbor. 

Wylan was nodding, “Handed it off to Inej, she and Jesper are heading to the warehouse now.”

You had to give it to Kaz, when he had explained the plan this morning after all-night scheming, you didn’t think you would be able to pull it off. But yet again, he proved he knew everyone's skills. 

The plan was somewhat simple, you and Kaz would entertain Berezin while Wylan posed as a servant and slipped into Berezin's office. Wylan would swipe the key to Berezins safe which sat in his warehouse; it was old and Ravkan, protected by small science. You didn’t have enough time on the first job to try and crack it, so now was the perfect time. The original plan was for you and Kaz to stay all through dinner and whatever other pleasantries were to be had, while Wylan snuck through undetected. His Green fire beacon was a sign he had been caught, so you and Kaz hightailed out before things got too nasty. 

 Inej and Jesper were on their way to the safe now, while you, Kaz, Matthias and Wylan drew attention in the opposite direction. Headed towards 4th Harbor meant the four of you could lead the following guards and Stadwatch into the twisting streets and narrow wharves and hopefully escape into the crowd. 

As Matthias moored the boat to the side of the canal, you and Wylan climbed out and surveyed where you were. 

“Are you alright?” You asked him, still aware of how his hands shook. 

Wylan nodded, but you were unconvinced. 

Matthias and Kaz climbed out of the boat after you, the four of you standing at the canal edge for a moment while you tried to compose yourselves. 

“Hey! Stop right there!” 

“Bastards,” Kaz swore, already ushering the three of you to run before they started to shoot. 

“Kaz, they're after us, not Wylan and Matthias…” You shouted as you ran down the street alongside the canal, headed towards the Council of the Tides Watchtower. 

Kaz ordered everyone to stop, “Y/N’s right, Wylan, Matthias, head back towards the slat, take the long way and check for tails, we’ll go the opposite way.” 

Matthias started to argue, “No, we should-” 

You all ducked as gunfire echoed through the streets. Bullets ricochet off the cobbles at your feet, dangerously close to hitting one of you. 

“Go!” Kaz yelled over the noise, blindly reaching for your hand and pulling you along with him as you headed away from Matthias and Wylan and towards the government district. 

You were right, the three or four guards from Berezin's estate followed you, not your friends as you rushed through the dark streets. At this time of the night, the Crow Club and the surrounding area would be buzzing with life, but in this part of town, everyone was shut inside asleep. There weren’t many lights, aside from a few lanterns left on in people's doorways, so as you and Kaz ran you stuck to shadows and unlit alleyways, hoping to lose your stalkers in the maze of buildings. 

Kaz pulled you to a stop after running for ten minutes and started to take a toll on him and his leg. The two of you ducked into an alley, Kaz leaned heavily against the wall and his cane, heaving as he regained his breath. You glanced over him, worried that he wouldn’t be able to continue for much longer. 

“Maybe we lost them,” You whispered, peaking around the corner to the main street, which was completely deserted aside from a rogue tabby. 

Kaz nodded, unable to speak a reply. You kept glancing from the main street to the end of the alley, which appeared as if it curved around and kept going. You had no idea if it was a dead end or not, but staying here was making you anxious, it was still too exposed. 

“I Have a safe house not far from here,” Kaz said, pushing off from the wall and leaning on his cane. 

“A safe house?” You replied, “In the government district?”

Kaz rolled his eyes, “You underestimate me.” 

If he hadn’t been hurt you would have pushed him away, chuckling at his comment. Instead, you opted for offering him your arm so you could walk out of the alley together, hopefully, Stadwatch who patrolled the area would think you were a couple returning home. 

The two of you walked arm and arm down a few streets, smiling pleasantly at the passing Stadwatch or the rare delegate returning to their boarding. After a few turns Kaz said you weren’t far from the safe house, which was an old apartment above a tailor.

“How did you even get an apartment above a tailor?” You teased, “Hiding a side business?”

The sound of a gun cocking stopped you both in your tracks. 

“You even twitched, I put a bullet in the girl.” 

The barrel of the gun was jammed into your back, the voice behind you ordering you both to turn with your hands up. 

The two men before you were guards for Berezin, you could tell from the crest that was pinned to their jackets. You looked around for the other two men, but they weren’t around. Hopefully, they were far away, you weren't sure if you could win a 2-1 battle tonight.

You moved to pull your flint from your pocket, you had stowed it away safely the first time you and Kaz had run for your lives tonight, now you wished you stayed holding it. Your hand slipped into the pocket of your coat, your fingertips brushed the cool material, pulling into your fist and preparing yourself to summon. You only had one chance at this. The sound of the gun firing struck you first, the deafening crack that bounced from the walls. The searing pain in your right side forced your fist open in shock, your flint clattering to the cobbles as your other hand came to cradle your side. Immediately your blood started seeping through your fingers, soaking through your coat and dripping onto the street below. You looked up at the man who shot you, just in time to see Kaz bring his cane cracking into the side of the man's face. It sent him sprawling, the force of the blow knocking him off balance. You used your opportunity to kick the second man in the shin, stunning him for long enough for Kaz to incapacitate him too. 

Kaz wound his arm around your waist, pulling you away from the two men as they groaned on the ground and dragging you up the street. 

“Just hold on a little longer,” He spoke as he led you down another side alley, “We’re almost there.”

He forced you to stop before an old door as he fiddled with the lock. The dark green paint was peeling, revealing the chipped and water-stained wood. Kaz flickered with the lock for a few seconds and the door swung open, revealing a steep staircase into the safe house. 

“You’re kidding,” You groaned, letting Kaz shuffle you into the small space as he shut and locked the door. 

“Go on then,” Kaz smirked, pushing you up the stairs. 

The two of you climbed up the stairs, silent as you struggled together. When you reached the top, Kaz opened the final door and you both tumbled through over the threshold. The safe house was less of a house and more of a safe room. Filled with crates and shadows of objects you couldn’t make out, it felt much more cramped than your room in the Slat. Kaz pulled out his bone light, casting the room in the pale green light. With the new light, you could see the space clearer. A sink in the far corner close to the only window, and a bed pushed as far from the window as possible. You stumbled over to the sink, holding yourself up on the basin as you tried to get a look in the small mirror at your wound. 

“Let me help,” Kaz ordered, pulling out a crate from the wall and forcing you to sit down. 

Kaz looked over your side, letting you know the bullet had gone straight through, but would need some stitches and to be cleaned. There was a pause where you both realized you would have to remove your coat and top so Kaz could see better. With shaky hands, you slowly unbuttoned your coat. Kaz helped you guide it off your shoulders, letting it fall out of the way. 

“You’ll have to unzip my dress,” You whispered to Kaz, hands going back to your throbbing side. 

Kaz cleared his throat, nodding and stepping around you to follow your instructions. You could feel the smooth leather of his gloves ghost over the skin on your neck as he fiddled for the zip. He couldn’t get a good grip, abandoning one of his gloves on the floor so he could hold the small tab properly. Kaz’s fingers were freezing, When he touched the skin on your back the chill seeped under your skin and into your bones. You focused all your energy on not shivering against the feeling. He gently folded the dress down, letting it fall around your hips so he could see the bullet wound clearer. It left you in your bra and skirt half of your dress, yet you didn't feel exposed. Kaz was nothing if not respectful to you and you truly felt nothing but trust for him now.

 There were no words between you as Kaz stepped to your side and crouched down. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, but he was focused solely on your wound, his brow scrunched up in a frown. 

The two of you stayed silent as Kaz worked. You handed him what he asked for, a wet rag, sutures and a needle, a bandage. When he had finally tied off the last stitch, he started to bandage your waist. By now he had abandoned his other glove to the floor too, both of them covered in your blood and useless to him. He focused on the warmth of your skin as he wrapped the bandage around your waist, making sure to wrap it a few times to ensure it was secure. When he was finished, he noticed how quiet you had gotten, staring down at the floor with slightly glazed eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Kaz’s voice came out more of a croak, just above a whisper. It pulled you from your dissociation, pulling you into the moment. You turned to look at him, The bastard of the Barrel kneeling by your side, hands stained with your blood and the most caring, almost loving look in his eyes. 

You must have lost more blood than you thought, Kaz did not love you. 

“I’m fine.” 

Kaz nodded once, shakingly pushing himself off the ground and turning on the water to wash clean his hands. You didn’t move from the crate, mostly because you were unsure of what to do and also because there wasn’t exactly space to move in the room anyway. 

“You should sleep.” Kaz said, refusing to look up at you from the sink. 

“We both should. You can take the bed.” 

Kaz shook his head, “No. You're injured, you take it.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Did you sleep last night Kaz?” 

There was a heavy silence. 

“So you need to sleep now. There's plenty of room for both of us anyway.” 

You knew as soon as you said it the atmosphere had changed. It was well known Kaz kept his distance when he wasn’t wearing gloves. You had rarely seen him without them no matter where he was. After the longest silence, Kaz finally nodded, letting out the quietest, “Okay.” 

He turned to you, “There should be a stash of clothes in one of these crates, I could find them?” 

You smiled, nodding. Sitting with the top of your dress folded down was starting to get cold and sleeping like this would only make things more awkward. 

Kaz riffled through a few crates, finding ammo and whiskey before finding the crate filled with shirts and trousers. He pulled one of each out, setting them on the bed and turning his back so that you could get changed with some semblance of modesty. It was amusing for you, that he had already seen enough but he was too kind to even risk a glance now. 

When you had gotten into the clothes, with a little struggle trying to lift your arm into the sleeve, you pulled back the quilt on the bed. Kaz helped, letting you shuffle across the bed to where it pressed to the wall. The bed was so much bigger than your one, more likely double the size. Your bed hardly fits you in it, slightly too short and skinny because of the awkward rooms of the Slat. This bed was different. Although not as soft as your own, the size meant you and Kaz both had enough room so that you weren’t too close. 

Kaz was about to lie the quilt down and get on top when you stopped him. 

“Are you mad?” 

“What?” He scoffed, confused as to why you were heckling him now.

“Kaz Brekker, you will get cold. Just get under the quilt and stop acting like we’re some teenagers who can’t get ahold of ourselves.” 

Kaz stared at you in shock, blinking down at you with pure perplexion in his eyes. 

“Jesper was right,” He sighed, getting situated under the quilt to please you. 

“Right about what?” You pressed, turning in the bed to fix him with a glare. 

“You are cranky when you're tired.” 

“Oh shut up,” You scoffed, rolling back to stare at the ceiling and now him. 

Kaz chuckled, by now the bone light was fading steadily, the pale green light becoming nothing more than a faint glow from the corner of the room. You couldn’t see Kaz’s face too well, barrel able to make out the faint outline of his features in the dark. 

For a while, the two of you lay in silence, the only noise coming from the far-off sound of waves in the harbor. With no one else on the streets, every time footsteps echoed around in the streets below, you held your breath. 

“They won’t find us,” Kaz whispered, feeling you tense next to him. 

You didn’t respond, trying not to panic yourself further. 

“Listen to me,” Kaz shifted, the bed shaking slightly under you both, “We’re safe here, I won’t let anything happen to you, not again.” 

“Wasn’t your fault,” You responded, mirroring Kaz’s movements to face him, “Jobs go wrong sometimes.” 

Kaz didn’t react, “Sleep. We’ll head back to the salt when the city wakes up.” 

You wouldn’t say it out loud, but Kaz being by your side to protect you filled you with a sense of ease. You could relax back into the pillow and trust that he was going to look after you, no matter what. As you slipped into sleep, you thought dreamily about how much you cared for the bastard of the barrel, even if he didn’t share the same feelings. 

Kaz was thinking the same as he watched over you. He sat up in the bed as soon as you had fallen asleep, staring at the door in the dark, prepared for anything that might come barreling through it. He cared too much about you to let you get hurt again, especially when he was the only one around to protect you. He would never say it out loud, like you, but he would do anything to protect you from harm in the city where no one mourned. 

[cordeliawhohung]

have you written something about shy!reader and wife!reader going shopping together? maybe my mind is playing tricks on me right now, but either way, the idea is cute <3 imagine the girls squealing over the clothes they picked, holding up the clothing and contemplating about how the pieces will fit them. simon and price are at the back, arms crossed, with a small smile on their faces as they watch their girls... dunno

wait because why is this so cute.

they'd look like celebrities with their two scary guard dogs tagging behind them while they run around the mall like teenagers. they're holding up cute clothes that they're thinking about buying or making fun of something for its weird pattern. i feel like wife!reader ends up trying on more clothes than shy!reader does because the thought of changing in public makes her a little anxious. i also feel like wife!reader would toss clothes at shy!reader that she think she'd look good in and our poor shy girl just sort of accepts it lmao.

also, god forbid those girls get anywhere close to baby clothes or the maternity section. they're fawning over how cute the little shoes and socks are, or looking at the knitted hats or the MITTENS. they learn that babies get to wear MITTENS and they're in near tears. (you put a pair in Simon's hands and no he does not want to talk about how that makes him feel). and then the maternity wear? those jeans with the extra stretchy fabric around the belly? or the maxi dresses? (you pretend like you don't notice John staring at the clothes. you also pretend like you don't know he's totally thinking about you wearing that).

i also think it would be funny as fuck if the boys are like... secretly dealing with work bullshit at the same time. constantly bombarded with texts and emails on their phones, trying to give orders while not being distracted by their insanely cute girlfriend/wife, it's like some weird form of torture. despite this, they also pay for everything, no ifs, ands, or buts. wife!reader has gotten used to it by that point, but shy!reader gets all flustered and tries to pay for herself (she fails every time).

i love them, your honor. they're all too damn cute.

[bookshelf-dust]

go to sleep

eddie munson x gn!reader

word count: 1,108

warnings: swearing, fluff, angst but no happy ending

a/n: gonna take max’s advice for this one and just sit here. i’m gonna sit here, and i’m gonna watch. mhm. that’ll do ;)

————

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Your face splits into a grin before you can even try to suppress it. It doesn’t matter how shitty your day has been, that you cried in the car on the way home, that there’s this ache in your chest—almost like something is really wrong, something you can’t quite put your finger on. It doesn’t matter, because now you’re home. 

You pull the door shut behind you, gaze dragging over the man stretched out on the couch before you. 

“Hi, baby.”

Eddie sits up, watching intently as you tug off your shoes, your coat. You go to him, and he spreads his legs, arms held out, welcoming you to a hug. You notice, as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, that he isn’t wearing his pick necklace. 

He nuzzles his face into the soft skin of your belly, taking in the leftover scent of your perfume, the laundry detergent used to wash your shirt. He kisses your forearm, lips a little chilly. 

You pull back and take his face in your hands to kiss him properly. He smiles into it, giddy as ever to have his mouth on yours. He treats each ounce of your affection like it is the greatest privilege one could ever be allowed. It is an immense privilege that you allow him to be yours.  

His hands fist the fabric of your t-shirt. “You wanna lay down with me for a while?” 

You nod, and the movement makes him grin. His happiness is palpable. 

“Yeah? Come on then.”

He scoots back against the arm of the couch, shoving a pillow under his head. He has a feeling you need his attention. That maybe you’ve been longing for it. He opens his legs, watches as you settle on top of him, careful not to hurt him while you get comfortable. 

When you shove your face into his chest, trying to absorb as much of him as you can, you realize that his lips aren’t the only chilly part of him. He’s cold. He’s usually so warm, like your own personal space heater.

“Eddie? Can you reach that blanket?”

Your brows knit in concern, but he doesn’t catch it, just pulls the fabric over the two of you. He tucks it in around his thighs, making sure you’re comfortable.

“Better?” he asks, kissing the top of your head. 

You look up at him, propping your chin up on your hands. “Much. I love you, Eddie, you know that, right?”

“‘Course I know that. I love you too. So much it hurts.”

You lean forward slightly and press a kiss to his collarbone. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you, Eds.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s a good kind of pain.” 

You kiss his chin. Your brain keeps fussing at you, telling you something’s wrong. This isn’t right. You ignore it. 

“Anything you wanna talk about?” 

Eddie hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you got home. There’s this look in them that you recognize, a look you’ve only seen once. Something in your head tells you that you didn’t like that occasion. Because he’d looked at you like you’d hung the stars, like he could let go because you were there, and that meant he was safe. 

No. That’s silly. 

“I’m okay,” you tell him. “Just wanna be here with you.”

Really there’s so much you want to tell him. So much you need to catch him up on. Things you shouldn’t have to catch him up on. But your heart tells you not right now. You feel as though he might slip through your fingers at any moment. 

You bring your hands around his back, rubbing over his shoulder blades. You hug him tightly. 

“Don’t go, Eddie.”

He laughs. “Where would I go, huh, baby? I’m right here. You get some rest now, okay? When you wake up, we can pick up dinner.”

“Promise?”

He tilts your head up toward him with a soft touch, his index and middle fingers to your chin.

Eddie kisses you. Soft and sweet. As you drift off, you can’t help but realize that he never promised. He just kept you distracted.

————

When you wake up, you’re covered in a thin layer of sweat. Not enough that you’ve soaked through your clothes, but enough that the backs of your knees feel sticky, that your hands are warm and a little swollen. Your heart is pounding. 

“Eddie—”

You call out for him, but your voice catches in your throat. You’re crying. You hadn’t realized you were crying. 

Eddie’s not here.

But you know where he is.

He’s exactly where you left him. In that place. Where he’d given you that look. 

It’s okay, baby, really. This is all I get, and we have to be okay with that. I’m okay with it. You’re gonna be fine, y-you hear me? 

On instinct, your hand moves to Eddie’s side of the bed. Cold. The pillow still has an indentation from his head, one on the side where he’d grip it when lying on his stomach. 

Your dream crashes over you all at once, every small detail telling you exactly what it was. A dream. Much better than your waking nightmare. You fall back against your own pillow and shut your eyes.

Go to sleep, you think. It’s still dark out. You should be sleeping.

Maybe if you can get back to sleep, Eddie will come to you again. Maybe you’ll be able to feel him. Hear his voice. Oh, his voice. 

My sweet baby.

Can’t believe I landed such a badass.

Come and give me a hug, I’m dyin’ here.

You can pick the music.

Gonna marry you someday, you know that?

You’re sobbing now. Your room is covered in Eddie. He’s everywhere. You smack your hand against the mattress beside you, angry that you’re alone. 

Because he should be here. He should be here and he should be snoring, pressing half his body weight into you because he can’t share for the life of him. 

When you wake up, you know he won’t be in the shower, screaming the words to some obscure metal song. He won’t rush back up the stairs to kiss you twice more before he leaves. He won’t call at lunch. You won’t hear his music blaring halfway down the street when he comes home. 

Take me with you, you’d thought. I wanna go. I don’t want to be without you. Please don’t go without me. 

If only it’d been that simple. 

You keep your eyes squeezed shut and roll onto the opposite side of the bed. 

Go to sleep, you think. Eddie might be there. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @clovermunson

[wildemaven]

saturdays with javier : tied together | javier peña

-> pairing: javier peña x f!reader

-> word count: 3489

-> content warning: 18+ blog; talk of food, feelings of nervousness, alluding to spicy time but I decided to give them some privacy, she likes the tie so it stays, established relationship, reader has zero descriptive features, post Colombia life, if I missed anything please let me know and I’ll add it

-> notes: it has taken me so long to finish this, but I’m glad it’s done! I’ve been in such a writing slump and words haven’t been working well for me. I think my lack of sleep is my main reason so I’ve been working on that— it definitely helped me yesterday. Big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for being a cheerleader and beta reading this for me!!

series masterlist / main masterlist

“Shit!”

His focus is scattered as he watches his hands work together to secure the tie around his neck, a task he hadn’t done in what felt like years, his nerves not aiding in the dexterous process. 

“Cariño, what time do your parents get in again?” He shouts down the hall to you where you’re busy about the kitchen, before refocusing on his reflection in the mirror. 

“Their flight lands at 1 pm, and you’re picking them up at Gate 15— Javier, what’s with the tie??” You appear in the doorway, leaning into the frame, your arms crossed watching the nervousness permeate off Javier as he finally settles a knot at the base of his sculpted neck. 

“What’s wrong with my tie?” Brows knitted together in question, looking at you then back to his reflection. 

“Nothing, it looks good— it’s fine. I just haven’t seen you wear one in, well awhile.” You push off the door frame, maneuvering between Javier and the bathroom counter, your fingers toy with the ends of his tie as you try your best to ease his mind. “It’s just my parents, no need to worry too much. And they love you, with or without a tie.”

“I know, I just—“ He takes in a deep breath, his lungs filling with the calmness you always bring to him, resting his forehead against yours, his hands running the length of your arms. “You’re right. I just get in my head, always thinkin’ they’re gonna find something and decide I’m not enough for you.” 

“You’re always enough, Javi— with or without their approval.” Your voice is tentative and soft, dripping in assurance. 

His hands find their way under the hem of your skirt, pressing his body ardently into yours. Fingers dancing delicately up your thighs, settling at the curve of your hips. There’s deliberate restraint in his grip on you, wanting nothing more than to haul you onto the counter and slowly pull you apart. 

“Javi—“ Breathless and floating. Pulling back just enough to witness the growing want igniting in his eyes. Your hands smooth over the wrinkles in his crisp shirt, securing the knot of his tie firmly at the base of his neck. “Hmm. You should probably get going. You don’t want to keep my parents waiting. But we can always revisit this later.” 

“Tell me again why you’re not coming with me to pick them up.” His lips desperately chase after yours. 

Javi is your weakness. Giving in to him is an effortless choice. Minutes tick by, floating around the two of you. The kiss meanders through a vast range of intensity. Fluid and velvety, as it edges the border of a sensual climb that you both constantly crave. Realization hitting you first has you halting the flow before things progress past the point of no return. 

Javi catches on to your stunted movement. His efforts to subconsciously sway you into calling off your parents so he can stay lost in this moment with you were valiant. He removes his hands from under your skirt, allowing the flowy fabric to fall back into place. Taking a step back, boots clicking on the tiled bathroom floor, his hands resting at his waist, while his labored breathing slowly returns to a comfortable steady rhythm. 

“Because— I can’t be in two places at once. I need to get dinner prepped and started, so it’s ready when you get back here with them.” You fix the few of his stray hairs that have fallen out of place. Your fingers tracing down the sides of his handsome face, soothing over the tightness of his clenching jaw. 

“We could just order something, then you can just ride with me. Your parents love that little Italian place over on San Dario.” He suggests. Reaching for one of your wrists, your hands are still cradling his face, thumb smoothing over your pulse point as he turns and places a kiss to your palm. 

The bathroom fills with your boisterous laugh, your body vibrating as your head falls against his chest. 

“What? What’s so funny?” You settle yourself back against the counter, pausing your laughter to wipe the tears from your lashes with the backs of your hands. 

“The little Italian place? You mean Olive Garden? Javi, you’re going to be fine, I promise. Listen to some music, enjoy the drive and you’ll be home before you know it.” You grab his arm, twisting his watch face in your direction. “Okay, no more stalling Peña. It’s a two hour drive there, plus the wait— you need to get on the road.”

He releases a heavy sigh into the small space. Palm scrubbing down his face, mentally preparing himself for the long drive and your parents. He watches as you head for the kitchen, stopping at the door and resting your head and hand on the wooden frame as you look back at him. 

“You’re enough Javi, always will be.”

*

The drive is easy enough. 165 miles straight up Interstate 35 will drop him into the heart of San Antonio, according to the directions you wrote out for him on the back of the electric bill envelope. A drive he’s taken many times over his life and has no trouble recalling the exact route as your car travels across the Texas countryside. But he likes— loves —that you care enough to make sure he has every exit and turn written in your pristine all-caps writing, keeping them visible and ready just in case there’s a chance he needs them. 

An FM classic rock station and bag of peppered sunflower seeds keep him company most of the 2 and a half hour drive. Yet, even with a string of 80’s ballads crooning through the speakers, Javier still finds little pockets of time to get lost in his thoughts. 

Blips of his time in Colombia trickle in from the depths of his mind. A wavering feeling of relief that all of it is behind him meshes with the doubt of whether he did enough or not enough, at the same time. 

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. Anger and frustration resurfacing. A nagging turmoil bleeds through him slowly. His teeth gnaw anxiously at his bottom lip. He’s eyed several gas stations in the last 2 miles that he knows are fully stocked with enough nicotine to burn out every bit of anxiousness nagging at him. 

Somehow, while you’re busy making dinner hundreds of miles away, you manage to save him from spiraling. 

He thinks of you often, how can he not, but especially in moments when his thoughts start to get heavy and dark. Your smile pops into his head and instantly soothes away any oppressive feelings. 

The overwhelming airport traffic takes over his train of thought. Maneuvering your little blue Volvo in and around parked cars, taxis and shuttles is an easy task. He glances down to the envelope, checking he’s in the right lane. The gate numbers boldly displayed above the terminal doors as he drives in the direction of the one you have written down, Gate 15. 

He’s grateful there’s an open space to park along the curb when he arrives. Glancing at his watch, it’s a little after the 1 pm arrival time, which means your parents should be headed to pick up their bags and on the lookout for Javier to pick them up. 

Javier contemplates whether he should wait by the car or snake his way through the crowd of airport goers to greet your parents, grabbing any bags or luggage to help them to the car. 

It’s a quick decision, your father’s stone expression the main deciding factor. Another once over of the gate and time to double check he’s in the right spot, then he’s locking the car and venturing in the direction of where your parents will be arriving from. 

He runs through a series of greetings as he waits. 

Hello, it's good to see you both. Feels too informal for in-laws.

Oh, I’ve missed you both so much, here let me take your bags. Way too enthusiastic, especially for him. 

Hello Sir, I love your daughter very much. I plan to spend the rest of my days loving her and showing her how much she means to me. Over the top? Your dad already gave him the approval before he married you— maybe just in case. 

Hug? Handshake? A wave of Hello?

He takes a deep breath. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He’s overthinking it. He knows your dad likes him. Your dad’s never been crass or rude towards him ever. The complete opposite actually. He’s treated Javier like family since the day you introduced them. Welcoming him into their home with a hand shake, then pulling into a warm hug. Pushing away the doubt and the fear of not being enough in your fathers eyes. 

Your words washing over him— You’re enough Javi, always will be —he believes you. 

“Well, well. If it isn’t Javier Peña, in the flesh!” 

An all too familiar voice catches him off guard, pulling him from his thoughts of your parents and greeting scenarios. 

“Steve?” Steve Murphy. Standing in front of him, shouldering a worn leather duffle bag and a carryon at his feet. He looks like a day hasn’t passed since they had last seen each other years ago. The wedding?

“Thought we did away with the ties and suits, buddy. Ya heading to some kind of meetin’?” Steve, dressed in a polo shirt and blue jeans, flicks at the navy tie you had bought him a few years back. 

“No, I’m picking up my in-laws. They should be here any minute.” He nods in the direction of the baggage claim, then looking down as his hands smooth down the tie in a presentable position. 

“Is that the story she went with?” Steve says with a hearty laugh, readjusting his bag strap. 

“What do you mean? What story?” There’s a flash of confusion in Javier’s eyes. Head tilting and forehead creased as he tries to make sense of what Steve has said. 

“You aren’t pickin’ up your in-laws. You’re pickin’ up me— Surprise!” Steve seems thrilled at how stunned Javier must look at the realization of what is happening. “I’ve got some business to do here in Texas for a bit. Connie mentioned it when they were havin’ their weekly phone call. I had a few free days, so she planned for you to pick me up so we can catch up.” 

“She didn’t say anything about you coming.” Javier thinks back over the last few weeks, trying to remember if you had and he just forgot. 

“No shit. That’s the whole point of a surprise, Javi. Good to see ya partner.” He throws an arm around Javier’s shoulders, giving his back a few good pats. Steve steps back a bit, his hand resting on Javier’s shoulder. “We gonna just stand here and catch up or can we go get somethin’ to eat. The plane food sucks and I’m fuckin’ starvin’.” 

Steve pulls the handle up on his wheeled carryon and begins walking towards the exit. Javier turns on his heels, a bit of relief settling in. Smiling at how you were able to not only pull this off, but had him convinced your parents were coming and let him worry about it for weeks. 

“Yeah, the cars parked right outside.” He calls out to Steve, shuffling through the bodies that put a little distance between the two of them. 

Javier finds Steve leaning against the trunk of your car, having recognized it was yours from the few times he and Connie havevisited over the years.

“How’s Connie and Olivia? We got the pictures— she’s gotten big since we last saw her.” Javier asks as he pops the truck, grabbing Steve’s bags off the sidewalk, moving things around so they’re secure among the other things you store back there.

“They’re good. Connie wants to plan for us all to come out for a visit sometime. Maybe after the holidays or somethin’, when work slows down. Maybe we can go duck hunting? Like old times.” He says watching Javier over his shoulder play Tetris with his bags and the trunk contents.

“I’m not going fuckin’ duck hunting, you goddamn Hillbilly.” Shutting the trunk and making his way to the driver's seat. Steve, amused with himself follows, suit on the other side of the car. 

It takes a few minutes to weave the car through the growing traffic and out of the airport madness. 

“You gonna wine and dine me all dressed up like that, Peña?” Steve asks comfortably from the passenger seat. 

“Yeah, there’s a little Italian place on the way.” Javier chuckles, looking over to Steve who’s wearing a shit-eating grin. He shakes his head, not realizing how much he missed his old friend. 

“Oh! Authentic?” Excitement sparks in Steve’s voice. 

“No— Olive Garden.” 

“Asshole.”

*

It’s a few hours later when Javier drops Steve off at his hotel across town. Plans to meet up in the morning for breakfast at the little cafe with the best coffee in town. Javier promises to not show up before 9 am, so Steve can sleep in a few extra hours to shake off the jet lag. Javier pockets his sarcastic comment about how old Steve is getting until tomorrow when they’re deep into their breakfast burritos and a few cups of coffees in. 

Things look quiet in the house when he parks your car in the driveway. The night sky now prominent and bold, a stark contrast from the harsh sun when he left earlier in the day. The soft glow coming from the bedroom windows must mean you’ve already begun to settle in for the evening, waiting for Javier’s return home. 

Javier immediately rids himself of his stuffy suit jack the moment he’s inside, laying it over the back of the couch, a problem for tomorrow morning while he’s killing time waiting to meet up with Steve. He runs through his usual evening routine as he makes his way into the house. Front doors locked, window curtains closed and keys hung on the little hook by the door. The kitchen is clean and quiet, no sign of any cooking you had been talking about anywhere in sight. He fingers through the stack of mail that must have come while he was out, mostly bills he can deal with at a later time in the week. 

The soft brilliance radiating from your bedroom pours out into the hallway, guiding the way for Javier. A beacon of light after a long day of driving. You are his final resting place. 

Hands settled into his pockets, he shoulders himself quietly against the door frame. Movements still as he watches you, not wanting to announce his arrival right away. You’re bathed in the glow of the table lamp, propped up by the pillows and wrapped in your favorite robe, bare legs crossed over the plush comforter. It looks like you have made a decent dent in the book you had mentioned wanting to read when you found a chance— he can’t wait to hear you tell him your thoughts on it when you finish it. 

“How’d it go, Javi.” You’ve already sensed his presence without a glance in his direction. Turning the page, a devilish smirk slides over your face. 

“Funny thing about that, Amor. I got to the airport and I ran into an old friend. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” He asks as he makes his way to the dresser, discarding his watch and wallet into the small tray, where they are kept for the night. 

“Hmmm. Would this old friend resemble someone who is actually a dear friend and answers to Steve?” You fold the corner of the current page you’re on. Closing the book and placing it on your nightstand. You watch Javier loosen the knot of his tie with two fingers, freeing the top button that you know irritates him fiercely. “Were you surprised?”

“Very. A little relieved, too.” You shift your legs over allowing him room to sit. His hand wraps around your ankle before you can move them too far out of his reach. His palm is warm against your cool skin. 

“Good. It was hard to keep it a secret. I made Connie and Steve promise me they wouldn’t tip you off. And your dad knows you’ll be busy the next few days while Steve is here, I told him about it when he came over for dinner earlier.” 

“It was a great surprise. But you didn’t need to keep it a secret. I’m sure Steve would have loved to have you come along, too.” His hand glides softly up and down the length of your leg, finally settling where your robe stops mid-thigh. 

“Well, you work too hard, Javi. I think the last time you took an actual vacation was our honeymoon and that was years ago. I think some time alone with your friend was needed, even if it took me doing a little scheming behind the scenes to make it happen.” 

He knows you’re right. It has been a while since he had let himself take some time for himself. He likes staying busy. The weekends are reserved mostly for time with you. Weekdays he’s pushing through the tiredness and running on coffee while he helps his Pop as he transitions into taking over operations of the ranch and cattle— Chucho no longer able to do it himself as he gets older. 

Maybe he should take more time off like this. Even in the short time from when he picked Steve up at the airport to dropping him off at the hotel, he enjoyed himself more than he thought he would. 

“I can hear you debating with yourself on this. You deserve it, Javier. It’s just a few days, let yourself enjoy them completely. The ranch will be waiting for you when you’re done.” You tell him, all sincere and honest. You shift yourself forward next to where Javier is sitting. Your legs folded under you, arms wrapped around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Okay. I’ll enjoy it.” He releases a heavy sigh into the air.

“I have another surprise for you…” Your lips curl inward, trying to hold back your bubbling laugh as you watch Javier’s eyes roll playfully. 

“Querida, I don’t think I can handle any more surprises today.” He groans, pulling you over to him so you're now straddling his lap. His forehead rests on your collarbone, your fingernails running lightly over his scalp. 

“My parents are coming at the end of the month. They’re staying for a week. My dad said he wants to take you golfing— something about showing you how good his swing is.” You murmur against the top of his head. 

“Baby, I don’t know how to golf. I’m going to have to bullshit my way through it, and I don’t know how convincing it will look.” He pouted. He moans at the sensation of your nails scratching at his scalp a little harder.

“Javi, I’m just kidding.” 

“Thank god.” Relieved he doesn’t have to bullshit his way through 18 holes and several hours stuck on a golf course. 

“Only about the golfing part— they’re still visiting.” 

“That’s enough out of you, Amor.” Grabbing your hips, he’s flipping you both so you're lying beneath him on your bed. Your legs wrap around his narrow waist, drawing him down closer to you, his lips finding yours instantly. 

“Let me get these clothes off real quick.” He stands to his full height, beginning to work at the knot of his tie. 

“Leave the tie.” You purr as your foot rises up to his chest and presses against his hands, halting his movements. You pull at the belt of your robe, revealing your naked self to him, barely catching the way his breath hitches at the sight of you bared to him. “I get casual Javi every night, seeing you in this tie today was a fun change. I think I want Agent Peña tonight though.”

He’s on you in an instant. Hands roaming over your body, soft and riddled with goosebumps. Hips settling firmly against yours, an experimental thrust has you gasping and tingling with anticipation. The lightest nips to your jaw. His breath is hot across your face as he finds your lips again. Deepening the kiss in a desperate manner. Your whimpers and the way you chant his name like your favorite song nearly takes him out. His grip on your thigh is delicate but demanding in the most intimate way. Your back arching into his touch, craving more. You always crave more.

“Baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.” He whispers into the kiss. And he will give you everything. 

[icaruskeyartist]

Fuck artist statements let's have some time loop and dangerous Moon @pillowspace

(coming back to this two days later and I'm still using this to avoid editing my artist statement rip)

Uh let's see, there's death again. This time it's not so explicitly written out but it's also suicide-ish so.

You've learned the hard way that Moon is dangerous.

It's hard to explain, the disconnect you had before. Maybe it's because the first time you rarely saw him, the generators in the daycare keeping him away and you, the obedient, oblivious worker, keeping to your schedule until the very end.

You had thought that first time maybe you'd died from the smoke. You'd been rather dumb, in hindsight, racing towards the fire when you realized the pizzaplex was on fire, looking for the attendant. They're an animatronic, so they theoretically would be fine right? Maybe the fabric of their costume would burn, but how hot would a fire have to be to melt steel?

Sometimes, when you struggle to sleep, you find yourself wondering about the other loops. Did you leave these timelines and move onto a new one, like a snake shedding its skin? Were there other yous left lying on a cold metal table in a cold tiled room for your family to identify? Did it hurt to die and your mind was just preventing you from remembering?

They're not thoughts you like very much, as you would start to ache like your body was remembering the ways you died. Warm metal fingers curling around your throat.

You sleep with the hall light on now, when those thoughts come up.

Currently though, you stand at the edge of a pool of light left by a lone pendant swinging overhead. You can see the red LED dots of Moon's eyes as he crouches just out of sight, watching you, and your throat starts to hurt.

"Can't we talk?" you plead, but other than the soft jingle of bells, there's no reply. You continue anyway, willing yourself to see through the darkness. "You weren't like this when we met Moon." That first time, times, before something in him snaps. "What happens to you? What changes?"

"Quiet now." Moon's hand grabs at the tightly knitted texture of your sweater, pulling the thick wool loose as you jerk back in shock. Your eyes dart to the red dots in the distance. Oh, oh, oh no, you'd been watching some sort of motion sensor or whatever, not Moon.

Your throat hurts from an unvoiced scream. You grab at your sleeve, feeling the ruined wool. Moon lingers at the edge of the light, constantly moving, squatting so he's almost shorter than you, swaying. It's silly, how he moves, and it almost makes you smile.

"I don't want to be quiet Moon. I want to help you." You wish you could read the animatronics better, but Moon had even less expressiveness than his daytime counterpart, and when he was like this, you weren't sure there really was anything to read at all. "I'm starting to think maybe that's why I'm still here."

"Still here because you're a rulebreaker and need to go to sleep." You heard once that Moon used to play the villain at the theater. As he hisses out words that by any reasonable measure should not be hissable, you can see why. Worse though, is him returning into the darkness, quite literally rolling away in a backflip. You can't see him, and you ignore those red dots because that's not Moon dammit.

"I definitely need a nap," you agree, scanning the room, trying to make out where Moon's bells are. "But I don't think you'll actually put me to sleep." Pause. "Moon? The kids in those posters. A couple of them were at the daycare. What... what did you do to them?"

"They were naughty and had to be punished."

There's a creaking overhead and you look up in time to see the pendant swing widely before you jump out of the way, the metal and glass structure crashing to the ground as the light went out with a pop. You don't quite make the tuck and roll like you'd hoped, and you sit up slowly, nursing your ankle as you try to stand and immediately drop down again. A sprain, probably. But there was no way you could run right now.

You pat your pockets down instead, fumbling for your phone, a lighter, some source of light, but a hand grabs the back of your shirt and you're hoisted in the air, unable to wiggle free from both the speed and the clumps of hair trapped in Moon's grip. If you move your head, it feels like you're being scalped. You kick out in vain, dropping your phone to grab at Moon's arm. "Moon! Let go!"

"No." He shakes you, and that hurts as hair is ripped out and your head flops uselessly back and forth. You grab at his arm again as he begins to move, almost dancing through the air. You'd been nearish the atrium before, but now he's taking you deeper inside. "She says you need to be punished."

"She?" You stop struggling. This is new. "Who is she?" But Moon doesn't answer. His grip tightens against your back and you find yourself staring up at him.

Moon is harder to read than Sun, and definitely harder to read than the other, more expressive glamrocks. But even in the dark, you could swear that right now he's... sad? Resigned?

Maybe he didn't want to do this either. You look down. The fall is a good thirty, maybe forty feet. Okay. "I know you don't want to do this Moon," you say softly, and he doesn't look at you. "That's okay. I'll figure this out next time."

"Wha--"

You wiggle free of your sweater to fall, staring up at Moon as he stares down at you, immobilized in shock. That's the last thing you see before your back hits a bannister, and there's fireworks in your mind and then blackness.

.

.

.

The quiet screech of your phone's alarm wakes you from sleep. You're curled up like some sort of hibernating bear, twisted in the blankets piled on your bed. One hand finds your phone and silences it. You know where you're at and when. Your back and foot throb when you try to remember why. You remember talking to Moon.

There's a she involved now. Who is she? Maybe she was the key to solving the loops.

You don't remember falling, just not wanting to put Moon through anymore pain. Maybe this would be the loop to end it, to break all of you free. You sure hope so.

But for now, you're going to spend a few more minutes curled up and safe, just until you're ready to face the day.

[billiedeansbitch]

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 (nsfw)

𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

a/n: Been craving for Donna Beneviento lately and my mind will not rest unless I do something about it and this is the end result of that. Not beta read, darlings, we die like the maidens in the cellar.

summary: Donna's due for a haircut and then it turns into fucking because why tf not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

warning/s: NSFW. SMUT. Fingering. Oral Sex. Slight praise kink. (It's actually a little fluffy) SMUT AGAIN. No plot just fucking smut.

The kitchen floor is dirtied with trimmed hair, all black and silky. It’s that time again for her where she sits in her kitchen, her back ramrod straight. Beneath the makeshift gown that’s draped around her, Donna has been, well…fidgeting for the past five minutes since you sat her down and started cutting.

“Be still for me, cara mia.” and she listens, of course she listens. The anxious tapping of her fingers on her knee halts. She breathes out, calming herself. But something about having you so close and touching her, makes Donna lose it. Her knees start to bounce and keep her hands full of the fabric of her skirt.

Donna watches you with her good eye as you meticulously trim the ends of her overgrown bangs that frames her face exactly as they did since she was six years old and a mortal. She looks beautiful. Very beautiful.

“Donna, darling.” She watched you place a finger beneath her chin, in an attempt to catch her eye, “Have I not told you to be still?” blush creeps to her neck then to the apples of her cheeks, she feels the warmth of your breath as you lean closer just enough that you are bent at the waist to level with her face. 

Your presence was all too consuming, it makes her head dizzy with the love spell you put her in. She wants to touch you though she refrained from doing such a thing, instead she fisted her hand tighter, the handful of fabric does nothing to relieve the yearning but at least it’s keeping her grounded and hands busy.

She looks stunning like this, you can see the purplish veins around the scarring, the visible greying of her skin, the pretty long lashes you adore, her soft lips albeit a little chapped. This woman needs to drink more. It’s funny how one could think an immortal body does not need to be cared for, to be tended and handled with fragile hands, to be kissed and loved…God, how wrong they were.

“Cara mia?” 

Donna’s breath stilled, her heart was erratically beating so hard she feared it might tear out of her poor chest and jump right into your palms. 

You brush the wispy bits of baby hair from her forehead, “Be still or I’ll have to punish you.” She blinks, opens her lips to say something but nothing comes out in protest.

“So what will it be, hmm? Are you going to be still now?” She holds your gaze for a second then nods.

Donna manages through until you’re done cutting her hair, her hands finally releasing the abused and wrinkled fabric. 

You were busy tucking away the hair cutting tools, and sweeping the floor of the kitchen where it served as a small salon just a couple of minutes ago, due to the incredible natural lightning that’s pouring in from the windows. It’s only the part of this house that’s not void of light, because it’s your spot, it is where you linger more. When you’re done, you see Donna holding her veil, her hair up in a bun again.

She’s about to put it on, too shy and feeling too vulnerable without the piece of cloth but she felt your fingers curling around her wrist,  “No, let me see how perfect you are, cara mia.” and her heart thumps again, “I want to see you.”

She abandons the cloth, and the moment her gaze lifts to your face she’s welcomed with a smile, “There’s no need for that when it’s just you and I, my love, unless of course you are uncomfortable. Are you uncomfortable?” she watches as your brows knit together, your own eyes searching her face for any signs.

She grabs your hands firmly, “No!” her voice comes out raspy, deep from disuse. She profusely shakes her head and brings your hands to her lips. “No.” she says again, a little softer this time, more quiet like it was supposed to be just a thought. Kissing  your hands, she shows you what she knows of affection, what little of it is left from years of only torment and abuse, of cruelty and manipulation.

“Hush, my love. I believe you.” You kissed her, and her body’s first instinct was to flinch away, but she didn’t. She stays right where she is and revels on the way your lips touch her face again kissing her forehead, then her cheeks, “You are perfect.”

Your lips are warm against hers, she can feel how alive your body is, how the little hairs along your arms stand and your skin prickled. She knows her hands are cold, just like the rest of her and you know she’s debating in her head whether to pull away, so you assured her that you are fine, that her touch is as warm as the sun can be… She does not believe that, of course, but she yielded anyway.

Donna gasps when you start to back her up the kitchen counter, your mouth still kissing her lips. With her arms now wrapped around your neck, she lets you guide her. 

She knows what’s about to happen. 

“Amore mio,” the counter top is cold and it’s piercing right through her palms as she now sits on it but it's only a small price to pay for what’s about to unravel in the next few seconds. 

You lined yourself in between her thighs, caressing each and feeling how her body responds to your touch, “Donna,” 

—

The kiss is as delicate as the hand that travels from your cheek down to your throat where it stays for a few moments, possibly feeling your pulse before it goes down your shoulder to the length of your arm, caressing your bicep.

It’s been a while since you’ve had her like this, so eager for affection, for your touch, for your mouth. For you.

She rests her face on the crook of your neck, breathing you in and kissing you lightly, a hand tangled in your hair. It pulls strings of sounds, sensual enough to elicit heat in her cunt. 

After a moment you urge her to look at you, “Be good now and show me your face, come on.” you slip a hand to her cheek, guiding her to show you herself, “Let me see you, please?”

Donna lets you.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” At the compliment she can’t help but feel abashed, her cheeks reddening despite herself. The feeling of warmth wrapped on her cheek, the one that’s smooth and without a flaw, one that Donna lets you touch, was unlike anything she had ever felt. She indulges in it, leaning and closing her eye.

You rub the supple skin with the pad of your thumb, feeling so weak in the knees for this woman.

“So wonderful…” and there it is again, the flipping of her heart.

When your thumb tug at her lip, she automatically opens them, her eye going back up to watch you practically devour her with only your eyes alone and it elated her, it sends pleasant shivers down her spine, the heat in her stares intensifies just as the one in apex of her thighs. Thank the black God she’s sitting because if she’s not, she might have been too weak to keep herself upright.

All while your right hand is busy with her face, the left found its way underneath the heavy skirt, and straight right through her core. The cotton underwear is as damp as you expected, not that you expected any less because knowing her, she’d be leaking just from your touch alone.

A gasp echoes in your ears before it melts into sighs then moans.

“So wet already?” Donna whimpers, closing her eye. “Or have you been having lewd thoughts about me…mm? While I was cutting your hair wishing my hands were tucked somewhere else?” 

She nods. Any verbal response is simply too much for her right now. “Oh, Donna.” 

She watches as you retrieve your hand from between her legs, feeling how her wetness grazes the insides of her thighs from your fingertips making her shiver. Donna has never been so fucking wet like this, her arousal glossing your fingers in the most erotic way. It is a visual she cannot forget so soon.

You brought your fingers in your mouth, audibly sucking each, and showing her how much you fucking want her.

“Would you like to suck it too, baby?” You offered. A smirk curls into your lips, she’s considering it. Her gaze falling back and forth from your eyes to your fingers.

“Open your pretty mouth.”

Without any objections, she complied, opening her mouth just a gap and you slid one finger in. Her cheeks hallowed, like a vacuum sucking all what’s left of her on your finger. It made you bite your lip, your breathing fully stopped at the sight and sensation. 

When she pulls, releasing your finger with a pop, she gives you a look, one that’s filled with hunger and you know right in the moment that you are done for.

—

The mess of jet black hair spilled on the counter, the buttons of her blouse flying everywhere but neither of you seems  to care (especially her) you both have a goal: to relieve her of her blouse. You tried to be careful really—and patient, so patient as you undo the small, metal buttons one by one but they were so little for your fingers, too delicate and Donna was growing impatient, too. That was when she ripped it open, aiding you, her strength had your jaw hitting the floor.

Her arm was only halfway out her sleeve when the silk chemise came into view and her nipples were visibly hard and calling for attention, your hand uncaringly tugging the fabric, one breast out. She threw her head back, feeling your wet tongue flicking the hard bud, your hand squeezing her mound so eagerly. 

Her fingers are locked in your hair, pulling at your scalp each time you’d tease her, biting instead of sucking. It’s driving her heart into a frenzy, her jaw slackened and her eye is as wide as they can get staring into the ceiling before it rolls behind her head. Nothing but deep guttural moans and hiss filling the kitchen.

The expanse of her chest is tinged with subtle pink colour, it looks well on her grey toned skin, even her nipples are rosy and mostly sore from how brutal you’ve taken her. Her breath heaves, one arm covers her forehead while the other remains tangled in your hair. You are both catching your breaths but none of you is done yet. 

Donna raised her head to take a look at you, her fingers combing through your hair. You look back at her, smiling softly. “You okay there, baby?” She smiles in return, biting down on her lip. It’s the only answer you can get from her.

“You ready for another?” 

Donna blushes again.

With the back of her hand silencing her moan, she gripped the ends of her skirt with the other. 

You inhaled a lungful of air, her musky scent filling your nostrils making you instantly salivate. The sight of her pussy sending you to the edge. “Amore mio.” she whimpers, pushing your face forward, silently commanding you. “P-please.”

If it were any other day, you’d surely make her wait and tease her until she’s shivering and ready to implode but today, you are feeling quite as needy as her.

“I’ll take care of you.”

The gentle tap on her thigh is enough for her to get the message, she spreads them apart and the lips of her cunt separates just so, drenched and glistening only for you. 

–

The first licks are gentle, the tip of your tongue merely going up and down the lips deliberately avoiding the clit. Donna cants her hips again and whines. You pause, smiling as Donna begins to be more and more confident about demanding what she wants and so you give in as a reward.

Using your thumb, you pull the hood of her clit just a little, exposing it. You bring your tongue to play with the bud, “oh–ah, p-please” She’s never been so verbal like this. You keep a slow, gentle pace for her, licking and sucking until the sounds of her thrashing mixed with her unrestrained moans fills the air, her thighs closing in on your head so soon. You lap at her, mercilessly sucking and dipping your tongue as far as you can and slurping her pussy. 

Donna is just coming off from her high, breathing in as much as she can and when she feels your fingers drawing circles on her pussy, she can’t help but look down. The sunlight is warm on your face, it brings out the colour of your eyes, sweat covers your forehead. She can have you like this all day long.

and then you pushed, “Ah…” her lips fell apart again and her back hit the counter, her breath stilling for a couple of seconds before she let herself breathe again. Her eye shut closed.

You are two fingers deep in her cunt, feeling it flutter around your digits, swallowing you deeper and oh she’s nice and warm and just so awfully tight you can’t help but moan yourself. You peppered kisses on her thighs before you move your fingers in and out it goes, the squelching sound of her pussy makes up for the eerily quiet home. 

It arouses you, it makes you fucking lose your mind, your own cunt desperate to be fucked but Donna’s pleasure is much more important right now. 

Sensing her eye on you, you smirked when you looked up and caught her already looking, “That’s right, baby, watch me fuck your pussy. Come on, don’t look away now. I want you to see how much I love fucking you until you’re nothing but a whimpering mess for me, Donna.”

And Donna, ever so responsive, hums. She’s visibly melting with your words, with how tender even the most filthiest words coming out of your lips sounds like. She clutched on her skirt even firmer, bunching it until her belly button is showing. The patch of dark hair between her legs is soaked both from her arousal and your saliva.

“Oh, you want more? I’ll give you more, darling.”

Donna has no choice but to bit the back if her hand when your lips starts to leave hot wet kisses all over her abdomen, inching closer and closer to her cunt each time until you tongue slowly but firmly dragged to the length of her slit before circling her clit, your fingers pumping faster and faster. 

Fuck, if the sound of her pussy being banged and all isn’t making you lose you fucking mind then the sounds she’s deliberately making will. “Fuck” you mutter,  clearly out of breath as you urge her to sit up, still not taking you fingers out.

Neither of you wait for a second to recollect yourselves, Donna’s lips are sealed with your in a hot searing kiss, her finger buried in your hair. 

“Amore mio,” she whispers in your ear, her cunt clenching so tight around you but keeps pushing, the burning of your muscles as you cross your limits is starting to take its toll on you but you keep pushing.

“Fuck!” You grunted and she nodded against the crook of your neck now.

“You’re mine.” 

“Yes,” she says, the hotness of her breath tingles your skin, “I’m yours. Yours—oh fuck, please!”

“Come, my love. Cum all over me.” 

Her nails dig into your scalp and back, it hurts but it doesn’t matter.

You pressed your face on the side of her head, one hand cradling her nape and you felt it gushing down your wrist. It’s wetter and slippier…

She comes.

[citruslullabies]

For some reason I just want to see Dogday x child reader, Basically they're somehow surviving in the place, and the child has grown quite a bit, and basically he's comforting reader after a nightmare

Here you are love! Took some creative liberties

Trigger warnings: blood, depictions of gore, death, just the standard stuff

Romantic/platonic?: platonic

Requested by: anonymous

Category: comfort angst

Ship (romantic or platonic): Dogday x child!reader

Word count: 746

They Haunt Me

You remembered when everything went wrong, the day… no. The hour everything just collapsed onto your tiny shoulders at once.

You were about to get adopted, about to leave the place you had been raised in but you couldn't wait to be someone's little kid. And it was such a nice couple adopting you too, a woman named Krystal and her wife Emma. They looked at you with such warm loving eyes, only to be filled with terror moments later and to fall cold.

The screams and the desperate sounds of footsteps were all you could hear as you let out choked and quiet sobs, huddled up as far back as you could be. You hoped and prayed that everything would calm down and would be alright again as you shut your glossy eyes and prayed to an extent that no child unless truly desperate could comprehend.

You slowly opened them, eyes burning with salty tears as you heard the screams outside of that door. You didn't even know how you were still alive, everything hurt both mentally and physically. Your body felt like crumpled paper.

Everything suddenly quieted down, the scampers of critters and small weeps could be heard but going into the distance. You felt brave enough to finally get out of your hiding place and stumble around the massacre inside of the building.

With each footstep you grew more paranoid and afraid but you kept moving, yelping when suddenly a hand grabbed your ankle. You looked down in fear and saw a man desperately holding onto you, somehow alive but too far gone to be saved with his body sliced and torn as if fabric with carefully knitted guts spilling out and painting the ground he crawled on, nails broken and bloodied from being in the way of the only hand he had to move with. He tried to speak but blood gurgled in his throat, only making your fear worse as you shook him off and ran.

You found Krystal and Emma, both dead and brutally torn apart but hand in hand. Despite all of this… the blood, the gore, everything. This is what hurt the most. The women who were going to take you and love you so dearly, strung apart like confetti. Krystal’s face was wide open like her arms were, and Emma’s jaw was hanging on by a thread just like you were at this very moment.

With a pained gasp, you shot up and held your chest. Clutching your heart only covered by your flesh and bones that seemed to threaten to tear through them, sweating violently. You gulped and dry heaved a bit while shaking just like you did when you hid. You were still just a kid, even if you were much older by now. Dogday heard you and came rushing, kneeling beside you and pressing a paw against your forehead with the other on your back. “Angel?”

He was worried since you were the only thing he had left in this place. He could defend you from the monsters that lurked in the shadows but he could never protect you from your own mind. “Cherub, look at me… it's okay. It'll be okay.” The canine said softly while sitting on his knees, bringing your shaky form to him as he cradled you in his arms. You tried to say something but could only feel choked up as he continued to rock you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And you were to him.

“M-mom, mama…” You choked out, saying the names that your new adoptive mothers encouraged you to call them before it was too late. Dogday had found you months after the hour of joy, shocked that someone was still alive. Especially someone so young, so he had taken you in as his own. In the end you were still adopted just under more unfortunate circumstances. Dogday carefully shushed you and pressed his dry nose against your forehead, sighing shakingly.

He rubbed your back and squeezed you tight in his arms, being careful since you were just skin and bone. He carefully rubbed your scalp with one hand so you could have the comfort you needed. “They're not here, cherub. I'm so sorry.” He whispered before adding with a shaky voice. “But I'm here, I'll always be here. I promise.” He reassured softly while feeling you slowly but surely relax in his arms.

Sadly, promises were made to be broken.

Thanks for requesting!

[kangen-wanshi]

Good morning! My request for the followers event is “for once, please, let me protect you” with Sebek from Twisted Wonderland. Thank you!

Promise ft. Sebek Zigvolt

He made a promise to you after an unpleasant incident that nearly cost you your life.

Tags: sfw, reader suffered an injury, mention of bullying, has a possessive undertone if you squint a little bit, reader getting called stupid (affectionately), no gendered reference

300 followers prompt events! Ongoing until 11th June 2023

Sebek had never run so quickly in his life. When he heard that you had been sent to the infirmary, he made haste to find you in an instant at that very moment, apologizing to Malleus - The Malleus Draconia that he adorned so much with his life - that he didn’t really have the time to hear the full explanation from Jack about the why you’re there in the first place.

Sebek loves his young Master, but if he was made aware that you, a human, one that he swore to protect too, have come to harm right when he’s around the corner, he could never bring his face up to the dragonic Fae.

When he barged into the infirmary it didn't take long to spot which space you occupy in. Ace sitting with his back turned towards the door, blocking you from his sight, followed by Deuce who stood by the end of your bed. The latter spotted Sebek’s sudden yet expected visit, as he immediately tugged on the red head’s arm, and encouraged him to leave your side for a brief moment to give the Diasomnia student a time with you.

Ace opened his mouth in protest - but when he made eye contact with Sebek, and see an unrecognizable expression of guilt, he shut his mouth, sighed, muttering about how ridiculous this situation is, before picking up Grim ,who had fallen asleep from excessive worrying, from the bed and stormed out of the room with Deuce following suit.

Before he left, Sebek’s gloved hand had halted him by the shoulder. He didn’t even utter a single word for his question to transpire: What happened.

Deuce knitted his brows, scowl on his face as he turned away from Sebek, “Some seniors were picking on the Prefect during our flight lesson,” he confessed, spits of venom splattered across his words, “They casted a long-ranged spell from behind the woods - the Prefect was up in the air and-”

“Thank you, Deuce.” Those were enough. He thought. He doesn’t need to hear more of it. Had Deuce continued with his story, Sebek would’ve immediately switched his destination to wherever these ‘seniors’ are, to act out on his own justice over your safety. But no, not now. He wanted to keep his rage and focus on you.

So Deuce left, giving Sebek - and you - one last look before leaving the infirmary to follow Ace and the furry little member of their group.

You had watched their little interaction from where you sat up on the bed. A small, pitiful and tired smile on your face as you gaze up to Sebek. Such a simple sight of your smile would send him to the moon - but not now. With how bandages are wrapped around your head and scratches all over your skin and your uniform, Sebek couldn’t focus on your beauty and charm, rather, he couldn’t help but clench his knuckles white.

“Sebek -”

“What happened?”

“O- oh, uh, some upperclassmen were just.. Feeling like practicing long ranged spells when we’re around to practice, I suppose..” You lowered your gaze, “Uh, Jade said he’d take care of them, so-”

“What happened?” Sebek pressed on. He knows you’re hesitating with your answer. You’ve been in this campus for long, you’ve gained friends, you've gained foes, but with each powerful allies you’ve gained - such as his young master - everyone on campus should know not to mess with the magicless Prefect of Ramshackle if they wish to graduate alive.

Something else happened.

You hesitated. But he knew that look in your eyes, you’re processing your thoughts. When you bite your lips, fiddling with the fabric of your shirt, shifting your gaze away from him. So he let you think, he let you take your time, if he knew anything, is that you have a reason for everything you do.

So you finally admitted, your pitiful and pained look now shifted to something akin to his - rage.

“They were mocking you.” You confessed, “They called you obnoxious,” you added, “Annoying,” and you added, “A painful thorn on the side,” and you added, “And-”

At this point, your knuckles turned white from clutching the sheet. 

“- I had to give them a piece of my mind.”

“Did you-” You cut him off with a snicker, “Some seniors they are, couldn’t even fight me right in front of my face, huh?” The first time you looked up to him, with your bruised lips, you gave him a prideful grin, “Couldn’t even beat a little magicless me! Even without Grimm’s help I can beat ‘em easily. Some senior-ass they are.”

Ah. He recalled it now. Just a few days ago, he saw you all covered in dust and scratches. You admitted that you just came face to face with a bully and won, and he let it slide because you came out unscathed due to your victory.

But look how it turned out. They came back - and they came back worse. All because you were-

“- You were.. Defending me?” The insults you had sputtered out about him said by others went past his head, his eyes widened as he stared at your grinning face, “Why? For something so small such as that you shouldn’t have - How stupid can you be?!”

Sebek snapped, raising his voice in an instant when the reason behind your action finally registered in his mind, “When will you realize how truly weak you are?! You’re just a human, a magicless one at that, and yet you’re so recklessly going to seek trouble for something so fleeting such as an insult?! Even one that isn't directed towards you?! Why would you-”

“It’s not stupid!” You snapped back, flinching when your sore cheek stabbed your flesh with sting, which, dragged Sebek back to the reality of your condition as he visibly flinched.

“You’re important to me.” You continued, now with a whisper loud enough for him to hear, “Way too damn important for me to let some - scrawny senior wannabes insult you like that. And if you know anything about me which, I’m sure you’re fully aware of,” You scoffed at his dumbfounded silence, “You know I’m stubborn about insults.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. You are, in fact, stupid in his eyes. To fight off seniors who may be skilled in magic casting, all over insults that were directed towards him. Ridiculous. Reckless. You-

-And he broke down. A heavy, long exhale escaped past his lips as he squatted down next to your bed. His gloved hands are buried in his hair, his head lowered to face the floor beneath him. He couldn’t deal with you. You’re way too much for him. Too strong, too stubborn, yet too vulnerable to be left fighting alone all on your own. And he couldn’t leave you be. Not when you fight so hard for his sake.

“Please,” he pleaded, “Don’t ever do such a thing, ever again.”

You parted your lips, ready to argue with him once more, before his hands snapped up and grabbed yours gently, yet firmly, holding it securely within his own.

“At least, let me be by your side when you decide to do anything reckless like such,” he made eye contact with you. Now, with pleas in his eyes, concern, and devotion. One that you’d expect to see when he speaks about his young master.

“I couldn’t-” he paused, letting himself breathe between his words, “You’ve done so much. Too much. I couldn’t let you suffer from such minor inconvenience caused by scoundrels who couldn’t even see where they stood.”

“So please, for once, let me be the one who protects you.”

“Have you perhaps forgotten that I’m a knight, human?” he managed to slip in some humor and a chuckle, “I would be driven to shame beyond Sevens’ comprehension if I couldn’t even protect the one I hold dear. How would I protect the young master if I couldn’t even protect you?”

There he is. Beyond his anger, his plot of revenge, and his adoration for you, he managed to slip in some smile to entertain you and your giggles. Pulling your hand up towards his face, he planted a firm kiss to your bandaged knuckles, down to your fingers, and towards your delicate palms.

Yes. He won’t let you be dressed in such a manner anymore. No more bandages over your skin, no more bruises around your beautiful face. This time, he will be the one covered in others suffering for your sake.

After all, he promised to protect you, and Sebek’s loyalty is anything but a promise of his life.