#like the whistling... the humming... the music box...

[hrtley]

prison toys hitting hard tonight

[holyblonded]

rattled | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen reader, barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: your mouth gets you into serious trouble

warnings: head injuries, implications of blood

notes: i don’t enjoy the way i wrote this or ended it that why it hadn’t been posted but y’all really wanted this one. the chances of this getting rewritten is extremely high 😭

There’s something about game days that gives you a rush like nothing else. Maybe it was your love for the game, the pure, unfiltered joy of stepping onto the pitch and knowing you were exactly where you belonged. Or maybe, just maybe, it was your love for talking shit.

As much as it might sound horrible, you couldn’t help it, there was something deeply satisfying about getting under an opponent’s skin. You loved watching the way their faces scrunched up in frustration, the way their movements got just a little more reckless, a little less focused. You didn’t always say much in your opinion, just enough. Just a glance, a smirk, a well-timed comment whispered under your breath as you walked past. You didn’t need to scream to make someone unravel. You just needed to smile at the right moment.

By the time you were in the locker room, boots laced, hair slicked back, headphones blasting, you were practically vibrating with energy. The speaker in the corner of the room was booming with Sexyy Red, the bass making the walls hum as you danced around in your compression shorts and undershirt, hyping up everyone in sight.

“Let’s gooooo!” you shouted, clapping your hands as you bounced from one side of the locker room to the other, pulling teammates into your orbit whether they liked it or not. “They don’t know what’s about to hit them today, I’m telling you right now!”

Jana was laughing, boots half-on, as you danced behind her and smacked her shoulder pads like drums. Mapi whistled at you as you slid on your socks and started freestyling some chaotic chant that made absolutely no sense but got everyone screaming anyway. The vibe was electric, loud, unhinged, exactly how you liked it.

You stood on the bench, arms wide, head thrown back as you yelled, “They gonna have to call the fire department after this game ‘cause I’m about to set this whole pitch on fire!”

The locker room exploded in laughter and cheers except for Ona, who was leaning against her cubby, arms crossed, trying not to smile.

“Your mouth is going to get you in trouble,” she said, shaking her head at you.

You jumped down and stuck your tongue out at her. “They gotta catch me first.”

Then you turned right back around, shouting over the music, “This is our house! Let’s make them regret ever showing up today!”

The nerves melted off you completely. You were in your element. You were ready to go to war. And win or lose, you were going to make damn sure they remembered your name.

The air was tense at Camp Nou, thick with anticipation even though the scoreboard read 5–1. You had two goals already— one in the first half, one just ten minutes into the second, but you were hunting for blood. The crowd buzzed with every touch you took, the energy crackling like static. Wolfsburg was playing dirty, and you were playing right into it.

They had two defenders on you now, crowding your space every time you got near the box. You were talking mad shit, your voice cutting through the drizzle and noise, lips curling into a smug grin. And not just in Spanish or English, you’d spent the last few weeks learning German just so you could spit it back at them on the pitch.

“Du bist zu langsam, komm schon!” You shouted as you flicked the ball through their legs. (You're too slow, come on)

You could feel how pissed they were getting, and it only fueled you more.

Across the pitch, Alexia cupped her hands around her mouth. “Estrella! Cool it!”

You waved her off without turning around. “I got this, mami!”

The whistle blew. Play resumed. You took the ball at midfield and spun out of a tackle like you were made of wind and fire. The defenders tried to hold you back, but you slipped through the cracks like you were born there. You could feel her chasing, nipping at your heels, but you kicked into another gear, outrunning her like she was standing still. One touch. Another. Back of the net. Hat-trick.

You slipped as you turned to celebrate, the wet grass catching you off-balance, sending you to the ground. You laughed to yourself, raising an arm as if to say did you see that?!—but before you could even move—

Crack. A blinding pain split your skull, and your vision went white. You didn’t even hear the roar of the crowd; everything was static. Everything stopped. The stadium went dead silent. You didn’t move.

Ona was the first to react— she sprinted to you, panic all over her face, with Jana right behind her. Patri and Lucy had already turned toward the Wolfsburg defender, fury etched across their faces. The ref stormed in, pulled a red card from her pocket like it burned her hand, and shoved it in the air.

Alexia stood frozen. Eyes wide. Mouth open.

Ingrid touched her shoulder. “Ale.”

Alexia blinked, stumbled forward, then sprinted.

She dropped to her knees beside you, her hands shaking. “Estrella, Estrella—” Her voice cracked.

You didn’t move. On the bench, the girls were already crying. Vicky’s hands were clasped over her mouth, tears streaking down her cheeks. Sydney was crying too, hugging her tight.

The medics arrived fast, sprinting across the pitch with the stretcher, but time had warped— every second felt too long. Ona and Jana were ushered away, both of them breaking down as they backed off, whispering to each other between choked sobs.

Up in the family box, Eli had her eyes squeezed shut like she was praying. Her lips moved, no sound escaping. Alba’s hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold her phone. “She’s okay. She’s strong. She’s okay,” she repeated over and over, as if saying it would make it true.

Olga sat stiffly, holding Eli’s hand in both of hers, her eyes closed, jaw clenched. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t breathe.

Soleil stood a few rows down in the stands, surrounded by friends who were trying to soothe her, but she couldn’t hear them. Her eyes were locked on you. Her chest felt like it was caving in. You never looked like that. You were always fire, always motion, always larger than life. And now, you were still. Too still.

The medics huddled. Pere ran down from the technical area. One of the medics shook their head. Silent tears ran down Vicky’s cheeks. Sydney covered her face.

Finally, slowly, you stirred. Your hand twitched. Your lips moved. Alexia exhaled like it hurt. She stayed beside you as they loaded you onto the stretcher, brushing the damp hair from your face. You didn’t open your eyes all the way, but you reached for her hand— and she held on like she’d never let go.

The crowd clapped. Loud. Raw. Hopeful. As they carried you off the pitch, Alexia walked beside the stretcher, hand in yours. Silent, but present. Your team watched. The world watched as you were, for once in your life, silent.

[wileys-russo]

Lia, at a (house) party, "how does it not get into your head that i like you??"

Thank you, i love your writing🫶

oblivious II l.wälti

"winners baby!" katie cheered, everyone joining in and holding up their slices of pizza with eager grins, the cup trophy sat in the middle of the floor as everyone took turns taking their photos with it.

"how has all of the plain cheese been eaten?" lia groaned in annoyance, having been held up with an interview in the tunnel and one of the last to join in the celebrations in the change room.

"why are you looking at me!" vic protested as the swiss narrowed eyes in her direction, a single finger pointing to the slice of pizza held in her hand. "this had pepperoni on it! i ate it first!" the dutch argued, kyra quick to back her up as lia only hummed.

"wally!" but her attention was captured as you came stumbling over, shooting a glare at beth who stuck out a leg to trip you, planting yourself on the bench beside the midfielder.

"you're welcome." you placed a pizza box on her lap and kissed her cheek, darting off as you were called over for a photo with stina and amanda.

lia frowned curiously as she cautiously opened the box, but it was quickly replaced with a smile seeing four pieces of cheese pizza safely tucked away and untouched.

"and you won't ask her out because..." beth chimed in with a whistle where she sat a foot or so away, having watched the little exchange play out as lias head whipped up and met her amused look.

"i have tried! she does not like me back." lia huffed grumpily, grabbing out a slice and sliding the box protectively into her cubby. "you have not!" beth argued with a roll of her eyes. "oh she has, trust me." leah now joined in as lia swallowed her mouthful of pizza.

"she just thinks i am being friendly." lia groans, beth shuffling a little closer as the swiss woman sought you out across the room, smile tugging at her lips as kyra tried to pour a bottle of champagne down your throat.

"well, kiss her!" beth shrugged, leah holding up a finger in agreement, her own mouth full of food as lia scoffed, wrenching her gaze away from you.

"i cannot just kiss her beth!" "why not?" "well because, because-i just can't!" lia huffed, frustration rearing its head as you and laura spun one another around as the music was turned even louder, family and friends now starting to trickle in to join the team.

"can't? or won't?"

~

the party was beyond full swing as lia arrived dropped off in an uber with steph and jen who'd flown in for the final, the trio some of the last to leave dinner to head back to one of the staffs house who'd so generously offered to host the afters of the celebrations which were seemingly intended to carry on late into the night.

"is that frida?" jen laughed at the blonde doubled over on the front lawn, her girlfriend emma with a phone to her ear and giving them a wave hello as the trio made their way up the driveway and down the side of the house to the backyard.

"odds on whose getting the most messy?" steph offered, her and jen beginning to discuss their bets as meanwhile lia was busy scanning the countless bodies packed in and around them trying to find you.

"she's there mate." a chuckle and a nudge to her shoulder and lia was following jens finger to where sure enough you were sat down in a little huddle with a few of your friends and teammates, but lia was far too focused on the mystery girl you seemed to be cosying up to.

"who is that?" lia asked with a frown, jolting as an arm fell over her shoulder and the smell of rum and coke followed, leah swaying a little as she drew her best friend in for a hug and amandas husband moved to block lias view of you.

"i was wondering if you were coming!" the blonde english woman grinned, dragging lia away to get a drink and chattering her ear off but the midfielder was only half listening, her mind unable to move past the image of you tucked into the mystery girls side, seeming to hang off her every word.

did you have a girlfriend you'd just been keeping to yourself?

"alright! where is your head at? helloooo." leah realised she was being ignored as she shoved a cup into lias hand and snapped her fingers in her face to try and gain her attention, the brunette wincing and pushing her hand away.

"who is that girl?" lia spotted you again across the yard, pointing you out to leah who had to squint to follow where she was supposed to be looking at. "less?" leah frowned as lia sighed with a shake of her head.

"no! that girl." lia gently twisted the defenders head so she was looking in the right direction. "oh the one all over your girlfriend? dunno!" leah shrugged, whining as leah smacked her arm and took a sip from the drink handed to her.

"she is not my girlfriend." "y'know maybe beths got a point. give her a kiss! call it a goal celebration." leah wiggled her eyebrows with a dopey grin as lia scowled.

"she clearly has a girlfriend leah, i cannot kiss someone who is taken!" "well how is she gonna know you're a better kisser then?"

with a defeated sigh lia gave up, shoving her best friend out of the kitchen and allowing herself to be dragged off to go and sit with her family, her own all still in switzerland as she plastered a half sincere smile on her face and began her greetings.

though unable to help it her eyes kept flickering to you, watching you laugh and grin and drape yourself all over the mystery blonde beside you, she felt a strange feeling settle over her, not dissimilar to the same sort of discomfort felt in her knee the last six months or so, but in her chest.

so determined to forget you and have the best night she could with everyone lia brought the drink made for her to her lips and downed it, quickly accepting leahs cousin jordans offer of another, and another, and another.

it had been hours now and lia had done the best job she could to forget you, the crowd beginning to thin out and lia having spent time with almost everyone except the one person she really wanted to celebrate with.

until finally you stumbled into her in the living room on your way back from the bathroom, or more accurately she stumbled into you, spilling her drink all down the front of her with a groan.

"wally! where have you been hiding? i was looking for you." you greeted with an excited smile, hurrying to steady her as the swiss woman lost her footing and almost hit the deck, and as her head lolled to one side you realised the drink down the front of her was clearly not her first.

"are you drunk?" you laughed with a surprised grin of delight, never really having seen her this far gone, the brunette normally one of the more sober of the team, often taking on the role of babysitter for the much more party inclined half of the group.

"no!" lia slurred with a roll of her eyes, trying to push away from you but losing her footing and again almost falling to the floor as your grip on her tightened and you carefully lead her over to the lounge.

"okay. lets just have a little seat for a second, and i will get you some water." you gently lowered her down as she mumbled something incoherent and you darted off to the kitchen to grab a bottle from the well stocked up fridge you'd all been given free reign to for the evening.

"come on, just a little drink please. you'll feel better!" you encouraged softly taking a seat beside her and trying to assist her to take a mouthful, pushing your body out of the way as lia shoved the bottle away with a grumble.

"lia. please, i will call you an uber home but you need to sober up a little first." you squeezed her leg and thats when lia became hyperaware of your hand settling on her thigh, groaning loudly as her head thumped against the back of the sofa.

"what?" you frowned cluelessly as she smacked your hand and mumbled for you to go away. "do you want me to get leah instead? or is your sister here? i didn't see her but-" you offered, and lia watched the way your eyebrows creased adorably with concern and could only groan louder.

"how does it not get into your head that i like you?" the midfielder moaned with frustration, the alcohol coursing the veins pushing the confession past her lips and out of her mouth as your frown only deepened.

"well i hope you like me, i just signed on for another two years so you are stuck with me." you teased with a smile as lia could only groan again and drag her hands down her face, head spinning but far too drunk to stop the words that came crashing out next.

"no. i like you! but you clearly do not feel the same so please go away." lia grunted, eyes fluttering shut as the room began to twist and turn and you were stunned into a brief silence, so much so lia actually thought you'd left until she opened her eyes again and jumped finding you still sat there.

"you like me?" you questioned in shock, eyebrows sky high with surprise as lia sighed heavily. "yes obviously! i have asked you out again and again but you always invite someone else, but i know now you have a girlfriend and-" lia began to try and stand, but that was far too ambitious of a task as she flopped right back down with a grunt.

"girlfriend? i do not have a girlfriend." you made a face as lias vision finally settled enough to make sense of it, turning her head to frown right back at you. "the blonde? you have been all over her." her jealousy reared its head with a roll of her eyes as you started to put the pieces together in your own.

"the-oh alice? alice is not my girlfriend. she is my best friend from home, she flew over with my parents from sweden for the game!" you laughed with a shake of your head, lias face now flushing red as she groaned again though clearly this time out of embarrassment as the reality of her actions came crashing down.

"oh my god. please forget about this and-" lia slurred with a shake of her head, again trying to stand as you quickly pulled her back down. "i did not realise you were asking me out. i am...i am not good at reading people." now it was your turn to blush, having had this problem for years now even before you'd come out prior to moving to england from sweden for football.

"i just invited other people because i thought you wanted to be friends, you were one of the first people to make me feel very welcome when i signed." you confessed with a soft smile, poking at her shoulder.

"but if you were still interested, i would really like to go out. with you! just you." you quickly clarified with a somewhat nervous smile, lias eyes almost bugging out of her head at your disclosure, mouth ajar with surprise.

"careful. the wind might change and you will be stuck!" you teased, her mouth snapping shut as a silence fell between the two of you, but lias head was anything but as beth and leahs words rang out inside it.

"can i kiss you?" the midfielder blurted out suddenly, once again the alcohol pumping in her system taking control as you looked a little taken aback and regret flooded through her instead.

"no i am so sorry i have had a lot to drink and i-" but she couldn't finish her sentence as you leaned forward, one hand gently falling to her cheek as you cleared the gap between you, a short but sweet kiss pressed to her lips making her head swim in a way not at all related to the alcohol.

"did you let leah be your bartender? you taste like a pirate." you whispered teasingly, moving a few loose strands of hair out of her face as lia blinked slowly and you grinned.

"a pirate?" "pirates drink rum. no?"

at that lia let out a laugh, relaxing just a little as you poked her nose and smiled, moving back to give her some more personal space, flashing a thumbs up at alice who held up her phone with the uber app loaded, pointing to you and lia with a raised eyebrow.

"come on, lets get you home." you stood and held out your hands to help her do the same. "but our date?" lia frowned in confusion making you laugh as you hauled her up, almost falling down as her body weight immediately swayed and crashed into you, both of you around the same height and build.

"how about you sober up a little wälti, get some sleep, and we can go for dinner tomorrow, on a date."

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Forever Us

Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader

warning: it gets a little sad but nothing crazy.

The front door creaks softly as I nudge it open, the weight of the last box in my arms. The house is still, save for the distant hum of the air conditioning, and the softest scent of fresh paint lingering in the air.

Our house.

I set the box down—carefully, because Bob labeled it fragile, and I don’t want to risk breaking whatever sentimental treasure he packed away. Then I stand there for a moment, barefoot on the hardwood floor, looking around.

Sunlight spills through the windows, catching dust motes dancing in the air. Our half-built life is scattered across the room: blankets draped over the back of the couch, mugs we haven’t yet found a place for, picture frames leaning against the wall.

Bob’s boots are by the door. His cap is hanging on the hook we just installed together.

And then I hear it—him.

A soft, off-key humming from the kitchen. The low clink of plates as he unpacks.

I move quietly, padding toward the sound, leaning on the doorway for a moment to watch him.

Bob is standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully places our mismatched plates in the cabinet. There’s a streak of dust on his cheek, and I know if I pointed it out, he’d blush—that beautiful, delicate pink that only ever shows up when he’s flustered.

I can’t help it. My heart squeezes.

I clear my throat, smiling.

“Hey, stranger.”

He looks up, and there it is—that soft, slow smile that always makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world.

“Hey yourself.”

He steps toward me, hands brushing off against his jeans, and then he’s close enough that I can smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the laundry detergent we both love.

His fingers find mine, gentle, like he’s always careful with me. He lifts our hands and presses a kiss to my knuckles.

“We did it,” he whispers, like he still can’t believe it.

“Yeah.” My voice catches in my throat. “We did.”

He smiles again, and it’s so Bob—soft, shy, completely sincere.

“Ready to tackle the rest of these boxes, Mrs.-Almost-Floyd?”

I laugh, light and warm, and tug him close by the front of his shirt.

“I’ll tackle them if you make me coffee.”

He grins, leaning in so his forehead brushes mine.

“Deal.”

The kettle whistles softly as Bob pours the coffee into my favorite mug—the one with the little chipped corner I refuse to get rid of. The smell fills the kitchen, warm and familiar, like Sunday mornings and slow dances in the dark.

I flip through the wedding binder sprawled across the kitchen table, pen tapping against my lip as I stare down at a page filled with color swatches.

“Okay,” I sigh dramatically, holding up two shades of sage green. “Which one is the sage green, Bob? There’s moss, there’s eucalyptus, there’s olive… apparently, this is a life-or-death decision.”

Bob leans over my shoulder, peering at the page like he’s studying a map for a mission. His voice is soft, teasing, as he points to one with a slightly more gray undertone.

“This one looks nice.”

I tilt my head, studying him instead of the swatches. The sunlight catches on the glasses perched low on his nose, the faint curve of a smile playing on his lips.

“You’re not just saying that because you want me to stop stressing over the napkin colors, right?” I ask, poking him in the ribs.

He grins, that boyish, lopsided smile that makes my heart trip over itself.

“Maybe a little.”

“Bob Floyd!” I gasp, shoving him gently, and he laughs—a real, full laughthat fills the kitchen, wraps around me like a blanket.

Before I know it, he’s tugging the pen from my hand, setting it down, and slipping his arms around my waist.

“You know what’s more important than napkin colors?”

I arch an eyebrow, playing along.

“World peace?”

His grin softens. He tilts his head, nudging his nose against mine, voice a low murmur.

“Us.”

I feel it in my chest—like something warm blooming in my ribcage.

Then the music shifts on the playlist—a slow, easy love song we both know. Bob’s hands slide to my hips, and without a word, he starts to sway with me right there in the kitchen, next to the half-unpacked boxes and the coffee mugs.

“Really?” I laugh, but I’m already leaning into him, my arms winding around his neck.

“Really.” He smiles, cheeks flushing, and we sway in slow, lazy circles, the world outside the window blurring into nothing.

The song carries us, and we’re so close that I can feel his heart beating under my palm. I rest my head on his chest, and for a long, quiet moment, we just exist—in the soft light, in the warmth of the kitchen, in the life we’re building, one small, beautiful moment at a time.

Bob’s voice is a whisper against my hair.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

I hum, not opening my eyes, too content to move.

He pulls back just enough so I can see him—those ocean-blue eyes, earnest and shining.

“I still can’t believe I get to marry you.”

My breath catches, and I feel my throat tighten.

I press my forehead against his, and we stand there, holding on, swaying, as the sun sinks lower and the sky outside turns gold.

We’re still swaying, the coffee forgotten on the counter, when Bob’s phone buzzes insistently against the table.

He groans softly against my hair, his hands resting on my hips like they never want to let go.

“Do we have to answer that?”

I peek at the screen.

Phoenix.

“Probably,” I sigh, but I’m grinning. Bob presses a kiss to my temple and steps back reluctantly to answer the call, holding the phone to his ear with a soft, “Hey, Phoenix.”

I wander back to the table, flipping through our wedding binder again, listening in on Bob’s half of the conversation.

Phoenix’s voice crackles through the line—loud enough for me to hear from across the room.

“Tell me you didn’t let her talk you into lavender tablecloths, Floyd. Come on, man.”

Bob flushes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I think they’re sage green, actually.”

“Even worse!” Phoenix laughs, and I shoot Bob a look, mouthing traitor at him while he tries not to smile.

Then Rooster’s voice booms through, like he’s just waiting for his turn.

“Tell Y/N she better not make Bob wear one of those ruffled tux shirts! And no matching flower crowns, I swear to God—”

I snatch the phone from Bob’s hand.

“Rooster Bradshaw, if you don’t shut up, I will make you wear a flower crown and a pink tie.”

Bob’s laughing behind me, all warm and soft, his hand curling around my waist like a reflex.

Phoenix’s voice cuts in again, teasing and smug.

“You two are disgustingly in love, you know that, right?”

Bob leans in close, his lips brushing my cheek as he murmurs,

“Guilty.”

I feel the blush rush up my neck as I end the call, tossing his phone onto the table.

For a second, we just stand there in the middle of the kitchen, like the world has gone quiet except for us.

“Okay,” I breathe, pulling back a little, trying to get serious. “We still need to figure out flowers, table settings, first dance song…”

Bob hums like he’s thinking real hard, his chin resting on my shoulder, his hands still firm on my hips.

“I know a song.” His voice is soft, like it’s just for me.

I turn toward him, eyebrows raised, ready to tease, but he just smiles—thatsmile, the one that makes me feel like I’m the only girl in the world.

“Lover,” he says quietly, almost like he’s shy to admit it. “The one with Taylor and Shawn Mendes. I know it’s your favorite.”

My heart stops.

“You…” I blink, stunned. “You remember that?”

His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer like he’s afraid I might float away.

“Of course I do. Every time I hear it, I think of you.”

It hits me hard, like a sudden wave, the way he sees me, the way he loves me.

And when the song comes on the playlist—like the universe knows—he takes my hand, spinning me softly in the middle of the kitchen, humming the lyrics under his breath.

“Can I go where you go… Can we always be this close forever and ever?”

We sway, wrapped up in the music and each other, and I swear it feels like the world is standing still.

When the song fades out, Bob presses his forehead against mine, his voice a whisper in the quiet.

“I want this. Always.”

I don’t even have words—just a nod, my eyes shining, my hands curling into his shirt as I hold on tight.

And it’s so perfect. Like we’re living in our own little love song, just for a little while.

—

We’re at the bakery, sitting across from each other at a little table covered in sample plates. I’m trying to focus on the cake flavors in front of us, but Bob’s staring at me like I’m the cake.

“Okay,” I say, pointing at the options in front of us, “lemon, red velvet, chocolate, or almond. What’s your pick, Lieutenant Floyd?”

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You already know I’ll eat anything you want, sweetheart. You could pick cardboard, and I’d say it’s the best cake I ever had.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the grin that breaks across my face.

“Bob. You have to have an opinion.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping a little.

“My opinion? The lemon one’s good, but you make a face when you taste it, so that’s a no. Red velvet makes your eyes light up, so I say we go with that. Plus…” He pauses, lips twitching.

“…it’s the color of love.”

I gasp, throwing a napkin at him, but he catches it midair and starts laughing. His laugh is so free, so light—it makes my heart hurt in the best way.

“Fine,” I say, grinning. “Red velvet it is.”

“Red velvet it is,” Bob echoes, like it’s a vow.

— back at home

The kitchen table is an absolute disaster.

There are ribbons tangled around Bob’s fingers, a hot glue gun half-melted onto a paper plate, and glitter—everywhere. My laptop is open to a spreadsheet with names and addresses, and Bob’s handwriting is a careful, neat scrawl across a growing stack of envelopes.

I’m half-sitting, half-leaning across the table, pen cap in my mouth as I try to tie tiny bows on the little gift boxes we picked out. Bob glances up, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth like he can’t not smile when he looks at me.

“Careful, babe,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “You’ve got glitter on your nose.”

I pause, blink at him, and scrunch my nose up in an oh no kind of way. Bob’s grin widens—pure sunshine.

“Here,” he says, leaning across the table, fingers brushing so soft against my skin as he wipes the glitter away. He holds my gaze for a second too long, and my heart does that annoying little flip it’s been doing since I met him.

I smile, quiet, and go back to the task at hand.

⸻

The Favors:

Each RSVP’d guest gets a small, thoughtful box—inside, a handwritten note, personalized just for them.

Bob’s meticulous—he remembers Phoenix’s favorite whiskey, so he writes a thank-you card and tucks in a mini bottle with a tiny tag: To the best wingwoman—cheers to being the honorary maid of honor.

He writes to Rooster about being the best man for the best reason, slipping in a pair of novelty socks that say “Best Man Ever” because he knows Rooster loves a good joke.

For Maverick, Bob writes a quiet, thank you for believing in me kind of letter. It’s simple, but it’s so Bob.

And for everyone else—funny memories, inside jokes, little details that show Bob Floyd notices everything.

⸻

I’m working on my own stack, writing with a slightly messier hand than Bob’s—to Phoenix, thank you for the late-night phone calls when I needed to vent about seating charts. To Hangman, for always making Bob laugh (even when it’s not funny). To Payback and Fanboy, for their dance floor moves.

Every time I finish one, Bob glances over, reading without reading, just smiling at me like I’m his whole world.

At some point, he leans back in his chair and says, quietly, “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone like I love you.”

And it’s soft, it’s unprompted, it’s Bob.

We’re still at the table, finishing up the last few favor boxes, when Bob quietly gets up and heads to the speaker on the counter. A few seconds later, the familiar opening notes of Lover (Remix) fill the kitchen, soft and warm, wrapping around us like a hug.

I glance up at him, smile tugging at my lips—he’s got that look again. The one that makes my stomach do backflips.

Without a word, Bob crosses back to me, holds out his hand, and I take it like it’s instinct. He pulls me up, close against him, our fingers twined together.

We sway—slow, steady, like the world outside doesn’t exist.

My cheek rests against his chest, and I can feel his heart beating, a steady, quiet rhythm. His other hand presses gently against the small of my back, grounding, and I let myself breathe.

The music plays on, and I feel it creeping up—this soft, warm ache in my chest. My eyes sting, and I blink fast, but it’s too late.

Bob feels me tense, pulls back just enough to tilt my chin up.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice so gentle it undoes me. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, but the tears spill over, and before I can stop myself, the words come tumbling out.

“I just—” My voice breaks. I press my hand to his chest, trying to keep it together, but it doesn’t work.

“I never thought I’d have this,” I whisper, barely there. “I never thought I’d find someone who looks at me the way you do. I thought—God, Bob, I thought you’d leave. I thought you’d find someone better. I was so scared.”

He just listens, and that’s the worst part. He lets me feel it, lets me say it, and when I stop—when I’m sniffling into his shirt like an idiot—he pulls me closer.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly, like a vow. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear, and his voice cracks just a little when he says, “There’s no one better, baby. Not for me.”

I let out a watery laugh, and he smiles—so soft, so Bob.

“You make me want to be better. Every day,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against mine. “But you—God, you’re everything. Exactly as you are.”

We stand there for a long time, just holding each other. The music fades out, but we stay swaying, like we can’t stop. Like we won’t.

Because we won’t.

Not now. Not ever.

—— Wedding Week Mayhem 

The Rehearsal Dinner

It’s warm and golden in the private dining room they rented—string lights overhead, soft music playing in the background, and everyone buzzingwith energy. The tables are cluttered with half-empty glasses, plates scraped clean, and napkins folded over plates.

Bob stands up, a little awkwardly, tapping his glass with the side of his fork. His cheeks are flushed—he’s never been a guy for speeches, but tonight, he’s all in.

His hands are a little shaky as he holds his note card, but when his eyes find mine across the table, the world stops.

“I’m not much for words,” he starts, voice low, and I swear to God, my heart aches with how much I love him.

“But when I think about—about her—” Bob swallows, nervous laugh, teary smile— “I think about how lucky I am. How I never thought this kind of love would happen for me.”

There’s a pause. Rooster’s grinning like an idiot, Phoenix is already dabbing at her eyes, and even Hangman looks like he might feel something.

“She’s my best friend,” Bob says, voice thick, soft, and so full of love it feels like it might knock the wind out of me. “And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life making her as happy as she’s made me.”

He lifts his glass, the whole room raising theirs in a quiet, perfect moment.

I’m wrecked. Completely. And when I catch Bob’s eyes again, I know—this is it. He’s it.

The Wedding Day

The morning is a slow hum. A soft glow of sunlight through sheer curtains, the faint sound of waves in the distance, and the smell of fresh coffee from the kitchen.

I wake up to the sound of Phoenix’s voice—gentle, but teasing.

“C’mon, lovebird. You can’t be late to your own wedding.”

I sit up, my heart already thundering. There’s this ache in my chest, a buzzin my skin, like the whole world is holding its breath.

The suite is filled with soft chatter—Phoenix zipping up my dress, helping me step into my shoes, the faint clink of glasses as the girls toast with mimosas. My hands shake as I pick up my bouquet—white peonies, soft pink roses, and a little sprig of baby’s breath.

I catch my reflection in the mirror—hair pinned perfectly, eyes shimmering, veil cascading down my back—and I swear, I barely recognize myself.

“Wow,” I breathe, voice cracking.

Phoenix hugs me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder, her smile soft. “You’re gonna wreck him.”

—

Bob is pacing. Pacing. He’s tugging at the sleeves of his shirt, running his hands through his hair, biting his lip so hard it’s almost white.

Rooster’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him like a hawk.

“Bob. Buddy. Breathe.”

Bob lets out a shaky laugh. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

But when the music starts outside, when they tell him it’s time—he freezes.

—

As I step onto the aisle, I feel my knees buckle, just a little.

He’s there.

Standing at the altar, hands shaking at his sides, eyes wide and wet, like he can’t believe I’m real. His lips part, like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t—just stares.

And God, the way he looks at me—like I’m the only person on earth. Like I’m his everything.

I clutch my bouquet tighter, smiling so wide it almost hurts.

Each step feels like a dream. Like the world has slowed down just for us. The wind catching my veil, the sunlight glinting off Bob’s glasses, the quiet sniffles from our family and friends.

When I finally reach him, he takes my hand—and doesn’t let go. Not even for a second.

His thumb strokes over my knuckles, soft, soothing. Like he’s reminding himself I’m here, I’m real, I’m his.

“Hi,” he whispers, barely audible.

I laugh, tears already pooling. “Hi.”

The officiant starts speaking, but it’s a blur. All I can hear is Bob’s breath—shaky, a little fast—and the quiet, soft tremble of his voice when he says,

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this lucky.”

Our vows are quiet, almost whispered. Words we’d practiced in the mirror, words that feel too small for what we feel.

“I promise to always hold your hand when you’re scared.”

“I’ll be your best friend, your home, your safe place.”

“I’ll love you when we’re old and gray, and I’ll love you through every storm.”

His voice cracks, and I feel it in my chest—this aching, overwhelming love.

When we kiss, it’s slow. Like we’ve got all the time in the world. His hands cupping my face, my fingers tangled in his shirt, like we’re holding onto each other for dear life.

The applause feels distant. The only thing that matters is us.

—

The reception is a dream.

Bob’s hand never leaves mine—he keeps looking at me, like he can’t believe I’m real. Like if he looks away, I’ll disappear.

We sneak outside at one point, away from the music and laughter, just to breathe. The sun is setting, casting golden light across his face, and he leans his forehead against mine, smiling so soft it’s barely there.

“You’re my wife,” he whispers, almost like he’s in disbelief.

“You’re my husband,” I whisper back, and we both laugh, a little giddy, a little overwhelmed.

—

It’s perfect.

Just us. The music soft—Lover, playing just for us. Bob’s hands on my waist, my arms around his neck, swaying slow.

His lips brush my ear as he sings along, quietly, like it’s just for me.

“Can I go where you go… Can we always be this close forever and ever…”

It’s magic. Like the world has disappeared, and it’s just me and Bob.

Forever.

—

It’s been two weeks since the wedding, and if I could bottle these days, I would. Every moment feels like a photograph—us, tangled in bed sheets in the morning, Bob’s arms tight around me like he never wants to let go. Us, laughing in the kitchen as he flips pancakes, his hair sticking up in every direction, syrup smudged on his glasses. Us, side by side on the couch, watching my favorite movies while he hums along to the songs, his hand finding mine like it belongs there.

There’s this warmth in our home, a softness that feels like forever.

But the mission looms.

We’ve known it was coming—classified, dangerous, quick turnaround, he’d said. Two days, tops. I pretend to believe him.

So we hold on tighter. We fill the days with little things: folding laundry and sneaking kisses between t-shirts and socks, grocery store runs where he lets me sit in the cart like a kid, movie nights where we dance in the living room to Lover (the Shawn Mendes remix—our song, our secret).

And every time he looks at me, it’s like he’s trying to memorize every detail. His eyes linger on mine a little too long, his hands find my waist a little more often, and his kisses—God, his kisses feel like they’re goodbye.

I don’t say anything. Neither does he.

⸻

The night before the mission, we lie in bed together, the sheets tangled around our legs, the lamp casting a warm glow over the room. I’m wearing his shirt—soft and worn, the one that smells like him—and my fingers trace the curve of his shoulder, the freckles across his chest.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he whispers, voice soft and low.

My throat tightens.

“I’ll miss you,” I say, barely above a whisper.

Bob leans in, his forehead pressing gently to mine, his hand cupping my cheek like I’m the most precious thing in the world. His eyes are soft behind his glasses, but there’s a glimmer there—like maybe he’s scared, too.

“I’ll miss you more,” he says, and I swear, my heart aches.

I kiss him, slow and deep, like I’m trying to tell him all the things I don’t have the words for. Like please come home. Like I love you more than anything. Like don’t you dare leave me.

When we finally pull back, there’s this quiet between us, like the world has stopped spinning.

⸻

The morning of the mission comes too fast.

It’s still dark when I wake up, the soft beep of his alarm pulling me out of sleep. I sit up slowly, watching as he gets dressed—flight suit zipped up, dog tags catching the soft glow of the lamp, hair messy from sleep. He looks so steady, so brave, and it makes my chest hurt.

I stand in the doorway, clutching a coffee mug, watching him lace his boots. His hands move methodically, but his shoulders are tense, like he’s holding back.

He turns, and our eyes meet.

“Hey,” he says softly, like he’s afraid to break the quiet.

I cross the room, the mug still warm in my hands, and I set it on the dresser. My arms wrap around his waist, pulling him in, and he melts into me. His arms go tight around my shoulders, his head drops to my neck, and I feel his breath—shaky, like he’s holding back tears.

I close my eyes, breathing him in.

“Be safe,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

He pulls back just enough to cup my face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears I didn’t even realize had started falling.

“I promise.” His voice is rough, barely holding it together. “I’ll come home to you.”

I nod, even though my stomach feels like it’s twisting into knots.

He kisses me then, slow and lingering, and it feels like forever. His hands cradle my face, gentle and sure, like he’s afraid I’ll break.

When we finally pull apart, he presses his forehead to mine, breath warm against my lips.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you more.”

His eyes close, and he lets out a shaky breath like he’s memorizing the way this feels.

And then he’s pulling away, grabbing his bag, dog tags clinking softly. He turns at the door, one last glance, and I swear I see it—the fear.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, and then he’s gone.

The door closes with a soft click, and I’m left standing there, clutching the coffee mug, tears slipping down my cheeks.

The house feels empty.

Like part of me just walked out the door with him.

———

The first day without Bob is the hardest.

I wake up wrapped in the sheets we shared, the pillow still warm from where he laid his head, the scent of his cologne lingering faintly in the air. It’s quiet—too quiet. No soft humming from the kitchen, no lazy footsteps across the floor, no coffee mug waiting for me by the sink with a sticky note that says love you, always.

I stay in bed longer than usual, pulling the blankets up over my head, pretending for a moment that if I don’t move, maybe he’s still here. Maybe it was just a bad dream, and when I open my eyes, he’ll be there, glasses slightly askew, hair sticking up in all directions, grinning at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

But when I finally get up, the house feels empty.

I try to fill the day with little things—laundry, dishes, reorganizing the bookshelf we both swear is a war zone. I light a candle that smells like vanilla and cinnamon, the one he always says reminds him of “home,” and it makes my chest ache.

I even sit down with the stack of wedding favors we’ve been working on, folding letters, tying tiny bows, but the words blur together, my fingers shaking.

Just one more day, I tell myself. Just one more day and he’ll be home.

So I go outside. The sun is warm, the breeze soft, and I think maybe if I just sit here, maybe if I let the sun soak into my skin, the ache will ease. I settle into one of the chairs on the porch, a glass of lemonade sweating in my hands, and close my eyes.

The sound of birds, the soft rustle of leaves—it’s peaceful.

Then—the sound.

Low, at first. A distant, rising hum, almost like thunder. I open my eyes, squinting at the sky.

The jets.

Bob’s squadron.

I sit up straighter, my heart stuttering—because they’re low. Too low. Moving too fast.

And then, like the sky itself is ripping open, there’s the crack of gunfire—not on base. Here. Here.

I stand up so fast I stumble, my bare feet skidding on the grass. The glass of iced tea on the table shatters as it’s knocked over, forgotten.

What’s happening?

Another crack—closer now. Sharp, relentless. I hear it before I feel it: the thudding of my own pulse in my ears, the sharp, acrid burn of smoke clawing at the back of my throat.

Then the screaming starts.

High. Panicked.

Neighbors.

Families.

I turn toward the house. Toward the porch. The wind shifts and smoke curls thick and black over the roof—my stomach turns to ice.

It’s chaos.

The world is smoke and fire and screams.

I can’t think—I can’t breathe—but I can feel the burn, the heat against my skin, the sharp sting of cuts on my hands, the rasp of air scraping down my throat like sandpaper.

I’m running.

Blind, wild—tears streaking soot across my face, my heart pounding so loud it drowns out the sounds of sirens and gunfire.

The porch is gone. The roof is caving in. The house—our house—the home we built together—it’s burning.

I should run. I should leave. I know that.

But I can’t.

Because in the middle of the flames, I see it.

The small wooden box on the coffee table—Bob’s gift to me the night he proposed. It’s not the ring—no, it’s something else. Something even more us. A collection of our memories. The concert tickets from our first date. The tiny plastic dinosaur he won me at the fair. A photo strip from the booth at the beach—Bob’s hair messy, my cheeks flushed, our smiles so wide they barely fit in the frame.

And inside, folded carefully, the letter he wrote me on the night he left for that mission three months ago. The letter I never showed him I read a hundred times, the one where he told me, I don’t know what the future holds, but I know it’s you. It’s always been you. It’ll always be you.

I can’t leave that.

I won’t.

So I run back in.

The smoke chokes me, burning my lungs, my eyes watering so bad I can barely see. The floor is hot beneath my feet, the air thick and suffocating. I stumble, trip over fallen beams, but I keep going—I have to get it.

My hands close over the box just as the ceiling groans—deep, low, a sound that settles in my chest like the crack of a breaking heart.

And then it collapses.

A wall gives way, and I don’t even have time to scream.

The weight hits me like a freight train, knocking the air out of my lungs. Wood. Plaster. Glass. I feel it—sharp, crushing, unforgiving.

I clutch the box to my chest, curl my body around it, trying to protect it, even as the pain rips through me—sharp, white-hot, blinding.

Bob.

Bob.

Bob, I’m sorry.

I taste blood in my mouth, feel it on my lips. My fingers tighten around the box as the world tilts and fades to black.

I’m sorry, Bob. I just wanted to save it. I just wanted to save us.

—

The hallway smells like antiseptic and grief. Bob’s boots echo down the linoleum floor, each step too loud, too sharp, like the world has tilted and nothing feels real.

Phoenix’s voice still rings in his ears—“It’s bad, Bob. It’s really bad.”

His stomach is a fist. His heart is a war drum in his chest.

He pushes through the door to the ICU, and the sight of her—

It’s like a knife to the chest.

She’s lying there, surrounded by machines that beep and hiss and breathe for her. Tubes snake from her arms, her face pale and bloodless, a cut on her temple stitched up haphazardly, bruises blooming across her skin like dark, terrible flowers.

She looks so small.

So fragile.

His girl—his fiancée.

The woman he’s going to marry.

The woman he was going to build a life with.

The woman he was going to grow old with.

The woman who’s lying there now like a doll someone forgot to finish painting.

A nurse approaches, quiet, tentative, holding something in her hands.

“She had this,” she whispers, her voice gentle, like she knows she’s handing over something sacred.

It’s the box.

Their box.

Bob’s fingers tremble as he takes it. The wood is charred, blackened in places, the corners rough where the fire licked at it, but it’s still intact. She went back for this.

For them.

For him.

Tears sting his eyes, blurring the edges of everything, and he feels like he’s suffocating.

He drops into the chair beside her bed, the box clutched so tightly to his chest it hurts.

“Baby…” His voice cracks—shatters. It’s not even a whisper, just a broken, desperate plea.

He reaches for her hand—it’s cold, so cold—and he presses it to his lips, the tears falling fast and furious now, spilling down his cheeks, soaking into her skin.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he chokes out, his voice raw, barely human. “I’m here, okay? Just… just stay with me. Please. Please, I can’t—”

His breath hitches, a gasp like his lungs are collapsing.

“I can’t do this without you. You hear me?” His voice is a sob now, wet, ugly, shaking so bad his whole body trembles. “I can’t—”

His head drops onto the bed beside her, his tears soaking into the thin hospital blanket. His shoulders shake, a broken, ragged sound tearing out of him as he clutches her hand like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

And then—

Her fingers twitch.

Just the slightest movement, but it’s enough.

“Baby? Baby, I’m here, okay? Please—just open your eyes. Just—just look at me, baby, please.”

Her eyelids flutter, barely lifting, and her lips part like she’s trying to say something.

He leans in, so close their foreheads nearly touch, his tears dripping onto her cheeks.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Her lips move.

“I love you,” she breathes, so faint he barely catches it.

And then she tries—God, she tries—to smile.

Her fingers curl weakly around his.

And just like that—

The monitors wail.

A flat, horrible, endless tone fills the room.

“No. No, no, no, no, no—baby—baby—”

Bob’s voice shatters, a sound so broken it barely sounds human.

He presses his forehead to hers, his tears pouring down now, sobs wracking his body, violent, helpless.

“Please—come back, please, sweetheart, I love you, I love you so much—”

His hands clutch her face, smoothing her hair back, his fingers shaking.

“Come on, baby, please, please, don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me. Please—I’ll quit the Navy, I swear, I’ll do anything, just—God, just come back to me.”

But she’s gone.

She’s gone.

And the weight of it crushes him, suffocates him, drowns him.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t think.

He presses the box to his chest, his tears soaking into the charred wood.

She went back for this.

She went back for them.

And now he has it.

But he doesn’t have her.

He never will again.

—

It’s cold. The kind of cold that sinks into your bones and makes you feel like you’ll never be warm again. The sky is overcast, a dull gray that stretches out forever, and the air smells like rain, like earth turning under the weight of grief.

Bob stands at the front of the cemetery, hands shaking so hard he has to grip the program tight to keep from dropping it. It’s a simple program—her name in bold letters across the top, Y/N Floyd, her birthday, the day she left.

Beloved Wife. Cherished Friend. Gone Too Soon.

That’s all it says. It’s not enough.

Phoenix is there, standing just behind him, her hand on his back, steady but helpless. Rooster’s off to the side, sunglasses hiding red, puffy eyes. Hangman’s quieter than Bob’s ever seen him, his usual grin wiped clean.

Bob’s wedding ring feels heavy on his finger. He rubs it over and over, like it’ll bring her back. Like if he just holds it tight enough, maybe none of this is real.

They lower the casket into the ground, and it feels like the world is ending.

Bob breaks.

He drops to his knees in the wet grass, gasping for air, sobbing so hard his chest hurts, his face buried in his hands.

“I’m sorry… God, I’m so sorry…”

His voice is hoarse, raw.

“I should’ve been there… I should’ve protected you…”

Her name tears out of him like it’s ripping his soul apart.

Phoenix kneels beside him, tears slipping down her cheeks, her arms around his shoulders, holding him up because he can’t hold himself up anymore.

The others stand in stunned, aching silence, watching the man they thought was unshakable shatter right in front of them.

The sky opens up then, a soft drizzle falling over everyone, soaking into Bob’s shirt, his hair, his skin. It feels like the world itself is crying with him.

The last thing Bob hears before the cemetery clears out is the sound of the rain on the coffin, soft and steady, like a heartbeat that shouldn’t have stopped.

—

The First Night Without Her

Bob walks into Phoenix’s apartment with a single, battered box in his hands. It’s light—too light—like the weight of her life had been stripped down to scraps.

He sets it on the table. It makes a hollow sound, like an echo in a house that’s too quiet.

Inside the box:

• Their wedding photo. The glass is shattered, but the image is untouched. Her smile—his smile—forever frozen, and he can’t even bring himself to touch it.

• The tiny teddy bear they won at the fair, its fur singed from the fire. He picks it up, and the smell of smoke still clings to it. It smells like loss.

• The engraved dog tag she gave him when they first started dating. “Come back to me.” His thumb traces over the words, and it feels like they’re mocking him now.

• The playlist CD she made for him, labeled in her handwriting: Bob’s Mix (For the Days You Miss Me).

• A napkin from their first date, with a faint smudge of her lipstick. It’s wrinkled and yellowed, but it’s hers.

• The ring. The one he slipped off her finger in the hospital, the one she wore every single day. It’s cold in his palm. It feels wrong without the warmth of her skin.

• And a small, charred photo strip from the photo booth—her laughing, his arm around her, her eyes so full of love. The edges are blackened, but the middle is perfect.

He sits down, the box open in front of him, and just stares. Phoenix watches from the doorway, her heart in her throat. She wants to help, but there’s nothing she can do.

“Let me know if you need anything,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

Bob doesn’t answer.

He stays on her couch that night, curled in on himself, clutching the ring in his fist so tightly it digs into his skin. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the tears are soaking into the couch cushion beneath him.

⸻

The Bouncing Between Friends

Bob doesn’t go back to the house—he can’t.

Every time he thinks about it, it feels like there’s a weight on his chest, like the air is too thick to breathe.

So he drifts—like a ghost—between Phoenix’s, Hangman’s, Rooster’s, Fanboy’s.

Phoenix makes him tea and lets him sit in silence.

Hangman pretends everything’s fine, cracks jokes that don’t land.

Rooster cooks breakfast and pushes the plate toward him, but Bob just stares at it.

Fanboy hands him a blanket and a spare pillow, says “We’re here for you, man.”

But the truth is, nobody knows what to say.

Nobody knows how to fix a man who’s shattered.

⸻

The First Night He Breaks Down

One night, Bob sits on Phoenix’s floor. The box is open in front of him, and he’s holding the teddy bear in one hand and the CD in the other. The tears come before he can stop them, hot and relentless.

He sobs—really sobs—like a man who’s losing his mind.

“I can’t—” His voice cracks, and it’s pitiful. “I don’t know how to do this, Phee. I don’t know how to breathe without her. I don’t know how to wake up and not see her next to me. I—” His breath hitches, his body shaking. “I don’t know how to be me without her.”

Phoenix just sits beside him, her hand on his back as he breaks.

⸻

Visiting Her Grave

The first time he visits her grave, it’s pouring rain.

He stands there, drenched, shivering, clutching the teddy bear like it’s the only thing keeping him together. The headstone is too new, the letters too clean.

Y/N L/N Floyd

Beloved Wife. Forever Missed.

He kneels, the rain mixing with his tears, and sets the bear down. His voice is hoarse, broken.

“Hey, baby… I, uh… I brought the bear. I know it’s silly, but… you loved it.”

He can’t look at the stone. He stares at the ground, his hand pressed against the wet grass.

“I miss you so much. I—” His breath catches. “I’m trying to be strong like you always said I was, but I can’t do it. I feel like I’m drowning without you. It hurts so bad. I can’t… I can’t—”

He doubles over, his shoulders shaking, his sobs wracking his body.

“I need you. Please. I need you.”

But there’s only silence.

The rain.

The wind.

The sound of his own shattered heart.

⸻

The Late Nights

He watches her favorite movies until 3 AM, the TV screen blurring through tears.

Every time the familiar song comes on—Taylor Swift’s Lover remix—it’s like a knife.

He hears her voice singing along in his head. He sees her twirling in the kitchen in his hoodie, her hair messy, laughing like there’s nothing in the world but them.

He listens to her playlists, the sad songs she loved:

• Bruno Mars: Talking to the Moon.

• Lewis Capaldi: Before You Go.

• Taylor Swift: All Too Well (10 Minute Version).

And every time, he breaks.

Open-mouthed, gasping for air, clutching his chest like he’s physically in pain.

He slides down the wall, sobbing into his hands, whispering her name over and over like a prayer.

——

First Day Back at Work

Bob stands in front of the mirror in the locker room, his hands trembling as he buttons up his uniform. The patches feel heavier today, like they’re pressing down on his chest, a silent reminder of the life he’s leading while hers was stolen.

He stares at himself—bloodshot eyes, hollow cheeks, stubble on his chin he hadn’t bothered to shave. He looks like a ghost.

He takes a deep breath, his fingers ghosting over the wedding band on his left hand. It feels wrong to wear it, but it feels worse not to.

The others are waiting in the ready room.

He can feel their eyes on him when he walks in.

It’s like the air shifts—the quiet sympathy, the unspoken pity.

Phoenix stands first, offering a soft, “Hey, Bob.”

Rooster gives him a nod, his face tight with unspoken emotion.

Hangman opens his mouth like he’s going to say something—maybe a joke, maybe anything—but then closes it.

Bob forces a small smile, but it’s hollow.

“Morning,” he croaks out.

He sits at the table, pulling out his notebook, pretending to focus on the mission brief Maverick is starting.

But all he hears is static.

All he sees is her.

That morning before the mission, her hands smoothing down the front of his uniform, her lips pressing to his cheek, whispering, “Come back to me, Bobby.”

His throat closes. He blinks hard, but the tears well up anyway, threatening to spill over.

He grips the pen so tightly it snaps in his hand. The ink splatters on his notebook, smearing over a page filled with half-finished doodles she used to draw when she was waiting for him to get home.

Phoenix is watching him, her brows furrowed in worry.

“Bob?” she whispers.

He shudders, forcing a shaky breath.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, but the words taste like lies.

⸻

The First Flight Back

When they gear up for the flight, Bob’s hands tremble so hard he can barely get his helmet on.

He tries to breathe, but the oxygen mask feels too tight, like it’s stranglinghim.

What if I don’t make it back?

What if I die, and she’s already gone, and I never see her again?

He clenches his fists until his knuckles go white, trying to push the panic down.

Phoenix catches him just before they head out. Her hand on his arm is warm, steady.

“You sure you’re good for this?” she asks, her eyes searching his.

Bob swallows hard. His voice is barely a whisper.

“I have to be.”

Because if he stops, if he lets himself feel for even a second, he’s going to fall apart.

⸻

That Night

Bob doesn’t go home.

He drives. For hours. Past the base, past the beach where they used to watch the sunsets, past the grocery store where she used to ask him to get her favorite snacks.

Everything feels empty.

The world is still turning, but his has stopped.

He ends up in front of her grave. Again.

The teddy bear is soggy from the last rain. The flowers are wilted.

He sits on the wet grass, his hands in his lap, and just cries.

The sound rips out of him like something dying.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how to live without you. I’m so lost, baby. I’m so lost.”

He leans his forehead against the headstone, his tears soaking into the stone.

“Come back to me,” he begs, whispers, pleads. His hands tremble as they trace her name. “Please come back to me. I need you. I need you so bad.”

But the night is silent.

Only the sound of the wind, the distant ocean, and Bob’s shattered sobs fill the air.

——

Bob’s Visit to the Wreckage

It’s been a few weeks.

The wreckage of what used to be their home sits silent under the afternoon sun—charred wood, twisted metal, broken glass all tangled together like a nightmare that never ends.

Bob stands there, staring at it, his boots crunching on the broken pieces of their life.

The air smells like smoke and ash, even though the fire’s long gone. The wind stirs the ashes like ghosts, like echoes of laughter and love that usedto fill this place.

He walks through it slowly, carefully, as if the ground might swallow him whole.

There’s nothing left.

Their wedding photos? Burned.

The books she loved? Ashes.

The clothes they folded together, the blanket they curled up under—gone.

He kneels in the rubble, sifting through it, trying to find anything. His fingers tremble as he picks up a half-burnt corner of a card, a shattered picture frame.

And then…

He sees it.

A small patch of floor—untouched.

Not a speck of soot, not a single crack. Just clean, bare floorboards in the middle of everything.

That’s where she was.

Bob’s breath catches in his throat, his chest tightening so hard it feels like his ribs are splintering.

He sinks down onto his knees in front of it, his hands braced on the floor, and he breaks.

Sobs tear through him, raw and unforgiving. His fingers clutch at the floor, like he can hold onto it, like he can hold onto her.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he gasps, over and over, his voice shattering under the weight of it all. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve protected you. I should’ve—”

His words dissolve into sobs as he curls in on himself, shaking so hard it feels like the grief might split him in two.

And then—

He hears cars.

Engines rumbling, tires crunching on the gravel.

He looks up, eyes swollen and red, tears streaking down his cheeks, and sees them.

Rooster. Hangman. Phoenix.

They’re standing there, all three of them, like they couldn’t not come.

Rooster looks like he’s trying not to cry, his jaw clenched so tight it’s shaking.

Hangman, for once, doesn’t have a single smart-ass comment—he just stares at the wreckage, his hands stuffed in his pockets, looking like he’s trying to hold himself together.

And Phoenix—God, Phoenix. She walks up to him, kneels down next to him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“Come on, Bobby,” she whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Let’s get you out of here.”

But he can’t move.

Not yet.

His hand stays pressed against the patch of clean floor, his thumb stroking it like he’s desperate to memorize it, to take a part of her with him.

“I can’t leave her,” he whispers, broken.

Phoenix’s breath shudders. She blinks back tears.

“You’re not leaving her,” she says softly. “She’s here. She’s always gonna be with you. But she’d want you to come with us now.”

Bob swallows hard, his whole body trembling.

And slowly—slowly—he lets them help him up.

They don’t rush him. They don’t say much. They just start sifting through the wreckage with him, trying to salvage what they can—small things, scraps, memories.

A cracked mug.

A singed book with her handwriting in the margins.

Her favorite sweatshirt, torn and dirty, but there.

They pack what they can into boxes.

And when the sun starts to set, Bob stands in front of the house one last time, holding that sweatshirt to his chest like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.

Phoenix, Rooster, and Hangman stand behind him, quiet. Just… there.

And Bob knows—he knows—that he’ll never really leave this place behind.

Because she’s in every inch of it.

And he’ll carry that with him, always.

——

A Cure for Minds Unwell

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a canvas of deep indigo, speckled with stars. Bob sat alone on the beach, the cool sand seeping through his jeans, grounding him in the present, yet his mind was adrift in memories.

Clutched in his hand was her old music player, miraculously salvaged from the wreckage. It bore the scars of the fire—scratches, a melted corner—but it still worked. He pressed play, and the familiar strumming of a guitar filled the air, followed by Lewis Capaldi’s raw voice:

“Waking up too early, static on the TV

Dressed in all the clothes I had on

When yesterday decided I didn’t need to fight with

The hours and the seconds no more”

Bob closed his eyes, the lyrics painting vivid images of his current existence. Mornings blurred into nights, each day a monotonous cycle of going through the motions. He hadn’t changed out of his uniform in days, the fabric stiff with salt and sand.

“Doing all the things that I’m supposed to

Working every day the way that most do

Smiling while I’m hiding what I’m going through

But you know, you know, you know”

He thought of Phoenix, Rooster, and Hangman—their concerned glances, the unspoken understanding. They saw through his facade, knew the depths of his despair, yet gave him space to grieve.

“That, if I’m being honest

I couldn’t tell you this is all I wanted

I struggle sleeping ‘cause the house feels haunted

Filled with the shadows of regret and the things I should’ve said

To the ones I laid to rest, and, lately

I’m terrified that all my youth is fading

Man, growing old is so excruciating

Is there a cure for minds unwell? ‘Cause my head’s a living hell

If I’m honest with myself”

Tears streamed down Bob’s face, each word cutting deeper than the last. The house—what remained of it—was indeed haunted. Not by ghosts, but by memories, by the life they had planned, now reduced to ashes.

He remembered finding her locket amidst the debris, the photo inside charred but recognizable. It now hung around his neck, a constant reminder of love lost.

“Stumble as I’m leaving, one foot takes the lead, and

Second seems to struggle to find

A solitary reason to continue seeking

Any use in walking this line”

Bob’s body trembled as he recalled the days following her death. Each step felt like wading through molasses, every breath a conscious effort. The line between living and merely existing blurred.

“So, how am I supposed to see an end

To my all-consuming, constant fear and dread

When I can’t even seem to make it out of bed?”

He had asked himself that very question countless times. The weight of grief was suffocating, an ever-present shadow that loomed over every aspect of his life.

As the song reached its end, Bob lay back on the sand, staring up at the stars. The vastness of the universe made his pain feel both insignificant and all-encompassing.

He whispered into the night, “I miss you. Every day, every moment.”

The waves continued their rhythmic dance, the world moving forward, indifferent to his sorrow. But in that moment, with the remnants of her music echoing in his ears and her locket resting against his heart, Bob found a sliver of solace.

He knew the pain would never fully dissipate, but perhaps, with time, he could learn to carry it, to live alongside it. And maybe, just maybe, that was his cure for a mind unwell.

[bubybubsters]

Game day (chp. 4)

summary: in which reader is an avid studier and all she does is listen to music, study, eat, and sleep. what happens when she suddenly becomes attracted to a friend of a friend, a football player no less… not just any footballer, the quarterback that every girl fawns over

a/n: THIS CAUSED ME SO MUCH STRUGGLE I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT 🙏🙏🙏

previous part - series masterlist - next part

“Y/n we’re going to be late!”

“It’s 5:57 you said six!” you call back.

You hear the three sisters groan out in annoyance. You smirk, quickly scribbling your last sentences for your English essay, folding it up and tucking it into your bag. You throw on a dab of blush and grab your pre-prepared bag before heading out. 

“Y/n if we’re late you’re dead.” Nesta grits out, teeth clenched. 

You grin. “You’ll be fine, Nes.”

Elain smiles guiltily, “Did I mention we’re picking up Lucien?”

Both Feyre and Nesta groan as your grin grows. “Thank god! Someone sane!” Turning to Nesta you reach back to poke her shoulder, “Now who ya gonna kill, huh?”

She bares her teeth. “Still you!”

“Ugh whatever. You’re just salty you don’t get to have your pregame lip-tongue-dance with Cassian.”

Nesta growls, leaping at you, sitting in shotgun, from her back seat just as Elain pulls to a sudden stop. Her momentum sends her crashing head-first into Elain’s seat and her feet spread with one in Feyre’s stomach and the other splayed against the window.

You chuckle, quickly stepping out of the car. “I’ll get Lucien.”

Slamming the car door, you hurry up the stone path to the Vanserra house. As you ring the doorbell, you hear screaming and arguing from the direction of the car.

The door opens, Lucien steps out, and the door closes just as fast.

You raise a brow. “What? Can’t say hi to my favorite family nowadays?”

Lucien rolls his eyes. “Eris is back.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Y’know maybe-”

“Nope.”

You sigh. “Please Lucien. Just one dinner to get all the juicy details of his life out.”

“Nope. You never told me why you’re so interested in him anyway.”

“Call it curiosity.”

He offers his elbow, fake eye glinting for a millisecond. “Curiosity kills the cat, remember?”

You take his hand and the two of you make your way to the still-fighting sisters.

“Good thing I’m not a cat then, huh?”

“Well, it looks like they’re already closer to a cat than you.” Lucien motions to Elain, Nesta, and Feyre screaming and clawing at eachother.

You hum, opening the door. “I suppose.” 

The three sisters stop fighting immediately, Elain going brick red and gripping onto the wheel with too stiff posture.

You smile, climbing into the front seat and leaving Lucein to the back. He sends you a look of betrayal through the mirror as he climbs in next to Feyre.

Elain slams the gas and you all jolt forward.

Fifteen minutes later you’ve parked and are running for the stadium. The five of you find your reserved box seats (courtesy of Rhysand) and slump into them.

The game started ten minutes ago and the score is stil zero-zero. 

“Thank god.” Nesta sighs, eyes closing. 

“NESTA!!”

Everyone in your group groans as thousands of heads turn your way. Nesta smiles through a grimace and waves to Cassian. 

Her boyfriend is on the field, jumping up and down and waving his hands like a crazy man while the coach yells at him. You see Azriel look in your direction and you look down immediately.

“Oh?”

You glance at Lucien. “What?”

“You like him?”

“No!” He looks skeptical. “Maybe.” He smiles. “Yes fine he’s really cute and he doesn’t look like he’d bother me with stupid questions about girls.” You send Lucien a pointed look.

He blushes slightly. “You should ask him out.”

“Nope.”

“He probably likes you too.”

“Nope.”

“He’s looking this way.”

Your head shoots up, eyes instinctively finding him among the players. Your eyes meet. He waves. You stare. Lucien grabs your wrist and makes your hand wave back. You blush. You both look away.

A whistle blows and yelling starts anew. You glance at the field. Players are moving and Azriel is throwing. The ball flies into Rhysand’s outstretched hands and he takes off running. Noise fills the stadium, both boos and cheers. 

You smile, as Feyre jumps around and cheers her ass off. Grabbing a pencil and your English paper from your bag, you turn to Lucien. 

“Can you read through this?” You have to scream to be heard as the stadium absolutely erupts into cheers. 

“Touchdown!”

You glance up, clapping politely. 

Lucien grabs the paper with a nod. You can’t hear what he’s saying but his mouth is moving. You move closer. “It’s probably perfect you’re at the top of the class.”

“Make sure?”

He groans but nods, settling into his seat. 

Five minutes later he’s giving you two thumbs up and you’re taking your paper with a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you!”

Then you push him straight into Elain.

“You’re evil.” Feyre steals Lucien’s seat. Her voice sounds a little hoarse from yelling but her eyes are bright and her mouth curved up.

“He’ll be thanking me one day.” 

“Azriel definitely won’t.” She nods her head to the field and you see Azriel glaring daggers into the crowd.

“He is not looking at us.”

“Yes he is! Straight into Lucien’s back.”

“No way.”

Feyre groans and gives up just as the game starts up again. 

You sigh, eyeing the field, football wasn’t really your thing. All you know is touchdowns are good and interceptions are bad and fumbles are bad and the quarterback is Azriel. This is gonna be a long game.

An hour later, the game is finally done with a win for Velaris University. And thank the gods because that shit was boring. You walk down the field with your friends to meet the players. Feyre jumps into Rhys’s arms, both of them kissing and hugging with no end in sight. Nesta follows albeit with a little less intensity, and she and Cassian head off, likely to do some freaky ah stuff in the locker rooms.

You look around, just in time to spot Lucien and Elain split off and start a nice walk across the field while talking and laughing.

“Hey, Y/n?” A deep voice you now recognize calls out.

“Azriel.”

“Y/n.”

“Congrats on the win!” Yes, you finally said something right.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t even grace you with a smile.

Silence falls, crickets chirp.

You smile awkwardly, “Well you look… busy.” You wave to the plethora of girls squealing a distance away holding pink hearts and little gifts all with his name printed on. “I guess I’ll leave you to it?”

He blanches, complexion going white.. “Oh please no.”

Huh?

“What?”

“They’re gonna tear me apart trying to get me to date one of them, god please stay. Rhys and Cass have abandoned me now that they have girls of their own, not that that’s bad of course I’m glad they’re happy bu-”

“Azriel,” you cut him off. “I’ll stay.”

He blinks, and, slowly, the corners of his mouth turn up just the slightest. “Thank you.”

You merely link your arms and smile as you lead the two of you across the field and to the bleachers.

“Don’t worry bout it, kay?”

a/n: ask to be added!

taglist (11/45): @casiiopea2 @andrewgarfield2022 @the-onlyy-angie @thelov3lybookworm @icey--stars @blonde-bansheee @portkeytomyworld @kingshitonly @fuckingsimp4azrielk @ladyphoenixayhp @celestialgilb

[midnightwritingsessions]

Promises of forever

Summmary: Louis planned a special date night for the both of you, where unbeknownst to you he planned to give you a promise ring. [1.1k]

Masterlist

Requested

-

The soft hum of your curling iron filled the bathroom as you carefully wrapped a section of your hair around the hot barrel. Tonight wasn’t just any date night, Louis had insisted it would be ‘special’. Though he hadn’t given you much to go on, you could tell by his excitement and how much effort he’d put into planning that he wanted everything to be perfect. His cryptic hints and mischievous smile over the past few days had only heightened your anticipation. You’d spent the afternoon pampering yourself with fresh nails, styled hair, and a simple but elegant black dress that fit you like a dream. As you added the final touches to your makeup, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. Whatever Louis had planned, you knew it would be memorable.

Meanwhile, Louis sat on the edge of the bed in your shared apartment, fidgeting with the small velvet box in his hands. His thumb traced the edge of it as his mind raced. “What if I muck this up?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He’d never been nervous about speaking to you before, you had a way of putting him at ease, making him feel completely at home. But tonight, with this ring in his pocket, he felt the pressure. He thought back to the moment he’d decided on the promise ring. It had been a few weeks ago, during a lazy morning at home. You were curled up on the couch in one of his oversized hoodies, laughing at something on the telly, and he’d felt it so strongly. The certainty that you were it for him. That he wanted to spend his life with you. He’d thought about proposing outright, but he didn’t want to rush it not because of doubt, but because he wanted it to be perfect. This ring was his way of telling you how serious he was about your future together, a promise of everything to come.

Louis took a deep breath, slipping the box into his jacket pocket. “You’ve got this” he murmured to himself before heading out to meet you in the living room. When Louis saw you waiting by the door, he stopped in his tracks, his mouth going dry for a second. “Wow” he breathed, his eyes wide as they traveled over you. You blushed under his gaze, smoothing your dress nervously. “Do I look alright?”. “Alright?” He let out a low whistle, stepping closer to wrap his arms around your waist. “You look stunning, love. I mean, you always do, but tonight… you’ve outdone yourself”. His words and the way he looked at you sent a warm flush through you, and you smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. “You clean up pretty nicely yourself, Tomlinson”. He grinned, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”

The car ride was filled with soft conversation and laughter, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Louis was unusually quiet. You didn’t press him about it, assuming it was just part of his plan for the night. When you arrived, the venue took your breath away. It was an intimate rooftop setting, softly lit with fairy lights strung above. A small table for two sat in the center, surrounded by candles that flickered gently in the evening breeze. Beyond the edge of the roof, the city skyline glittered against the darkening sky. “Louis…” you murmured, taking it all in. “This is incredible”. He smiled, a little sheepishly, as he guided you to your seat. “Only the best for my girl” he said, brushing a kiss against your temple before sitting across from you.

The dinner was perfect- your favorite foods, soft music playing in the background, and conversation that flowed as easily as always. Louis was still a bit quieter than usual, but his eyes never left you, his gaze filled with a mixture of love and something else-nervousness, maybe? As dessert arrived, a decadent chocolate tart, Louis shifted in his seat, his hand sliding into his jacket pocket. He cleared his throat, catching your attention. “Alright” he began, his voice steady but soft. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you- well, more like show you” He hesitated, pulling the velvet box from his pocket and placing it on the table between you. Your breath hitched as you stared at the box, your heart thudding in your chest. “Louis…” you whispered, looking up at him.

He opened the box to reveal a delicate gold ring, adorned with a small diamond in the center. It wasn’t flashy or over-the-top, it was understated and beautiful, perfectly you. “This isn’t an engagement ring” he said quickly, his voice trembling just slightly. “Not yet, anyway. But it’s a promise. A promise that I’m serious about us, about building a life together. I can’t wait to marry you someday, but for now, I want you to have this. To know how much you mean to me”. Tears pricked at your eyes as you listened, your heart swelling with emotion. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. “You’re everything to me” he continued, his blue eyes locked on yours. “You’ve been my rock, my best mate, my safe place. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I do know I never want to let you go”.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you laughed softly as you wiped it away. “Louis… I don’t even know what to say. This is… perfect. You’re perfect”. He smiled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Does that mean you’ll wear it?”. “Of course I will” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I love you, Louis. So much”. He stood, walking around the table to slip the ring onto your finger, his hands steady despite the racing of his heart. Once the ring was in place, he pulled you into a tight hug, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. As you pulled back slightly to look at him, his lips found yours in a kiss that was soft, tender, and full of unspoken promises.

Later that night, as you both lay tangled together on the couch, the ring glinting softly on your finger, Louis rested his head against yours. “Y’know” he murmured, his voice thick with contentment, “this was the scariest thing I’ve ever done”. You laughed, threading your fingers through his hair. “Well, you pulled it off beautifully”. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with love. “One step closer to forever, yeah?” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Yeah, Louis. Forever sounds perfect”.

-

Thank you for reading! As always requests are open <3

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Holiday Special

Summary: You get ready for your first Christmas with the Maximoffs.

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

A/N: So we'll have a mini special consisting of three small chapters for the holidays. This is mainly because the tone for each one will be kind of different and I didn't know how to put it all in one long chapter. If I'm on schedule, part 2 will be posted next week and part 3 the week of Christmas.

Enjoy!

--

It looks like a group of Santa’s helpers vandalized the place.

You return from Thanksgiving break to find that the hospital halls are adorned with candy canes, wreaths and other typical Christmas ornaments.

“Good morning” you greet Darcy and Kamala as you join them in the break room.

“What’s good about swimming in Santa’s vomit?” Darcy mutters.

“For an elf, you’re very grumpy about this time of year”

“I’m not an elf!”

“That’s exactly what an elf that works for Santa would say” you tsk, showing her the cookies Wanda sent her. “She said you had to share with me”

You sit in silence, eating and looking at your phone until she speaks again.

“I have to go back home for the holidays, they think this year Nana will kick the bucket for real”

“RIP Nana” you whistle, knowing Darcy isn’t particularly fond of her conservative, holier than thou grandmother.

“Remember when she called you a demonic lesbian?”

“You know what? Not my worst Christmas”

Kamala, who up until this point was sitting in silence, chokes on her drink, looking horrified.

“What’s up with her?” Darcy asks.

“Kamala has a very nice, loving family” you say with a grave voice, as if it was a dark secret.

Darcy and you get paged at the same time, continuing the conversation down the hall.

“Though I’m not happy about going back home, I’m glad you have an actual place to spend the holidays this year” your friend says, and you smile.

From previous years, you remembered Wanda’s house going all out with Christmas decorations. She’d also knock on your door to leave an apple pie and wish you happy holidays.

“Yeah, I think the Maximoffs have a ton of traditions I need to catch up with”

“Does she know?” Darcy says, and you shake your head no.

“You know it’s the same for me. I don’t think it’s important at all” you shrug your shoulders.

“I think Wanda would like to know. Make it extra special for you” Darcy says and you know she’s right.

“I’ll think about it”

—

Turns out, Wanda was ready to decorate everything, but decided to wait until the weekend so you could help her and the kids.

And by help her, she meant have you carry the heaviest boxes.

“Is that all of it?” you say, going down the stairs with a box with lights.

“Yes, I think so” Wanda goes over everything you have unpacked already. Decorations for the porch, wreath, lights, the Santa Claus that goes in the chimney and the reindeer for the front lawn.

“I never realised how much stuff you put up each year” you comment, scratching the back of your neck. It’s a little overwhelming.

“Sweetheart, I used to do it by myself every year, I promise with your help it will be twice as fast”

“And can I get a reward for helping?” you say, pulling her against you. She smiles, holding on to your forearms as you kiss her cheek and down her neck.

“We have our letters ready!” the kids say, going down the steps.

“Well, let’s set up the tree so Santa has a place to put all your presents then” Wanda says.

There’s the usual Christmas music, and you hum along to all of the songs that you know by heart.

“Someone’s finally getting into the holiday spirit” Wanda comments with a smile.

“The music is catchy, that’s all”

But still, you enjoy decorating the tree, noticing how Wanda quietly goes over the section that Billy and Tommy are doing, fixing everything so it looks better.

“I say we did a good job” Wanda approves when it’s all done, hands on her hips. “We’re only missing the star”

“Y/N can do it this year!” Billy says and you grimace.

“Oh, it’s fine, I’m sure I’ll mess it up”

“I’ll help you” Tommy insists, and Wanda nudges you. Well, you can’t say no to that.

With a sigh, you step forward, letting Tommy guide you.

“Does that look ok?” you say, not knowing if that is how it’s supposed to look.

“Perfect” Wanda assures you, her hand on your back as you climb down the small ladder.

“Can we have hot cocoa now?”

“Yes, and then we’ll decorate the porch”

The kids talk excitedly over each other, discussing the gifts they asked Santa. You follow the conversation, knowing there’s a huge pile of presents hidden inside your closet as you started shopping for the twins a few weeks ago.

“What’s on your list, Y/N?”

“Oh, nothing really. I have everything I need” you smile at Tommy, and it’s true.

“But we need to get you a present! There’s gotta be something you want”

“I’ll think about it, I promise. Should I address my request to you or Mr. Claus?”

“Aren’t you too old to ask Santa for stuff?” Billy intervenes, making Wanda laugh.

“You know what, I kinda am” you say, smiling.

The conversation keeps going for a bit, until Wanda decides it’s time to get back to work.

This time, it’s you who climbs up and places all the lights and ornaments she wants. You’re going back and forth, Wanda constantly asking you to go “a little bit to the right… no, to the left. You know what, it was better the other way” until you’re covered in sweat, muscles aching from all the effort.

Still, once you’re done with everything it looks pretty damn impressive.

“So what movie are we watching tonight?”

“Let’s take a look at the list” Wanda says, hoping you actually wrote down some suggestions. “Nightmare before Christmas is not a holiday movie” she challenges you as soon as she reads it.

“It has Christmas in the title”

“And the word nightmare!”

“What’s it about?” Billy says and you gasp.

“You’ve never seen it?”

“No! Mama! We wanna watch it!” Tommy insists.

“Boys, I think it’s a bit scary… why don’t we watch… Ghostbusters?”

Wanda slaps your arm.

“What?”

“You are not taking Christmas movie night seriously!”

“I watch it every year, I swear!” you say, smiling when she rolls her eyes.

“We’re watching Nightmare before Christmas, but if the kids get scared, you are sleeping in their bedroom floor to keep the monsters away”

“Fine”

You take it as a small win when the boys actually enjoy the movie, and as they get ready for bed, they keep signing “this is halloween” over and over again.

“See? If it was a Christmas movie they would not be singing that” Wanda glares and you have to hold back a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I promise I won’t suggest any more movies for the next month” you kiss her temple, and she relaxes against you.

After taking a shower, you ease into bed and feel Wanda’s breathing even out, exhausted by the day you both had.

Still, you can’t fall asleep.

This has always been a complicated time of year for you. When you were a kid, it was your favorite holiday, mainly because your dad made sure it was extra special. And then he passed away and it just became another event in life that lost its magic. Your mother never really made an effort, at least with you.

It was only until you moved out that you found solace in the small things that reminded you of your dad. The lights, the snowy nights, the shorter days. It was all soft and gentle and it made you feel special again. The quiet life you found for yourself was all you needed to remember the better times.

Unable to sleep, you sneak out of bed and go down the stairs, turning on the tv and watching Ghostbusters, like you used to do with your father.

It’s halfway through the film that Wanda notices you’re gone, and she joins you, placing her head on your lap.

“What do you like to do for the holidays?” she asks, only realising now that she had been making you follow her family traditions.

“Watch Ghostbusters and eat junk food from a vending machine” you say, laughing when Wanda frowns.

“Why?”

“Because that’s what my parents did when I was born” you admit reluctantly.

“Your birthday is on Christmas Eve?”

“Yeap” you say with a smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Wanda sits up, hugging her knees.

“It’s no big deal”

“It is to me” she says, taking your hand, her thumb rubbing circles on your skin. “So, what did you do to celebrate before?”

“Same as Thanksgiving, really. Stayed at the hospital, though it is a bit more quiet than other holidays. Darcy would be there some years as well, and we’d just watch the movie and get any junk food we could find”

“And before that?”

“Well, my dad used to take me to pick out a tree and then we’d decorate it together. We’d also go sledding, drink hot cocoa… he told me he was going to teach me how to ice skate, but we never got around to do it”

“Was your mom not a part of it or…?”

Oh, your mother. You had almost forgotten about her and that ominous call. This is as good a time as any to share with Wanda more details about your life.

“So, when I spoke about them before I left out some stuff. My parents didn’t actually live together. My dad raised me on his own until he died and then I had to live with my mother… she was already married and pregnant with my half sister when I moved there”

“I see” Wanda nods, knowing it’s too hard to talk about all of it, even if you put up a brave face. “We’ll do anything you want. And you get to pick dinner and have two presents” she promises with a gentle voice, climbing into your lap.

“That’s not necessary” you laugh, hugging her tight. “You’re all I need, really. Plus, that apple pie you gave me each year was better than any birthday cake. You’ve been making my day special since we’ve known each other, Wanda”

“Still, I want you to have a perfect Christmas and birthday” she says with a determined look, and you know nothing will change her mind.

“Ok, my love”

— 

Second part of the Christmas plan was to get everything on the twins’ Christmas list.

“It’s three weeks for Christmas, aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?”

“When it comes to twins, the sooner you do the shopping the better. Learned that the hard way when they had to share a Buzz Lightyear”

“I’m just saying, what if they change their minds about something on the list?”

“Excuse me, don’t you have a closet full of presents already?” Wanda mocks and you straighten up.

“How do you know that?”

“My house is right in front of yours, do you think I don’t see the delivery guy leaving stuff on your front door?”

“It’s not like I can sign up for them at the hospital. Plus, those are extra things, not from their list” you defend yourself, looking at the shelves full of toys.

“You are spoiling them”

“Wait until you see your present” you turn to wink at her.

“Is it in one of those boxes?”

“Oh, hell no. It’s more valuable than that” you say, examining the Nerf gun in front of you. “This was on the list, right?”

“Yes, two of everything, remember” Wanda says, looking for the Funko Pops they wanted. You add lightsabers, some remote control cars, and Pokemon figures.

Apparently, Pietro was taking care of the bikes and had promised to teach the kids how to ride during the winter break.

Once it was all settled, you struggled to pay before Wanda could reach for her purse.

“It’s not fair” she protests when you leave the store, taking your hand. “And you still won’t tell me what you want for Christmas and your birthday!”

“How about you, wearing nothing except for a little bow that I get to untie with my teeth?” you pull her against you, kissing the spot behind her ear. “Because that’s all I really want”

“I’d still like a list of other stuff” Wanda says, blushing at the image you just painted.

“Just bake an apple pie that I don’t have to share with anyone” you joke, putting away the bags in the trunk of Wanda’s car. “We should store these in my place, yes? Reduces the risk of the kids finding them”

“Sounds good. We have an hour or so before we have to pick up the kids. Want some hot cocoa?”

“Sure, lead the way” you agree, knowing one of her favorite cafeterias is close by. As you walk across the street, you find an ice rink in the middle of the square that is right in front of City Hall.

“You know… we could try” Wanda says as you walk past it, and you frown.

“Skating? Pass, babe”

“Why? It’s gonna be so much fun”

“I can’t even begin to tell you the amount of freak accidents that happen when you’re wearing a pair of blades in an icy surface”

“Ok, but can we focus on the fun for a second? I’ll be there with you, I’m great. You can hold my hand” she nudges your side, kissing your cheek softly. “Please, my love”

Wanda pouts and you have to roll your eyes. She always wins.

“Fine”

“Yay!”

You mumble incoherently the entire time you put on the skates, sighing when Wanda kneels and ties them up properly.

“What about protective gear?” you say, the girl in charge and Wanda sharing glances.

“What about it?” Wanda asks, trying to hold back a smile.

“What? No helmet? Knee caps? This is a safety hazard!”

“I can give you my elf hat” the girl says, not knowing how to proceed with a hysterical adult that refuses to go inside the rink.

“She’ll be fine” Wanda reaches for your hand. “Come on, sweetheart”

It feels like you’re learning how to walk, balancing on the skates and hoping you won’t fall on your ass.

“Relax” Wanda stands in front of you, smiling. You sigh, clearly unable to do that as people around you glide effortlessly. “Stand straight, knees slightly bent. Ok, feet in a V position, toes out and heels in” she nods, examining your stance. You feel like an idiot. “Ok, now just push to glide, alternating your feet”

“How do I decide which foot to move first?”

“What do you mean?”

“Left or right?”

“Whichever”

“That doesn’t make any sense” you insist, almost losing your balance. Wanda frowns, walking away from you and showing you how to do it. “Well, you make it look easy”

“Hold my hand” she says, skating backwards to pull you forward.

“Oh, God, I should have never agreed to do this” you complain, feeling stupid.

“Baby, relax. Close your eyes. Please” Wanda insists when you huff. With an eye roll, you relent, feeling her hands in yours. “Don’t think, just feel”

Wanda squeezes your hands, pulling you lightly and you take a tentative step forward. It’s not so bad, but you keep your eyes closed, brow furrowed as you focus on keeping your balance.

“I’m here” she reassures you, leaning forward and kissing you. It’s sweet, but definitely not so innocent as she opens her mouth and runs her tongue across your bottom lip. Without noticing, Wanda is dragging you along the ice rink, and you’re so focused on chasing after her lips that you fail to notice you’re finally skating.

“There we go” Wanda says, pulling away and skating backwards. The minute you stop feeling her hands in yours you open your eyes, terrified.

“Why did you let me go?” you shriek, stumbling around.

“You’re doing great”

Truthfully, you are not. Yes, you’re finally gliding along the surface, but your movements are uncoordinated and at one point, you push yourself too hard, going faster.

“How do you stop?” you say, crashing against Wanda. The speed takes her by surprise, and you’re on your way to hitting the edge of the rink. You turn her around in your arms so your back collides against the railing, the blow leaving you out of breath for a moment.

“You ok?” Wanda asks, arms around your waist.

“Fine” in spite of yourself, you laugh.

“Wanna try again?” Wanda says, her hands going up to your cheeks. You kiss her palm, nodding.

“Just don’t let go of me, please?”

“Never” she promises, pulling you back to the rink.

—

The kids are restless as you drive back home, almost as if they can tell you’ve been out shopping for gifts.

“Alright, settle down, you two” Wanda asks as soon as you walk inside.

“I’m walking Sparky now, just in case there’s an actual storm later today” you say, doubting the forecast can be accurate. It’s way too soon for snow.

Still, you put on a jacket and make sure Sparky is wearing the Christmas sweater Wanda got him this morning. For someone who didn’t want a dog, she sure as hell spoils him.

When you’re a few blocks away from home, you look back and dial a number.

“Hello?”

“Jenny. Hi. It’s Y/N”

There’s an awkward pause, and you’re not even sure if your half sister remembers you at all. Last time you saw her she was eight or nine.

“Yeah, hey. How are you? Give me just a second…” you hear a door closing, the outside noise muffled. “What’s up? Are you coming over for the holidays?”

You’re surprised to hear excitement in her voice. No one really cared if you did before.

“Uh, no. I got work” you lie. “I was actually calling you because your mom left me a voicemail the other day. Said you’re considering going to college close to where I live. So, just wanted to check if you know when you’ll be visiting”

It was the only way you could think of to get more information without having to call your mother.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry she bothered you with this”

“It’s no bother” you lie again. Half lie. If it was only Jenny coming you could handle it. The issue was always your mother.

“I think it’s gonna be after New Years but before school starts. Definitely not before Christmas” she says and you sigh with relief. You can at least enjoy the holidays without having to look over your shoulder. “I’ll text you when I know more. I-If it’s not too much trouble, I know you’re super busy”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine. Text me if you need anything. Take care and happy holidays, kid”

You hang up, feeling strange. It’s a relief, to know you didn’t have to worry about this in the immediate future.

But you also think about your siblings. About the family you could have had if things were different. What would have been like if you had pushed against your mother’s bitterness? Been yourself and an older sister for them instead of hiding and leaving as soon as you could.

Was she a better mother to them than she was to you? Or did they have their share of issues with her?

You come back home, deep in thought so you miss the kids and Wanda hanging stockings in the stairs.

“You’re just in time, come over” your girlfriend says, surprising you with one that has your name.

“This is for me?” you say with a smile, amazed. You hadn’t had one since your last Christmas with your father.

“Well, of course” Wanda says, pointing at the spot next to hers. “Put it there”

Before you do as she says, you pick her up and kiss her.

“I love you” you say, trying really hard not to cry.

“I love you too”

“Can we watch a movie now or are you two gonna take forever?” Tommy says, making you both gasp.

“Where is all this sass coming from?” you say.

“We want popcorn!” Billy asks and you roll your eyes.

“Fine. I’ll get the popcorn, you get the movie” you put Wanda down, kissing her cheek.

As it turns out, the film for today is a personal attack on you.

“You frown like the Grinch!” Tommy says, laughing.

“And look, Sparky is sitting next to you, just like Max”

At Billy’s words, Sparky and you turn to look at each other, the dog looking embarrassed at the comparison.

“You know what, little brats? I’m hiding all your presents” you say with a Grinch voice, chasing after the kids as they shout, the movie forgotten.

“Run, boys!” Wanda says, pretending to be scared. You turn to look at her, a smirk on your face.

“Or better yet, I’m taking your mom and keeping her to myself!” you go back, carrying her over your shoulder and going upstairs while Wanda laughs.

—

Turns out a storm did hit during the night. You wake up before anyone else, amazed at the thick snow that is covering the street. You catch sight of Mrs. Davis trying to clean her driveway and you sigh, changing clothes to go out and help her.

“You’re such a dear” the woman says from her doorway as you shovel the snow out of the way.

“It’s not a problem, really” you reassure her. Once you’re done you take the cup of coffee she offers, making small talk until her phone rings.

You walk back to your place, feeling your face numb from the cold air. Even if you don’t have to work today, you clear the snow and the car, knowing it would be a pain to do it later.

Wanda’s driveway is next and by the time you’re done, you can’t feel your fingers or face.

“Sweetheart, why are you up so early?” Wanda says as soon as you step foot inside,  taking off your shoes and coat to keep the rest of the house clean.

“Mrs. Davis needed help” you explain, your nose a little runny from the cold.

“Come here” Wanda almost flinches as she feels your low temperature, but her hands find their way to your face, and then through your hair, getting rid of the snowflakes that landed there. “You’re freezing”

“Warm me up, then” you say, smiling as she kisses you, her lips warm and inviting. Wanda gasps when your cold hands travel south, sinking in her curves. “So hot”

“Snowball fight!” you hear the kids upstairs, who finally woke up and looked out the window.

You smile, greeting them as they walk downstairs to get breakfast. Wanda makes pancakes and you stand next to her, appreciating the warmth of the stove as she finishes cooking.

“Can we build a snowman?” Tommy says, eager to go outside and play.

“Sure. We’ll go after breakfast, ok?” Wanda promises, sitting next to you. There’s a comfortable silence, the boys gulfing down their food and looking at both of you, eagerly.

Though you were looking forward to a slow morning, it’s clear that’s not gonna happen so you wash the dishes while the Maximoffs get their coats and gloves.

Sparky is the first one to run down the stairs, and you’re shocked to find him wearing his own winter jacket and boots.

“I’m feeling a little jealous of all the love he gets” you tease Wanda as you open the door.

The sky is clear now, and the sunlight reflects softly in the white surface. Wanda and the kids use the snow you plowed to build the first part of the snowman, talking while they work. You would be more than happy to help, but you’re too busy admiring the way Wanda’s profile is illuminated, an ethereal glow around her as she laughs with Billy and Tommy.

Once the first part is done, you help them with the middle and the head, making sure the sizes are proportional. Sparky keeps jumping around, the snow covering most of his small body.

“Carrot” Wanda requests, acting as a surgeon requesting a scalpel. She makes sure the eyes and smile are straight, while you pick rocks that will work as buttons.

“Are these ok?” Tommy shows her mom two branches for the arms.

“Perfect. Nice job” she says, nodding approvingly. “And now, the scarf”

She pulls out a red scarf, wrapping it around the snowman. It looks pretty darn cute to be honest.

“What are we naming him?”

“Y/N should name him this year!” Tommy says and you tap your forehead, considering your options.

“I propose… Slushy”

“Nice” Wanda nods, and you’re about to show your agreement when a snowball hits your back.

“Who did this?” you say, crouching like the Grinch again. Tommy and Billy giggle, both pointing at each other. “The Maximoffs have declared war!”

Chaos unleashes after that statement, everyone making snowballs and throwing them at each other while Sparky barks and runs around. Wanda finds cover behind her car, and you lift your fist in the air.

“Truce! We have a runaway! Go get her, boys!”

“No, boys! I’m your mothe-“ she never gets to finish that statement, as a snowball hits her square in the face. She spits out snow, looking shocked. You can’t hold your laughter, especially when she tilts her head and goes after the twins. “You are gonna be grounded until you turn eighteen! Come here, little brats!”

The Maximoffs engage in a battle for a few minutes while you record them, amused. It isn’t until Wanda beckons them to join her that you realise they are now planning an attack on you.

“Wait!” you plead, but you’re too slow, and by the time you run, they are already throwing snowball after snowball at you. You end up falling face first in a small snowbank, and they begin to use their hands to shovel more snow until you’re completely covered.

“Maximoffs win” Wanda says, while Billy and Tommy cheer. “Now go back inside, before you get sick”

You stay on the ground, too tired to move.

“Everything ok?” Wanda says, laughing. You manage to lift your hand and do a thumbs up.

“Spectacular”

—

The rest of the day is thankfully slower. The kids insist on going back out to walk around in the snow, because they think it’s funny how Sparky gets so excited, jumping right into it even if it goes all the way to his ears.

After dinner, everyone is too tired to watch a movie, so Tommy and Billy go up to their room, and fall asleep before Wanda can even close the door to their bedroom.

“I’m so happy we could all be home today” she says, smiling. You nod, closing the door and biting your lip, eager for some alone time with your girlfriend.

As she changes into her pajamas, you step closer, helping her out of her clothes.

“You know, I wanted to talk to you about something… uh…” she stutters when your lips leave a trail of kisses down her neck. “It’s i-important”

“Ok. I’m listening” you nod, pushing her against the bed.

“I can’t focus when you do that”

“Do what?” you feign innocence, settling between her legs, hands going up and down her thighs. “I can multitask, baby. Just tell me what’s on your mind”

Wanda tries really hard to remember what she had to say, but then you’re lifting her legs over your shoulders, pulling her shorts down and biting gently on the flesh of her inner thighs.

You lean forward, about to swipe your tongue across her slit, but stop, looking up at her.

“I’m listening, Wanda”

“Huh? No, please, just…”

“Just what?”

“Just fuck me” she whines, digging her nails in your scalp. You tsk, laughing as her back arches off the bed.

“You forgot what you were gonna say? My baby just likes to be a pillow princess that much, huh?” you taunt, not waiting for a reply. Your tongue finally dips into her pussy, Wanda’s reply to your mockery forgotten as she whines and moans, eager to feel more of your mouth on her cunt.

Finally, you have mercy, and let your tongue circle her clit.

“Fuck” Wanda moans, trying to keep quiet. That upsets you, so you nuzzle your nose against her clit, dipping your tongue deeper to fuck her. Now she can’t keep quiet and you want to smirk, pleased with the way she’s canting her hips up to meet your movements.

“If you don’t stop I’m going to…”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, as you increase the speed of your movements, not stopping even when she comes, and tries to move away from you.

You only stop when her legs give out, and you climb up, kissing her stomach, breasts, neck and cheek.

“You were saying?” Wanda tastes herself on your lips, sighing against your mouth.

“I think you fucked it out of me” she mewls against your neck and you smile.

“Let’s see if it comes back after I fuck you again”

[nylqnder]

CAPTAIN CHRISTMAS RYAN LEONARD

— event masterlist !

pairing: fem!reader x ryan leonard

summary: you and ryan decorate your home for the holiday season, only for ryan to find out your particularity when it comes to your ornaments

warnings: none!

wc: 1.63k

notes: second fic in my twelve days of christmas celebration! honest to god this is me when i decorate everything has it's place.

The first snow of December drifted lazily outside the bay window of your shared home, the streetlamps casting a golden glow onto the fresh powder below. Inside, the strong scent of pine fills the air as you sat by the tree rearranging branches. Yours and Ryan's home was slowly housing more of a Christmas spirit as the soft hum of holiday music played through the speaker and the flames crackled in the fireplace. The two of you were in the process of decorating your home for the first time for Christmas, which seemed like an innocent enough activity at first.

Boxes of Christmas decorations sat open on the floor, a mess of mismatched ornaments, strings of lights, and an absurdly large tangle of tinsel that Ryan was currently attempting to wrestle into submission.

“How does it even get like this?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed as he held up the knot of silver, squinting as though the strands might untangle themselves if he stared hard enough.

“I don’t know… it just happens.” you replied without looking up. You were on your knees by the tree, carefully fluffing the artificial branches into a perfect shape. Each limb needed to look full and balanced before you could even think about adding ornaments.

Ryan finally surrendered with a sigh, dropping the tangle of tinsel into a pile. “Alright, I’m done with this thing. Maybe we don’t need tinsel this year.”

You glanced over, biting back a comment about how tinsel made the tree look finished. “Fine, but we’re doing the lights next. And they have to be evenly spaced, no clumps.”

“Evenly spaced, got it,” he said, standing and brushing off his hands and giving you a mocked salute. “Captain Christmas has spoken.”

Ryan set to work stringing the lights along the tree, his movements careful but a bit haphazard. The warm glow of the tiny bulbs illuminated the room in a soft golden light as he looped them around the branches, whistling along to the holiday music playing softly in the background.

You watched him for a moment, hands on your hips, before tilting your head critically.

“Wait, no,” you said, stepping forward. “That section right there — there’s way too much space between the lights.”

Ryan stopped mid-loop, looking at where you were pointing. “What? It looks fine.”

“Fine isn’t good enough,” you replied firmly, plucking the strand from his hands. “See, here’s the problem. You’ve looped the lights too many times around this branch, then just draped it over this section so it looks like a huge gap. It throws everything off.”

He leaned back, arms crossed, and raised an eyebrow at you. “Throws everything off, huh? I didn’t realize we were aiming for perfection.”

You ignored the teasing tone, unwinding the strand slightly and reworking the section in question. “Of course, we are. It’s our first Christmas in this house — it has to be perfect.”

Ryan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he stepped back to let you work your magic. “I see how it is. You’re a Christmas tree tyrant.”

“I prefer enthusiast,” you said without looking up, focused on spacing the lights evenly. “This tree is going to be the centerpiece of the house. People will see it when they visit.”

Ryan couldn’t help but snort at your answer, which caused you to shoot him a glare. He grinned in response, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. No more jokes. Just tell me where you need me.”

You ask him to get the boxes of ornaments, and once the lights were finished and met your approval, you began to decorate the tree. You started placing them carefully, each one balanced in size, shape, and color to create the perfect spread. Ryan, meanwhile, hung ornaments with the kind of carefree abandon that made you twitch. A tiny Santa was placed too low, and a sparkly reindeer ended up hidden behind a branch.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on your side of the tree, but eventually, the urge became too strong. While Ryan stepped away to grab another ornament, you subtly moved to fix his last couple of decorations.

When he returned, you were caught red-handed, adjusting the placement of the snowman he had just placed. He froze, holding a delicate glass snowflake, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Are you… moving my ornaments?”

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly. “This one was about to fall off the branch.”

He laughed, deep and warm, and came to stand beside you. “You totally are! This one was up on this branch, and that candy cane was about four inches to the right. What’s wrong with how I’m doing it?”

“Nothing! There’s nothing wrong.” you answered, placing a hand on his forearm. You met Ryan’s gaze that was clearly not buying what you were saying. You sighed, lowering your volume. “It’s just… they’re not in the right spots.”

He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “So, what I’m hearing is: I’m terrible at this, and you should just do it all yourself?”

“No!” you protested, though your guilt was evident in your voice. “I mean… maybe I’m being a little controlling.”

“A little?” he asked, grinning.

“Fine, a lot.” you corrected. “But it’s our first tree and I want us to decorate it together… I’ll back off a little.”

You resumed decorating, which went well for a few minutes, until Ryan could see you eyeing his every move. When he placed a glittery penguin ornament on a branch by the top, he saw you visibly cringe. An idea popped into Ryan’s head, turning to you.

“I don’t think I like the penguin there, where do you think I should put it?” he asked you.

“He should go… maybe a little higher, near the middle. Balance out the ornaments with all the gold and red around it.” you tell him.

Ryan nodded thoughtfully, taking the ornament down and holding it out to you. “Here, you do it. You’ve got the vision.”

You hesitated, glancing between him and the penguin. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he said, leaning against the arm of the couch with a sly smile. “You're clearly the expert.”

With a sheepish grin, you took the ornament and placed it exactly where you’d envisioned, stepping back to admire your work. “Perfect.”

Ryan watched you with an amused glint in his eyes. The gears in his mind were turning, and as you turned back to the box of ornaments, he picked up another. This time, a sparkling gingerbread man.

“Hey,” he called, holding it up. “What do you think about this guy? Where does he belong?”

You looked up, your eyes darting over the tree for the ideal spot. “He should probably go somewhere lower, to balance the heavier ornaments near the bottom.”

“Right, makes sense,” Ryan replied, walking toward the tree. Instead of hanging it, though, he handed it to you with a grin. “Here, you’d better do it.”

You gave him a look but couldn’t resist taking the ornament. The pattern repeated itself. Each time Ryan picked up an ornament, he’d stop and ask your opinion, nodding sagely at your suggestions before handing it over with a smug smile. Soon enough, you were practically decorating the entire tree by proxy.

“Alright,” you said, grabbing the gold star tree topper from the bin and handing it to Ryan. “You do the honors.”

Ryan reaches up slightly, carefully placing the star on the top of the tree. When he stepped back, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in close as you both admired the completed tree.

The tree was, without a doubt, stunning, each ornament shimmering in the glow of the twinkling lights. It looked like something out of a Christmas catalog—perfectly curated, yet undeniably warm and personal.

“You know,” you said, leaning into Ryan's side with a soft smile, “I knew exactly what you were doing, getting me to decorate for you.”

Ryan grinned, his dimples deepening as he glanced down at you. “Oh, you knew, huh? And here I thought I was being so subtle.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him. “I mean, if you were trying to avoid decorating, you might’ve just said so.”

“Not avoiding,” he countered, his tone laced with teasing. “Just… delegating. You’ve got the eye for this stuff. I’m a humble assistant to your artistic vision.”

A laugh escaped you, but it faded into a quiet moment of reflection. “I’m sorry if I was being a little… okay, a lot controlling. I just—”

“Wanted it to be perfect,” Ryan finished for you, his voice gentle. “And it is. Look at it, babe. The tree’s amazing because of you.”

His words softened the lingering guilt in your chest. You rested your head against his shoulder, watching the lights twinkle like tiny stars. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Not at all.” He kissed the top of your head, his lips warm and lingering. “I love that you care so much. You make everything special.”

The two of you stood there in comfortable silence, taking in the sight of your newly decorated space. Snow continued to fall outside, a pristine blanket of white forming across the lawn. The glow of the tree illuminated the room, casting a soft, golden light over the cozy chaos of unpacked boxes and loose decorations still strewn about.

Ryan pulled back slightly, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Now, about those cookies we were supposed to bake…”

You groaned dramatically. “Cookies? After all this? Do I have to do that by proxy too?”

He smirked, taking your hand and leading you toward the kitchen. “No way. I’ll be the captain of that operation. You can be my assistant this time.”

[tmnt-l0v3rrr]

Hello, my dear. 🥰

Been enjoying ur writing. 👀 Was reading ur yan bay don head canons and it mentioned Donnie essentially summoning Reader like they're a pet and tbh.... I'm like this irl. Idk. Scratches the brain right.

So I was wondering if you'd be willing to rottmnt yandere head canons where the figure out they can summon Reader like an animal? Like maybe they do it on accident/without thinking and they're like "oh... oh!" And it just works. Every. Damn. Time. Even if it's to the dismay of Reader.

🥂

Omg thanks for the request 😋

Yandere Donatello x Reader

Warnings!

Kidnapping, yandere content, human pet training, unhealthy relationships, forced love. Overall, dark content. Read at your own risk.

A/N sorry if this got off track I was hungry writing this XP (sorry if it's too short)

800 words

It was a nice afternoon (at least that's what time you think it is) in donnie's lab. He was working on something nice and easy. His brothers were out doing who knows what- But it was nice. Calm.

He had this nest of bedding under his desk for you, it was nice. Comfy too-

You were sitting there, drawing on some mandala coloring book he gave you with some nice markers Mikey had gifted the two of you.

You heard a small snap and whistle, rising from your position, standing in front of him. Wait- why'd you do that- before you could think too much Don was already talking to you.

“I was wondering if you would want to help make lunch today, I see you picking at stuff all the time. I think it would be good sensory input.” He says, sounding excited about trying to get you to do something. You sit there, thinking about your option like you had a choice.

He whistled at you, quickly getting your head to turn to him- wait… why’d you do that? Why are you answering like a pet? Have you really been here that long…? Time must fly down here, or maybe it’s the sheer amount of times he’s drugged you, or the sewer smells are getting to you.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” You weren't lying, doing something outside his lab or bed sounded really nice, maybe even seeing April or the two casey’s would be exciting, you don’t really see anyone but Donnie and his three brothers, oh and splinter, on a very, very rare basis.

“When do you want to make lunch?” you ask, looking back at him, he hums, finger on his chin. “Maybe after a few more lines of code, only a few more minutes” You go back to your coloring book, filling in the mandala in with a nice blue, followed by purples. The soft sounds of his keyboard and chair lulling you back into your daily daze.

The sound of soft strokes of the marker on your paper fill the labs walls along with donnie’s typing and music overflowing headphones. Once again he whistles at you, getting your attention every time. You’ve been here way too long. He looks down at you, donnie’s smile soft and adoring as always. “Ready sweetie?” You nod, having no reason to argue against it.

The two of you walk out of his lab, you slip on some purple slippers he has at his door for you sense the lair floor is cold and to be honest, dirty too. When you both enter the kitchen, music plays at a normal volume. You see Mikey making what you can only assume is for Raph by the size of it, he gives you both a sweet hello before returning to his cooking, humming along to a song.

Donnie walks over to a chest freezer they had recently bought and filled, they went through pretty fast, keeping in mind that they are mutants. Don grabbed a box of frozen orange chicken, one of his favorites.

He got out a sheet pan and some parchment paper. He whistled to you before asking you to set the oven to 350. You obliged, turning the knob to the temperature before turning back to him for more directions, once again acting like a trained dog. Ready for any commands. What a funny thing this has done to you. Donnie is much more lenient and calm with you now, the first few months were the longest and hardest, adjustment taking longer than Donatello hoped, but everything paid off.

This is proof, you don’t question him anymore, you always answered him and never gave him trouble. “How about you lay out the chicken on the sheet tray? Well I warm up the sauce.” You hum in agreement, grabbing the frozen bag of chicken, laying it out and waiting for the oven to beep, signifying it was done heating.

Donnie prepares the sauce, running it under warm water. He makes a sound with his lips, one you would use to call a dog. “Go into my lab and grab the hoodie off my chair please.” he says, never even raising his head to check that you left.

Off back into his lab, quickly grabbing the desired hoodie then starting to head back.

Why? Why were you doing this? Obeying his commands like a fucking pet-

Before you can dwell on it any longer you were already back in the kitchen, holding the hoodie out to him. “Oh, sweetie. It’s for you, I know it’s cold here.” he takes the sweater and puts it on you. There was no fighting it, or protest. You just let him. Like he had always wanted.

He finally has you how he needs you

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals - Allowances

The Professionals is a crossover of In the Woods Somewhere by me and Professional//Victim by @victimeyez In which Tommy tries to spend his allowance CW: long term captivity, unfair rules

Fletcher was cooking, rolling a pan of mixed vegetables around in a blend of butter, balsamic vinegar, and white wine. They heard Tommy carefully padding in behind them, giving him a glance before returning their focus to their work. 

“Don’t eat too much, dinner is almost ready and I made enough for you.”

“It smells really good, thank you, Fletcher,” Tommy murmured back. “Can I help?”

“No, just come back when I whistle.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.”

They could feel him hovering behind them. He didn’t leave, instead opting to clutch a few pieces of paper hands to his chest and wait awkwardly. Fletcher gave him a minute to say his piece, draining the pasta in the sink before returning it to the pan. Still, Tommy waited. They felt an itch of annoyance.

“Do you need something, or did you just think I needed supervision?”

Tommy tucked a stray curl behind his ear, giving a nervous laugh. “Ah, no, of course not. I just was thinking that maybe, well, I just was wondering if, um–”

“Spit it out.”

Tommy swallowed and forced himself to take a deep breath. He didn’t want to invoke Fletcher’s ire with his waffling. 

“Um, would it be okay for me to ask about, maybe sometime talking about my allowance…?”

Fletcher poured in ingredients purely by feel. It wasn’t an exact science, but they were comfortable in the kitchen. They stirred, taste testing as they went. 

“What about it.”

“Uh…” Tommy rubbed his arms to soothe himself, but Fletcher could tell he was anxious. Then again, “anxious” was pretty much his base state. 

“It’s been, you know, several weeks, and I was thinking about things I might be able to spend it on.”

“It must have slipped my mind. Have you finished paying me back for your music?” Fletcher had allowed Tommy to “buy” an old walkman, headphones, and some tapes from them. 

They had pressed the bundle into his hands, which Tommy received eagerly. He looked over his meager possessions with a look of awe, like he still couldn’t believe he was actually allowed to own something.

“Twenty bucks.” Tommy nodded eagerly, feeling the worn pad of one of the headphones between two fingers with reverence. “Enjoy.”

Fletcher caught the tip of his chin with one finger, pushing his face up to force eye contact. Where Buck had often challenged their gaze, Tommy avoided it, his eyes flicking side to side before nervously meeting their gaze. 

“Hey. If I call for you, and you don’t come, because you were listening to music? They’re gone. Understood?”

Tommy looked hurt by the threat, his eyes darting back down and to the side, but readily agreed. “Yes, Fletcher.” 

“Good,” they had told him, and left it at that. So far Tommy had kept to his word, often wearing the headphones askew to help keep his ears open when he was set off on his tasks. 

“Those are paid off now. By - by my calendar. Thank you, again.” Fletcher hummed a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement. 

“I was just wondering if, if you have thought about it, how that kind of system might work? Like…is it just things I can pick up on a supply run, or buy online or– or that sort of thing. Just so I know what I can maybe, save up for.”

They turned to face him, leaning against the counter and folding their arms. Tommy had settled at the table, a pencil in hand at the ready over his little stack of notes. 

“I guess I could save a little time for you to look around the grocery store next time we are on a supply run. I’ll consider online purchases, but nothing comes to the house, so you’ll have to wait for a supply run to collect it from the PO box in town. And you know the computer is off limits to you. I will allow a little time to look online, but only under supervision.” Tommy scribbled down notes as Fletcher spoke.

“You can take notes, I can appreciate wanting to keep them in mind, but just know that doesn’t mean it’s law. Everything is subject to change, of course.” Tommy nodded as he finished writing, looking back up when he was done. 

“What…kind of things am I allowed to buy?”

Fletcher returned to stirring, mostly just to make sure the last things were mixed evenly. 

“I don’t know. What do you want to buy?”

“A bike? I could just ride around the grounds a little.”

Fletcher shook their head. “So you can try to take off on me? No, no bikes.”

“Okay…” Fletcher heard him scribbling something out behind them. “How about a skateboard?”

Fletcher let out a hmph of a laugh. “What did I just say? Same problem, no wheels.”

“But – I’m really bad at skateboarding, I couldn’t go anywhere,” Tommy whined a little. 

“All the more reason not to do it. Besides, I don’t need you falling off and injuring yourself, you’re no use to me if you can’t work.” 

Tommy swallowed, his answer delayed. “Oh,” was all he gave, and his voice was quieter. Fletcher didn’t really mean to call him useless, they just hadn’t phrased it right. It wouldn’t have bothered anyone else, but Tommy was so damn sensitive. They rolled their eyes.

“Let’s just say, no vehicles. Add that to your notes. What else you got?”

Tommy made some notes and crossed out another line. “How about clothes?”

“I gave you clothes,” Fletcher said bluntly.

“Yeah, I mean - I’m grateful for that, of course. Just – I don’t know, my own…style? Some of them don’t really fit…” 

“I just think you need to be practical over fashionable,” Fletcher argued. “You’re living and working in the woods; it’s not like you’re going anywhere you need to dress up or show off. Unless you’re planning on giving Buck a fashion show.” 

Tommy blanched like Fletcher had caught him doing something bad. He looked down and crossed out another line curtly. 

“Okay…well…” Tommy considered his list. Fletcher could tell he was getting frustrated, could hear a little anger in his voice in spite of his attempts to swallow it down. He could be pissed all he wanted, Fletcher would almost encourage it just to see a little spirit, but getting an allowance at all was generous. Fletcher would let him spend it when he thought of something actually worth spending it on. And with a solid paycheck of just five dollars a week, it’s not like he had many options. 

“It’s still a while away, so I could save up for it, but I’d like to get Buck something for Christmas.” Tommy seemed determined on this one. 

Fletcher groaned, finishing the last touches for dinner. “Don’t do that.”

Tommy let out an impatient huff through his nose. “Why not?”

“Buck lives out in the –” Fletcher had to stop themself from calling it the real world. “Buck is free out there, he has his own job and makes his own money. Don’t waste yours on something he could buy himself for like, a few hours of work. Besides, he already gets enough of my money, he doesn’t need any more.”

Tommy rose to his feet, shoving his chair out of his way. “What’s the fucking point of giving me an allowance if you’re never going to let me use it anyways?!” 

Fletcher turned at the commotion to find Tommy visibly seething with his notes crumpled in his hands. His eyes were dark, glaring at Fletcher with an open hostility that he’d never let slip before. 

Fletcher rolled their eyes. “Stop acting like a child.”

“Then stop treating me like one!” Tommy shouted, and with a sudden fury, he drove a fist right into the wall. The drywall swallowed his hand down to the wrist, and when he pulled it out, little chips and debris rained down from the hole in Fletcher’s kitchen wall. 

Fletcher was so surprised that Tommy had actually lashed out that they stood there, their mouth agape for a moment. Tommy retracted his fist robotically to look at it, pale with powder from the drywall. Blood was starting to ooze out of a couple split knuckles. He was shaking with anger, his shoulders moving up and down with fast, excited breaths.

“Go to your room!” Fletcher snapped back. They pinched the bridge of their nose and sighed. “Goddamn it, you make me sound like a mom. Get the fuck out of my sight, I’ll deal with you later.” 

As pissed as he was, Tommy stalked off in the direction of his room. Fletcher massaged their temples, staring at the fist-sized gape that Tommy had left. That little shit. 

“Something smells good,” Billy commented, walking into the kitchen, then, “Whoa.” He spotted the hole in the wall and looked at Fletcher, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at it. 

“Redecorating?”

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

[iluvchick3nz]

i’m from the south and i KNOW that leo is a gossiper. not in a bad way tho. but in the south you know everything about everyone bc people just talk all the time. could you do a fic of leo talking to finnlo about all the stuff he knows like “you’ll never believe what i found out today” and “so-and-so was telling me this thing about so-and-so”. i just think it would be so cute that leo knows so much about their community and finnlo just love that he does. thank you for writing about o’knutzy bc they are one of my favs 🥰 you’re so amazing

You all have got me starting my FOURTH Word document, holy smokes! Thank you so much for all the love and support on this blog. It's so special to be able to write for you all!

Have some FinnLo being obsessed with their southern lovin' sunshine, and Leo being his bubbly, kind, lovely self! Featuring a sleepy Logan Tremblay and Finn O'Hara, who doesn't normally like sweet things for dessert, but his sweet boyfriends will do. :)

Character credits to @lumosinlove !!

“Hi, baby,” Finn said as their apartment door shut. “How was the store?”

“Good,” Leo replied, going to the fridge to put away the groceries. “Found that nice steak you like.”

“Oh, thanks, gorgeous.” Finn marked his book and stood from his spot on the couch. He walked up behind Leo and put his hands on his hips, kissing the back of his neck. “I missed you. Let me help.”

Leo hummed happily. “Missed you, too.” He handed Finn a large bag of rice to put with the rest of their dry goods. “Oh, hey, you know Mrs. Gonzalez? From downstairs?”

Finn looked at him. “Who?” 

“The lady that takes her cat for a walk.”

“Ah, yes. Cat lady.”

Leo rolled his eyes playfully. “She’s not just a cat lady.” He turned back to the fridge. “Anyways, she was telling me that the Richardsons, the couple in the apartment two doors down, just bought the house right next to Sirius and Remus’.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, apparently Mrs. Richardson got a huge promotion at her law firm last year, so they’ve got enough finally to move out. Mr. Richardson is also a music teacher at the local high school, which I didn’t know.”

Finn blinked at him when he unpacked a large box of oatmeal. “I think I’ve talked to them both all of three times since I moved in, honestly.”

“Really? I always see her when I go for my walks in the park. She walks their dog there, too, a cute little chocolate lab and cocker spaniel mix. Her name’s Ruby.”

Finn laughed. “How do you know so much?”

Leo shrugged. “Don’t know.” He whistled for a moment before letting out a gasp. “Oh my gosh! Oh, and, I ran into our favorite barista at the grocery store today, Cecilia. She got engaged this past weekend to her girlfriend- well, fiancee now, I guess, Emily. And Emily’s family is, like, super wealthy, and they want to have the wedding out west at a ranch or something, I don’t know. But Cecilia is really on the fence about it, I mean, that’s a lot of money.”

“Right, yeah.”

“And Mr. Hu from the repair shop says hi, I saw him, too. Which reminded me, we need to change your oil soon, honey, I checked it the other day.”

“Uh, right. Okay, yeah, sure, I’ll call.”

But Leo just waved his hand, too distracted by putting away some canned tomatoes. “Already done, sweetheart, I talked to Mr. Hu. Next Tuesday at nine. Oh, did you know his daughter is going into preschool? Gosh, I remember when she was a newborn and I held her in the shop while we had your winter tires put on, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” Finn stood with his hip against the counter and smiled at Leo. “You sure are a chatterbox, huh?”

Leo tisked. “No, that’s still you. I’m just sociable.” He put away one last can and turned to Finn. “Okay, I think that’s everything. Thank you, honey.”

“You’re welcome.” Finn helped Leo hang up their canvas grocery bags and drew him in by the hand. “Hey, c’mere.”

Leo fell into Finn’s kiss with a surprised noise. He grinned when they pulled apart. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Finn nudged their noses together. “I love how you know everyone. How you remember everyone.”

Leo’s cheeks were flushed red as he gave a little shrug. “They’re all just so nice. I like talking to ‘em.”

“Mm.” Finn leaned in and kissed him again. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Leo kissed his cheek. “Where’s Lo?”

“Napping. It’s tough, relaxing on summer vacation. Gets tired easily.”

Leo laughed. “Lazy boy.”

“Non, I am not.” 

Finn and Leo both turned to find Logan exiting their bedroom, Leo’s sweater pulled over his fingers. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and stretched. 

Leo’s eyes brightened. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Salut.” Logan wormed his way in between them and all but fell against Leo’s chest. “Missed you,” he said through a yawn. “Was the store okay?”

“Yeah,” Leo said softly, pressing a kiss to Logan’s temple. “Found the steak Fish likes. Was thinking about doing it for dinner.”

“Do you for dinner,” Logan grumbled.

Leo snorted. “You’re so silly.”

“What about dessert?” Finn asked, arms overlapping with Leo’s around Logan’s waist. “I don’t even really like sweet stuff, I’d rather eat you.”

“Mm, ouais, Fish is right.”

“We are derailing,” Leo said drily. “I am talking about a nice, romantic steak dinner with some local veggies I got. And wine.”

Logan tilted his head up. “And I am talking about vacation sex with my boyfriends who I don’t get to see very much during the year. And who I love very much. I win.”

Finn adored the way Leo’s cheeks still blushed so sheepishly. “Well, yeah. I guess you do.”

Logan pressed his satisfied smile into Leo’s chest. “I do.” He kissed over Leo’s heart. “What time is Finn’s car appointment on Tuesday?”

“Ah, so you were awake,” Finn said, pinching Logan’s ribs playfully. “Thanks for the help.”

Logan laughed as Finn’s fingers dug into his side. “I’ll fold the laundry we have sitting in the basket in our room.” He flinched as Finn’s fingers hit home again, eyes closed with his laughter. “Ah, rouge!”

Finn stopped and bent his head to place wet kisses on Logan’s neck. “I agree to that trade off.”

Leo nodded in agreement. “Amen, I hate folding laundry.”

Logan smiled up at him. “I think it’s very cute. That you know everyone.”

“It’s a southern thing,” Leo said, swaying them gently. “You just kind of know everything about everyone. Good stuff, though, usually. Little snippets of people’s lives. Who’s graduating, who got married, who moved. Things like that.”

Finn ducked his nose into Logan’s hair and peeked out to meet Leo’s bright blue eyes. “I like that.”

Leo’s smile was gentle sunshine. “Yeah?”

“Ouais,” Logan agreed. “Maybe we should talk to more of our neighbors.”

“They’re all very nice,” Leo agreed. “I met the new ones down the hall today, some folks that just graduated from Gryffindor University. There are four of them. Sasha, Benjamin, Dante, and… Kiara! Kiara, that’s her name. I was thinking of making them a pie or something. Or some cookies.”

Logan laughed into Leo’s chest. “Ouais, soleil. I’ll help.”

Leo pulled back to look at him, delighted. “Really? You will?”

“Of course, mon coeur.” Logan cupped the back of Leo’s neck and drew him down for a kiss. “I like baking with you.”

Leo bit his lip around a smile. “You’re sweet.” He kissed Logan’s forehead, then Finn’s. “You guys want to go to the park and walk around for a bit? It’s still not quite time to make dinner, and it isn’t too hot today. Nice and sunny.”

“Sounds good, sunshine,” Finn said. “Hey, maybe we’ll see Mrs. Richardson and Ruby.”

Leo looked proud and happy, bright blue eyes looking between the two of them. Logan and Finn couldn’t look away. 

“We just might,” Leo said, giving Logan’s hips an excited squeeze. “C’mon, let’s get our shoes on.”

[sprnklersplashes]

not sure what kind of prompts you were after, but any holiday wesper fluff would be appreciated <3

wesper is always welcome. you could just put 'wesper' in the box and I'd be like "right away!"

hope I did this prompt justice and I'm calling it "I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new years' day"

In all honesty, Wylan wasn't sure about hosting the new years' party this year. He can still remember the last time the Van Ecks hosted it; he was thirteen, and knew to keep himself out of sight after greeting guests and reappear before dinner, and only to speak if he is spoken to. The tradition was passed around the other merchant families afterwards, with Wylan's father making excuses for his absence each time.

Now, Wylan is nineteen, the Van Ecks are due to host yet again, and his father is languishing in Hellgate while Wylan waves the last of their guests goodbye.

How times change.

He finally closes the door after saying goodnight to the Rosenthals, who insist they must come to their place for lunch in the new year. Wylan knows enough now to understand that it's more about business than a nice meal, but he agrees nonetheless. Then they are gone, and after hours of chatter and music and laughter and more chatter, the house is silent. Wylan presses his back into the door, closes his eyes, inhales deeply. Quiet. Silent.

Well, he thinks with a small smile. Almost quiet.

With the party adrenaline slowly leaving his body, Wylan shuffles down the hall, guided by the Kaelish shanties softly sung from the next room. Empty bottles line the hall, discarded papers and tissues and one pair of glasses, but he actively resists the temptation to leave it to the maids. This was his party and if he and Jesper spend all day tomorrow on their hands and knees cleaning, so be it.

When he enters the living room, he finds Jesper had the same idea. Glasses are lined up along the table, plates piled beside them. Jesper sits on the floor, his tie discarded and his shirt untucked and half-undone. Heat rushes to Wylan's cheeks, especially so when Jesper looks up and grins.

(It's been years, yet his smile can still stop Wylan's heart)

"Good evening, beautiful," Jesper says as Wylan pads acorss the carpet. "Or is it morning now?"

"Pretty sure it is." Wylan sighs and lowers himself down, legs folded beneath him. He has to laugh when he sees the state of their carpet; dozens upon dozens of tiny, twinkling pieces are strewn across it, tangled in the fibres and buried in the gaps. Jesper pulls a face at it, and here Wylan again sees the subtle dusting along his cheeks.

"Maybe we'll skip the glitter-based decorations next year."

"Maybe not," Wylan shrugs. His fingers sparkle when he lifts them and a soft giggle escapes him. Jesper grins too, low candlelight shining in his dark eyes. He slides his fingers into Wylan's and then, in one quick motion, pulls Wylan into him.

They land on their backs on the carpet, a clash of limbs and clothes and giddy laughter. Wylan's head is reeling and it's not entirely from the amount of wine he's drunk.

(He has never been this happy, ever. He never thought he could be this happy, ever)

He laughs into Jesper's shoulder, taking the opportunity to press some kisses to his neck. Jesper hums contentedly and threads his fingers in Wylan's hair. The movement is gentle, careful, and his body is warm, and Wylan can feel his eyes getting heavy.

"What do you want to happen this year?" Jesper asks quietly.

"I want..." He hesitates. Every year, his resolution was to learn how to read. Then it was to survive. Then he started losing track of years. "I want to spend more time with you. Council is driving me insane. I also want to repaint the bedroom and play the tin whistle again."

"All good things, merchling," Jesper replies. His chest expands as he takes a long breath, his eyes flicking up to the ceiling. Something is brewing in him, Wylan can feel it like a storm in the air. He traces patterns on his chest, looks up and whispers silently that it's okay.

"I'd like to visit Da more," he says. "I don't have to hide from him anymore and now..." He breathes out, long, slow, steady. "Yeah. I want to see him more."

"You will," Wylan nods. Jesper huffs, something between a laugh and a sigh, and he curls his hand around Wylan's. His skin is rough and calloused, his touch gentle and perfect. Wylan has never known anything softer than Jesper's touch.

(Saints, he really can't hold his drink)

Outside the window, a small fizzing sound catches Wylan's attention. It builds, growing louder and faster and higher until it bursts, tinkering almost musically.

"Fireworks!"

With a newfound energy, he jumps off Jesper and rushes to the sofa. Sure enough, far across the garden and above the canal, bursts of red and green and blue flash across the sky, mixing in with each other. The fireworks are both controlled and chaotic, and they're utterly magnificent. He says as much to Jesper when he sits beside him and when Jesper laughs, Wylan doesn't panic. He draws closer to him, links their fingers together.

"There's no-one like you, Wylan," he whispers. He kisses him, setting off different kinds of fireworks. Wylan grins against his mouth, revelling in the taste of his lips and the unmistakable feel of his smile.

"Happy new year, Wylan."

Wylan sighs and rubs his nose against Jesper's.

"Happy new year, Jes."

I love you, he doesn't need to add.

[02511213942]

I love your art style and the way you draw different body types and your username. Hello. Hi, just a fan. Also, do you have any favorite aftg fics?

🥹 THANK YOU!!! you're very kind!! ! i hope to get better at drawing different body types and i like my username too!!

i do have lots of fic recs, but i've been sitting on and incubating this ask for too long so here are just five that have been on my mind again most recently!

til death do us part by @alcego

We follow Neil's professional exy career, including the ups and downs, from beginning to end.

IF IT FEELS LIKE THIS FIC WAS MADE IN A LAB FOR ME IT'S BECAUSE IT WAS!! COMMISSIONED FROM THE BRILLIANT AJ :)) if you loved reading the games in the books u will looove this... sports-heavy outsider pov and media snippets, neil gets a concussion, andreil being odd and cute, kevin day is there. all is well in the world.

Signs of Life by moonix @annawrites

In which Kevin works the graveyard shift, Andrew is the witching hour cryptid, and Neil guards the ice-cream freezer.

if i were andrew i'd make out with neil in aisle ten too... kevin thinking about his breakfast sandwich and andrew needing to touch of the roots of his box blonde hair I LOVE YOUu....

burning with you by @seasy33

The crowd whistles and cheers. People on the dance floor start to pair together, pressing close and swaying. As the song really begins, Neil realizes he knows it and starts humming along, playing idly with the ring on Andrew's finger. Andrew's hand twitches. "You know this song." Neil nods against his shoulder, still humming. "You don't know who Aerosmith is, but you know Shania Twain." Neil shrugs. - Neil and Andrew go to a bar and end up sort-of serenading each other --with country songs. That's it, that's the fic

feral stick figure on all fours dot jpeg. whenever you're still the one or johnny and june come up on my spotify shuffle i think of this fic and my aura acquires a gentle pink glow. i love country music :)

Every Sinner Has A Future by OfficialStarsandGutters

Canon divergent Neil x Aaron. - Neil Josten. A shock of red hair and ocean blue eyes. Pretty faced, but nothing special. Except he makes a throwaway comment about Andrew being off his meds and it’s like everyone in the room forgets to breathe. Even Aaron, his body still and tense with surprise that he can tell them apart. Without even having met Aaron, he knew Andrew wasn’t him. That shouldn’t mean anything. Aaron rubs his sweaty palms on his skinny jeans and tells himself it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t.

my fav rare pair and the fic ever for them 🥹 aaron minyard i've really come around to you and i'll even let you take my son out if you have him home by 10.

sunset, like survival by animediac @jaywalkers

The first time Neil dies is devastating. The second time is just as bad. The third time has them wondering if there’s a way out of this loop that doesn’t end with Neil dead. - Night, after night, after night. Baltimore isn't something that just happens once.

kandreil neil death time loop fic you are SO famous to me. on my mind again recently because róisín is very good at being a paramedic and knowing what really happens to the body when you are critically horribly injured, and i asked them what would happen if neil got hypothetically specifically tortured, and they did not let me down.

[w2soneshots]

Do I? -W2S

words: 0.9k+

warnings: light angst, alcohol consumption.

summary: you realise your feelings for your best friend, are much stronger than you thought.

Liked by wrotoshaw and 908,340 others

y/username: my outfit, my girls and bog @faithlouisak @wrotoshaw

-comments-

faithlouisak: I love you❤️

-> y/username: 😘😘

behzingagram: 🫶

user893468081: harry is so fit

-> y/username: Ikr

-> y/nfanpage21: @y/username omgg! I ship them

Me and Harry have been best friends since high school. We moved to London together, I helped him through his first break up and we may have made out a few times when we were really drunk but we were drunk... right? Anyway today I'm going to Harry's apartment to help him set up for his birthday party, that he definitely didn't want to have, but I convinced him and plus it's only his closest friends.

"Heyy!" I called out as I walked into the apartment. He popped out from his bedroom and walked towards me. "Do we really have to do all this." he said gesturing to the big box of party decorations in my arms. "It's your birthday bog, you deserve all the bells and whistles." I said placing the box on the kitchen counter. "now, let's get started."

I arrived at his apartment at 2pm and we finished decorating around 4, then I left to go and get ready. When I got back to my apartment I took a quick shower, dried and straightened my hair, put on some makeup and picked out my outfit. By the time I was done it was time to leave since I promised Harry that I'd be there before anyone else.

I opened Harry's apartment door for the 2nd time today and found him sat on the couch. I placed my bag down and he turned around. His eyes widened "you look beautiful." he said slightly breathlessly. I smiled "thank you." I said walking over to the sofa and sitting next him.

With drinks sat on the counter and the music blaring, people started to arrive. Soon everyone was in the apartment and we slowly started acting more and more drunk. I stood with Talia and Faith dancing when I looked over and caught Harry's eyes, a small smile spread across my lips and he returned it. "You too are made for each other." Faith said pulling me out of my trance. "What? Me and Harry." I said over the music. "y/n come on!" Talia said as if it was obvious. I furrowed my brows, confused. Faith scoffed "you're always with each other in your own little conversation and you look at each other like you're in love." I was slightly taken aback "we do?". They both nodded ferociously. "Oh."

After that conversation I was practically rethinking everything, do I like him... no it's bog... but, no y/n shut up. He probably doesn't feel the same way anyway. I was consumed by my thoughts when Harry came over. "Oh hi, having fun?" I said not looking at him properly. "Ye... are you okay?" He asked. "Mhm" I hummed before getting up and speed walking to the bathroom.

I placed my hands on the counter and took a deep breath. "What the fuck is happening? Why do I feel like this about the boy I've been friends with since we were kids, now?" I thought. A knock on the door broke me out of my thoughts. I quickly fixed myself up and opened the door. Harry... "are you sure you're okay?" he asked. I felt awful that he was worrying about me when he's supposed to be having fun. "I told you I'm fine." I said but it came out a little harsh. He seemed a little taken aback but nodded and left me alone.

I drank a lot that night and tried my best to avoid Harry. I woke up in my bed with the worst hangover of my life, I took some paracetamol and opened instagram.

y/username posted a story 11 hours ago!

I don't remember posting that. Today is Harry's actual birthday so I pulled together a nice message for instagram, along with some photos from the party.

y/username

Liked by behzingagram and 1,467,010 others

y/username: happy birthday @wrotoshaw thank you for being the best friend ever and for putting up with my shit🫶🖕

-comments-

faithlouisak: lets take a moment for the dress🔥

-> y/username: 💅🏻

user394752919: this is so cute🥹

wrotoshaw: thank you for everything y/n

-> y/nfanpage21: omfg what? this is so random but adorable

-> user85019234: w2s commenting on insta what😨

I was confused by what Harry wrote under my post. First of all he never comments on instagram, second "thank you for everything" like what? So I decided to text him. "Hey can I come over?" I sent and a few minutes later I got a reply "be here in 10"

I walked into his apartment in some sweatpants and a hoodie just over 10 minutes later. "Bog?" I called out as I slipped my trainers off. "Bedroom!" he shouted. "Hey." I said once I opened the door. He patted on the bed gesturing for me to sit. I plonked myself on the bed and he pulled me towards he and into a strong hug. I was slightly surprised at first but quickly hugged him back. We stayed like that for a good few minutes but eventually pulled away.

"What was that for?" I asked. He looked into my eyes "I love you." he said and my lips parted slightly. I didn't say anything, "it's okay if you don't feel the same but-" I cut him off by pushing myself forward so our lips collided. When we pulled away we kept our foreheads pressed together. "I love you too."

[g0kotta]

What’s your favourite scary movie?

Ghostface!Geto x f!reader

Your ex was always a bit weird, but you still loved him. After breaking up you went to your first halloween party with your friends. What could go wrong?

Warnings: death, blood, horror?, crazy Geto, swearwords, maybe a tiny bit suggestive? Geto is an asshole.

Around 1.6k words

English is not my first language and I did not re-read this. Spelling mistakes?

You stand in front of the bedroom mirror looking at yourself. The costume fit you well, hugging all the right spots. You’ve never looked hotter. Shoko, your friend which somehow managed to drag you into this mess, whistled behind you.

“You look good.” she smirked as she took out the last cigarette from her beat down box that looked like it was run over by that stupid bus that takes you to university. “You should put on those white thigh high socks and then I’ll spray you with some blood.”

“Hopefully it’s fake.” you roll your eyes and smirk at the med student. “I don’t want any of your study rat’s blood on me.”

“You’ll find out afterwards.” Shoko says sarcastically and leaves the room while the smell of cigarettes stays right there with you and travels all the way to her room.

You let out a sigh as you fix your cheerleader uniform and then walk up to a drawer, starting to look for those white thigh high socks. You hum a tune as you finally take them out, putting them on and then on top of them you put on your worn out converses that you don’t mind spraying with fake blood. Shoko steps back in the room and before you can even react you feel something cold, wet and sticky splash onto your body.

“What the fuck, Shoko?!” You squeal as you turn to look at your friend. She was already standing there with the biggest grin and then you feel more of the substance hitting your body. “Bitch!?”

She just laughs.

“Finally you look perfect.” She says and takes the last hit of her cigarette before putting it out in an ashtray you left for her in your room. You bought it when you went to Paris with your ex. You grimace at the memory and shake your head.

“Gojo is coming with us.” She says as she looks at her phone. Funnily enough, she was a bloody nurse for halloween. Said it was an easy costume as she already had all of the clothes she’ll never use again from previous years.

“Will he be there?” You ask with a slight tone to your voice.

“Don’t know. Gojo didn’t say and I didn’t ask.” She shook her shoulders and took you by your hand. “C’mon let’s go. Gojo’s waiting outside.”

“Already?” You raise an eyebrow as you follow her out.

-

The same second you stepped into the party, Gojo was already gone. He was dressed up as Jack Frost and you only rolled your eyes as he ran after the first hot girl he saw. Shoko on the other hand stayed with you for a while but then left to look for someone who had cigarettes and wanted to share. So you were left all alone standing in the stupid party you didn’t even want to come to.

You saw a few familiar faces here and there, no one you were too close with. Though it was quite okay. At least you weren’t stuck in your room, depressing over your ex-boyfriend.

You fix your skirt as you take a step towards the kitchen. Your throat was dry and you wanted another beer. As you walk into the kitchen the music dims down behind you. Whoever was throwing this party was rich. Everything was neat and expensive. Even the fridge was way bigger than necessary. You smirk as you notice the note on the fridge informing you that instead of ice, there was wine in there. You take a glass and pour yourself some. But before you can take a sip something stops you. A sound. A scream.

Someone was screaming out of pain. Your eyebrows furrow as you slowly get closer to the door. Was that just a part of this party? After all it was halloween. But before you can check it out, someone touches your shoulder and you drop the wine. You let out a scream and turn around to see Gojo towering over you with the biggest smirk.

“You asshole!” You point a finger at his chest while he just laughs.

“You should’ve seen your face! It was so funny.” He wipes off tears from his eyes. “I should’ve taken a-“ suddenly he goes quiet and his eyes widen.

“Satoru?” You ask softly before looking down at his stomach. It was bloody. And the blood spot was getting bigger while something sharp was sticking out. Suddenly it was removed and Gojo opens his mouth for a second. But all that could be heard was a gurgling sound. Blood spills out of his mouth and his body goes limp, falling onto the floor. Once where was his body, stood a tall masked and hooded figure.

Without a word you start running as fast as you could. As you leave the room you see more dead bodies laying around as people try to leave the house, boarding the doors and pushing each other. You start running towards the stairs to the second floor. Maybe you could jump out the window. It wasn’t the safest plan but there was no other option. You heard your shoes hit the floor as you run up the stairs, opening doors of random rooms. You see a big window in one and you smile in victory as you run to it. You start opening it and then look down. It was quite a fall but you’d survive. Maybe strain something or break a bone in the worst case scenario. Or in the best one, after all you don’t want death.

One of your legs go through the window, but before you could jump someone grabs onto your hair and pulls you back. You let out a terrifying scream out of fear and pain and feel something sharp next to your throat. You try not to squirm too much as the sharp tip of the blade was touching your neck.

“Hey.” A deep voice that sounded robotic says. “What’s your favourite scary movie?”

“I don’t watch scary movies.” You answer in a whisper, too scared to move.

“You have a boyfriend, beautiful?”

“Why is this how you want to ask me out on a date?” You spit the words out this time in a panic, thinking about Shoko. Was she dead? Did she manage to get out? Suddenly Gojo’s dead body lingers in your mind and tears well up in your eyes.

“Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?” He asks again getting closer to your ear.

“No.”

He throws you onto the bed and laughs. His gloved hand grabs onto the end of the mask and pulls it up. And suddenly you’re met with the brown eyes your so familiar with. They’re wide with lust and adrenaline as he looks at you with a big creepy smile. If none of this was happening - you would think he looks quite hot. But now you’ve never been more scared of your ex.

“Awe. You never looked for anyone else. So cute. Such a good girl.” He smirks as he steps closer to you.

“Y-you.. You killed Gojo?” You couldn’t believe it. Why would Geto kill his own best friend?

“He was getting too close to you for my liking.” Suddenly he pressed the blade into your thigh, slashing it a bit and staining your white thigh highs with more blood. This time though, it wasn’t fake. You let out a whine out of pain and he shuts you up with a kiss. “You belong to me. Don’t you ever forget that.” He whispers into your lips and brings the knife to your throat.

“Please.. Please don’t kill me.” You ask while tears fall down your face and he just chuckles wiping them off. His hands were stained with blood and while touching you he was also staining you with the blood of your innocent friends.

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” He grins. The tip of the blade reaches your shirt and he starts cutting it open. “Y’wanna know why I killed them all?” He hums. “Because I fucking hated them. I hated them all. Stupid monkeys.. So filthy and stained by the world. And I hate you too. Oh you have no idea how much I fucking hate you.”

“Suguru..” you let out a chocked sob.

“Shh.. shut up.” He grabs your face, squishing your cheeks making your lips pout. “You’re so pretty, but so fucking dumb. If you-“

Sirens of police were heard outside and Geto smirks as he steps away.

“If you tell anyone. I’ll kill every single person you love. And then.. I’ll kill you.” He puts his mask down and the robotic voice is back again. “By the way.. You look so hot in that costume.”

And then he’s gone again as you lay in the bed all alone and bloody, crying.

Extra:

You were laying on the couch in the living room. It’s been a few weeks after the incident. Shoko was safe. She was the one who called the police as she was outside for quite a while, smoking a cigarette. Now she was in school as you were left at home alone.

The phone rang and you lazily picked it up.

“Hello?” You say softly, as you were laying really comfortable and almost falling asleep.

“(Y/N). What’s your favourite scary movie?”

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Midnight Masquerade - Echo

Chapter Summary: Echo is the lucky bastard who gets to fuck you—or maybe you're the lucky one.

Chapter Warnings: siren!Echo x gn!reader; kinks: formal wear + voice kink. unprotected penetrative sex (can be read as PiV or PiA), cum as lube, Echo has hair because I say so, this one's a little more tame on the 'monster'fucker front but I hope it ticks some boxes for y'all regardless; if I missed any warnings please lmk!

Word Count: 2.6k

Read the intro here! | Suggested listening

...Echo. 

A round of wolf-whistles rises from the rest of the table (quite literally, in Hunter’s case). Echo jostles you with his elbow, a good-natured grin gracing his features. Quirking an eyebrow at him, you drink in the sight of him sitting next to you. His perfectly tailored suit hugs his body in all the right places, thighs straining against the fine material; the silken red bowtie at his neck draws your eye appreciatively down the strong column of his throat. His hair has grown back in a fuzzy nest of brown curls that he’s slicked back. In short, he looks positively mouth-watering. That’s exactly what happens as you rake your gaze over him.

“Get a room, you two,” Fives jeers, playfully tossing a balled up napkin at you. 

It bounces harmlessly off your face. You flash him a rude gesture before rising to your feet, offering your hand to Echo.

“Shall we?”

He takes your hand. Against your skin, his satin glove is smooth and warm, the strength of his grip belied by the entrapment. You suppress a shiver as you step away from the table, Echo trailing you, fingers laced through yours. 

As you begin to wind your way through the crowd, you shoot a glance over your shoulder to Echo. He smirks at you, one eyebrow raised as if in question. In the strobing, multicolored lights, he looks near ethereal, a vision stepped straight out of one of those high-end Coruscanti model holos. You bite your lip. 

His smirk deepens. Tugging you back against his chest, he wraps his scomp arm around your middle to hold you against his chest. He carefully presses his cheek to the side of your head, mindful of his headpiece, and inhales your scent.

“Care for a dance, cyare?” he asks.

A delightful, full-body tingle shivers through you at the way his voice rumbles against your ear. “You read my mind.” 

He hums, the sound sending another frisson of exhilaration cascading through all your nerves. Not releasing his hold on you, your hands still entwined where he brings them to rest on your hip, he finds the rhythm of the song, a deep, bassy, sexy beat that vibrates your bones. Gently, giving you enough leeway in case you decide you want to pull away, he guides your hips to the music. 

It’s all the encouragement you need. Circling your hips, you grind your ass against his crotch, earning a low, groaning chuckle. Snaking your hand free up and back, you thread your fingers through his curls. Echo turns his head, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the pulse point just below your jaw.

A gasp escapes you, lost in the consuming bass of the music. He laves at that spot, nipping playfully. 

Emboldened by the shifting, partial lighting and his lips on your neck, you grind against him again as you draw his hand up your chest. A moan tumbles from you as the half-hard definition of his cock presses against you through layers of clothing. His fingers dance over your chest, tweaking a nipple through your shirt.

“Feel what you do to me, pretty thing?” he murmurs, voice sliding like honey over your ears. “Drive me kriffin’ crazy.”

You’ve never realized it before, but stars, you could listen to Echo talk all day. He could read a damn dictionary and you’d be enthralled. Turning your head, you peer up into his eyes, mere pinpricks of shine in the green-tinted lights flashing around you. Dropping your gaze to his lips, your eyelashes flutter. 

“What d’you want, cyare, hm? Tell me,” he urges, eyes fixated on your parted lips.

“I want,” you begin, voice tremulous, “I want to kiss you.” 

“You wanna kiss me?” he repeats, a dangerous smirk curling over his face.

Gulping, you nod. You don’t trust your voice now to not reveal the intensity of the fire scorching through your veins. 

With a contented sigh, Echo tips his head forward and captures your lips in a heated kiss. His scomp tugs you tighter against his chest as he practically ruts his hardness against your ass, When he tugs again at your nipple, you whimper into his mouth. Electricity sparks where he touches you. But he doesn’t relent, kissing you until you’re dizzy with want. Arousal pools hot and tight in your belly.

“Kriff,” you gasp as you pull away from his mouth, “kriff, Echo, stars.” 

He chuckles. His gaze sweeps over the crowd around you—but no one seems to be paying you any mind. “What’s the matter, sweetness?”

“Want you,” you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

“Want me to what?”

His voice has dropped an octave, positively dripping with sex, and you shudder in his grasp. How can one person’s voice be so alluring, so enticing? 

Rather than using your words, you extricate yourself from his embrace and, crooking one finger with a coy smile, urge him to follow you again. A bemused smile graces his features; he slips his hand into his pocket as he steps after you.

You lead him towards the back hallway you’d caught sight of earlier, down a series of blind turns, and pick a door at random. Within, there’s a simple bed with silk sheets; dozens of candles, strewn on every available surface, cast the room in a cheery, cozy glow. Echo moves past you, surveying the room with a curious expression.

“This works,” you say, shutting the door. 

You take another moment to really, fully appreciate the specimen of a man before you. Echo gives you an indulgent smile. Backlit by the flickering candlelight, he looks divine; the crisp lines of his black suit outline his silhouette in exquisite fashion. Up close, you realize that the fabric isn’t solid black, but rather one shade of black embroidered with another, darker hue. Tracing one of the repeating designs, you reach with tentative fingers to unbutton the matching vest.

Only to gasp in surprise when his hand catches your wrist.

“You never answered my question,” he says. His gaze holds your own, deep and soulful and burning. Have his eyes always been that golden?

“Everything,” you say, the answer falling from your lips without a second thought. “I want you to do everything to me.”

His eyes fall to half-lidded, a sultry twist to his mouth. “Everything, cyare? That’s awfully broad. How am I supposed to pick?” 

Another shiver dances up your spine as goosebumps erupt all over your skin at his voice. Echo’s eyebrows twitch at your physiological response. 

“D’you like the sound of my voice, pretty little thing?” he asks, inflecting the words down, deeper, hotter.

Nodding, a more concrete idea of what you want crystallizes in your mind. “Love your voice, Echo. Can you— can you make me cum just by talking to me?”

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. “Kriff, yeah, baby. Whatever you want. Want to get off from me telling you everything I want to do to your gorgeous body?”

You whine, pleasurable heat pulsing through your core.

“Alright, baby.” He gestures toward the bed. “Get undressed and get comfy.” 

“What about you?” you ask. You’re already shucking your clothes, but pause when he fixes you with an inscrutable look.

“Oh no,” he says, “you asked for my voice. The suit stays on. Fitting, that you’d ask me to whisper filth to you, when I’m dressed as a siren.”

Inhaling a short breath in surprise, you merely blink at him. He chucks you under your chin with a wink, then glances down at your state of half-undress. Swallowing, you hurry to strip out of the rest of the now-too tight garments and clamber up onto the silky smooth sheets. You prop yourself up with a number of plush pillows. 

“Good,” Echo murmurs. He perches on the edge of the bed, one thick thigh crossed under the other, his hand supporting the way he leans. “Such a good listener.” 

The praise coils through your ears and settles in your lower belly, simmering with an intense, acute heat. You can only nod, at a loss for words.

“Sit on your hands for me, baby,” he instructs. “Can’t have you cheating, now can we?” 

Your chest heaves with anticipation as you shift, sliding your hands beneath your butt to trap them there. Echo’s eyes flicker a brighter gold. For a moment, he lets you sit there, core aching, skin flushed and sweat beginning to dew. At the apex of your thighs, your arousal throbs, demanding to be touched.

“Bet you feel so soft,” he says. The way he murmurs the words makes you think it’s more a thought that slipped out than an intentional statement, but the effect is the same: your nipples pebble as if inviting him to touch. He clears his throat and continues. “Nearly lost my mind out there when you pushed your ass against my dick. Nearly took you right there on the dancefloor.” 

“F-Fuck,” you grit out. His voice caresses your skin, a physical presence. “W-Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t want to put my vod’e to shame.” He chuckles. “Wanted you all to myself. Wanted to feel how you fall apart, just for me. Is that what you want, cyare? Gonna squirm for me?” 

As if by his request, you push your hips in his direction, silently begging. 

“Thought so,” he says. “Mm. So needy. I’m gonna make you cum just like this, and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk after, how’s that sound, gorgeous?”

“Yes, yes please, just keep talking,” you whine. The aching need in your core grows with each word he speaks, a spell weaving in the air around you, drawing your nerves along for the ride. 

“You felt so good against me out there,” he continues. “Warm and pliant and body fucking begging me to take you. Gonna make you feel so good, cyare. I’m gonna suck my mark into your neck, show everyone who makes you feel this good. Make sure they know whose cock was buried in you. Fuck, I bet you’re tight, bet you need a good fucking to loosen you up. That what you need, baby? Need to be fucked out?” 

You’re writhing at this point, hips jerking as if his words are physically touching you. “Y-Yes, stars, please!”

“Yeah, I know you need that.” 

You have enough awareness to catch movement in his lap—he’s fucking palming himself through his pants, and the sight draws a raw, cracking moan from your chest. His eyes bore into yours for a moment, an intense, glowing gold, and a jolt of pleasure rocks through you. 

“First I’d make you suck me off, get my dick all nice and wet. Your lips will look so good wrapped around me, kark. Don’t worry, I’d put my mouth on you, too. Tease you with my tongue until you’re begging for me to fuck you. 

“And then I’d slip into your tight hole—ngh, kriff—” He shudders, palm stilling over his crotch for a moment. “Make you scream for me, make you moan until your voice gives out. Then I’d make you cum again, all over my cock. Fuck, you’ll look so pretty when I fuck you like that, takin’ everything I give you.” 

Pleasure mounts in your body with every new word. The rough, raw edge to his voice only serves to rake tingling ecstasy over your entire body. In your belly, the knot of desire pulls tighter, tighter, tighter—you’re teetering on the precipice, ready to shatter at any moment. 

A sob wracks through your form. “Echo, please, need to cum!”

“I know, baby, I know you do,” he coos. “You wanna cum? Cum for me, pretty thing. Cum and then I’ll fuck you just like you need me to.” 

“Oh fuck—” Your moan chokes off into a strangled gasp as his command washes over you. All at once, the knotted core of need in your center snaps and unravels. Your back arches off the bed, hands scrabbling at the silk sheets for purchase as you cum, shouting incoherent praise to the room. Wave after wave breaks over you, each one drowning you in fresh pleasure.

Through it all, Echo murmurs sweet praise in your ear, his fingers finding purchase at your heated core. “That’s it, baby. Just like that, you’re doing so well. See? Promised you I’d make you cum, and now I’m gonna fuck you, okay, baby?”

Dimly, you register his words. Nodding, you think you beg for it—or maybe you’re just begging for the orgasm to keep going, for your body to keep convulsing and shuddering. Somewhere in the haze that begins to settle over your mind, you feel Echo’s hand grip your hip, holding your lower body still, and then he’s pushing into you, his cock slick with spit and your release.

You groan simultaneously. Walls fluttering around his thick length, you suck in lungfuls of air to steady yourself, the stretch a little painful but nevertheless immaculate. He’s so big; he’s everywhere, stuffed into your tight heat and filling your vision and caressing your flushed skin. 

“Kark,” he bites out. “Not gonna last long, cyare.” 

“S’okay,” you pant. “Please fuck me.” 

You don’t need to tell him twice. Snapping his hips against you, his balls slap your ass with every thrust, the erotic sound echoing in the small room. Gripping one of your thighs to his chest, he squeezes it as he drives his cock into you mercilessly, his jacket discarded and the rest of his clothes disheveled. All you can do is lie there and take it, keening brokenly. His cock grazes against that one spot deep in your heat that makes stars burst across your vision. Whining, you fist the sheets to ground yourself. 

“W-Where—” 

“Paint me,” you gasp. “Want your cum on me.”

He pulls out immediately, his cock throbbing. Ribbons of hot, white cum splatter over your chest and tummy. Eyes locked together, you have to fight to keep your own open to catch the way that his face twists with bliss as he cums. But he makes it difficult, working his hand over your center to draw out your second orgasm.

You spasm under his touch, weakly pushing his hand away in overstimulation. Core locked up with tight pleasure, it takes you several long moments to drift back down. Heart pounding, chest heaving, you glance up at Echo with a tired grin. 

He chuckles. “Holy kriff.” 

“You can say that again,” you say, huffing a laugh.

His cum has begun to dry on your skin; you glance around for a towel. Echo retrieves his jacket where he must have tossed it on the other end of the bed and gently wipes your skin clean.

“Thanks,” you murmur, too blissed out to care that he’s ruining a perfectly good suit. 

He shrugs out of the other garments then collapses on the bed next to you. Tangling your fingers together, you smile lazily at one another. Distantly, the music of the party reaches you, but you’re in no rush. 

“So,” you murmur. 

“So,” he echoes. His voice has returned to its normal gruff timbre—still incredibly sexy, but no longer magically enhanced. 

You study his eyes for a moment, also returned to their normal state. With a teasing hum, you nudge him. “What happened to all the other things you mentioned? Marking me, going down on me?” 

He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “I got...impatient.”

You laugh, a genuine, belly laugh that makes him chuckle, too. 

“Maybe...” You trail off, biting your lip. “Maybe we can get dinner sometime, and then we can try those.” 

Humming, he nuzzles your neck. “I’d love that.”

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