#i love when people like hit a spot on my sides or my ribs and it makes me flinch like

[jordanswitches]

thinking about you having me lie over your lap so my ribs protrude and you just trail your fingers over my sides and ribs until i can't breathe properly

[apute11as]

Chosen family - Barcelona femeni x teen!reader

Summary: You’ve been keeping a secret for too long and the team start to figure it out and how to help you through it!

Warnings⚠️ Abus3, vi0lence, loss of parents, descriptions of injury, angst, hurt comfort, fluff

Author note: hey guys this is an angsty one, don’t read if you get triggered by any of the themes above! Hope everyone is well, I’ll be posting at lot more soon just getting through exam season right now! But yeah enjoy the story, leave any feedback or requests in the comments 🩷

P.s. My DMs are always open for anything, Woso related or if you just want to talk! Always here for anything xx

~~~~~~~~~~

You tried to push down the worry of your current situation as you got ready for training in your room. You were only 16 years old, due to your mother passing a year ago, you lived with your father in Barcelona.

The team knew about all of this of course, Alexia more than anyone had been especially supportive, knowing how it felt having lost her father when she wasn’t much older than you. She’d become somewhat of a sister to you. Her, alba and Eli becoming the female figures you lacked in your life, always offering advice and help whenever you needed it.

They knew your father wasn’t the most loving and that since your mother’s passing he’d become a cruel depiction of his former self. What they didn’t know was quite how deep that cruelty ran. He had turned to drinking when your mother had died, you regularly came home from training to find him passed out from the alcohol. It had started as pitiful, he’d just cry and you’d hug him and the two of you would comfort each other, but recently his sadness had turned to anger.

He’d always had a temper and was never the nicest but your mother’s warm presence always made his outbursts bearable but now that she was gone he had no one to regulate that anger. At first it started with hurtful words, some aimed at you and some not but in recent times, his anger had turned physical.

The first time he hit you, you’d wanted nothing more than to cry into Alexia’s arms and have her tell you everything was going to be ok. You decided against that, using your better judgment that it would cause a complicated mess that you didn’t want to condemn her to. It had happened twice more since, on Monday he’d shoved you backwards into a wardrobe, causing you to cut your head, something you’d brushed off as tripping and falling which the team seemed to buy. Yesterday he’d grabbed you by the wrists and squeezed until bruises formed, before pushing you into the table where you bashed your ribs.

Now as you observed yourself in the mirror, you could see the dark bruises that had already formed across your stomach and ribs, matching ones adorned your wrists. You pulled your hoodie over your head and slung your bag over your shoulder, wincing slightly as it came back round and hit your side.

Ingrid and Mapi would be here to pick you up soon as they’d starting taking you to training as you’d told them your father picked up earlier shifts at work (also known as day drinking). Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door you leaped from your spot in the kitchen and went to open it. You of course, were met with the faces of Mapi and Ingrid who smiled widely at you.

“Hola pequeña!” beamed Mapi

“Hola Mapi” you sighed. What you weren’t expecting was for her to barge through the door.

“Sorry bebita I just need to fill up my water. Someone decided to take a sharp turn whilst I was having a drink.” She explained, gesturing to Ingrid who looked unimpressed at the blonde’s antics.

“Woah what’s all this?” She questioned at the various, empty beer and rum bottles that littered your kitchen.

“Erm my dad had some people over yesterday that’s all” you offered nervously

“Seems like they had quite a party” she said, getting at the sheer quantity of it with a raised eyebrow.

“Haha yeah I don’t know I wasn’t there” you replied

“Wait where were you then?” asked Ingrid, asserting herself into the conversation

“Well… I was at my friend’s house for a bit, then I came home” you offered, unconvincingly.

“Oh ok then, well grown adults really should be clearing up after themselves, we can swing by after and help you if your dad is at work?” Added Mapi

“NO!” You yelled, alarming the pair of them. “Sorry, no thank you he’ll be home later and said he’d sort it but thanks anyways” you said, attempting to save yourself due to the accidental outburst.

“Sure that’s fine…” Mapi replied, sounding unsure

“Ready to go now?” Questioned Ingrid from her new found position in the hallway

“Yep so ready!” You responded

The drive to training was slightly awkward, so you’d ask for some music in an attempt to diffuse the situation (it had little effect).

——

Upon reaching the ground, you hurried out the car and wandered a little ahead, fully aware of the fact that they strolled behind muttering about your odd behaviour. You made it inside with the couple trailing a few paces behind you and were met with the smiling face of Lucy bronze.

“Hey y/n how are you?” She beamed

“Hey Luce I’m good how are you?” You replied, offering her a smile of your own

“Good good, Keira kept pestering me about being late this morning though” she said with a sigh

“You were still in bed when we were leaving in 30 minutes!” Keira insisted with an eye roll.

You chuckled at the couple’s childlike antics as you walked over to your locker and began stripping off your clothing when you heard a sharp intake of breath next to you.

“What?” You questioned the English defender

“What happened to your ribs?” She asked in a hushed voice

“Mierda, I forgot about them. I erm tripped… and fell… into the bed post” you replied, knowing you had to work on your lying.

“It looks quite painful and it’s all around your front and sides, how can you do that from falling?” Asked Lucy, concern lacing her voice

“I just did ok, leave it please!” You demanded with a huff, pulling your jersey over your head.

Lucy didn’t push further, though she did make a mental note to keep an eye on you.

——

When you finally made it outside you were met with the warm Catalonian sun beaming down on your face. You had a mandatory team talk and then Jonatan, as usual asked you to pair up. Without a second thought, alexia gripped your wrists and dragged you to her to partner up. You winced noticeably at the gesture as her firm grip found its self on the new formed bruises from yesterday.

“Estas bien pequeña (are you ok)” she questioned with a concerned expression

“Si Ale estoy bien (I’m ok)” you assured the older girl.

“What’s this on your wrists?” She inquired with a firm tone. “Did I do this?” she was now increasingly concerned.

“No no you didn’t do it it was already there” you replied hurriedly

“What was it from?” She questioned further

“Erm from… the match? I had a tussle with someone she gripped my wrists too hard” you lied

“You’re lying to me bebita I can see it in your eyes” she scolded “but why are you lying I don’t understand” her brow furrowed

“Alexia! Y/N! Stop gossiping and get over here!” Yelled Mapi in a teasing tone, a tone that only she could get away with using towards Alexia due to their close friendship

“ay dios mío Maria we’re coming” replied Alexia and before she could say anything more you’d disappeared, already jogging over to join the group and no doubt, avoid her further questioning.

——

Training ended and you rushed ahead, desperate to get away asap to avoid questioning from the multiple behaviours that had noticed your odd behaviour or the state of your body.

You reached the changing room out of breath (more so from sprinting over there than the actual 2 hour training session you’d just attended). You quickly shoved your stuff into your bag and began to scramble away before your upper arm was grasped.

“Where do you think you’re going” rung the voice of Lucy Bronze

“Home?” You replied as if it were obvious

“I thought Alexia was taking you home?” She questioned

“Oh erm yeah tell her it’s ok I’m gonna take a bus” you offered hoping she’d leave you alone

“Alexia come here” beckoned Lucy, her body shielding you from the exit, as you groaned at the implications of this conversation.

“Que pasa?” Questioned alexia with curiosity

“Y/N says she’s getting the bus home” grasped Lucy

“No she’s coming with me? I’m taking her home” she was confused.

“I think the two of you need to have a chat” suggested the brunette

“Yes I think so too” Alexia responded, her disapproval clear in her voice.

The two of you wandered to her car silently, she kept glancing over at you, almost to check you hadn’t disappeared again. She even opened the car door and watched you get in to ensure your presence.

The drive started in silence yet again, with you picking at the skin on your fingernails, but that was short lived.

“Bebita please answer me truthfully when I ask you this…” Alexia began, her eyes not leaving the road ahead. “What happened to your wrists and ribs? Yes Lucy told me about that before you change the subject again” she finished

“I don’t know what to say Ale” you said, your eyes beginning to gloss over.

“The truth Por favor amor” she insisted, her eyes still not looking at yours.

“My papa, he’s taken up drinking lately, quite heavily and it’s changed him” you started

Alexia knew where this was going but she let you finish, unsure of what to say even when you did.

“He-he gets angry now all the time. He used to be an angry person anyways but Mama always used to calm him down and now she’s gone I just-“ you choked back on tears.

Alexia had pulled the car over and took your hand it hers, squeezing gently as if willing you to continue.

“He would shout at me, come home drunk and just scream” you continued. “It wasn’t physical for a while it was just words, b-but recently…” you trailed off once more, finally meeting Alexia’s eyes that were glossed over and full of sadness. “Recently he started to do other things. He hit me and threw me into things, like in something to take his anger out on” Alexia’s grip lay firmer on your hand as she let you finish. “It’s like he’s a different person lo siento” you spluttered as the tears streamed down your face

“Bebita you have nothing! And I mean nothing to be sorry about. I’m sorry that we didn’t notice sooner” she replied with a maternal warmth in voice.

“It’s ok Ale I was trying to hide it” you added, calming down a little.

“But why pequeña? We could’ve helped you” tears were threatening to fall from her eyes now.

“But all that would happen is I’d end up in care or on my own and I can’t do that Ale, anyone is better than no one at all” you urged.

“You would have had me! You do have me!” She corrected.

“I know Alexia and I love you so much for that but I couldn’t live with you, interrupt your life, how would you girlfriend feel?” You questioned the blonde.

“She would understand bebita you know that really” insisted Alexia.

“What am I going to do” you cried

“Is he home?” She asked

“Who?” You rebounded

“Your papa” Alexia winced at the name that in her opinion, that man was no longer worthy of.

“No he’ll be at the bar for at least a few more hours”

“Bueno, we’re going to go back to your apartment and gather some stuff and then we’re going to drive to my Mami’s okay?”

“Okay” you weren’t overly convinced yet you still went along with the older girl’s plan, praying your father hadn’t decided to make an early departure from the bar.

——

Upon reaching your apartment block, you gave Alexia your keys as she insisted she would go first, keeping a protective arm on your body behind hers. You let out a sigh of relief when you realised your father was still out.

Alexia’s eyes scanned the floor, taking in the broken glass and general mess everywhere, the two of you tread carefully over to your room. The first thing Alexia noticed upon entering was the sheer contrast of your bedroom, to the rest of the house. It was near spotless, with most of your belongings having seemingly vanished.

“I put most of it under my bed or in the wardrobe” you proclaimed, as if you’d just read her mind. “I didn’t want to give him any extra ammo” you half joked, but Alexia didn’t laugh, instead she pulled you into a tight hug, a hug that said more than words ever could.

You pulled away eventually, realising that you were going to have to start doing some packing as every minute that ticked by was time closer to your father coming home. You started by gathering up your football gear, as it was likely your most important possessions, asides from your memory box that you’d made up when your mother had passed. Standing there for a second, you ran your hands over the cold metal of the lid, reminiscing on a time when your family was “perfect” and things were much happier.

Alexia on the other side of your room, was gathering up some clothes for you. On another day, you’d cringe at the fact that your captain was rummaging through your underwear drawer, but today was not that day.

“Almost done bebé?” questioned the midfielder

“So just gathering some last bits” you assured her, before piling a couple of textbooks, your water bottle and your laptop into your bag.

Just as the two of you made your way out of the bedroom, your mind clicked.

“Wait!” you urged

Alexia turned around at rapid speed, a mix of confusion and concern overtaking her. But before she could question you, you reappeared at the door holding a stuffed bear.

“Sorry it’s childish, it’s just something my Abuela gave me when I was younger”

“No no not childish at all, it’s sweet actually” she smiled. “Don’t tell anyone but I’ve still got my childhood teddy bear at the back of my wardrobe” she admitted

“Really?”

“Sí, now vamos cariño” she insisted

——

You loaded your stuff into Alexia’s cupra before walking around to open the passenger seat door, Alexia following suit.

“I’ve text Mami telling her what’s happened and she said you’re more than welcome to stay at hers” offered the captain “if you’d rather stay with me that’s perfectly fine, I have a spare room, you’ll have to share with the Nala though” she chuckled.

“Thank you Alexia, I’m honestly happy either way I’m just so grateful you’ve been so kind” you replied genuinely.

“Don’t thank me chica te amo mucho ok? If you ever need anything or anyone I’m here, remember that.”

“Gracias Ale”

——

The journey to Eli’s was short and once you’d arrived, Alexia made quick work of unloading your minimal bags and carrying them all herself, despite your protests.

She did however hand one to you when the two of you reached the door, just so that she had a spare hand to knock with, which she did.

The door opened and you were surprisingly greeted with the face of Alba, Alexia’s younger sister.

“Hola chica, it’s been a while” she hugged you, albeit lighter than normal (the first indicator that her mother had told her everything).

“I saw you last week Albs” you smiled

“Oh yes… well it’s been a while anyways” she laughed awkwardly

“Hola mija” came Eli’s voice from behind

“Hola Mrs putellas, thank you so much for offering me a room” you smiled and hugged her back.

“I’ve told you call me Eli, and it’s no problem at all. I hope you don’t mind but Alexia told us what happened, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, you’re basically my daughter already”

She wasn’t wrong, even before your father’s drinking problem, you were here at least once a week for dinner (Alexia and Alba insisting you were their mother’s favourite child, to which she didn’t disagree with).

“Gracias Eli” you smiled at her

——

The four of you sat and ate dinner and discussed what was to happen, ultimately deciding you’d stay with Alexia for a little while as her apartment was closer to the training grounds and it would be easier for her to take you with her everyday. Then it was decided that Eli would file for your adoption, something you knew your father would agree to as just he wasn’t himself anymore. You’d set him up in rehabilitation for his alcoholism and see to it that he gets better.

Despite Alexia’s disapproval, you’d decided not to file a statement and testify against your father, stating that it would cause unnecessary issues and that you’d be far away from him anyways. Eventually, all was agreed and you and Alexia returned home to inform Olga of the plans, which to your slight surprise, she was completely okay with.

Alexia decided that the two of you wouldn’t attend training this week, you had no match anyways due to it being Christmas break so the two of you spent some time together. This helped not only you, but her more than you’d ever know. Ultimately, you decided that you’d tell the team what happened after the break, deciding now to enjoy the holidays with your knew found family.

[eoieopda]

all my dreamin' | hjs

all my dreamin' is only put to shame / and darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name / but it came easy, darlin' / as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame.

pairing: joshua hong x reader summary: your LA boyfriend wasn't built for midwest winters. ⇢ insp. by hozier's "to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuarithe)" type: one-shot | fluff 'n smut wc: only 2.5k! au: established relationship rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) cw: afab! and american!reader; cuddling (👀) for warmth; gropin’ and grindin’; k*ss*ng; slow, unprotected morning sex; p in v penetration. a/n: i love two (2) men — andrew hozier byrne and hong jisoo. idk what else you want me to say, lol. barely proofread (sorry!) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Slatted shades don’t stand much of a chance against the blinding white outside your window. It seeps through the cracks, sunshine refracting harshly off of knee-deep snow and stinging eyes that haven’t yet consented to opening fully. 

Even though that laser-focused beam of light hits you between your eyebrows, it’s not the reason you’re awake in the first place. The real reason is next to you with his head ducked under the covers, rubbing his flannel-coated legs together like he’s trying to start a fire.

“Cricket?” You mumble. 

Still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of, your head lolls to the side. If your boyfriend was still topside, you’d be nose to nose; but he’s not, and he doesn’t seem to hear you from inside the cocoon he’s made for himself. 

A little louder, your gravelly voice makes a second attempt. “Are you alive under there?”

“No,” comes the world’s most pitiful whimper from somewhere near your rib cage.

You don’t know what you expected.

With a muffled grunt of effort, you pull the edge of the covers away from your chin and wiggle your way down. In the half-light, you can’t make out Joshua’s face in its entirety. His sweatshirt strings are pulled tight and knotted, hiding most of his features from the air his breath has already started to make hot. All that’s left is the tip of his nose, one eye, and a single, loose wave between the two.

There’s also a hint of a frown in there somewhere when he peeps, “I’m cold.”

You shift even further until he’s within swaddling distance. Wrapping one leg over his topmost thigh, you pull him closer and allow him to nestle his face into the spot below your chin. From where he’s hiding, he can’t see you smirking. It’s for the best, really.

“Hi, Cold.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you snicker, more to yourself than him, “I’m Dad.”

Joshua lets out a long groan in reply, but that’s no surprise; you’re huddled so closely together that you felt it building in his chest. 

When it grows quiet again, and you’re no longer laughing at your own joke, the two of you each deflate against each other. Yesterday’s journey from LAX was exhausting in and of itself, and the several-hour leap in time hasn’t made things any easier since you landed. Neither has the weather surrounding your family’s cabin, although you’re faring much better than Joshua is.

His groggy voice comes out of nowhere, startling you. “I don’t know why people live here on purpose.”

From the sound of it, he’s already halfway back to sleep. His arm slips over your waist and pulls you closer, and you get the sneaking suspicion that he’d slip into the front of your sweatshirt if he thought for sure that he could fit. Frankly, you’re shocked he hasn’t tried. His clinginess increases exponentially when he’s exhausted.

“The midwest isn’t a choice; it’s a consequence,” you sigh. “I think being born here was a penance for crimes I committed in a past life.”

Without opening his eyes, Joshua mumbles, “Bleak.”

“Bleak indeed, cricket.”

The third time really must be the charm. Joshua snorts, much too tired to laugh any harder than that, and asks, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Biting back a smile, you tilt your head backwards enough to kiss his forehead — what little you can see of it, anyway.

“That your self-warming violin legs kept me up all night?” Your amusement only grows when you peek down at him and find him glaring up at you. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Lower lip poking out, he scrunches his eyebrows. As offended as he pretends to be, he can’t hide that ever-present twinkle in his eyes. “You could have saved me, you know,” he sniffs.

You mimic his tone with a smirk. “I turned the thermostat up as high as it goes, you know.”

The most you get out of him is a grunt acknowledging that he heard you. Normally, you’d accept this lack of retort as a demurrer, but then you feel his cold fingertips slink below the waistband of your sleep shorts, chilling the bare skin at your hip bone; and it finally hits you.

The thermostat wasn’t the remedy Joshua had been praying for.

As you untie the strings of his sweatshirt hood, you tell yourself that it’s retaliation that motivates your movements — paying him back for his freezing hands by exposing his face to equally cold air. That’s bullshit, though, and you know it. The truth is that you can’t card your fingers through hair that’s covered in thick, grey fabric.

You can’t steal kisses from hidden lips, either.

When Joshua’s mouth is finally on yours, you giggle without meaning to because he still tastes like last night’s spearmint toothpaste. You’d love to tease him for it, but your mind goes blank before you can try. He licks into your mouth, and your snark turns into a breathy little moan instead; he swallows it eagerly, smiling against your lips.

Pinch me. I’m dreaming.

The sudden snap of your elastic waistband against the small of your back makes you jolt. You pull back, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, and balk. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to scold him, however.

“You’re insane for wearing shorts when it’s this cold,” Joshua insists. When you don’t bother to justify your decision — you’re not as much of a freeze baby as he is — he nips at your bottom lip. “I’m grateful, though. They’re easier to work around.”

You’re grateful that his hands have gotten warmer, the longer they cling to you, but you don’t say as much out loud — your body responds for you. His fingers knead into the flesh of your ass, and you roll your hips forward, chasing friction. You find it easily; it’s growing thicker by the second.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He’s still so tired that his words come out slurred — adorable — yet rough around the edges, which drives you the slightest bit wild. “Please do that again.”

“You just want me to do all the work.” You nudge the tip of his nose with yours. The sharp contrast in temperature isn’t lost on you; in fact, you adore it. His sensitivity to cold is one of a million endearing things about him. “Isn’t that right, cricket?” 

The half-expectant, half-sheepish look Joshua sends you confirms that yes, he does. But he asked nicely, and this isn’t on the shortlist of things you wouldn’t do for him, so you grant his wish without complaint.

It’s more than a little bit pathetic that such a lazy motion — a fully-clothed one, at that — makes you both moan in tandem. It’s haphazard, the way your fumbling fingers reach for the knot of his waistband. Your motor skills are still asleep, it seems, making an easy task infinitely more difficult. It only gets worse, the more frustrated you get.

You snag a fingernail on the stubborn flannel and hiss, “Jesus.”

“It’s pronounced Jisoo,” he supplies unhelpfully. 

To avoid the consequences of that quip, Joshua ducks his head down to leave a smattering of lazy kisses along the length of your neck. Whatever you might’ve clapped back with is replaced with a relieved sigh when the drawstrings’ vice grip on one another finally gives. 

Tugging unsuccessfully at the waistband in your hands, you pout. “Help.”

With the way he whines, you’d think you asked him to move a mountain. 

Melodramatically, Joshua’s head drops sideways. It lands with a muffled thump against the scrunched-up comforter that still surrounds you. He doesn’t move another muscle until you open your mouth to nag him; still frowning, still uncoordinated, his hands take the place of yours. His hips lift just enough for him to shimmy his pajama pants down — just enough to provide access.

You roll your eyes at his refusal to undress any further, but before he can remind you of how cold he is, you catch him by the mouth. Successfully placated, Joshua accepts your lips on his with an appreciative hum. That sound transforms into something bordering a groan when your hand claims his length and starts stroking him slowly.

Just like that, Joshua melts under your touch, like putty molding to your frame. His leaking cock is the exception; the only part of him that seems awake enough to beg for you. He’s throbbing in your hand and — once again — you can’t help but laugh. 

Joshua’s incredulous eyes widen, silently demanding an explanation. 

“Some of you is warm,” you offer with a cheeky grin. To ease that wrinkle between his brows, you envelope the crown of his cock with your palm and roll your wrist. The gentle squeeze prompts him to grind forward into your fist, making your stomach flip. “Must be thawing out a little bit.”

“Not fair,” he says, even though he’s moaning with screwed-shut eyes. “Can’t tease me until I’m adequately caffeinated. The Keurig is a million miles away.”

It’s one room over. 

The cabin you’ve borrowed from your parents is a mere six-hundred square feet.

You digress.

The prospect of coffee makes it even harder to fight off the urge to yawn, but you manage to do so. You manage to shimmy even closer to him, too, until the only barrier left is a thin layer of damp cotton. It’s his hand that drops down now to push it aside, making you shiver; and it’s him looking at you through half-lidded eyes that stokes the fire simmering in your belly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Joshua whispers. 

If his words weren’t invitation enough, the come hither motion of his fingers is. The brush of his fingertips against your clit is so enticing that you decide right then and there to follow wherever he leads. 

You’re the one melting when the tip of his cock replaces his fingers, flicking over that same spot, then gliding through your slicked folds. Each pass pulls another needy sigh right out of you. He takes every little sound he can tease out of you, as if he’s collecting them. 

When the target switches to your entrance, however, you go silent. Your fingers grip the sleeve of his sweatshirt, your forehead drops to lean against his, and your gasp dies on your tongue. It comes out of Joshua’s mouth instead, spearmint breath cooling as it fans across your face.

He might never say so out loud, but this is his favorite way to fuck you — holding you close against him, holding eye contact, holding his eagerness back to slide into you slowly. When he watches your breath catch, his pupils dilate; and he licks his lips, as if he tastes the moans you can’t quite vocalize.

For what it’s worth, you love him like this, too. Him and the drag of his cock; the way it makes pleasure course through you like molasses. The way he capitalizes on the angle of your leg draped over his hip, tilting up to graze your g-spot with a dizzying precision.

As hard as you try, you can’t think of anything better than this. There’s nothing as perfect as his hand’s light hold on your ass cheek, guiding you up and down his length; so fucking deep, but in no rush at all.

Mornings were made to be spent tangled up with him.

“Do you hear that?” Joshua murmurs against your lips. You thread your fingers through his hair and nod, whimpering as you cling to him even tighter. 

How could you not? 

Your arousal floods with every languid thrust, and you know without looking that he’s completely coated in you. And if his satisfied smirk tells you anything, it’s that he can feel you dripping from his shaft down to his balls. You have no reason to doubt it; your inner thighs are a mess.

Joshua takes his hand off your ass just to hitch your leg even higher up on his side. Immediately, you see stars. You can’t even articulate how fucking incredible it feels, having him this deep, so you kiss him with more desperation than you ever have; and you hope he can guess how close you are to unraveling.

It’s impossible to say whether he can read your mind or just your body, but Joshua picks up the pace ever so slightly. As he does, there’s a subtle swirl to his hips when he thrusts into you that has every one of your synapses lighting up like a switchboard. 

“Fuck,” is your eloquent, shuddered response. 

It’s the best you can offer when you're falling apart like this, clenching tightly around him to push you both closer to the edge. No better off, Joshua seems like he’s barely surviving the way your cunt grips him. His voice sounds as shaky as you feel: 

“I l-love it when you do that.” 

To prove it, he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip and begs you to open up for him. You comply automatically, earning a pleased hum from him that tingles down your spine.

You’d kiss him like this all day if you could, but the wildfire burning through the pit of your abdomen is becoming impossible to fight. Ironic, you think, given how completely you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts and how much you’re shivering.

Involuntarily, your head tilts backwards as the pleasure blooms. Joshua traps your bottom lip between his teeth — not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to keep you from disappearing. You know him; you know how much he loves to watch your pupils blow when you cum all over him, and that dead-set determination is crystal clear in the way he fights to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.

He loses that battle mere seconds after your choked gasp, when your walls flutter around him and you start trembling. He’s twitching inside of you, release spilling, and now he’s the one who starts to laugh.

“What?” You’re still floating somewhere in the stratosphere, but you manage to snort, landing a playful swat on his bare hip. He doesn’t react at all, but you massage your palm into his flesh to soothe him anyway. “What’s so funny?”

In a sudden burst of energy, Joshua’s hands fly up to grab the comforter resting over your heads. With a grunt, he flings it off of you both, thrusting your unsuspecting body into cold air. He doesn’t even notice your startled yelp.

“So hot in there,” he pants. For emphasis, he runs the back of his hand over his forehead. He wasn’t lying; there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his knuckles when he pulls them away again. “Jesus. It’s like a fucking sauna.”

You reach out to unstick a strand of hair from his slicked skin, then you let your arm flop limply back against the pillows. Grinning, you tease, “I thought it was pronounced Jisoo.”

[lethalchiralium]

hi! i love your writing and was wondering if you could do a könig x reader where the reader is giving birth to their baby but it’s a hard birth and könig pushes his anxiety away to help coach her through it?❤️

So This Is Love | König x Wife!AFAB!Reader

a/n: you know me. i was literally thinking about writing something about könig and a baby. nonnie i’ll love you forever. i’ll write a family fic for könig too if people want it 😭 i love him so much. (thank you @as-is-above-so-below for the baby name, you are amazing)

warnings: Childbirth, pregnancy, a lot of anxiety.

summary: It’s time for you and your husband, König, to meet your new baby. It’s just that you are panicking, and König needs to keep you calm.

König stirred awake to a dark bedroom, eyes blinking to adjust to the darkness. He turned to look at the digital clock on his nightstand, its red numbers blinking 01:56 AM. He rolled back over, hand reaching for you on the right side of the bed, but found only warm sheets. His eyes really opened then, he sat up quickly and reached backwards for the lamp. It clicked on, illuminating the bedroom and your empty side of the bed. He saw a large wet spot just a few inches from his hand, he moved quickly off the bed as he called your name. It couldn’t be time, you weren’t due for another couple of weeks - his heart began to race even as he heard your voice from the bathroom.

He made it in four strides, almost slamming his head on the door frame when he darted into the bathroom. The panic in chest only increased as he found you sitting on the floor, back against the tub with a towel underneath you. He was instantly beside you, kneeling and placing one of his hands on your swollen belly. “What happened?”

The tears that ran down your face only made his entire body grow dizzy, your hand rested on his as you whispered, “My water broke.”

König felt his resolve crumble under his skin, panic bells ringing in his ear as he spoke, “You’re not-“

“Due for a couple of weeks, I know,” You winced, eyes fluttered shut as you let out a breathy groan. “Tell your baby to stop hitting my ribs.”

His blue eyes flickered down to your belly, only taking just a moment to collect himself before he leaned closer, saying, “Du tust deiner Mutter weh, du wirst uns bald treffen, mein Baby.” He pressed a kiss to your belly, eyes looking back up to you. He flexed his other hand into a fist, trying to get his focus off of his racing heartbeat. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

You shook your head, letting out a loud groan and taking his hand into your own. “F-Fuck-“ You panted out, your other hand instinctively reached for his other as well. He immediately gave it to you. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

—

König’s entire body was on emergency mode, he could barely even breathe the whole time you had been in labor. Catering to your every need no matter how small helped a little, but the intense pain you were in because of his child made him almost vomit.

36 hours of labor have come and gone, spent sitting on a exercise ball and watching TV, or eating crisps on your hospital bed while he massaged your feet. The baby in your belly seemed content in causing you pain, kicking your kidneys whenever you had a contraction. The sweetheart you were, you never told him that it was his fault that you were this way - but boy was he thinking it. Every tiny discomfort almost had him crying out of anxiety; he had spent countless years in battle and has seen people in pain, but he never wanted to hear moans of agony come from your lips.

He hadn’t even settled on a name yet. You were so patient, you didn’t want to name this baby a name that he didn’t like. He begged for your suggestions, but you refused - saying, “Any name I say you’ll just agree with. Find your own.”

He sat with you now, he felt it was getting closer to meeting his first child. The nurse was fluttering about, a sweet young woman who didn’t ease his nerves at all. It may have been the thousandth baby she’s delivered, but this is his first child and the first she would be delivering with you. He had already chewed down his nails, he had to force himself to stop before he made himself bleed.

“Baby,” You murmured your warm bed, he was sat right behind you, his head right next to your arm as your hand reached for his head. “Baby.”

“Yes?” He whispered, moving his hand to intercept yours, holding it before you squeezed his hand.

“I need you.”

He’s spent months and months thinking of all the terrible things that could go wrong with you and the baby, he was still uncharacteristically calm. He wanted to be at the hospital with you, but you were against it - he did as you said. So here you were in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and monitors. He was quick to stand, help you move forwards so he could sit behind you. The mattress was almost soft, he noted, and he felt upset that he even suggested coming to the hospital. He wasn’t used to any of this, the clench of his lungs in his chest made him nauseous. Your back curled into his chest, his hands immediately settled on your pregnant belly. He could immediately feel his baby respond to his touch, kicking and making you grunt in pain. Your hands then moved to on top of his, squeezing them.

“It hurts, König,” Your words stung him like a wasp, infecting his skin and blood with red hot venom. He pressed kisses to your hair that was thrown up messily before leaning forwards, moving his hands so your palms met.

“It’s okay, my love,” He murmured, squeezing your hands as you squeezed back, letting out a loud whine of pain. “Breathe for me, Schatzi. Come on.”

“I can’t.” You groaned out, head thrown back into his shoulder as you squeezed his hands so hard. The nurse moved towards the bed, one hand on one of your knees.

“I’m gonna see if I can feel the head, okay?” She spoke calmly, all you could do was nod and the soldier stared at the woman as she reached down between your legs. Your hands moved to bring his arms around your chest, eyes also glancing down at the woman before she moved back, a smile on her face. “You’re going to need to start pushing soon. Not right now, so prepare yourself.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.” Your small voice broke König’s heart. He tightened his arms around your chest, your hands gripped his forearms.

He swallowed, fending off his anxiety from swelling his throat as he spoke, “You can, Liebling. And I’ll be right here, I won’t let you go. Squeeze me as hard as you need.”

There was a knock on the door and it opened, revealing your short doctor with a mask on her face and hair pulled into a fabric surgical cap. Behind her were two more nurses, both in pink scrubs and wheeling in a bassinet. He felt like everything in his body was going to explode.

This was really happening. Soon, he was going to be a father to a little girl or a little boy - and he hadn’t even told you the names he liked.

“Let’s have a baby! How are you doing?” Your doctor was as happy as ever, something König wasn’t always fond of.

Your hands squeezed his forearms, a grunt escaped from between your gritted teeth.“Like I’m pushing a baby out of my vagina.”

“Always the chipper one, then?” The doctor smirked, commenting, “I’m gonna check and see where the little one is, okay?” She lifted the paper blanket and then looked back to her nurses, then to König. She nodded curtly before looking to you, saying, “It’s go time. I can see the baby’s head.”

König physically felt you freeze for a moment, he was stunned himself and he felt his diaphragm squeeze. This was the last time König would ever be just someone - soon, he would be someone’s father. And he would do better than his own, better than the man who abandoned his family and ruined his only son.

You let out a yelp, hands still holding onto his forearms as the doctor spoke, “Alright, let’s push.”

“No, no no! I’m not- Ready-“ Your chest curled forwards, a loud whine of pain as you dragged your husband forward by his arms secured around you. “I want-“

“It’s too late for any pain meds, I’m sorry.” Your doctor gave you a sympathetic gaze before looking back between your legs. Another jolt of pain had you screaming out, the doctor telling you to push but all you did was let out a cry of pain. “C’mon, sweetheart. Your baby’s almost here, you can do it.”

“I can’t!” You shouted back, voice laced with agony as you collapsed backwards into your husband, sobs racking your entire chest as you squeezed his arms. “Fuck, König, please- Please make it stop.”

You were always the strong one in the relationship, level headed and wise; something König admired and those traits helped keep him grounded when he was getting into one of his attacks. But now, it was like the roles reversed - you were panicking, in pain, wanting to stop but he knew you couldn’t. He pressed his forehead to the crown of your head, speaking over your loud moans and the doctor’s commands. “You’re going to give us the best thing we’ve ever been given, our child. I’m going to hold them and think about how strong you were for creating a little life with me. You’re going to be in so much pain for me, I’m sorry, my Schatzi. But you have always been strong, always held your head in the face of danger. Just a little longer.”

“Ah-fuck! Fuck, fuck- No, no, no I can’t- I can’t-“ Your nails dug into his skin, your torso shot forwards as you let out a loud cry of pain. He followed suit, letting your nails draw blood from his arm.

He pressed a kiss to your messy hair, it was almost matted. “You can, Schatzi. Und das wirst du.” He made a note to help you brush your hair when you were resting, but now all he could do was watch the doctor and nurses await the arrival of his child.

“One more push, Y/N.” Your doctor’s voice was calm, the nurses waiting beside her with supplies that König didn’t care to look at. He kept his hold, letting you squeeze his arms around you as you cried.

“I can’t- I can’t anymore.”

“Yes, you can.” He spoke, his voice echoed over your grunts, the loud pants from your mouth almost drowned out him saying, “You’re strong, Schatzi. Stark. We’re doing this together, always.”

It was only a moment longer, a last scream of pain and nails digging into skin, crescent moons tattooed his arms. There was a moment, just a moment where your open backed hospital gown hit his grey undershirt, your nails no longer going for blood. In that moment, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear with a bated breath, arms looser around you while your arms went slack and your head rolled back into König’s shoulder.

A shrill sound. Sighs of relief from everyone in the room as the recognizable sound of a baby crying filled the silence, the doctor happily chirping as the nurses began to help your baby. Your eyes felt so heavy, it was hard to keep them somewhat open but you still did it, the sheer adrenaline of wanting to see the baby you’ve been humming to for nine months. You wanted to see the creature who liked to kick you in your sleep at the exact same time of night, the baby who liked to move whenever your husband placed his hand upon the swell of your stomach.

The nurses moved away as your doctor held up the little baby with both hands, “It’s a girl!”

“Do you want to cut the cord, Dad?” One of the nurses asked, König pressed the side of his head to your head. He could feel just how tired you were, he wouldn’t leave you now.

He met the gaze of the nurse, saying, “No. My wife still needs me here.” You let out a noise of gratitude, heavy pants still escaping your lips. The parents watched the cord be snipped, the little girl be wiped down a little before wrapped in a soft pink blanket - the nurse who had been with you almost the whole time had come forward with the little creature, helping you move down your hospital gown so your baby could rest on your skin and help bonding.

The little girl let out tiny shrieks with all of her breath, face becoming shades darker as your weak hands came to cradle your daughter. She had your beautiful skin tone, a small little thing that would’ve fit in the palms of König’s hands. You tried to hush the baby, calm her, but she kept crying. It wasn’t until he spoke only a few words, “Hello, my little bird.”

She squealed out another cry, her eyes blinking open to display eyes that looked exactly like his. Beautiful gray eyes that would follow him for years, little hands that he would hold for years to come. The baby began to calm down as soon as her eyes opened, blinking slowly up to look at König before her gaze landed on you.

Her little hand moved towards your head, but it didn’t raise from your sweaty skin. Her eyes watched you as a small yet exhausted smile appeared on your lips, one that König wouldn’t see until later when one of the nurses shows him the picture. All he would know of was the little coo his daughter made as you whispered, “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Sie ist schön, just like her mama.” He murmured, keeping his hands on your sides. He felt that he was almost too big to touch the baby on his wife’s chest - she was a normal sized baby, but he was still so overly conscious of his size. He didn’t ever want to hurt the little creature he met only moments ago.

“What did you name her, my love?” He was brought out of his head by the sound of your voice, the little girl’s eyes never moved from your face.

He pressed his lips to your hair. “Avis.”

“And her middle name will be Amelia.”

“Meine Omas Namen?” He chuckled, his hands gently rubbing your sides. “Oh, how no one would ever love me like you.”

Little Avis agreed by letting out a little yawn, eyes fluttered closed. Your head moved to the side, he could clearly see the tears that had fallen since your child had been placed in your grasp. His hand came to your cheeks, a kiss from his lips was planted on your nose.

“We did it.” The breath you were holding escaped your lungs, crystal tears filled your eyes. “Avis Amelia.”

“Look at our daughter. Unsere Tochter.” You gazed back at your beautiful daughter, sniffling before König’s familiar fingers brought your face to look back at his. “You did so well, do not cry these tears, your beautiful face doesn’t need to be tearful.” His thumb traced a tear away from your cheek, gray eyes flickering to meet yours before closing. He leaned forwards to meet his forehead with yours, still brushing away tears. “I will cry them for you.”

-----

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Time.

You get shot in Colombia. Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Will all have their own ways of helping you heal.

Pairing - Santiago Garcia, Frankie Morales, Benny Miller, Will Miller x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, mentions of blood, gunshots

Word Count - 4329

Author's Note - hi lovely people. i loved writing this one so much oh my :( those four boys in one movie together is a dream. and i don't know if you noticed, but i have a real soft spot for will. and yes, i did photoshop ben afflecks character out of that picture. more than happy to write for any of the triple frontier boys individually - just send me an ask! as always, lots of love x

my other triple frontier fics - Tethered, Tranquility and Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Masterlist. Requests.

It’s been 6 days since you were shot.

6 days of blood, pain, sterility, stitches, hazy memories that float into your consciousness like smoke in the air.

You somehow remember it both clear as day and blurry as night.

The metallic taste of copper in your mouth, clear as day.

The searing, burning pain in your side, clear as day.

The panicked looks on the boys faces, the yelling, the frantic scrambling – clear as day.

The rest of it? Blurry as night.

You can’t remember getting home. One minute you were bleeding out on the ground in Colombia, and the next minute you’re back on US soil, lying in a bed in Houston Methodist Hospital.

You can’t remember your discharge. You fell asleep on those sterile, crinkly white sheets, and woke up in a soft bed, wrapped in a navy blue comforter that smells like Will.

All you’ve known for the last 6 days is sleep. That molten sleep that moves like molasses, warm and slow and sticky. The sun rises and sets, and you’re none the wiser. Floating aimlessly through unconsciousness, just you and your dreams.

Unbeknownst to you, you haven’t been alone for a minute since you got home. The boys have taken turns sitting by your bedside, heart rates rising whenever you stir. All of them silently processing what all of this means, for you and for them.

It was damn close. Too much blood. Pints after pints after pints of it. Pouring over Will’s hands, soaking into Benny’s jeans, slipping beneath Santiago’s boots, choking the air around Frankie where his forehead was pressed to yours, begging you to stay awake. All of them wondering the same thing – where has all of this come from? Surely one person can’t have so much blood in them. It can’t all be from her.

The Doctor said that you got lucky. Any more blood loss and you’d have lost your life too. Your surgeon said that you owed your life to whoever stopped the bleeding.

William ‘Ironhead’ Miller. He’d shoved his hand straight into the wound, applying as much pressure as he could without breaking any ribs. It was the worst thing he’d ever seen, but he was in fight or flight mode. He knew it had to be fight. He hoped you were making the same choice as you were lying there, breath rattling in your chest like pennies in a tin can.

Some would call it a miracle. Divine intervention, perhaps. You shouldn’t have survived. Scientifically, statistically, you should have died right there on that floor, in a mission gone wrong. Tragic accident. Caught in the crossfire. Collateral damage.

But you didn’t. Now, you’re half conscious in Will’s guest bedroom, enveloped by his scent. Warm, cozy, safe, and alive. You’re struggling to stay awake for more than ten, fifteen minutes at a time. It’s all catching up to you. You had to fight so hard to take each breath, that now you’re exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that sleep can’t fix. No, it’s settled into your gut, wrapped it’s limbs around your bones. It keeps you weighed down and heavy, a reminder of the trauma. You’re alive, but you’re tired. So tired.

The boys are worried. Worried beyond belief. When the Doctor told them she was happy to discharge you, reality hit the four of them like a high-speed freight train. How do they navigate this? You can’t go home. You can’t be by yourself. They’re all back on Texan soil, which means work, and family, and bills to pay, and routines to carry out. How do they factor in the woman they call their best friend, who’s currently in the deepest sleep of her life with a healing bullet hole in her side?

“I’ll take her,” Will had said. “She can stay with me, in my guest room. You guys can come over whenever you want. I have the most space, anyway.”

That was true. Santiago and Benny live in apartments, bachelor pads really, and Frankie’s second bedroom is his daughter’s room. She was only with him on weekends, but she needed a place to sleep, so that was him out of the question. Having you stay with Will made the most sense. They all agreed to come and sit with you in shifts, so Will could go to the grocery store, or for a run, or to take a shower. The Doctor never actually said that you needed twenty four hour surveillance, but the boys thought it would be best. Just in case.

So that’s exactly what they did. You’re on bed rest, and they’re all happy to play nurse for a few hours during the day, and to leave you with Will during the night. He’s been sneaking in to sleep in the armchair next to your bed. His room, a mere ten feet away, feels too far. He wants to be able to hear if you need his help. Just in case.

None of the boys quite know how to treat you. They don’t want to act any differently around you, but it’s hard not to. They haven’t seen you like that before. You, a force to be reckoned with. The backbone of the group. You, with your sharp wit, quick humor, blinding smile. You, who always seems to be a step ahead of them. You, a pillar of strength, proving yourself just as capable in this world designed for men. Lying on the ground, painted crimson, you looked fragile. Small. Frail. You looked so… innocent. So afraid. That was the scariest part for all of them – seeing the fear in your eyes. They’ve never seen that before. They never want to again.

So, they all take their different approaches. They cope the best way that each of them knows how.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Frankie visits, he always brings a book.

Cracking open the door, he pops his head around the frame, smiling as he sees both you and Will asleep – him in the chair, you cozy in bed. He gently squeezes the blond man’s shoulder, whispering as he wakes.

“I got her for a while. You go do what you need to do.”

Will shoots him a grateful smile and stretches his arms above his head, before padding out of the room, softly shutting the door behind him.

Frankie opens the curtains, letting the soft morning light fill the room. It illuminates your face, catches on the strands of your hair, making it glow. You look like an angel, in this orange haze. But Frankie already knew that.

Your eyes flutter open, and land straight on the broad man standing next to your bed, trusty cap sat atop his head. You smile, and his heart stops for a second. God, he’s missed that sight. All of the tension from the last week leaves his shoulders, and he sinks into the armchair next to you.

“Hi, Francisco,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse from minimal use.

“Hi, cariño,” he whispers back. “You doing okay?”

You nod, golden smile still etched on your face. The wound in your side is a dull ache, and the psychological pain keeps washing over you in spontaneous waves. But you’re okay.

“You here to babysit me?” you tease.

He smirks, which is all the answer you needed.

“You don’t need to. I’m okay, I swear,” you insist.

He looks at you and quirks an eyebrow, the corners of his lips still turning up slightly.

“Well, you’re my baby, and I’m sitting,” he winks. “Now that we’ve established that, what do you wanna do for the next few hours?”

His abysmal attempt at a joke makes you chuckle, which in turn makes you wince, pain shooting through your abdomen. He jumps out of his chair towards you, placing a hand on your cheek gently.

“Shit, querida. I’m sorry. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

Breathing deep and slow, you tilt your head to meet his eyes.

“Yes. For you to stop fussing. Sit down, Francisco. Your nervous energy is making me stressed.”

He exhales carefully, and presses a kiss onto the top of your head.

“Yes ma’am.”

He returns to his original place, and grabs a book from the nightstand.

“Have you read this already?” he asks, showing you the cover.

You shake your head, and he flips to the first page.

“It sounds good, actually. You comfy, cielito?”

You nod gently, holding his gaze. He flashes you one of his signature smiles – the rare, genuine, time stopping ones – and begins to read softly, in that dulcet, honeyed voice of his.

He reads to you for hours. You were only awake for 45 minutes, but he continued reading aloud anyway. Morning becomes afternoon, yellow sunlight beating through the open window. A gentle breeze blows the curtains and ruffles Frankie’s hair that is ever so slightly too long for his liking. He’d be perfectly content to read to you like this forever. He’s gotten so into the plot of the book that he doesn’t notice Will stood in the doorframe, watching with those careful eyes of his. They gleam blue in the sunlight, his golden hair glinting like citrine. He eventually catches Frankie’s eyes, and the older man makes his way over to the door, both boys talking in hushed whispers so as not to wake you.

“Has she been okay?” Will asks, eyes scanning your sleeping form.

“Perfectly fine. She was awake for about 45 minutes,” Frankie replies, pride evident in his tone.

“That’s the longest she’s been conscious since. Progress, huh?” Will smiles. Frankie can’t help but smile too. A week ago, they were huddled around your lifeless body, hands deep and bloody in your wound. Now, they’re watching you slumber peacefully, life returned to you like a gift from the universe.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Benny visits, he brings comfort with him.

He uses his key to let himself into Will’s house quietly, aware that you’re most likely asleep. It’s been a week and a half since everything happened, and while you’re awake more and more each day, you’re also still on bed rest.

Creeping up the stairs and peeking his head around the door that’s ajar, he finds Will sat at the end of your bed. You’re awake, but barely. The light shines from the hallway into the bedroom, and illuminates your tear stained cheeks.

Will wipes your cheekbone with his thumb gently, and moves to meet his brother. The older Miller pulls Benny into the hallway, shutting your door momentarily.

“She’s having a real bad day. The worst since she’s been home. The memories are flooding back man, they’re drowning her.”

All the colour is gone from Will’s face. He looks helpless. His brother hates it.

“I don’t know how to help her,” Will continues. “The tears won’t stop. It’s like every time she calms down, another nightmare takes her by surprise. I don’t know what to do, Ben. I don’t know what to do.”

Will’s voice is shaking, tears threatening to spill from those cerulean eyes. He has a hand fisted into the front of Benny’s shirt, as if he’s grounding himself. There’s something unsettling about seeing the calmest person in the room start panicking. Benny doesn’t like it.

“Hey, it’s okay. She’s gonna have bad days, that’s a given. Go get some fresh air, go for a drive or something. I’ve got her. I ain’t gonna leave her.”

Benny looks pointedly at his big brother, and inhales deeply. They exhale together, and Will wipes his face with the back of his hand.

“Are you sure?”

Benny nods. Will trusts him.

“Okay. Call me if you need anything and I will come straight back. I mean it, Ben. Anything.”

Benny pulls his brother into his chest, holding him for a moment. Will isn’t used to being the glue holding everything together, he thinks. It’s usually you.

Will pulls away and starts his journey down the stairs, momentarily pausing to watch Benny straighten his shoulders and clear his throat before opening your door carefully.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he smiles.

You don’t feel gorgeous. No, you feel like you’ve shattered into a million pieces in William Miller’s guest bedroom. The weight of your trauma has come crashing down on top of you suddenly. It’s suffocating and it’s choking you and no matter how many times you inhale, your lungs won’t fill with air. Tears keep streaking down your cheeks despite your best efforts to stifle them. You wonder if you’ll feel like this forever – forced to carry around the weight of surviving something that you weren’t supposed to.

Benny’s never been any good with words. So he tells you what he needs to with his actions instead.

He kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, throwing it on the chair. Then, he unbuttons his jeans and slides them off his legs, tossing them sideways with haphazard aim. The last thing to go is his t shirt, which he shucks over his head with ease, landing somewhere with the rest of his clothes. He moves across the room towards you and pulls back the comforter. He strokes your cheek with his knuckles gently, looking at you carefully to gauge your reaction. When he’s satisfied, he climbs into bed behind you, pulling you mindfully to sit in between his legs, his chest pressed to your back. He pulls the comforter back up over the two of you, and uses his arms to cage you in to him, enveloping you in his warmth.

Benny’s always run hot. You joke that he’s like a walking space heater, a radiator if you ever need one. Right now, it’s like having your own ball of sunshine, warming you gently from the outside in. You feel the safest you have in two weeks.

“Relax, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. He pulls you in tighter, and nudges your head to rest in the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply – the first real breath you’ve been able to take all day. He smells like sunshine, and salt, and sandalwood, and safety. You relax into him and let all the tension leave your body. You let go of the flashbacks, and the fear, and the chaos, and surrender yourself to Benny.

He stays with you like that for three days. He doesn’t separate himself from you more than a few inches for 72 whole hours, keeping his arms wrapped around you from behind, as if holding you together. When he gets up to go to the bathroom, he takes you with him. You stay attached for three days, skin to skin, allowing his warmth to seep into your bones, to settle your nerves. You’re convinced that no medicine could heal you the way Benny is. Science doesn’t have a match for this. It never will.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Santiago visits, he brings his guitar.

The first time he came to see you, right at the beginning, he sat with you for 20 minutes before he careened out of the room, gasping for air. The silence was strangling him, sending him into some sort of panic attack. Then, the guilt settled, and he felt like he’d betrayed you so badly that he couldn’t bring himself to go back in. He sat on the floor of the hallway with his back pressed against the door for 6 hours before Will returned home, concern coursing through his veins.

When Santiago explained what had happened, Will looked at him knowingly.

“You don’t have to be deathly silent, you know. You can watch some TV, turn the radio on. Frankie reads to her. Benny talks her ear off - doesn’t stop fucking rambling. I walked in the other day and he was explaining the current state of the NBA to her, team by team. She’ll sleep no matter what.”

Santiago nods, patting Will on the back lovingly before leaving, weighed down by shame.

The next time he visits, he brings his guitar.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s hoping you’ll be asleep. It’s easier to play for you if you aren’t looking at him like he hung the moon with those big, bright eyes of yours. But, lo and behold, he walks into the room you’ve made your own, and you’re wide awake.

“Hi, handsome,” you smile. “Where you been?”

“Oh, you know,” he smirks, “just caring for all the pretty girls that need my help.”

“And here I thought I was special,” you tease.

That smile of yours wraps itself around his heart, tangling in the core of him. You’ve always had that effect on the boys. One grin from you, and all of their problems melt away, even if just for a moment.

“You staying today, or you gonna run away again?”

You’re joking with him. Why are you trying to make him laugh? You should be upset, telling him that he’s a bad friend, that all of the other boys have sat with you for hours, so why can’t he?

But instead, you continue.

“I’m kidding, Santi. I get it, you know. I don’t think I’d be able to sit in a room with you lying there all half dead and helpless if the roles were reversed.”

You’re looking at him with so much understanding in your eyes that he has to choke down the tears that are trying to escape from him.

“It’s not that. It’s just – it’s my fault, bebita. You wouldn’t have even been in Colombia if it wasn’t for me. I’m the reason you got shot.”

He’s crying now – heavy, ugly sobs crawling their way from his chest, up to his throat. His knees give out, and he sits on the side of the bed, hands fisting in your comforter.

“Santi, baby. Hey. Look at me. Please, Pope.”

Your pleading gets his attention. He looks at you with those red rimmed, watery eyes, and your heart breaks so hard you swear you can hear it shatter.

“It wasn’t your fault, Santi. I followed you out there voluntarily. We all did. You know I’d follow you anywhere. I still would. It could have been any of us that got hurt. I’m glad it was me. I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing any of you in a hospital bed. It’d break me.”

You’re crying now too, at the thought of one of the boys in your situation. The bullets, the blood, the makeshift bandages they shoved into your side, ripping their shirts and tearing apart anything they could find. You couldn’t have survived that, if the roles were reversed. You wouldn’t have wanted to.

You press your forehead to his, hands tangling in the front of his shirt. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, needing you as close as possible.

You fall asleep like that, face pressed into him, his heartbeat in your ear. Santiago tucks you back into bed gently and takes his place in the armchair, settling down. Pulling his guitar out of the case, he tunes it slowly, meticulously, before beginning to strum the strings carefully. He picks at the strings, playing you tune after tune, only stopping to stretch his arms and crack his knuckles. He plays for you for hours, time slipping by him like sand through his palms. When you wake, you keep your eyes closed, savouring his presence for just a moment longer.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Will doesn’t visit.

He sticks steadily by your side, day in, day out. If Frankie visits for 6 hours, Will sits with you for the other 18. When Benny holds you for 3 days, Will gets anxious, popping his head around the doorframe every few hours, checking in just in case. Since everything happened, Will’s whole universe has revolved around you. Which, he’s realising, is the way it’s always been. His whole world has always been you. He’s just been forced to confront that truth now, and it’s scaring him.

He’s suddenly aware of the fact that he almost lost you. He’s never felt fear like that before. He’s had men press guns to his temple, shoot at him from mere feet away, fight him with their fists. That’s nothing, now. He’d take that any day over watching you lie there, drenched in crimson, dripping with pain. His hands, twisted into your side, wet and slipping, trying to quell the dam that’s broken inside of you. Your eyes, looking into his, terror grasping your whole body like a cold chill. When he falls asleep at night, all he can hear is the way you said his name, like it was the last thing tethering you to the Earth.

He makes a silent vow to himself. A promise - to never let you go again. To protect you forever, no matter what. All of this trauma has just made him love you more. He’s not sure what the future will look like, for him, or for you. But he knows that right now, you need him.

And so he pours all of his love into his actions. He makes you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and sits with you as you eat slowly. He eats at your speed, too - always doing everything at your pace. He combs your hair every morning gently, brushes your teeth twice a day carefully. He tucks you in when you fall asleep, pulling the comforter around you, keeping you safe and warm. As soon as one of the other boys leaves, he takes their place, sitting in the armchair – making sure you’re never alone. Whenever you’re awake, he listens to you pointedly, nodding and smiling. When you have a bad day, he’s right there next to you, wiping the tears from your cheeks and murmuring reassurances gently.

He watches as slowly but surely, you come back to yourself. You’re awake more often, smiling more confidently, cracking jokes and asking for laughs. The two of you are chatting like you used to, about nothing and everything. And you watch as slowly but surely, he returns to Will. The frown lines in his forehead become less pronounced, the worry in his eyes fades slightly. The smiles he throws your way are bigger, more genuine. The scales balance out again.

You’ve been in bed for two weeks when you decide to ask him for a favor.

“Hey, Will?” you query, looking at the blond man who’s currently folding laundry on the dresser.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he replies instantly, ready to give you anything you could possibly ask for.

“Can we go outside? I think I might go insane in this room real soon,” you smile, bright and bold.

He beams at you, relief washing over him like an ocean wave. You haven’t left your bed for a fortnight. He’s offered a couple of times, but you refused, scared to leave the comfort of the safe haven you’ve created. But you’re ready now.

“Of course we can. You want me to carry you?”

His tone is light, jesting, but you know he’s being serious. Neither of you are actually sure if you can walk all the way outside.

“I can walk if you carry me down the stairs? Not sure I’m quite ready for those yet.”

He grins at you, and your heart stops. That smile of his seeps into your pores, lifts you up, sends energy flowing through your veins. You’re alive, and you’re okay, and Will Miller is looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You feel invincible.

Admittedly, it does take you 20 minutes to get from your room to the back patio. Will throws a strong arm beneath yours, holding you up as you take the journey step by step. When you reach the stairs, he picks you up bridal style, carrying you carefully. Before he sets you back on your feet, he nudges his nose to yours, still grinning.

The sun soaks into your skin outside, gentle breeze rippling your t shirt that you’re now realising is Benny’s. The leaves rustle in the trees, and you inhale the world, as if seeing it again for the first time. Will sits right next to you on the bench, hand holding yours tightly, fingers interlaced as if he’s worried you’ll blow away.

You glance at Will’s watch and see that it’s only 1pm. You have so much time left. So many possibilities to be fulfilled, so many people to love, so many places to see. But for now, you press yourself into the blond man’s side, settling in. You fit perfectly. Almost as if this is where you belong.

“Can’t believe I almost died without telling you I love you,” you murmur. It’s quiet, but he hears you, loud and clear.

“It’s okay,” he reassures. “You’re here now. We have time. So much time.”

“Forever,” you whisper. “We have forever.”

He turns to look at you in the hues of the bright afternoon. His blond hair is glowing gold, and his blue eyes match the sky, hopeful and full of promise. His hands come up to cradle your face, and he caresses your cheeks with his thumbs, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. He moves in closer, and nudges his nose into yours. He breaks out into a grin, and you can’t help but join him. Leaning in, he presses his lips to yours, soft and reassuring. You melt into him, running one hand into his hair, the other at the nape of his neck. He pulls you impossibly closer, until every part of you is pressed together. The sun is still beaming, and the birds are chirping, and you have time.

“Forever,” he whispers into your mouth when he breaks the kiss.

“Forever,” you murmur back. “We have time.”

You have time.

You have time.

[deepdisireslonging]

A Good Handle on Things

The Reader turns heel, which turns on her boyfriend. Despite not having much time to explore the possibilities, the Reader makes the best of it.

Pairing: Will Ospreay x Reader

Warnings/Promises: public SMUT in a closet, subby!Will, handjob, oral (male receiving), quickie, implied further smut

Word Count: 1215

Note: Happy Easter! This Ospreay guy is starting to grow on me. I haven't thought much about writing for him. Let’s change that, shall we? Happy reading!

To the roar of the crowd, you happily left the arena. Things were going perfectly. Your new gear was a hit. And, more importantly, the crowd despised your heel turn. The cost was high, threatening your relationship with over half of the women’s division. Maybe with the heat, more people would become invested in what you ladies were up to, and Tony Khan would finally agree to more TV time.

You were as much of a success backstage as the crowd hated you out front. After receiving your congratulations for becoming AEW’s most hated woman, you practically skipped to your dressing room.

Where a tall drink of tea was leaning against your door.

“Well done, love. Couldn’t have stabbed my best friend in the back better myself.” Will wrapped your arms around his neck so he could bury his nose into your hair. “No hard feelin’s between us, right? I don’t think I’d survive being your next target.”

“Not that I can think of,” you said with a giggle. Then you leaned into his embrace. And pressed into something promising. “Will, honey. Is there something else hard between us?”

He looked up at the ceiling, innocent as a rotten rosebud. “Maybe-“ he dragged out. “And maybe… I think I like you best as a heel. It’s… it’s something, ta say the least.”

“To the least.” You bit your bottom lip, and started curling your fingers in the short hairs at the base of his neck. “I’m glad you like my new schtick. But, I hate to break it to you,” you reached past him and opened the door into your dressing room, “but we’ve got to hit the road.”

“But-“ He followed you in. Snagging your wrist, he pinned you to the inside of the door. “But I want to see this other side of you. I want to-“ he pressed his lips to your forehead, sliding your wrists over your head, “I want to explore your bad girl side.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll have to explore me later. We’ve got a bit of a drive, and then an early morning in just a few hours. Maybe tomorrow night?”

With a pout, he moved out of your space so you could change and toss the last of your things into your suitcase. On your way out, people kept stopping you to have you repeat bits of your promo. Will didn’t seem bothered by it. At least, not irked enough to tell people to buzz off. But he kept shifting his weight. Avoiding your gaze when you’d finish. His hand seemed twitchy when you took it. And he was limping.

“Are you okay?” You guided him and the luggage to one side so you could give him a once over out of the way of the pack-up crew. “Did you pull something in your match? Did the Doc look you over yet?”

He muttered short, flustered things to keep your hands off his ribs. But when he shifted his weight again, his grey sweatpants revealed the problem. “Really, it’s nothing. Nothing I can’t- can’t handle later.”

“Later? You can’t drive with… that.” You had to smile at his antics. It was sweet of him to not push his desire onto you when he was so obviously in need. You looked around. Until you spotted a doorknob. You dragged him towards it, gasping in delight when it turned under your grasp.

Will tried to resist. “But- you said- you said we have an early morning. And we- we could get locked in here.”

“Not the worst thing we’ve done. Besides, there’s always some of the guys that stay late. They’ll see our luggage and know we’re still nearby. Or they’ll call.” You held up your phone, activating the flashlight so that you had a little illumination. It was then that you could see how Will’s chest heaved. How his eyes drank you in. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it more than before. “I haven’t touched you yet, and you already look like I’ve ravaged you,” you whispered. It was supposed to come out as a laugh, but your own breath was short. And your heart pounded in your ears.

Outside, the packing-up of the show drifted away. At any moment, surely, your phone would start ringing.

“We-“ you licked your lips. “We don’t have much time.”

You tugged at Will’s sweats and brazenly pulled his length into the open. He groaned loudly, making you reach up to slap your other hand over his mouth. He laid his palm over your knuckles, reaching back with his other hand to steady himself against the wall.

The Heel rose up inside you.

“You gonna be quiet for me?” you whispered. Gently giving him a twist, you leaned in to lick at the underside of his jaw. Will’s eyes rolled back and he moaned again. “Gonna be good for me?”

He nodded frantically, thrusting into your grasp.

How many times had he taken you like this? In his dressing room or yours, or in some empty hallway. Shoving his hand down your pants to curl his fingers into your desperate slick while the other one kept you quiet. Now you know why he did it so frequently. It made your breath stutter to see him shake with need. To feel his length pulse in your hand. In the bare gleam of your phone, his eyes fluttered as your tugging and twisting quickened. You pressed your thighs together, rubbing them for a bit of friction that would never be enough. You didn’t care. Will’s grip tightened over your hand on his mouth. His nails bit into your skin.

“Getting close, pretty boy?”

A broken whimper was his reply.

You maneuvered your grip until you could press Will’s hand over his mouth. “Being so good for me. Letting me boss you around. Keep it up. Just a bit longer.” With that, you sank to your knees.

Your lips had barely wrapped around his length before he was throwing his head back. His release filled your mouth, spilling out and dripping onto your shirt. Doing his best to follow your order, he pressed his hand hard over the sounds that tried to escape as he rode out the high.

When he was spent, you tucked him back into his pants. And you tugged at the bottom of his sweatshirt till he let you steal it.

“I’ll change into another shirt when we get the bags to the car.”

His eyes were wild as he tried to catch his breath. Running your fingers over his cheeks and forehead, his flushed skin told you everything you’d ever need to know about whether to try this again or not.

“But-“ he gasped, swallowing hard, “but you?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get mine later.” You let wickedness overtake the gleam in your eye. “Maybe I can put on a show for you?” He grabbed your wrist, dragging you out of the hall cupboard. The bags tipped over, rolling and sliding across the concrete until he had all of their straps and handles under control. “Well, come on, then. I can’t leave my bad girl waiting. And for the record,” he kissed you hard, pinning you against a trellis, “you can boss me around any time.”

***

Masterlist

Other hallway quickies:

Jealous - Smut with Elias

If We Get Caught - Smut with Jimmy Uso

Finish Me - Smut with MJF

Back Hallways - Smut with Roman Reigns

Our Princess - Bobby Fish x Reader x Kyle O’Reilly

[liveforjeongin]

Go On...

This is literally the first fic I've ever written that's not a request so I feel very proud of that

I wrote this one thinking on my baby (@itzsana-kiddingmenow) (and with her indirect help-) so I hope it's good enough and just as amazing as she is<333

-tickle fic, if you don't like that you can keep scrolling

lee!Jisung ler!Changbin

requested by: no one

warnings: ticklish kisses, nuzzles, kinda short(???

taglist: @itzsana-kiddingmenow @channieissocute125

➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷

Hannie was in his room, doing nothing more than staring at the ceiling, kind of bored but not really.

Changbin had just finished writing a new song he had been working really hard on, and was really proud of it, he wanted to show it to someone, just to listen to some other opinions.

Of course the first people he wanted to show it to were the other 2 members of 3racha, but small problem, Chan wasn't at home at that moment.

That didn't stop the rapper, he went to show it to Hannie anyway, he can tell Chan once he's back.

"Hannie? You awake?" Binnie asked when he entered the room, even though it was only 8pm, you never know with Jisung.

"Oh hey, hyung. Come in" Sung waved the older, moving a little so he can lay down next to him.

Bin sat on the younger's bed showing him his phone with his new song "What do you think? I think is good, but probably not my best job"

Hanji read it carefully "This is amazing, hyung!" He said after a while, returning the phone to his hyung.

The dwaekki smiled softly "Oh, well... I think it's good, yes"

He then felt a bit affective, so he cuddled his dongsaeng, nuzzling a little on his neck.

Hannie giggled a little at this "Hyuhuhuhung..."

Bin just continued at it "What?"

"Yohohohou're..." Sung couldn't complete the sentence, the word was too much for him.

But Binnie finally realized what he was doing "Oh. Am I tickling you?" He stopped "Sorry, I didn't mean to" he said to the younger, just cuddling him now.

The quokka boy couldn't help but pout

He didn't want him to stop

But couldn't ask for it... He was too flustered to do so, so he just kept pouting, hoping his hyung realized and helped him.

However, Changbin seemed to be oblivious at Hannie's wishes, and even closed his eyes, getting comfier there with his dongsaeng.

Jisung didn't want to ask him to tickle him

But ended up doing it anyway

"H-Hyung..." He called him as tapped his shoulder

"Yes?" The older opened his eyes and looked at him

"I... Didn't really want you to stop..."

Changbin didn't understand at first, but then realization hit him.

Hannie wanted him to tickle him

And he will gladly do it

Almost immediately, the dwaekki sat on the younger's hips, raising his arms above his head, to immobilize him.

"You ready for it~?" Bin teased, to which Hanji nodded shyly

The older decided to start on a spot he knew Hannie loved: his belly. Started scribbling gently but extremely tickly all over it, provoking some cute giggles out of Jisung, besides a cute blush on his cheeks as well.

"Awww~ Is this good, Hannie?" Binnie asked, kind of teasing, kind of actually asking.

Han could just nod, making the ler grin.

Soon, Changbin changed of spot and technique, now starting to squeeze his younger's side, making his way to his ribs as well, not limiting at just one side of his torso, but going for the other one too.

Hannie, meanwhile, couldn't do much than giggle and blush. He was totally loving this, and Bin knew that.

Changbinnie felt like trying something he hadn't before, not sure if he should, but risking anyway.

He leaned down a little, blowing some air on Sungie's ear, not expecting it to tickle him that much, but it certainly did.

"OH MY GOHOHOD, that's bahahahad hyung!" Bin just grinned at his strong reaction, and, using the fact he was close to it, decided to give him little ticklish kisses on his neck, while whispering some teases he knew would have him bright red, while at the same time, the tickling on Han's sides and ribs got a little bit rougher. "You just love this too much, hmm~? You can't take it~? Too bad~ You asked for it, you're stuck here~"

Jisung's face soon was extremely red, he was too easily flustered for this- But despite of that, he didn't want it to stop just yet, so didn't say anything.

They kept it like that for a while, until Hannie thought he really had had enough "OkaHAHAHAY hyung! StohohohoHOHOP IT Now please!"

Bin of course stopped immediately, and got off the younger "I'm sorry, was it too much...?" He asked concerned when he saw Hannie panting slightly

But Sung of course shook his head "No, hyung... It was great..." He hugged him "Thank you..." Mumbled shyly

Changbin just smiled softly at him, hugging him and rubbing his back "No problem, Hannie"

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I liked this one😻

I feel it's too short, but good anyway

I hope y'all like it as well :3

[gingerbreadmonsters]

glass jaw

or: bruised, the apple of my black eye.

graphic blood, violence, and injury warnings, cutesy gory found vampire family shenanigans. i went to the haunted theme park in the middle of the woods at midnight, and all i got was this candy apple of temptation. what's up with that? alexis being the world’s best big sister in just over 8600 words.

warnings for gratuitous blood, violence and gore, graphic descriptions of injury and intent to grievously harm, and, like, one teeny tiny moment of cannibalism. i strongly encourage you to mind the warnings, and to stop reading at ANY point if you feel uncomfortable. reader discretion is advised. minors dni, 18+ only. please consider yourself warned. 

longtime readers may be aware of my sinophone!solaires hc, so ENGLISH SPEAKING READERS - for the love of GOD please check this pronunciation guide i made for the mandarin you're about to see. i PROMISE it'll help!! 💕💕💕

There’s blood everywhere.

It’s a shame. The room was quite tidy when they started – ugh, don’t say it’s got onto the upholstery again. Vampiric blood is impossible to get out of silk, and it costs a fortune to get it professionally cleaned. At least the wooden panelling in here is dark enough to hide most of the spatter.

(Thankfully, baba’s off entertaining the little ankle biters at the moment – and something about a meeting with an old friend, later on? He didn’t say when he was coming back, but it can’t be soon. Hopefully they’ll be able to deal with most of the mess before he gets back. Damned old man never wants them to have any fun.)

How long has it been? Seconds? Hours? It’s difficult to tell. She’d only come in here to sit down, feet hurting from her patrol at Wonderworld, wanting to just lie across the sofa and scroll mindlessly on her phone for an hour or two. She'd almost succeeded, too – until the furious pacing from the other side of the house had got closer and closer.

Vincent had spotted her through the doorway, carelessly cracked open, and… well. He must have had a pretty horrible day.

He’d surprised her, hurling the glass of water in his hands at her head with a sudden hiss. She’d only barely caught it in her peripheral vision, jerking back against the sofa just in time to let it whistle past her face and shatter against the far wall.

No words necessary. Vincent had snarled at her, slamming the door shut behind him, and she’d known exactly what he wanted.

It’s a habit of theirs. A bad one, maybe, but knowing it doesn’t make it any easier to break.

Heavy bodies hitting the floor, skin and spit and bone, this time it might be different. Her shin slamming into his ribs, his elbow smashing into her jaw. Blood clots underneath elegantly manicured nails, and the splinters of what used to be a wisdom tooth are spat onto the side table. It’ll grow back.

Gravity. The inescapable pull. Space bends and folds at the mercy of an impossibly strong grip, worlds and stars and planets collide, and the precious children of William Solaire once again destroy each other.

You might think that it’s madness. That it’s like some crazed, bloodthirsty, animal state that descends upon them, that it’s like they’re totally different people. You’d be wrong. Both of them are perfectly, boringly sane when it happens. There’s no madness here, no delusion – just a brother and a sister who hate and hate and hate.

She’s entirely rational when she tries to sever his spinal column with her teeth, he’s not confused about why he’s trying to rip her arm from its socket. It's never an accident. Tearing each other apart comes naturally.

Cruel spikes of broken glass glitter in Vincent's hair, the smashed mirror above the mantelpiece reflecting the thousand shallow cuts that now litter his scalp, leaking bright, scarlet blood down the back of his neck. Her forearm aches from the impact, the force of a vampiric skull smashing through the glass and into the bricks behind having radiating up through her hand, where her fingers were twisted into Vincent's hair – mostly for grip, but also to keep him from biting them off completely.

It hadn't quite worked, but whatever. She glances down at the ragged chunk of her wrist that isn't there any more, shredded fibres hanging loose, and glares at Vincent as he finishes chewing his mouthful of skin and veins and raw, twitching muscle.

He grins, wide and pretty, fangs slick and gums stained with her blood. “New perfume?”

Bastard. Like he didn't steal it off her vanity this morning, like she couldn’t fucking smell it on him when he came downstairs for breakfast.

“Depends,” she replies, and lets the fistful of dark, meticulously-conditioned and carefully-styled hair still in her hand fall to the floor. “New haircut?”

Vincent's eyes narrow, black and predatory, and, as always, she feels her mouth start to water. He's imagining what it’ll feel like to kick her through the picture window and watch her impact the paved surface of the driveway below, and she's imagining what it'll be like to dig her fingernails inside his stomach and claw out all of the softness she can find.

It’s so easy to get lost in it, the cleansing rage. Nothing but fury, white-hot and shameful as it roars alive under her skin, until she's scraped raw inside and out. The same manic look paints itself across their faces, the same sadistic glee that only comes with doing something you know you shouldn’t.

Well, they're both just as bad as each other. Perhaps it runs in the family.

She lunges, teeth bared, grabbing his shirt to try and slam him back into the brickwork – but like lightning, he lurches to the side and uses her momentum to grab her waist and hurl her bodily into the wall. Wood splinters and flecks of glass go flying as they claw at each other, blood spatter dripping down the window panes and soaking into the finely-patterned carpet.

Her ears ring when Vincent seizes the back of her head and slams her face-first into the doorframe, but she gets her own back as her broken nose puts itself back together, watching the side of Vincent’s chest collapse when she clubs him hard in the side with a metal candelabra. Sweet revenge.

Gasping for breath, he dodges out of the way of her fist and grabs her arm, pulling her painfully into the front of the heavy, wooden console table. She manages to catch his ankle with her foot as she goes, though, hooking it out from under him and shoving him down to the floor. His other hand is still locked around her wrist, so he yanks on her arm to twist himself around, landing heavily on his back instead of his front.

Luckily, she manages to keep her balance, but he can see it coming now – instead of the satisfying crunch she was hoping for, he barely manages to jerk his head out of the way so the sole of her slipper impacts the carpet instead of his eye socket. It sends a spike of pain up her shin, but she ignores it in favour of shielding her head, so the impact of him kicking her backwards into the bookcases doesn't stun her too much.

It’s kind of hilarious, when you think about it. Other families don’t cause thousands of dollars of property damage trying to violently maim and murder each other when they get bored, do they?

In hindsight, it seems almost inevitable they’d turn out like this. For a long time after Vincent’s turning, they’d fought almost constantly, and nobody had ever been able to quite understand why.

It used to be unbearable, having them in the same room together. Bitter glares and cutting remarks, sniping and biting at each other from across the table. Ba always complained about how they gave him headaches – the static whine of furious, mutual hatred, the pressure of all that blinding intensity in one place, with nowhere else to go but him.

He never took sides, and it stung every time. In her head, she knows he was right to. There aren’t the words to describe how much worse that would have made it. But deep inside, she couldn’t help the sick, dizzy feeling of her Maker abandoning her, leaving her – a necessary, instinctive fear of being cast out from the safety of his world and the shelter of his presence.

She’s his blood, she’s his, she’s his. They’re a family.

You can’t say that either of the two of them is entirely innocent. Alexis knows that there are parts of her that Vincent’s right to hate, and there are parts of him that she’s right to hate, too. They’ve both done terrible, awful things, too many to name, to other people and each other alike. Anyone else would say that one is just as awful as the other, and that with the way they’re carrying on, neither of them is making it any better whatsoever.

A boring answer, in short.

Because it’s not actually about that, is it? There’s something else too, something too tender and complicated for them to ever really unravel, the sugary decay of undeath that turns their spit to venom and their hunger to thirst. Vincent’s all the things she left behind, and she’s all the things he never had, and it’s all bundled up with the howling wasteland of the world that neither of them should ever have left.

Everyone regrets their Turning, whether they say so or not. Some regret it more than others, it’s true, but nobody gets away unscathed. The only reason it’s ever been a problem is because the House of Solaire tend to take their regrets out on each other.

(She rakes her nails across Vincent’s pretty face, deep, intentional gouges that would surely scar if he couldn’t sew himself back together so fast. He drives his foot into her knee in return, forcing the joint to fold in on itself the wrong way, and the world goes white with agony for the split second before it begins to heal.)

Sometimes, people wonder how they fixed it. How they get along so much better now, like a real brother and sister should. They never actually ask, and nobody will ever tell, but she isn’t stupid enough not to know what they’re thinking.

It shouldn’t be real. They bicker and pinch and steal each other’s clothes – she takes his keys from the drawer and drives his car instead of hers because it’s nicer, and she deliberately won’t leave him any money for petrol. He plays his music far too loudly in the room next door when he knows she’s got work to do, and eats her snacks out of the fridge without remorse, even if they’re labelled. Annoying, yes, but hardly the curse-yelling, death-threatening carnage their house used to be.

In fact, you could almost say they’re too well-behaved. They stay up late together in the living room, surrounded by every phone and laptop and tablet they can find, refreshing and refreshing the stupid ticket lottery website for the concert Vincent wants to go to of the band that she hates. They wear as many layers as they can stand and bring those UV umbrellas that block out the sunlight, so they can go out in the daytime and queue up for that pop-up event downtown that she’s been dying to go to.

Even the endless, complicated trappings of polite vampiric society are standard fare for them now. Vincent doesn’t complain when he has to stand by her vanity for twenty minutes passing her hairpin after hairpin, and Alexis waits by the front door to do his tie for him, because she’s better at doing the complicated knots that go in and out of fashion. They dress up nicely for every society ball, kissing each other on the cheek and fetching each other drinks and dancing the volta just like everybody else.

She lends him whatever jewellery he wants out of her jewellery box because it’s prettier than his. He pesters their father into letting them go to Disneyland in the evening when it’s dark and they won’t get sunburnt, three days in a row when they should be working because it’s her birthday and she wants to take pictures in front of the castle and eat the special coloured candyfloss they always have at this time of year. They proofread each other’s work documents and curl up under the same blanket on the sofa and leave their shoes next to each other by the door every day.

Shiny, red, and utterly forbidden – a devil’s deal is a wonderful thing. The apple seed of temptation took root in her sour, bloated stomach, and a shallow grave blossomed into a beautiful family tree.

It makes baba so happy that they get along now, and that makes them happy too. They’re never going to tell anyone how they do it. Isn’t there some saying about magic and secrets?

(Her arm isn’t quite back in its socket yet, shoulder screaming in pain, but it won’t stop her trying to choke Vincent unconscious against the bookcase. He spits a warm mouthful of blood and venom into her face in thanks, and knees her hard in the stomach.)

Vampiric houses are famously secretive, especially the older ones. It pretty much comes with the territory – the diet alone tends to be rather off-putting for outsiders, to say nothing of the other… well, the other habits that vampirism bestows. Generally, vampires prefer to keep the company of their own kind, and the intrinsic bond between maker and progeny is a rather powerful reason to stay.

Clans have always been compared to families in that way, and the House of Solaire takes it very seriously indeed. More so than most, although it’s not an uncommon thing. Turnings tend to isolate a person from their human friends and family. It would be remiss of their new clan, surely, not to step in and fill that void however they can?

As different as some things are, there’s no escaping human nature. If William’s taught them anything about surviving in this world, about protecting their family, it’s that nothing is off-limits. Whatever is necessary, they do without question. Knowledge, money, sex, power. Blood is blood, always. How else would the Solaire name have prospered for so long? How else will it continue?

Perhaps it’s cliche, but it’s true. Old blood means old money, and it doesn’t get much older than vampiric blood. Her world is a world of private invitations, expensive dresses, and strategic gossip – whatever you could imagine about the secretive lives of a shadowy vampiric aristocracy, it’s probably true. Champagne was made to be whispered over, after all. Long lives mean plenty of time to develop some rather particular tastes, and an instinctive thirst for blood does lend itself well to a certain nonchalance about the insides of a human body.

She’d been surprised at first, an uncomfortable revulsion that she’d had to unlearn, but she’d got used to it eventually. Vincent had too, and although it took him a little longer, he’s almost as good at playing this game as she is. Say what you will about the House of Solaire, but they are very, very good at what they do.

Nothing breeds rumours like success, and William Solaire is truly blessed. A golden name, a golden fortune, and two golden children to match.

There were always going to be rumours, certainly. Of what they might be doing behind closed doors, their ambitions for the future of their house, the secrets that lie at the heart of it. Of fresh scars in strange places, the truth of their allegiance to their father, of brothers and sisters doing things that brothers and sisters shouldn’t be doing.

You couldn’t prove any of it, obviously, and nobody ever says the words out loud. But she hears them all the same, ringing in her ears as she kisses her father on the cheek at breakfast, filling up her mind as she steals Vincent’s jacket out of his room to go shopping, and she smiles wider than ever before – because if they really knew what was happening behind the gates of Wonderworld, they’d have much more to talk about than wondering what William could possibly be holding over their heads to make them finally behave.

(In all honesty, it’s somehow more and less than you’d think. That’s not the point she’s trying to make right now, but it’s worth saying, all the same.)

They’re never, ever going to let it slip. Nobody’s ever going to know about the way she forces her brother back down onto the floor, driving her elbow into his face, feeling cartilage crack and splinter as he falls backwards in a spray of blood. He tries to scramble away, one hand reflexively covering his face, but he’s too slow - her foot comes down hard on his shin, and the scream he lets out isn’t quite loud enough to cover the sound of bone shattering under her slipper.

Vincent tries to drag himself away, fingernails tearing at the carpet, and she plants her foot on his chest to keep him in place. The break in his nose is almost fixed, crimson blood splattered all over his face, but it seems like his attention has… shifted.

That can’t be right.

He’s not that stupid, surely. What else could he be thinking of, when she could so easily crush his heart in a split second? He’s focusing on something else, but it doesn’t seem to be her – is it behind her? Is there something she can’t see? Why isn’t he paying attention?

And then, for some unknowable reason, apropos of apparently nothing… he smiles.

“What?” she spits, pressing down harder and feeling his ribs creak under the ball of her foot. “What is it?”

Infuriatingly, he chokes on a laugh, thick blood bubbling in his throat as it heals, and gestures weakly up at the wall behind her. His eyes are fixed on something there too – no, not the wall, it’s the—

“You little – fucking hell!”

She barely manages to dodge the chandelier as it comes crashing down on her head, feeling the room spin as Vincent yanks on the ceiling chain hard with a burst of psychokinesis. He manages to throw himself in the opposite direction, hand shielding his eyes as the metal hits the floor and the room fills with the deafening sound of shattering crystal.

Both of them hiss as they’re pelted with broken crystal, slicing tiny, stinging ribbons into their skin that seal up almost as soon as they appear. Shit, that hurts.

“Zhidi!”

She glares at her stupid little brother, half-crouched behind the arm of the sofa. “You’re fucking fixing that.”

“Why?” he snickers, pretending to pout, and she’s so tempted to just drag him out into the hallway by the hair and sling him down the stairs before he can finish the thought. “You’re so much better at magic than me, lili…”

“Yeah,” she grumbles, crossing her arms in the face of his unapologetic grin, “which means you need the practice more.”

Vincent groans, downcast. “But he’ll be so mad if I do it wrong!”

He huffs when she just sticks her tongue out at him in return, tossing his head to get his hair out of his eyes. “Can’t you just do half, and I’ll copy?”

Narrowing her eyes, she shakes the debris from her slippers and picks her way over to the window. It takes some concentration, but she runs a hand over the splintered mess of the frame, watching as it sews itself back together. “This is my half.”

“But it’s so hard!” he whines, little brat that he is, and she hates how the obvious manipulation still tugs at her heartstrings. He’s sitting cross-legged in front of the sofa now, hands extended over the sparkling rubble of the chandelier. “You make it look so easy, jiejie…”

Alexis sighs, and begrudgingly reaches down to ruffle his hair. Tiny flakes of mirrored glass fall onto the carpet around him as she does it, slicing little papercuts into the tips of her fingers.

“You do all the light fixtures and the mirror, and I’ll do the rest.”

He looks up at her, suspicious. “Half the mirror.”

“Two thirds.”

“Three fifths.”

“Two thirds, and I don’t tell ba you dropped the chandelier.”

“Deal,” he graciously concedes, and they pinkie promise.

She rolls her eyes and pretends she can’t see him grin, knowing full well she’s being far too soft on him. “If he blames it on me, I swear I’ll key your goddamn Volante and make you watch.”

“What? No!” Vincent gasps, looking betrayed. “Don’t you know how much that cost?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says sweetly, “which is why you’re not going to fuck it up, are you?”

He mutters something unflattering in French under his breath, and she snaps her fingers accusingly in his direction. “What was that, didi?”

“Nothing.”

She smiles winningly, before waving her hand and dragging all the books up off the floor and back into the bookcase. “That’s what I thought.”

They clean up in silence for a little while, their earlier animosity dissolving unnoticed into dust. It’s slow going – neither of them are especially gifted with magic, or have very much of it at their disposal, so they have to keep stopping every few minutes or so to recover.

Before long, they’re both out of breath and exhausted, smashed crystal still crunching beneath their feet and coughing up white plumes of plaster dust.

“When’s he even coming back, anyway?” Vincent asks, peering at the tall jade vase he’s trying to coax back together. “Tonight?”

She nods over her shoulder, trying to stitch the long gash in the sofa cushion closed and failing miserably at getting the complicated pattern to match up again. “He didn’t say when, but it can’t b—”

“Fuck.”

Vincent cuts her off, staring down at his phone as it buzzes, before looking up at her with a grimace and turning the screen to face her.

I’ll be home in ten minutes. I’m sure nothing will be broken or out of place when I get back.

Of course he’s coming home earlier than they thought. Of course. Why wouldn’t he?

“What should we do?”

Christ, he’ll be furious once he sees what they’ve done to this room. If they really, really hurry, they might be able to get away with at least a little bit of it, right?

With a huff of exertion, magic builds beneath her palms, and all the fragments of mirrored glass scattered across the room start to shiver as she prepares to sew them all back together. The mantelpiece needs to be fixed, and there’s a whole section of the doorframe that’s almost totally gone, and she doesn’t even want to think about the horrible, gaping wounds in the wooden panelling that need to be repaired and relacquered…

“Come here,” she mutters to Vincent, beckoning him over to her and pressing her palms flat to his chest. He closes his eyes and nods, resting the tips of his fingers at her temples, and they slowly, carefully, start to reach out to each other.

Her threads brush clumsily against his, once then twice then three times, the connection weak and fluttering as they try to concentrate. She stretches as far as she can, searching for that familiar feeling, anticipating the sickening lurch in her stomach that she knows is surely going to come any second, the momentary freefall as her core latches on to his.

When it happens, it takes her by surprise – her knees buckle for just a moment, and she sways slightly from side to side. Vincent rests his forehead against hers to try and keep upright, and she feels his wordless reassurance through the fledgling bond.

How does he do it? Vincent’s only a few inches taller than her, even less so when she’s in heels, and yet he always seems to tower over her – the looming shadow in the corner of her eye, the impossible weight of his gaze on her through the crowd.

The perfect height for dancing, their father had said, laughing gently as they stumbled through a clumsy waltz around the living room. She’d stepped on Vincent’s toes almost as many times as he’d tripped over the hem of her long dress, a poor stand-in for the real one she’d be wearing at the summer ball in a few months’ time. Elbows up, xiaozhi. They will not be so forgiving in Marseille as I am, you know.

Magic pools beneath her skin as she siphons it greedily through the bond, flooding her core with Vincent’s stolen power, and she luxuriates in the sensation for a long, languid moment. Then, she grits her teeth, and focuses.

With the extra rush of his magic, it’s almost laughable how fast she manages to race through most of the remaining cleanup – the blood dripping down the windowpane vanishes, the claw marks in the carpet disappear, and even the mirror above the mantelpiece clicks neatly back together as if it were never broken. The slashes across the back of Vincent’s shirt close up, and all the little chunks of bloody cartilage stuck in her hair vanish without a trace.

Her brother staggers in her arms as she keeps pulling on their bond, and she manages to ease them both down onto the sofa without too much fuss, still trying to get as much of the chandelier fixed as she can. About half of the crystal is back in place, but the chain just won’t – she can’t quite—

“Enough!”

Vincent breaks away from her with a sharp, sudden breath, slumping backwards onto the newly-repaired cushions and clutching weakly at his skull. “Too much, lijie, too much…”

He gestures vaguely towards the door with one hand in what she thinks might be thirst, and she runs out into the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen as fast as she can to get some blood out of the fridge. There’s already a glass on the counter that he must have got out earlier, so she fills it up with the half-empty bottle of O positive.

Sharing their magic always does this, but once he gets enough blood in him, he should be fine in about twenty minutes or so. It’s a lot like bridging, that way. Their cores will be synchronised for a little while, and they’ll be more keenly aware of each other’s magic, but that doesn’t really mean much when their senses are already so sharp.

A vampire’s core isn’t magically rich enough to do a huge amount all at once, so sharing magic like this is generally their best bet for doing things quickly. It lets them make the most of their limited reserves – rather than working individually, one of them can keep feeding the other magic as they concentrate on the whole picture.

Her steps are quiet but urgent as she runs back upstairs with the blood, slippered feet sliding a little on the kitchen tile. How much longer have they got until ba gets back, again?

When she pushes the door open, Vincent hasn’t moved, still sprawled across the sofa with a hand pressed over his eyes. Gently, she folds the fingers of his other hand around the glass, and he mumbles out a slurred thanks as he gulps the whole thing down in almost one swallow.

She’s just about to try the chandelier again, threads uncomfortably sore and stretched, when there’s a sudden sound from downstairs. The faintest jangling of keys, the scrape of tiny metal pins in the cylinder as the lock turns, and all of a sudden—

“Hui jia le.”

Downstairs in the foyer, he doesn’t have to shout. He already knows they can hear him.

Vincent curses silently, staggering up off the sofa and disappearing off to his room as she flings whatever magic she can at the chandelier chain. If she can just get it to stay together until he goes out again, they can probably recover enough magic between them to be able to fix it properly, right?

“Lili?” Ba’s voice is soft yet confused, the quiet sounds of him taking his shoes off and hanging up his overcoat, wondering why they’re not saying anything. “Xiaozhi, where are you?”

The question is entirely redundant – they all know that he can feel exactly where in the house they are. Vincent isn’t saying anything, so should she keep quiet as well…?

No, it’ll be too suspicious if neither of them goes and sees him, so she throws one last worried glance at the chandelier and hurries out of the room. When she gets to the top of the stairs, he’s just putting his slippers on, and she does her best to keep her heart slow and her smile easy when he looks up and notices her.

“There you are,” murmurs baba, and holds out his arms for her.

Is it embarrassing, how quickly she scrambles down the stairs and throws herself at him? He laughs, strong hands catching her waist and lifting her clear off the floor in a brief, joyful circle. “Ah, I have missed you, chérie.”

“Missed you too,” she says into his shirt, curling happily into his chest as he wraps his arms around her, fondly kissing the top of her head. The Maker’s bond between them sings at their closeness, warm and comforting as it bubbles in her chest, and she feels him smile even though she can’t see it.

“Vincent is upstairs?”

“He, um…”

The words freeze on her tongue as she tries to figure out a half-truth that she’ll actually be able to say – she can’t lie outright, but she can say something that’s technically true, even if it’s not the whole story.

“Headache,” she mumbles noncommittally, and crosses her fingers that he won’t push it.

Ba hums quietly in acknowledgement, seemingly in acceptance. “I see. Was the patrol alright?”

He smooths his hand over her back in wide, slow circles, just the right amount of pressure. “No trouble, I hope.”

She shakes her head, and tries her best to relax. “Just some unempowered kids, looking for somewhere to have a bonfire. It was easy.”

There’d been about six or seven of them piled into some beaten-up old thing, driving down the abandoned road that leads to the gates of Wonderworld, clearly not sure where they were going. Even if she hadn’t spotted the dim headlights through the trees, or heard that god-awful music from the speakers inside, she probably could have smelt them coming – whatever they were drinking, it seemed less like moonshine and more like rubbing alcohol. If they go blind, it’s not her fault.

They’d stopped just before the gates, about to get out when she’d suddenly appeared by the driver’s-side window. He’d been surprised to see her, tapping at the glass until he rolled it down, and she’d taken the opportunity to have a little fun with it before she’d have to trance them.

Mm, you boys are out late, she’d drawled, leaning forwards and resting her arms along the edge of the window. Can I… help you, with anything?

She’s not stupid – she knows exactly what she looks like, and she knows exactly what to do with it. There’s always college students from the nearby towns sneaking into the woods at night, and they fall for it every single time.

Ah, it really had been cute. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the way all of their eyes suddenly couldn’t stay on her face, conspicuously flicking back up to her eyes whenever she moved.

Just, uh…

The one driving had really, really tried, shifting awkwardly in his seat as she tilted her head to look down at him. Just lookin’ around, ma’am, nothin’ serious…

Nothing serious? She’d smirked at that, careful not to let them see the sharp tips of her fangs as she reached out to gently brush a stray lock of blonde hair out of his face. Honey, you’ll break my heart, with talk like that.

His friend in the passenger seat still hadn’t stopped staring, slack-jawed, and she’d pushed herself up on her tiptoes to stretch her arm out towards him, pressing the tip of her fingernail under his chin to snap his mouth shut. Oh, it was like something out of a movie! She’d always wanted to do that in real life.

I can think of somewhere you’ll like.

Foolishly, they’d all been very liberal with their eye contact – trancing them had been as easy as anything.

As soon as I stop talking, you’re going to turn this car around and drive all the way back to the freeway, and you’re going to drive all the way to the next city before looking for somewhere to have your little party. You won’t remember this conversation at all, you won’t remember ever meeting anyone here, and you won’t remember anything about me.

She’d smiled nice and wide, scarlet eyes burning into each of them in turn, listening to their terrified hearts race at the monstrous sight of her. Isn’t that right, hm?

They’d nodded in unison, the driver’s hands already back to the wheel, and she’d blown them a kiss as they drove away and disappeared back into the trees. Ah, humans.

“Well, that’s good.”

Ba’s voice shakes her from the memory, slowly guiding her away from the door and towards the kitchen. “That reminds me – you should have heard the little ones tonight, my goodness…”

“Really?” She’s curious, not having met them before. “What did they say?”

Deft fingers pull the carafe of A positive out of the fridge door, and he blinks down at the bare countertop for a second before reaching up and taking a glass out of the cupboard.

“The Aguilars are… they are unchanged, shall we say.”

It makes sense. He’d been over at the Aguilar estate tonight to meet their new blood informally, before the Summit in a few months’ time when they’ll be properly introduced. The family is always very friendly, and she gets on very well with the aunties there.

Poor Vincent doesn’t like them as much as she does, but that’s mostly to do with that god-awful girl – a cousin from one of the branching bloodlines, she’s fairly sure – who’s had a crush on him ever since he was Turned, and who follows him around incessantly whenever they’re at the same parties. It’s hilarious to watch him try to shake her off, and the look of relief on his face when she finally steps in and makes up some lie about how he promised to dance with her is well worth the hour of complaining he’ll do later in the car on the way home.

The only thing is that it’s a big family. Much bigger than theirs, and it can be rather overwhelming when it gets loud. Obviously, ba doesn’t like to say anything about it, but she can feel his headaches building in the back of her own skull – his stronger senses mean he’s a lot more sensitive to the noise than she and Vincent are.

Still, they’re far more pleasant company than the House of Bennett. The only one who can make that family bearable to be around is cousin Porter, and that’s only because he likes to add a little of his own blood to the drinks so that they actually feel like they’re alcoholic.

She nods, leaning back against the sink. “Chatty, I take it.”

“Little… ah, what is it?” Sipping his glass of blood as he leans against the kitchen table, he gestures vaguely in the air with one hand. “Little pitchers that have big ears.”

It really shouldn’t be a surprise. Big houses mean more gossip, and freshly Turned vampires do love to put their shiny new senses to use.

She shrugs. “As long as they’re not spilling state secrets yet, it’ll be fine.”

“If the state tells its secrets to the House of Aguilar, we are already doomed, mon ange.”

They both laugh, washed in the pale light streaming through the windows, and baba closes his eyes as he reaches up to gently pull the fa zan from his hair.

He likes to tie it back when he goes out, partly to stop the wind from tangling it, and partly because it’s the way he says gentlemen used to be when he was young. Over the years, he’s amassed an almost staggering collection of little clips and ribbons and pins – a not insignificant number as gifts from her and Vincent – that he likes, but he generally just wears it down when he’s at home and there aren’t guests.

The moonlight turns the edges of his black hair to silver as he shakes his head with a relieved sigh, running his fingers through it quickly to smooth it out before flicking it back behind him. He likes to keep it long, at least several inches below his shoulder, and she’s always been so jealous of how he seems to make every hairstyle he tries seem so effortlessly elegant.

“Still,” he continues with a wicked smile, “you will see for yourself when we see them next. I think they will have many things to discuss with you, perhaps.”

He tips his head languidly to the side as he pushes his phone across the table, the screen lit up with a photo of Vincent from last summer. If she remembers correctly, it’s from when they were taking a break at the summer house down by the coast – he’s shirtless, knee deep in the water, turning back to the camera with a rakish grin, dark hair already wet from the splash fight they’d been having and fangs glittering in the moonlight from above.

In short, he looks painfully, achingly handsome. Scandalised, she smacks her father in the shoulder and gasps theatrically, like she can’t believe what he’s done.

“You didn’t!”

“I certainly did.”

“He’ll die!” she whisper-shouts, trying desperately not to laugh too hard. “He’s already having trouble outrunning marriage proposals from one of them, and you’re setting the new blood on him too?”

Ba just shakes his head, imperious, looking down his nose at her like he’s imparting some grave wisdom. “They asked to see a picture of my progenies.”

“So it had to be that picture?”

“I showed your picture as well.”

Resigned, she buries her face in her hands. “I dread to think.”

“Oh, you are so dramatic, chérie,” he laments, and he even has the gall to click his tongue in faux-disapproval when she narrows her eyes at him. “See? The picture is nice!”

It takes him a second to find it, but it’s just as bad as she feared – it’s from the same holiday as Vincent’s photo, probably taken later that night. She’s wearing that nice floaty sundress she bought in Singapore, barefoot in the sand as she blows a kiss to the camera, lips still stained with blood from whatever scarlet cocktail she’s holding in her other hand.

This was exactly his plan, in other words, and she’s going to fucking murder him in his sleep. If any of those upstart little ankle biters tries to chat her up, it won’t be pretty – the last one got a cake fork stabbed straight through his hand and several inches into the table beneath it, and the one before that still visibly trembles at the sound of her stilettos clicking softly against the floor.

“If I kill an Aguilar new blood at the summer ball, it’s your fault,” she mutters threateningly, hissing and baring her fangs at him when he reaches out to take her face in his hands and draw her closer. “I mean it!”

“Of course you do, xiao gong zhu,” he murmurs indulgently, and kisses her forehead. “You are telling me, so it must be true.”

Upstairs, the sound of floorboards creaking, fabric rustling. Vincent.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” ba adds nonchalantly, “about broken things.”

Shit. She blinks, innocent as anything as she beats back the guilty urge inside her that yearns to spill the truth. “What’s broken?”

“Lili.”

He raises an eyebrow, discreetly tapping the shell of his ear, and she strains to figure out what he’s hearing. “I am old, baobei. Not stupid.”

If she listens, really listens, she can just about make something out. Another noise, something much quieter – a sort of stiff, metallic creaking from upstairs, on the other side of the house to Vincent’s bedroom…

Her smile wavers as ba swans serenely past her, disappearing out into the hallway, deft fingers picking up his fa zan from the table as he goes past. “It is nothing, surely. Perhaps you will bring Vincent something for his head while I am changing?”

God fucking damn it – she might be able to fix the chandelier without him noticing, but what are the odds? He’s meeting that friend tonight, and if he’s going to change now then it probably won't be long until he goes out, but there’s no way of knowing if it’ll hold until then.

Scowling, she pours another glass of blood for Vincent, and one more for herself, before reluctantly trudging upstairs.

It's a fact of life, or at least a fact of vampirism: you can’t really have any secrets from your Maker, and that’s even without the whole truth-compulsion thing. No matter what you do, your Maker is always aware of what you’re feeling, when you’re feeling it.

The emotional bond never goes away, though the strength of its effects ebbs and flows. Sometimes it’s so faint as to be almost nonexistent, a tiny shiver down the spine – and sometimes it’s almost overwhelming in its intensity, foreign emotions bursting out of nowhere like fireworks, blindingly bright and terrifyingly loud.

For young vampires, it’s a lot to get used to. Some take years to become accustomed to the bond, while others are oddly comforted by it. New Makers are often surprised by the strength of as well – it goes both ways, but generally the Maker feels more of their progeny’s emotions than the other way around. Nobody's really sure why.

More complicated feelings don’t come through especially clearly, apparently a little bit difficult for the bond to transmit, or perhaps for the other body to decipher. But simpler, more basic emotions are very, very easy. You might even say they’re too easy, in fact. Things like fear, sadness, joy – and, well…

He must already know what they’ve been up to. That sort of anger, the instinctive viciousness that comes so easily to them. They all know from experience how quickly that can wash over the bond, twisting and curling as it spreads like dark ink through water. After a while, it stops being so intrusive – it’s just how it works, and it’s not as though they can stop it. It’s possible to tune it out, and before long it generally goes away.

But a Maker with two progenies, both of whom are busy winding each other up at the same time? Who never seem to know when to quit, chasing that addictive, acidic feedback loop of rage that only ever seems to push them higher?

Ba doesn’t mind what they get up to, per se, as long as they keep it discreet and clean up after themselves. But even so, it’s not difficult to see how it could be… distracting.

He definitely knows what they were doing, is the point. And he clearly knows that there’s something they broke that she hasn’t been able to fix yet. She just needs to make sure it’s all neat and tidy by the time he gets back later, and hopefully they can all pretend that it never happened.

“What.”

Vincent glares at her from under his duvet when she pushes the door open with her foot, crimson eyes staring out from the blackness as she gets closer and closer. The lights are off and the blackout curtains are closed, so it’s almost entirely dark, but she can make out the shape of the bed well enough.

“Blood.”

She holds out one of the glasses, not breaking eye contact until a single hand slithers out from under the duvet and takes it from her.

He doesn’t seem to have thought about how he’s going to drink it, lying flat on his stomach and sprawled sideways across the bed, and she snickers under her breath as he blinks stupidly at the glass. With a flourish, she takes the second straw out of her own glass and drops it into his, sticking her tongue out gleefully at him when he mumbles something unintelligible into the mattress beneath him.

She shrugs – it’s close enough. “You’re welcome.”

Perching herself on the edge of the bed, she watches in amusement as he drags himself forwards under the duvet so he can get the straw in his mouth without having to lift his head, occasionally poking the mound of blankets that claims to be her brother in the side to see if he can feel it or not.

(He can. She knows. It’s just funny.)

Because she’s very generous, she gets up to grab a few of the books off his desk, stacking them up by the side of the bed, level with where his face is. He complains when she takes the glass back out of his hand, but acquiesces as soon as she puts it back down on the books, army crawling towards the end of the straw that’s now level with the top of the mattress and haughtily sticking it in his mouth.

“Better?”

The Vincent-shaped duvet creature next to her slurps loudly at his glass of blood, and doesn’t say anything.

She’d use telepathy, but she needs to save all the magic she can get. Quickly, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, turning the brightness down all the way and typing a message in her notes app to show him.

He knows something’s broken, and the chandelier chain isn’t going to last long if I don’t go and fix it. Do you have enough magic to help yet?

“No,” Vincent grumbles, and coughs pointedly.

Great. How much longer?

He coughs again, baleful red eyes turning to look witheringly up at her from his blanket nest, and she doesn’t have to be able to see his hands to know the gesture he’s making at her.

Fine, she types, as sarcastically as it’s possible to be when you can’t say anything out loud, but if he hears, I’m blaming you. Distract him.

Obediently, he starts moving around again, making sure the sound of mattress springs and sheets rustling is loud enough for her to slip out of the door and towards the drawing room they ruined earlier. Luckily, it’s in the opposite direction to baba’s room, but she still holds her breath and tiptoes as quietly as she can in case he—

“Lili?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

She whips around, totally innocently, to see her father beckoning her down the stairs as several sets of cufflinks rattle in his palm. “Come and help me choose.”

Helpless to protest, she’s forced to follow him down into the foyer, umming and ahhing over which cufflinks she thinks will suit his outfit the best. In her head, though, she can’t stop worrying about that damned chandelier, the creaking sound from upstairs that she’s sure is getting louder, the increasing amount of magic she’ll need to fix it as it surely gets worse and worse…

“A good choice as always, mon ange.”

She startles slightly as baba nods approvingly, smoothly taking the silver pair she’d mindlessly chosen and putting them on, before leaving the rest in the dish on the low console table. “I won’t be back until the morning, so you will look after Vincent, won’t you?”

Hastily, she nods. “Yeah, I will, I will.”

“Alright.” He rests his hands gently on her upper arms as he kisses both her cheeks, before taking his car keys out of his pocket and heading out of the front door. “See you later, chérie. I love you very much.”

“Love you too!”

She waits the agonisingly long half-second it takes for the door to close behind him before racing back upstairs, and she hears Vincent, still clutching his half-empty glass, scrambling out of his room at the same time. They nearly crash face-first into each other in their haste, yanking the drawing room door open and tumbling through it as fast as they can.

“I thought your head still hurt?” she says quizzically to Vincent, watching his hands trembling faintly around his glass, but he just makes a face.

“The alternative’s worse,” he replies, and she nods. He’s right.

She reaches for her core, willing the magic to come – it’s slow and it’s weak, but she yanks on her threads as hard as she can to try and summon it to her fingertips. The chandelier sways ominously above them as she screws her eyes shut to concentrate, and she can feel Vincent’s aura flicker next to her as he does the same thing. Come on, come on…

She’s nearly there, power surging under her skin and ready to be channelled outwards, when there’s a sudden—

“Shit!”

The magic fizzles uselessly away as her eyes fly open to see Vincent, clutching his head in pain, cursing as the front of his shirt is drenched in blood. There’s shattered glass all over the floor from where he’s dropped his drink, and she chokes down the irritated vampiric growl that rises in her throat. “Fucking hell, xiaodi!”

“I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it!” he moans, slightly unsteady on his feet, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “Look, at least it’s not the—”

Something moves, just at the very edge of her vision.

Above her head, the room plunges into blackout as something snaps.

“Move–!!”

She barely manages to shove Vincent away from her before the heavy metal body of the chandelier comes crashing down on her head. It’s not heavy enough to knock her out, but the surprise is enough that all she can do is stand there as 15 kilos of brass and crystal and electrics falls directly on top of her and shatters.

He skitters backwards, recoiling from the spray of tiny crystal shards that covers the floor for the second time today, nearly tripping over the leg of the side table as he goes. A thousand stinging papercuts split their skin, sealing themselves up and leaving tiny droplets of crimson blood dripping down their arms and faces.

Without even noticing, she instinctively catches one of the twisted metal arms of the chandelier that must have been sheared off when it impacted her skull, raw edge snagged painfully in her hair as it slides neatly down into her arms.

They’re so fucked.

They both freeze guiltily as a floorboard creaks outside in the hallway, far too close to be a coincidence, and she winces as there’s a polite knock, knock, knock at the door.

“We—” She chokes, breathing in a hacking lungful of debris, voice cracking slightly from her dry throat. “We’re in so much trouble.”

Vincent stares wide-eyed at her through the sudden dark, blood dripping slowly from his chin and soaking into the carpet..

“Yeah,” he mumbles distantly, “probably.”

The drawing room door swings open, and both their heads snap towards the open doorway so fast it would give a human whiplash. There, silhouetted against the light, car keys still jangling in his palm and running an exasperated hand through his long hair—

“What,” hisses William Solaire, raising an irate eyebrow at his children, covered in glittering crystal dust and leaking blood into a very expensive carpet, “did I say about breaking things again?”

The clan always sticks together. Family comes first – nothing and nobody could make them betray each other, and they’d rather die than leave one of their own behind. It’s the central tenet of their existence, the core fact of their messy, gory lives.

Some things are just… true. The earth is round, the sky is blue, and there is no power known to men or gods that could turn the House of Solaire against itself.

Baba shifts his weight slightly, eyes narrowing accusingly.

And very, very slowly, Alexis and Vincent both point at each other.

link to the glass jaw pronunciation guide

main masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[mystwrites]

Heya Myst! For the 200 followers event (CONGRATS BTW! YOU DESERVE IT!), can I please request 🫐🧺 with lee! Sigma and ler! Nikolai (BSD). Romantic or platonic, I don't have a preference! Have a lovely day!

My Event Closes on the 22nd

Sigma stared at the food in front of him. Never in his entire life had he seen so many different things and never has he ever left his casino for the land below for something as odd as a picnic. Nikolai was truly an artistic person, picking out one of the fanciest blankets to sit on and finding a nice, shady spot away from other people. Not to mention the very organized way he spread all the food out. Sigma was amazed not only by how well prepared Nikolai was, but the fact that Nikolai somehow knew all his favorite food aside from sugar cookies.

“Hey, you look a little serious there, pal.” Nikolai said, breaking Sigma from his train of thought.

“Sorry, just thinking about things.” Sigma replied, about to bite into a turkey sandwich with his favorite type of cheese, mozzarella.

“Yknow, I wanna play a little game with you.~” Nikolai snickered when Sigma glared at him.

“No. Let me enjoy my sandwich in peace.” Sigma took another bite, praying that Nikolai would spare him for once.

“Oh come on! It’s quiz time!~”

Sigma all but choked on his sandwich. “Not now! I thought we were gonna relax and have what you call a “chill” day?!?”

“Relax, my friend!” Nikolai chuckled and sat next to Sigma, the younger man suddenly becoming very nervous and suspicious. “This is a chill day!”

“Not with you being…so close and acting like you’re up to something!” Sigma shoved Nikolai back. “Go away! I wanna eat in peace!!”

“Sorry, but I’m not leaving you alone until you stop stressing! There’s nothing to stress about!” Nikolai poked Sigma’s sides, smirking as he heard a squeak. “Ohhh…what’s this?~”

“Aaahh!!” Sigma slapped Nikolai’s hand away. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m poking you.” Nikolai replied, smiling as innocently as he could. “Why?”

“I-it’s annoying!”

“Mm…so if I keep doing this, you’ll get irritated enough to indulge in my quiz, right?”

Sigma flinched as Nikolai continued to poke his sides. Upon fingers poking his ribs, he had enough for one day. Sigma giggled but slammed his sandwich back into the bag and threw it back into the cooler, glaring daggers at the literal clown sitting next to him.

“Stop! I swear to god if you don’t stop…” Sigma began.

“What? You’ll what?” Nikolai taunted, grinning from ear to ear. “You’ll giggle?~”

No wonder Fyodor decided to decline the picnic invitation. Nikolai was just as chaotic as he always was even though one of his promises was to behave. Good for Fyodor, he didn’t have to deal with this absolute tomfoolery but unfortunately for Sigma, he was gullible enough to join Nikolai after much convincing.

“No! I don’t giggle!” Sigma growled. “Don’t you dare touch me!” Sigma pointed to the opposite end of the blanket. “Go all the way over there and eat your cream cheese stuffed sandwich! Gross by the way. Go over there before I hit you with all of this!”

“Come on! I’m not touching you.~” Nikolai sang, clearly touching Sigma by poking his sides repetitively. “See? Ooh! I think I heard a giggle! Is Siggy kun ticklish?~”

Sigma wanted nothing more than to make Nikolai choke on the darn apple he was now holding in his left hand. He hated that he was the man’s poking subject and yelled, falling over when Nikolai gave his sides a squeeze.

“Don’t cahahall m-me tha-AAHA!!” Sigma cupped his mouth as he fell over, glaring at Nikolai before giggles spilled from his lips. “Stooohohop!! I’ll kick your shi-hahaha!!

“Yippee!!” Nikolai sang, wrestling Sigma down with ease. “C’mon, Sigma kun! Let’s hear those giggles!~”

As much as Sigma didn’t want to giggle, Nikolai managed to force them out. Sigma didn’t know what sort of witchcraft this man was using but it certainly worked its magic, the younger of the two giggling himself absolutely silly.

Nikolai found Sigma’s ribs and smiled as his laughter rose in pitch. Sigma was going to probably scream at him and whack him with his sandwich bag and maybe one of the charcuterie boards after he finished but it was worth it to hear Sigma’s laughter.

A/N: Thanks for the request! I made this drabble a little short for two reasons, one I had no time and wrote this all in 10 min and two, I didn’t know how I was going to write Nikolai😅Hope I did ok!

[iamawolfstarsimp]

please pleASE can I request a fic between James and the others where James somehow provoked them all and ends up getting wrecked? Please I’m starving for marauders content I’ve literally read every fic to ever exist😭

Feel free to change the plot idea because it’s only a rough choice I will literally take anything at this stage 💀

oml I'm in the same boat with you, i have literally searched the whole internet (feels like I have) looking for fics

But I got you, have a mini fic for your troubles

"I swear to god, if you throw one more fucking paper ball at me, I'm gonna throw you off the astronomy tower." Sirius growled, hunched over his homework.

Finals season before Christmas was really taking a toll on all of the marauders.

Except for James, of course.

James was the kind of person who was annoyingly positive when everyone else was negative, mostly because he knew it got on people's nerves.

For whatever reason he was especially good at annoying Sirius (probably because he knew him so well, I mean, they were practically brothers).

Sirius whipped his head around when James threw yet another crumpled up piece of parchment at him. James sniggered and roll over onto his back, laughing up to the ceiling of his bunk.

"James, will you stop irritating Padfoot so he'll shut the fuck up so I can finish this essay?" Remus glared at the pair of them.

"It's not my fault that he won't leave me alone!" Sirius said, glaring right back at Remus.

"Will you two just be quiet?!" Peter shouted.

"Well, excuse me!" Sirius yelled right back. "All of a sudden it's my fault that James is the one being annoying!"

"I don't know what you three are talking about," James grinned from his bed. "I have been nothing but peaceful this entire work session."

The other three marauders shared a irritated look between each other.

The all opted to ignore James and he would get bored eventually and leave.

Unfortunately, Sirius wasn't very good at that and instantly turned around when James threw yet another paper ball.

"If you chuck one more paper ball at me, you're gonna regret it." Sirius hissed.

"Yeah, alright Pads." James chuckled and nodded.

When Sirius turned back around there was a good thirty seconds of silence before there was the soft sound of paper hitting the back of someone's head.

Remus, who was the victim of James' torment instead of Sirius, immediately stood up and walked over to James's bed. He grabbed him by the ankles and promptly tugged him off onto the floor.

James yelped as Remus wrestled him to the floor, pinning him down by sitting on him while grappling with James' arms. James was all the while laughing, finally getting the attention he wanted.

"I don't understand," James said calmly as Sirius and Peter hopped up to help, Sirius pulling up James' arms above his head and sitting on them, Peter holding down his legs. "I didn't throw anything at Sirius." He grinned.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" Remus scowled. James grinned again and nodded.

"It's why you all love me." There was a collective eye-roll between the other three. "I mean what's not to love? I'm good looking, strong, smart, fu-hahaha-!"

While James had been rambling Sirius had taken the opportunity to start poking at his ribs.

"D-dude, stohop!" James giggled, unashamed.

"This is what you get for distracting us for an entire hour." Sirius smirked.

Peter sat lower on James' shins, making quick work of pinning his feet and had started scratching up and down his soles, Remus wiggling fingers across his taut stomach.

"You guhuhys su-hahaha-suck!" James squirmed wildly from side to side, throwing his head back when it got bad.

Jame arched his back and squealed when Remus found a good spot on his hips and proceeded to dig his thumbs into said spot.

"No no no no, nohohOHO!! H-hehehelp!!" James laughed, tugging at his arms but to no avail.

James bucked hard when Peter started scribbling on the tops of his feet and that soft spot under his toes, almost sending Remus off of him.

Remus glared and vibrated one hand into his belly the other digging into his hip. Sirius was non-stop scribbling and digging into his ribs and underarms, sending James into hysterics.

The room was filled with James' bright, loud laughter. His laugh became high pitched whenever he got really giggly, and it became especially loud when he got excited or happy.

"No more, no mohohore!!" James had closed his eyes, excepting his fate. "Plehehease!!"

They all slowed down, gradually bringing himself down from that high of laughter. Sirius wiped away the tears that had rolled down his cheek, Remus gave his belly a firm pat before climbing off, Peter doing the same.

They left him on the floor to calm down while they got back to their work. Once he noticed Remus had finished (who was the first to get done) and sat down on his own bed, he flopped across his legs.

"I have no pity for you," he smirked. "You got what you deserved." James groaned at his response.

"You're gonna continue to annoy people while they're working, aren't you?" Remus said after a pause.

"You bet." James grinned when Remus shook his head and eye rolled.

Hope you liked!!

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Spencer POV Fic Recs [SFW]

Hey friends! Someone requested recommendations for SFW fics from Spencer Reid’s POV. I’ve collected all the fics me and the lovely people of my Discord could find. I hope this helps!

GN!Reader Fluff

Spoonful of Sugar by @reidgraygubler: Spencer stays home from work to take care of his partner, who’s sick with the flu.

Kiss Them, Or Keep Them by @/reidgraygubler: Spencer loses his best friend, but has a secret gift to bring them back.

GN!Reader Angst

Better Off Without Me by @sassymoon: This is the end of a relationship that was the best thing he ever had, and it’s time to say goodbye.

Week From Hell by @/reidgraygubler: Spencer has one hell of a week after he has nightmares and a close call on a case.

Fem!Reader Fluff

Java Jive by me: Spencer and Emily take a break at the local coffee shop and she makes an understandable mistake about barista Reader and Spencer’s relationship.

Pumpkin by me: Spencer can’t handle how cute Reader’s southern accent is.

Serendipitous by me: Spencer’s pretty sure Penelope mixed up his blind date.

Prickly Pear by me: Reader tries to hide her body hair from Spencer. It doesn’t end well.

Not Your Backup by me: Spencer!POV. Following JJ’s confession, Spencer admits she’s more like a sister to him. Spencer and JJ argue about JJ’s unwarranted jealousy of his girlfriend.

Impromptu 3AM Meeting by @andiebeaword: Spencer learns the woman he’s falling for has a teenage daughter.

Side by Side by @foxy-eva: Spencer is mesmerized by Reader on their first date and is surprised that she apparently feels the same way about him.

Different Dialects by me: Autistic!Reader. Spencer is trying to tell Reader he likes her, but it feels like they speak entirely different languages.

Funny Thing Fate by me: Autistic!Reader is tipsy and lost in D.C. when she spots a man she thinks might be able to help.

Porcelain by me: Autistic!Reader has a meltdown in the cafe. Luckily, there is a Dr. Reid nearby.

Baggage Claim by me: Autistic!Reader is having a hard time at the airport.

Act Your Age by me: Platonic. Reader was recently released from being held hostage for several years, and for whatever reason, she’s taken a liking to Spencer.

You are My Destiny by @/reidgraygubler: Spencer meets a girl at a club. She convinces Spencer to dance with her.

Look at My Son by @/reidgraygubler: Spencer has a heart to heart with his newborn son while his wife sleeps.

Buttercup Bakery by @/reidgraygubler: Spencer meets the woman of his dreams at JJ and Will’s wedding, but misses the chance to get her number.

Lonely Moonlight by @/reidgraygubler: Spencer left his partner and ends up regretting it.

Fem!Reader Angst

Rib Cage by me: Spencer realizes Reader is the one, but it might be too late. He has to find her.

Forbidden Fruit by me: When Professor Reid falls in love with a student, he learns why Adam choked on the Forbidden Fruit.

Passing in the Night by me: Spencer learns about Reader’s feelings too late and loses his own battle as a result.

I Won By Loving You by @sassymoon: Reader is terminally ill and is saying goodbye to her loved one.

If I Could See Me Now by @andiebeaword: Spencer hits his head. Next thing he knows, he’s talking to himself … from 15 years ago.

Handle with Care by @foxy-eva: Spencer tries to be there for his wife after a traumatic experience.

Partial POV

Defining Family by me: [Fem, fluff] Spencer finds out he’s a dad… to a twelve year old girl. Your twelve year old girl, who just broke into the FBI.

Dead Air by me: [Fem, fluff] Professor Reid is hesitant to be a guest on his old student’s true crime video series, but is surprised to find it’s not so bad.

Moonlight by me: [Fem, Angst] Spencer tells Reader’s boyfriend how she really feels.

Sleepless in Quantico by @/andiebeaword: [Fem, fluff] Spencer is a widower. His son wants him to be happy. Spencer’s son and his therapist conspire to get him on a radio show to talk through his grief. Reader is one of the listeners. 

A Lettered Confession by @/andiebeaword: [Fem, Angst] Spencer is in love with Reader. He confesses his feelings through a letter.

Everything I Want and More by @/andiebeaword: [Fem, Angst] Spencer believes that Reader is head over heels for another guy. He has no idea the guy she’s in love with is actually him.

No Expectations by @/andiebeaword: Reader is in love with Reid. He’s fallen for a woman named Maeve. While trying to save her, Reader makes a choice.

Wanna See Something Beautiful? by @/andiebeaword: [Fem, Angst] Spencer has been in prison for months now. After he chose to take her name off the visitor’s log, Reader decides to start writing Spencer letters. Eventually, he writes her back.

Wish I Could Take it All Back by @/andiebeaword: [Fem, Angst] Spencer gets his usual coffee, only to follow the girl to an NA meeting

[auroras-blog37]

Hellooooo!!!

I was wondering if you could pretty please do a TASM Switch!Peter x Switch!reader?????????

Cuddles And Tickles:

This is quite a long one Peter smiled when you cuddled into him. He couldn’t deny how nice this felt though. This was what he wanted, just to lay with you and cuddle you. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close to him.

You look up at Peter who is still wearing his glasses. You softly pull them off of him as you look at them.

“How blind are you without these?”

Peter let out a small chuckle as you took his glasses. He watched you look at them which he thought was kinda cute.

“I can see fine, I only need them for reading.”

He says as he takes the glasses and sets them on your bedside table.

“Mmmh…

Nerd…”

You tease as you cuddle back up to him. Obviously he wasn’t a nerd because he wore glasses, you just liked to tease him about it.

Peter chuckled and rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a proud smile on his face. He was used to people calling him a nerd, but he knew you were joking.

“Shut it…”

“Hey I’m just speaking the truth…”

You say as you give his ribs a small jab.

Peter let out a small chuckle and squirm as you jabbed his ribs.

“Hey…”

Secretly he loved the way you teased him and how it was so affectionate and playful.

You lift your head up as you notice his reaction and smile.

“What was that?”

Peter chuckled nervously, realizing that you saw his reaction to you, he didn’t want to admit that he liked that you teased him. He knew you’d tease him even more if you found out. He tried to think of a response.

“A-uh…nothing…”

“What are you ticklish?”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly as you accused him of being ticklish. This was bad, your teasing was only going to get even worse if you found out he was ticklish.

“W-what? No…no I’m not ticklish.”

He tried to convince you.

You narrow your eyes at that and stifle a snicker.

“Mmhm…”

You start poking at his side whilst the two of you stay cuddled.

Peter tried to hold in his laughter, but your prodding was getting to him. He started to laugh a little as you poked his side.

“H-hey…stop…don’t do that…”

He said, although he was fighting back a full-on laugh. The fact that you now knew he was ticklish was bad.

“Ah so you lied?”

You tease as you sit up and continue poking around his ribs and waist.

Peter couldn’t help but laugh as you continued to poke at his ribs and waist. It was a lost cause, you already knew he was ticklish and there was nothing he could do about it. Each jab at his ribs and waist sent him into another fit of laughter.

“S-stop it…oh my god….”

“Yeah you definitely lied, I’m hurt you lied to me.”

You continue to tease as you continue to tickle him, avoiding his squirms and hits, knowing that each tease seems to make it worse for him

Peter tried his best to get you to stop, but it was hopeless. He was squirming and writhing under you, trying to stop the poking and laughter at the same time, but he was a goner. He couldn’t escape your teasing and tickling.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry! I lied!! Please stop…”

He said in between laughs. Oh god, you now knew his most vulnerable weak spot, his ticklish side.

You let out a laugh at this and stop tickling him at last.

Peter could finally breathe for a second as you stopped tickling him.

“Oh my god…I hate you…”

He said lightheartedly, his cheeks red from laughing, a smile still on his face.

“You’re such a big baby.”

Peter gave you another glare, pretending to be annoyed, but in reality, he was secretly enjoying how playful and affectionate you were with him. He was also secretly loving the way you were teasing him, but, he’d never admit that out loud.

“Shush, you’re a cruel woman.”

“You just can’t take a simple tickle.”

You say smugly as you lay back down and cuddle back into his arms.

Peter rolled his eyes playfully, a small pout on his face. He still hadn’t gotten over the fact that you now knew one of his weaknesses.

“Yeah right, like you could take it any better than me…”

“Well unlike you I’m not ticklish.”

Peter’s eyes widened when you stated that you weren’t ticklish. This was good…very good. It gave him the perfect opportunity to get back at you for embarrassing him.

“Really?”

He said, having a mischievous tone to his voice.

“Mmhm!”

That was a lie…you knew it, Peter knew it…it was known, you were a terrible liar.

Peter’s smirk grew as you confirmed that you weren’t ticklish. His brain went into scheming mode…he knew exactly what he had to do.

“So…if I were to do this…”

He reached forward and quickly went for your sides.

You let out a squeal and immediately jolt away off the bed and stand away, having a very extreme reaction that definitely catches Peters attention.

Peter’s jaw dropped slightly as you squeal and jolt away off the bed when he went for your sides. He was not expecting to get such a reaction out of you. He was expecting a small laugh or something, not outright squealing. He was speechless and slightly shocked for a few seconds, but when he came to his senses, he had a smug and proud smile on his face.

“You said you weren’t ticklish…?”

“I’m not.”

You say as you stay standing away from him and away from the bed.

Peter let out a small snort at your response. You were so obviously in denial, he couldn’t believe that you were trying to deny the obvious.

“Right…so that reaction was for what exactly..?”

He said with a smug tone, knowing that he can now tease you just like you teased him.

“You’re imagining things…I did nothing…”

Peter tried not to laugh at your excuse, but he couldn’t hold it in. He gave you a look as if to say ‘seriously?’. He was enjoying teasing you.

“Right…”

“I’m just being truthful, maybe you’re seeing things…”

Peter rolled his eyes, but in reality, he thought it was pretty cute how you were so desperately trying to deny the fact that you were ticklish. It was even more cute how you attempted to turn it around on him by lecturing him about making fun of disabilities.

“Right, so you don’t mind if I do it again?”

He said, having a smirk as he slowly raised his hands.

“There’s no point…you’re just being delusional…”

Peter raised an eyebrow, still suspicious that it was a lie about having ‘tourette’s’. He couldn’t let this go so easily. He had to test it out and see your reaction to tickling again.

“Oh yeah? Alright then…guess I should test it out again, just to be sure…”

He said with a sly smirk as he slowly got off of the bed and started to come closer towards you.

“NO! I mean- no…you don’t have to do that…”

You say as you immediately back away more, even though there isn’t really anywhere to go…

Peter tried his hardest not to chuckle at your reaction. You were clearly in complete denial that you were ticklish, this only made him want to tickle you even more. He slowly continued to stalk closer to you as you backed away until you were pressed up against the wall.

“Why not…it’s just to check if I’m seeing things…right?”

He said, a smug smile on his face as he came closer and was now standing in front of you.

You look up at Peter with a pleading eye and nervous smile as you’re now against with wall.

“Peter?”

Peter smirked at your pleading and nervous look. He could tell you were scared but didn’t want to accept the fact that you were ticklish. He stopped so he was standing right in front of you, just an arm’s length away from you. He slowly raised his hands to your sides again.

“Yes?”

You let out a shriek at just the sight of his hands rising as you quickly shove them away and recoil yourself into the corner of the wall.

Peter chuckled at your little shriek. He found it so cute how you were so in denial about being ticklish. He also thought it was cute how you shrieked and recoiled yourself away from him. It was like your body knew it was going to be tickled and you wanted to avoid it.

“Oh come on, it’s just a little test…nothing to be scared of…”

He said, slowly lifting his hands up to your sides again, but instead he quickly pulls you over and into a tight one sided hug.

“Ah here we go.”

“NOOO! Peter nohohoho!”

You say through your giggling, even without having actually being tickled yet.

Peter tightened his grip around you as you protest. He couldn’t hold his laughter in as you went full on into your denial. Even when he squeezed your sides a bit he could tell you were struggling to remain calm.

“Are you sure you’re not ticklish? I mean you’re kind of freaking out right now…”

He said teasing you and slightly digging his fingers into your sides.

You let out a loud squeal as your knees immediately buck whilst you stay latched in Peter’s arms.

Peter laughed louder, having a tighter grip on you as you began to buck under his grasp. You were so obviously ticklish and a terrible liar.

He starts digging his fingers in deeper as he starts properly tickling you now.

As soon as the proper tickles start you immediately start giggling even more.

Peter smiles widely as you let out a string of giggles as he properly tickled you.

“Oh what’s this? Are those giggles I hear? No it can’t be! That would mean you would have to be ticklish!?”

“Sssshuhuhuhut up!”

You say, clearly flustered through your fits of giggles.

It was clear that earlier when you were tickling Peter that you were tough with the teasing. But now quite hypocritical as it’s clear you cannot whatsoever handle being tickled or even being teased.

Peter chuckled as you told him to shut up while still giggling. It was honestly endearing seeing your feisty and tough side get turned into a giggling mess.

“Hmm, you were so confident before when you were tickling ME…now look who’s all giggly now, hm?”

He said while continuing to dig his fingers deeper into your sides, causing a string of giggle and squirms as you failed to escape his grip.

“I’m sorry!”

You say incoherently through your giggling, sounding like an absolute child.

Peter chuckled more at your incoherent apologies. You clearly were fighting with everything you could to hold in your giggles. He loved seeing your tough, feisty and sarcastic nature being turned into a giggling, squirming mess right before his eyes.

“Aww you’re sorry?”

He teases as he gives you no mercy in his grip, digging his fingers into your sides even more and causing an endless string of giggles from you.

More giggles pour out of your mouth as you squirm in his grasp, letting out a little snort in the process of the giggling.

Peter couldn’t help but smile widely at the adorable sounds you were making while being tickled. He especially loved the little snort as you tried to speak through all your giggles. It was such a drastic difference from you being snarky and feisty, but he secretly found it sweet and endearing. He continued to tickle your sides, now focusing more towards your ribs.

“OKAHAHAHAY!”

Another snort comes out.

“Okay okay okahahahay! Mercy! Tap out! Just nohohohoho more!”

Peter smirked as you begin to beg for mercy. He could tell that you were completely breaking down and were begging for an escape from his tickling. He continued for another few seconds just to see how badly you’d start begging before stopping. He loosened his grip and retracted his hands from your sides.

“Alright fineee, I’ll take pity on you and stop.”

You let out a long giggly breath and slump against him whilst we stand.

“You’re cruel.”

Peter chuckled at your comment as you leaned against him.

“You were pretty cruel to me when you were the one tickling me, you know that, right?”

He said, having a slight smirk on his face as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Yes but this was worse…

You made me snort…”

Peter laughs more at the mention of you having snorted while being tickled. It was honestly really adorable to him.

“And I’d happily do it again…”

“Mmh, whatever ‘Spider-Boy’…”

You mumble as you pull away from the hug and walk back over to the bed.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

Peter rolled his eyes as you called him ‘Spider-Boy’ again. He definitely didn’t enjoy the fact that you’d given him this new nickname.

“Only if you promise not to call me ‘Spider-Boy’ in the future.”

He says as he climbs into the bed with you and pulls you in to cuddle.

“Can’t promise that…

I’m picking the movie.”

Peter knew that it was basically hopeless to get you to stop calling him ‘Spider-Boy’ but he still didn’t like it. He let out an exaggerated sigh before replying.

“Ugh fine, as long as I don’t have to watch any boring chick flicks.”

[ticklyblues]

Across The Spider-Verse (arachkids) tk headcannons!!

saw this movie last week and ,,, oh my god i love them all so much i HAVE to write headcannons for them even though this isnt really the kind of thing i normally do

hcs under the cut ⌄⌄⌄⌄⌄⌄

Miles Morales

60% lee, 40% ler

Ler:

Second bigest teaser ever

Loves using his invisibility for sneak attacks

Always goes for the ribs first for some reason

Sometimes uses webs for light restraints if he's feeling mean enough

Prefers group attacks over going solo

"Wow I did NOT expect this much of a reaction!"

Uses electricity to give little tickle shocks (stolen from @/orchid-fics but it was too cute not to include im sorry)

Lee:

Is a literal potato bug. curls up if you even touch him

Kinda guy to scream "NO!!" a bunch of times

Turns invisible by reflex if he knows he's about to get wrecked

Has a hard time telling people he wants tickles so he just kind of sprawls out and exposes all his spots in hopes of someone taking the hint

Maybe he'll tickle someone just for payback if he's feeling spunky

Worst spots are his ears, armpits, hips, and thighs

Gwen Stacy

20% lee, 80% ler

Ler:

Absolutely EVIL

She totally coos at her lees like . look at her and tell me she doesn't

Does light and feathery tickles and then goes hard and rough out of NOWHERE just for fun

Prefers to make the lee giggle and squirm instead of scream

Brings you water after she's done

You can tell when she's in a ler mood cause she gets 10x more sassy than usual (literal nightmare btw it gets to the point where they just let her get it out of her system so she stops being such a bully)

She might be mean but she can tell when the lee's had enough

Lee:

More of a ler but she still has her moments

She thrashes HARD watch out

Snorts

Hides her face with her hands instead of covering her spots

Worst spots are her neck, ribs, and stomach

Pavitr Prabhakar

50/50 switch

Ler:

Oh boy he has FUN

The most teasy guy ever he pulls all the stops

"Honestly, didn't peg you to be a squirmer... don't worry, I can still work with this!"

Him and Gwen teamed up are the most awful (amazing) mean (great) duo ever

Guilty of using the same techiniques that kill him

LOVES to chase people down

Narrarates exactly what he's doing and what spots hes gonna go for next

Has a hard time knowing when to stop but takes the hint after he gets punched a few times

Lee:

Has zero shame in admitting when he's in a lee mood

Just like when he's a ler, he loves a good chase

Will attempt to crawl away but doesn't actually want it to stop

NEEDS to have his hands pinned down otherwise he starts hitting and shooting webs by reflex

Squirms and screams like he's dying

Worst spots are his stomach, sides, thighs, and knees

Hobie Brown

10% lee, 90% ler

Ler:

Usually doesn't join in but when he does he makes everyone SCREAM.

No one knows how he does it but he's the most evil most menacing ler to ever haunt the multiverse

"What'cha laughing at, mate?"

Techniques are different every time but he still manages to wreak havoc without fail

Unofficial big brother of the group

Switches spots CONSTANTLY and drives everyone crazy

Laughs along with the lee

Lee:

Not that ticklish so he doesn't really get much out of being a lee

However the spots where he IS ticklish are all really weird and out of the way

Can't really get anything more than giggles, but all of that excess energy goes into his extremely intense facial expressions and gasps

Is extremely surprised when something tickles badly enough to laugh because he doesn't think he's ticklish at all

Worst spots are his lower back, the spot where his arms meet his armpits, and his calves

WOAH GONNA BE HONEST HERE i loved making this i might end up doing some fics soon ?? idk schools out in like a week for me I'll have loads of free time

[anzynai]

Hey! I’m so happy to see that a tkl writer is into TWST! There are barley any fics and hcs on here and I’m STARVING! If you’re taking requests can you please write some hcs for the dorm leaders? Thanks!

Housewarden Tk Headcanons (Twisted Wonderland)

HELLO!!!! my requests are closed so normally i would have to decline this ask.. but i guess it’s ur lucky day anon because i’m actually obsessed with twst and this is my first request from this fandom so… enjoy! i love all these losers so there’s gonna be a good amount of hcs in this post LOL i’ll count it when i’m finished!! HELP MEEE THERE ARE 63 HEADCANONS. um, you’re welcome i guess this took 4ever!

also it sometimes makes me laugh when i put really serious and cool photos for my headcanons and then it’s just silly little tickling but uh. yes.

Riddle Rosehearts

hello so goldfishie is at least like a 7 on the scale. his worst spots: uhhh his neck (IDK I THINK IT SUITS HIM) and his sides!!

who tickles him the most? let’s see. floyd and trey are tied. but occasionally, if duece and ace see trey tickling riddle, they’ll join in as well.

it’s kinda funny when he’s tickled bc he gets angry (even when he’s enjoying it) so he’ll be like “let go of me this instant” and be disappointed when they actually do. however, he has too much pride to admit he didn’t actually want them to stop.

though he doesn’t always like being tickled. like, floyd has a habit of just tickling people whenever he feels like it no matter the time and place, which sometimes puts riddle into incredibly awkward and embarrassing situations.

he bites his lip to conceal his laughter but it’s like a river cuz the second a giggle slips out and it will, it’s over. he’s dead, he’s dying.

u know those people who want to retaliate so so bad, but they don’t dare think of it because they KNOW that they would receive it back tenfold?? well maybe that’s a little specific so u might not know people like that BUT RIDDLE IS LIKE THAT

but bro just needs more confidence bc the times he has tickled someone, he becomes an absolutely menace. he somehow has some kind of instinct for the best spots.

he can’t really tease all that well unless he’s really in the mood cuz he gets flustered hshghshs

Leona Kingscholar

sometimes this dude is like too lazy for tickles????? so this doesn’t happen too too often (but it does)

I GIVE HIM A 6!!!! his worst spots: hips and ribs (more hips thooo)

ruggie likes to tickle him to get him to wake up basically bc this dude will not get up for ANYTHING and most people don’t tickle him besides ruggie because who would dare??? anyways, once ruggie gets to his hips, he’s gone.

IDKKK I FEEL LIKE HE WOULD GET SOOO EMBARRASSED by tickling like that’s one of the only times u will see his face bright red, though he tries to hide it like he will look anywhere but at u lol

kinda scary if he gets u back tho cuz bro has no shame. all he cares about if that u are thoroughly wrecked. (this fact does not work well in ruggie’s favor, but how else is he supposed to get leona to wake up?)

he is a bit on the tougher side when tickling but never enough to actually hurt you

and somehow he’s a deadly teaser and knows how to hit it where it hurts?? flusters???? IDK sometimes it feels like he can read ur mind and know exactly what will incite the best reactions out of u and uses that to his advantage while he’s tickling u to death

his favorite thing about tickling is honestly getting to see the reactions on his victims face LOLLLL

Azul Ashengrotto

hi azul ashengrotto is my fav ever and that’s irrevelevanf but u should know anyway also he’s an 8 tbh on the ticklishness scale. (if i had my way, it would be 11/10 but i just can’t lie to myself)

his worst spot: HIS TUMMY AND HIS SIDES??? generic, i know. he hates it, because it’s the go-to spot and so right off the bat EVERYONE who ever tickles him knows his worst spot

he lowkey hates this laugh (no he doesn’t, he’s just embarrassed) cuz he snorts and like??? this sly, cunning businessman.. don’t tell me he… snorts when tickled..? wait he’s ticklish? YES HE IS AND YES HE DOES and he is so embarrassed by it

i feel like he probably would write a contract to keep someone from revealing his secret. that would be funny.

floyd and jade know and they’re ALWAYS using it against him. it’s like their main method of annoying him cuz what better way to mess with their boss than tickling?? well, they also use it for cheer up tickles mostly when he’s feeling self-conscious.

bros the type to like.. cover his mouth to try and hide his laugh. he’s not fooling anyone, everyone can hear his concealed laughter. it’s really easy to get his hands to move anyway, because if u get his worst spots, or occasionally armpits, he will be too busy trying to pry ur hands away lol but his face gets pretty red

he’s a sweet ler tbh i feel like he gives gentle tickles and never pushes the lee too far yk? like since i imagine him being really good at reading people, he will be observing their reactions the whole time so he can tell when they’re nearing their limit

that said, he’s a pretty mean teaser. he builds it up so u think it’s not bad at first but somewhere along the lines, he manages to say the most embarrassing things with no shame. “i guess it’s fitting for someone so adorable to be so ticklish.”

he tickles floyd and jade sometimes. sometimes when he’s in a bad mood, he takes it out on them by tickling them. again, never going too far tho.

he’s also the type to like gently and quickly scribble someone on their back or neck.. or poke them in the side as he’s walking by or if he’s trying to get their attention? ofc he only does this with close friends (and jamil bc my azujami heart can’t help it)

ANOTHER AZUJAMI HC BUT TICKLE HUGS AS THEY CUDDLE

Kalim Al-Asim

bros def a 9… 9.5??? SOMEHWEEE ALONG THOSE LINES. anyways, he’s very ticklish.

worst spots: def his chin and his thighs.

ALSO IDK I FEEL LIKE EVERYONE CAN TELL BUT HE DEF LOVES TICKLING. he likes being tickled, he likes to tickle, just he’s like “it’s a fun way to bond with friends”

if only jamil could agree. kalim jumps him and ambushed him with tickles. but it’s fine, because jamil absolutely wrecks him when kalim isn’t behaving or is being lazy. (why are kalim and leona so similar aka don’t wanna do shit sorry that’s mean but am i wrong)

kalim has a really loud laugh but it’s very distinct compared to his regular laugh, which is also very loud. many times, his laugh can be heard throughout the dorm and the students just sigh cuz they know what’s going on.

also i feel like kalim would be the type where after being absolutely destroyed, he’d be breathless and struggling to catch his breath and still be super energetic and all like “wow you got me good!!!”

can i say kalim sneak attacks???? like esp with jamil, but all of his friends always fear the wrath of kalim because they could be doing literally ANYTHING but he just pounces and tickles them whenever they least expect it

while most times he is pretty caring when tickling someone, there are times he gets to wrapped up in it and goes a bit overboard and someone has to stop him. afterwards, he feels super guilty so he will shower u with aftercare, hugging you and apologizing nonstop, offering snacks, you name it.

his tickles tend to be on the rougher side but not enough up hurt. it used to, but after realizing that some people don’t like it like that, he eases up a bit. since i said before that he sees tickling as a bonding activity, he wants to make sure that everyone’s having fun.

Vil Schoenheit

sorry i love vil he is so so pretty UHH BUT I THINK IM GONNA GIVE HIM A 4. idk i just can’t see him as all that ticklish.

unless….. UNLESS U GET HIS RIBS. the shrieks he lets out if u get him there are actually insane

rook is actually the most devious and feared tickle monster in all of NRC (REAL, NOT LYING) and unfortunately, vil is one of the people who suffers the most from his tickly endeavors. and sometimes it’s a bad thing and sometimes it’s a good thing.

first of all, vil isn’t all that embarrassed about being ticklish. now, that doesn’t mean he wants the whole world to know. he’s alright with being tickled or tickling someone as long as it’s in a private space.

he still blushes like a hyena tho (i don’t think that’s an actual simile but for some reason it was the first thing that popped up in my mind so it’s staying) but he will still be like “if you’re going to do it, just get it over with…” meanwhile his heart is pounding

expectantly, i mean who would have ever guessed, vil has the most graceful, beautiful, angelic, harmonic laughter anyone who’s tickled him has had the honor of hearing. it’s like a reward, not to mention the fact that sometimes it can be difficult to find spots that make him laugh. after all, most generic spots like his sides, can only incite a huff maybe?

he is like scarily good at keeping still while being tickled (the other housewardens could never). umm so any “keep your arms up” games that go on, he’s probably going to win LOL

pretty good ler but doesn’t do it too often. really only rook and epel, sometimes he thinks it’s a bit childish (even if he enjoys it)

BUT BUT BUT when he was training epel with etiquette, he would like scribble on epels back to get him to stand straight or yk just things along those lines. and for rook, he just goes crazy. (somehow he still manages to look gorgeous while doing it)

surprisingly gentle tickler, honestly it’s crazy. sometimes it feels like he isn’t even touching u with how light it is, which honestly just makes it worse because he makes u anticipating (i have no idea how to word this) yet still giggling and laughing lol

Idia Shroud

oh shit, this man. he’s so. 10.

he’s so extremely ticklish. like everywhere. except for his feet and neck. yay, the two spots people barely go for when he’s being attacked. like yeah, for the neck maybe a little scratch or scribble here and there but when he’s being wrecked, that’s not where people tend to tickle him.. how lucky.

blushy boy. his hair is red his face is red his ears are red. he wouldn’t even be as flustered if he was.. A LITTLE LESS SENSITIVE??? but when he’s laughing like a hyena (is this where i got the simile for the other one) he can’t help but feel ashamed

he loves it tho like i can tell u idia shroud loves being tickled and while he would never say it, everyone and i mean everyone knows. well, everyone who’s tickled him. i mean, he never tells them to stop. of course, it can’t go on for too long or he will start feeling uncomfortable but just the right amount will have him eating it up EVERY TIME.

bro def squeals tbh while like curling up

who’s that btw? the people who tickle him? let’s see: ortho (ofc, little bro always loves seeing his brother happy) and azul on occasion (when he’s feeling like a sore loser after a game he lost).. well this doesn’t make everyone a lot of people now taht i think about it. BUT MY POINT STILL STANDS

how could someone live being so flustered by tickling. yk those ppl in the community who struggle to say the word tickle? that’s him. idia shroud reads tickle fics!!…. okay maybe not, but he definitely blushes at the word “tickle”

he gets embarrassed tickling people back. unlike vil who rarely does because it’s “undignified”, he doesn’t it too because he’s too embarrassed. he’s never tickled azul (he wants to tho i swear) and he can’t tickle ortho because when programming ortho, he didn’t really have tickling in mind so obviously, he didn’t add anything like that in (he should tho and give ortho have a taste of his own medicine)

i feel like he would be an awkward tickler who slowly turns sadistic the more confident he gets, esp with the teasing. “hehehe, you’re a lot more ticklish than i thought. this is nice.” with a somewhat terrifying grin on his face

Malleus Draconia

i think i’d like to give him a 2 but when lilia is tickling him, it’s a 5? idk he’s not super ticklish and doesn’t get tickled often. also lilia has some kinda power that makes his ticklishness switch.. not really. he doesn’t know how it works either.

LILIA STILL LOVES TICKLING HIM THO and occasionally silver will join in if he’s not sleeping lol and sebek wouldn’t dare (even tho he wants to so so badly)

i think malleus has these super breathy buffs and giggles that are honestly so. just… damn. just wow. idk while they’re not the giggles most people would expect, it’s the kind of laugh that makes u want to keep doing it.

he lets u tickle him (as long as ur not some rando like y’all gotta be friends obv) but he doesn’t mind when lilia decides to tickle him

teases aren’t all that flustering to him either i feel like he would be the type to agree tbh. like lilia says “ur quite the ticklish boy aren’t you” and malleus is like “haha you’re right”

sweet ler, thinks it’s fun. he thinks u think it’s fun too. idk he just wants to have fun and he likes hearing people laugh and seeing them smile, but stops if they’re not enjoying it. also he is a gentle tickler.

honestly i feel like he wants to be in a tickle fight so bad but doesn’t because people are scared of him and that’s silly. idk lilia provides him with a lot of tickles and lilia lets him tickle him too if he’s feeling it, so he’s not all too down about it. he’s occasionally tickled even silver and sebek too (much to their embarrassment)

he doesn’t really tease he just smiles and it’s really cute and it makes u want to let him keep tickling u cuz he looks so happy which is just contagious and yes.

[kiddbegins]

Massage - Leslie Shay

Requested: yes

Word count: idk

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Can you stop moaning? I’m trying to help you relax but you’re making it hard for me to concentrate.” “Sorry, your hands just work a little too good.” “I’m going to pay for a masseuse next time if you keep doing this.” [shay]

Working at the fire station meant long hours, heavy lifting, pulling, pushing. And basically just pushing yourself to your limits whenever you were on shift. And being at 51 just made it worse.

The house of all houses. Crazy calls. Crazy people. It was like Chicago+ when it came to the type of incidents your team got called to. And to add to that, being on squad which takes care of all the unique and extra types of rescues?

You were achy. Very achy. Especially after the call today which included a little boy and a vat of chocolate and a very precise and awkward lifting position. Luckily though, you had a loving girlfriend.

“Baby?” You’re voice was soft as you made your way into the bedroom where she was laying, looking at something on her phone.

Leslie shay was probably one of the best paramedics you’d ever seen. Since the day she joined 51 you knew she was gonna fit in instantly. And she did, meshed with the team perfectly and it didn’t take long for you to get a big huge crush on her.

She hummed questionably, dropping her phone the second she saw you, giving all of her attention in your direction. “Do you think you could rub my back? It hurts like a bitch after today.” You muttered, crawling onto the bed.

Of course she nodded, a smile pulling onto her lips, “Sure, c’mere.” Leslie shifted out of the way, patting the mattress. She even smoothed out the blanket, sliding a pillow so you could rest your head against it.

As soon as you were laying in the right spot she moved to sit on your lower back, sliding her hands up your spine with just the right amount of pressure. “Think it would feel better without your shirt in the way?” Her tone innocent, as she leaned back to pull at it.

You shifted up, pulling it off before laying back down, able to feel Leslie’s usually cold but now slightly warm hands on your skin.

“Damn baby, your back is tight as hell.” She muttered, kneading her palms into the muscle behind your shoulder blade. Slowly she twisted her hands, pressing her thumbs into your skin, hitting one of the worst spots.

A slight moan left your lips, cheeks going red as you tried to keep your face hidden, ignoring it. Leslie on the other hand heard and couldn’t hide the light smirk that grew on her face.

She made her way down, shaking her head as another groan left your lips, “Can you stop moaning? I’m trying to help you relax but you’re making it hard for me to concentrate.” Shay spoke with a light laugh, your face growing even hotter.

“I’m sorry, your hands just work a little too good.”

“I’m going to pay for a masseuse next time if you keep doing this.” She pretended to threaten, your eyebrow lifting slightly, unable to look back at her.

Slightly you let out a breath, “And I would have no qualms. I do like your hands more though,” You spoke as she rubbed at the bottom of your ribs, hands slightly going around you.

Leslie nodded to herself, “Mhm, I can tell you do,” She teased, slowly and precisely massaging a knot out of your muscle.

“Okay you did that one on purpose-��� You mumbled into the pillow after a guttural moan grew in your throat. Shay leaned forward, kissing your back lightly.

“You have no evidence for that claim.” She whispered, pressing another kiss right below that one before she sat up, continuing to do what she had promised to do.

You rolled over when she was finished, your hands finding her instantly. “That felt amazing, thank you,” You spoke softly, grabbing one of her hands to kiss the top of it.

She had other plans, leaning down to press into a kiss, her hands pulling away to grab at your face. You hummed quietly, holding her sides as she leaned over you, looking up at her when she pulled away.

“That is for being such a tease just now.”

If you liked it feel free to join her tag list!

Tags: @winchesterszvonecek

[bee-barnes-author]

Writing Share Game

tagged by: @tabswrites

tagging: @johnna-oneal-trash-writer @jezwrites @milkhoney531 @violeaes

fuck it, here's the ENTIRE FIRST CHAPTER of my upcoming book, 'THE BEAST IN THE GLASS HOUSE'.

Anticipated release June 10 2025

Trigger Warnings: Misogyny, gore, body horror, graphic descriptions of murder and violence, abuse through controlling food, emotional abuse, emotional manipulation, allegorical rape, abuse of bodily autonomy, rape revenge.

Chapter 1

June

The first time I see you, I fall in love instantly. At the butcher's counter, ignorant to my stare at your back, you ask the clerk, “Can I get a pound and a half of ground beef? Ten percent fat, please.” I can’t pinpoint what it is about you exactly, but I can’t look away.

I’m not finished shopping, nowhere near, but when you take your cart to the cashier, I can’t help but follow along. There’s two couples and their full carts between us, giving me cover so I can watch you. You’re careless with your personal information, and say your phone number out loud instead of typing it into the pin pad. Thanks, in part, to my condition, I have a fantastic memory. This means I don’t need to scramble for a pen to write your number on the back of my hand. 

I pay for the rosemary sprigs and half dozen eggs that are in my cart, and make my way to the parking lot. If you’re still here, I can catch your license plate tag, too, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself by rushing outside. A small part of my brain wonders why I’m so immediately connected to you. It’s not your looks that stole my breath away, though you aren’t lacking in that department by any means.

It’s something about your spirit. Something about the way your energy rolls off of you in waves, and crashes carelessly through others. I swallow down an eager, “Aha!” when I spot you in the parking lot, half folded into the trunk of a white Subaru. You deposit your armload of groceries, straighten, and close the trunk.

The way the sun glints off your hair stops me in my tracks. Then it hits me. You’re my mate. Oh. Of course you are. Finally. I’m on the older end of thirty. Until now, it felt like I would never find my perfect other half. I’m so stunned by the realization that I forget to note your plates as you drive by.

I know how that sounds, okay? It’s not like that—I’m not a freak with ill intent. I am simply a man in love, who has access to a wide variety of resources. One of those resources is a man named Mister Chance. He finds people for me. I don't ask how he does it; I don’t care either. All that matters is that he gets fast results and covers his tracks.

Instead of going back inside the grocery store to get the salmon filets I had originally planned on picking up, I go to my car. Once I’m home, I make two calls. One to Mister Chance and the other to a nearby sushi restaurant. I order a deconstructed sushi bowl with an extra serving of seaweed salad and a large side of fried calamari. My personal chef is off for the evening. I promised Elijah he could enjoy his date without interruption, and I intend to uphold my commitment. 

Mister Chance is quick. Faster than the delivery boy on his moped. I’ve learned your name before I even have my chopsticks cracked open. Freya Moore. It sounds like an alias but Chance promises it’s God-given.

I have your address. The numbers dance across the computer screen as I stare. According to the map, you’re just over thirty minutes away by car. It takes every ounce of restraint I have to stop myself from going to your home right now. I want to discard my dinner and wait outside your window with a boombox like a love-struck idiot.

But I don’t. I eat my dinner and listen to Mister Chance tell me about you. You’re young, but that can’t be helped. Love is love and you’re, quite literally, my soulmate. Fortunately, twenty-two is a perfectly legal age for me to date publicly. I’ll learn to ignore the inevitable ribbing I’m to get from Elijah. Anyone seriously bothered by the age gap can fuck off, for all I care.

Sushi bowl in hand, I pace the length of my third-floor bedroom. My skin itches like it’s the night before the full moon. It’s been a long, long time since I had to battle for control over my instincts like this. I feel like a teenager again. Every nerve inside me screams at the distance between us. I need to be close to you.

My mind keeps rushing to catastrophic disasters that you could suffer while away from the safety I offer. Dozens of irrational scenarios that I can’t stop conjuring. Are you giving me an anxiety disorder, Freya? Is this what loving you feels like? I take a moment to pity your ex’s before I wish death upon them for touching you. No one will touch you but me from now on.

The only exception will be our children. A thrill sings down my spine at the thought. You will rebuild my pack. My perfect human mate. We’ll be the pride of the west coast again. An exemplary family that lycans across the nation will look up to.

My phone beeps. Mister Chance follows up our phone call with an email detailing everything we already discussed and much, much more. Including your work schedule, a digital clone of your phone so I can see everything you do on it as you do it, and access to your desktop computer if I want it. Hell, I can even sit in on your therapy appointments. I shoot a message to my assistant to let him know I won’t be in the office tomorrow.

I’ll be busy learning about you.

I finish dinner reading through medical files from your childhood. You had a suspicious amount of broken bones and emergency room visits all chalked up to youthful clumsiness. Apparently, you grew into your limbs and developed grace around fourteen because those visits stopped. Coincidentally, that was also around the time your father died from taking a nasty tumble down the stairs. They found no signs of foul play. Good for you.

For the moment, I set thoughts of you aside and go take a shower. I do my usual thorough routine, not skipping a step. I’m in no rush. Unless I’ve got a woman with me, I only take cold showers. Men like me, we run hot. Things get sweaty, so I take two showers a day to avoid stinking.

I crawl between my sheets with a smile on my face. Tomorrow, after breakfast, I’ll take a drive to see you.

Goodnight, darling.

***

The next day, blinking against the harsh morning sun even behind my sunglasses, I stand across the street from your place. There’s a Starbucks within eyeshot of your apartment building. I stop by for a black coffee. Of course I pay with cash. The timestamps on your bank statements imply that this is the place you get your morning brew when you’re in the mood for something more complex than black coffee and almond milk creamer.

You’re already two hours deep into your workday at the costume shop by the time I take my first sip. It’s not good but not bad either. I’ve just had better. My machine at home makes a much better cup. 

I’m waiting for your roommate to leave while I read about her on my phone. Cindi Song—twenty-one, about to turn twenty-two in a few weeks—a full-time waitress in a full-time sports medicine program. A hard worker if ever there was one. I appreciate people with work ethics like Cindi’s. Her file mentions she’s in daily contact with her mother. Her mother also regularly sends you two small gifts she finds while online shopping.

I hear the barista's stomach digesting her breakfast. Gas bubbles in her gut. The sound travels like rocks through a tunnel, but I’m the only one that can hear it. Phlegm crackles in the throat of the old woman ordering her drink. The smell of the burned milk invades my nostrils and I take my not-good-not-bad cup of coffee with me to sit out in the sun. Ever since I saw you, my senses have heightened to a painful degree, like I’m subconsciously straining to find you at all times. I feel raw and on-edge. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit about the mild noise inside the shop, but you’ve knocked me off balance.

Before long, Cindi opens the front door to your shared apartment. She’s in form-fitting athleisure wear with her big backpack protruding over both of her shoulders. She’s pulled her shiny black hair up into a high ponytail that bounces rhythmically as she jogs to her car.

I wait twenty minutes before I get up, toss my mostly full cup in the garbage, and jog off in the opposite direction that Cindi drove. A full block down, I cross the street, then make my way through the back of the complex to your unit. Casually, I walk to the sliding glass door on your patio and test the lock. It doesn’t budge. Good. At least you’re smart enough not to leave this unsecured.

It’s easy for me to grasp the handle with one hand, and grip the opposite edge of the glass with the other. Then all I have to do is lift it and wiggle it for a moment. I glance around as the lock pops open to make sure there aren’t any eyes on me. As far as I can tell, I’m in the clear, so I slip inside and slide the door shut behind me. Blinds and curtains closed, I’m left in a dark living room.

Even from out here, it’s easy to tell which room is yours. I recognize your scent from the dozens I came across at the grocery store yesterday. Your sweat smells like onions and musk. I love onions. Your room is tidy, but could still use a good dusting. I spy your bed pressed against the far wall. It’s dressed with a set of spring green sheets and a canary yellow blanket.

You have two pillows, and a giant stuffed husky dog resting at the top of the bed. Laundry detergent wafts up from the cotton sheets. It’s clear you washed your bedding in the past few days. I sit on the edge of your mattress and take the room in. You have two bookshelves. One is chock full of novels, mostly fantasies and thrillers. You’ve organized them by color. You stuffed the second bookcase with manga, and different gaming devices take up the remaining shelf.

In front of your window is your desktop computer. It’s a cheap gaming rig, but you have decent enough monitors that I don’t feel the immediate need to replace them. When you’re mine, you’ll have the best of everything. While I’m thinking of your shopping list, I decide to buy a sliding door lock and ship it to you under Mrs. Songs’ name.

I can’t do that until I have a key, though, so I head out of your room and into the kitchen to search the drawers. The website for your apartment complex stated they give one key per tenant over the age of eighteen, plus one to have as a spare before they charge for extras. I just hope you haven’t already gone through your free copy.

The universe must be thinking good thoughts about soulmates because I find it in the first drawer I open. Glued to the thick cardstock that was stamped with the apartment logo was the very key I wanted.

After I tuck my shiny new key into my pocket, I leave through the same sliding glass doors that granted me entry. With my keen eye for detail, I scan your home one last time to make certain I leave the inside of your apartment as close to the way I found it as possible. Speaking of your apartment, I hate it. As I leave, music pumps from your neighbors' unit, despite it being before noon on a weekday. Marijuana and tobacco smoke stink up the air. You’re surrounded by losers and dropouts. Useless members of society. As soon as I can, I’m moving you into my home. And if I can’t get you to move in with me, I’ll put you up in a penthouse downtown.

Never forget that your mate is a very wealthy man, my sweet girl. I won’t claim to be the wealthiest man in the world, but I know for a fact I’m quite high on that list. That much money gives me access to a frankly obscene level of influence over the world.

And yet my pack is weak.

We are fifteen men strong, but just that- we are only men; even among those chosen few, I’m the only born werewolf. I turned the rest of them over the course of the past decade as they proved their worth. It takes a spectacular amount of self control to turn someone. Vampires have it easy. All they have to do is share blood, stop the initiate’s heart however you please, then bury the corpse and wait for the fledgling vampire to rise in their own time.

Werewolves have a much harder time propagating our species. In order for me to turn a human into a lycanthrope, I must attack them. A single bite won’t do it. They have to be mauled so viciously that their immune systems crash, thus allowing the werewolf virus to infect them. Even then, it’s not guaranteed. The initiate must survive the fever and their injuries.

It’s better to allow the infection to spread over the course of a month, where it will grow to its ultimate form under the light of the full moon. This allows the initiate to adjust physically and mentally to their new bodies and new instincts. As the alpha of my pack, I take the month to bond with my new beta.

I bring them to my family’s estate in the mountains where we once had a very lucrative silver mine. Believe me, the irony is not lost on me. A family of werewolves that owns a silver mine? Ridiculous. Yet, own it we do. Of course, we had none of our kind down in the mine shafts themselves. We kept them above ground where they wouldn’t die of silver poisoning just by breathing the air.

The veins have dried up in the past thirty years, so now the property is used to contain newly turned wolves. Even though it’s only us out there for hundreds of miles, I don’t let my wolves run around, causing havoc. Until they’re under my control, and won’t lose themselves to their instincts, they stay in the mines on full moons.

If they don’t submit by the end of the first night, I break their will before the moon thins. I do not allow any wolf to deny my status. If they are in my pack, they bend to my whim. Loyalty is an utmost priority. If they can’t commit to the pack, I rip their hearts out. Fortunately, I’ve only ever lost one new wolf in such a manner. The fifteen other men I’ve turned so far have become integral to my way of life.

They’re all employees of mine. My driver, my private security team, my home chef, my doctor, my lawyer, and the two groundskeepers that stay year round on the mountain to manage the estate and keep the property in shape are in my pack. 

Born werewolves like me are rare. Our mothers are humans, but come from lycan bloodlines. Meaning they carry the werewolf gene. Then, when combined with our werewolf father's genes, we born werewolves greet the world, kicking and screaming. You don’t seem to come from a lycan bloodline, but deep in my gut, I know you’ll provide me with lycan children.

A handful of blocks away from my destination, I pull a KN-95 mask out of its plastic wrap and stick it on my face. Then I put a plain dark blue baseball cap on. I tie it all together with a pair of thick wire-rim glasses.

As a werewolf, my eyesight is better than the best human's. The lenses are just for show. I don’t want you to recognize me later when I truly introduce myself. I want you to fall in love with a stranger who sweeps you off your feet and leaves you aching for more.

What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.

I park my car outside of the business next to Costume Avenue. You’re visible through the front windows, even though you’re tucked towards the back of the shop. I have a clear line of sight. That must have been on purpose.

Half the reviews on Google are about you, so I don’t doubt that you’re a large draw for business. It makes sense your boss wants you to be easy for customers to find from the front door. Not many places have a full time historical customer on staff and your work is more than worth boasting over. For example, recently, an up-and-coming starlet wore one of your gowns to the Oscars after-party. 

If you hadn't left so fast last night, perhaps we could have hit it off naturally. Your timing is off, is all. I have to admit, as impatient as I am to be with you, I appreciate the opportunity to learn about you. I didn’t become the rich and powerful man I am today by jumping the gun and rushing into things. In business and in love, I need to keep my wits. 

I can’t wait too long, though. If I’m too slow to act on our soulmate bond, the possessive animal in my blood will lash out. I might wake up one day on your porch, naked as the day I was born, my wolf having brought us there to paw pathetically at your door while I was sleeping.

The double doors of the building are wide open to welcome in both customers and the cool late spring air. There aren’t any heads bobbing around inside aside from yours. You get up from your sewing chair to stretch and take a walk around the building, tidying shelves and racks as you pass them. You stand in the doorway to glance at the parking lot and your gaze passes over me as if I’m not even there. Good.

Your cell phone rings and you glance around for customers. Seeing none, you answer it. Your smile makes you look younger. “Hey! I can’t talk for long. I’m at work. What’s up?” I hear you say as a greeting to whoever is on the other end of the call.

A woman's voice says, “I’ll be quick. Shaun wants to know if I can cover his shift Saturday night, so I was hoping we could have girls' night Friday night instead?”

You tilt your head slightly in thought and make a wincing expression. “Saturday is two for one at the Forty-Five, though.”

“Please, Freya?” The woman wheedles, “I’ve been trying to get an in with Shaun for so long! This is my chance!”

You roll your eyes. “You cover his shift at least once a month.”

“But I can feel this time is different! I’m so close to getting into his study group I can taste it.”

You laugh, and it’s musical. “Okay, fine, but you’re buying the drinks.”

“Deal!” Your friend is grinning. I can hear it in her voice. “I’ll see you there at eight?”

“Friday night. Eight o’clock.” You agree, and the two of you exchange goodbyes before you hang up.

I’ve never been to The Forty-Five, but I’ve heard about it from my men. It’s supposed to be a respectable sort of place, and quite expensive, so I understand your hesitancy to agree to full priced drinks. You won’t have to worry about that, though. I’ll take care of you.

I start my car and drive back to my house. I think it’s time we meet face to face, and what better spot to fall in love than on the dancefloor?