#mat 🧸

[cheekblush]

^^me coming to visit you !! 🫶🏻

hiiii mat 🫶🏻💞🦋✨🧸🎀 hope you’re doing well 💓🫂💓

[princessbrunette]

boxer rafe who’s dating his coaches daughter WAAAA she prances around the room helping people out and then gets all nervous around him even tho they’re together, blushing red and offering him a water with a shy grin. he takes a swig of it and then offers it to her like ‘you been drinkin’?’ and she’s just all ashamed when she says no and he holds the bottle for her when he makes sure she drinks AHH. ‘PRIVATE PRACTICE’ ENDS UP IN HIM CAGING HER IN AGAINST THE TRAINING RING PROPPING HER UP ON THE ROPE AS HE MAKES HER DIZZY WITH HIS SLOPPY TONGUE KISSES WHILE HE FEELS HER UP

- 🧸

this is what boxer!rafe looks like to me 🙃 a lil older and more seasoned ….. like THAT man wants to keep u fucked and fed

like he’s so big n strong, but that same kind of whiny drawl he always has had when he speaks — imposing his height on you by closing in, cupping the back of your head with his massive hand when he speaks, asking “y’drinking water? hm?” and you just get all dumb and doe eyed, shaking your head :(( n naturally he has to bring the bottle to your mouth and tip it up for you, telling you to “drink up.” he’s dying to get his hands on you that day, thinks it’s so cute when you get flustered which is why he initiates the ‘private practice’ with you after training.

obviously it ends up with him backing you up against the ring, huge hands clasping your body whilst he kisses you all slow n nasty with loads of tongue :(( and poor you gets so whimpery and needy right there and then he has no choice but to take you right there on the mat, hand gently clasping your throat keeping your head up off the mat as he grinds his cock into you from behind, talking u through it :( “yeaaah. see? getting what you want sweetheart, keep takin’ it for me.”

he just loves that fact that you’re his coaches daughter idk it rlly gets him off 😭 innocent girl like you has no place being around all these rough and scary men but he likes knowing he can protect u

[atlabeth]

congratulations on 3k!!! could I get a cute lil 🧸 hurt/comfort with nikolai where reader is grisha (maybe heartrender or inferni) and she gets jurda parem in her system and nikolai stays with her while she waits it out (like nina and matthias??) also drink water <333

by your side

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem inferni!reader

summary: you end up as collateral in a plot against nikolai. he helps you through the aftermath.

a/n: so sorry this took so long but that’s going to be the case for all of these lol !!! oops. but i love this man and i hope you enjoy it

wc: 1.2k

warning(s): reader goes through parem withdrawal and is kinda mean to nikolai for a bit. mentions of kidnapping and drugging. hurt/comfort, nikolai is the sweetest

“Nikolai—”

“I know.”

“It hurts, Nikolai,” you breathed.

“I know, milaya.” He brushed loose strands of hair out of your eyes, matted to your forehead by sweat and blood, his heart breaking more with every passing second. “I know.”

Nikolai couldn’t stand to see you like this. You didn’t even want him to—you asked him to leave so you could go through it on your own, but he would sooner die than leave you alone. You had an iron grip on his hand, but he hardly felt it. After what had been done to you in the name of getting to him, Nikolai owed you this much.

“Everything burns,” you moaned. “My— my bones—”

You were cut off by a sharp gasp of pain and your grip on Nikolai’s hand tightened. The action made you grimace as your eyes screwed shut, but you didn’t lessen your hold.

He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to ease this pain for you. He understood little of jurda parem, if a cure even existed, but he did know that you were strong enough to weather what was meant to be an insurmountable storm.

“You can end it,” you said, your voice shaking. Bloodshot eyes met his own, wide and dilated and full of unimaginable pain. “You’ve got to still have some here.”

“You know I can’t do that, my love,” he murmured.

“Please, Nikolai,” you begged.

“It will only make it worse,” he said. “There is nothing we can do but wait. You are strong enough to get through it, milaya.”

“Then what are you good for?” you snarled, your voice rising with the sudden flash of anger. “You’re a damned king, but you can’t even stop this?”

You tried to rip your hand away but Nikolai wouldn’t let you. He laid his other hand on top of yours.

“Look at me, Nikolai,” you hissed. “You say you love me and you leave me like this.”

“It is because I love you that I cannot give anything to you,” he said. “I can’t imagine how this feels, but I will be here for you every second of the way.”

You shook your head as another pained gasp escaped you, and somehow your grip tightened even more.

“I just want it to stop,” you begged. “Please, please make it stop.”

You were drenched in sweat, the bedsheets and the undergarments you’d stripped down to soaked through, and yet you hadn’t been granted any reprieve.

You’d always found comfort in the blazes you could create—able to fight with unbelievable ferocity one moment and make a harmless, beautiful show out of it that summoned all the stars in Nikolai’s eyes the next—but now it threatened to consume you.

Nikolai couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault.

You should have never been involved in the first place. He should’ve done a better job at protecting you, should have kept your name hidden, should have never let anyone have the chance to do something like this in the first place.

It was his fault. Nikolai knew he had enemies, more than he could ever imagine after ascending to the throne. Some stupid, naive part of him hoped that you wouldn’t become a part of that, but that was all it was—naivety.

You were kidnapped to get to him. Drugged to get to him. The bastards must have hoped you would go up in flames once you were done, but they underestimated you. Your foes always did.

You didn’t deserve any of this. Those criminals knew one thing, at least, because Nikolai would have taken all your pain as his burden for the rest of his life if it meant one second of reprieve for you.

But he couldn’t. His enemies wanted him to suffer, and the best way to do that was to make you suffer.

“I know,” he whispered, and he raised your intertwined hands to press a kiss to the back of your palm. “I know.”

Your skin had all but ignited from the inside out, more intense than anything an Inferni could muster on their own. You could have plunged to the depths of the Isenvee and still burn the whole way down.

And it continued on.

You hurled every curse at him in your native Zemeni, and when you ran out you turned to what you knew in Ravkan. You tried to throw him off or get him to leave a hundred times, tried anything to make him hate you. He could never hate you.

You sobbed through your pain, begging Nikolai to make it end. You gripped his hand so tightly he thought it might break. You asked him to kiss you to distract you for even a moment.

You endured every hellish, torturous second, and Nikolai stayed by your side through it all.

“Nikolai.” The sudden whisper was so soft he had to lean closer to hear you.

“Yes, my love?”

“I’m so tired.”

“You can sleep,” he assured. “I will be right here with you.”

“Hold me.” Your voice cracked, and his heart twisted. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” Every part of you had been so sensitive, practically ablaze, and he didn’t want to worsen your already sensitive condition.

“I… I feel so empty.” You blinked a few times, but he saw the tears shimmering in your eyes. “Like— like I lost a part of myself, and I need to feel something.”

Nikolai’s throat bobbed, and he nodded. “Of course, lapushka.”

He climbed into bed next to you and laid down, gathering you up in his arms as gently as possible.

“Is this alright?” he asked softly as he pulled you close.

You nodded. He could feel each beat of your heart with your back pressed against his chest, and he’d never been more grateful for the sound. Your skin still burned, but he welcomed the blaze.

“It’s perfect.”

“Good.”

For a moment, the two of you laid there in silence. Only your heartbeat and your breathing interrupted it, yours still slightly harried.

“I’m not hurting you,” he asked, “am I?”

“…No.”

You paused before you answered, and Nikolai frowned as he said your name.

“It doesn’t matter,” you interrupted. “Everything hurts right now—I’m not going to let that keep you away from me.”

He let out a wry laugh, and he pulled you even closer. “There she is.”

He could almost feel your smile in the shift of energy, but another moment passed before you spoke.

“I’m so sorry about everything I said.” Your whisper came out as a rasp, your throat scratchy from your ordeal. “I love you, Nikolai. More than anything. You know that, right?”

“I could never forget,” he said. “Not with all the love I hold for you.”

“…Good.” He felt you swallow hard. “I’m so sorry.”

“I should be the one apologizing,” Nikolai said. “It was my fault all of this happened.”

“It was their fault,” you insisted. “You saved me, Nikolai. I owe you my life.”

“And I owe you mine,” he said. “So shall we call it even? No apologies necessary?”

You let out a soft laugh, followed by a grimace. “Even.”

Nikolai smiled and nodded. “Good.”

“…I’m tired,” you repeated, even softer this time.

“Rest, milaya,” Nikolai said. “I won’t leave your side.”

“You swear?”

“On every saint, new and old,” he said. “And every vlachka in the Lantsov coffers.”

He waited for your response, but there was nothing apart from your gentle, even breathing. He allowed a soft smile before he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

Nikolai would never let anyone hurt you again.

[sugarrrvenomm]

can u do a fic where the reader is obi-wans padawan…… perhaps where he has to punish her for something …….. :D

ummm this got away from me ,,, anyway enjoy ,, ⭐️🐰🫶🧸💌

♡ having anakin as a padawan made obi-wan sterner the second time around. but also … softer. 

♡ which is why his preferred method of keeping you in line is taking you over his knee

♡ hardly ever is it a “punishment” spanking, but that’s because his regularly scheduled “maintenance” spankings do the job just fine

♡ once a week, late at night, your master slinks to your quarters as the sun sets, telling anyone who asks that you’re meeting for meditation before bed. when he walks in, you are—sat on your knees atop a thin meditation mat like the good girl you are. he tells you as such, coming up behind you and petting a hand over your hair, “my good girl. are you centering yourself for me?”

♡ “yes, master.” you open your eyes and turn to look up at him, resting your head on his thigh and squirming in anticipation, even as his presence quiets your mind, turning your thoughts into a pleasing, low buzz of safety and arousal

♡ you weren’t sure when obi-wan’s hands on you became arousing. maybe they always had been. you just pray to the force he doesn’t notice. 

♡ “come now, padawan. let’s get you all sorted out.” he walks over to the singular place to sit in your meager padawan quarters—a soft, ottoman-like piece that’s just big enough for him. he pats his thigh and you stand up, going to him and standing between his spread legs. he reaches up, stroking your padawan braid between his fingers reverently before tugging gently so he can plant his lips on your forehead in a soothing gesture, before he’s cooing, “over my knee.”

♡you nod, and do as he says. you’re still clad in your robes, only missing your belt and boots. you’re so used to this that you no longer shake when you bend over, settling yourself over your masters lap with his help, your ass in the space between his legs and your fingers barely brushing the floor. he tugs up your tunics, just enough to expose your backside. never once has he gone as far to pull your leggings down, despite how you dream about it.

♡ before he begins, he rests a hand on the back of your thigh, squeezing once to signal he’s about to start. obi-wan tries not to be affected by the way your flesh pillows beneath his fingers through your pants. he doesn’t know when this started becoming arousing either, but he desperately wishes it would go back to when it wasn’t. you’re his padawan, for force’s sake.

♡ the sooner he gets it over with, the sooner he can return to his quarters and stand under the spray of his cold shower until he can’t feel a thing. so, he makes sure he’s got you secured, with one hand on your hip, then swings the other down in a swift crack against the meat of your ass. 

♡ “why am i doing this?”

♡ “to make me a better jedi, master,” you tell him, panting already.

♡ crack. another hit, on your other cheek. your pretty voice, combined with the way your ass ripples, has him gritting his teeth. “that’s right, padawan.” slap slap slap. you make a hurt little sound. “master does this because he cares about you. because he wants you to succeed.”

♡ you try to contain your noises, and curl your toes as the spanking continues. he’s not even hitting that hard, he never does, but it stings, and sends desperate lightning bolts of forbidden arousal to your pussy, which you can feel getting warm and wet between your legs. 

♡ your cute little ass won’t stop jiggling through your leggings, and he has to distract himself. he strikes you, over and over again, in quick enough succession that there’s no time for him to see the way your backside moves, and the sound of his slaps overpower your muffled whines. soon, the pain in his hand is threatening to take over the heat pooling in his gut. 

♡ what obi-wan doesn’t expect, is the way you react. you’re usually so well behaved during your spankings, so docile. now, you’re squirming in his hold, like you’re trying to get away from him. of course, he can’t possibly guess it’s because his flurry of strikes have gotten you feeling like you could come from nothing at all, like your cunt may start pulsing in orgasm any second now just from being spanked by your master. 

♡ “padawan,” he chastises, grabbing your hip even tighter and bringing his hand down. with the way you’re wriggling, it doesn’t land quite right, and hits dangerously close to your center. “what has gotten into you?” he grits out through his teeth as you kick your feet. you don’t seem to be reacting well to his strong-arming, so he settles his voice into a coo, even as he continues to spank you. “i need you to be good for me, little one. master can’t help you if you don’t let him.”

♡ his coddling only makes it worse. you thrash. “master,” you pout, and obi-wan cannot take it anymore. the irritation at your unusual outburst combines with his frustration at his own arousal and he growls, stopping his strikes only for a moment to grip the band of your leggings and tug, exposing your ass to him. your underwear are modest cotton, but pale pink—certainly not jedi issued. he’s truly lost it, because the only thing he can think to do in response to the obscenity of his own actions is to double down; slapping your exposed ass, and oh. this is is even worse. like this, he can see how his hand has already turned the skin pink like your panties.

♡ “master!” you cry out, sticking a hand behind you to block him, but he catches your wrist with his other hand. 

♡ “no,” obi-wan says, sternly as he can, slapping your ass again and feeling his cock throb in his pants. he might be harder than he’s ever been in his entire life. “you know i do this because i love you.”

♡ you make a sound he’s never heard before, and this time when you thrash your legs, he can’t help looking where your legs part, and your panties cup the part of you he’s been thinking about for far longer than is appropriate.

♡ “fuck,” he suddenly curses. there’s a damp spot. you’re wet. his padawans pussy is drooling in her panties, just for him. from him. from his spanking.

♡ he forgoes the spanking, for now, forgetting himself completely and gripping your thigh tight, spreading you wider so he can get a better look. “oh, darling. why didn’t you tell me?” finally, you settle, and now you just shake, unsure of his reaction. “are you all wet from your spanking?”

♡ crying out, tears pool in your eyes as you’re stuck between arousal and embarrassment. still, you only feel yourself get wetter.

♡ obi-wan’s breath comes out in a shudder, and he slides his big hand up your thigh, and touches the damp spot with his thumb, just barely. “does it ache?” you don’t answer, only mewling, and he pushes his thumb against you harder, feeling his cock drool sticky pre-come into his briefs. “tell me, padawan. what’s worse? the soreness of your ass, or the throbbing of your little cunt?”

♡ “obi-wan,” you moan, finally looking over your shoulder at him, eyes big and wet.

♡ your master pumps his hips up, and against your hip you feel him, rock hard and rubbing on you. “it’s okay, honey, you don’t have to be embarrassed. look how hard you’ve made me.

♡ you continue to squirm, sweating in your robes. “hurts.”

♡ “mm, i bet it does,” he hooks a finger under the side of your panties and tugs it, exposing more of your ass. “you’re so pink.” he lets it snap back into place, then smoothes his hand over your ass completely, going down until he’s fully cupping your center. “and i bet this pussy’s all messy too, huh? is your cute little clit all puffed up for me?” he moves his hand in a big, sweeping circle over the whole of you, and it shouldn’t be as stimulating as it is. he’s just teasing you, watching the way the damp spot blooms and spreads.

♡ “what should i do with you, padawan?”

♡you suck in a shuddering breath, and gather your nerves, “i—i—,” you sniffle, and he slides his hand under your tunics to rub your back. “i need you to make it better, master.”

♡ obi-wan groans, and uses all the control he has left to gently lift you off of him, and get you settled the way he wants, on your back. he tugs your leggings all the way down, but leaves your panties. for now. he hovers over you, taking off his tunics and exposing his muscled, hairy chest. you whine at the sight, and he chuckles. “patience,” obi-wan purrs, before tugging his own trousers down just enough to free his cock, tucking the waistband under his heavy balls.

♡ overwhelmed, you have no idea what do with all the desire running through you, or with the sight in front of you. your master coos, settling down over you, lowering until his big cock nestles in the space between your thighs, pressing against your panties and throbbing against your cunt. he barely moves his hips, but moans like he’s sinking inside of you.

♡ “are you a virgin?” he’s a bit disgusted with himself for asking, but he can’t stop.

♡ “uh-huh,” you nod, trying to hump back up along his big cock.

♡ “ugh,” he groans, “of course you are. my perfect little padawan. master’s the only one that gets to touch you, isn’t he?” you make the same little uh-huh sound, and obi-wan lowers his head into your neck, holding himself up with one hand now so he can reach between your bodies and pull your panties down enough for his fat cock to slide along your wet cunt. padawans cunt. my padawans little, wet, virgin pussy. 

♡“you’re perfect,” he mumbles into your neck, thrusting along you faster, breath hitching as he feels his leaking tip glide over your swollen clit. he brings his hand back up, and stuffs it under your tunics, until he’s cupping one of your breasts, squeezing it gently and rubbing his thumb over your nipple to hear the way you gasp.

♡ “master master master.” he covers you completely, and you’re drowning in the scent of him, so close that you can rub your nose along his neck and taste his sweat. “obi-wan,” you murmur as the tip of him nudges your entrance, “will you fuck me?”

♡ “oh, gods,” he pants, and fuck does he want to. he wants so terribly, so horribly, to sink his big cock in your pussy. no prep, no fingers, just the slick of how wet you are would be enough. he’d get so deep he’d knock your cervix, fucking right up against your womb until you were all swollen with his come like you should be.

♡ “i shouldn’t,” the reasonable part of him grits out, even as his hips pump faster and he imagines spreading you open, how cute you’d look as his come slides out of your used pussy, before he bends down to lap it up and suck on your clit until you squirt all over his face. “baby, honey, i can’t.”

♡ “please!” you beg, nudging your hips up and trying to catch the head of him at just the right angle to get his cock to sink in. “don’t you want to?”

♡ “padawan,” he hisses, letting go of your tits and bringing his hand back out to slap your thigh. “first, getting soaked from your master punishing you like a naughty little girl, and now begging him to fuck you? is that really what you want? for your master to take your virginity? you want master to own your cunt?”

♡ his words are too much, and you feel your pussy throb between your legs, pulsing as you’re sent over the edge by his voice and his weight and the thrust of his heavy cock against your soaked pussy and clit. it’s wordless, but you nearly scream, biting into his neck and bucking your hips to prolong the shaking of your legs.

♡ “fuck, fuck, oh, sweetheart, my pretty little padawan, let me feel that cunt throb, mess my cock just like that,” obi-wan stares down between your bodies, watching the wet pink of your pussy gliding along his cock, the sounds getting nastier and wetter and so fucking dirty it sends him right over the edge too, and your cute little pussy is getting painted white.

[katethewriter]

Kinda Like You

from the New Kid series

Summary: Natasha and New Kid find they have much more in common than they originally believed.

Words: 3.5k~

Pairing: Natasha x little!Reader - Wanda x little!Reader - Wandanat x little!Reader(platonic) - Steve Rogers x Reader(platonic) - WandaNat - Wanda x Natasha

Warnings: mentions of child abuse, neglect, abandonment, tough love from Steve, misguided frustrations

A/N: Who wants to learn more about New Kid's past? Well, that's what we're doing today! This chapter is very dialogue heavy, but they are information sharing so enjoy!

“Pick your battles New Kid,” Steve calls from the side of the mat.

Y/n and Peter have been sparring for the past twenty minutes under the watchful eyes of Captain America while a few others filtered in and out. Currently, Natasha and Tony stand nearby, observing quietly as the 12 and 15 year old fight.

Y/n struggles to break out of the hold that Peter has caught her in.

“Tap out, Y/n. If you had followed through with your swing, he wouldn’t have caught you in the first place,” Steve chastises, “yield and reset.”

 With a huff, Y/n taps Peter’s arm, and he releases her. The pair turn to face each other and go again.

The girl lunges for Peter. He is able to quickly dodge the attack and circle her. Before she can react, he has her in another hold. She does her best, but knows she is unable to break free. With a glance to the side, she spots Natasha and Tony whispering to each other. Skepticism clear in their faces.  

Y/n sighs and taps out again.

“You always have to be thinking about the next move,” Steve walks onto the mat, “expect he will dodge, be prepared and plan for it.” He looks at Peter and nods his head to the side of the mat. The teen walks off, leaving the super soldier and New Kid in the center of the mat. “Reset.”

The girl prepares to fight her instructor, taking a deep breath to focus before the fight.

Steve attacks first, swinging for Y/n’s shoulder. The girl ducks below his arm. As he steps through the swing, she circles him and lands a kick to his back. She reaches for his arm to twist it behind his back, but he turns. With a swipe of his leg, New Kid’s back hits the mat roughly. She grimaces at the pain coursing through her.

“Always watch your feet.”

Suddenly, a scoff can be heard from the other side of the room.

Y/n turns to see Natasha’s stern look and pursed lips. They lock eyes for only a moment before the red head shakes her head and turns to the door. Steve helps the girl to her feet, and she continues to watch the widow leave the gym.

Natasha hates her. She has to. Y/n’s sure of it. Every time the widow watches her train ends this way, with a look of disapproval and a fast exit.

 Actually, that is how many of their interactions end.

Natasha walks in while 12-year-old Y/n is learning mission tactics, she exits quickly.

The widow is dismantling a sniper when New Kid is given a tour of the weaponry. She can’t be more than 10. Natasha doesn’t even spare her a glance as she finishes her task.

She passes her in the gun range, she clenches her jaw and leaves silently with a full magazine.

It seems the only time Natasha can stand to be in the same room as New Kid is at mealtimes.

Y/n watches as the gym doors slide closed behind the retreating red head. She wonders what she did to make the woman hate her so and if there was anything she could do to fix it.

Suddenly an arm is entering her vision rapidly. She ducks just in time to miss Steve’s swing.

“Never take your eyes off your opponent.”

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

Wanda trails kisses from Natasha’s shoulder to her neck.

“Hey,” the widow chuckles and pulls away slightly, “I am trying to watch the movie.”

The two have been curled up in Wanda’s bed watching movies all day. They’ve been together for over a year, and they’ve learned to savor the little moments they are able to hide from the rest of the world.

Wanda pauses her kisses briefly, “oh come on, you’ve seen this movie a hundred times.”

“Then why did you pick it?” she asks incredulously.

“Because you’ve seen it a hundred times,” the cheeky Sokovian responds leaning up to press her lips to the Russian’s. This time, Natasha doesn’t pull away. She deepens the kiss as the movie goes forgotten.

They lay there, kissing gently, just happy to be in each other’s arms.

…..then there’s a knock on the door.

“Ignore it,” Natasha says quickly before continuing the kiss.

Wanda shakes her head and pulls away, “I can’t. It’s Y/n; she needs something.”

The widow furrows her brows, “how do you know?”

“Her little thoughts are very loud,” the witch smiles, “I can hear them whether I’m trying to or not.”

Wanda rolls out of the bed, and Natasha groans. She pauses the movie, while the younger woman opens the door to greet little Y/n.

From the hallway, Y/n looks up to Wanda with a small smile.

The witch crinkles her nose with a grin and lowers herself to be closer to eyelevel with the girl. “Why hello, sweet girl! To what do I owe this pleasure?” She ends the question with a gentle boop on the girl’s nose.

“Can you help me put this on?” Y/n asks quietly, holding a dress out to display, “I can’t reach the buttons.” She looks down sadly, trying to hide her gaze from the witch.

Wanda quickly lifts the girl’s chin, so she is looking at her again, “hey, it’s always ok to ask for help, mala(little one). I’d love to help you.”

She stands and opens the door further for Y/n to enter. They only make it three steps into the room before the girl spots Natasha sitting on the bed.

Y/n stands still under Natasha’s gaze. Obviously, she has interrupted something. She shouldn’t be here. She can’t ask for help in front of Natasha. Not when it is very clear that the assassin already doesn’t like her. She is overcome with a large wave of nervousness.

From the bed, Natasha watches Wanda welcome New Kid into the room. The sight of her hits the widow like a truck. It’s the youngest Natasha has ever seen Y/n drop.

Natasha smiles to the girl, “Hey New Kid.”

“Hi,” Y/n shifts on her feet uncomfortably, then looks up to Wanda.

The Sokovian smiles and ushers her to her connected bathroom. “Here,” she takes the child’s hand, “lets go in here to get you changed.”

The two of them slip into the bathroom leaving Natasha alone in the bedroom while Wanda helps Y/n change out of her current clothes and into the dress.

All alone, Natasha tries to think of why seeing Y/n had such an impact on her.

The girl looked to be about 6, definitely the youngest Natasha has ever seen her drop. After a minute of thinking it suddenly makes sense.

She reminds her of Yelena.

The bathroom door opens. The pair reenter the room and sure enough, Y/n looks about (if not exactly) the same age as her sister was right before they left Ohio.

The nostalgia brings a lump to Natasha’s throat. She’s able to fight it back, but that proved difficult. When she looks at the girl in front of her, all she can see is her sister. The sister she never saw again.

“Wow! I love your dress!” the redhead beams, “where’d you get a dress that pretty?”

Y/n stands shyly with her folded clothes in her arms, “Clint gave it to me.” Quickly, the little girl thanks Wanda and makes an escape from the room and the gaze of Natasha.

She’s gone before either of them can say anything.

“What happened?” Natasha asks.

Wanda can only shrug.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

“You should go ask Y/n if she wants to watch with us,” Wanda says from her spot on the couch.

Team movie night would be starting in about 30 minutes. Wanda always liked to be the first one there, so she could claim the “cuddliest couch” before anyone else. It also heightens her chances of being first to pick the movie.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Natasha looks at her girlfriend skeptically, “the movies we typically watch aren’t exactly age appropriate. We don’t want to give the kid nightmares.”

Wanda swipes the remote off the coffee table and smirks, “that’s why I will be picking the first movie. Besides, she’s not that little right now. Her thoughts aren’t loud enough.”

The widow sighs, “Why don’t you go get her? I’ll save your seat. She’ll most likely say yes to you. She’s scared of me.”

“She’s not scared of you-“

“We both saw how she was yesterday,” Natasha states, “she froze when I said hello. She’s terrified of me.”

Wanda reaches for her girlfriend’s hand, “she’s just timid and unsure. Once she warms up to you, you’ll see. She’s the sweetest kid. You just got to coax her out of her shell.” She kisses Natasha’s hand before pointing to the door.

“Go, it’ll be good for both of you.”

Natasha makes her way down the hallway until she reaches Y/n’s door. She knocks, but never gets a reply. After a minute, she knocks again, but still hears nothing.

She presses her ear to the door. A sniffle and a whimper float through the air. The widow pushes open the door and taps lightly, “Y/n?” She calls softly not to scare the girl. “You alright?” She pauses to wait for a response. “I’m coming in, ok?”

Natasha takes a cautious step into the room, and she has to pause for a second.

 Aside from the array of clothing Clint had given the girl, there is no sign that a child lives in this room. Maybe Y/n prefers it, but it just reminds Natasha of how she grew up in a place where she was punished for being a kid. Every child should have at least some toys, even one who turns back into an adult.

Natasha follows the sniffles that lead her to the bathroom door. “I can hear you crying. Is there something wrong?”

“Something I could help you with?” Natasha taps on the closed door, and it gives under the pressure.

The door slowly swings open and reveals Y/n standing in front of the mirror with red eyes and a brush in her hand. Her hair is tangled into a large mat near the back of her head. The look on Y/n’s face is all Natasha needs to know the poor thing has been trying to brush it out for who knows how long.

The girl sniffles, “I took a nap, and it was like this when I woke up.” Her lip quivers, “it won’t come out.”

The older woman smiles lightly, “may I?” She holds out her hand for the brush. The girl sighs defeatedly and relinquishes the brush. Natasha places her hands on the girl’s shoulders and squeezes comfortingly. She smiles to Y/n through the mirror and begins to silently brush her hair.

Its quiet again. The only sound passing between them is the brush gently dragging through Y/n’s hair.

Y/n looks into the mirror, watching the older woman intently. She feels small, smaller than she is now. Maybe it’s the widow’s intent focus on her hair or her gentle touch or the complete contrast to the woman’s previous demeanor around her, but whatever it is makes Y/n have to fight the urge to drop younger.

She was 7 when she took her nap, and 13 when she woke up in this dilemma. With how she’s feeling right now, there is no way she would be able to pick how small she dropped. So she just fights it until it fades.

Natasha’s soft touch is comforting her more and more with every pass of the brush. It soothes Y/n enough that she can break the silence.

“Why are you helping me?”

The older woman briefly connects eyes with Y/n through the mirror. She smiles and looks back to her work, “because we’re teammates. Teammates help each other.”

The girl chews on her lip, “but you don’t like me.”

Natasha comes to a complete halt, and she looks to Y/n again. Her face is mixed with confusion and concern, “that’s not true, myshka(little mouse). Why do you think that?” She places her hands on the girl’s shoulders in a way she hopes in comforting.

It does comfort Y/n some, but she still feels nervous to answer her. She knows she will have to eventually, so she might as well get it over with. “You don’t want me to be here. You’re always mad to see me.”

Natasha’s face floods with more confusion.

“You always leave whenever I’m around, like when I’m training, and I lose or when you see me in my lessons, especially weapons you get mad….” Y/n pauses looking up to Natasha with big doe eyes, “did I do something wrong?”

“No,” the widow quickly answers, “no myshka(little mouse), you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then why do you hate being around me?”

Natasha sighs and continues brushing out the tangles in Y/n’s hair. She understands why the little girl thinks what she thinks, and she knows why she is wrong. The misunderstanding is entirely her fault. She’s just not sure how to explain it to the girl.

She takes a deep breath to center her thoughts, “I don’t hate being around you. Sometimes I just get upset because you just remind me of my past.” She smiles sadly to the girl through the mirror. “I don’t know how much they’ve told you about me, but I grew up in a place that was not very good.”

“The Red Room,” Y/n states.

Natasha nods, “yes, that’s right. The Red Room was a very bad place. They took little girls from their families and trained them to be killers. They made us learn how to fight, how to follow someone, how to shoot, how to do all of it without being seen…. They even… they made us…they made us fight and kill each other.”

Once the widow is sure there are no more tangles in the girl’s hair, she parts it down the middle and begins braiding to keep her hands busy as she continues.

“I left that place because it turned little girls into weapons. I wanted to join a team that was actually trying to do good. Then I see cute little you training just like we did in the Red Room. The reason I get upset is because it makes me think that we’re no better than them.”

Natasha smiles into the mirror catching little eyes with her own, “that’s why I acted that way. It’s not your fault, myshka(little mouse). I’m so sorry I made you feel like it was or that I didn’t want you here.” She continues her braiding, “I think you’re gonna be good member of this team, once we get you ready.”

Y/n watches Natasha intently while she thinks of what to say, “you and me are kinda the same.”

Though she doesn’t look up from her braiding, the older woman is intrigued by the girl’s comment, “what do you mean?”

“I came from a bad place too,” Y/n explains, “now I’m here, so I can help people.”

“Where are you from?”

“Upstate,” the girl answers matter of factly. She’s not sure how much of her story she should tell. She trusts Natasha, especially after she just spoke of her own childhood. On the other hand, no one knows about how the girl grew up, not even Fury.

 Natasha hums, asking Y/n to continue.

“I was engineered,” the girl says as if she is saying ‘the sky is blue’.

The widow freezes, looking up to the girl in shock, “what?”

Y/n suddenly feels small again, but still she continues, “I was engineered in a test tube. Then I was transferred to an artificial womb until I was developed enough to live on my own.”

She twiddles her thumbs, unable to look up at the widow, “They were trying to make a shape shifter like you all thought I was. They tried to alter my DNA, but whatever they did, I think they did it too late. I already had too many cells with my normal DNA. I think that’s why I can only go back. All of me can shift except the cells that came from the ones from my conception.”

Hearing Y/n speak so maturely when she appears barely 13 throws Natasha for a bit. She has to remind herself that Y/n still has an adult brain in there.

“They kept me in their lab,” Y/n continues, “they would do these experiments on me. They would hurt sometimes, a lot of times. They kept trying to figure out where they went wrong. They were trying to fix me.”

Natasha clenches her jaw. She feels a rage she hasn’t felt in a very long time, and she makes a promise to herself that she will never let anyone harm this girl again.

The girl can sense the anger in the older woman, and it has her shrinking in on herself. “Are you mad?”

“Very.”

A breath catches in Y/n’s throat, and Natasha’s thoughts are pulled out of her anger to take in the girl in front of her. The fearful look has returned to Y/n’s face again. The widow kicks herself mentally.

“but not at you,” she reaches a hand out to pick up the girl’s chin, “myshka(little mouse), look at me please. I’m not mad at you. I promise.” She waits quietly until Y/n nods. Natasha smiles warmly, “Good girl. Now, I need you to tell me who had you? What agency?”

Y/n shakes her head, “there wasn’t an agency. It was just my parents… well, the scientists that called themselves my parents.”

“They lived somewhere else, away from the lab. They would go home at night and leave me in the lab.” The girl sighs heavily, “I never left the lab, until I escaped when I was 14. One night after they went home, I broke out of my room. I grabbed as many files about me I could find, and then I left.”

“…and you’ve been on your own since then?”

Y/n nods, “but now I’m here, and you’re gonna teach me how to help people right?” This time Natasha is the one to nod. The girl smiles, “then this much better than the Red Room, and you all are much better than my parents.”

Her words bloom a sense of calmness in Natasha’s chest. She’s just about done with the second braid.

“You know you’re lucky,” the older woman plays with the baby hairs at the base of the girl’s head. She tickles her there until she gets a giggle, “we may not have had good childhoods, but you get a second chance to be a kid.”

Y/n looks up, entirely enraptured by Natasha’s words.

“Not many of us have that chance.” In this moment, the widow can feel a soft spot in her heart that wasn’t there before. A spot that now belongs to Y/n, “its ok to be little around us. I know you’re an adult, but its ok to be a kid. We want you here either way. Definitely me, Wanda and Clint, the rest of them team hasn’t quite caught up yet, but they’re on their way, trust me. You don’t have to hide in your room anymore. Ok?”

Y/n nods with a large grin. She has a new understanding of Natasha. She especially can feel the start of a new friendship. Its hard to believe that just a month or so ago she had no one, no friends. Now, she has three and hopefully more to come.

Being caught stealing by the Avengers might just be the best thing that has ever happened before.

“All done,” Natasha says while she wraps a hair tie to the end of the second braid. She lays the braid down the girl’s shoulder, “what do you think?”

Y/n takes in the sight of her two French braid pigtails and smiles widely. She looks up to the widow who sports her signature one French braid, and she smiles even wider. “Hey, I look kinda like you!”

Natasha chuckles, “yeah, you do New Kid.” She rests her hands on the girl’s shoulders, “there’s about to be a movie night in about 5 minutes, would you like to join us?” She steps into the doorway, outstretching a hand for Y/n to take.

The girl happily takes her hand and follows her lead. As they walk through the halls, their hands swing lightly in between them.

"If you'd like," Natasha proposes, "I could train with you sometime. I'm a much better fighter than Steve anyway." She playfully nudges the girl's side. "I could teach you how to kick his butt."

Y/n smirks, "I think I'd like that."

"Me too."

When the two of them enter the common area hand in hand, they receive more than a few confused glances from the team, except for Wanda who just looks ecstatic. They take their seats. Natasha sits on the couch with Wanda, and New Kid claims the chair nearby.

As the widow settles into her girlfriend’s side, she whispers in Wanda’s ear, “you were right.”

The witch gives her a quizzical look.

“She really is the sweetest kid.”

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

A few days later, and New Kid is already doing better. She’s coming out of her room more. She almost always gravitates towards Wanda or Natasha, which is fine by them. Each little interaction with a team member outside of training is making her feel a tiny bit more comfortable around the compound.

It’s not all that much, but a little progress is still progress.

One morning, Y/n opens her door to go to breakfast and nearly steps on a teddy bear sitting in the hallway. The sight of the toy has her itching to drop, but she’s dropped enough recently to control it. She remains her true age as she picks up the bear. Attached to the toy is a note with her name on it.

She fondly holds the bear tight to her chest as she reads the message.

Y/n, Just a reminder that its ok to be a kid. Its ok to want to do kid things. When I was in the Red Room, I wished I had a teddy bear even though toys were strictly forbidden. I thought you might like one too. Since, I’m kinda like you. -Natasha

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think down in the comments below. Also, if you have any ideas for what you would want to read, let me know!

As always, thank you so much for reading and for all your support. Much love!

-k

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Taglist: @battleg03 @thelittlewolfofaretuza @emiivey @dylanobriens-love @madelineleong @sluttyforfemaleavengers @santana1437 @thatonementallyillsimp @oliveoilpenguiny @you-are-beautifully-gorgeous @charcharslide-3 @anon1412 @universallypoetrycheesecake @mary-jinx @princess-kennys-rats @marvel-fan-2021 @ameeelia07 @kneelforloki @ornorr @prettysbliss @nattyolw @yukonasf @thursdayygrrrl @rach2602@ace-of-gay @casualbisexualfroggo @nyctophiliacatcher @ripofflizzie @chrisevansangel @randomnessbecausewhynot @lizlil @uselessastheginlasagnaa @m-h-r-h

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[fairyniceyeah]

⌛🐿️🧸 Day 16: Toxin/Poison

@sicktember

Summary: “Are you feeling okay, Jongho?” Jongho wondered what prompted the question. Hadn’t he just established that he was fine and enjoying the tour a lot?

CW: emeto, diarrhea in the context of illness

Sickie(s): Hongjoong + Jongho  Caretaker(s): Seonghwa + Yeosang

“Are you feeling okay, Jongho?”, Hongjoong asked as they entered the hotel again.

As tradition dictated Hongjoong would invite a member to dinner each week in order to give them some captain-member bonding time and the possibility to just speak as two individuals not members of the same group. It was greatly appreciated by all of them and tradition was never broken - not even on tours. So Jongho counted himself very lucky that it was his week when they were in LA of all places and Hongjoong had chosen a really good seafood restaurant.

Jongho wondered what prompted the question. Hadn’t he just established that he was fine and enjoying the tour a lot?

“I’m fine, hyung”, he replied, “just tired. You know how it is.”

“That is true”, Hongjoong said, interrupting himself half-way through the sentence with a yawn. “Well, see you tomorrow, I guess. Sleep well, good night.” 

“Good night, hyung. Rest”, Jongho replied and trudged to the next room, the one he shared with Seonghwa. For a moment he watched as Hongjoong fumbled with the keycard reader, the captain known for losing his card or generally always having issues with it, but he got into the room he shared with Yeosang easily. Jongho waved and entered his room.

Seonghwa was sitting on his bed, freshly showered and hair still dripping a bit, reading on his phone. 

“Hey, Jongho-yah, how was dinner?”

“Very good”, Jongho said, “you done in the bathroom? I want to take a shower too.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Once Jongho had cleaned up himself he fell into bed easily. He was exhausted, so much was true. Concert tours were always draining, like he had told Hongjoong earlier. Going to sleep early wasn’t a luxury they had on most days and so, after talking quietly with his oldest hyung for a bit, Jongho dropped off into sleep easily.

⌛

Sleep didn’t hold for long. A glance on his phone revealed that it was only two hours he had slept. As he became more aware he noticed that Seonghwa was talking rapidly on the phone with somebody. 

Jongho was about to tell his hyung where he could stick the device in the middle of the night, when Seonghwa ended the call with a concerned: “Don’t worry, Sang-ah. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Wha’ ‘s go’n on?”, Jongho slurred, body more asleep than brain.

“Hongjoong isn’t feeling well, Yeosang just called me”, Seonghwa explained, running his hand through his hair, silhouette barely visible in the low light coming in through the curtains. “I’m gonna go see how I can help. Go back to sleep.”

“Hm, okay”, Jongho said, turning onto his other side. Maybe he should be a bit more worried about his captain and hyung but as he had pointed out earlier, tours were draining. He was so tired and he certainly didn’t want to get up if Seonghwa and Yeosang had it under control. 

Seonghwa slipped out of the room soon after and Jongho tried to fall back asleep. Now, however, as the opportunity presented itself, he couldn’t. He was so hot. Sweat was making the sheets cling to his body. Damn him for drawing Seonghwa as his roommate - his mat-hyung was a cool roommate normally but he was well known for liking warm temperatures. Why had he turned the A/C off? They were in California after all. 

The maknae fumbled a bit to stick his legs out under the blanket, hoping that like turning his pillow around, it would cool him down. It did. He shivered. Great. He just wanted to be comfortable, damn it.

Jongho had nearly fallen back asleep, already barely awake, when the door opened again.

“Hyung?”, Jongho asked.

“Hi, Jongho-yah”, Yeosang greeted with a sigh, “sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay”, Jongho assured him, now wide-awake again, and turned onto his back. “I wasn’t asleep, I think. What are you doing here? How is hyung?”

“Hongjoong-hyung said he felt nauseous earlier and went to sit in the bathroom just in case. He really didn’t look good, I have never seen him that pale. Told me to stay away and wouldn’t let me come in or call anybody for help”, Yeosang explained, sounding exhausted. “Next thing I know I am waking up to the lovely sound of puking. He refused to let me in, so I called Hwa-hyung to deal with him.”

“Oh, damn.” Illnesses on tours were always the worst. Jongho still had vivid nightmares of the time Yunho had the stomach flu in Madrid. That had not been fun at all with the heat, the older feeling like he had been dying. Jongho had been quarantined with his then-roommate, trying to help him and yet wishing he was with all the other members chilling at the pool during the day. He wished that fate on nobody, least of all on his hard-working captain.

“Yeah. Are you feeling okay? You were out eating with him, if this is food poisoning…”

Oh, please. No. It would however explain why Hongjoong had asked earlier how Jongho was feeling. Maybe he had already been feeling off back then. Jongho didn’t though, so he was fine.

Jongho felt fine, didn’t he? A bit hot but that was to be expected if one shared rooms with Park Seonghwa.

“I feel fine”, he assured Yeosang. 

“That’s good”.

Considering the time of day (or well, night), Yeosang slipped under the covers of Seonghwa’s bed and just fell back asleep. Jongho was a bit envious. He had now been awake for over half-an-hour and he was so exhausted. Yet sleep didn’t come.

Now that he wasn’t distracted by talking with his hyungs, Jongho was for the first time realizing that the A/C was indeed whirring in the warm room and considering how Yeosang, who like Jongho liked it cool, had still buried himself under the blankets he started to assume that maybe the room was indeed cold.

With the realization also came the first agonizing cramp in his stomach that had the maknae nearly whimpering in pain. He curled into himself, pressing his hands to his aching abdomen. It hurt so badly, leaving him breathless. He tried to breathe through the pain anyways, but it didn’t do much.

It was then that Jongho started to wonder if maybe he was experiencing food poisoning, considering that Hongjoong was sick as well. It would make a sick (pun not intended) form of sense. God, he hoped not.

Yet, as if understanding the situation gave his stomach permission to worsen everything, he felt a pressure deep down that he did not ever want to experience. His brow slick with sweat, Jongho groaned, cursing their food choices. Then, a wave of nausea hit, nearly making him throw up then and there.

Jongho barely had any time to wonder if the pain and his messed up bowels were causing the nausea or if he was nauseous from the food itself, before he had to fling himself from the bed and rush to the bathroom.

Though he was embarrassed knowing that Yeosang would be able to hear everything if he woke up (the hotel was fancy, the sound-proofing was not), he had no time to lose or any caution for silence to spare.

He barely managed to close the bathroom door behind himself and sit down on the toilet before everything decided to leave him at once. Jongho quickly had to understand that his nausea did indeed come from an upset stomach and not just the pain. He felt himself sweat badly, body expelling itself violently and loudly. Yet Jongho didn’t have the time to feel embarrassed before his stomach decided that down was not the only way his food wanted to come out.

Jongho gagged violently, leaning over sideways to throw up in the bathtub that was luckily directly next to the toilet. His stomach cramped anew at the terrible position he was in but at least he wasn’t throwing up on the floor. 

It was truly disgusting, seeing the waves of pale yellow and chunky vomit splatter onto the previously clean porcelain. Honestly, all of Jongho felt disgusting. 

To make matters worse, there was a knock on the bathroom door and then Yeosang’s voice asking if he could come in.

If he didn’t die of this illness Jongho was sure he was going to die of humiliation.

“No”, he yelled between gags, hoping his hyung would respect his wishes. He didn’t think he could ever look Yeosang into the eyes again, if he saw Jongho this way: Pale and sweaty on the toilet, his body evacuating from both ends at the same time. No, he would not survive that.

“If you need help, yell”, Yeosang said and hopefully left to go somewhere far away. Deep down, Jongho knew that Yeosang would never leave when his maknae was this obviously, this violently sick, but he could dream.

Another wave of vomit splashed into the disgusting puddle in the tub but then luckily it stopped. Everything stopped. All Jongho was left with was awful cramps and a still very nauseous feeling in his stomach. Plus a very terrible clean-up.

Just standing up was a problem, his abused stomach muscles hurting and pulling at every movement. In the end, Jongho barely managed to clean himself up, flush and wash out the tub with water. Though he didn’t want to face Yeosang, he knew he had no choice. All he wanted was to sleep this off.

When he exited the bathroom, he saw Yeosang sitting crosslegged on Seonghwa’s bed, typing or playing on his phone. He looked up as he heard the hesitant steps coming towards the second bed, mustering Jongho up and down. 

“How are you feeling?”, the dancer asked, his tone carefully void of emotion. Jongho had expected him to sound a bit more worried, if he was honest, and even if he didn’t want any fuss it was suddenly weird. He flushed, looking down.

“Awful. My stomach really hurts”, he admitted, curling into himself.

“I can imagine”, Yeosang mumbled and stood up, reaching up to feel Jongho’s forehead. “You’re really clammy.” And then. “You said you were fine.”

“Cleary I lied”, Jongho snapped. He was in pain and sick and confused and whatever game Yeosang was playing he was rapidly losing.

Yeosang sighed, moving his hand to Jongho’s nape.

“Sorry”, he apologized, “I’m so worried about you, maknae-yah. Why didn’t you say you felt sick too, especially after it was clear that hyung was unwell?”

“It all happened so quickly. I’m sorry.”

⌛

Earlier:

“Sorry, I didn’t know what else to do”, Yeosang said, wringing his hands. “He told me to go to bed but I was on my phone and I got worried when he didn’t come out, so I asked if he was okay. He said he was really nauseous and wanted to stay in the bathroom just in case but he didn’t want my help but now he is throwing up and …”

“Breathe”, Seonghwa interrupted the rambling, wrapping his arms around his shaking dongsaeng. “I got him. Joongie is probably not keen on anybody seeing him like this anyways.”

“You’re probably the only one who can get through to Hongjoong-hyung at this point”, Yeosang admitted, gesturing helplessly at the closed bathroom door.

“Go sleep in my bed”, Seonghwa suggested, running his hand through his hair, “no use in staying awake here.”

“I will. Thanks, hyung”, Yeosang replied, “I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more help.”

“You called me, that’s help enough”, Seonghwa assured, “if Jongho is still awake, ask him how he feels, please. I’m not sure if I want this to be food poisoning but that’s better than a stomach bug.”

“Yes, hyung.”

Once Yeosang had left, Seonghwa dared knock on the bathroom door. “Joongie? It’s me. Can I come in?”

“Hwa?”, Hongjoong asked, his voice raspy. Likely from getting sick, Seonghwa mused. He really didn’t sound good. “I…”

Hongjoong stopped talking then and for a moment Seonghwa was incredibly worried but then the lock turned. When Seonghwa opened the door, he found Hongjoong curled up on the floor, only a towel keeping him from laying on the tiles. The stench of vomit nearly made Seonghwa gag but he knew he needed to focus on Hongjoong.

The captain was incredibly pale and there was vomit drying around his mouth and on the toilet seat. Seonghwa wouldn’t be surprised if anybody looked up the definition of sick and found a picture of the young rapper there. 

“Hey there”, he whispered, kneeling down by Hongjoong’s side, brushing hair out of his face. He suppressed a shudder as he realized that Hongjoong even had vomit caking in his hair. The poor man was really sick.

“Hwa”, Hongjoong repeated his hyung’s name, moving one hand from the tight grip he had on his stomach to reach out for him. Seonghwa grasped his hand gently, knowing that any disgust he felt was nothing in comparison to how awful Hongjoong must be feeling. There were deep lines of pain on his face. “Jongho-yah … is he okay?”

How typical, always worried about the maknae - or any other member than himself - first. 

“I’m more worried about you right now”, Seonghwa said, “if Jongho is sick, which I didn’t notice when I just spoke to him, he has Sangie with him. Do you wanna get cleaned up?”

“Not sure if that would make a difference right now”, Hongjoong muttered bitterly.

“Feeling nauseous again?”

“Never stopped.” Hongjoong moaned in pain. “But yeah, uh … help me up?”

In one swift motion Seonghwa managed to hold Hongjoong over the toilet just in time for a wave of vomit to spill into the murky water below. Clearly Hongjoong had been too ill to even flush.

Hongjoong seemed to be mostly empty, barely anything coming up. He shook violently in Seonghwa’s arms and the older was sure he would be crying if he could produce tears.

Seonghwa tore a bit of toilet paper off, wiping Hongjoong’s mouth, then taking new pieces to wipe his whole face. Gently he leaned Hongjoong against the tub, where the leader pulled his knees to his chest, hugging himself. 

“Let me just clean up a bit, okay?”, Seonghwa explained. “Then we can see about getting you back to bed with a bucket.”

Hongjoong nodded tiredly.

Seonghwa had barely managed to clean the splatters of puke from the seat and thrown the paper into the toilet to be flushed with everything else, when Hongjoong whimpered in pain. As he turned around, the oldest saw the deep pain on his face and the way Hongjoong was fighting against the cramps assaulting him.

“Are you …?”

“Get out!”, Hongjoong pressed out, teeth clenched.

“What?”

“Out.”

Understanding dawned on Seonghwa and he rushed out, not wanting to make Hongjoong feel any more humiliated than he probably already did.

He blocked out the sounds of Hongjoong facing a very different problem now and texted Hongjoong’s manager. Considering how sick Hongjoong was, they would need medicine or a doctor soon. Then he texted Yeosang asking for updates, receiving an immediate reply:

Maknae is sick too.

Shit. Great.

“Hyung?”, Hongjoong called weakly. Seonghwa felt his heart break - Hongjoong only called him hyung when he was feeling particularly vulnerable and in need of comfort. “Can you bring me new pajamas?”

“Sure”, he called back, feeling awful for the younger. He didn’t want to imagine how embarrassed Hongjoong must have been to ask the question.

He grabbed a pair of comfy clothes from Hongjoong’s suitcase and knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Hongjoong had wrapped a towel around his lower self, shaking in the cold. His trousers lay abandoned, wet from a poor attempt at cleaning, in the tub.

Seonghwa rushed over to Hongjoong, handing the fresh clothes over, looking away but holding onto Hongjoong’s shoulder to help his balance as he changed.

“I’m sorry”, Hongjoong whimpered once he was changed.

Seonghwa shook his head and pulled him against his chest, feeling Hongjoong take shuddering breaths. “There is nothing to be sorry about. You’re sick.”

“I mean, I … Hwa, I’m dizzy.” Hongjoong interrupted himself, a wave of panic in his voice and clutching Seonghwa's shirt frantically.

Seonghwa held him more tightly, knowing that Hongjoong was prone to fainting and that the best way to help him was to lie down flat. But it was too late. As he laid Hongjoong on his back, feet propped up against the tub, the captain’s eyes fluttered shut and he went limp.

They needed a doctor now.

⌛

Now:

Their conversation was interrupted as Yeosang’s phone began to ring. Jongho managed to catch a glimpse of Hongjoong’s manager’s name before Yeosang lifted the phone to his ear.

“Yes. Yes. Yes, alright. Be there soon.” Yeosang hung up.

“Hongjoong-hyung fainted. They are taking him to the ER to get some meds and fluids. The manager wants you to go too before anything happens.”

Jongho felt his eyes fill with tears against his will. He didn’t want to go to the hospital. All he wanted was sleep. But he knew to not challenge a manager’s decision in the middle of the night, especially since he had no good defense for himself. So he just nodded, resigned.

“It’s probably for the better”, Yeosang comforted, wrapping the overwhelmed maknae in his arms. “You’ll feel better with some fluids and meds.”

The ride to the ER was more than unpleasant. Jongho had given up on sitting straight within a minute and had slumped into Yeosang’s side. The only thing that kept the maknae sane was his hyung’s embrace, he was sure otherwise he would have freaked out with his symptoms in an enclosed space with no bathroom near.

Hongjoong, while he had woken up, was incredibly sluggish. He was laying stretched out in the backseat, head on Seonghwa’s lap. 

By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Jongho was in extreme pain again, holding back barely an option. Yeosang pulled him into the building and to the nearest bathroom with only seconds to spare. Red-faced and humiliated in Jongho’s case and very worried in Yeosang’s, they reunited with the manager twenty minutes later.

“They already took Joongie to a room to give him meds and fluids”, the manager explained, sighing. “Seonghwa-yah is with him. I’m going to get a nurse, you’ll be admitted too, Jongho-yah.”

Jongho bit his lip, turning his face into Yeosang’s shoulder to hide. He didn’t want to be prodded by nurses and doctor’s all night, he just wanted to sleep. He didn’t know how to deal with the situation anymore but cry in his hyung’s arms.

“Do they know what is wrong?”, he heard Yeosang ask. The older was tenderly stroking Jongho’s hair, seemingly very aware that he was the only thing keeping the maknae from breaking down.

“Diarrhetic shellfish poisoning”, the manager replied, “apparently they have been getting cases all evening and night. A batch at the seafood restaurant they were at must have accidentally been contaminated.”

That was when the tears started to flow.

⌛

Getting an IV took ages, despite a doctor being available immediately after the manager had gotten a nurse. They had led Jongho into a private waiting room but with the overwhelming situation, Jongho was barely able to sit still for longer than a few minutes before having to rush back to a bathroom. With how badly he was dehydrated it was difficult to find a vein for the IV.

It hurt and Jongho had given up on being embarrassed by the time he was crying on Yeosang’s lap while the young doctor carefully spoke to him while placing the IV, chatting to keep Jongho distracted. 

By the time Jongho was wheeled into a private hospital room, hiding his face in the pillows and clutching Yeosang’s hand as the bed he was laying on was pushed through the vast hospital halls, Jongho felt emotionally numb.

He looked up when he felt another familiar hand hold his other one in theirs.

“Hwa-hyung?”, Jongho asked quietly, blinking up at their eldest. His brain was too foggy to even question why Seonghwa was suddenly there.

“Hi, baby”, Seonghwa greeted him, placing a kiss against Jongho’s forehead. Normally Jongho would have hated it but right now it was the most comforting feeling ever. “How are you feeling?”

“Awful”, Jongho whispered, “tired.”

“Sleep.”

⌛

Hongjoong couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this sore when he woke up. His stomach hurt and his head was pounding in time with his heart. 

“Good morning, Hongjoong-ssi”, a woman’s voice greeted him. He blinked open his eyes, wincing at the bright light, to look up to what appeared to be a nurse. “My name is Nali, I’m a nurse here.”

Hongjoong was still incredibly sleepy, his head filled with what felt like cotton, so he was glad the nurse was speaking Korean. They were in LA, weren’t they? He truly was in luck, except for, you know, the whole hospital thing.

“Good morning. Where are …?”

“Your manager drove your friends back to the hotel, he should be back soon”, the nurse explained, “Jongho-ssi is asleep next to you.” She gestured to the other side of the room where Hongjoong could spot his maknae curled up under the covers, face slack in sleep and still very pale.

“How is he? What…?”

“You’re both still a bit dehydrated and might experience some slight nausea and diarrhea the next few days”, the nurse explained. “Let me take your vitals and then we can see about waking Jongho-ssi up.”

Numbly, Hongjoong nodded. The nurse seemed happy enough with his vitals, blood pressure a bit low but not as bad as he had experienced in the past. Indeed did he feel a bit nauseous still and he was glad for the kidney dish resting on the bedside table even though he didn’t feel like he would be sick in the close future.

“Can I wake Jongho-yah?”, Hongjoong asked just before the nurse turned to the still knocked-out maknae. “He isn’t really a fan of strangers … no offense.”

“No, of course. Go ahead. Just take it slow.”

Hongjoong slowly sat up, breathing through the slight vertigo he felt. He slipped down from the bed and, clutching the IV stand for support, wobbled over to Jongho. He was grateful for the chair at his bedside, sinking into it with a sigh. He was much more exhausted than he would have imagined from the barely five steps he had taken. 

“Maknae-yah”, he whispered, “wake up, baby.” He ran his hand over Jongho’s upper arm, hoping the stimulation would help. Jongho looked so young in his sleep and yet, so exhausted. 

It took some time until he woke up but then Jongho mumbled a sleepy: “Hyung?”

“Hey”, Hongjoong replied, “try to wake up a bit, hm? You’re in the hospital and a nice nurse wants to take your vitals.”

Jongho yawned and slowly opened his eyes. 

Hongjoong gestured at the nurse to start looking him over. If they waited until Jongho was really awake, they might sit there awhile. He always needed a bit extra help waking up when he was not feeling well.

By the time Jongho seemed truly able to understand where he was, the nurse was mostly done.

“What happened?”, Jongho asked, sounding painfully confused, “I remember feeling awful but … where are Sangie-hyung and Hwa-hyung? Aren’t you also sick, Joong-hyung?”

“Manager-hyung drove them back to the hotel”, Hongjoong explained patiently, intertwining their hands, “I feel much better than last night. How about you?”

“My stomach hurts”, Jongho mumbled, “what made us this sick?”

Right, that Hongjoong didn’t know yet either. He turned to the nurse expectantly.

“You both have Diarrhetic Shellfish poisoning. A seafood restaurant uptown apparently got a tainted batch.”

Hongjoong felt horror was over himself. He had chosen the restaurant.

“God, I’m so sorry, Jongho-yah”, he apologized, feeling even more terrible as he saw how long it took the younger one to puzzle the information together.

“Not your fault”, Jongho finally said, “you didn’t know and the food tasted good. I thought you chose it very well.”

“He’s right”, the nurse said, “nobody could have known. The restaurant didn’t either until the first cases started to come in. Just focus on resting. Do you want help getting back to your own bed?”

Hongjoong was about to nod, knowing he was never going to make it on his own, but then Jongho scooted a bit away from him. “Stay, hyung. Cuddles.”

It was so un-Jongho-like that Hongjoong for a moment wondered if he wasn’t hallucinating it all, but the honest and yearning look in Jongho’s eyes decided for him. Jongho hated hospitals and strangers and sickness, and Hongjoong couldn’t fault him for wanting to be close to his hyung when he was still obviously feeling so bad.

So, until the manager came back with Yunho and San to take them home, Hongjoong and Jongho stayed cuddled up on the bed together asleep, the maknae resting his head on his hyung’s chest. 

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Sicktember 2024

[peachysunrize]

- 🧸

https://www.tumblr.com/peachysunrize/760788857619906560/a-little-treasure-from-months-ago-i-found-in-my?source=share

i seriously didn't realise that mating press (not matting! i type too fast...) w/ the girl on top was Amazon position and now i've just repeated myself and look silly! mind you i wrote this note down back in like July or August so i too, also had to research what some of these positions were because i ended up forgetting after I sent in my tho(ugh)t...

also, "(more like his face into boobs—)" for the 🪷 position has me 💥🤛 on the table, making me all blushed x because i'd LOVE for him to just squish his face into me so badly... like? maybe even reader cradling his head into her chest and letting him suck, squeeze and play with them and don't even get me STARTED when she's breastfeeding because of the latest birth of their child they've had together... not only would Aemond be pussy–drunk but breastmilk too <3

i've also been thinking... of Osferth and Aemond, now i'm not sure if you write let alone mention Osferth at all on your blog but all I can think of is the stark contrast between him and Aemond's sex lives and how that'd resonate with their personalities if they were to meet for the first time (which wouldn't EVER happen but it doesn't hurt to dream...)

AND finally, i know we've *touched* on this but instead of reader acting like a schlutt for Aemond, she's just outright ♪ promiscuous girl ♪ like pulling him into empty hallways, tugging + pulling at his silvery hair, hiking up her skirts, trailing kisses over Aemond when in front of people (like Ser Crispy Cole, maybe the 'lickspittle' kingsguard Aegon got etc...) sucking at her cutlerly while looking at him, fingering herself or humping *his* pillow just for Aemond to find her (it's 'totally' accidental 🤭...) reading smutty tomes in front of him (they've got to have some €orn books back then...) then asking him to read out specific passages to her, like Alicent: wearing knee–high stockings which are *so* on display, shoving her tongue down his throat, being the first to initiate, inviting herself into council meetings just to plant herself on his lap... grind a bit to keep him on edge WHO SAID THAT!?

pssst! the baby making plans?.. he'd be babbling after coming *so* many times, trying to fill reader to the brim with his royal seed and he's so spent but he needs to make sure it 'takes' so he's lazily bucking into her now at an agonizingly slow pace and he's so sensitive that he'll spurt just after a few thrusts because they've been at it now for what, 2 hours?.. and it looks like he'll be needing that pillow that's situated underneath reader's hips in a minute

I. WANT. AEMOND. TO. SUCK. ON. MY. TITIES.

Because fucking GOD having him in that position?? Letting him suck on full breasts??? While I ride him?? AND HE IS JUST MOANING AND WHIMPERING????💳💳💳💥💥💥💳💥

Ohhhhhhhhaizhaoa AEMOND FINDING READER HUMPING HIS PILLOW WITH ONLY HIS UNDERSHIRT ON IS SOOOO HOT like it’s the ultimatum that I’m yours you sad pathetic mew mew prince now watch what I can do AND HE IS JUST STARING AT HER WITH A HARD ON

I haven’t watched TLK butttt I’ve read some poly!Aemond with Osferth by @anjelicawrites BANGERS LIKE REALLLLL BANGERS!!! You should definitely check those out!!!! I’ll join the Osferth thots soon after I watch the show<333

But omg you’re sooooo right about Aemond BABBLING after coming sooo many times:((((( he’s like why is it dripping out of you? And he pushes his cum back with a pout while he is horribly pussy drunkw sousosjaiajaian

[offside-the-lines]

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier | Ep 5. Evie's Birthday

This is a completed series! Read Full Fic | 🧸 Series Cover Page/Masterlist 🧁 | 🎵 Playlist 🎶 << Previous Episode || Ep 5 || Next Episode >>

Chapter Summary: Sometimes the music moves you. Sometimes the bass pounding in your chest makes you do things you wouldn’t do. Fuck it, it’s your birthday. That’s what Evie tells herself anyway. There are gifts given, but there are also secrets kept.

A/N: You can refer to cover page for the series summary, author's notes, tropes, general warnings and other fun tidbits. This series contains mature themes. Minors DNI. Warning: mature content in the form of very sensual dancing, alcohol consumption. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team.

Word count: 5.6k // 44.5k

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Evie’s Birthday

Tito — April 5

His conversation with Mat ran on a loop in his head; he had not thought about anything else for the last four days. Not on the flight back from New York. Not when he quietly crept into their— her bed. Not when he blankly stared at Instagram, rubbing her ankle that she had perched in his lap as she worked on her book. Not when they were cooking dinner together, working in practiced harmony. Not when she was cuddled up next to him on the couch, watching TV. 

He could barely stop thinking about it during training, so distracted that he was missing passes and fumbling drills.

He curses Mat over and over again in his head for forcing him to think about the what-ifs. He curses Mat for making him question everything they do together and whether it’s just friendly. He curses Mat for making him look for signs in everything Evie did, any changes that might mean she may no longer think of him as just a friend.

Tito sighs, looking at the bartender pouring his drinks.

He should be careful not to drink too much; he has a back-to-back to play this weekend. 

Tito downs both of the shots he ordered anyway. 

PRYSM is a massive club filled to the brim with people on a Friday night. But no matter how crowded it is, when he walks back to the dancefloor, his eyes find her immediately. Tito can’t help that his eyes have been following Evie all evening as she dances with her friends; the way her body moves, so confident and carefree. 

She looks happy. Tito’s glad that he decided to come to Evie’s birthday party despite his game tomorrow because he gets to see her look like this. 

He stands to the side of the dancefloor, not ready to be pulled into her orbit again. She’s got her head thrown back, laughing easily at something Kelsey was saying. He thinks about the Evie he met on Christmas morning; she looks so much lighter now. It all but confirms for him what he has been thinking: he can’t tell her. 

It would be selfish of him to tell her right as she’s starting to feel at home in Chicago, not after knowing how hard it was for her the first few months, how hard it was for her to feel like she belonged. But, here she is, with a small crowd of her friends, a mix of work friends, other writer friends, and even some of the couples from the team.

His thoughts are interrupted as he watches a man come up to her, whispering in her ear. He feels his guts twist and the vodka in his stomach taunting him. 

Fuck— that’s new.

It feels like torture, but he can’t look away, even as they start dancing, moving closer together. The man’s hands are on her body— fuck. Tito’s thankful for the dulling blur of the vodka seeping into his mind. He thinks about just leaving for the briefest of seconds before he catches himself. 

He’s only got sixteen more days with her. And he's not going to waste it on stupid, selfish jealousy. He made his choice, and he’s going to deal with the consequences. So, if that means being her wingman and feeling the pieces of his heart get torn out of his chest, it’ll be worth it for just a little more time.

Fifteen days and seven hours. The guilt rises in the back of his throat like bile; he still hasn’t told her he booked his flight. He swallows that down, too. Not on her birthday. He’s not going to ruin her birthday by making it about him.

Across the dancefloor, Evie’s eyes snap to him, and he has to breathe through the litany of emotions that bubble to the surface when she smiles so brightly at him. Having spotted him, she starts to push through the crowd towards him, her dancing partner forgotten. A small— evil— part of him rejoices.

“Tito! Oh my god, hey! Where the hell did you go? You were gone for fucking ages!”

“Bathroom, remember?”

She leans in close to his ear, her voice a low growl, “What? Were you getting a handy in there?”

He swallows and squeaks out, “What?”

She throws her head back and laughs, leaning into him, her hands landing on his chest. “You were in the bathroom for so long! I missed you.”

She beams up at him, and he fights the clench in his chest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone for that long.”

She pulls away and studies his face, her eyes glistening in the club lights. “Hang on a second, did you get a drink without me?” she accuses, jabbing his chest lightly.

“Uh… yes?”

She gasps, “Anthony! It’s my birthday! That’s so rude.”

Her eyes are so wide, looking up at him so seriously that he can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry, ma chouette. Tell you what, if you want a drink, we can go get you one now. I will pay for whatever top-shelf tequila you want.”

“You better!” she yells, dragging him away by his arm before he can even respond. 

Evie —

Evie's pressed against the bar, protected from the pushing and shoving crowd by Tito’s solid body against her back. She’s waiting for their tequila shots when the thought occurs to her.

“Hey, Tito?” she glances back

“Yeah,” he leans in to hear her, filling her senses with his cologne.

“When did chouchou become chouette?”

He laughs, “Yeah, chouchou. Because you’re my cute little sugar-sweet owl. Big eyes, and so smart.”

She pouts, picking the only part she even remotely knows how to respond to. “I’m not that little.”

“To me, you are,” he says, tucking her under his chin. His body presses her into the bar, and the pressure sends a shiver down her spine. She’s glad that he can’t see the bright blush on her face.

“Fine, then. I get to call you something stupid, too.” She pauses as she thinks. “Solours. Like the yellow Care Bear.”

“Okay… The one with a smiling sun on its stomach? I’ll take that. It's so cute you remember his name,” he says, nuzzling her cheek with a laugh.

“At least you think I’m cute,” she tries to grumble.

She thinks she hears him say, “I really fucking do,” right as the bartender returns with their shots.

Tito spins her around and holds her hand in the non-existent space between them; he sprinkles some salt on it before handing her the lime and a shot. She waits for him to do his own hand but is caught watching his big hand move. She doesn’t realize she’s staring until her eyes flicker back up to meet his gaze, barely a foot from her face; his pupils swallow the normally serene blue as he focuses on her.

He holds her gaze as he licks the salt off his hand, slow and exaggerated, sending a prickling wave of heat through her body. 

Her mouth dries up watching his throat bob as he swallows down the shot. 

Her eyes snap up to his lips as they wrap around the lime, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucks on the juice. 

When she follows a drop of juice roll slowly down his chin, she almost leans in to lick it away. 

She’s able to snap herself out of it before she does something stupid. She quickly takes her own shot, blood rushing in her ears. Her whole body feels like a livewire, buzzing. She barely even tastes the harsh slide of the alcohol or the tart sting of the lime. Even though she’s been standing absolutely still, her breathing is heavy.

Although only the edges of her mind are hazy, it still feels like wading into honey as she tries to figure out what they're meant to be doing next.

She says the first sane thing that pops into her head.

“Did you know this place has another dance floor?” 

“Oh yeah?” his mouth twitching.

“Yeah! I think it’s downstairs. It’s more for dancing; they move the tables on Fridays, so there’s more space.” 

There’s something alight in his eyes as he takes a step back, taking her hand in his. “Let’s go then.”

His expression settles in what she can only call a smolder; it looks so sinful compared to his usual, sweet smile. Evie can’t help the nervous giggle that escapes from her. Seemingly satisfied, he leads the way, keeping her close to him as they move across the room, down the stairs, and into the thick press of bodies on the crowded dancefloor.

The music down here is different: dark and sensual. Once they’ve gone deep enough into the crowd, Tito pulls her close and loops her arms around his neck. She feels the tequila coursing through her veins; her body suddenly warm all over. She can’t help but lean into his space, breathing in the intoxicating concoction of his sweat and cologne.

The crowd around them pulses in time with the music. When he pulls her even closer, she's so startlingly aware of the broad expanse of his shoulders that her forearms are resting on. In front of her eyes, a deep sliver of his chest glistens with sweat; his skin glows in contrast with the black shirt. The soft hairs at the nape of his neck keep brushing her hands and she just wants to bury her fingers in it.

Tito’s arms, locked together on the small of her back, tug her in close. Suddenly, all she can hear is her own breathing; the music of the club sounds far away and muffled like she’s underwater. She refuses to look at him, instead fixing her gaze on a point over his shoulder. She second-guesses the shot she just took because her mind feels too hazy, out of focus, and out of control. 

Or maybe she should've taken more shots, enough to get her out of her head like last time.

She promptly dismisses the blurry memories of last time. This isn’t like last time. Last time was just two people with alcohol coursing through their veins, getting lost in the heat of the moment. Neither of them had ever even brought it up again. She shouldn’t expect a repeat of their drunken misdeeds.

The next song plays, even more sultry than the last. She presses impossibly closer to him, their bodies slotting together perfectly. She presses her cheek to his and feels the small puff of air that brushes against her ear. It makes goosebumps erupt across her skin.

Evie tries to not think and just moves to the music, a small roll of her hips to the beat. Tito moves with her: hip to hip, chest to chest, cheek to cheek. She thinks about how easy it would be to move her head to the side and kiss him. She wonders if he would let her press their lips together again and just get lost in the overwhelming sensations, even without intoxication as the excuse.

She thinks she can feel the edges of his lips against her cheek where his hot breath tickles her skin, and it becomes all she can think about. What would those lips feel like on hers again? On her neck? On her shoulders? On every inch of her feverish skin?

Heat builds in her cheeks from that one minuscule point of contact, spreading south rapidly. She suddenly feels desperate and needy but unable to make a move, afraid of breaking whatever fragile balance they have at this moment. If this is all she gets, she’ll take it. 

Her hands move as if magnetized to the curls at the nape of his neck that she can’t stop thinking about; when her fingers finally bury themselves in his hair, giving it a gentle tug, she shivers at the shaky sigh he lets out at the sensation.

Her head starts to turn of its own accord, her lips brushing against his cheeks as they seek contact, but he pulls away so suddenly her vision swims. He spins her around between one breath and the next so that he's pressed along her back, his chin hooked over her shoulder, and his hands firm on the bone of her hips. 

She moves to make a comment but is unable to when her breath catches in her throat as she feels the heat of his lips pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across the top of her shoulder. He moves up the column of her throat when she drops her head back onto his shoulder, granting him more access. 

He finds a sensitive spot right under her ear, drawing a whimpering moan from her lips as her hand flies back to grip his hair. The sound should be lost in the thrumming bass of the club, but she can feel him hear it when his fingers dig into the flesh of her hips briefly.

“Is this what you want?” he growls in her ear. The hand not in his hair reaches down to grasp the corded muscle of his forearm wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her flush to his front. 

She nods weakly, her mind scattered as she tries to process every single point of contact. In the haze of tequila and adrenaline, it takes a moment for her to register the hard shape that's pressed lightly against her.

It becomes the only place she can focus on. She feels her frustration build; Tito isn’t doing anything, not rocking his hips into her or seeking any friction, just seemingly content to be glued along her back.

Evie can feel her heart racing to the loud thrum of the bass filling her chest; she starts to shift her hips to the music more boldly. There’s a sharp intake of breath before Tito freezes her hips with his arms, his teeth gently scraping the side of her throat.

“Chou,” he growls in her ear.

Sugar. Baby. Sweetheart. Her brain unhelpfully supplies in English.

God, she's going to think of this moment every time he calls her that from now on.

Her hand, the one still buried in his hair, fists the curls hard, pulling him even closer to her neck. He needs no further encouragement as he groans, scraping his teeth along her exposed neck. 

His forearm ripples under her hand as he spreads his large hand, covering so much of her ribcage it makes her dizzy; his pressure is utterly unyielding as his thumb brushes under the soft slopes of her breast. His other hand snakes down her body, parting the slit of her dress, until she feels his hot palm digging into the exposed skin of her bare thigh, effectively pinning her to him.

She feels wild; her attention split between his firm hands, his wet mouth, his hot and sweaty body against her back, the thick bulge pressing against her ass. She can feel him everywhere. It’s still not enough.

She slides her hand down his forearm and interlaces her fingers over his, pressing lightly as she encourages him to slide his hand further north.

“Chou— We— Ah, fuck.” His voice is rough in her ear, a whine lacing the edges of his words.

The thing is, she doesn’t need him to say it. He’s right. They should tone it down, but she doesn't want to. In the back of her mind, the knowledge prickles at her that their friends could find them like this on the dancefloor at any moment. She can’t bring herself to care as his hand follows her lead. Pleasure zings through her body when his fingers brush over her nipple before coming to rest against the hollow of her throat. 

There’s probably a limit to what she should ask of him as two friends overwhelmed by carnal sensations and the intoxicating atmosphere of the nightclub.

She grinds her hips meaningfully as he tilts her head, kissing her jaw and cheek. 

She can’t tell where the line is anymore. She doesn’t care. As long as Tito keeps going.

“Chou, God, you’re so fucking— We probably shouldn’t—” he rasps in her ear. 

Evie wants to hear none of it. 

She surges up and captures the lips she’s been reluctantly thinking about night and day for the past three weeks. 

Impossibly, it feels even better than she remembers. Tito's stunned for a second, but he goes easily when she turns in his arms to pull him closer by the collar of his shirt. It’s a relief when she feels him hum and melt into the kiss.

When they part, he just looks at her with a lazy smile that sends a jolt of fondness through her body. The longer he looks at her like that, the more she feels like a shaken-up Coke bottle. Waiting for what comes next. Building. Anticipating. 

Her eye catches on a bead of sweat as it rolls down his face and neck, and she doesn’t stop herself from leaning in and chasing its salty path with her tongue. The sound he makes in response comes from so deep in his chest that she wants to climb into his body to see if she can make him do it again. 

His hands, which were resting on her waist, slide down her back and over the swell of her ass— pausing for a quick squeeze— before they settle just below her cheeks, on the back of her upper thigh. She feels his fingers flex as he lifts her onto her toes, and she gasps when his hard length aligns with the valley of her hip.

“Oh my god—” Evie chokes out, throat tight with desire as she catches Tito’s smirk, his eyes so dark there’s barely any brilliant blue around the edge. They pause, lips barely touching, and breathing each other's air; it makes her dizzy. 

Falling back into his embrace feels like a flaming star caught amidst the gravity of a black hole called desire, their lips pressing together in a desperate plea for more. There’s a hook in her ribcage that tugs so strongly towards him it makes her ache.

As their tongues swirl, she finds herself wishing that this was real. That this was happening anywhere but here: a few drinks deep in a nightclub. That this was different than every other hook-up they’ve both had on any number of generic, replaceable dance floors.

She wishes this was happening in their bed, in their home— 

On her bed. In her home. 

The thought hits her square in the chest. She pulls away; their lips separate with a wet smack. Her vision was fuzzy, and she’s gasping for breath as Tito kisses down the column of her throat, unaware of her sudden turmoil. Her head swims with the reality of who she’s doing this with. 

This isn’t a stranger. Or an acquaintance. 

This isn’t even just a friend— 

This is Tito. Her Tito. Her Care bear, sunshine, as she had just called him earlier. 

What the fuck are they doing? What the fuck is she doing? This time, she doesn’t have the inebriation as a justification to placate herself with. Just misplaced desperation. 

Her mind suddenly feels too clear.

It’s when he gently nudges a thigh between her legs that she's struck by a need so strong that the feverish heat licks at every cell in her body, her skin crackling with it. 

They have to stop— She has to stop before Tito does something she’s sure he’ll regret tomorrow. She jumps back so abruptly that she almost pulls them both to the ground.

Frantically, Tito searches her face, brows creased in shock and concern. He steadies her firmly, holding her a foot away from him, fingers digging into her arm desperately as if he’s unwilling to let go.

“Whoa, what’s wr—”

He's interrupted by the squeal of Kelsey calling to them from a few paces away in the crowd. 

Evie jolts, eyes wide with panic as she pulls her arms away. 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she says to the approaching group as she slips into the crowd.

She faintly hears Alandra say, “I’ll go with her,” before her hand is on Evie’s back, guiding her to the bathroom.

She’s grateful that they do not speak; Evie only suffers her assessing gaze for the time it takes her to wash her hands and freshen up. She carefully puts on a neutral face and shrugs at Alandra’s quirked eyebrow through the mirror.

When they get back to the group, Tito isn’t there. Before she can panic, Jason squeezes her elbow to tell her he just went to sit down. She doesn’t think she can face him yet, not while she can still feel the hot brand of his hands all over her body.

So she stays and dances with the group for a while before following the majority of the group back to the VIP booth, where she finds Tito sitting, hunched over and staring into a glass. She sends him a soft smile and watches his shoulders relax when she slides down the booth so she’s next to him. She nudges him with her shoulder amiably. 

They both stay in their spots for the rest of the evening. Evie occasionally jumps into the conversation while Tito sits next to her, both uncharacteristically quiet. Eventually, she feels herself flagging, leaning more and more into Tito’s shoulder. When he finally speaks, it’s only to ask her if she’s ready to go home. She nods eagerly. 

They wave goodbye to everyone, and he guides her gently outside to a waiting car, his hand never touching her back even though she can feel it no more than an inch away. They sit in silence, listening to the quiet radio, both looking out the window.

She tries to not let their slight jilted awkwardness bother her as they get ready for bed, moving around each other as they do every other night. There’s only one moment where her hold on herself slips: she almost tells him to just fucking come here when he walks into the bedroom shirtless, having forgotten to take it with him to the bathroom. She slams her mouth shut before any words can leave her lips. 

“Good night,” she says instead, giving him a soft smile as she settles into the bed, turning towards the wall. She doesn’t even close her eyes and pretend to sleep, tension creeping back into her body.

After a moment or two, the lights turn off, and the bed dips beside her. She feels Tito lay on his back, stock still. For an excruciating minute, they both just listen to the sound of their measured breathing in the stagnant air of the bedroom.

It’s Tito who breaks; he sighs and rolls towards her. He slides an arm around her waist and pulls her close.

“I think it’s past midnight,” he whispers into her hair, “Happy Birthday, chouchou.”

“Thank you, Solou.”

“Good night.” He chuckles at the nickname and presses a light kiss to her temple before settling back down.

With the weight of his arm around her waist, she falls asleep fast.

Evie — April 6

Evie wakes up on the morning of her 29th birthday to an empty bed. Her stomach drops as the weight of last night hits her. For a moment, she looks at the empty pillow next to her and feels the panic seeping in.

Her chest loosens when she sees a note left for her on her nightstand:

Good morning! Happy birthday mon chou. Sorry I can’t be there when you wake up BUT!!!! I made you some tea in a keep-warm mug (first present) ◡̈  I’ll see you when I get back after morning skate. — solours ♡ ☼

She just stares at the note for a while, her finger lightly tracing the heart and sun Tito drew on the page. She smiles when she picks up her new copper-colored Ember mug. She has been looking at getting one for a while and never took the plunge; $200 was a ridiculous amount of money to spend on a mug, even if it keeps her tea at the perfect temperature. She supposes Tito noticed her opening and closing that tab on her computer. 

She snaps a picture of her sitting in bed, holding the cup of tea, and sends it to Tito:

To tito 🧸🌞: [attachment: photo] I can’t believe you got this for me. Thank you. I love it.

Her tea is perfect when she finally takes a sip. She closes her eyes, head resting against the headboard, and just sinks into the feeling. The lingering remnants of the panic in her chest are replaced by a warm tingle that spreads from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Some time later, she's still cradling her empty mug while scrolling Instagram when she hears her front door open. There's some rustling in the living room and kitchen before Tito quietly pokes his head into the bedroom.

“Hi,” he smiles brightly.

“Hi,” she whispers back. 

His face disappears from the doorway for a second before he returns, holding a small bag and a bouquet of flowers. Evie feels the air leave her lungs as he sits next to her on the edge of the bed.

“Happy birthday, ma chouette,” he says, voice impossibly gentle as he hugs her. She has to breathe through the wave of emotion that hits her, trying very hard not to teeter towards tears.

“Anthony, what the fuck?” she scolds quietly, releasing him from the hug, “I told you you didn’t need to get me anything.”

He shrugs. “I know, but I wanted to,” he says, handing over the bouquet.

She picks up the bouquet of flowers and inhales their sweet scent; it occupies her so that she wouldn’t do or say something stupid. 

“Well, thank you for the flowers. They’re so beautiful. How did you know I loved chrysanthemums?” Evie asks as she reverently brushes her fingertips over the spray of petals. It’s probably the most beautiful bouquet she’s ever seen, a bright contrast of colors between the mums, spray roses, peonies, and snapdragons.

“You mentioned it when you sent your mom a bouquet for her birthday. You made a terrible joke about ‘mums and moms,” he chuckles softly.

She looks up at him and searches his face. “That was in February.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs like it was no big deal. Like recalling the most inconsequential tidbit hidden in a joke months ago is a given.

“How do you even remember that?”

He smiles sheepishly, reaching for the bag and handing it to her. “Here. Open the box first, before the card.”

He helps her put the bouquet and mug down on the nightstand before watching her delicately unwrap the box, his leg bouncing in nervous anticipation. When she finally has it open, she gasps.

Inside the velvet jewelry box is a gold chain with three charms hanging down the middle. Evie’s fingers hover over them, almost scared to touch it as if the necklace would disappear if spooked. Eventually, ever so gently, she moves the charms so she can see them better: a tea bag, an ice skate, and a book. When she tilts it towards the light, she can see the title on the book is blank, but her name is engraved where the author would be.

She can’t bear to take her eyes away as she croaks, “Solours, this is…”

“Do you like it?” his voice fragile next to her.

Her eyes flicker up to meet his, “Yes, of course I do. This is— This is beautiful. I love it.”

The smile that lights up his face is blinding; her breath catches in her throat in response. He doesn’t seem to notice the effect he has when he reaches out to poke at the book charm. “The book charm is blank right now, but when you pick a title for your book, they can engrave it on for us. Right above your name.”

A small squeak slips out of her mouth as she fails to contain the tears that well up in her eyes.

“Woah, hey, hey, what’s wrong? It’s okay if you don’t like it. I can get you something else,” he says quickly, hugging her to his side. 

Her hands tighten on the box on reflex, pulling it close to her chest. “No— That’s not. Tito, I love it. I love it so much. It’s just— The mug, and this— I think this is the best gift anyone has ever gotten me. It’s— It’s too much.”

He squeezes her tighter, “Don’t be silly. It’s not too much, okay? Only the best gifts for my best girl.”

She makes a noise somewhere between a whimper, a sob, and a groan. It makes Tito laugh, and she sinks into the rumble of his chest against her cheek.

“Here. Would you like me to put it on for you?” he asks, pulling away slightly.

“Yes, please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible as she hands him the box.

He stands and places the box on her nightstand, gingerly lifting out the necklace. She knee walks to the edge of the bed, her back facing him, and pulls her hair to the side. His fingers lightly brush her collarbones and neck as he gingerly puts the necklace on; every single hair on her body is standing on end as he works. 

When he finishes adjusting the necklace so it’s centered on her chest, he places a tender kiss on the top of her head.

“Perfect. Just like you,” he murmurs to himself against her soft hair.

“What?” she says, looking up at him upside-down with a smile crinkling her eyes.

He clears his throat. “Go take a look in the mirror, and then you have one more thing to open.” She leaps off the bed and places a soft peck on his cheek before skipping to the bathroom.

When she comes back into the room, he's sitting on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the envelope in his hand.

She beams, “It looks beautiful, Solou. I love it. Truly. Thank you.”

He shrugs and presses his lips together, holding the envelope out. “Here, open this.”

She comes to stand between his legs as she slides the card out of the envelope. A piece of paper flutters to the ground; she bends down to pick it up while she reads the card.

Evie— Ma chouette, I hope today can be at least a top 10 birthday for you. Because that’s what you deserve— the best. You are #1 on my list of favorite people (don’t tell Barz I said this, he will be fucking insufferable). You’re the best person I have ever met and I feel so lucky to call you my friend every single day. I don’t know how I would’ve done the past few months without you.  You’ve done so much for me and my career, so I wanted to do something for you. I hope this isn’t overstepping. I know that you probably know plenty of people in the industry, but I figured a few more contacts can’t hurt. On the piece of paper are the contact details of Zach Hyman and his book agent. Zach— because he knows what it’s like to publish a book. And his agent— well. You know how I asked if you had a brief for your book? Well, I may have asked Hyms to pass it along to his agent and she wants to meet you!!!!!!!!!!!! Fuck, I’m so proud. I can’t wait to read your book. Happy birthday, chou.  Love, Tito

She stands there, slack-jawed, just reading the card over again and again until the handwriting on the page blurs. 

“Chou?” Tito’s worried voice asks. His hands come to squeeze her hips as she stands in front of him.

A tear escapes when she looks up at him, breaking the dam. She’s 99% sure it isn’t a pretty cry.

“Chou— Evie, hey!” his voice is increasingly urgent as he quickly grabs the card and paper and puts it to the side. “Woah, please— Please don’t cry. What’s wrong?”

“I— I can’t believe you did this for me,” she gasps out between sobs. 

His hands reach up to wipe her cheeks. “Do what, chou?”

“You— I—” She takes a heaving breath to try to steady out the sobs as she looks down at his furrowed brows. She leans forward, her knees resting against the bed, as she smoothes them down and cradles his cheeks in her hands.

“I’m sorry I’m crying,” she laughs wetly, “I’m very happy. This just happens sometimes. I’m—”

Unable to form any of the words she wants to at that moment, Evie just envelops him in a hug so strong it knocks him back on the bed. 

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she chants as she crawls into his lap. They both hold each other tightly, unwilling to let go.

After a few minutes, she startles, becoming aware of the position that they've ended up in, and loosens her hold to roll off him. 

Next to her, Tito asks, “You hungry? I was gonna make you some French toast for breakfast.”

Right on cue, her stomach rumbles, and she feels his laughs reverberate in her own chest. He taps her thigh gently, encouraging her to sit up, “Come on, let’s go.”

With an outstretched hand, he pulls her up.

“God, Tito, how are you such a perfect—” She catches herself, thinking back to his card, “How are you such a perfect friend? It’s ridiculous.”

He chuckles tersely. “Practice,” he mumbles. Evie misses the bitterness underlying his tone.

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[confettiepup]

I GOT NEW PLAY MATS FOR MI ROOM YIPPIIIIE NOW I HAVE MORE SPACE FOR MY LPS TOWN <3 💕🧸🎀🍭🦄🪽

[izzielil]

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🔞 UNDER 18s do not Interact 🔞

🍼ABDL / Little / Diaper Images Ahead 🧸

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━═━━═━━═━━═━━═━━━═━━═━━═━━═ Sarah - Caretaker / Mommy | Kira - Little / ABDL | (All 18+)

It was a lovely afternoon, and Kira's mother Sarah had invited her dear friend over for a visit. As they sat in the living room, engaged in animated conversation,

Kira began to feel the familiar urge to use the potty. Excitedly, she tugged at her mother's sleeve and asked, "Mommy, can I go potty, please?"

Seeing Kira's enthusiasm and recognizing her growing independence, her mother smiled and nodded, granting her permission to use the potty by herself.

Kira's face lit up with pride as she eagerly made her way to the bathroom, ready to conquer milestone and finally be ready to be a big girl.

Kira couldn't contain her excitement. She started doing a little potty dance, swaying from side to side, a joyful expression of her anticipation and readiness.

Her mommy noticed her dance, smiling at the cuteness of her little. She sat in the living room continuing to chat with her friend. "Yes yes, she is currently trying to use the potty. But I don't think she is ready. Me and David are enjoying her little adventure to be honest allows for us to remind her who is the baby."

Inside the bathroom, Kira's eagerness got the best of her. In her rush, she forgot to lift the potty seat, a small oversight that would have significant consequences. Unaware of her mistake, she positioned herself on the potty and released herself, the warm urine that she pushed out in excitement splashed against the seat of her potty flooding around her legs and down the potty. Unable to stop herself going wee wee a puddle formed on the bathroom floor Kira going red but secretly enjoying the warm urine against her legs and bottom.

Kira grabbed Wilma before it was too late she couldn't have him getting wet.

As time passed and Kira hadn't returned, her mommy grew concerned. She decided to check on her and swiftly

"Kira baby? You okay?"

"Do you need some help baby you've been going potty for a while.."

Slowly Sarah made her way to the bathroom. Opening the door, her mother's eyes widened as she took in the sight of the accident. With a gentle voice filled with concern, she asked, "Sweetie, why did it take you so long?"

Realizing what had happened, Kira's face flushed with embarrassment, and she hesitantly explained her oversight. Her mother's heart melted as she saw the distress on Kira's face. In that moment, Sarah walked over going to hug her little briefly patting her bare bottom.

"Oh baby... Its okay, mommy will help you..."

Sarah slowly began to grasp Wilma placing him next to the diaper bag that was conveniently in the bathroom, As she moved her hands towards Kiras crouch slowly rubbing the urine around her legs and vagina as slowly rubbed her finger along her vagina.

"Oh look at this little baby, do you want to be a big girl? Or do you want mommy to put you in a little diaper?"

Sarah continued to rub her finger gently over Kiras vagina as she the urine rubbed into her warm skin.

Kira couldn't hold back her excitement as she laid back. "I can-" "I can-"

Sarah raised a brow not stopping. "Whats that baby?"

"I can be a big girl!" She said as her mother slowly began to play with her little inside.

"Well I hope so... Only big girls can make stickies...." Sarah now continued to rub Lara seductively as she slowly came.

"Now now now, lets you get you all changed shall we?" Sarah looked to the side as she fetched a freshly packed diaper, the changing mat, wipes, and powder—preparing everything she needed to assist Kira in this moment, patting the changing mat

Lara made her way over embarrassed face red. As she laid down in plain view of her mommy. Vulnerable.

"I think daddy and I are going to be having a little talk later. All these accidents I am sure he will be upset and he is doing bath time tonight..."

With utmost care, Sarah lovingly adjusted the diaper, ensuring it fit snugly and securely around her waist. She wanted to provide Kira with a sense of safety and reassurance but also a sense of embarrassment secretly reminding her little that she is a baby.

Taking extra care around her little happy spot, Sarah cleaned her up using gentle wipes, removing any traces of the accident. She wanted Kira to feel fresh and clean, but also feeling she has to rely on her no matter what.. Kira's mother offered her a bottle, as she patted her newly diapered bottom adjusting her t shirt to fit just over the diaper still revealing it to whoever saw.

Once Kira was comfortably back in a diaper, her mother gently reminded her of the potty chart hanging on the bathroom wall. Kira's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she reached for the marker, excited to mark her successful trip to the potty. However, her excitement caused her to momentarily forget to lift the potty seat, resulting in the accident. With a sad expression, Kira's mother helped her put a sad face on the chart. Smiling as she looked to her.

"Now that's diapers for the next three days baby girl."

Perhaps bath time will be an interesting one...

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! Check our my Tumblr for more images / Stories !

Did you know I have a DeviantArt now?

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[cheekblush]

I shall also devote myself to loving you more 🫡🩵

mat you're the sweetest angel i loooovvveee youuuuuuu 😭💘🥺💖🥹💗🤧

[noahs-littlespace]

This is my dream squishy/diapie bag! Most of these items I have irl🖤 Ideal for a road trip day! (This will be a long post!)🧸

I'm back making and posting content after being sick for over 3 weeks. My mental and physical health were not at a place where I could focus on this for very long, but I am feeling better and I'm happy to be back. Thank you for your patience if you follow me!

I'm going to write my thoughts reviews on these products and where I got them this time, for anyone who needs more information.

Items I have irl- Just ran out of the Northshore wipes, they came off the website along with a pack of black plastic back Megamax's. 10/10 softness and they get you very clean.

The paci case I have is the only one I own! My daddy got it for me from Lil Kink Boutique.

Black paci is from Lil Comforts! I love this paci, although it's way too big for my mouth. So I just use it to bite because it never deflates, and I love the black color. I give the paci a 9/10, only because of how small my mouth is!

Squishy/diapie is, my favorite, a Little Kings! I get mine off Abuniverse.com. It makes me feel most baby like, whenever my daddy puts me in them they're so soft and immediately make my whole body relax. They have a wonderful capacity, wetness indicator is perfect, you can readjust them as many times as you need, I've been using them the whole time I've been sick and they're really my favorite. 20/10.

Changing mat is from Rearz.com, It's very comfy and works for what it needs to.

The Johnson and Johnson baby powder is so comforting, I love the lavender scent and it makes you feel so soft. It works in every squishy/diapie I've used, my CG and I have fun dumping a bunch in my squishy before I put it on! We get ours from Meijers irl.

If you did read this far, thank you so much! I love you all and appreciate your support. Have a wonderful day! 🍼☺️

[dollyswan]

Bonne nuit il est 6h du mat donc si je ne réponds pas demain c'est parce que ce sera la nuit pour moi mdr je vous aime les anges et demandez moi des trucs je m'ennuie 🦢🩰🧸

[halobah]

Ccould we please have a plushie/plushkin headmate themed after rabbits and vintage cartoons? Preferably male aligned + a protector/comforting role. Thank you. -🪐🔪

Hi!! This was an absolute joy to make, i hope you love it as much as i loved making it!!

☆ name(s): trix, hopper, bugs, harv

☆ age: early 30's

☆ pronouns: he/him, they/them, bun/buns

☆ appearance: An anthropomorphized plush rabbit, with grey fur and a white spot across the torso. about average height (perhaps a bit short!) and their ears etend above their head, bending slightly downwards towards the top. There are a few small mats in bun's fur, indicating being well-loved and familiar.

☆ personality: a bit of a trickster, they tend to soothe in times of stress. incredibly loyal and protective, but much prefers to "kill 'em with kindness" so to speak! very good conflict resolution skills and a tendency to provide support after conflict rather than prevent conflict in the first place. always willing to remind you that he loves you <3

☆ orientation(s): gay, grey ace

☆ gender(s): transmasc

☆ emoji sign off: 🧸

☆ front triggers: old warner brothers shows (animaniacs, tom and jerry, etc), newspaper cartoons, carrots

☆ sys role: protector, caretaker, soother

as always, you are free to change anything you would like. at the end of the day, they are going to be your headmate and should be how you like <3 well wishes!

[offside-the-lines]

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier | Ep 1. Blue Christmas

This is a completed series! Read Full Fic | 🧸 Series Cover Page/Masterlist 🧁 | 🎵 Playlist 🎶 Ep 1. || Next Episode >

Episode Synopsis: Evie and Tito are both starting life anew in Chicago. It's an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar faces. They're both alone on Christmas. Maybe it's fate that brings them together. Jason and Alandra Dickinson are already smelling the smoke from this fire.

A/N: You can refer to the cover page for the series summary, author's notes, tropes, general warnings and other fun tidbits. This series contains mature themes. Minors DNI. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team.

Word count: 4.9k // 44.5k

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglisst

Blue Christmas

Tito — December 20

Mat keeps telling him to unpack when they FaceTime every time he catches a glimpse of the boxes still neatly stacked in the corner. To be fair, Tito didn’t need any of the stuff in those boxes. He was fine for the first two months in Vancouver when he lived out of his suitcase; he’ll be fine now. He reckons he’ll probably need to get Liana something really nice for packing up the Vancouver apartment that he had just signed the lease for. He vaguely remembers a FaceTime call where Mat just ran with Tito’s monotone “okay”s; he hadn’t really been listening. 

Mat keeps asking Tito if he wants Liana to help look for a sublet, and Tito just can’t bring himself to care. He guesses it can just sit empty for the remaining 7 or 8 months on the contract. 

Contract. Tito snorts bitterly. The word’s beginning to lose all meaning to him. 

Tito lays on the grey couch and stares at the scuff marks on the white ceiling. He probably should sublet it— save some money— given he just got traded to the worst team in the league and will be, by all accounts, unemployed come June. No guarantees he’ll even get an extension here.

Mat keeps telling him he should still go out with the boys: get some drinks, laugh a little, and learn the names of some wives and kids. Mat’s probably right. Mat would probably say that he’s always right and that Tito should listen to him more. He snorts at that out loud. God, things were so much easier on Long Island. That feels like a lifetime ago.

He glances at the boxes in the corner and decides that tomorrow— yeah, tomorrow— he’s going to go buy a box cutter from wherever it is that sells box cutters. 

Evie — December 24

Evie feels the tension finally drain from her body as she slips into the warm bath; she closes her eyes and rests her head against the cool ceramic. It was a good evening. It was.

She’s grateful that, although her job's entirely remote, she has some colleagues who live in Chicago. She’s doubly grateful that Leanne would invite her to join them for their Christmas Eve dinner. It was awkward, sitting among people who all knew each other well and trying to keep up with whatever drama Leanne and Kelsey gossiped about, but she likes them. She is grateful that she likes them.

She lets her body melt deeper into the lavender-scented water and looks out the window. Chicago does look beautiful: a light dusting of snow, miles of twinkling lights, the quiet hum of city living. 

When she had packed up her entire life in July, she had just rolled the dice and picked Chicago out of a list of cities. It had been a while since she had lived on her own, and it took some getting used to. Bit by bit, her apartment had started to feel more like home. As much as a rental apartment with mostly rental furniture could feel like a home anyway.

Her parents had been understanding, albeit worried, when she said she didn’t want to come home for Christmas this year. It would be her first Christmas alone. Looking out at Chicago, she isn’t sure if it was the right decision. She wonders where the line is between loneliness and enjoying her own company.

Careful to not flood her bathroom floor, she sits up to grab her phone. She remembers seeing a massive Christmas tree downtown by the park. Luckily, after some googling, the rink under it has a lot of openings tomorrow morning. It would be nice to get out on the ice, even if it’s just to absorb some joy from the families that'll be there. She always loved skating with her brothers on Christmas morning as a kid.

Tito — December 25

Tito wakes up on Christmas morning to a dead silence he feels in his bones. Groaning, he rubs his hands over his face and tugs on his hair. It’s still early, at least it looks that way from the low light streaming in through the windows, but, he supposes, it’s as good a time as any to get up.

He runs through his morning routine like any other day: coffee, shower, breakfast, phone. Now that his teammates are spread all over the continent, there are a lot of messages to respond to. He ignores them in favor of calling his family, making the most of the virtual time with his parents, brother, and nephews. Once they hang up, he starts to pick through the messages before his phone inevitably buzzes with a Facetime call from Mat.

“Hey, Barz,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile against his will.

“Beauuuu.” Mat’s as energetic as ever. “Merry Christmas!”

And just like that, they fall into an easy rhythm. In these moments, against Tito’s better judgment, he likes to imagine he’s still in New York. It’s hard not to keep thinking of it as home despite his not being back for more than a night or two since January. 

Almost a full year. 

If he were still in New York, they’d probably be over at the Martins’ place. Sydney always loved to host, and she’d never complain about some free babysitting.

His thoughts are disrupted by the message banner popping up:

Nick Foligno: merry xmas kid!! we still on for dinner? we would love for you to join us.

Tito doesn’t entirely cover up his sigh. 

“Beau?” Mat interrupts his long tirade about avocados or sloths or something. “What was that dude?”

He considers lying for a second and just shrugs. “Oh, Foligno was just texting me to remind me about the sort of team Christmas dinner at his place tonight.”

“That’s great, dude! I told you you’d feel better once you got to know the boys.”

“Yeah, they’re nice.”

“Doesn’t Foligno have kids? You love that shit, I know that!” Mat's as enthusiastic as always, a broad grin on his face.

“Yeah, he does. They’re cute. Hudson’s about the same age as Winnie, actually.” He feels his heart clench. He doesn’t really know if he has it in him to say goodbye to another set of kids; looking at Winnie’s heartbroken face as she asked, "When’s Uncle Beau coming back?" just about broke him.

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Mat smiles. He doesn’t press, though. He just tells a funny story about Marty and Pageau doing some weird wrestling during morning skate last week. Tito feels the smile come back to him naturally.

Eventually, after some reassurances on Tito’s end, he’s allowed to sign off, but only if he promises Mat that he’ll go to the dinner tonight. 

“Yes, Mathew. I promise. God, you’re so annoying sometimes,” Tito grumbles, but the smile on his face betrays him.

“I know, that’s like, one of my top 5 features.”

“More like the only feature.” 

“Alright, asshole. Merry Christmas. Call me, yeah? I want to hear all about dinner.”

“Seriously, you’re worse than my mom. But yeah, I’ll let you know, I promise.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that dig at both me and my girl, Dominique,” Mat interrupts.

“Ew, don’t call my mom ‘your girl.’”

“So dramatic; you insult both of us. Anyway, I gotta run. Have a good Christmas, okay? Love you, dude.”

Tito sighs, “Yeah, yeah, love you too.”

“Bye.”

“Merry Christmas. Bye.”

And then, he’s once again left in the quiet of his apartment, feeling slightly lighter. Looking out at Lake Michigan, he can’t help but be reminded of home— of the river at the heart of his childhood. He thinks back to all those Christmas mornings and wishes for the hot chocolate his mom used to make. He looks ruefully at his empty kitchen before deciding that he should go for a walk anyway.

It’s a surprisingly mild day out. There's still the bite of winter cold, but the light dusting of snow from yesterday has melted in the sun, making everything glisten. The cold air in his lungs feels so good that he’s content to just wander where his feet take him. Eventually, he finds himself in Millenium Park. He hasn’t come here yet, but the giant Christmas tree brings a smile to his face. Next to it lies a rink; it isn’t super busy on Christmas morning, just a few families.

He almost laughs to himself. Of course, that’s where his wandering feet would take him. He stands and watches as kids toddle around before finally deciding to bite the bullet. He obviously didn’t have his skates with him and can’t be bothered to walk back to his apartment to get them. It’s been a really long time since he wore rental skates; how bad can it really be?

As it turns out, bad. The skates are uncomfortable and unsharpened. But that doesn’t stop Tito from sinking into the feeling of having ice under his feet, a smile blooming across his face. He’s only gotten around a few laps when someone bumps into him from behind, causing him to lose an edge and fall ungracefully onto his ass.

“Osti de calisse,” a voice behind him swears, his ears pricking at the familiar sound, “Shit, I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t’ve been going backward at a public skate.”

He barely hears the last part as his ears are still stuck on hearing his mother tongue. Before he can stop himself, he turns around, and the words spill from his mouth: “You speak French?” 

And that’s when he’s captivated by the woman herself. There’s something familiar about her chocolate eyes and warm smile.

“Ouias,” she smiles as a flicker of recognition tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this? Not getting enough ice time?” she laughs, gesturing around them.

He feels his cheeks warm as he finally stands up. “Uh, I am good at this,” he says, affronted, “These rentals are just trash.”

“Mhm,” she shrugs, trying to cover up her amusement, before pointing to her own skates. They might be a little old and beaten up at this point, but they’re still entirely her own.

He dusts off the snow from his pants before he starts skating next to her, not entirely sure what’s stopping him from parting with this stranger. They do a few laps in silence before he can’t hold the question in any longer. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to ask. Have we met before?”

This gets her attention; there's a moment of silence, and he feels his cheeks heat again, embarrassed, before her warm laughter fills his chest. “Wow, Beauvillier, I'm actually quite offended. You played with my brother Brandon in Shawinigan, remember?” She clutches a hand to her chest in mock outrage.

His face is blank for a second, and he racks his brain before his eyes go wide. “Oh! You’re Brandy G’s sister! I obviously know about you, but I don’t really have much memory of meeting you… I’m sorry?”

Her laughter rings, settling warm in his bones as she lightly bumps his shoulder. “I’m just kidding. We only met, like, two times.” She skates out in front of him, holding her hand out, “Genevieve Gignac. Enchanté.”

“Enchanté. Anthony Beauvillier,” he shakes her outstretched hand. “I do think I remember you. You go by Viv, right?”

“Not really— Actually, I mean, you do remember correctly, Anthony, but only my family calls me that. Or sometimes it’s Evie. Usually, my friends call me Gigi. Not Genny, though.” A shudder moves through her at the old nickname she now hates.

He hums, “I'll have to test drive them and see how it feels. You can call me Tito or Beau. There’s no need to full-government-name me. It makes me feel like I might be in trouble.”

She flashes him a smile, “Maybe you are—” She’s cut off when she almost runs into a child behind her.

“You should turn around before you knock someone else on their ass.” He's rewarded with another laugh before she rejoins him at his side. 

“So,” her voice, curious, “You don’t get enough skating in at your fancy NHL gig or what? What're you doing here on Christmas morning? In rental skates, no less.”

He sighs, “I was actually taking a walk to look for hot chocolate. Which turned into more of a walk to clear my head. And then I saw this. For some reason, I just really wanted to get on this crappy ice in crappy skates. Something about the feeling of ice under my feet always settles me.”

Evie looks at him out of the corner of her eye and lets the silence hang for a little while. Eventually, she asks him, “Did you ever end up finding that hot chocolate?”

“No, actually.” 

“Do you want to grab some? I’m feeling kinda ready to be done here.” 

“Sure, let’s do it.” He smiles warmly at her without any hesitation.

She returns his smile as they get off the ice, her eyes bright.

Evie —

She’s putting her skates away when she catches the sight of Tito signing something for the guy at the rental counter. She watches him joke, his face so open and kind. It strikes her that that’s how she remembers him from their youth, and she guesses it’s that familiarity— that touch of home on an otherwise lonely Christmas Day— that makes her chest feel too tight.

They end up finding an open Starbucks, catching up on the last 8 years of their lives; their hot chocolate cups sit empty on the small table that they're leaning over. Tito shares stories of living the NHL dream on Long Island and how hard it was to leave behind his best friend and his teammates, who felt like family. Evie talks about the late nights in the library and the sticky floors of frat house parties from her time in college, and she talks about miraculously landing her dream job where she gets paid to read books all day— and edit them, of course. They both also discover that 2023 has been their most challenging year yet, glossing over how they both ended up in Chicago alone on Christmas Day.  

Tito leans back in his chair, picking at a loose thread on his hoodie. “Actually, some guys on the team invited me over to a half-team-half-family Christmas dinner tonight.”

“That’s amazing,” she beams before glancing down at her watch. “Oh shit, it’s like almost 3 pm. What time's your dinner?”

“Wow, really?” his eyes widen as he pulls out his phone, swiping away the long list of notifications with the intention of checking them later. “Damn, I’m so sorry to take up so much of your day. I’ve got to be there at like 5 or 6.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Beau. I had literally no other plans today. I was thinking about being a Grinch and just doing some writing today. Kinda sad when you think about it; younger me would barf if she saw that.”

“Writing? Like a book?” Tito asks, eyes wide and sparkling with interest.

“Yeah, I am.” She clears her throat before waving her hands. “Anyway, it’s not that exciting. It's barely a book yet. Are you excited for dinner? I’m sure you haven’t had much time to get to know your teammates yet.”

There’s a beat of silence where she sees him fight back a frown, pasting a smile on his face that she can already tell is fake, even after having spent only a few hours with him.

“Yeah, yeah, I haven’t really. This will be the first time, actually.” He runs his hands down his face, nervously scratching at his messy stubble. He presses his hands against his eyes as he mumbles. “God, I didn’t even go to the store this week to get a bottle of wine or something. And everywhere's definitely closed now, right? I can’t show up empty-handed.” He groans a frustrated huff as he pitches forward.

Without even thinking about it, Evie reaches out and pulls his hands from his face. “Well, I have an idea. The stores are closed, but I’ve got plenty of baking supplies at mine. We can bake something for you to bring for dessert! If you have time?”

She can see a twinkle of hope appear in his eye despite the furrow of his brow. “Yeah, I can probably make it work. But are you sure, Gigi? I don’t want to impose. I’ve already taken so much of your time, and I definitely can’t bake. I only just learned how to cook edible food.”

“Oh, come on, I don’t mind.” She stands up, gesturing towards the door. “We’re like childhood friends; it’s whatever.”

“Childhood friends,” he scoffs with a laugh, sauntering backward to the trash can with their empty cups, “I think we had maybe said two sentences to each other before today.”

“You remember that now, do you?” They walk to the door shoulder to shoulder, calling out a goodbye to the barista on the way out.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I was terrified of you. You were G’s older sister, and you were in college, which meant you were, like, cool and hot.”

She laughs, throwing her head back, and bumps his shoulder hard as they step out into the cold Chicago afternoon. “Oh, shut up. I’m only like two years older. And I definitely wasn’t cool or hot.”

He hums, smirk firmly on his face. “Mmmm, okay. Agree to disagree.”

They walk in silence for a few moments before she realizes she doesn’t actually know where they’re going. “I actually drove here this morning. Do you want to drive to my place together or take separate cars? I can text you my address.”

He thinks about it for a second: “I should probably drive myself, right? It's going to be hard to get a Lyft today. I might change, too, so I can head straight there after.”

“Oh yeah, good idea.” She takes her phone out and hands it to him. “Here, enter your number, and I’ll text you my address.”

He types in his number and sends himself a text, so he has hers as well. Once he hands hers back to Evie, he pulls out his own phone. She texts him her address and adds him to her contacts.

After fiddling with his phone for a moment, he scrunches his nose. “I don’t think I like calling you Gigi. It’s a little close to G, and that’s weird.” He studies her, head cocked to the side, making a soft curl fall in front of his calm blue eyes, the attention making her shift on her feet. “I’m not huge on Viv or Vivi either. I think I like Evie, though. You look like an Evie.”

She feels a smile overtake her face. “And what does an Evie look like?”

“I don’t know. You? I guess?” His eyes are soft as he looks at her. 

“Okay then, you can call me Evie if I can call you Tito,” she blurts out before her mouth can say something stupid instead.

“Deal.” The way his face lights up when he smiles makes her smile back, unbidden.

“Well, alright, Tito. I’ll see you at mine? There’s guest parking in the garage. I’ll buzz you through.”

“Sweet. See you soon, Evie.”

He squeezes her arm lightly as he turns to leave, sending her a final smile over his shoulder. It’s a short walk to her car and, from there, a short drive home; she’s walking through her apartment door before she even knows it, the smile never leaving her face.

A short while later, she gets the call on her intercom. When she buzzes Tito up, she remains near the door, rearranging the ingredients on her kitchen counter; she opens the door as soon as she hears the knock.

“Hey, you found the parking okay?” She waves him in. His hair’s still slightly damp, and his stubble's neater; her eyes catch on the perfectly fitted wool coat that hides his tailored dark plum shirt and fitted jeans. She busies herself by taking his coat to the coat closet.

“Yeah. Plenty of spaces,” he says as he toes off his sneakers.

“Great!” her voice an octave higher than it should be. She shuffles on her feet a little before waving Tito further into her apartment. “Well, welcome to my apartment. It’s not very big, but it’s starting to feel like home. The kitchen is here. The living room is also right here. And the bathroom is right here as well, just behind that door on the right.” She pauses and adds with a wink, "Oh, it also connects to the bedroom, so don’t get lost.”

He walks over to the large windows by the couch and looks out at the view.

“Great view." He points, “Hey, look. You can basically see the United Center from here. I was going to say you’re only a mile away from where we play and train. You’ve got to come to a game!”

“Oh, yeah! I would love to.” They stand by the window, both looking at the tree-lined streets below. After a moment, she shakes herself out of her thoughts and walks back over to the kitchen. “Okay, so I scoured my pantry. I have ingredients for cookies or brownies. For cookies, we could do, like, cinnamon sugar or chocolate chip. Or brownies, but they take a little more time. What do you want to do?”

“I'm a huge chocolate guy, so I’m going to say brownies every time. I can be a little late. I think they’ll understand,” he shrugs.

She had expected him to just sit at the kitchen island, but to her surprise, he tried to help at every step, their conversation flowing easily as they worked in tandem. 

When she turns around from putting the batter into the oven, he’s already rinsing and loading up the dishwasher; her eyes become transfixed on the gentle flex of his forearms that peek out from his rolled-up sleeves.

Shaking her head, she says, “Hey, you don’t have to do that. You’re going to get your shirt dirty.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s a dark shirt,” Tito smiles at her. “I’m almost done anyway. Do you want to watch something while we wait for it to bake? You said it was like 45 minutes, right?”

“Yeah, sure. Do you have a suggestion?”

“Nope. Just put on whatever.”

She flickers back and forth between a few apps before something catches her eye. “Hey, have you seen Brooklyn Nine-Nine before?”

“No, actually! I always thought it sounded good. It’s a comedy, right? Like Parks & Rec?”

“Yeah, it’s been on my list for a while.”

“Hell yeah, I love those types of shows. Let’s do it.”

As she queues up the episode, she pauses, “It’s set in New York. That isn't gonna be weird for you, right?”

He chuckles quietly as he settles on the far end of her couch. “No, I think it’ll be fine. It’ll be nice to see the city anyway.”

“Alright.”

The show rolls on as they sit in a comfortable silence punctuated by a few comments and a lot of laughter. They end up getting through three episodes while they wait for the brownies to bake and cool before Tito has to leave. 

Eventually, when 5:50 pm rolls around, Tito stands with a sigh. “Alright. I should probably go; the boys'll chirp me to hell if I’m any later.”

“Oh yeah, of course. Have fun!” Evie says, handing over the container as he puts his shoes and coat back on.

He pauses, looking down at the box, and gently places a hand on her arm. “Evie, thank you so much for letting me come over and for baking these brownies for me.”

“Don’t be stupid, there’s no need to thank me,” she smiles and squeezes the hand on her arm, “Christmas spirit or whatever, right?”

He returns her smile, his eyes crinkling. “Yeah,” he breathes. He takes a step back.

“Well…” she reaches around him and opens the door for him. “Enjoy your dinner!”

He hesitates before wrapping her in a tight hug, “Thanks again. And Merry Christmas, Evie.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too, Tito,” her voice barely above a whisper next to his ear. She smiles at her door and doesn’t go back inside until after she sees him step into the elevator. When she returns to her couch, she can’t bring herself to keep watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine. So she puts on an old favorite, Schitt’s Creek, instead and settles in with a hot cup of tea.

Late that evening, she receives a text from Tito.

Tito 🌞🏒: ur brownies were a huge hit. thanks again!!!  Tito 🌞🏒: we actually have our last home game of the year tomorrow. i would love for you to be there if you can make it?

Evie — December 27

There's a flush on Evie’s cheeks as she leans against the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention. The bar isn't busy on a Wednesday night around Christmas time, so it isn't as loud or cramped as it could be. But she's feeling a little overwhelmed at the thought of being here with Tito’s teammates— all basically strangers— after a win.

As she waits for her drink, her mind wanders. It had been a while since Evie had been at a hockey game, and it felt good just to absorb the energy of the crowd around her. It was nice to be able to repay Leanne for dinner with a ticket to the game. She was surprised at how easily their conversation flowed and how much fun they had at the game together. She had found it hard to make friends in a new city with a remote job, but now she thinks she might join the group more when they hang out.

She looks over at where the players are sitting and is warmed by the sight of Tito laughing and joking with his teammates, looking lighter than when she last saw him. She’s glad that the boys are taking it easy since they’re leaving for a road trip tomorrow. She already feels like she’s running on fumes.

So she’s surprised to find herself still sitting at the booth two hours later. Most of the team has left by now, leaving just her, Tito, Jason Dickinson, and his wife, Alandra. She’s trying her hardest not to think about the weight of Tito’s leg pressing against hers under the table.

“Aww, your baby is so cute,” Evie says, handing the phone back to Alandra.

“Thanks, you know, this is the first time I've been out since she was born. Thank god our families are here for the holidays,” she says, taking a sip of her fourth cocktail. She leans in dramatically, “Okay, you’ve got to forgive me, but I’m a new mother, and I’m bored out of my mind. You want kids one day, Gigi?”

She chokes on a sip of her cocktail, prompting Tito to gently pat her back. “Um. I mean, yeah? I haven’t really thought about it in a while, I guess. My ex was really—” She clears her throat. “I like kids a lot. It depends on a lot of things, I guess. But I’m not really anywhere to be thinking about that right now.”

“Bad breakup?” Alandra asks sympathetically.

“Yeah, something like that. I mean, it was a long time coming. So yeah, I’m not really dating right now anyway so— No reason to think about kids.”

Alandra hums, leaning forward. “What do you mean you’re not dating? You’re beautiful; you must get a lot of attention.”

Evie laughs, shrugging as she takes a long sip of her drink, “I mean, sure? I just want to figure out how to be me for a bit, you know? Besides, I’ve just never really been a dating person. Just seems exhausting, to be honest. I did it a little bit before— I just hated it. And I think I still do. The idea of going on dates makes me—”

“Oh yeah, I get it,” Tito jumps in, “I dated a bit in Vancouver, mainly on Raya, but also some mutual friends, or whatever. It’s rough when you’re in and out of town for hockey and the rest of it. I’m definitely not thinking about it right now, either.”

Evie nods at him and gestures wildly with her straw. “Oh god, dating apps. Yeah, I downloaded Bumble for a bit in the summer and just deleted it after a few weeks. It’s like I missed a whole chunk of the dating timeline. It just wasn’t really a thing, and now it feels like that’s all people use, and I’m just so lost.”

Neither of them notices the looks Alandra and Jason share.

Jason finally speaks up, “What, so you don’t hook up?”

They both laugh and say, simultaneously, “That's not what I said,” and “Of course I do. "

With that, the conversation moves on to the upcoming new year. They stay at the bar for almost four hours, and by the time she walks through her apartment door, she doesn’t feel as bone tired as she thought she would.

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（＾・ﻌ・＾✿）

Hiya! How is everyone's day going so far?

I'm relieved that I finished Series 1-3 of my consulting project yesterday afternoon. However, I'm not sure how many installments I have left, because they haven't been sent yet. I cleaned and spoke to my sister in the evening; we discussed her plans for visiting (I really hope we can make it work). I want to make sure that she has an amazing time, in order to encourage her to visit every spring break. I'm motivated to start planning the hypothetical trip to stimulate the fruition of her peregrination. I'll be careful though, because I don't want to overwhelm her, although she and I have a similar stamina for fun activities beyond the comfortable confines of the home.

I started my day with my acupressure mat, and then a yummy pumpkin bagel. Needless to say, I'm in a fairly good mood. I guess it helps that I have my late-morning apple cider to which I can look forward.

Random, but after my "No-Spend September," I'm thinking about purchasing a pregnancy pillow. I keep seeing advertisements for G-shaped pillows, but I'm not convinced they're a cure-all for sleep-induced neck and back pain. Has anyone tried using a pregnancy pillow for naps or general sleeps? If so, did it work?

9.17.24

Work 🎻

Clean email inboxes

Practice

Plan lesson

Amend policy ↠

Start designing new flier ↠

Teach

Household 🧹

Repark car

Tidy kitchen

Plan and prep dinner

Self-Care 🧸

Walk

Workout ↠

Straighten hair

Shower

Extraneous 🕯️

Compose (?) ↠

🎧 - "Having no friends is fine" by Pretty Lonesome with Madeline Argy (Podcast)