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evilgwrl · 3 months ago

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ExHusband!Simon x Reader

You Want a Divorce? (Two)

Note: I feel like this is so bad im sorry!!!!

CW: Angst, titty sucking, passionate asf sex, simon missed ur pussy and you very much and vise versa, breeding kink, PIV (no protection, pls use it irl), squirting, simon eats the FUCK out of ur pussy, multiple orgasms, praise, hint of degradation, possessive!simon, OVERSTIMULATION, slight daddy kink… sorry

Part One

It was a quiet ride, the subtle sweeps of cars fleeting by as Simon gripped the wheel, eyes trailing off to the side to look at you briefly. Your head was leaned against the window, your knees knocking together anxiously as your daughter babbled in the back, cooing about how Mummy and Daddy were now back together.

You tried to hide the shed of tears that filtered across your iris, every small childish mumble like a stab to the gut as you listened to the genuine happiness in her tone. You would turn around occasionally with a small smile as you reached out to tickle her foot, giggles filling the car.

Simon pulled in, the car bouncing slightly as it hit the gravel carpark, his hand swerving into a spot before he turned to the back. “You excited, baby?”

Ella’s face lit up as she fumbled to take off her seatbelt, “Get me, Daddy! Get me! I wanna see the lions!” It was refreshing knowing she still viewed Simon as her hero, no matter how distant he was in their lives. You knew that even though your ex-husband was rarely around, his time with them did everything it could to mend the time apart. Toby woke up at the commotion, the toddler having slept the whole way there despite his older sister’s constant bickering about what animals she had to see first.

Everything seemed to flash past you as you walked inside, the whir of kids and noise sending your brain into overdrive as your eyes flickered to Simon with Ella swinging around on his shoulders and Toby kicking his legs in the stroller. You looked away; breath shaky as you attempted to compose yourself. This was supposed to be a happy day, for all of you, yet seeing him with your children, something that was supposed to be normal, felt so distant and unknown. Gathering yourself, you plastered a fake smile, hands reaching out to pinch your son’s cheeks as you grabbed the stroller.

Your heart hammered in your chest for the remainder of the day, fingers tingling with anxiety that bled into your veins, consuming your lungs with what seemed like everything but oxygen. It was a series of squeals and commotions from your young ones, their elation evident through the bright glow of their face, soft red resting on the apples of their cheeks. As the day quieted down, Toby slumped in the stroller as you tucked him into the car seat, his new plush crocodile cradled into his arms, mouth wide open as subtle breaths snored out.

Ella was cradled into Simon’s shoulder, her shoes half hanging off as she clutched onto him, dead asleep. You settled into the ride home yet your anxiety only seemed to heighten. You were alone with Simon, with no kiddish voices to break the tension, brown orbs glaring into the side of your face.

“Should we talk about this morning?”

You scoffed. “You have some nerve asking to talk about this morning,” you screamed into a hush, “What you did was completely disrespectful. Not only did you break into my house and kick my date out, but you left our kids in the car! What the fuck were you thinking?”

He cleared his throat, almost like he wanted to hold back how he felt. You noticed the white in his knuckles as he gripped the wheel, right eye twitching as he stared at the squiggles of tar ahead. “I don’t want our kids growing up thinking it’s normal for parents to separate. They need their mum and dad together, y/n.”

The world silenced for a second, the screams of the wind rushing past you seemed to slow as your voice cracked, seeps of emotion pouring out as you choked on your breath, “Then you should have fought for your family, Simon. There is no us anymore, it’s just them. They’re all that connects us now.”

You felt like all the ivory had been sucked out of your eyes, endless pits of your pupil consuming you whole, blurring your vision with fog as you blinked, hot streams of liquid salt spilling onto your cheeks, brimming at the cracks of your lips as you sniffled. You could feel his hesitation as he looked at you.

His words regurgitated in his throat as he stammered, tangled limbs reaching out to grip yours as you pulled away.

“Just drop us home.”

Your eyes had dried now, soft stains of bare skin caving through your foundation as you smudged your fingers against it. Simon stuttered as he pulled up to the driveway, tyres screeching to a halt as you sat in silence.

The soft strum of fingers caught your attention as you turned around, the innocent face of Toby looking back at his parents, tongue blabbing out of his mouth. “Dadda! You have dinner?”

“No, sport. Daddy’s gotta go-“

“Yeah, baby. Daddy will have dinner with us.”

You blinked at your own words, Simon’s surprised expression meeting yours. The wrench in your heart would never subside, the entirety of the beating organ still belonging to your ex-husband, but being a mother was a sacrifice. And you would sacrifice yourself in every existence you become one if it meant your children didn’t have to battle the same internal wounds.

“They’re tucked in,” Simon said, voice soft as he noticed your withered body in the couch. Your hair was messy now, strands spitting out as you anxiously tucked them back in, smoothing them down with the dampness of your palms as you ran around all night, ushering to the demands of your children.

“Thank you.”

You felt ill, your tongue cascading down your throat as you palmed at your knees, desperate for him to leave yet desperate for him to stay. Simon stilled, keys jangling in his hand before he sat down next to you, his weight disrupting the couch as he shuffled around.

“I need you to know that I did want to fight for you, y/n. I have counted every single day since you handed me those papers, waiting by my phone every single night on deployment hoping for you to text me, call me, fuck - blow my phone up. I never wanted the temporary absence that we had apart become permanent. Everything I said,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly as he looked away, “Everything I said on October 6th, 7 years ago, I meant. You weren’t supposed to get away from me - I shouldn’t have - I shouldn’t have let you get away from me.”

It was strange. Simon was never one for feelings, the brutality of his job allowed for any harsh emotions to crack through his fingers as he pulled a trigger, any dampness of tears would sweat through his skin as he pummelled a blade into an enemies head.

But it was you. And you weren’t violent, or any enemy, you were his wife, the person he vowed his entirety too.

Your anxious cascade cracked as you whimpered out a sob, chest heaving as you buried your face, tight with tears, into the pillows of your hands. You felt warmth spread through you, the texture of Simon’s fingers burning through you like wildfire, every ember he felt scorching through your flesh as he pulled you in.

Arms tangled together, intwining like wool as he wrapped you into his chest nimbly. A zephyr ran through you, your wrists clutched in his hands as you straddled him, the weight of you feeling like the grandest treasure upon him.

It was nothing strange, nor sexual but Simon recognised that cry, the differing pitch as you shuffled your frame into his. Simon knew you like the back of his hand, every crevice, every crease, every scar. He knew your backstory, and the one you made up to impress people. He knew the hex of the colour of your eyes and the print of your thumb. No papers would take that away from him.

Soaked eyelashes clumped into one as you looked up at him, orbs resembling once of a doe, innocence seeping through every inch of a salt-stained tear. His eyes met yours, apertures of cocoa reflecting your weary frame as you gripped onto him.

“Let me come home, please.”

Simon’s voice was desperate, it was raw, any shed of arrogance erased through the lines, eyebrows knotted together as he rubbed at the small of your back.

Your nod was subtle, but he could practically hear it, calloused hands gripping at the plush of your cheek and seeping through the tip of your spine, thumb rubbing at your earlobe as he clutched onto you.

Hot, seething pricks ran through your limbs as your lips connected, saline lining your mouth as he lapped at the heat of your tongue, rough groans leaving his lips as he savoured the taste.

Any diffidence left your body as familiarity sunk back into you. Hands pawed at the globe of your ass, gripping the flesh as anguished limbs wrapped around Simon’s waist.

With an easy tug, he lifted you, your hands wrapping around his neck as he pulled you in closer, teeth kissing. You never questioned Simon’s strength, and you wouldn’t start now as you felt your back hit your mattress.

He tugged at his shirt, the black fabric pooling on the floor as you sucked in a breath. Your eyes traced every scar, lighter flesh engraved into the skin of his torso, a short trail of hair disappearing into his pants as you stared at his burly physique.

Simon gripped at your shirt, the material practically ripping before his hands were at your chest, grabbing at your flesh desperately as you tangled your fingers into your bra, sliding it off. His mouth was hot on your chest, the sound of moans and pants filling the air as he positioned himself between your legs, teeth grazing the hard nubs, sucking with fervour as you whined, your hand at the base of his head, cradling it.

“Missed these so fucking much,” he practically whined, groping your tits as he pinched your nipples, lips sucking deep marks of possession into the soft skin. Your pants were desperate, begging him for more as you pulled his hair, fingernails clawing at his scalp.

Your hands fumbled with your pants, hips raising as he slid them off, clumsy fingers chucking them across the room as you laughed, lips connecting once more in a giggly state as his thumb pushed against the wetness of your panties.

“Missed how fucking wet you got for me. Such a good fucking girl,” he groaned, fingers rubbing at your heat through the thin cloth eliciting a pained moan from you.

“Simon - I need more, been so long.”

He choked out a laugh as his fingers hooked into the fabric, lace dribbling down your leg before he mewled at the sight of you. His hands held your thighs apart, your soaking cunt on display as it throbbed, slick folds glistening in the poor lighting.

“Prettiest fucking pussy,” he choked out to himself, placing your legs over his shoulder as he knelt down. Your back arched as you felt his tongue lick a long stripe of your pussy, his body seething for a taste of you as his lips found your neglected clit.

He lapped at you mercilessly, your cries and moans moulding into one with the filthy squelches of his mouth against your heat. Long digits circled your entrance, teasing you, before they curled in.

Your eyes rolled, pools of ivory exposed as you let out a guttural moan, your thighs tightening around his ears as he smirked against your pussy. Cocky fingers rubbed at the right spot, favouring the clench of your tight hole as he pulled every noise he could get from you.

You were barely cohesive as he lapped at your slick, the throbbing of your clit edging him on as he soothed your g-spot with the pad of his fingers. The coil you had only ever felt with Simon began to build, the familiar sensation pooling in your stomach as you stuttered out a whimper.

“Si- too much - I’m gonna-“

“That’s it baby,” he cooed, pulling away from your pussy for a second to take in your expression as you came, your face contorted with pleasure as your legs jerked, pussy wrapping tighter around his abusing digits as he fucked you through it with them. You looked down at him, saliva and your slick coating his mouth and chin as he grinned.

You stammered out a groan as his mouth attached back on your pussy, slurping up your liquid gold as you attempted to push his head away in overstimulation.

“Oh my- fuck - Simon - too much,” you whimpered your words commanding him to continue as he guzzled around your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive bud as your legs shook uncontrollably.

It wasn’t long before the continuation from your previous orgasm rose again, heat swarming your lower belly as you screamed out, your hand slapping over your mouth as you felt Simon’s spare hand wrap around your thigh, squeezing tightly.

You pulled at his hair, tugging at the ashy roots before you were gushing around his fingers and tongue again, sloshing liquids soaking your sheets as he groaned at the taste, mouth lapping it up with vigour. You whined in humiliation, the overwhelming pleasure becoming too much as you heaved.

“Si - no more -“

“I’m sorry baby, too fucking good. Will never get enough of your pussy.”

His words were filthy yet only held the truth, his continuous slurps against your heat causing your body to jerk as you relentlessly bucked your hips. Simon’s abuse continued on your pussy, your pussy gushing and coming another 6 times before he was satisfied, the sheet under you drenched in both your slick and squirt as Simon milked your overwhelmed cunt, claiming he was “making up for the months lost”.

You were dry heaving, throat dry as he captured your lips in a kiss, the taste of you infiltrating into your glands as you groaned, his hands reaching to tug at your breasts as he took in your fucked out state, legs jiggling and twitching as your pussy convulsed at the number of orgasms he dragged out of you.

You felt like you had been lying here for hours, yet you weren’t satisfied. You would only be content when he was inside you, stretching you to the brim as he pumped a load inside your worn-out hole.

“Simon - please - I can’t… I need you now,” you were practically crying, tears shedding at the brim of your eyes, bottom lip jutting out as he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, slicking back the sweat on your forehead.

“I know baby, done so well for Daddy, hm? Even after all that you still need to be plugged full of me don’t you?”

You nodded as a harsh slap landed against your clit, your body jolting as you squeaked. “Yes, please,” you cried, “Please Daddy.”

His hands were like clockwork, tearing at his jeans as they released his cock, a satisfied groan leaving his body as he gripped at the tent in his pants, a sticky wet patch soaking the material before his length throbbed out, angry tip slapping his stomach as a trail of precum glistened against the base of his cock.

His dick was flushed red, begging for release as he ran it through the squelch of your sopping folds, rubbing against your manipulated clit as you moaned.

Your hands gripped his head as he leant down to kiss you, his arm holding him up while the other positioned himself at your entrance. He stilled for a moment, cock almost pressing in before he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

The words were soft yet meaningful, your eyes interlocked as he began to push inside, your mouth gasping open as you clutched onto his shoulders. It was hard when you were together all those years to get accustomed to his frightening length, and now it had been a year and the stretch was searing through you.

“I know, sweet girl, you can take it. Such a tight cunt for me, so fucking good.”

Fingernails clawed at his back as he pushed in, your whines muffled by the palm of his hand as he held himself up his elbows. “Holy fuck,” he spluttered as he bottomed out, his lips connecting to your neck as he sucked, resting inside you for a second as you whimpered.

The burn slowly faded as you rutted against him impatiently, the tip of his cock resting against your sweet spot as you gasped.

“So fucking impatient, always been such a slut for me. Haven’t you?”

You nodded, whining as he began to move, moving his hips slowly as he rubbed inside you perfectly, your mouth wide open as your head lolled back. A series of expletives tipped from your tongue as you choked on the air, Simon’s pace picking up at your dramatic noises.

“Fuck - taking me so well-“ he grunted, hands groping at your tits as he watched your pussy absorb his length. It was an obscene sight and he loved it. Every fibre of your being belonged to him and it was something he constantly craved.

“All fucking mine - shit - my fucking pussy,” he grunted, thumb rubbing at your clit as you mewled, twitching below him as he spat, “my fucking wife - got the tightest fucking cunt just for me.”

You clenched around him at his words, knowing it was true as his balls slapped against your ass, skin spanking against each other as the sound filled the room, ecstasy roaring through both of your veins as you made love.

The squelch of your pussy was taboo as he lapped in the missed sound. His eyes took in the way your body reacted to every movement, no matter how small. He took in the way your breasts bounced with each thrust, lower stomach bulging as he pounded into you.

“Fuck - Simon - oh my God,” your words were a mere blabber, barely making sense as you clutched onto him, pulling him down to meet your lips.

“I can’t pull out, baby - fuck - gotta cum in this pretty pussy. Give you another kid, hm? - shit -“

His hips didn’t falter as his pace fastened, chasing his own high as he rubbed at your clit, your breaths growing shallow as your orgasm began to build. “Gonna fill you with my cum until it takes. Need your belly round again and your tits full - such a good fucking mum, makes me so fucking proud.”

His words were the final straw as the build up in your stomach popped, your whole body convulsing as your pussy clenched around him, a loud groan leaving his throat before you felt the hot splashes of his cum pumping inside you.

“That’s it baby, milk my cock. Such a good fucking girl for Daddy, gonna break you apart everyday on my cock until you never forget who you belong too.”

He didn’t pull out immediately, his cum plugged inside you as some seeped out, rolling down the crevice of your ass below you. Your eyes shut, gentle pants leaving your lips as you felt Simon’s absence before a soft cloth was wiped gently across your sex and masculine arms were gripping onto you, carrying you into the guest room before engulfing you into a thrill of heat, Simon’s chest against your back as you fell asleep.

TAGLIST: @kiiwiipie @nijiru

Disclaimer: im sorry if this is disappointing im super tired :(((

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lowkeyremi · 11 months ago

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jjk men and aftercare ft. Gojo, Choso, Nanami, Toji, and Geto.

a/n: I saw something like this awhile ago and forgot to write abt it but here I am now babyyyy. also not proofread bc im tired :P

cw: really suggestive, established relationships, how they are after sex basically :)

Gojo Satoru

When you two first started hitting third base Gojo was all about himself and about how he felt. When you had cleaned yourself up and prepared for bed that night Satoru finally realized something was wrong.

"What's wrong, babe? I thought you liked it??" He asks, worried about his performance in bed. Your silence prompts him to try and figure out what he had done wrong, and honestly he couldn't even think of anything.

"Pleaseeee tell me. I won't know if you don't say anything." Those invasive thoughts that tell you, "you don't matter to him." start to attack your brain once again. He's way out of your league you start to think.

"Aftercare. You didn't even offer to help me clean up, Satoru." Saying it out loud makes you sound kind of petty in your opinion but it does matter.

"OH. Shit baby I'm so so so so sorry!!!!! I- It's just-" He cuts himself off and tries to reword his sentence, "Well, back then I.. I was sleeping around so my pleasure was the only thing that mattered to me. It's different.. you know? Dating. I'm still working out everything. I won't forget next time I promise."

He'd been telling the truth because from then on he always went all out with aftercare. He would run you a bath with your favorite salts and oils, he'd make you your favorite snacks, he'd even cuddle you afterwards until you fell asleep. (rich boyfriend privileges)

Choso Kamo

He'd been waiting so long to finally sleep with you for the first time so he had done all his research prior to the day. He was looking at your dilated pupils, messy hair, and the cum that sat on your stomach.

"Okay so, according to the article I read, I should run you a hot bath, yeah?" He asks nervously.

A small smile braces your lips. In all honesty you probably should have expected this much from Choso. He wants to make sure everything is perfect.

"You looked up aftercare???" You sit up on the bed and a back cramp decides to hit right then and there. As soon as he hears your groan he sprints the the kitchen, only to return with a heat pad.

"Heat pad for cramps?" He's truly nervous, and eager to please you, the love of his life.

"Thank you, Cho. I'll take you up on that bath."

"Of course, I'll get in with you if that's okay." The smile on your face is enough of an answer.

Nanami Kento

YOU ARE WINNING!!!!

Massages, baths, homemade snacks, you name and he'll do it for you. In his mind it's the least he can do for you, because you treat him so well and give him that pretty pussy he loves so much.

"Right here?" He's currently working those skilled fingers into your tight muscles after bending you every which way.

"Ohhh... yes right there, baby. Hurts so muchhhh." You whine and moan at the same time. At this point you two have already bathed and he's made sure to moisturize your body leaving you clean and refreshed.

He seemed to notice the way you limped and asked if you need anything. The sex was good really, but you didn't want to tell him that folding you in half wasn't the best idea. Oh, but he's persistent would not leave you alone until you told him what was wrong.

Once you told him he had immediately sat you down, picked up your favorite lotion and started to work out the kinks in your body.

"I'm so sorry, again." He mumbles quietly.

"Stop apologizing, Kento. These things happen. At least I know to stretch before hand next time." His face softens at your giggles and he presses a small kiss to your thigh.

"Oh do not get me started." A smile creeps up his face, while blush slowly spreads across yours.

Toji Fushiguro

BOOOOOO no aftercare. well maybe not much at least.

Has not properly cared for a woman since his late wife but he realizes if he wants you to stay he'll have to fix that.

At first he would throw a wet rag at you and give a simple, "here clean up." When he got out the shower he was genuinely confused why you were no longer at his apartment.

As soon as you picked up he could tell you were pissed, "What do you want, Fushiguro."

He's a little shocked, did not expect that from you, "I'm your boyfriend so it's Toji and not Fushiguro. The hell is your problem??"

The silence is so loud. For a second he thought you'd hung up on him. "Hello??"

"I'm giving you some time to think about that dumbass question and figure out why I'm mad at you." He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes too. He's lucky you can't see it.

"Ugh, I don't have time to play the damn guessing game. You're always mad about the little things.. what is it?" He's running through anything he could have possibly done wrong recently.

"Toji, you threw a fucking wet washcloth at me and told me to clean myself up. I'm your girlfriend, not one of your one night stands!" There it is, and the bad part is he doesn't even see what's wrong with that. (at first)

"I don't even give them something to clean up with, I just leave. But damn if you want me to get all fancy and shit I'll try." He scratches his head and begins to wonder why women are so hard to please.

Let me tell you he's no Nanami, but it's getting better. Still falls asleep afterward most times tho :/

Geto Suguru

You do it yourself for the most part, and here's why.

He's over here washing you up in the tub and he can't stop staring at your soapy titties and it just leads to more sex.

It's never just aftercare with him. He's always chasing more. Like that time you asked him to massage your legs after you two had finished fucking in the tub.

"Yeah shit why not? Lotion or oil??" He asks looking through your products.

"Uhhh lotion's fine." You'd grabbed your phone to see if your mother left you a voicemail which she did. She talked about how you need to pick up the phone or at least text her your alive if you're not gonna pick up. You were NOT going to pick up earlier though. Suguru likes to tease and you learned that the hard way when he was eating you out while you were discussing group bonding dinner ideas with your boss over the phone.

Anyway, he made his way to the bed with your lotion and all things went to hell. It was slow at first, nothing too sensual, then of course he had to slip a finger in your pussy and you sat there and stared.

"We are not doing this, we just got out of the bath." You were so serious, but so was he. (you were also aroused so)

"Another bath never hurt anybody, 'fraid of a little water baby??"

(such an annoying whore)

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gamesetart · 4 months ago

Note

In the Open relationship au at one point maybe Art actually asks her to help him out, he’s been aching so much since the talk with Patrick and seeing reader with Tashi didn’t help at all, so she gives him a hand (literally 🫣) and as he is close to reaching his high she makes him pray to god for forgiveness for that sinful act or else there’s no release 😩

ohhh wait yes

because art's been like this for a couple weeks now. needier than before, even after his composure started to slip. genuinely needy. waking up to his hard-on pressing into you, he's half-asleep and he's still needy, still gagging for it, because he just wants you so, so bad. and eventually, he caves. reasons it away to himself, thinks that it'll be alright if it's just your hand, that much he and his god can forgive him of.

you play off your immediate excitement. act concerned - is he sure? you don't want to take advantage of him, is he sure he really wants this? - and when he finally "persuades" you that yes, this is what he wants, you finally get to see his cock for the first time.

and it's pretty, a nice girth, long and very quickly going red at the tip. you were right, you think, he does flush all over. and you kneel in front of him, tell him he needs to spit on your hand so you can stroke him.

"you want me to... spit on you?"

"just on my hand, artie, right here."

he won't admit he enjoyed it, likes the idea of you so sweet and pliant he could spit on you and you'd take it - want it. but you feel his cock throb nonetheless.

he doesn't last very long, but you don't expect him to. you're on your knees, revert, beautiful, and he thinks for a moment about how much like prayer this is, how much like your god this would make him. it's a sinful, prideful thought, and he pushes it away in favour of bucking up into the warm, slick grip of your hand. he's never realised how wet things could be before, his cock rapidly leaking precum, leading to a mess of wet shlick, shlick sounds as you fuck him with your fist.

"fuck, fuck, oh god, baby, 'm close," he whines, "please--"

"don't ask me," you say, slowing your hand, drawing it out. "ask him."

you jerk your head up to the ceiling. he stares at you, eyes wide, cheeks flush, pupils blown, cock throbbing in your hand. even his balls twitch, as if to win your sympathies.

"you're being so bad, after all," you continue in a low voice, giving him a rough stroke, root to tip. your thumb swipes over his slit and he whines. "you should ask for a bit of forgiveness. tell him you're sorry, and ill let you cum."

like art isnt sorry every damn day. like he isn't plagued by sin every time he looks at you. he doesn't have to try to come up with the right words.

"f-forgive me, heav-- ah -- heavenly f-father," he chokes. "for i ha-ah-ve sin-sinned."

you resume your torturously slow hand job. all the breath leaves arts lungs in a single, shaking breath.

"i- i've had lustful feelings and--" his voice breaks. "god, oh, god-- ive been bad, ive been so bad, im so sorry, 'm sorry, im sorry, oh god, please, please, 'm sorry--"

it's like his brain is broken. he knows the words, but his mouth can't form them. he knows this prayer back to front. this very confession. but his tongue is tied, everything lost somewhere on the path from his head to his lips. it's exactly what you were looking for.

"that's a good boy. cum for me, artie."

and he does. all over your hand. his stomach. it's sort of beautiful. take that, you think vindictively. i made him like this. he's mine, now. im his fucking god.

#anon.chat #open relationship au #art donaldson smut #kit.writes

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into-f0lkl0re · 5 months ago

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paige bueckers x reader

(I attempted no physical descriptors. Imagine reader how ever you want!)

sorry if this sucks. i tried!

warnings: use of y/n (IK IM SORRYYY, I HATE IT TOO😭😭😭😭 I TRIED TO WRITE IT WITHOUT BUT IT GOT CONFUSING AND MY BRAIN CANT HANDLE THAT RN)

not spell checked

summary: Paige and reader have been dating and live together. paige comes home late from practice and just really needs comfort from the reader.

Paige slammed the door of her apartment behind her. sighing as she kicked off her sneakers, resting her head against the door. coach really overworked them today. they had the final four against Iowa in just a week. All paige could feel was anxiety, her shoulders were tense and her arms tender. She felt a migraine coming on as she stumbled into the kitchen from the hallway. The hallway light was on while everything else was off. It was late, really late. her girlfriend no doubt asleep in their bedroom.

paige was starving but couldn’t motivate herself to make anything to eat. she blindly made her way into her bedroom and collapsed on her side of the bed. paige contemplated waking her girlfriend up, she felt bad it was late. so she decided against it, turning into her girlfriend and burying her head in her neck. paige felt a hand come up and comb through her hair. “hey sweet girl, you’re finally home” y/n whispered into her girlfriends hair. paige nodded burying herself deeper into her girlfriends neck. y/n sat up still holding paige. “ how was practice baby?” “coach is torturing us, we did at least an hour and a half of drill today. I’m so fucking wiped i feel like i’m gonna crash.” paige groaned in y/n’s arms

y/n kissed paige’s forehead smiling down at her adorably grumpy girlfriend. “are you hungry?” paige nodded with a pout on her face. “ok how about this, I will make you something to eat while you go and shower and get comfy.” Paige pursed her lips for a moment as her eyes began to water “i feel bad, I woke you up. and now you are gonna make food for me. i’m sorry i feel like a shitty girlfriend. i mean i haven’t even asked you about your day.” a tear escaped from paige’s eye exhaustion written all over her face. y/n combed through her girlfriends hair before caressing her cheek “I like doing things for you. it makes me happy. i like making sure that you are all right, it’s my job as your girlfriend. and anyway you can pay me back tomorrow morning.” y/n said the end with a smirk. paige laughed before getting up, leaning into her girlfriend, looking down at her lips. “what did i ever do to deserve you.” she smiled before closing the distance and kissing her girlfriend with so much love. physically communicating her endearment towards the girl.

well i tried! I don’t rlly like this, it’s kinda shit but i hope you guys like it 🤞🤞

I haven’t written fanfics since my wattpad days. *audibly shudders* which is was a while ago and i was deep in the marauders phase of my life ( i was like thirteen) anyway if you like this and want more send in requests i have no idea what else to write, i kinda pulled this out of my ass.

big forehead kisses💕💕

-Faye

#paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #paige bueckers #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers fluff #wbb #uconn wbb x reader

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 months ago

Note

hii wifey!!! okay it's currently super late where i am right now and i can't sleep 😭 but ever since my post on @dirty-little-mind33 i- i haven't been able to stop thinking of dbf!tangerine 😫

like like JDJSJDDJHFFJ

it's giving your dad's hired hitman and they're friends or whatever (don't ask for the specifics, I'm half asleep) and he takes a liking to you and he treats you like a princess FR

keeps you in check so you stay out of trouble, little touches, "love", "princess", "sweetness", "SWEET GIRL" ANRJRNENDN like it's giving the same vibes as bodyguard!tan.

can just imagine him sitting in an armchair of your living room, legs spread bc he's a man and it's sometimes super hot (don't sue me), and he asks you for a lighter and so you hand him one and he blows smoke in your face as he thanks you and calls you his good girl 🥵

okay sorryyyyyyyyyy this is so long i just needed to share and hear your thoughts 🫶

on another note, dbf!logan is also sooo hot but that's for another ask 💖

my wife!! hi wifey! so this will be like im talking to you directly, like im typing everything my brain is thinking in real time. it makes it personal and intimate, I love it. enjoy 💞💞💞💞(also sorry only just got round to this)

no bc you’re so onto something EURRRGGHHHH!!!!

and like okay right so! he’s been working for your dad for a few years and bc it’s only been a few years he’s not known you long (meaning he didn’t see you grow up etc bc that’ll be😃🤮) and like when you visit ur parents or idk you live with them (pick what you fancy) you see him at the dining table with your dad and got all the papers out and laptops etc and they’re chatting about work stuff/ plan

idea time. you go past them and into the kitchen and your dad is none the wiser looking at the papers and maybe questioning the prices but tans looking at you in the kitchen. and tans like “do us a couple teas would ya darling” (ew tan, why would you say that? have you no respect? no shame?) and he’s being all cheeky bc of the darling. but your dad doesn’t think anything of it, like it’s a common petname kinda thing. and it makes your ears prick and turn to look at him and he’s all smug????? and nodding at you????

this is really getting away from me but im not done, you’ve got me going 😭😭😭

tan definitely tests the waters, pushes the boat out LOADS. like he’s so teasing and cheeky in how he does it. def touches your back when ur dads in the same room, looks at you during dinners, sits opposite you during said dinners and touches you with his foot (but not in an gross way bc feet are disgusting) or sits beside you during said dinners and spreads his legs so his thigh bumps yours AND AHHAAHHAGAHA OMG THIS IS KILLING ME has his elbows wide on the table so he takes up more space and feels your arm up with his

and if you’re in the garden after dinner getting some air bc of what happened at the table. he’d come out and join you. but not properly. you might be at the end of the garden sitting at the patio table or something and he’s on the steps by the back door having a fag. like he’s keeping an eye on you but not making it obvious for your family inside

he’s also always offering lifts! so like if you don’t have a car or it’s in the shop or idk blah blah you ask your dad for a lift and tans there and he offers to drive you. and you’re like “no it’s fine” bc sitting in a car with him will make you like idk but like yk GO CRAZY. and tans all like “it’s no fuss. gotta pick something up that way anyway” and your dad is still oblivious so he’s agreeing to it like “tan’ll take you” and tan grabs his keys and he’s nodding you along like (okay don’t hate me for this. I don’t have a daddy kink but this idea is sending me and I need to say it) he’s all like “what daddy said goes” 😫😃😫😀🫠👍😉😔😖😱😰🫣🤭🤔AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASAAAAAHHHH!!! and it has a double meaning!!!!!!!!!!!! bc he means your dad but also him!!!!!!! and the ‘take you’ bit!!!!! he also means that he’ll take you. like fuck you. so it’s all a huge double entendre

GOD THIS IS KILLING ME!!!!!!!!! making me wanna do something with dbf tan now

but he’s such a gentleman about it. like he’s teasing and smug and cocky but he’s still very charming and charismatic about it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and when he drops you off he’s looking at your ass getting out and then opens the window to talk to you through the car and he’s like “call me if you need me”

and you’re like “why would I call you?” like shouldn’t he be saying to call your dad????

and he’s all like “you know why”

and you’re like “huh?” looking at him all weird

AND YHEN HE SAYS “he don’t pay attention to you like I do” GOOD DUCKING GOD SJJABSJDBS

im gonna have to stop there bc I know I never will. plus I have rice cooking and the timer went off 5 mins ago so I really gotta run😭😭😭😭

but you’re so right about him being the same as bodyguard tangerine!!!

#ask #tangerine headcanon #dbf tangerine

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artficlly · 5 months ago

Text

smog & spirits: pony club (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, angst no comfort, previous abuse, domestic violence, curses and hexes, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, possession, mediums, ghosts, hauntings, horror, smoking, brothels, pubs, gambling, alcohol, cults, death/violence/torture, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, police brutality, vaguely british setting??, sexism, classism, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 10.1k!!! oh my god someone help

A/N: god this has been on the go for awhile. it got so long but i have a worm in my brain that told me this had to happen before i can get onto the juicy stuff. next part will be a lot more bucky heavy im so sorry this didn't have much of him, needed to build up that loreeee. anyway i actually hate my writing in this, if i have to reread this one more time im gonna go crazy so i'm just gonna post it and go to bed lol!! sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara

main masterlist | series masterlist

To be lulled into the false security that you would never see Bucky Barnes again was a foolish thought.

Two months passed rather uneventfully. The handsome payment Bucky left you after your favour to him was far beyond your normal rates. A mixture of the gangster having deep pockets and, you suspected, an indication that all that had unfolded was to be kept quiet.

So you had done just that. Your mouth had been sown shut, an invisible thread keeping your lips bound. There were so few people left in your life anyway that you didn’t feel like spilling details of a sex-based ritual with the limited relatives you had left. You weren’t particularly fond of them regardless; most you had not seen in years.

You embraced the winter months as they settled across the city of Blackstone. The fog would roll in thick and dense, the clouds lingering over the port as Sootstone was cast into days of hoarfrosts. Icicles as long as your forearm hung from buildings and lamp-posts and was salt scattered across the wooden docks, where slippage was the worst. The homeless gathered in crowds around the Smokestack district, leeching off the warmth the factories produced. The ice and frosts were never white, unlike the country estates or wealthy garden districts. Smoke and ash continued to pour into the skies, tainting everything with a layer of black grit.

You would see the Smog Boys in the streets often. Teams of the lower-ranking, younger lads would roam in packs, dipping in and out of the alleys. Even dressed in black, you could not make them out through the fog when they intended to disappear. Maybe it had been your brush with Bucky, but you began to notice them everywhere. Lurking in the markets, smoking by the docks, or sauntering by the smokestack factories. A small, stiff, knowing nod would be bestowed upon you if your gaze locked with theirs or if you lingered too long. As if they knew who you were. As if they had been instructed to keep an eye out for you.

You could never leave the Smog Boys once you were inside. Whether you liked it or not, your fates were inextricably linked. You never knew when you might be needed. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to find one in your home. It is what you ought to have expected by now. It was only a matter of time before they came calling.

You could only find one word to describe the woman in your kitchen. Beautiful. Beautiful in a hauntingly, terrifying way. She was stylish, with a blouse tucked into tailored, high-waisted suit pants. A lavish fur coat was draped over her shoulders, and her red hair was in a fashionable, blunt bob. Her lips, painted a deep red, were curved into a disgusted sneer as she assessed your residence.

She had to be with Bucky because only a Smog Boy could illicit such an aura.

“You should invest in better locks.” The redhead comments with a sniff. You haven’t even had a chance to process her presence; instead, you are standing with your lips parted in shock. “It wouldn’t be hard to rob you… or worse.”

You’re unsure if that was a thinly veiled threat or genuine advice.

“Most don’t make habit of breakin’ into witches' homes.” You mutter, regaining your composure. You whip your headscarf off, abandoning it on your dining table. “They’re scared of being cursed.”

Your fingers unknot the woollen scarf around your neck now, tugging it free with a flutter of ash. The woman arches a well-manicured brow at you, looking you up and down. She doesn’t try to hide her judgement. She didn’t seem the type of woman to shy away from stating her opinion. Your clothing was noticeably different from hers, which was made of luxurious fabrics. The Smog Boys were well known for their finer suits—just because they lived and worked in the slums didn’t mean they dressed for it. Bucky seemed to like to keep certain appearances and had the funds to do so. You, however, were dressed for practicality. Heavy, cheap textiles that kept in the warmth.

“Cursed.” The woman states, tone sharp. “You don’t seem the type to throw curses. You’re too… sweet.”

You don’t miss the condescending nature of how her sharp lips curve into a smile. You shoulder the insult. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Natasha. Romanoff.” The name was vaguely familiar to you. She was definitely one of Bucky’s inner circle. Possibly she worked closer to the shadows—a brain rather than brawn like Steve and Sam. “Barne is in need of your particular set of skills again.”

You pause, your fingers frozen over the pin in your mantle. Again? You knew to expect this, but still, you felt your heart uptick a beat. So soon? The question of which skills hung heavy in the air. Your abnormal skill to summon and banish spirits? To break curses and sense the otherworldly? Or to get your brains fucked out by Sootstone’s most notorious gangster?

From the way Natasha was eyeing you, it seemed she knew all about your little sex ritual.

“What if I’m unavailable?” You test hesitantly.

The redhead isn’t amused. “It wasn’t a request.”

You nod slowly, hands falling to your sides. One should know when not to test Bucky Barnes or his men; it always ended rather unfavourably. Plus, you didn’t want to wake up tomorrow to find your kitchen filled with any more gangsters.

Maybe Natasha was right about the locks.

—

Bucky and a pack of his dogs congregated in the streets outside the pub known as The Anchor. The establishment sat across from the docks, with tinted, lattice windows facing the port. On a clear day, one who sat in the window booths might be able to see the ocean. Though, throughout your life, you could recall about as many clear days as the fingers on your right hand. The Anchor had been in the Barnes family for years, originally bought by Bucky’s father when the Smog Boys first rose to infamy.

The building was well cared for, a luxury not many of the surrounding establishments were familiar with. The building was decorated in a nautical style, with netting and flags adorning the walls and rafters. Fish and ships were painted onto the siding, with gold and blue accenting the furniture inside. Even the sign out front was a small, steel anchor engraved with the pub's name.

The Anchor was mainly stocked with whiskey, which the Smog Boys ran an underground distillery for. They offered other spirits, wines, and ales, but the main vice of The Warrens was whiskey. Bucky had several underground or even legal businesses dotted throughout Sootstone, including gambling dens and brothels. You knew he made his office in a gambling den not too far from The Anchor—the dock-side streets were prime spots for high traffic from the sailors and dockworkers coming and going like the tide.

As you and Natasha approached, the pack of adolescent gangsters surrounding Bucky scattered, disappearing into the thick fog and alleyways like wraiths.

“Your witch, as requested,” Natasha announces with a sigh, her brows arched. Bucky glances at you, acknowledging you with little more than a grunt. He takes the last drag from his cigarette before crunching it beneath his shoe.

“Thank you, Nat.” Bucky replies, smoke escaping his lips as he speaks. “Sam’s lookin’ for you inside.”

Natasha doesn’t offer you a farewell as she pulls her coat tighter around her lean body and ducks inside the pub with a tsk. You and Bucky are left in an odd silence, with only the faint call of seagulls and the lapping of waves joining you. You had never seen the dockside street so quiet, but you could confidently assume his presence was responsible.

“I trust Nat didn’t scare you too bad.” The gangster breaks the silence. His dark eyes wander across your frame, seemingly disappointed that you were thoroughly covered to prevent the cold from seeping in. “Would’ve come to get you myself, but I had some business to attend to.”

In retrospect, the thought of encountering Natasha in your kitchen again seemed more daunting than Bucky. You weren’t too sure how to interpret her malice and cool charm. She did give off the impression that she would kill you if you even breathed in her direction. As for Bucky, maybe he would kill you, but given his reputation, he was far more likely to fuck you up against the nearest available surface.

“She said you've a job for me?” You ask, watching as the gangster tucks his large, bruised hands into his pockets.

He cocks his head to the side. “Walk with me.”

You obey wordlessly.

Bucky navigates the streets with ease, ducking through alleys and blindly striding into the fog with unquestionable confidence. The few people you encounter in the winding streets dart out of the way, mumbling apologies and casting their gazes down as they stumble over their own feet. Your breath comes in clouds as you exhale, salt and ice crunching beneath your feet as you keep pace with him.

“There’s an establishment I own, it’s been losin’ business these past months. The girls reckon it’s cursed. Or haunted.” He elaborates, and you frown.

“You think a spirit’s attached?” You ask, and the gangster huffs out a short, bitter laugh.

“I don’t fuckin’ know. I don’t have a sense for that stuff.” His lips are set in a line as he casts his sight down at you. “That’s your job, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t help but gulp and hope that his issue was indeed a spirit. One did not want to disappoint the gangster out of fear of the consequences. Your mind drifted back to months ago, to when he sat in your kitchen with that cursed necklace. He hadn’t noticed that curse—not until his sister apparently spelt it out for him. You couldn’t imagine carrying that thing around when it had reeked so badly that you tasted rot.

“What about your sister?” You suddenly interrupt.

Bucky gives you an incredulous look. “Becca? What about her?”

“You said she has a sense—”

“You think I’m lettin’ my sister near a brothel?” He snaps over you. His body turns to face you as you are both left motionless in the empty, ashy street.

“Oh— I didn’t realise it was… You just said— I just assumed—” Your cheeks grow pink—this time not from the cold—as you stumble over your words. Flakes of ash slowly amble down from the sky, twirling in your mingled breath as the gangster looms over you. Several emotions flicker over his face—insult, disbelief—before finally settling on an eerie amusement.

“Shy ‘bout a brothel? You’re not far off bein’ a whore yourself, doll. You certainly let me fuck you like one.” He leans closer to you, the scent of tobacco fanning across your skin. You clamp your jaw shut, your cheeks growing hotter by the second. The gangster smirks at you with a wickedness that rivals the devil.

—

The Pony Club was not creatively named, like most things in Sootstone. You were sure there was an innuendo about riding or mounting buried in its origin. The brothel was buried deep in the busy streets of the Smokestack District. The crowd of workers parted with hushed whispers as you, Bucky, and Steve approached the establishment. You had bumped into the other gangster during your walk, and he had thankfully filled the tense silence hanging between you and Bucky.

The Pony Club was neatly tucked between two stores. Ice covered the tiled roof, and grey-stained icicles dripped melted water from the front balcony. The ash falling from the sky was thick in these parts. Street sweepers patrolled the roads like small armies, brooms in tow, ensuring the roads were clear for carriages, waggons, and those on foot.

The three of you paused before the building. Your eyes swept over the painted sign, an illustration of a pony alongside the cursive lettering. The building looks well up-kept like many of the Smog Boy establishments; it put its neighbours to shame. You couldn’t help but notice how, despite its busy location, the building was eerily empty. It was as if its walls stood outside of time, cursed to live an existence outside of perceivable reality.

There was a twinge in your gut, a knowing.

Steve grimaces beside you, the gangster scowling as he tucks his hands deep into his pockets. At first, you think he is simply cold from the frigid fog sitting over the city, but only as he speaks do you realise he senses something more. “I hate this place.” He utters.

Bucky hasn’t reacted. He truly didn’t seem to have a sense for anything otherworldly.

“How does it make you feel?” You pry. Steve blinks at you in surprise, as if he hadn’t realised he spoke aloud. It would be useful for you to know how a non-magical person might feel; it could also give you insight as to what haunted the halls of the brothel.

“Doesn’t encourage me to put my cock in some bird, that’s for sure. Bad for business, ‘cause that’s the whole point.” Steve grumbles, and you swear Bucky rolls his eyes. “How does it make you feel?”

The two men look at you with curiosity as you consider your words. Terrible? Awful? Yes, you felt unnerved, but you were accustomed to spirits and hauntings. Most places in this city had ghosts, whether they were malevolent or just lost. You had become unnervingly comfortable with the creeping sensation that you were not alone. It was an entirely different feeling to curses—no, curses, they twisted your gut in wicked ways—hauntings you were at ease with. There was an odd familiarity to them, it sparked a warmth in your soul.

“Best I not say.” You land on. It would be better not to mess with the egos of gangsters, especially if they were afraid of a little ghost.

The two men follow you as you step into the building. The inside is lavish, with a large, grand set of stairs that lead up to the mezzanine. Draperies hung from the balcony railings, and plush furniture, and decorations were artfully placed around the foyer. Despite its luxuriant appearance, there was an isolation that clung to the bones of the building. It was as if dust hung in the air, floating undisturbed. Not a breeze could get through the thick walls, nor could a breath of life. A place that was supposed to be rowdy, a den of sin and pleasure… silenced. As if it were a mausoleum.

The building and those inside were lost in time, caught between a past that did not exist and a future that had not yet come.

The peace is interrupted by a thundering noise, then shrieking. “Mr. Barnes! Oh, Mr. Barnes! So nice of you to come visit us!”

A few curious observers watch from over the bannisters. Beautiful women with tired eyes, hair swept up and curled into coiffures, and revealing dresses that clung to their curves. You suddenly felt rather overdressed in your winter clothes.

An older woman descended the stairs in a frenzy, grinning from ear to ear. Her eyes were lined heavily with kohl, a bright pink blush across her cheeks, and lipstick to match. Her blonde curls bounced around her smooth face, a few longer strands following the dip of her dress. The madame of the brothel.

Your lips purse together, and Bucky lets out a quiet sigh. “Madame Voss.”

“I trust you are here about the ghost?” The madame asks. She is rather excitable, like a puppy or a young child. Even Steve has grown uncharacteristically quiet, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and dread. “I told my girls you would be back to help! I said you were a busy man, but not to worry. We’ve lost a few since you were last here, Rose, Amorie, and Vivinne… but that is nothin’ to worry about. They were traitorous at heart—”

“Yes, I quite understand.” Bucky snaps over Madame Voss. Steve tries to hide a snort, and the madame is left momentarily speechless. “I’ve brought a witch.”

You feel the madame’s gaze rip from Bucky to you. She looks you up and down in one exaggerated sweep, then offers you a somewhat forced smile. She looks as if she is gritting her teeth as she drinks you in. You were left wondering if the madame had some type of unrequited infatuation with Bucky. Many of the women of Sootstone seemed to share such an attitude, especially if they did not have the wit to sense the danger attached to the handsome gangster.

“She’s a bit too pretty for this business, don’t you think? I suppose all those witch women are a bit pretty. It’s usually glamours though, isn’t it?” There is an underlying spite to her tone as she assesses you, arms coming to fold over her chest. Her bosom is exaggerated, and her waistline is pulled pencil-thin by her corset. You are surprised the woman can breathe. “Well, are you wearin’ a glamour, girl?”

You hadn’t realised the madame was questioning you; actually, you found yourself rather overwhelmed by the whole display. Your lips part as you struggle to find your tongue and eventually stagger out a confused reply. “What?”

Madame Voss murmurs in annoyance, her arms uncrossed and hands coming to move in spirited gestures as she speaks. Bucky is staring at the ceiling as if bored out of his mind. “A glamour? You can’t tell me you normally look like that, all wide-fuckme-eyed?”

Steve makes a choking noise somewhere beside you while you gape at the madame. “No?”

“Huh.”

“I work with spirits, not—” You cut yourself off, clearing your throat, and decide it was not worth the argument. “I’ll need some time to walk around ‘n get a feel for things. Maybe talk to some of the girls, if that is alright?”

“Fine by me.” Madame Voss waves you off, attention hastily pulled away as she turns to Bucky. “In the meantime, Mr Barnes, can I get you anythin’? Tea, biscuits… something else? You know my girls will always give you a discount—”

“Somethin’ to drink, perhaps. Somethin’ strong.” Bucky cuts off the Madame and claps Steve on the back. “What do you say, Steve?”

You got the impression that neither Bucky nor Steve liked this Voss woman.

—

It did not take you long to explore the brothel in its entirety.

The establishment was compact and efficient. Downstairs was made up of the main foyer room, which was extended into a room similar to a drawing room. Tables made up the majority of the space, with playing cards and strong Smog Boys branded liquor decorated around the room. Comfortable furniture and suggestive art lined the walls. Out of view was a kitchen, a washroom, and madame’s office space, which Bucky would occasionally take residence in if dealing with business for the Pony Club.

Upstairs was dedicated to private spaces, where the girls lived and worked. They were hesitant to speak with you, guarded and quiet. You did not get the sense that they were being abused or held against their will, but rather haunted by whatever spirit clung to the brothel.

As the Pony Club slowly spiralled due to the haunting, many girls left. Business had grown to a standstill. The girls were plagued with nightmares and anxieties. The few that spoke to you recalled dreams of a dark figure who prowled through the halls, standing at the edges of their vision. At night, they would see the figure in the corners of their room, sitting on the edge of their bed. One girl even claimed the spirit sat upon her chest, that the mass had no face but two sets of shining white teeth that grinned down at her as she struggled to breathe.

When the girls were not targeted by this mysterious figure, they were afflicted with memories of their past. Dark images would replay before them every time they closed their eyes until they awoke sweating and screaming.

You bid farewell to an exhausted working girl by the name of Hanna. She sat on the bed, a woven blanket pulled over her shoulders. There was a distant look in her eyes as you quietly pulled the door shut, forcing yourself to inhale a deep breath as you stood on the empty mezzanine. There was an oppressive energy to the building, one that weighed down your chest as if someone were purposely crushing your ribcage. You knew your feelings were exaggerated due to your knowing, but there was certainly something potent enough here that even those with little to no sense could feel it.

You slowly rotated around the mezzanine in thought, unsure where to begin. Most spirits had an anchor—an item, person, or space—that they bound themselves to. They used it to draw energy, recuperate, and recharge. In rare cases, a spirit might bind to an entire house, causing lesions and pus to drip from the walls. But in your experience, those houses had sat abandoned for years, decades, or even more. The house itself would become sentient, dripping with malice and blinded by rage for those who created it, only to leave it abandoned. That was a festering type of haunting, one of anguish and loneliness, but this… this brothel was active. There had once been clients, and multiple women still lived within its walls. So, where was the anchor? Nothing had screamed out to you; nothing had made bile churn in your stomach or your hair stand up on end—

You froze.

You were a few paces away from the staircase, your mind swimming in thought, and—

A dark mass stood on the top step.

It watched you.

You couldn't make out the eyes or the shape of any humanoid body part. It just stood there, a black cloud over the staircase. But still, you could feel it watching.

And then it smiled.

It smiled wide, yet it did not seem to have a jaw. There was no skull, nothing solid within its mass. Several pearly white teeth smiled at you, spiralling into a gaping hole. The pungent smell of decaying meat filled the air as the mist contorted and pulsated in a sickening rhythm while observing you.

Before you could even consider speaking or moving, the mass had swept down the staircase, disappearing from your view. You raced to the bannisters, leaning over as far as you could without launching yourself over the edge. Loose strands of hair danced around your face as you darted your head. You could still not make out the spirit.

By the time you gathered your skirts and descended the staircase, you found the foyer empty. You could hear the distant trill of Madame Voss's voice deeper within the building, near the kitchen.

There was still that lingering oppression, an uneasiness that squeezed your chest. Regardless of how many times you whirled around, blindly scanning the foyer, you were unable to find a trail where the sensation intensified.

Clenching your teeth together, you let out a sharp sigh and balled your hands into fists. You paused in one of the corners of the foyer, allowing the blood pumping in your ears to calm and your muscles to relax. You blocked out the distant voices, instead focusing on the hum of the environment. You were frustrated, yes, and maybe a little scared. Not of the spirit, but rather how Bucky might react if you told him that you couldn’t banish this ghost. Not because you were too weak or unaware of how to handle it—you were very much prepared in both areas—but because you couldn’t find it?

You were skilled at finding hidden anchors, but it was difficult to focus when you felt immense pressure on your shoulders alone. You closed your eyes and listened intently. You could feel each speck of dust swirling through the air and hear every small sound the walls and floors made as the wood settled. You could hear each fibre of the rug rustle as you gently tip-toed across the room, following an invisible line.

The string was knotted in a complex pattern, similar to a spiderweb. You could feel it brushing over your skin as you moved, growing taut as it tangled around your body. You pushed through the sensation as if wading into a pool of water, stepping deeper and deeper into its strands as they layered over your skin and clothes.

Then, a tug.

A slight tremor, a warbling as a single line was set alight in your mind. The spider—your ghost—was circling you like prey.

You grasped the string, following its current blindly through the foyer. You stumbled around furniture, tripping over the edge of a rug and—

The floorboard creaked beneath you.

It wasn’t a typical creak—not one of an old building or a settling house. No. The creak resonated through your mind, deafening you. Your hands rose to your ears, the shrieking growing louder and louder as you fell to your knees, wincing. The fibres of the rug bit into your skin, sending a rush of electricity coursing through your veins. Under the rug, the floorboard made a hollow thud, loud enough that your ears were ringing from the volume.

You gasped in a breath, violently ripping yourself from your secondary state until you crashed back to reality. Panting, you found yourself crouched over the rug, fingernails dug into the fabric as you wheezed and panted. A cold sweat covered your body, your head aching as you tried to roll the discomfort from your shoulders.

“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with your witch, Mr Barnes.” Madame Voss spoke in a sing-song fashion as she entered the foyer, a condescending look in her eyes as she stared down at you. You wiped the sweat from your brow, forcing your wobbling legs to rise.

“It’s underneath,” was all you were able to reply, your voice raspy as you stalked to the corner of the rug.

"Ominous," the madame retorted, her brows arched. Her gaze cast back to the two gangsters who watched from the entrance to the room. There was a curiosity in their stare, hands tucked in their pockets as you worked. You gripped the corner of the rug, peeling it away from the floor. Underneath, everything looked perfectly in order, with well-polished hardwood panels lined up in unison. Carefully, you walked the length, tapping your shoe on each floorboard.

“Well, you do know what they say… with magic comes madness!” Voss announced with a sly grin, her hands moving to flourish her words. Bucky cocked his head to the side, emitting a sharp exhale through his flared nostrils.

"Let her work," he spoke up, and the tension in the room mounted. The madame's disapproving scowl only added to the oppressive atmosphere. The room fell into an almost palpable silence, broken only by the sound of your tapping as you methodically sought out the hollow board once more. You could sense the growing impatience of the group as you painstakingly worked, with each floorboard sounding as solid as the next.

Just as Bucky appeared poised to call off your efforts, the floorboard beneath you emitted a hollow thud that reverberated through the space below. You tapped again, feeling the same hollow thudding from the adjacent boards. Looking up at Bucky, you gestured toward the floor, affirming, “It’s underneath.”

Madame Voss gaped in astonishment at you and then turned her incredulous gaze towards the two gangsters. “Underneath? Underneath! This must be some kind of magical trick—in all my years working in this establishment, I have never heard of a basement or cellar!”

As Bucky waved at the woman, he made a disdainful noise in dismissal. The madame fluffed up, muttering under her breath in flustered embarrassment, and then stalked away a few paces. Bucky and Steve soon joined you, watching intently as you blindly felt around the edges of the wooden panels. As you investigated, your fingertips discovered finely carved grooves hidden within the wood—imperceptible to the casual observer but discernible to those who sought them out. The edges of the indents provided a perfect grip for you to dig your nails into the wood, allowing you to pry the board from the floor with little effort.

The three of you peered into the space below through the thin gap. It was pitch black, but you could make out some rickety stairs descending into the inky dark. A thick layer of dust sat upon the steps, a musty smell hitting your nose.

You sat back on your haunches, peering closely at the board you had just managed to pry up. The wood was marred with deep gouges as if some kind of wild animal had relentlessly scratched and clawed at the panel. As you tentatively ran your finger across the rough and battered surface, a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach, sending a sickly shudder up your spine.

“Did you know this was here?” Steve mutters to Bucky from somewhere above you.

You continued peeling up each of the loose boards, using the indents to grip the wood with your nails. The disgusting, nauseating feeling intensified as it became apparent that every panel had identical deep gouges carved into the wood.

“No,” Bucky replies, his voice hushed.

When the hole is completely visible, you sink onto your knees. Now that light was flowing in, you could see more clearly. The dusty, ancient stairs descend to a stone floor. The stone appeared dry but extremely dusty. What appeared to be large, old wooden barrels and the beginnings of shelving against the walls were visible in the beam of light. You peer up at Bucky and Steve, who tower over you, and resist the urge to squirm as Bucky meets your gaze.

“This is the anchor.” You explain, and Steve’s face twists, perplexed.

“The pub—?”

“No. Spirits they… they bind themselves to something. An object, a person, a room. This is where the haunting originates.” You clarify and gradually rise to your feet, taking care not to collide with either of the men.

You take a hesitant step down, the stair beneath groaning under your weight. You swallow hard, then spin in place to look back up at the gangsters who watch you expectantly. “I might need a candle.”

Without glancing back, Bucky clicks his finger at Madame Voss, who is attempting to peer into the mysterious room from her perch. “Voss. Candle.”

The madam, clearly exasperated, lets out a loud huff before turning on her heel and disappearing into one of the adjacent rooms. There is still a distinct taste of tension in the air.

“Looks like your old man's been a naughty boy.” Steve teases, a boyish smile emerging. Bucky remains silent, choosing not to dignify the gangster's comment with a reply. Their dynamic left you contemplating the depth of their relationship, especially since you had heard that Barnes was not particularly kind to those who mentioned his father. While Bucky's gaze remained blank and unmoving, you couldn't help but notice a subtle twitch in his jaw, betraying a suppressed reaction.

The Smog Boys were infamous for their cruelty towards their enemies, anyone who crossed them, and those who betrayed their trust. Bucky, in particular, was known for his ruthless approach to dealing with anyone who stood in his way. He carried out his actions silently and brutally, and by the next morning, everyone in The Warrens knew that Barnes had spilt blood. Despite the fear he instilled in others, Bucky remained calm and collected. He was a strategic thinker and planner, and he took pleasure in the sadistic ways his plans unfolded. Despite his fearsome reputation, he was still not as notorious as his father.

His father exhibited a striking lack of cunning, care, or thoughtfulness in his approach. The Warrens endured a dreadful existence as George Barnes succumbed to alcohol-induced rampages. He embodied sheer strength, a fierce warrior whose white-hot rage could melt the most hardened of hoarfrosts. He instilled fear without cause, displaying psychopathic tendencies and craving notoriety through any means necessary. He bolstered the Smog Boys fostering terror through street attacks, gang wars, or burning entire buildings down as a message. Upon Bucky's ascension, the business adopted a quieter and more devious approach. Bucky was all about making money in a quick, quiet, and dirty way. His enemies didn't fear him because they knew what he was capable of, but rather because they never knew, and Bucky knew how to up the ante each time.

Around seven years ago, George had been arrested. He had been too loud and confident in his approach, and the coppers had snagged him. Bucky ran the business for his father, and the Smog Boys boomed with success. His father was set to go on trial, and it wasn’t an unknown fact that the judge had paid off. George Barnes was set to walk free and take over the business again.

Two days before the trial, he was discovered dead in his cell, his body bearing the marks of a brutal, mysterious beating. There was no trace of evidence to scrutinise, and the guards remained silent, neither admitting guilt nor pointing fingers. The law turned a blind eye to the demise of a notorious criminal under their watch, and the incident was quickly swept under the rug, forgotten within hours. Bucky vehemently denied any involvement. He put on a public display of mourning, cursing the authorities and vowing vengeance, though his threats never materialized. It's also worth noting that Bucky shared a particularly close bond with his mother, Winnifred, who herself was not spared from the brutality of her husband. It was common knowledge that, behind closed doors, Winnifred, Bucky, and his younger sister Becca endured all manner of cruelty at the fists of George Barnes.

Years had passed since those fateful events, and Bucky's ascension to power remained unquestioned. No one dared challenge his authority, fearing both the brutal consequences and because The Warrens had silently celebrated in the wake of Senior Barnes' untimely demise.

The sound of Madame Voss' heels clicking against the hardwood floor signalled her return. You took the candle gratefully, eager to escape the awkward tension, and descended into the gloom.

The old wood stairs protest with every step, emitting squeaks and groans under your weight. Your sweeping skirts brush a fine layer of dust into the air, shimmering in the weak candlelight that struggles to pierce the shadows of the small, dimly lit room. You could only describe the space as a cellar, with its stone walls and floors exuding an eerie, uncomfortable atmosphere. Thick metal bolts secure wooden shelves laden with countless large glass bottles, while large barrels, shrouded in heavy blankets of dust, crowd the square room. In the dim corners, dense cobwebs collect. A place long forgotten.

Bucky and Steve carefully made their way down the creaky stairs as you delicately balanced the flickering candle on the edge of one of the dusty barrels. As you wipe away the accumulated grime, you uncover a label imprinted on the lid: Property of SMOG BOYS—George Barnes. You squinted at the words in the low light, moving to the next as you tried to understand what was in these barrels.

Behind you, Steve had grabbed hold of one of the large glass bottles and uncorked it with a sharp pop! He raised it to his nose, took a sniff, and then emitted a loud holler. "Shit, Buck. This is moonshine."

Bucky let out a grumbling noise of recognition, inspecting one of the barrels. “It must’ve been a storage space from the distillery. These barrels look like whiskey.”

The two gangsters gathered near the barrels, muttering between themselves.

“You sure he never mentioned this to you?”

“I’m sure. Don’t know why he was so determined to hide a bit of liquor. We have plenty of warehouses for this—”

You rounded the barrels, venturing deeper into the room. A row of shelves faced the centre of the room, with a narrow space between them that you could slip through. The candlelight barely reached the other side, obscured by the layers of barrels and bottles. You blindly stumbled into the empty space, feeling a familiar, thrumming sensation.

Invisible strings tangled at your ankles as you pushed deeper into the darkness, the warm flicker of candlelight barely illuminating what lay within. There, in the centre of the room, stood a solitary chair—a simple wooden chair. The thrumming grew louder, your heart pulsating as you gaped down at it. Thick sailor ropes coiled tightly around each arm and leg, faded remnants of blood splattered across the cold stone floor beneath. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in around you, the air heavy with a sense of foreboding—

You jumped out of your skin as a hand rested on your shoulder. Bucky had followed you through the shelves. His eyes mirrored the unease that churned in your stomach, his face etched with a deep, troubled frown. You felt urged to speak up and console the man but you knew better than to fall into that trap. His presence was disturbingly comforting as if the dangerous gangster were not the apex predator in the room. All you could do was gape, tearing your vision away from the chair as you stumbled back a few paces.

As quickly as you had found solace in the man, it was torn away. He stalked toward you, finger pointed as he jabbed it into your sternum. His eyes had glazed over, a thunderous rage taking shape. You sensed it was a defence mechanism, a way to intimidate you because you had seen something you weren’t supposed to—something that shocked even him.

“Not a word. You understand?” he hissed, his large, sculpted frame towering over you. You shrank back, your spine meeting the shelving, causing the moonshine bottles to clink together.

You knew what this place was. A hidden place. A forgotten place. A place where torture and death had been carried out. An echo from the past. A whisper on the wind that spoke the name George Barnes.

This was the kind of business Bucky kept meticulously hidden—a necessary evil shrouded in secrecy. Bodies were found only if he wanted to send a message. You were certain there were countless other hidden, unmarked graves. Bucky was too clever to be undone by a rogue body or misplaced trust. Every action he took was calculated to ensure it could never be traced back to the Smog Boys. Of course, everyone knew it was them, but legally proving their involvement was another matter. Despite the gang's reputation for being untouchable, the coppers constantly searched for any loophole to bring them down. Bucky's entire operation could unravel if the wrong person discovered incriminating evidence.

For all your understanding, The Pony Club was one of the few legitimate businesses under the Barnes name. If an enemy of the Smog Boys discovered a way to link this grim scene to the underground crime network Bucky managed? It could spell disaster.

“Do you understand?” Bucky repeated, his voice dripping with venom. This was a side of him you had heard rumours of but had never witnessed yourself. This was the leader of the Smog Boys. This was the Bucky that made Sootstone cower.

You swallowed hard, nodding as you huddled against the shelves.

The gangster ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You could sense the conflict in his eyes as they darted between you and the chair. After rubbing his chin and jaw, he finally settled on resting a hand on your shoulder again, an oddly tender touch. His head dipped, and he muttered in your ear, “I need this ghost gone. Now, doll. I think it's best no one else sees my father’s handiwork.”

“I can—I can do that,” you stammered. The gangster gave you a slow nod, exhaled sharply, and then turned on his heels.

In the sudden emptiness, the thrumming in your ears became deafening, a relentless pulse that drowned out all other sounds. Your ears rang with a piercing intensity, and your breath quickened, coming in short, ragged gasps. The room seemed to close in around you, now suffocatingly tight. The walls pressed inward, and the air grew thick and heavy as if it were pushing against your chest. You felt an overwhelming sense of dread creeping into your bones, a cold, insidious fear that wrapped itself around your heart. Somewhere in the background of it all, Steve yelped.

At first, you could not hear his distress, not over the noise in your head. It was only as Bucky paused by the narrow opening between the shelves, his eyes snapping to yours, that you heard Steve again—frantic shouts piercing through the deafening roar of a fire, overwhelming even the clamour in your head.

You move quicker than Bucky, darting through the shelves back into the candlelight.

Except it wasn’t the candlelight that lit the room in a blinding glow, but instead a figure engulfed in flame. You could make out bludged eyes and an agape mouth through the tendrils, which licked up the figure in a violent blaze. Steve was pinned with his back against one of the barrels as the figure, screaming and writhing, hurtled towards him.

You hurry forward, positioning yourself between Steve and the burning figure. Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you closer as he shouted, "What the fuck?!"

The fiery figure hesitates, its swollen, bloodshot eyes flitting between Steve and you in confusion. Bucky had pulled what appeared to be a knife from his pocket and was circling the scene. Your brows furrow as you give him a puzzled look and free yourself from Steve's grip.

“Put it away!” You bark over the roar. Bucky cocks his head to one side, both of you mutually surprised that you had found your voice. As you approach the figure, it retreats, the flames quickly extinguishing. Your ears ring as silence falls. The spirit has transformed into a black mass again, its shape twisting and jittering as it swings its gaze between the three of you.

“It can read your memories. It feeds off fear and pain.” You explain to the two gangsters, hesitantly stepping forward once more. The spirit centres its eyes solely on you. “It shows you your darkest memories, the ones you've buried. It’s tryna scare you.”

You do not dwell on whatever memory Steve was plagued by.

The spirit shifted once more, the dark mass disappearing into the shadows. You shallow your breath, quickly scanning the room before turning to Barnes. “The chair is the anchor. The spirit needs to be unbound.”

“And how do you do that?” He asks in reply, nostrils flaring. You step into the centre of the room, peering through the shelves into the dark space. Dread curled in your stomach as your eyes roamed the chair.

“I could destroy it or cleanse it—”

“Where's your mother, girl?” A familiar, slurred voice reverberated through the dimly lit room, sending shivers down your spine. Your entire body tensed, and your heart seemed to clench in your chest as a surge of fear momentarily halted you in your tracks. The acrid scent of alcohol mixed with the pungent odour of sweat hung heavy in the air. The heavy, unsteady footsteps of a large man reverberated over the stone floors.

“She’s sick.” A child's voice replied. Your voice.

In front of you appeared a vivid scene. Your father, in a state of intoxication, stood before you. His body was angled in such a way that only the profile of his face was visible. His clothing was tattered, and the floors bore marks of mud and filth from his worn boots. His hair was dishevelled and sprinkled with ash, and his flushed face glistened with sweat. Facing him was a much younger version of yourself. You estimated her to be around eight years old, judging by the length of her hair and the ragged dress clinging to her emaciated frame. The child cowered against a door, her limbs trembling in fear.

“Sick? That damn woman is always sick. Get out of the way, girl, I need to speak with my wife.” Your father slurs, lurching forward. The child held steady, her back pressed defiantly against the door.

“You can’t, she’s sleeping—”

A resounding crack echoed through the room as your father’s palm connected forcefully with her cheek. The impact sent her sprawling to the floor, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she fell. Tears shimmered in her wide, frightened eyes, reflecting the harsh light as they welled up and spilt over her cheeks. The room seems to hold its breath in the aftermath, the sharp sound of the slap lingering.

“What’s this? Who’s that?” Steve spoke up from beside you. You had almost entirely forgotten that the two men were still in the cellar with you. Bucky watches on with morbid curiosity, but you do notice how the muscles in his jaw tighten.

“A memory.” You mutter back. You urge your feet to move, but you feel as though you are wading through waist-deep water.

“Some gall you have to be telling me what I can and can’t do in my own home, girl!” Your father charges through the door, his eyes wild and unseeing as he drunkenly stumbles over your younger self's frail body. Ignoring your cries, he leaves her sprawled on the floor, the door slamming shut with a jarring finality before she can react. Muffled shouting and screaming rise from beyond, chaos that drowns out her sobs. The child curls into a ball on the cold floor, trembling and sobbing as the shrieking grows louder. The walls thud and shake with the force of his rage, each violent sound echoing through the small room, amplifying the terror that grips her small frame.

“You’re not welcome here, spirit,” your voice cuts through the unfolding nightmare with unwavering authority. You can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into you, but you tilt your head defiantly. Momentarily sucked into the horror of it all, but now you stand unshaken. The scene pauses, and the child freezes in place as the shouting and banging abruptly stop. The spirit seems to contemplate your words, its image flickering before dissolving into a dark fog that settles in a dense layer across the stone floors.

“I think destroying it would be easiest.” You mumble to the gangsters. Bucky’s lips were set in a fine line, his jaw still clenched, while Steve eyed you warily. “Burning it would be the best way.”

As if in response to your comment, the room burst to life once more. The two men stand on either side of you as if their curiosity is too much to dismiss as they realise it is another of your memories.

This time, the version of you was older. A teenager. She perched on the edge of the docks, her legs dangling into the waters below. Next to her sits a boy roughly the same age. The two of them laugh and indulge in a shared bag of colourful, sugary treats.

“My dad keeps askin’ after you.” The boy says. Michael. Your gut twists. You knew what was to come.

“I’m not joinin’ your dad’s weird cult.” She giggles, popping a boiled sweet into her mouth with a lopsided grin. Her hair was loose, uncaring as the breeze tangled it and ash fell from the skies.

“He keeps goin’ on about how you’re some saviour—”

“Ew.” She replies, nose scrunching. The teen leans back on her palms with a sigh, looking across the docks. “You know me and my mum aren’t interested in that stuff. I’m not desperate like those other witches he tricks into joining. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve held on this long, you’re what? Seventeen? Why don’t you just get a job in one of the factories and get the hell out of there?”

Michael appears displeased by her response. You had never previously noticed, despite replaying the memory in your mind numerous times. In the past, you believed you were being helpful, perhaps even clever. You could see the wrinkle of discomfort in the boy’s face now. You knew all too well that breaking free from his father's control was never as easy as moving out. You had been naive to believe that. Michael had not called you a fool, which was probably a small act of kindness on his part.

“How’s your mum?” He asks, gaze cast to the side to look at the teen’s profile. She shrugs, sucking on the sweet in thought.

“Still sick. We saw that healer in the Smokestacks, said he might be able to do somethin’ about it.”

“You know my family could help—”

The teen gives him an irritated look. “You know my mum doesn’t want your help. She doesn’t even want me hangin’ out with you.”

The tranquillity of the scene had captivated you to the point where you lost awareness of your surroundings. It was only the looming sense of dread for what was about to unfold, the feeling of Bucky's sleeve brushing against your arm, and the audible, sharp intake of breath from Steve that jolted you back to reality.

“Oi! Lookie here! It’s—” The shout of a copper was warbled as you strode forward, the memory rippling like a pool of water.

You had to prevent what was about to happen. You couldn't let Bucky see how everything truly unfolded. You knew you should have stopped it before it went this far. You shouldn't have allowed yourself to get pulled into this memory. Yet, there was a bittersweet comfort in seeing him again, remembering him as he was before everything went so wrong.

“Probably shouldn’t burn it down here. Those barrels catch and this place will explode.” You mutter under your breath, trying to ignore the sickness churning in your stomach as you approach the chair. As you draw closer, your eyes catch the gruesome details etched into the wood. Dark, crusted blood is splattered across the seat, each fleck and smear a silent testament. Streaks of crimson have seeped into the grain, staining the wood in a macabre pattern. The iron tang of old blood hangs in the air, mixing with the musty dampness of the room. Your hair stands on end and your nerves tingle as a shiver runs down your spine. The closer you stand, the more uneasy energy pulses through you. Summoning your courage, you grip one of the chair's arms and yank with all your strength—only to find it bolted firmly to the floor.

Your stomach drops.

You needed to get the two men out of this cellar and defeat this spirit yourself. You couldn’t stand their gazes upon you, waiting expectantly. You roll your shoulders, twisting your neck as a tight, itching sensation settles over your skin. You weren’t afraid of the memories, but rather the reaction to them. You didn’t want sympathy. Most of all, you didn’t want to be feared—to be viewed as a weapon.

You knew that was what the Smog Boys truly desired—a tool to complete their dirty work.

The memory came to life around you once more, stronger and more vivid. Michael was sprawled on the floor, beaten and bloodied, his face a mess of bruises and cuts. The coppers, young and full of arrogance, stood above him, their laughter echoing in the confined space. They were eager to prove themselves, and they relished every moment of his suffering, laying blow after blow into his broken body. Their cackles filled the room, mingling with the sickening thuds of their fists and boots against his flesh.

“Let me go!” Your head swivels as you look to the other side of the room. There, the teenage version of you is held back by two men with bruising grips, their hands digging painfully into her arms. Tears streamed down her face, carving glistening tracks through the grime and dust. Her eyes are wide with terror and helpless rage as she struggles and screams, her voice raw and desperate. The men restraining her exchange smirks, their expressions cold and indifferent to her anguish. The room seems to close in around you now, the walls reverberating with the echoes of her cries and the relentless thudding of blows landing on Michael. You were powerless, trapped in a living nightmare.

You needed to stop this—

There was a loud crunch, the agonising sound of bone snapping and shattering under a steel-toe boot. Michael has grown still, his body is no longer convulsing with pain. His face was unrecognisable—a grotesque mask of bruises and blood, the features obliterated by the relentless assault. His skull is misshapen, cracked open against the stone curb, a dark pool of blood is spreading beneath him.

Somewhere in the distance, the past version of you wails, a heart-wrenching sound that seems to come from the depths of her soul.

She was scrambling on her knees over the filthy streets, her body shaking with sobs as she gripped Michael’s lifeless form. Her fingers, trembling and desperate, searched for any sign of life, but you knew now that it was pointless. Michael was dead. He had died the moment they cracked his skull open. Blood smears her hands and clothes as she clings to him, her tears mixing with the grime on the ground.

She shakes his body, begging him to wake up. The coppers continue to snicker amongst themselves. They are unphased by the blood and flesh painted across their boots, their faces twisted in smug satisfaction.

“That’s enough now.” You spoke up in the present, tone low and warning. The spirit hesitates, and the teen pauses, her body relaxing as the sobbing stops. Her head twists around, her eyes a milky white as she looks directly through you.

“I know what you are.” The spirit spoke through the memory of you. Her gaze shifted to look at the coppers. Their figures are silent, but their shoulders shake with laughter, an amused indifference as they watch the suffering before them. “Spirit-raiser…diviner…light-bringer.”

Her eyes start to glow, a bright white that blinds the room. You know what is to come. You know what happens next. The shelves and barrels begin to rattle around you, and dust is stirred up into clouds. You could hear Steve swearing somewhere behind. Her sights move to the coppers, a knowing smirk fading into a cruel frown. Her hand raises into the air, fingers moving to snap—

Your hand has subconsciously raised. The ground trembles beneath you. It isn’t from the past; it is present. It was you at this exact moment, touching your fingers together. The ceiling above you groans, bottles of moonshine shattering across the floors as they fall. Behind you, Bucky and Steve yell over the commotion, calling to you. You can feel the crackle of electricity in the air and map every particle that flutters in the air. The chaos rises in your chest as you summon it forward. The crackle of energy grows higher and higher until the tingling sensation meets your fingertips.

You snap your fingers, and a deafening crack echoes through the cellar. For a moment, everything grows still. Your body begins to glow, emitting a bright white light that fills the room, even stronger than the spirit's light. The intensity of it is blinding, obliterating every detail with a searing brilliance.

The room explodes around you.

Bits of wood splinter, torn from their fixtures and launched through the air. Barrels explode with a thunderous roar, whiskey gushing out in torrents that splash and pool around your ankles, the potent scent of alcohol overwhelming your senses. The entire room shudders and rocks from the impact, the walls groaning under the strain. You were momentarily assaulted by the barrage of debris—sharp shards of shelving and glass raining down around you. Until Bucky grips you. Amid the chaos, he seizes your waist, pulling you into the shelter of his chest to shield you from the storm.

Steve has vanished up the stairs, the floorboards above rattling with each of his hurried steps as the earth finally settles. The room falls into an eerie silence, the only sound being the gentle sloshing of liquor around your feet.

There is a large crack in the stone floor where the chair used to be.

You pull yourself from Bucky’s grip rather unceremoniously, frowning as you pull shredded wood from your hair. The gangster eyes you cautiously, clearing his throat as he retreats backwards. “Are you gonna explain what that was?”

You were unsure what he was specifically referring to—whether it was the haunting memories or the raw power you had just unleashed. Regardless, you didn’t feel up to explaining either. A deep weariness had settled into your bones, your muscles aching from the exertion of channelling such immense energy. A thin trail of blood had begun to leak from your nose, the metallic taste of copper lingering as you absentmindedly licked your bottom lip in thought.

You should not have done that. But they would have found out either way.

Your fingers instinctively came up to rub your temple as you let out a sharp sigh of annoyance. With magic weariness came a tinge of irritation and snarkiness—it was a familiar companion after such displays of power. At that moment, you couldn't summon the will to care about how dangerous Bucky was or how he could ruin your life. All you craved was the simple comfort of lying down and perhaps indulging in a strong drink or two to ease the embarrassment of the situation.

Above, Madame Voss's shrill shrieks pierce through the ceiling, amplifying the headache pounding behind your skull. You knew the entire row of buildings would have felt the surge of energy you had just unleashed. One could only hope that the coppers wouldn’t investigate too closely into the disturbance.

Ignoring his previous question, you speak up. “You should invest in gettin’ your buildings properly cleansed.”

Maybe that would make him and his men shut up about your faulty locks.

You go to walk away, but Bucky's firm grip on your forearm halts your movement, holding you back. His head cocks as he looks you up and down, his eyes sharp and calculating. “I don’t know much about magic, but I know witches don’t just summon shit like that out of thin air.”

If you were one of his dogs, your hackles would have raised, teeth bared. You look him down defiantly with a scowl. “Respectfully, Barnes, you don’t know shit about magic. I keep your secrets; you keep mine. That’s the deal, isn’t it?”

His lips curl into an astonished smirk, pleased as equally as he was stunned by your tone. His head dips down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, his voice a low murmur. “You know, doll, if you weren’t growing on me, I would have you killed for speaking to me like that.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath tickling against your skin, his proximity stirring a mix of emotions within you—wariness, curiosity, and a hint of something deeper that you couldn't quite define. You knew better than to let the boundaries between you blur. You give him a mocking pout, wrenching your arm from his grip. “I know you won’t kill me, if you wanted to kill me, I would be dead already. You’ve decided I’m valuable, haven’t you? Who would break your curses and scare away the skeletons in your closet? You must know that I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I don’t want to help you, we’re not friends.”

His jaw tenses slightly as he processes your words, and his voice is flat as he speaks. “The most valuable thing a woman like you can offer is what’s between your legs. And you gave that up pretty easily.”

His lips curl into a sneer. “I suppose the magic is a bonus. But I know you’re little more than a whore beneath it all.”

Several emotions flicker through your chest. Pain, frustration, disillusionment. You should have known better. You knew better. You don’t dignify the gangster with a response, instead turning on your heel to march out of the cellar.

“I’ll have someone come fetch you when you’re next needed, spirit-raiser,” he calls after you, his tone mocking.

You ascend the stairs without looking back.

PART THREE

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aswefindourwayback · 6 months ago

Text

Authors note: hi guys! this is my first fic for spencer, but i’ve been writing fics for another fandom for a bit. i watched all of criminal minds back in 2020 and have recently gotten back into it and wanted to write something for spencer. this fic is a bit short and like my intro into the fandom. i hope yall like it! feedback is always appreciated as well.

wc: 625

warnings: a bit of fingering

it had been a long day. spencer left early in the morning, not without lightly kissing your neck and adding his hand around your waist. his warm breath caressing your neck, his hand roaming your body, slowly making its way lower and lower down your front. he lightly swept his finger against your clothed clit, making you whine and squirm. you moved your hips forward, silently begging spencer for more. he took the hint and slipped his hand under the front of your panties, inching his way towards where you needed him most. you were practically soaking, your thighs were sticky with your slick. matty softly and slowly rubbed your clit with one finger, slightly teasing you.

“please spence, more. i need more.” you whined.

who was he to deny his favorite girl? he then moved his hand further down, inserting a finger into your cunt, slowly pumping in and out. it felt good but you needed more, you needed to feel him. matty then inserted another finger and started pumping his fingers a bit faster. you could feel yourself hurtling towards your orgasm. just a bit more and you were going to be there. you could feel your stomach turning and tightening at once. the string in your stomach was about to snap, you were so close you could taste it. the only sounds were your moans and the sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you.

but you woke up, it was a fucking dream. spencer had actually left early in the morning for work, but only leaving you with a kiss on your head as you were fast asleep.

you were now feeling all types of discomfort, and your panties were soaked through due to your dream. you knew if you tried to relieve yourself, it wouldn’t feel half as good as when spencer does it, so you got up and spent the day waiting for spencer to come home. you spent most of the day absolutely feral due to your lack of a orgasmic high that you’ve been craving. not only that but you were dead tired but you couldn’t sleep. you were too horny and frustrated to take a nap to pass the time. you’re eyes were itching for sleep, you could barley function.

he got home quite late. you were on the sofa watching a film when you heard his keys rustle in the doorway. you heard as he dropped his bag onto the ground, kicking his shoes off and taking his coat off before joining you on the sofa. with a huff, he plopped onto the sofa.

“hi darling, how was your day?” you ask as you run your fingers through his unruly hair, making him let out a groan that makes the heat between your legs grow.

“it was alright, morgan was being a pain in the ass, i’ll tell you that much. i’m glad to finally be home though, i missed you.” he said giving you a quick peck on the lips. (not the lips you wanted though 😗)

“im sorry darling, is there anything i can do to make you feel better?” you asked.

“no, just be with me please.”

“how do you want me?” you asked seductively, moving to straddle him before he pushed your leg back.

“in bed. asleep. get your dark circles out of my face.”

“bitch. i’m fucking horny.”

“okay and? the bags under your eyes are so bad, you look like a raccoon, love.”

“fuck me then i’ll sleep.”

he moves too fast for your brain to register. one minute you’re sitting beside him on the sofa, the next you’re being pinned down by spencer with your back on the floor.

“fine.”

KISS MWAH MWAH AND THEY FUCK

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine

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cass1opi4 · 1 month ago

Note

dad ash dad ash dad ash 🥰🥰

sleepy boys | ashton irwin

a dad!ashton x reader

no pronouns mentioned, but use of the word ‘mummy’

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

as much as you loved work, you were unafraid to admit how tiring it could really be - being in a studio for multiple hours a day, multiple days a week, it was exhausting.

today especially, you couldn’t wait to get home and see your boys, you wanted nothing more. it wasn’t often you’d have those days, where you felt so homesick that you couldn’t focus on anything else, but when you did it was awful.

pushing open the door to your home, you were greeted by a tired smile from your husband, who’s head was now turned away from rugrats - a show which he’d always deny enjoying, but secretly you knew he loved.

“hi honey.” he greeted, even his voice showing his sleepy state, he motioned you over with a head tilt, smile still stuck to his face as you complied “how was your day?”

you gave him a gentle kiss before replying “depends.” your answer left him confused, but you were less focused on his confusion and more focused on the adorable state your boys were in.

your son lay on ashtons chest, slow breaths as he stayed sound asleep. ashtons shirt had ended up with a small amount of drool on it, but it was obvious he didnt care. “what’s that mean?”

“it was a good writing day. i got a lot down, recorded like.. three songs. but i missed you so bad i felt sick.” you admitted, watching him pout.

he brought you closer to his chest, you head now placed close to your sons, ashtons arm wrapped around you, his fingers gently rubbing against the skin on your arms “jude and i missed you too.” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, the act always made you feel warm.

“he seems unbothered to me.” you joked with a laugh, pushing the hair out of your babies face, the two year old shifting slightly as you did so.

ashton shook his head “he begged me to let him wait up for you. and baby, you know i cant resist the little pout he gives me - so i caved, told him we could watch cartoons til you came home, but he clocked out about an hour before you come home.”

“ash, you know you’re not meant to let him stay up past 8.” it wasn’t like you were truly bothered, it’s sweet that jude wanted to do that, but 11pm is far too late of a time for a two year old to be going to bed at. “don’t look at me like that, i’m serious.”

ashton looked like a kicked puppy, sad eyebrows and all. “i’m sorry, my love. you know i am. but he was so upset, he said he needed your goodnight kisses. i just felt for him, you know? i get it, i need them too.”

it was impossible to get mad at a man like ashton, he was the most amazing guy you’d ever met, maybe the most amazing guy ever. he could never do any wrong.

“i’m gonna get him to bed, and if you’re not too tired, i could make us some food and you can pick a movie?” he suggested, carefully moving your head off of him and slowly getting up from his seat on the couch.

you picked up the remote, scrolling through netflix til you found your choice of movie, ashton eventually came back to the couch, passing you a bowl of your favourite food.

“thank you, baby.” you smiled, him giving you a kiss, his little way of saying ‘you’re welcome, i know, i know, im amazing’.

you both quickly finished eating, your head then finding its way back on ashtons chest, his arm draped around you as both of your eyes lay trained on the movie.

your brain, however, was not focused on the movie, but instead on ashton’s heartbeat, his breathing and the way his arm felt around you.

you could live in moments like this forever, the world seemed as if it ceased to exist to you when ashton was around - he was your sole focus. he could make an empty room seem so full, you loved that.

“daddy?” a small, croaky voice broke your thoughts, eyes darting to a half-asleep little boy rubbing his eyes as he walked into the living room. “mummy, you’re home!” he grinned, rushing towards you and happily engulfing you in a big hug.

you whispered to ashton with a sigh, “and this is why we don’t let him stay up past his bedtime.” wrapping your arms around jude, “why are you awake, buddy? it’s 2am.”

“just woked up. dunno why.” he frowned, kissing your cheek. “really missed you, mummy.” he pouted, eyes big as he began tearing up.

“oh honey, it’s okay. i’m here now.” your heart broke for him, you were only away twelve hours, you didn’t think it’d hurt your little boy this bad. “let’s get you back to bed, i’ll be here all day tomorrow, okay?”

you picked him up, ashton following you to jude’s bedroom, watching as you tucked the boy up in bed and kissed him on the forehead. “can i have a song?”

ashton sat down on the edge of the toddler bed, you moved to grab the guitar from the corner of the room, passing it to the older boy before sitting down on the comfortable carpet.

the second ashton began strumming, you were mesmerised. it’s what began everything with the two of you, his music, you’d been close friends with luke since high school - and when his band took off, you’d instantly taken notice to the cute drummer with the emo bangs and godly voice.

you didn’t dare make a move until one of your friends basically forced you to, when you and ashton were 18 you sent him a text. one he’d constantly joke about to you, but it really did take all your courage to send it.

you went on a date, stopped talking a week later, and a month down the line ashton called you, claiming he fucked up - telling you he couldn’t get you out of his mind.

ashton finished singing ‘hey jude’ your boy was asleep by the middle of it, but ashton knew you were infatuated by it, so finished the song anyway.

“wow.” you breathed out, quiet as to not wake the sleeping toddler again. ashton simply grinned, gently placing down the guitar and taking your hand, pulling you back to the living room. “you’re so talented, ash.”

“means a lot coming from the most talented person i’ve ever met.” he complimented back, pulling you into a kiss. “i love you.”

you melted, even after all those years he still made you feel butterflies with those words. “i love you.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

not proofread, if ive made a mistake please tell me!!

it’s 4am and i can’t sleep bc my cramps are too bad. but hey, finally finishing the requests that have been rotting in my drafts for a good while. sorry it’s short, i seem to be unable to write long fics :(

#5 seconds of summer #5sos #foryou #ashton irwin #fanfic #5sos x reader #ashton irwin x reader #ashton 5sos #5sos fanfic #luke 5sos

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erxxi3 · 2 years ago

Text

OMFG !!

AMAZING PROMPT POPPED INTO MY BRAIN AS IM IN A HOSPITAL RN FOR MY BROTHER BUT ANYWAYS BESIDES THE POINT (He’s doing fine btw).

THE READER RIDING COCKY JILL’S STRAP BEFORE HER ROOMIE CLAIRE GETS BACK, BUT THEY ALMOST GET CAUGHT THANK GOODNESS JILL HAD A PLAN. 🤭🤭

She is definitely dominant when it comes to sex – Her most favorite think is to have you ontop of her, as she leaned back into the pillows while you rode her strap-on, and you always seem too shy to make things work that way with her.

“Are we gonna fuck like this all night? Because I’m not complaining, but I want to get going before Claire gets back,” she said in a teasing voice. “You could just tell me what you need. I can give you everything you ever want.” You shook your head slowly as if deep in thought, when in actuality you were contemplating how many times you could possibly come tonight.

She smiled widely at this, knowing exactly what you were thinking. You couldn't hide anything from her for long - especially when it came to orgasms.

When you finally did speak, though, it was more of a mumble than a coherent answer. “No... no, you can't...” she raised an eyebrow in question. “I mean... yes, but, I don't want to be so needy... I'm sorry - " she silenced you with a passionate kiss. Her lips were warm on yours, gentle but firm, keeping her pace thrusting into you holding your hips down making it where you would probably have a bruise by tomorrow.

The only reason your legs weren't giving out from under you was because they had gone numb from pleasure, and that wasn't happening now. She made you feel weak, but at least you still had some strength left. After a minute or two of that you pushed forward to bring her closer. The rest of her body followed suit without protest; going deeper hitting every sensitive spot inside your pussy. When you pulled back, gasping for air you saw her eyes were half lidded, as though enjoying the view of your arousal. You blushed, not used to showing your face like this.

Both of you hear the front door open and claire “IM HOME!” yelled at the top of her lungs, hearing footsteps walk closer to your bedroom door. You froze up and Jill layed you on her chest telling you to pretend to be asleep, as she put the blanket over both of your naked bodies.

You heard Claire's voice calling through the thin walls as she opened the door to your room. Then there was silence and she said “Jill, what are you doing here?”

Jill replied “Just having a little situation trying to not wake y/n up.” Your heart raced even faster as you listened to their conversation. She chuckled lightly, “Well I’ll leave you be then.” Claire said quietly leaving the room shutting the door behind her, as Jill uncovered you once she was completely away. “Sorry about that, babe.” You gave her a soft smile as she pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of your lips. You looked deeply into her eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered softly, kissing her cheek.

You sat upright carefully, as her pace picks back up again, and she started whispering sweet praises in your ear telling you how beautiful you look and how good her hands feel on you, all the while you were getting closer, and closer to your climax remembering the feeling of being on cloud 9.

“Mmmhmn, yesssss... Yes, like that…” You could hardly contain yourself, and you were so close… It was almost painful… “Shhh, keep quiet..!” she commanded, stopping her movement abruptly, making you whimper. Your eyes met hers. “Come on baby, let me show you how much you mean to me.” She whispered seductively. You felt the heat between your legs spread as her hand moved lower.

As soon as she reached that place, she stopped, making you whine with frustration. “I know you do… Come on, cum for me baby…” Her voice turned husky, and it sounded so enticing, almost hypnotic. You tried to reach it as well. “Don’t try to deny it… It’s right there. You feel it, don’t you? That’s the feeling…” You bit your lip hard not to moan as she squeezed harder and harder until you were writhing under her grip, “C-cant take more haah—“ you mumbled into her neck.

“S`good, this pussy is all mine~ You like that, huh? Just sayin’… You should enjoy it while it lasts, right?” she asked you, smirking at your desperately eager nod.

“Good girl… ” she purred in between kisses and bites, making your nails dig into her back, as you threw your head back moaning in ecstacy. As your orgasm neared its peak her movements slowed down slightly. ‘Oh God please’ you silently pleaded, squeezing her back harder, not wanting her to stop for any longer than necessary. Then it hit and she moaned along with you as her climax overtook her. You closed your eyes, breathing hard and shuddering as the last spasm subsided, the tears welling up in them. You held on tight to Jill for fear of falling apart in a million pieces after such an intense experience.

“It's okay… Shhh… You're safe… It’s over now. It’s over, babe.. I love you…” You felt her kiss her way up your neck, nipping on your earlobe, before finally resting her forehead against yours. Your eyes fluttered open. “You’re really pretty when you’re crying like that…” she teased, caressing your damp cheek with the pad of her thumb, looking straight into your soul, causing a shiver to travel down your spine. Your eyes widened and you could practically taste her words.

“So beautiful…” she murmured. You kissed her deeply this time before she pulled herself off you and got dressed, heading towards the bathroom, not even bothering with your nipples poking through your shirt. Once she's safely in the restroom you lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, still unable to believe how incredible she made you feel – physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

You didn't want it to end. But alas the universe had other plans. As you slowly drifted off, the last thing you heard before passing out was “I love you,” she murmured, kissing your forehead softly.

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

A/N: my lovelies I hope that this satisfies any of your desires, and that I didn't do bad due to my writers block for you guys, so I am excited and nervous.

#resident evil #resident evil 🚔#jill valentine smut #jill valentine x reader #jill valentine x fem! reader #jill valentine x you #jill valentine x y/n #jill valentine #jill valentine imagine #jill resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #lesbian

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creative-caramel-coffee · 1 year ago

Text

First Visions Pt 2

Pairings: Thornhill x Weems x Reader (platonic)

Word count: 2.3K

Summary: Reader is taken care of after part one.

TW: injury, concussion, vomiting, non-sexual semi-nudity (basically just getting help changing)

Part 1

A/n Based off multiple requests I received for a part two. In a more personal aspect, I want to dedicate this fic to one of my anons (they should know who they are). I respect their privacy too much to post what they have said, but I want them to know I am very glad to hear they are doing a bit better and I wish them luck with everything. I want them to know I am sorry for their struggle and Im glad my fics are a source of comfort to them. I want everyone to know that life is a fight and we are all soldiers. I wish this anon luck with their battles all future and present ones, and can only hope they come out on top each and every time. Stay safe everyone and make sure you listen to what your mind and body needs, and make sure to look after yourselves and reach out if you need help to either friends, family or professionals.

The nurse finished her speech on what to do and what not to do. You did your best not to fall asleep the whole time despite how much you wanted to. Weems was nodding as she took in the information, she then thanked the nurse who turned and left.

Ms Thornhill however did not leave. She pulled the principle aside and they spoke in hushed tones glancing at you every once in a while. The nurse said it would be ok for you to sleep but you would need to be woken up every few hours to reassess. Ms Thornhill had made it very clear she wanted to stay and help Larissa take care of you and based off how weems had simply deflated she won quite easily.

Both teachers turned to you and came back over, you sluggishly looked up at them making weems frown as she checked her watch.

“Well Ms L/n i think its best you head to bed. Ms Thornhill and I will alternate coming in to check on you throughout the night. Ms Thornhill will take you to the spare room and I’ll grab you some night clothes. I have some old T-shirt’s that should fit you.” She said with a smile and offered you, her hand. You looked up at her and took it. Her skin was soft and warm under your fingers, her grip strong as she hauled you up. You stumbled and she was quick to grab your elbow to make sure you didn’t fall over.

After she helped you off the couch, she passed you to Ms Thornhill who gently guided you into Larissa’s own quarters through the door at the back of the office.

You were led through some rooms, not really listening to much over the pounding of your head which had come back with vengeance. Ms Thornhill didn’t let you go once on the short trip. She sat you down on a spare bed and Weems turned and went to get you some of her old clothes to wear to bed.

You sat and simply looked at Ms Thornhill until you lightly rested your head on her shoulder feeling exhausted. Most likely due to the stress of your body dealing with its powers for the first time. Ms Thornhill sat quietly with you and stroked your hair gently.

Time passed, you had no idea how much, but you knew it had. Ms Weems came back, and the two teachers looked at each-other with matching expressions. Silently the conversed and decided you would need their help to change.

“Y/n can we help you?” The principal asked and you blinked slowly and nodded with a yawn. As the tall British woman began to undo the buttons of your school shirt, Ms Thornhill guided your arms out of the blazer and folded it neatly for later. You brought a hand up to scrub at your eyes while you gave another small yawn followed by a tired hum.

“Your defiantly ready for bed aren’t you Y/n/n” Ms Thornhill chuckled, and you gave a half-hearted smiled and nodded slowly so you didn’t aggravate the twenty mini lumberjacks that must have been chopping up your brain.

The principal gave a small hum and slid off your shirt now the buttons were undone. She grabbed the shirt from where it sat on the bed nearby and looked at you softly. “Arms up darling.” She said and you did albeit slowly. Gently she guided your arms into the correct holes and then your head.

“There you are.” She said once your head popped through, your hair slightly disheveled.

“Here i am.” You said softly and not without another yawn.

“Do you want me to redo your hair sweetheart?” Ms Thornhill asked as she tapped a finger on the middle of your back. “Want me to take this off?” She asked and you nodded.

She felt the back of the shirt and found the clip for your bra through the fabric and undid it. You slid it off and put it under your blazer.

“Yes please.” You said softly in reference to the earlier question.

“Alright.” She smiled. “Larissa, do you have a brush we can borrow?”

“I believe so. One moment.” She said and disappeared out the door, returning a moment later with a purple brush. With one teacher on each side, they undid their respective plait.

“How do you want it?” Ms Thornhill asked, noticing how you relaxed once there was no longer tension on your scalp. “Feel better?” She chuckled and used her fingers to gently massage your scalp. You sighed and lent into the touch.

“Just two loose plaits please. Otherwise, it knots something awful.” You muttered and she nodded and began to gently brush her side before passing the brush to Ms Weems who repeated the action on her own side.

After you had changed, your plaits had been loosely redone, and you had climbed into bed; weems walked over to the draw of the dresser and pulled out a small white object.

Upon closer inspection you realised it was a baby monitor, but you were too tired to care. Weems placed a baby monitor on the bedside

“it's just in case you needed anything in the night.” She said softly, “Ms Thornhill has your phone, like the nurse said no screens. So, this will work in the meantime. If you need one of us just talk into this or give us a yell. My bedrooms down the hall on the right. Ms Thornhill will be with me as this is the only spare room. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, anything at all darling no matter the time. Bathroom is through there.” She pointed to a door attached to the room you hadn’t noticed earlier.

“Goodnight darling.” Weems said and Ms THornhill echoed the sentiment.

You whispered goodnight and then you were out like a light.

It felt no sooner than your head had hit the pillows when you felt gentle hands caressing your cheek. You blinked your eyes open blearily to look up at your attacker. Ms Weems was stood over you, looking slightly groggy herself.

“Hello Y/n. As promised just checking in. I was worried when you didn’t wake up when i called your name.” She said looking more awake now. “Can you answer some questions for me darling?” She asked and retracted her hand. You gave a tired nod and she hummed to show she got the message.

“Do you know where you are?” She asked and you blinked and looked around for a second making the headmistress mildly concerned.

“Your apartment?”

“Very good Y/n. Do you know what month it is?” She asked and you nodded again. “Tell me sweetheart.” You gave a tired smile and gave her the month.

“Good. Can you tell me who I am?” She asked and you nodded.

“Principal Weems.” You said dopily and still half asleep.

“Good. Good job Y/n. Does anything hurt sweet girl?” Weems asked and your brow furrowed for a second.

“Yeah, just my head.” You said and Weems nodded and checked the time.

“Im afraid I can't give you anymore medicine yet. Im sorry. Do you feel sick at all?” She asked softly.

“A little but I’m fine it’ll pass.”

That response made Weems own brow furrow as she weighed her options and decided to trust you on this one.

“Alright, but if it gets worse don’t hesitate to get me.” She said. “One last thing. Can you wiggle your finger and toes for me?” She asked and you nodded and complied. “Good girl. You can go back to sleep now darling.” She said and you laid back down watching her as she turned off the lamp which was giving the room a soft glow. She bid you goodnight and you fell asleep again.

The next time you woke up there were no soft hands on your cheek or even any other presence in the room. However, your stomach was churning uncomfortably, and you hurried into a sitting position. You had barely made yourself upright when you gagged and mentally began to panic.

What would Ms Weems say if you threw up in her spare bed? You didn’t have time to debate it because your stomach decided to find out.

You gagged again and then threw up. Luckily it didn’t end up on the sheets, more just down the front of the shirt. You let out a tired whimper. You just wanted to sleep.

The disturbance through the baby monitor must have woken one of the teachers because a moment later they opened the door. Both of them. Ms Weems softened as she observed the situation. You froze, looking like a dear in headlights. Ms Thornhill crossed the room and flicked on the lamp switch.

“Oh darling.” Weems sighed sympathetically her face looking both sad for you and concerned. “Let’s get you into fresh clothes.”

She came over and sat on the bed turning to you and carefully peeling off the soiled shirt while Ms Thornhill held up the sheets to preserve your modesty. Ms Weems helped you into another shirt before turning away and taking the ruined clothes to the washing machine.

“Are you feeling ok now honey?” Ms Thornhill asked, and you nodded. “Good. Well since we are here let's do the questions then you can rest until morning. Sound alright with you?” She asked and you nodded. She went into the bathroom and came back with a damp cloth before coming and sitting where Weems had been moments prior.

“Can you tell me who I am?” She said studying you closely as she gently drew the rag across your chin.

“Ms Thornhill.” You mumbled and rubbed your eyes.

“Good job. Do you know what subject i teach?” She asked and you squinted.

“Botany?”

“Yep. And what year is it?” She asked and you frowned.

“2023?”

“Right again. Alright wiggle your fingers and toes for me.” And you did, making her smile. “And are you still feeling sick?” She asked and you gently shook your head. Weems smiled and came over from where she had been standing in the doorway unnoticed by both of you.

“I’ll leave this here just in case alright y/n?” She said and set down a plastic sick bag. You nodded and both teachers watched you lie back down.

“Go to sleep Y/n. I may not be here in the morning as i have classes, but Ms Weems will be either in her office or in her apartment. Just yell or use the monitor and she’ll be right with you. I’ll be back a little later with lunch for us all. Alright?” Ms Thornhill said, and you nodded sleepily against the pillow.

“‘Right” you said, and they both said goodnight again and left.

The final time you woke up it was bright. Well, it would have been if the curtains weren’t closed to keep the room at sufficiently dark, concussion friendly light levels.

You gingerly brought a hand up to your head and felt a spike of pain from the headache. The meds had defiantly worn off and you missed them sorely.

“Ms Weems?” You mumbled into the plastic monitor, hoping she would bring more medicine. There was no response, and you began to resign yourself to the fact you may have to get up when the door opened.

“Good morning darling. How are you feeling?” Of course, the monitor was one way, it was for babies.

“Like I’ve been bowling but my head was the ball. Do you have any more of that medicine from yesterday my headache was sent to challenge gods.” You said weakly.

“Oh sweetheart.” She said and came over to the bedside. “Take these and I’ll find you some food.” She said as she popped two white pills into your outstretched palm.

She handed you a glass of water which you took and swallowed down alongside the medicine.

“Life saver.” You grinned looking both fatigued and in pain.

“Stay here and I’ll find you something light to eat. You're not still feeling sick, are you?” She asked turning back with a worried expression. You shook your head and immediately regretted it as the meds were yet to kick in. You winced and so did the principle as she mirrored the expression.

“No.” You whispered holding your head in your hands.

“Alright.” She said and hesitated before going to get you some food.

About fifteen minutes later she came back with a bowl of toast and apple sauce. You moved from the position she left you in to take the tray from her with a soft ‘thank you’.

“I’ll be in my study. Try and go back to sleep after you’ve eaten your body needs rest.” she said kindly, and you nodded and slowly chewed a mouthful of toast. It was good and the butter was a nice touch.

After you had eaten you set the tray down on the side table and laid back down in the sheets. Willing yourself back into slumber you drifted off feeling slightly better.

The rest of the day went by lazily. You rested and when the time came ate lunch with Ms Weems and Ms Thornhill. The nurse stopped by after lunch to check in and said you were all good to return to your dorm. Ms Thornhill walked you back and Ms Weems had given you the next few days off to rest saying she would be by with meals and to check on you each day.

So, after it all, you were ok. Everything was ok. And for once that was also ok. Because it wasn’t the boring kind of ‘ok’. It was the kind of ‘ok’ that seemed almost a bit … magical, like witchcraft or … just maybe, it was the special kind of ok that the outcasts of nevermore were. The kind that came with new powers. New powers … or first visions.

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