#no use of yn

[fallenprophets]

pure bliss forever

arthur morgan x reader

PART 1 🌀 PART 2

summary : a quiet evening in a hut in the Grizzlies.

gn reader, no use of y/n, not explicitly romantic unless you want it to be, 3.4 K words

warnings : swearing, very brief mention of suicide

a/n : if you know the song the title is based on, i'll send you a tenner and a kiss on the forehead

༅☾»⟣⋱

I’m knee deep in the snow, gloved fingers fumbling awkwardly with my bow and arrow. The gloves are Arthur’s- about fifteen sizes too big, hard to hunt with, but warm, which is the least you can really ask for in this part of the Grizzlies. I’ve had get new gloves scrawled on my list of things to do for the past four weeks- since Arthur first took my hunting in the mountains, and I realised that I might have misremembered how goddamn cold it was. 

I’ve been tracking this grizzly bear for half an hour now. At first, I wanted to kill it, skin it, bring the meat back to Arthur, make the pelt into a coat (or some gloves, I think miserably). But the more I’ve been watching it; the more I’ve been following it, the less I want to raise the bow, notch the arrow, let it fly and land in the bear’s soft neck. At this point, even though I’m still holding the bow and arrow, I’ve made the decision not to kill the sweet animal. She’s too pretty, sniffin’ around in the snow. 

Arthur is also out hunting; further down the mountain than me. He tried it out; waitin’ for animals, in the snow. Said it as nicely as possible, that he wasn’t patient enough for that shit. So he leaves the tracking and waiting to me, and goes to where the snow is thinner, hunts deer and such. 

For the first time, he said he’ll stay the night with me, in a small hut we’ve found. It’s not like my daddy’s old hut; smaller, lower ceiling, nowhere outside to hitch the horses. We’ve had to try and plant sticks in the ground, hope the horses don’t tug and try to run away. Thought it was so funny that I fell in the snow; had to change into a pair of Arthur’s spare trousers ‘nd shirt, another twelve sizes too big. 

I follow the bear a little longer, ‘till it’s nearly nightfall. Then, I turn back, trudge through the snow in my boots (they’re the only thing I’m wearing that are actually the right size). My socks are starting to get wet; these are Rhodes boots, not Grizzlies boots. I don’t mind, though. The freezing cold air, despite being sharp and almost painful at first, smells like home. 

It’s night time when I get back to the hut. It looks like Arthur beat me- the lantern inside is lit, golden light beaming out through the cracked windows. It’s so cold in the hut that we had to sleep in our coats, last night; I made a passing joke about sleeping on top of each other, like I used to with my daddy when it got real cold, and we both laughed it off.

“Fuckin’ freezing in here,” I say as I kick the door open. I don’t take off my coat; but I do kick off my boots, so I don’t track snow onto the newly cleaned floor of the hut. 

Arthur chuckles, his low-down laugh warm. I smile, all teeth. 

“Didn’t catch anything?” He asks. I haven’t caught anything on my trips hunting. I think he knows I get sentimental about these animals. Last time, I sheepishly brought back a can of tinned beans after failing to catch a deer. Thought Arthur was gonna collapse, the way he was laughin’. 

“Nah,” I answer, even though my empty arms are answer enough. “Didn’t find nothin’.” I think of the bear, probably sniffin’ around for food for her cubs. “Cold probably drove ‘em all home.” 

“I’m sure.” He’s caught two rabbits. “Wanna light a fire?” 

It’s the least I can do. “I gotta put my boots back on?” I complain, jokingly. “Got sticks?” 

“In the corner there.” Points, with two ungloved fingers. I go to the sticks, lift them up. Slip on my boots. Take them to the hole we’ve made in the snow, for campfires. “It’s cold,” I mutter to myself as I drop them down into the hole, make sure they’re arranged right. I go back inside; Arthur is still there, skinning the second rabbit.  

“Got a match?” I ask, dusting my hands off on my to-big trousers. “Somethin’ I can light this with?” I know he does, ‘cause he always does, it’s tradition, though, to ask him. 

“Over here.” Wipes his hand, takes the box from his pocket, pushes it open; I grab two matches, ‘cause I always fuck the first one up, put them between my teeth, then take the box from his hand. Strike one- fucked up. I drop it onto the unlit campfire, then strike the second one. It flares up. I smiled the tiny flame with my hand, kneel down, hold the burning match to the sticks and wait for them to catch fire. 

“Done,” I call back into the hut, pulling my coat closer around myself. I hum to myself as I hold my hands out, let the growing flames warm them. 

Arthur comes out with the rabbits, edible bits impaled on knives. He hands me one, then crouches down in the snow, holding it above the fire to cook it. 

“So,” I say, once the silence has stretched too long. 

“So,” he answers, in the same tone, voice going up at the end. 

“Cold,” I say, because I want to say something but there’s nothing really to say. 

He snorts, and we lapse back into comfortable silence. 

“Thank you,” I say. My rabbit has cooked- I bite into it. Tastes like the food I ate three times a day with my daddy, when I was a kid. “For- for takin’ me here, and stayin’. All that. I really- I appreciate it.” 

“I know.” He doesn’t say it unkindly. I’ve thanked him before, a lot, but I feel like I gotta. He’s done so much for me. 

“And, y’know, thanks for staying the night.” It was supposed to be one night; last night, just to test the waters, see if maybe I did want to stay here longer, by myself. But I think Arthur sensed, when we woke up this morning, that I didn’t want to go just yet- maybe saw it in the way I held my shoulders, the tic in my jaw returning as I ground my teeth together. He suggested that we stay, just one more night, and I jumped on the opportunity, my jaw unclenching, my shoulders relaxing once again. My father always told me I was readable; didn’t realise it was that bad until Arthur sensed every thought before it even completed itself in my head, made suggestions that just worked for me. He doesn’t make it feel like I’m, I don’t know, burdening him, with my loud feelings and tightening shoulders. He just takes it in his stride; like he takes everything else in his stride. It’s what I like about him. 

Once we’re done eating, we go back inside. Leave our boots at the door (so domestic, I think to myself, as the toe of my left boot stays resting against the toe of his right one). Keep our coats on, sit down on our separate sleeping bags. 

“You goin’ straight to sleep?” I ask him, readjusting my coat. Another routine. 

“You want to go straight to sleep?” Like he always does. I snort (like I always do, because we have a routine, one we’ve established the last few times we’ve come here). “Alright,” I say. I shuffle in, pull my blanket tight around myself. It hardly keeps the cold out, but it’s comfortable. I’m shivering a little less. 

Arthur isn’t wearing any gloves because I’m wearing his gloves. He’s got his hands tucked under his legs where he sits, but he must be cold. I don’t want him to be cold, so I shuffle ‘round, look at him fully. 

“You can have your gloves back,” I say, already wriggling out of them. “S’alright,” he answers, like I knew he would. “Really,” he adds, when he sees that I’ve got a glove off already. “Take one, then,” I say, a compromise. I throw it at him, and he catches it. “One glove each. So we can be… half warm each.” 

His turn to laugh, half through his nose, half through his mouth. Slips the glove on, wiggles his fingers at me to make a point. I smile, with some teeth. 

“So,” I say, tucking my ungloved hand between my knees. “You like it here?” 

Arthur breathes out, looks out the window for a long moment before looking at me again. “Yeah, I like it plenty.” He pauses, looks at me more, his gaze locked on my face. 

It’s cold, but something in my chest stirs, something warm and small and soft, like a squirrel, or a small rabbit. I fold my arm under my head, prop myself up like that. 

“There’s a part of the mountains,” I say, after a few minutes of warm silence. “A little- I think north of here, there’s a dip, towards the top of the mountain. It’s like- the top dips, a little, so there’s a cave. You can see the stars from there, better than anywhere else in the mountains.” I smile at the thought; it’s coldest up there, the stone bare of snow most of the time. I remember going up with my daddy; just once, though. All the other times I went alone, to clear my head. 

The memory turns sour when I remember the first time I stayed overnight, huddled by a campfire in my coat. When I got home, my daddy was gone, bullet in his temple, blood sprayed on the walls. 

“Sounds real nice,” Arthur answers. He’s right, it is. 

“Wish the gang could see it.” I smile, wipe my nose with my ungloved hand. “Jack would love it.” Arthur chuckles, lowly, softly. It makes the bunny in my chest twitch happily. 

“I’m sure he would.” He lies down, pulls the blanket over himself. “How far is it, from Rhodes?” 

“Opposite direction.” I sink a little, into the floor. I think I know what he’s thinking. “Too far to go tomorrow, on our way back to Rhodes. Maybe another time.” 

“We can take Jack, if Abigail lets us.” 

“We can take Abigail, too.” I feel my smile come back, just at the thought. “John, if he’s around. Charles might like it- lots of hidden wildlife. Stuff to watch, even if you’re not huntin’ it.” 

“That what you been doing?” He doesn’t say it unkindly. When I first came back empty handed after almost a full day of what was meant to be hunting, I’d expected him to bristle, to sigh, maybe to pinch the bridge of his nose and tell me that this wasn’t enough, I gotta pull my weight (although whenever I pictured it, it was Pearson’s voice, or Dutch’s that said it; never Arthur’s). We’re here to hunt, God’s sake, not for me to dawdle and watch the animals from a distance. 

“Yeah,” I say, almost sheepishly, shifting my arm, pulling at a finger of my glove- his glove. There’s a silence; not an uncomfortable one. “I don’t know why. Up here, I just…” I can’t bring myself to kill them, I want to say, but that’s ridiculous, because they’re animals, right? 

But the look in that doe’s eyes, back in Rhodes, right when I shot her; the way the bear walked softly, earlier today, hunting for scraps. The way the rabbits bounce along, terrified when they see me; the way the birds fly so high above. I saw a dead wolf on the way up here, decomposing on the side of the road with an arrow through its throat- stifled an almost sob, told Arthur I was just happy to be back. 

“I get it,” he says. Does he? He doesn’t seem to struggle with killing animals, hunting to keep us alive. Maybe that’s why- they gotta survive, but so do we. Does that apply to all the men he’s shot dead, for the sake of himself and the gang? A gang that I’m a part of, of course. I’ve killed for them too, finger tight on the 

trigger, ribs tighter around my lungs. 

“I draw ‘em, sometimes.” He adds, in a quieter voice. Like it’s a secret. 

This takes me aback slightly. i know he keeps a journal of sorts, tucked away in that satchel of his. I’ve seen him around camp, or on our journeys when we stop to rest the horses, scrawling away. I know he writes- Mary Beth mentioned it in passing, once. I always thought he was just doin’ that- writing. Not drawing. 

I squint at him, vision narrowing to zero in on his face. 

“I didn’t know you drew,” I say. 

He shrugs. Shifts on his sleeping bag, so the blanket shifts with him, pulling up, letting the cold air in. 

“Can I…” I hesitate, draw my hands in close to my chest. “I mean, I get if it’s private, and all. But I- can I see?” A hesitation, a beat of silence where the cold air rattles against the windowpanes and wolves howl in the distance. 

“Sure.” 

I know where the journal is. It’s in its usual place, on the table, next to his satchel. My sleeping bag is placed so that if I wiggle around, reach my arm out far enough, my fingertips graze the leather cover. I do just that; am able to leverage it closer, finally tipping it over the edge and into my other hand, this one gloved. 

It feels wrong, to hold this in my hands in this way. To turn it over, run my bare fingertips over the cover, the lines in the spine where it has been cracked countless times. I used to have a journal, when I was a kid, scrawled in pencil in a notebook my daddy got me from town. 

Reverently, like what I’m holding is holy, I fold it open. 

The first page is a log of something, initials of gang members written in surprisingly legible pencil, alongside numbers. I turn the page, find a crude map of Blackwater. A shiver runs down my back. I know he’s watching me as I turn the page once more, find a drawing of a riverbed, trees, a bridge. I want to touch it; want to run my fingers along the strokes of the pencil. The place he’s drawn is both recognisable and not; a cross between a dream and a distant memory. Next comes a church of some sort, surrounded by field and trees. I wonder when he finds the time to do all this- to sit and draw. Wish I could, I think wistfully. 

The third page is writing. I feel his eyes on me as I skip that, go to the next drawing. These are his thoughts; his feelings. They’re none of my concern. I’m here for the drawings. 

I flip through, ignoring the writing, tracing the drawings with my eyes. I don’t want to touch it in case it smudges. Instead, I try to picture all the places he’s drawn, try to remember them, pull them from that place in my dreams. It’s like a dip into a normal, different world; normal people in the streets of Blackwater, mingling, talking. 

“They’re pretty,” I murmur, more to the journal itself than to Arthur, whose gaze is still firm on my face, flicking occasionally to the page I’m on. 

There’s one word, however, that I stop on. Davey, a cross drawn next to the name. Nothin’ else on the page. I touch this one, run my fingers along the loops and curves of the name. Does he do this for all our dad? Dedicate a page, a cross, a whispered prayer as we pass on? Will he do it for me, if I ever by some misfortune find myself with a bullet in my temple? 

I shake the thought away and keep going. Drawings of our camp in the Grizzlies; drawings of the train we robbed, owned by that Leviticus Cornwall. Horseshoe Overlook, drawings of the gang around the fire. I think I spot myself in the background of one of those drawings, a dead rabbit over my shoulder, my hair shorter than it is now. The church in Valentine; a grizzly bear. Then, a familiar face, only in pencil, catches my attention. I stop, narrow my eyes slightly. I don’t get much of a chance to look at myself; can hardly remember my own face most days, if I’m honest. But this- the lines of the face, the swamp scrawled in the background. A drawing of me, the day he sat with me and smoked and talked about home. 

I feel my throat tighten. It’s strange, seeing that someone thinks about me in that way; wants to have my face in his journal, drawn with soft grey lines. 

“You’ve made me look soft,” I say, turning to him once more. “Drawn me the way you draw rabbits.” Ain’t a bad thing; in fact, it makes the rabbit in my chest happy, makes the warmth come back twice as strong. 

He chuckles. Knows me well enough to know it’s not a criticism. 

“’S real pretty, all of this,” I tell him, tracing the drawing with my fingertips. The lines smudge, make me look slightly blurry. I pull my hand away, find the pads of my fingers slightly silver. “Sorry,” I say, because I’ve ruined it. 

“S’okay,” he answers, with a smile. “Do what you want with it. ’S a drawin’ of you; may as well.” 

I laugh, shut the journal and slide it over to him. Turn fully, so I’m angled towards him. I fold my arm under my head again, the cold forgotten slightly as the blanket falls away. 

“Thank you,” I say, trying to push as much of the warmth that I’m feeling into my voice. “For lettin’ me see your journal. And, y’know, other things.”

He chuckles, shifts. It’s dark; the candles have burned to the bottom, hardly illuminating the hut. I’d be more scared, but I have him, his warm everything. 

“Maybe I’ll draw you,” I say, and that earns me another laugh, because we all know I can’t draw for shit. I was put in charge of drawing a map once, for the gang; looked more like a self portrait than anything else, pencil smudged where my tears had fallen. 

“When we leave camp,” I tell him, because I know we will leave Rhodes, and Saint Denis, and the swamps and alligators, behind. The thought doesn’t fill me with distress. Maybe we’ll go somewhere colder. But as long as I have him, it’s okay. “We might go far- too far to come back here for day trips.” Already thinking of the end; of how I’ll live with the memory of this, and the knowledge that I won’t be able to return. 

“We can make it work,” he answers, firmly, but softly. “We’ll just stay, one or two nights.” 

“You can teach me to draw.” 

There it is again; his laugh. I love it, and I love him, for what he’s doing for me. 

“I’ll buy you a journal,” he says, and I don’t think he’s joking. I curl up, knees closer to my chest, then stretch out again. Somehow, he’s closer than before. A simple extension of my arm, and I could touch his hand (the one with the glove on, but his hand, nevertheless). Hell, if I stretched my leg out, I could cross my ankle over his, although I’d have one hell of a cold leg. 

Our conversation has ended, I realise, and we’re watching each other fall asleep. He’s the first to go, eyes dropping shut. We discussed taking turns on the lookout, then decided we were safe enough, hidden by pine trees and miles and miles of snow and mountain. 

When his breathing slows, really slows, I reach out, touch my bare fingertips to his gloved palm. I rest my hand there, hoping he doesn’t notice. I consider touching his wrist, feeling his pulse, but my hand is cold, and I don’t want to wake him. 

I drop off; but not before I feel gloved fingers slightly tightening around my wrist. 

I wake up in that position, hands molded together. His ankle crossed over mine, despite the freezing cold. Somehow closer to each other than before. 

I smile, close my eyes again. 

[preciouslandmermaid]

🕸🕷 my heart is a hornet's nest 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven’s daughter)

Rating: T

Summary:  It's been thirteen months since Kraven was killed by Venom. Despite everything, you're still in the city and helping a nerd - named Peter - in his garage try and save the world. It's hard to ascertain where your old life as a hunter ends and your new life begins. Somedays you can't even tell if you're moving forward or not. But, the pull you feel towards Peter is magnetic. And it's bound to end in catastrophe if you pursue him.

Even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around. He can't risk it. He can't risk you. And the long nights in his garage are really, really starting to wear at him.

Prompt: "Are you afraid of me?" / "Do I look afraid?"

tags: enemies to Lovers/enemies to friends to lovers, no use of y/n, secret identity, unresolved romantic tension, first kiss, light angst, slow burn, mutual pining !!

��🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

Kraven snaps your name like a whip.

“You’ll oversee this one, huntress.” he says without looking away from the screen.

A mixture of pride and trepidation curdles beneath your skin. Kraven is trusting you, but he trusts plenty of his hunters. You lick your lips. The transfer of Martin Li. You promise Kraven that you’ll put the team together and leave before the hour.

No one questions Kraven’s decision. You don’t get special treatment purely because you’re his blood. In fact, if you look closely (which you won’t), you’d say that Kraven treats you worse than his other hunters. He expects—he demands – more of you.

There will be a target on your back when Kraven completes his hunt and finds a worthy enough predator to kill him. But that’s nothing new. You’ve had a target on your back since you were young enough to understand the way of the world; predator and prey, hunter and hunted, kill or be killed.

You lift your arm-- THUNK!—the throwing knife hits its bullseye.

“Huntress,” a hunter named Erik approached you, “you want five VTOLs?”

THUNK! This one is a little off-center and you blame Erik for distracting you. You exhale, balancing your weight, and lining up your shot. Erik is bold. Kraven named you the leader of Li’s abduction. He shouldn’t be asking questions. Your eyes narrow.

You pivot on your heel, fast as a viper’s strike, and flashing silver spins through the air. It’s beautiful.

Erik makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Your throwing knife wobbles from where its pinned Erik’s hood to the wall. His eyes flick to the blade. He’s lucky you didn’t miss. Otherwise the blade would’ve sank into his throat or he would lack an ear for the mission ahead.

“That’s what I said,” you yank the knife from the wood, freeing him, “wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Erik says, voice tight and clipped, and his eyes darken. You know he is loyal to Kraven, not you. If he managed to kill you – Kraven would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t mourn you. Nature is cruel and so is your father. You sheath your throwing knives while keeping one eye on the hunter.

Erik hasn’t left which means he could be planning his next move. You tense and wait for the inevitable blow. Come on, you think, try it. You’d be happy to fight off your frazzled, nervous energy. You should probably conserve your strength in case things with Martin Li go bad.

Erik nods, “huntress,” and leaves.

You roll your shoulders and return to the weapons cache. I’ll bring Martin Li to Kraven and he’ll have his wonderful fight. He’ll achieve his dream.

Nothing will go wrong. Nothing could. You’ve been planning this for months.

******

Peter wobbles to his feet, his head ringing. Whoever these guys are—they’re serious. The tech they’re using is insane. Invisible drones. Laser swords. What’s next? A few giant mecha-robots intent on crushing Harlem? He shouldn’t think about it – he doesn’t want to jinx it.

He stares into the face of the capable, dangerous stranger with smoke burning his nostrils and scalding his throat.

Dark soot clings to your clothes, your expression venomous and focused, furrowed and tight. The light frames you, bouncing off the east river in sparks, and refracting over the small throwing knives clutched between your knuckles. She’s fast, like really fast. Fast enough that he’s concerned you have a spider-sense of your own. Who the hell are these guys? Miles kicks a drone in mid-air and metal-on-metal crunches together like a compacted soda can.

Peter jumps before the blade can slice through him. It whistles through the air, hits and – literally bounces! -- off a metal pole. His lenses widen. He twists his body. His nerves ignite with impending danger, but he’s in the already dodging the first blade.

He’s Spider-Man.

He can’t stop physics.

Your second blade cuts through the air and burns when it cuts his shoulder. He lands on his feet, a sharp inhale drawn through his teeth, and resists the urge to check the injury. She can’t have that many knives on her!

Your lips quirk, “are you afraid of me?”

“Do I look afraid?”

“Hard to say,” you make a gesture around your face, “with the mask and all.”

“Where’s yours?” he propels through the air with his webs slung behind him, “I thought--” you deflect his punch, “most bad guys—” you stumble backward when he kicks your chest, but recover quickly, “want to keep their identities a secret.”

“I have no shame in who I am,” your leg swings over his head.

“So uhhh...who are you?” he quips. His palms land flat on the cold, metal surface and his spine curves, his body moving like a question mark, and avoiding the onslaught of your assault.

“Serious question!” he says a little louder this time while your silver knife dances through the light as it carves his webs into flimsy pieces.

A burst of green flares flash against the gray smoke. His heart flips. The raft jolts to the side. They’re going to drag the ship underwater! The heavy-duty spears punch through the metal as if it was made of tissue paper.

“We gotta get this ship free!”

Peter spares a final glance over his shoulder and you leap from the other side. Are you landing on another boat? A life raft? Are you going to swim away? He has no clue. He can’t spare any further brain cells on it though. He slides down the tilted raft toward the giant spears that function like fish-hooks into the industrial, military transport raft.

***

It’s been approximately thirteen months since Kraven met his end.

You’ve found that keeping count provides some strange, twisted comfort. You wake up, check your calendar, and strike another tally mark into the wall. It feels good to carve the line into the sheet-rock, little flecks of white catching on your thumb and falling like cremated remains onto the hardwood floor and clinging to your socks.

Sometimes you run into old hunters, vying for territory, and hoping to claim some scraps that Kraven left behind. Many, however, fled to Kraven’s homeland to play out the tragedy of a power vacuum and continue Kraven’s legacy.

None of them have impressed you. Not the ones that have sought you out, hoping to kill Kraven’s kin, and earn glory. And definitely not the ones who you’ve run into accidentally. Those are the worst. They’re cowards. They’re mice. You stumble upon them, trying to eat the crumbs off Kraven’s table, and your retribution is swift and bloody and a pain in the ass to clean up.

You wonder what Peter Parker would say if he knew. You pull your sweater over your head. Peter, the nerd running a research foundation out of his garage, happens to be your only...well, friend is the wrong word...but he’s your only something in this city.

You aren’t supposed to have ‘somethings’. Attachments, as Kraven would call them. Attachments made you weak. You thought it was hypocritical for your father preach this advice when he had a wife and multiple children. Not anymore though, you finish lacing up your boots, everyone’s dead now except for me.

The cassette clicks with a satisfying ‘CLUNK’ into the player and you slide your headphones over your ears. The player was a gift from Peter. No. Gift is the wrong word. It’s on a loan.

“What’s this?” You cradled the cassette player, “it looks ancient.” You twisted the sharp-grooved circles. They remind you of strange teeth. You click the play and pause button. It’s clunky. It’s right-angles and lackluster chrome and the buttons make noise.

It’s the antithesis of the technology you grew up with around Kraven.

You love it.

Peter rolls his chair over to you, “it’s not ancient. Maybe vintage. God, do we call it vintage?” he sounds so baffled that you almost smile, “you know, record players and vinyl are making a big comeback so it’s only a matter of time before Walkman do too.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, “do you want it?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not using it obviously.” He smiles, “I think I have a few cassettes lying around and there’s no shortage of music shops in Brooklyn.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. The wild part of you, the part that Kraven nurtured through violence and toxic loyalty, wants to throw the device on the ground. See how sturdy it is and compare it to the tactical, military-grade equipment you grew up with. How many pieces will it break into? A dozen?

You gaze into Peter’s earnest face. His eyes are warm, light mahogany. There are soft lines that kiss the corners of his eyes. You think when he is old, he will have many wrinkles around his eyes, and it takes a second longer than normal for your lungs to refill.

“I’ll borrow it,” you say, unable to accept his random kindness, “and return it before our work is done.”

“Great!” Peter coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, that sounds good.”

The cassette clicks, whirring warm in your palm, and switching the song. The subway rushes past in a gust of tepid, moist air that smells both stale and greasy. You scan the crowd. The citizens range from individuals wearing jean jackets with sewn patches, to baggy street wear, to plastic bags on shoes, to gym athletics and smart watches.

Someone gets on the train wearing a camouflage parka. Your spine stiffens. Your fingers twitch to the weapons hidden inside your coat. Do I know your face? You shift your body and peer at the subway windows, allowing the ghostly transparent reflection to reveal the stranger’s face.

As you wait for the right angle, the right lighting, you consider your options. Tail them out of the train—could be a trap, but their numbers are never that high. Get close, press the blade to the artery in their thigh, let them see your face before you sink the blade in and leave on the next stop. The timing would be tricky, but not impossible. Not for you. Bail on Pete and spend the next several days tracking the stranger until you’ve found and confirmed their hideout. An ambush. Quick and silent.

The stranger coughs into their sleeve and your fingers fall away from your knife.

You’re glad Pete isn’t here. You’ve never traveled together and you likely never will. It’s safer that way. It keeps him out of your personal life.

“That’s the problem with attachments,” you mumble to yourself, “you start wondering what they might say if they knew you.”

*****

Pete rubs his eyes with his fists, “do you hear birds or is that just in my head?”

You don’t lift your head from the microscope, “it’s birds.”

He yawns. There have been plenty of late nights in his garage shared with you, but this one feels different.

Maybe it’s because of the mercurial light flickering along the planes of your face.

Maybe it’s the notes by your hands, the edges of your fingers smeared black from ink.

Maybe it’s the unplugged headphone wire dangling from your throat and brushing ever-so-often against your exposed collarbones.

Shit. He blinks, looking away. He can’t get mixed up. He’s grateful to you. You donated the notes first, but then pieces of Kraven’s equipment, and then...you came around more and more. You wanted to see what he was doing, wanted to see his progress, or ‘see how helpful your notes are.’ He likes it. He likes having you around.

But, even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to risk you too. And it’s not because you can’t fight. To him, you’re finding your place outside of Kraven’s shadow and he doesn’t want to mess that up. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around.

The sequences before him blur into gibberish. He peeks up through his hair back to you.

Your name is the first word out of his mouth, followed shortly by “you’re bleeding!”

“I tried to catch the sample,” your voice is laced with frustration, “I can’t believe I dropped it.”

“It’s fine,” he opens the first-aid kit that’s stowed beneath the desk, “let me see.”

***

You blink at Peter. Earnest, helpful, kind Peter. You cradle your hand to your chest. It stings, but you’ve faced hornets stronger than this. The tiny shards of glass bounce colorful reflections from the holiday lights strung around Peter’s garage. The wild voice tells you to dig the shards out with your nails.

The blood is starting to stain the hem of your sweater.

Peter doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch away. His offered hand holding the gauze doesn’t shake.

You swallow. Why isn’t he shying away from the woman made of shrapnel? Doesn’t he know you’re lethal?

“What?” his eyebrows lift, “are you afraid of me? Or is it medical care in general?” soft humor folds into his brown eyes, “I promise my co-pays are reasonable.”

His words shatter the stiffness of your muscles.

You say, “do I look afraid?” you extend your bloody hand to him.

His fingers curl lightly and gently around your wrist. He flushes the wounds with water before plucking the glass out with a pair of tweezers. His brow furrows in concentration. Your neck prickles and a tingling sensation travels down your spine.

You’ve seen his furrowed brow a hundred times. However, you’ve never experienced it as the subject. Peter holds an antiseptic wipe between his long fingers. His touch is unbearably gentle and you wish you had something to compare it to.

“This might hurt a bit,” the soft, low rumble of his voice is strangely intimate.

The words fall out of your mouth, “I’m used to it.”

“Are we going to unpack that?” He slides the wipe across your angry, throbbing skin.

“No,” your lips twitch, “unless you have a psychology degree I’m unaware of.”

You’re fascinated by the way his fingers move along yours, light and precise, carefully wiping away the blood and wrapping your hand in gauze.

He says, “maybe it’s time for a career change.”

You smile. “What career?”

Peter chuckles, “okay, I walked into that one.”

His eyes lift to yours and his jaw slackens, like he’s finally caught the creature stalking him in the woods, and his fingers twitch on your wrist. The charged moment hangs undisturbed in the air, sending signals through the ether and rearranging the flow of blood in your veins.

His cheeks flush rosy and sweet. The pink hue reminds you of that pivotal morning a few months ago when Spider-Man gave you a sunrise and Pete’s number and a hope for a different future. Your fingers curl into his. And the carefully wrapped gauze prevents you from feeling the warmth of his palm. The wild voice tells you to rip the bandages off and run home. Your knees bump into his.

There’s always so little distance between you.

It’s a small garage, after all.

You tilt forward and hear Pete’s sharp inhale. There isn’t a moment of hesitation. Not for you. You know when to strike, when to move, and when to hide. It’s been drilled into you since birth. Hesitation is a lack of courage, in confidence, and you’ve never lacked either of those.

Peter’s mouth collides with yours.

Your ever-present and paranoid guard slips and you close your eyes to savor it—savor him.

The pliant softness of his lips melds into yours and your exhale shudders between your lips. His hand slides from your throat and holds your cheek, his thumb pressed into your cheekbone, and your hip bumps into the side of his workbench when you stand.

Peter remains on the stool, his neck arched, and his lithe legs part for you to enter the space between them. The thrill illuminates your chest like a red flare against a black sky. His lips play against yours, eager and a little clumsy, and you clutch the front of his wrinkled cotton shirt.

He mumbles your name.

“Shh,” you nose skims along his, recapturing his lips, because you think words might ruin it. The hanging lights flash their merry little dance. There’s fragments of glass under your boots. Ink stains your fingers, blood stains your sweater, and Peter’s tongue stains your lips.

You’ve experienced blood lust. You’ve felt it pounding through your ears and sharpening your focus into razor-thin virulence. You’re familiar with the excitement of a good hunt, a worthy opponent, a well-matched fight. Spider-Man, you think, I’ve felt this with him. But those were mixed with violence, and blood, and bruises.

This – this moment with Peter – is wholly different. Your heart pumps the same blood, pushing it through arteries and valves, but your hands move to caress, to clutch, and stroke through the fine strands of his hair. Your lungs tremble, not in pain, but in elation. The passion rolls through you in waves of syrup and brushes your skin like branches of fir.

Peter’s phone buzzes – loud and incessant – and he groans before tearing his mouth from yours. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright, and his chest heaves with hungry gulps of air. You’re glad to know you aren’t the only one affected by the strong pull of – whatever this is – between you.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta--” he lifts the phone from the table, “hello?”

You watch Peter’s face while he talks on the phone. He’s too expressive. He’d make a terrible hunter. And probably a bad poker player, too. You want to kiss him again just for the hell of it. And feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, feel his breath mingling with yours, his tongue and the blunt force of his teeth.

“I have to go out, um, do you want to come with?” he tilts his chin toward the garage door, “we could – uh – get something to eat along the way?”

You hands twitch at your sides. Your coat, draped on the desk chair, is laden with hidden pockets for knives and darts and small vials of poison. An arsenal for protection, an arsenal for vengeance, the truth of your soul. A soul that Peter cannot – should not – bear witness to.

“Can’t.”

His expression deflates, but he recovers with an easy-going smile.

He shakes his head, “that’s cool,” and says, “another time then.”

You make a noncommittal sound.

***

You finish setting up the tripwire at your apartment door and wipe your palms on your sweatpants. The windowpanes glisten with raindrops, painting the empty corners dark blue, and blurring the myriad of ever-changing traffic lights.

You scratch beneath your ear, upsetting your headphones, and flop onto the couch. The cassette whirs like a little hamster running through its wheel as the song fills your head and blocks out the honking below. You’ve grown to like the city of noise, the city that never sleeps. It’s a concrete jungle. A unique hunting ground.

Tap, tap, tap --

You jerk upright and your head whirls to the noise. Spider-Man perches on the ledge of your window, his red and blue suit shiny and dripping. You cautiously close the distance and begin to disarm the trap before unlatching it. It creaks noisily as it slides open and old paint chips cling to the windowsill.

The cool wet air is tinged with the scent of exhaust fumes.

“Weird time to visit,” you say.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He slips through the window like a salmon and lands soundlessly on the hardwood floor.

You’re going to have to move. You don’t want Spider-Man keeping tabs on you.

“But this isn’t a social call,” he continues, “I need your help with something.”

You lift one eyebrow, “I’m not a mercenary,” then you add, “and even if I was, I doubt you could afford me.”

Spider-Man laughs. “It’s nothing like that!”

You fold your arms across your chest. Spider-Man gives you the vague details of a criminal that he’s had trouble tracking down, could use your expertise, and fighting skills, and so and so forth. It’s a good pitch, you’ll give him partial credit for effort, but you’re not interested in becoming a vigilante – or a hero.

“So, what do you say? We’ve teamed up before.”

Against the symbiote. But, your motivations were selfish. You weren’t helping Spider-Man or trying to save the city. You were weakening Venom.

“No thanks.”

“What?” His lenses widen, “seriously? After my whole speech and everything?”

“Try a power point next time.” You shrug, “I’m retired. No more fighting for me.”

Spider-Man glances around your apartment and there’s evidence of your hypocrisy across every surface. A case of black, tactical arrowheads sits on your coffee table. There’s several target posters hanging on the wall across from your couch with pockmarks embedded into the paper. There’s unfinished gadgets and an open toolbox on the floor near the kitchen where you like to eat breakfast and tinker.

“You’re a bad liar,” there’s a smile in his voice, “just this once, huntress, that’s all. For old times sake.”

You muster the energy to glare at him, but it lacks true heat. “You mean the old times when I was actively trying to kill you?”

Spider-Man shrugs languidly, “we all have bad days.”

That wildness, the hunter that lives inside you, under your skin and in the marrow of your bones is grinding its teeth and trashing into your ribs. It’s hard to determine where you begin and the hunter ends or if they’re destined to forever be intertwined.

You’re a wildcat, unable to be truly domesticated and all your attempts have been in vain.

But, then you remember the warmth of Peter’s lips, his gentle hands, and genuine laughter. You tell yourself, there is room for softness inside of me, for even tigers can purr.

You tell Spider-Man to wait while you get dressed.

“One time,” you hold up a finger, “that’s it.”

“One time.” he agrees with a nod.

Together, you rush into the monotone rain-soaked evening for your first hunt since Kraven’s death.

[angst-cravings]

birdlistening

summary: you are an avid birder, and you go birdwatching every sunday morning before matt goes to church. today you invite him out

pairing: matt murdock x reader

words: 1k

an: this is so self indulgent i love birds so much. only fluff. gender neutral reader, no use of y/n

cw: some mild explicit language. embarrassment about being passionate

The sun isn’t even up yet, but you are energized and ready to go. You love Sunday mornings. Matt has his ritual of going to church and confession, while you have your ritual of going birdwatching. It’s how you center yourself before every week starts. You are silently packing your bag, putting in your worn field guide, bird notebook, binoculars, water bottle filled with hot cocoa, and a pair of gloves in case things get a little too nippy. You barely noticed, but Matt had gotten out of bed and was standing in the doorway like he always manages to do before you leave. You flash him a quick smile. He looks so ethereal with the neon lights reflecting off his bare skin, and his lack of clothing always entices you to stay behind. 

“Expecting any good birds today?” 

“Well, this week is actually peak migration, so… yeah. There will be so many birds today.” You try to hide your excitement, but you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. This is your favorite time of the year, and you are constantly looking forward to it in the winter when birds are scarce.

He grins at you. “Well, I hope you have fun sweetheart.” 

You keep meaning to invite him, but he had usually only gone to bed a few hours before. However, he had taken last night off. Maybe this would be a good time?

“Would you… maybe want to come birdwatching with me?” You tentatively suggest. You were prepared for rejection. It was so early in the morning, and you didn’t even know if he’d enjoy it.

“Well, I can’t exactly watch the birds,” He chuckles, “But I can go out with you if you’d like. I could at least make sure you get to Central Park safely.”

“I think you’d like it more than you think. I can teach you the bird calls, and then you can bird listen,” You zip up your backpack, and put on a hat, “But you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

He immediately shakes his head. “Of course. Anything to spend a little more time with you.” Warmth rises in your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile.

As you two walk to Central Park, you start educating him. 

“So, you obviously know the common ones like the Rock Pigeon and Mourning Dove and Canada Goose and stuff. We’ll probably encounter some of those today but those are kinda boring. I’m really looking for warblers; they’re some of my favorite birds. American Redstart and Yellow-rumped Warblers are pretty common around migration here, so I’m expecting some of those.” You pull up recordings of the calls on your phone and play them for Matt so he can get an idea. “American Redstarts are so pretty too, they have this gorgeous orange-red shoulder area. And the Yellow-rumped Warbler is mostly gray with a yellow butt, shoulder, and head.” 

Matt is listening to you, but he is mostly enjoying the lilt of your voice. He loves when you’re excited about things. Your heartbeat always rises a little, your grin is visible in your voice, and you move your hands around a lot. He loves hearing the near-silent swish of air as you gesticulate enthusiastically. 

“You know, you’re lucky this is me. These calls sound very similar.” 

“I mean those two aren’t pretty similar. I think they’re pretty distinct.” You shrug. 

“Maybe to you and I, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hand. 

You set up the blanket on a green patch in Central Park. Matt sits down before you and pulls you into his lap. As the sun starts to rise, birds start to fly, and you point out bird calls to Matt as you hear them. 

“That’s an Indigo Bunting! They’re so gorgeous, they’re this lovely blue color. They form song neighborhoods, where in one area they’ll have one song, and in another, they’ll have a slightly different song. It’s super cool!” You gush as you follow the bird with your binoculars.

He felt lucky. He had an intelligent, passionate partner who loved him. He buries his face in your neck and smiles. The grip around your waist tightens, and he takes a deep breath. Your body wash mingles with the smell of dew and trees. You rattle off more birds to him, and he can feel you write a list of the birds you see. He felt so damn lucky. 

“So, that one I’m hearing is a… Song Sparrow, right?” He focuses on the bird in the tree near you two. Before you even respond, he can hear your heart rate raise slightly in excitement.

“You were paying attention.” A smile forms across your lips.

“Of course, I was, sweetheart.”

“I know, I just… I know you aren’t the most interested in this. Just…thank you. For doing this with me.” You tilt your head in his direction.

“No. I am interested in anything you are interested in. I love the way you talk about birds. Your voice gets a little bit faster and a little bit higher, and you ramble in the cutest way possible. And I will do anything to get you to talk more. It’s one of my favorite sounds. Don’t ever be embarrassed for being passionate. If I could only hear one thing for the rest of my life, it’d be you talking, because” He connects his lips with yours for a quick peck, “I love you. And with that, I love anything that you love too. I was actually hoping you’d invite me. You’ve been talking about this for weeks. I, uh, took last night off in the hopes that you would. Thanks for taking me.”

You shift in his lap and place your hand on his cheek. You lean in, and your foreheads touch.

“Thank you, Matt.” You whisper. You close the distance and kiss him. His lips were warm and inviting. Just like him.

[floralifetime]

Second character, supporting character.

Second one, she's another girl, two boys will be coming soon if I get the inspiration😅.

Warning: Terrible structuring, construction and characterization of a character, possible spelling/grammar errors, I am not a native English speaker, please have mercy.

⚠️⚠️Some images and the phrase are not mine, all credits and rights to the owner. Mine are: 1.Calipso and Ligea. I can’t edit photos properly, be kind and imagine I did😅⚠️⚠️

I've never seen the waves give up, and that's also why I love the sea.

Calypso Ligea: Princess of the kingdom of Balegaer. A kingdom in the depths of the sea, in fact she is half mermaid only when she dives into the water. Age: 15 years old. Parents: Coral and Enea. Brother: Morgan Teseo. Sisters: // Appearance: Long red hair, blue eyes like the sea that is her kingdom, pale skin, tall, slender and slightly muscular since she spends her life swimming, agile and quick body. Mermaid Appearance: Long, slightly wavy hair, pale skin, blue eyes, a shiny light green tail with shiny scales, a bra made of shells the same color as the tail. Personality: Generous, not inclined to judge others, emotional, easy to cry, free, cheerful, easy to laugh, brave, intelligent, tends to see the details rather than the big picture, good company, smiling, brutally honest and loyal. Hobbies: Swimming, collecting shells, walking on the beach, painting, coloring, using the shells she collects to create beautiful gifts for her friends. Power: Water magic (example: breathing underwater.) Magical Animal: A dolphin named Nixie. Favorite Place: Pool/Beach/Seabed. Favorite Color: Blue/Light Blue.

In any case I hope you enjoyed this short (badly done) description of the second character of my new fanficiton😅

©️FloraLifeTime: December 09-2024, please do not republish, repost, steal, modify, translate or claim my work as your own. All right reserved.

[semisolidmind]

I'd like to ask for a family photo of Angel with their found family. Kissy and Poppy included if you please.

a photo found on the bedside table of an upstairs bedroom of a long abandoned house in the woods. the owner was a recluse who supposedly died on the property.

it's strange... what are those things? like old toys that were popular a long time ago, but; they look too... alive to just be toys.

[aouiaa]

NOT JUST ANYONE’S | A. ANDERSON

warnings and disclaimers, (enemies to lovers), porn w plot (yay), a word count of 15k+?!, wlw content, mean!abby, jealous/delusional!abby, mentions of reader’s hair, abby being a book wormy, abby describes the reader as a goddess (once), fluff, angst, different povs, bullying, light workplace mistreatment, SEXUAL CONTENT, mean/softdom!abby, sub!reader, semi-public sex (hospital’s office), panties stealing, spanking, cunnilingus, fingering, hair pulling, masturbation, usage of a vibrator (once), scissoring, squirting, nipple play, degradation, body workship/praising, overstimulation, usage of pet names (baby, babe, pretty girl, good girl, dirty girl), cum eating, mutiple orgasms, DARK CONTENT, stalking, act of stealing narcotics, cursing, jealousy, alcohol/drug consumption, mentions of inflicting harm on others, acts of frame-up.

TAPE THAT MOUTH SHUT, this is probably one of the biggest/questionable pieces of art i’ve done. though it’s FINALLY fucking done idk how to feel honestly. i just feel like i have such an emotional bind to each and every piece of work i have done. this is my baby, the full nine months and everything, and now the world will see her for her. i feel like a mother watching her baby go off to kindergarten. :”(

ONESHOT PREVIEW | ABBY ANDERSON’S MASTERLIST

PRESENT TIME

saints mary’s hospital - 2:30 am on a saturday morning

the saying goes, “it’s not about how you start, it’s how you finish.” didn’t quite apply. time seemed to move in a blur, making it impossible to piece together a coherent thought. the room filled only with the echoes of your loud, wanton sounds mingling with abby’s, far removed from anything deemed professional. however you weren't concerned with those details, not at all. with the way abby was able to extract those sounds from your throat was almost painful.

almost.

abby derived an addiction from your pleasure. each moment of ecstasy seemed to fuel her further, driving her to amplify the tempo and depth of her ministrations. as the room filled with the lewd symphony of flesh meeting flesh and intertwined heavy breaths, something stirred within abby. something unfamiliar, uncharted. normally, she would exhibit unrivaled confidence during intimate encounters, but with you, it was different—more intense, deeper. a desperate craving to be perfect, to ensure you'd never seek anyone else, but her. she’d hate to admit it, but the realization gnaws at her: the longing for you even after this is over.

"who's making you cum tonight?" abby questioned the obvious, but her arrogance tone underlined the strong need for reassurance. your moans were her only response, and while she adored the sweet sounds, she craved more. a sudden shift in her fingers’ movements made you yell out, "you, abby.” your words punctuated by cries of pleasure.

abby's fingers, now confined within your tight grip, sensed the growing tension, the impending eruption, the imminent of your orgasm. "uh-huh, come for me," she ordered, "let me hear who’s making a mess of you."

the warnings of your impending release came with fervor, each thrust hastening to the inevitable snap of the tightening band in your abdomen. then when it did, a cry rang out, loud and clear, as her name left your lips in tandem with your essence painting her features. in this haze of euphoria, you suddenly find a sense of clarity, wondering how in all worlds did you end up in this situation, in the arms— or rather the mouth of your boss?

MONTHS BEFORE

saints mary’s hospital - 3:20 am on a monday night

the staff room was still mostly quiet, the faint sounds of a few muttered conversations and the soft hum of the fluorescent bulb created a low hum of background noise to complement the bigger situation in hand. you had just finished discarding your dirty gloves and discovered that some residue had clung to your uniform, prompting a soft groan of disgust to escape your lips.

you picked up another clean uniform and quickly changed into it, your mind wandering to the series of events that led you to this moment. working in a hospital meant dealing with a never-ending slew of new problems each day, some imprinting themselves in your memory more vividly than others.

and this time was memorable—at least for the night —for an aggravating sense. it was a vomiting incident in room nine that not only you witnessed, but you were also permitted to clean up after. fun, you thought sarcastically as you trudged your way with a bucket and sponge. nonetheless here you were, the aftermath, running a hand through your uniform to smooth out any wrinkles with your other hand on the doorknob, taking a long, exasperated intake prior to stepping out.

with a final exhale, you turned the knob and stepped out into the main hospital ward. the familiar sounds of hushed conversations and the constant hum of machinery filled your ears as you walked through the hallways.

with your desk in your line of sight now, your body starts to move faster as the thought of getting some much needed rest sets in. despite that, you took a quick glance around, searching for her presence, but finding no resemblance.

a sigh of relief escaped your lips as you settled into the plush chair, the cushions embracing your tired body. hands squeezing the pads provided on the arm’s office chair, this was heaven. but satan herself wouldn’t let that alleviation last for long, she never does. not in this hospital. your body suddenly tensed up and jerked forward as the sound of a hand slamming into the surface of your desk reached your ears. fuck, you thought, your head automatically turning to see the horned asshole with the little tail stuck up her ass.

“what the fuck was that back there, huh? i’ve had people complaining left and right.” she spoke, her face contorted with anger. you knew that was a lie, only there to further embarrass you in front of everyone. the “great” abby anderson was known to make something bigger than it actually was. but you’d be lying if you didn’t say that disruption left you breathless, seemed like all and any explanation that could clear your name left you, but even if you did, would it even work? or would abby deem it as a barely acceptable excuse, or quote “a three year old can lie better than you” excuse?

you could hardly breathe, your mind racing to try to explain yourself. every mistake seemed to be met with harsh criticism, and it was taking its toll on you. your voice wavered as you stuttered out a singular word in response: “what?”

abby’s expression only hardened further, her voice mocking your supposed ignorance. “couldn’t you see the medication you gave her was gonna result in nausea?”

each word was enunciated with sharp frustration, as if you were supposed to have known better, but you didn’t know. it wasn’t stated on the patient's file that she’d react like that. you followed protocol, knowing the consequences if you didn't, and followed through based on the information in hand. you weren’t in the wrong, and you explained that to abby.

though she didn’t seem to care at all, instead her words echoed through your mind like a painful reminder; you keep it up, and you’ll end up on your ass in front of this hospital.

her threat sent a pang of dread through you, and the loud thud of her office door shutting only added to your sinking feeling. you let out a heavy sigh, bringing your hand up to your eyes and rubbing them, trying to ward off the exhaustion and anxiety swirling within you.

your thoughts were interrupted as you realized the truth behind abby’s threat. you had a proven record as a dedicated and skilled employee, and deep down, you knew abby knew it too. there was a reason she couldn’t just fire you on a whim —she needed a valid justification to complete that pesky employee termination form sitting on her desk.

as you pondered on these thoughts, you let out a resigned sigh, the threat suddenly feeling less intimidating and more like a broken record you heard over and over again.

FIVE DAYS LATER

saints mary’s hospital - 11:01 pm on a saturday night

there was a newfound sense of comfort that accompanied your realization. although abby’s words still stung and cut deeply, you now had a silent reassurance— a knowledge that her threats were ultimately empty, that mere words could do nothing. your mind was now at ease, knowing that despite her harshness, she couldn’t truly harm you. the thought gave you a strange sense of power, even as she spewed her usual cruelty.

with your profound resilience, you found yourself feeling more lively and vibrant than before. you no longer fretted over every small mistake or worry constantly about doing your job wrong. your once reserved and introverted self now blossomed, making connections and building friendships where there had been none before.

amelia, the colleague who sat beside you for a year, but whom you had never truly spoken to, was now a friend, and the two of you formed a bond beyond just work-related interaction.

“darling, it’s wishful thinking that the inferno herself would let you off so easily,” amelia teases, the soft pads of her fingertips dancing along the keys of her keyboard. her familiar british accent rolls off and into your ear, making you scoff.

“it’s just for a day.” you mumble, your hands flipping the page to the never-ending paperwork waiting for you. you stop and look at amelia who’s now reclined in her chair, arms crossed with a knowing smirk.

“oh love,” laughed amelia, her playful jab at your wishful thinking only making her more endearing. “i’d love to entertain your rather ludicrous idea, but in doing so would be criminal!”

her words stung a little, you knew she was right, but hearing her say it out loud had you clenching your jaw slightly. abby would never agree to letting you take a day off from the hospital, it seemed like the whole place would fall apart without your presence.

and while it felt like an honor— at times. you longed for just one day off, a single day to rest amongst the countless days spent diligently working at the hospital. how criminal could that be? as amelia called it, you felt your shoulders sag and nodding quietly in resignation. your features must have betrayed your disappointment, as amelia swiftly noticed and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

amelia smiled sympathetically, her eyes soft as she saw your frustration. “cheer up, darling. it was just a quip.” she said softly, her tone filled with comfort.

you tried to hold back your tears when you spoke, your voice faltering as you looked up at amelia. “It's not that. i just… work my ass off, and don't even get the recognition i deserve.” your words trailed off as you let out a frustrated sigh. “and it's not like i’m just looking for that.” you pause to mend the right words together. “just some sort of break from it all.” you quickly sniffle, attempting to hide the tears that had escaped from your eyes during your confession. your embarrassment was evident as you turned away, trying to compose yourself. “god, i’m sorry for this.” you sighed heavily, reaching for a tissue to wipe away your tears.

amelia pats your shoulder, her voice filled with understanding. “no, no, i get it, darling. you need a break as much as anyone does in this bloody facility. perhaps more than hamburger-munching samson over there.” she quips, referring to a less than efficient employee.

you let out a tearful laugh, your grin still tinged with sadness. “yeah.” you agreed, your voice heavy with resignation.

amelia smiled warmly at your smile, her hand giving your thigh a comforting pat. “go ask her, and if she doesn't oblige, tell her i'll cover for you.”

her sweet words of offering to cover for you had you fighting back tears again, determined to not further burden her with your crying, and managed to let out a shaky chuckle.

you try to protest, feeling a pang of guilt for potentially inconveniencing her. “you don't have to do that.” you say softly.

however, amelia is resolute, dismissing your objections with a firm, yet gentle push. “no darling,” she replies firmly. “i don’t, but i want to. now go on.” her insistence is unwavering, and you can see that she will not take no for an answer.

with a resigned sigh of “okay”, you straighten your shoulders and approach the entrance to abby's office. a quick glance back at amelia sees her raising her thumbs in a gesture of encouragement to go ahead. you return a grateful smile before turning back around and lifting your hand to knock on the door. but before your knuckles make contact, the door swings open, revealing abby.

you freeze in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of abby before you even had the chance to knock on the door. you realize you must look like a fool, standing there frozen with your arm raised in the air. feeling a sudden pang of self-consciousness, you quickly lower your arm and bring your other hand up to cup it gently, almost as if you could somehow conceal your awkward position.

abby’s smile catches you off guard, surprised to see her display such genuine happiness at your surprised arrival. "oh—there you are.” she says.

you stand there, slightly confused by her unexpected demeanor. her next words, spoken calmly, further perplexed you: "come in." this gentle tone is unfamiliar coming from her, as she's never used it with you before, reserving it only for the presence of supervisors.

she leaves the door open for you, a silence gesture for you to enter before taking her seat at her desk. "i was going to call for you, but it seems like you heard my call telepathically." she quips, chuckling at her own joke.

you internally scoff at her stupid joke, quietly shutting the door behind you as you enter her office. "well, don't just stand there, sit." she instructs, her smile still uncharacteristically cheerful— almost eerie. you can't help but wonder if this is all just an act, a facade that will undoubtedly crack like it always does, given abby's fiery nature. however, you comply silently, watching her sift through documents on her desk.

you struggled to keep yourself from asking what she was searching for after you caught a glimpse of it being the employee files. your heart began to race as an oppressive silence enveloped the room, fueling your nerves. was she looking for your file? was this gonna be the moment when she’d reveal the anticipated reason to use on that dreaded employee termination form? your mind swarmed with questions, each more pressing than the last. how much more can you deal with this suspense looming over your shoulder like the grim reaper.

you attempt to speak in a firm tone, but your voice betrays you, wavering at the edges. “why are you so happy?” your own curiosity battling with a sense of reluctance to hear the answer.

“and why are you so gloomy?” she taunts with a smirk, chuckling. “put a smile on that face for me, yeah? you’re gonna do me a big favor.” she admits, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she mentions the word “favor.” finally finding the paper she had been searching for, she slid it across her desk in your direction. the paper contains the resume of someone you’re unfamiliar with, and your curiosity piqued.

"this is cassidy mcclair," she pauses. "and you'll be her mentor for the week. she's the new replacement nurse after what happened to poor old sadie." a pang of irritation stabs at you as abby uses a condescending tone when mentioning sadie. her untimely demise still weighed heavily on your mind.

you inadvertently let out a scoff as you cross your arms, immediately regretting the impulsive action. abby glances up at you, arching her eyebrow before speaking.

"is there a problem?" her question rhetorical, signaling her indifference to your potential objection. however, you're determined to express your feelings, regardless if rhetorical or not. you werent gonna give some half-ass smile and nod. after all, it wouldn’t be the first time your opinionated mind got you into trouble, as abby so often reminded you.

you respond with a defiant tone, your words clearly expressing your dissatisfaction. “yeah, there is actually.” you retort, your arms remaining defiantly crossed. “you’re supposed to do this. not me.”

abby chuckles at your boldness, her expression growing serious as she responds, “that was rhetorical, surely anyone with a hint of common sense would catch on. frankly, i don’t give a fuck if it is.” she dismisses your argument, beginning to organize the documents on her desk, grabbing the paper in front of you without sparing an eye, her attention now focused elsewhere. despite your differences, you remain silent, yet seething within at her dismissive response.

“be here at eight pm sharp on monday.” she adds, ending the conversation on her terms.

so much for a day off..

AN HOUR AFTER

hospital’s break room - 1:17 am on a sunday morning

after your unsolicited meeting with abby, your emotions were overflowing and the need to confide in someone was at an all time high. though the term 'confide' may be a stretch, considering you practically unloaded your frustrations to the mere mention of "hey, heard you had a meeting with the boss?"

“she didn’t even let me speak, once!” you exclaim, frustration seeping through each and every word, punctuating your sentence with lifting your pointed finger.

talia responds with a sympathetic tone, saying, “she tends to do that..” her words trail off, and you can almost feel the strain in her voice, knowing that she’s the unsuspecting recipient of your pent-up frustrations.

“right! god, she’s so fucking…” you trail off, trying to find the right word to describe her. “infuriating!” you say louder than anticipated.

she looks up from the coffee maker, surprise etched on her face as other heads turn towards you, startled by your outburst. you sheepishly mutter an apology before letting out a dejected sigh. trying to lighten the mood, you force a smile and lean against the counter. "so, have you had to do any of abby's dirty work too?" you quirk an eyebrow.

the long haired girl chuckles at your antics, her gaze fixated on the coffee maker as it slowly fills her cup with the dark, yet energizing substance. she turns her attention back to you, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "yeah, actually.” she replies, her voice filled with good-natured sass. "but she made the task sound much kinder when she assigned it." she jested.

you jokingly say, "oh, fuck you," to which she responds with a playful eyeroll, but then curiosity takes over. "but really?" you ask curiously. "how'd it go?"

a dreaded sigh escapes talia’s lips as she recounts her memories of being assigned to mentor a new employee. the mirth vanishes from your expression as she begins to share her experience, the once lighthearted atmosphere replaced by a sense of foreboding.

“oh, terrible," talia responds through the sigh, her laugh edged with strain before looking back at the coffee maker, which is about a quarter away from being done. "sometimes, i wondered what would be inside her head if i were to cut it open. a brain made out of putty, or no brain at all?" her words make you wince as you begin to imagine what your own experience might be like. the idea of being a mentor to a complete idiot was less than appealing.

talia takes notice of your nervousness and quickly tries to reassure you, saying, "but i assure you, your experience won't be like mine." she offers a nervous smile, hoping to alleviate your concerns.

you respond with an uneasy chuckle and a reluctant "yeah.” not truly convinced by her reassurance. you know that only time will tell if her words will hold true, and so you find yourself resigned to the fact that you'll have to impatiently wait until monday to find out.

THREE DAYS LATER

your home - 6:03 am on a monday morning

the incessant blaring of your alarm felt like background noise for the past three minutes, though you've been wide awake for about ten minutes prior to its start. last night, sleep eluded you, as anxiety and exhaustion plagued your thoughts. you had hoped that your previous activities on your day off would tire you and help you sleep, but unfortunately, that was not the case. you had laid awake for an extra hour, struggling until sleep finally took over.

your anxiety, semi-dissociative state can be attributed to your "big day" ahead, as abby had nicknamed it. the thought of the unknown had you sweating bullets. not to mention, your boss’s words that stayed with you like crazy glue, stubbornly stuck in your mind. with reluctance, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom.

as you turn on the faucet, the soft meows of your kitty-cat, charles, reach your ears. your face lights up with a smile as you turn and spot him. you kneel down, showering him with a few gentle pets as he responds with a pleased purr. "hey, buddy," you whisper, planting a kiss on his head. you then stand up to check the water temperature, only to huff in frustration when it doesn't meet your desired level. turning to the kitty by your side, you murmur, "i know, bud. lemme feed you while i wait for the water."

the kitty yowls eagerly and paws at your legs, anticipating its food. you repeatedly tap the can's bottom against the bowl until the food finally falls free, landing on the plate. the cat's excitement escalates as it watches you kneel down to place the plate on the ground. chuckling, you observe the kitty pounce on the food as soon as it touches the ground.

“eat up, spud.” you give your feline friend one last pat before walking away to the bathroom. you undress and check the water's temperature once more, finding it to your liking. with a satisfied nod, you step inside, letting the hot water wash over you and momentarily rinse away your worries for today.

AN HOUR AND HALF LATER-ISH

saints mary’s hospital - 7:28 am

what was meant to be a calming shower had obliterated your sense of time, leaving you in a scrambling to finish your morning routine. with a start, you realize it was nearly seven-thirty, and sprung into action, throwing your clothes on at an almost superhuman speed. you had never dried your hair this quick before in your entire life. yes, abby had mentioned to be there at eight, but you knew that translated to "be there before eight."

you arrive at the hospital just before eight, clutching your coffee like a lifeline, knowing all too well that you wouldn't make it through the day without it. you quickly exit the elevator, stepping into the lobby to find abby engaged in conversation with a red-haired woman.

the ginger had her hair braided, resembling abby's but with more volume. her fair complexion was adorned with freckles, resembling a sky full of stars. like many others on this floor, she wore a blues-and-white uniform, with a small cat pin attached to her shirt pocket. her colorful keys hung around her neck, and her radiant smile oozed an infectious energy, effortlessly drawing a reciprocating smile from you as you approached.

your smile momentarily falters as you overhear abby's sarcastic, yet condescending tone. “oh, there's the princess!" she exclaims, closing the distance to you with the woman following suit behind. this must’ve been the woman abby was talking about, leaving you feeling increasingly anxious, your eyes locked on the girl behind her. however, abby manages to draw your focus as she speaks up.

“this is cassidy. the one i told you about the last time we spoke.” she says firmly, bringing her hand up to her shoulder and beckons her toward you.

“hi.” you say shyly.

cassidy reciprocates the greeting with a wave, her expression a mix of nervousness and surprise. however, before she can respond, abby cuts in, with a tone of sarcasm. “i trust you won't be as late as our little princess here was," she says, referring to you, causing cassidy to nervously laugh and answer with a tentative "no."

your frustration peaked as you clenched your fists, your anger evident. It was clear what abby was trying to do once again, to twist the truth and make you appear worse than you actually are. she smirked, seemingly enjoying your irritation, before patting cassidy on the shoulder and wishing her good luck.

with the condescending smirk, abby leaned in to whisper in your ear, her tone different, dripping with sarcasm. "good luck, princess." and with that, she walked away, leaving you to face the challenge ahead.

"cunt," you silently say to yourself in annoyance, sending a glare at abby's retreating form. after a moment, you plaster on a forced smile and turn your attention to the ginger girl in front of you. you extend a hand and saying, “hi, i’m y/n."

"hi, i’m cassidy, but you already know that," she laughs, taking your hand in hers and shaking it firmly. after releasing her grip, she absentmindedly begins to stroke her braid with the same hand, a subtle fidget that seems to be her go-to anxiety coping mechanism.

you smile, genuinely impressed by her hair color. “yeah, i love the color of your hair, by the way. it's beautiful.” a hint of bashfulness washes over cassidy's cheeks as she responds, "thank you, it's my natural hair."

you let out a soft "cute..." as your eyes dart over her vibrant locks before gathering your thoughts. "well, let's get to work," you sigh, beginning to walk over to your desk. cassidy quickly follows, and upon reaching your desk, you set down your things and greet amelia with a friendly smile. you then turn your attention back to cassidy, clipboard clutched in your hand.

“alright, just follow me this way.” you lead cassidy through the hospital floor, providing her with a tour of the different departments. while the tour starts off awkwardly, you and cassidy manage to strike up some small talk. despite her quiet demeanor, she proves to be a hard worker, efficiently tending to her tasks. you can relate to her reserved nature, knowing firsthand how it feels to be somewhat introverted.

FEW HOURS LATER

hospital’s break room - 12:40 pm on a monday afternoon

after having cassidy follow you around like a lost puppy, occasionally taking notes on her little cat shaped notepad when needed. you both sat in a corner, eating in comfort silence. amongst the normality, you couldn’t help but notice her lunchbox also in a cat-like shape. a soft chuckle escaped you, causing cassidy to look up from her food, her chewing briefly stopped to ask, “what?”

you point out the box which promptly makes her look down, mouthing “oh.” cassidy chuckles nervously, her cheeks tinted with a hint of embarrassment. "i suppose i’m a cliché," she admits, her smile widening. "it’s no secret now that i enjoy girly things.”

you nod, a smile playing at the corners of your lips in response. "i think it's cute." you utter with a slight smirk.

cassidy grins, a hint of self-consciousness in her expression. "you don't think it's too silly?" she asks, seeking validation.

"nope," you reply sincerely, “everyone has their own interests. who am i to judge?" you shrug, emphasizing the point.

cassidy chuckles again, playfully teasing you with her next words. "i'd beg to differ." she pauses for a moment, before continuing, "dr. anderson seems to be quite interested in you." her tone implies a hint of a tease, suggesting that abby's fondness for you may be noticeable to the people around you.

as soon as cassidy suggests that abby has a soft spot for you, you sputter and cough, practically choking on your food. between gasping breaths, you manage to exclaim, "what?! you definitely need your eyes checked!"

cassidy's eyes widen with concern, and she begins to pat your back to help you through your coughing fit. after regaining your composure, you nod, trying to play it cool as she asks if you’re alright. your voice is still strained when you speak, "i’m fine, but what makes you say something like that?" you ask, completely bewildered.

once she's assured that you're okay, cassidy begins to chuckle lightly and leans back in her chair, arms crossed in a confident stance as if she solved the equation pi in her one sitting. "i’ve seen the way she talks to you," she says, low and soft, smirking.

“yeah, she talks like she has a stick up her ass.”

your blunt comment about abby having a "stick up her ass" makes cassidy erupt into laughter. "yeah, that's—that’s definitely true," she concedes, still giggling, "but there's also… a passion behind it." she pauses before continuing. “It's like she does it out of love or something," her eyes fixed on you.

you let out an amused sigh and roll your eyes, responding with a playful retort, "yeahh, I don't know about that." you can't help but chuckle as you continue, "but, that’s definitely crazy talk." you tease, a hint of mirth in your voice.

cassidy laughs, feigning surrender by holding her hands up in a playful gesture. "hey," she says, a toothy grin plastered on her face, "i know what i'm seeing." she retorts.

you continue to eat, a scoff escaping your lips as you try to dismiss her earlier accusations. "you saw a bunch of nothing.” you remark, keeping your tone nonchalant. cassidy responds with a soft scoff of her own, but the silence that follows is strained, uncomfortable, well at least for you… you think.

your mind drifts back to all the times you've interacted with abby, a strange feeling beginning to grow inside you. there were no signs, no hint of anything more than anger and hatred, right? no itty bitty details so unmissable to others, but you? no, it couldn’t be, that’d be ridiculous, hell, every it'd be a synonym in the book ridiculous! there were never any crossovers besides hatred, a mysterious hatred, but hatred nonetheless. come to think of it, you never really found out why she hated you so goddamn much. was it envy? fear? if so, of what exactly?

whatever the case was, it doesn't matter. because you would fucking pay to see her at your mercy. beneath you with a look of hopelessness glistening in her eyes, for it to be her to struggle to utter a simple explanation, only for you to completely demolish the right of speaking. to watch that stupidly neat braid disheveled and her oh so infuriatingly muscular arms that seemed to taunt you, begging to be popped like a balloon.

yeah… you definitely hated this woman.

SIX MONTHS LATER

front desk - 1:30 pm on a wednesday afternoon

gathering any loose strands of hairs from the nape of your neck with one hand, you create a makeshift ponytail, struggling to keep a straight face as cassidy’s stifled laughter resonates nearby. you playfully chastise her, trying to suppress your own laughter.

“stop laughing,” you admonish, your attempt at a stern tone is undermined by your own stifled giggles. “you’re gonna get us caught!”

as luck would have it, you and cassidy had bonded over an unexpected shared interest— a love for plants. and they say that a mother’s life is over when they have kids. quite literal bullshit if you ask anyone with a brain. cassidy, besides being nature’s supporter, was also incredibly humorous, her wit and humor made work a little more bearable.

over a few rounds of cold beers, she had discovered abby’s mysterious hatred for you. her curiosity knew no bounds, weaving theories on why, but never truly connecting the dots. from that point on, she couldn't resist teasing abby when she erupted into her typical outbursts—episodes she jokingly dubbed "hissy fits." just a few weeks ago, she had been assigned to work the counter beside you after amelia went on maternity leave.

"check this one out," the red-head chimes, tilting her phone towards eyes’s view to reveal a piece of media from abby’s instagram. cassidy, as if being a FBI agent was her second job, didn’t break a sweat looking for abby’s entire life online the moment it was plausible.

now, knowing who to call, you glance to see a photo of the blonde with her usual serious expression. the framing itself is taken from an awkward angle. “she’s so stiff, like a damn statue.” she laughs.

you let your hands fall once successfully securing your hair in a bun, a chuckle escaping your lips. "not a bad-looking statue, though," you remark casually, shrugging your shoulders. a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you added, "maybe she should start a new career as a model. the 'stiff but stunning' look could be all the rage."

cassidy quirks an eyebrow your way, a mischievous gleam in her eye as she teases you, “oh, am i sensing something here?”

you respond with a scoff, hastily denying any such notion with playful push. “god, no!” you exclaim, feigning offense, your laugh mingling with her own.

amidst the laughter, your moment is abruptly interrupted by the overwhelming waft of a potent perfume that assaults your senses. immediately, you recognize the scent and dart your gaze towards its source—abby’s new assistant. wearing a top brazenly too small for her ample cleavage with an extravagant makeup job tailored for a circus clown, it's painfully obvious whom this performance is intended to impress.

fucking ‘asshole’ anderson. It’s a pity really; she’s a decent-looking girl, but a relentless ass-kisser. everyone in the hospital picked up on her antics pretty quickly, constantly trying to win abby’s favor. rumors speculated, suggesting they did more than just work together, but hey, they’re just rumors.

“you should be working, abby wouldn’t like this.” her grating voice rings out, dripping with unwarranted confidence.

“we’re on our break, alexa.” you reply coolly, not bothering to mask the distaste in your expression.

she theatrically glances at her watch and purses her lips, stating smugly, “not anymore.” her gaze flicks to you, a smirk playing at her lips. it takes every ounce of restraint you possess not to grab her by the hair and slam her head against the wall. instead, you listen as she adds, "i should be informing abby about this,” she emphasizes with her hand, going in a circular motion towards you and cassidy before finishing. “but she's requested your presence in her office right now."

you stare at her, bewilderment etched across your face. abby? needing you in her presence? the confusion can’t linger long when she impatiently snaps her fingers.

"chop, chop, she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” she prompts, her tone dripping with condescension.

fucking bitch.

"you said you needed me?" you inquired, poking your head through the door’s open crack.

"yes, shut the door and take a seat." she affirms, witnessing firsthand the intentitive— almost obsessive behavior driven by a need to be perfection itself. her eyes don’t move from the paperwork at hand, but there’s no need for her body language and demeanor is a revelation on its own.

her stoicism matched almost flawlessly, as if they had been meticulously practiced in the mirror—akin to a morning ritual, like a cup of coffee. and her physique? it’s a memoir to resolution, sculpted from the divine hands of a deity, making you wonder: how could a person be so flawless? is she a forsaken angel, once god's favorite, now cast away from grace?

her voice, now with a hint of a crisp clear edge, breaks the silence, stating firmly, "i need to discuss something with you." her arms are now visible, resting on top of her desk, hands neatly folded together, an action that seizes your attention like a magnet. was this beautiful “angel” of a woman merely toying with you, masquerading as a jester with deceptive tricks?

nervously, you lick your dry lips and nod, responding with a strained voice, "yeah?" she picked up on that.

her eyes narrow with curiosity, and she leans forward, her voice laced with suspicion as she queries, “tell me,” she begins, letting the question linger in the air for a moment. “why do you still waste time with cassidy?” her tone carries a note of mild disdain. “she’s a bit.. odd, don’t you think?”

within the span of a moment, a wave of frustration surges through you, compelling you to argue your case. however, you find yourself inexplicably entranced by her features, unable to break the spell that has woven its way around your thoughts. nodding without conscious thought, your gaze is transfixed on the magnificence standing before you— the artistry of her face and form.

the sun's warm glow streams through the windows just behind her, casting a radiant light upon her as if nature itself were emphasizing its own masterpiece. every detail of her appearance is meticulously crafted, like a tempting apple dangling in front of the unsuspecting. a loose strand of hair falls gracefully in front of her face, accentuating the fine features of her facial structure. the angular lines of her nose seem to carry the weight of her sharp-edged spectacles, and her eyes, often lacking warmth, rarely seek solace in anything but themselves.

the sinew, a testament to the muscularity of her arms, even beneath the loose confines of her doctor’s coat, as if they were destined to stand out, to be admired. the way she held her pen moments ago makes it seem almost insignificant in comparison to her thick fingers, wrapped around it like a vice. her penmanship is impeccable, smooth and faultless, as if her hand is a perfectly calibrated machine.

god’s greatest gifts bestowed on its worst creation alive.

"are you even listening to me, right now?" she questions, her jaw setting tight.

startled, you snapped out of your reverie, blinking to moisten the dry eyes that had forgotten to blink in their fixated state, you confirm. “yes.” no.

“i asked you a question.” she snaps, her voice stern.

“what was the question?” you stammer, feeling flustered under her intense scrutiny.

“why—forget it.” a sudden shift in her expression indicates a change of mind. it seems the words didn’t sound as smart when she voiced them aloud.

“what?” you stutter, leaning forward in your chair. “what were you going to say?”

“i said, nevermind,” she replies, her tone firm and dismissive. “you’re free to go.” she averts her gaze from you, redirecting it towards her paperwork, as if you had suddenly become unimportant and unworthy of her attention.

you’re left dumbfounded, what was that about?

FEW HOURS LATER

your bedroom - 3:20 am on a thursday morning

your sharp gasp and the tension in your body were palpable, confined to the bed where your body lay cushioned. a hand ran through your hair before tugging it tightly, adding to the pleasure that coursed through you. the serene hum of your vibrator, nestled between your legs, was a poor substitute for the fantasies that danced through your mind.

your guilty pleasures, your secret desire.

“oh, abby!” you moaned, the broken syllable laced with longing. images of her flashed through your mind, your body yearning for the warmth of her fingers instead of the cold, mechanical pleasure your toy provided. the thought of being stretched by her strong, capable hands was all it took to push you over the edge.

a wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body shaking as you orgasmed, the fantasy of abby's touch more potent than the reality. the intensity of your pleasure left you breathless, even as you knew it was only a fleeting escape from reality.

as your mind snaps back, an overwhelming rush of realization washes over you. you toss aside the vibrator, sitting up with a sigh. you can’t help, but feel shame towards yourself. the thought of your boss—the one person who makes your life a living hell—occupies your thoughts. how could you even entertain the thought of her?

a fallen angel, huh?

SAID “FALLEN ANGEL”

abby anderson

she was fucking on one today, and in return she thought you were too. her mind was consumed by you. even the morning coffee, always a comfort, tasted bitter and cold. she didn't even acknowledge the usual flirtatious advances from her assistant when she greeted her this morning. instead, she simply asked for her requested files and retreated to the sanctuary of her office, locking the door behind her.

it was always you, stirring up trouble by merely existing near her. cassidy mcclair, that braid-wearing copycat bitch, had you wrapped around her serpentine fingers. and you? you should have known better than to waste your precious time with people like that, but there you were. in fact, compared to these idiots you had to call coworkers, you were leaps and bounds above them.

you were just making a mistake, a mistake that was costing her sleep— more than she already doesn’t get.

she silently fumed as she stood in front of her office door for her daily check on what everyone was doing, over the years making mental lists of the flaws of each employee. amelia, didn’t know if she was bleating or laughing, and those killer front teeth— literally. one glance and someone’s head would be off. then there was samson, who seemed to do nothing, but shove burgers down his gargantuan throat. she was convinced he never even bothered to chew.

it was laughable, and she could go on and on about the flaws each one of her employees had. but you, well, not a single flaw could be attributed to you. not one mentioned on any list of the many she had. in essence, you were the embodiment of a boss's dream employee—quick on the case, a good sport, but until now, there was one flaw that had eluded you: the habits of hanging around the wrong people.

granted, it's not like cassidy was forcing drugs down your throat, but it was clear she was trouble. competition, that had to be eliminated. but one might wonder, why? why did abby have such a deep-seated grudge against you? why did she feel this burning urge to take you down? just like a pack of wolves, having her sights set on the weak link, ready to pounce.

deep down, abby didn't fully understand her intense feelings towards you. each attempt to articulate her emotions only led to frustration as they were often misinterpreted in the delivery. you made her nervous in a way that was both understandable and utterly perplexing, leaving her with feelings uncharted. in a desperate attempt to maintain control, she decided the best course of action was to keep her fondness for you hidden. surely, as long as you remained oblivious to her affections, there would be no complications, right?

she’d pledge that promise to the death, do everything to her power to keep it this way. there would be no vulnerability, no broken hearts to be on the mend, even if meant being cruel. but when cassidy came and first laid her eyes on you. oh, how she wanted to claw her eyes out just for even staring at you for a millisecond long.

it infuriated her to see how easily cassidy could evoke laughter and smiles from you, things that abby denied herself. many long, self deprecating nights filled with overflowing ashtrays of spent cigarettes and a collection of empty whiskey glasses were becoming too often to be called a casual drinker.

the day she requested your presence in her office, and sat across from her as she filled out the paperwork to transfer cassidy to another floor was a moment of triumph. however, her satisfaction evaporated rather quickly—leaving her dry to the bone. throughout the entire conversation, you appeared to be dazed, barely registering a word she spoke. had she been too late? were you already so smitten with cassidy that you couldn't even comprehend a word coming out of her mouth?

was it already too late?

after you had left her office, abby found herself lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. alone with her musings, her mind raced, and suddenly, all her thoughts aligned. if the two of you were indeed in a relationship, as it seemed so obvious, then separating the two of you would create an irreversible ripple effect. like two peas in a pod, together you were a force to be reckoned with, but tearing one away and crushing it would change everything.

if cassidy wanted to stoop low, she could go lower.

ANDERSON’S ESTATE

4:54 am on a sunday morning

due to the convoluted approval process, the transfer paperwork would likely take weeks, if not months, to be approved. there was no way abby could allow that to happen. by the time the transfer was accepted, you'd be off in dubai for a honeymoon with your apparent soulmate, sipping margaritas without a care in the world. no, she had to find a way to expedite the process, and it had to be done by the end of this overcoming week.

so she found herself in her office, nursing a few glasses of whiskey and indulging in chain-smoking cigarettes, a habit she could never partake in one without the other. surrounded by the solace of her private liar, the alcohol and nicotine fueled her thoughts, as she brainstormed list after list of ways to get rid of cassidy. patient abandonment was one option, but it ran the risk of tarnishing her own reputation as well. however, she was past the point of caring about the repercussions of her actions. all that mattered was taking down cassidy, one way or another.

feeling a mixture of an uncomfortable unfulfillment and disoriented, she runs a hand through her tousled mane. with a groan, rubs her eyes and gets up, smoldering the glowing embers of the cigarette in the overflowing ashtray before trudging off to bed like a pouting toddler.

In the comforts of her bed, shafts of dawn gently seeped through the curtains, with her loyal puppy, alice, sleeping at her feet, whining occasionally as she glanced up at her owner. abby couldn't help but wonder if the dog was attempting to communicate with her, as if offering a cautionary message. was it the effects of the whiskey and cigarettes playing tricks on her mind, or was her canine companion genuinely trying to warn her of impending consequences? these thoughts swirled through her muddled mind, yet the idea of it actually seemed far-fetched.

it’s a thing to think of, and another to do.

ONE DAY, MONDAY

cheshire cat grin

“and i want you all to be more aware— if you haven’t been already.” the firm voice snapped abby out of her reverie.

a weary sigh emits as her body slumps into a loose crescent shape, the strain of sitting in an ass-numbing chair for hours was finally taking its toll, and listening to her supervisor drone on and on about the same old report on employee performance wasn’t helping either. however, one particular statement caught her undivided attention.

the rise in unauthorized narcotics.

the report revealed that there had been a 3% increase in the number of supplies used compared to the usual amount. this increase caused considerable stress for the superior, who advised—no, demanded that all doctors on each floor find the culprit.

with mounting irritation from the current predicament, the overseer noticed abby’s expression and prompted her with a question. “is there anything you’d like to say, abigail?” she inquired, presumptuously.

as the superior fixed a firm gaze on her, abby’s initial instinct was to reply with a simple “no.” but then a new thought took hold. she sat up straighter, straightening her normally confident demeanor even further, and responded with a question of her own. “hypothetically speaking, if i do uncover the perpetrator, what measures will be taken in response?”

the woman’s scoff conveyed a dismissive tone, as if the answer was lingering in the air. she smugly responded, “well, hypothetically, they’d be fired on the spot, and all hospitals in the county would be notified never to employ them again.” there was a brief pause before continuing with that same overly confident demeanor, “so, they’d have to move just to find another job.” eyeing abby as if searching for even the slightest hint of nervousness.

under normal circumstances, abby’s temper would have flared at her superior’s condescending tone, but in that moment, everything was perfect. a polite smile abby offered held more than the naked eye could see.

the jigsaw pieces were falling into place.

TWO DAYS LATER, WEDNESDAY

surprise!

the days melded together, each one weighed down by a stack of endless papers and an incessant, desperate assistant who was over her shoulder, relentlessly nagged for her attention. in those moments of exhaustion, she started regretting ever giving them the slightest bit of her attention in the first place, justifying the brief lapses in her focus as mere 'moments of weakness'.

in obeying her supervisor's advice, she had been carefully observing everyone, with a heightened level of scrutiny directed towards cassidy, intentionally growing increasingly “suspicious” of her. with a fierce determination, she wrestled hard to suppress the many outbursts that threatened to spill over simply due to the sight of you and cassidy together.

even as a child, abby had a knack for fixating on unimportant details, down to the intricate nuances of color. her attention to detail had grown into a deep obsession, enabling her to familiarize herself with an object or being within days. with cassidy, she had approached it like disassembling a game of jenga, meticulously analyzing her every action, carefully calculating her plans. all she needed now was the opportune moment to set everything into motion.

just as she was about to execute her plan, a sudden, unexpected event occurred, as if on cue.

with newfound courage bolstered by a glass of whiskey and a cigarette, she rose from her chair, only for the shrill ring of her phone to pierce the tense atmosphere, and she glanced down to see a rarely-seen name on the screen— her grandmother, susana. an unyielding, meticulous woman, had been a source of inspiration for abby as she grew up, shaping her into the determined individual she had become.

susana, was a renowned fashion designer based in paris, a demanding professional life that had left her with limited time to spend with her beloved granddaughter. with a huff, sitting back in her office chair, abby picked up her phone and pressed it against her ear, preparing for their conversation.

"oh, my darling abigail!" the sound of her grandmother's sweet, melodic voice filled abby's ear.

a subtle wince crossed her face, and a forced smile tugs at her lips, almost as if her grandmother could see her through the phone.

"hi.” she responded, prompting her grandmother to lightheartedly tease, "oh, darling, why so timid?" her chuckle echoed over the line.

abby responded with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "sorry, gam-gam, I'm just a bit stressed." she confessed.

her grandmother replied with a lighthearted hum. “well, in that case, meet me at the cafe down the street for a little whine down.” and with a click, the line went dead, leaving abby scarcely a moment to protest.

with a heavy sigh, she tossed her phone aside, muttering, "damnit." frustrated, she ran a hand over her face.

in the reserved confines of their booth, her grandmother inquired with a casual tone, "so, did you receive my letter?" she pierced a strawberry with her fork, taking a bite.

abby responded with a nod, her thoughts momentarily astray to the brief moment earlier when she'd seized the opportunity to execute her plan on cassidy's unattended bag during your lunchtime in the break room. she knew such an opportunity might not present itself again anytime soon, as cassidy was set to be away until friday.

“and the book?”

abby paused, strawberry mid-air on her fork, perplexed by her grandmother's question. "what book?" she questioned with a full mouth, confusion lacing her voice.

her grandmother sighs, explaining, "the book didn't arrive?" she grumbled about the subpar mailing service. "doesn’t matter," she continued, "we can just head over to the bookstore after and replace it." her interest piqued as her grandmother added that it was another mythology book, a favorite topic of hers.

abby's eyes sparkled with excitement. "awe, sweet! i’ve been meaning to go." she responded enthusiastically.

the older woman chuckled, observing, "old habits die hard, I suppose." she then posed a question that seemed to ignite her interest even more. "tell me, have you managed to swoon any girls with your extensive library of knowledge?" her grandmother's smile grew wider at this question, her genuine wish for abby's happiness evident. how could abby possibly ruin her grandmother's happiness?

abby wasn't one to lie, but she felt compelled to do so, especially since the truth was more difficult to share. a gentle smile tugged at her lips, and a blush appeared on her face as she played with the blueberry on her plate. though it was a lie, it was an effortless one. "well, there's this one girl at work," she began, her voice growing more softer. "she’s incredibly sweet, and I think she likes me." the rosiness in her cheeks deepened, adding a touch of authenticity to her fib.

“awe, sugarplum, who is it?”

“her name is y/n.”

ANOTHER TWO DAYS LATER, FRIDAY

the final act

after two days of being completely immersed in the book, abby managed to force herself back to reality. cassidy had reappeared, prompting abby to resume her daily observations. she diligently watched over you and cassidy, particularly monitoring the red-head’s interactions.

she had arranged a private conversation with the supervisor, raising concerns about “suspicious” behavior involving cassidy. the supervisor guaranteed action before six pm that afternoon. all she needed to do now was secure her bag alone before then. abby set an alarm on her watch, stashed the narcotics in her pocket, and exited her office, determined to carry out her plan.

she closed her door and was immediately greeted by the familiar sounds of chatter and movement, the distinctive scent of the hospital filling her nose. as she inhaled, it was as if she was breathing in the purest air. but then, the explosive sound of a voice abruptly shattered her moment of comfort. she jumped in surprise and turned her head to see a nurse.

"sorry, doctor," she apologized, her smile tinged with nervousness. "i—uhm, have documents for you to sign for a discharge." she extended the clipboard, waiting for abby to take it.

still feeling discombobulated, abby nodded stiffly as she accepted the clipboard and signed it. “are… are you okay?” the nurse's question caught her off guard, prompting her to look up. "yes—yes, I'm fine.” she replied, her voice somewhat strained.

saying a brief goodbye, she walks down the hallway, and sees cassidy getting dressed in the staff room. abby smirks, and walks inside just as she’s gonna leave. the initial door opening scares, making her jump back, and she sees it’s abby, she greets her with a smile, and quick hi, trying to exit. but abby isnt gonna let her leave so quick.

abby says a brief farewell and proceeds down the hallway, catching sight of cassidy dressing up in the staff room. she stops with a grinch-like grin saunters into the room just as cassidy is about to exit. the sudden door opening startles cassidy, making her jump back. she quickly greets abby with a smile and a casual "hi," attempting to leave. however, abby is determined not to let her go that easily.

"hey, wait." abby halts cassidy in her tracks with a firm arm grab, causing her to stop.

cassidy looks up, bewildered, and clutches her bag close to her shoulder, waiting to see what this was about. abby’s eyebrows furrowed, it’s been truly a long time since she stood by her self-proclaimed enemy. she didn't seem to have changed much— not that she cared to notice, except for the new pin on her shirt— a small pride flag, cute.

abby scoffs, chuckling which prompts cassidy to raise an eyebrow. “what’s so funny?”

in response, she shakes her head dismissively, replying with a hint of mischief, "nothing, just a joke i remembered." adding slyly with a cunning smile, she continues, "how do you like working here?"

cassidy swallows, her nerves becoming visibly apparent as she nods in agreement. "it’s good," she reiterates, adding, "yeah, i love working with the children."

abby hums in response, laughing. "well, don't let me stop you." she promptly opens the door for cassidy, eliciting a smile from her in response, and as she begins to pass through, the taller blonde adds. “enjoy it while it lasts.”

as she watched cassidy leave with her bag in hand, abby's emotions were divided. she felt a sense of sheer satisfaction, empowerment, her lips twisting into a muscle straining grin as she watched the bag recede into the distance, carrying her ticket goodbye. and she didn’t feel an ounce of regret because she did warn her. to enjoy it all, her time at the hospital to its fullest, and she meant it. true to her nature, abby prided herself on consistency, even more so in her efficiency, like a stealthy ninja.

in and out, no flaws, no witnesses.

no window for the light to shine through.

THE LIGHT

cascading over your form was from the now straining lamp above. your head ached, overwhelmed by the events of the day. but one interaction stood out as particularly odd— an event you didn't take part in, rather witness instead.

it seemed under every blue moon that cassidy and abby would interact, despite working on the same floor. there were no crossovers, so when a hand broke that line. there was something unsettling about the whole interaction, especially the invader's body language. her movements were mechanical, unnatural even, making it all hard to ignore.

a chill runs down your spine as you consider the implications. you know what you witnessed, but it feels almost unbelievable. just as with notorious serial killers, you struggle to comprehend the thought processes behind such heinous acts. perhaps this lunatic in particular requires her own account to explain her motives and actions.

you arrived at just the right moment, only a few seconds before their conversation ended. fortunately, you had come in time to witness abby casually slipping something into cassidy's bag while she was turning away. the object had a distinct pill bottle shape, subtle enough to avoid attracting unwanted attention, but enough to pique your interest.

the rumors of stolen narcotics had been circulating, and a mysterious culprit was being gossiped about behind closed doors. you and cassidy had spent some time discussing the topic, sharing silly theories, though nothing more than just pure hearsay.

your eyebrows furrow in thought, though it wasn't helping. instead, only intensified the now throbbing headache, slowly morphing into a full-blown migraine. with your hands holding your head up, you look down at long forgotten paperwork that was meant to be done from the comforts of your own home, but considering the distressing state you’re in. it was far from comforting now.

with a frustrated sigh, you flick off the lamp and abandon your paperwork, ready to rise from your desk. suddenly, your phone rings, jolting you with a spike in heart rate. you glance down at the caller ID.

you immediately answer the call, only to be met with cassidy's hysterical voice. through her sobs and gasps, she reveals that she was fired due to stealing narcotics. your worst fears were confirmed; it was no longer just a mere theory. you had indeed witnessed abby slipping something that resembled a small pill bottle into cassidy’s bag.

as you try to console your friend, a whirlwind of emotions begins to roil within you. some of that emotion directed towards yourself, but strongly towards abby. it was true, you saw it with your very own eyes, and yet chose to wait. you hated the fact that it took you so long to come to your senses, and a wave of guilt consumes you for not marching straight to the supervisor moments after witnessing it.

even if it was too late for your friend, it wasn’t for abby.

the lobby, now shrouded in dimmed lighting with very few sources of illumination, seemed like something straight out of a horror movie. paying no mind to the eerie ambiance, you quickly make your way towards abby’s office door, knowing she typically uses this time to prepare the employee’s schedules. the reasoning behind why she does it in her office is unknown, but frankly, not your biggest concern.

your knuckles collide forcefully against the wood, channeling the full extent of your anger’s strength. the door swings open, revealing a slightly taken aback abby. she utters, “what—what are you doing here?” her tone seems somewhat off.

you don’t waste any time, no words, and cut straight to the chase. “what did you do to cassidy?”

she raises an eyebrow in confusion, responding, “what are you talking about? are you on something, y/n?”

without hesitating, you push past her into her office. turning your head at neck breaking speed to set your hardened gaze onto hers. your voice takes on a more firm tone: “am i? are you?!”

you repeat your question with unwavering determination. “what did you do to cassidy?”

with a scoff, she crosses her arms, feigning innocence. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.” she denies.

“oh, don’t play dumb,” you retort, your gaze unwavering. “you know exactly what i’m talking about! tell me, what was it that you threw into her bag?”

she nervously swallows, her composure faltering for just a moment before she regains control. this reaction was all you needed to confirm your suspicions.

"that’s confidential.” she repeats assertively, making her way behind her desk.

"confidential, my ass!" you yell in response. "i know damn well what i saw!"

she stops in her tracks and turns her head to face you, a look of indignation on her face. “what did you just say to me?”

ignoring her interruption, you push on, demanding answers. “what did you do to her? what did you say?!” your fist clenched tightly.

for the first time, she drops her facade, maintaining eye contact without hesitation, as she admits. “i gave her a little parting gift.”

the intensity in her eyes makes your blood run cold, trying to gather a sense of what her cryptic response implies. you stammer. “what—what does that even mean?”

she suddenly realizes the gravity of her confession—how she inadvertently revealed her actions, but anger clouds her morality. "just drop it.” she grits out through clenched teeth, patience wearing thin.

the fire in your eyes flares up, brimming with anger and defiance that refuses to let you back down. "no!" you firmly retort. "you’re going to tell me!" frustration seeps through your voice as your patience wanes. you’re tired of her smug superiority, the audacity to act as if she had everyone under her command.

her lips curl into a smirk, her voice oozing with sarcastic scorn. “oh, i’m gonna tell you?” she taunts, scoffing. “tell you what? about your little friend?” her tone carries undertones of something against your mere friendship with cassidy.

the mention of something more regarding your friend sends a pang of defensiveness coursing through you.

"what?" you breathe out, taken aback. "what does that even mean, huh?"

she takes a step forward, each breath heavy and labored. her voice betrays her impatient nature, a predator preparing to pounce. “oh, you know what that means,” she retorts, scoffing internally at how dull you’re being to an obvious situation. despite the tension in the room reaching a high, it’s abby’s intensity that seizes the moment. you half expected to see her licking her lips with anticipated hunger, like a ravenous beast.

it sends a rush of conflicting emotions coursing through you—an alluring mixture of curiosity and trepidation. the encounter itself feels like a high-stakes game of chess where you struggle to predict your opponent's next move. as you step back, your confidence falters, and your voice softens into a small whimper.

“i don’t...”

abby catches onto this, pouncing on it like a hungry lion sensing weakness, further igniting her motives.

you gasp as your back meets the cool, solid wood behind you. in an instinctive movement, your eyes flick briefly behind you before darting back forward. only to find abby’s overbearing presence suffocating your personal space.

"oh, i think you do." she rasps, tilting her head to the side, a chuckle escaping her lips. her faltering gaze lingering to your lips for a fleeting moment before pulling away. her tone seethes with anger, words biting as she scoffs.

“you think you’re so damn slick, huh?” she paces back and forth, a fierce intensity in her stride, causing you to wince in response.

“you act like i wouldn’t catch on to your little games, as if it wasn’t painfully transparent to everyone around you!” her frustration builds, and she raises her arms, unleashing a frustrated sigh before bringing them down forcefully to slap her thighs. "as if i wouldn’t notice!”

you couldn't understand where this anger was coming from. sure, she had always been an asshole, but lately, her outbursts and irritability have seemed to reach a new assholery. and it seemed to have started around the same time you had become friends with cassidy. It was almost as if your newfound friendship had awakened something within her, something darker and more volatile. perhaps jealousy?

abby’s anger blazes brightly in her eyes, her words sharp. "god, you’re infuriating," she says, her voice laced with hostility. "like some fucking prodigy, you think you know everything, don’t you?!" she emphasizes with lurching her body forward, her hands slamming down on the desk either side of you, effectively trapping you in place.

your breath hitches as she draws nearer, her proximity sending an intoxicating wave throughout your body. the intensity of her anger is palpable, every labored breath brushing against your skin like a gentle caress. her lips are tantalizingly close to yours, separated by an annoying invisible barrier that could be shattered at any moment if she so desired. just one push.

"fuck you, abby!" you hiss, your voice faltering for a moment before hardening. "you always had a goddamn bone to pick with me, you piece of shit!" your words linger in the air, carrying years of built-up resentment directed at abby. but the shock of her unexpected confession wipes away your outrage, replacing it with astonishment.

"because i love you!" she yells, her voice ringing out louder than intended. her revelation hangs in the air, rendering you speechless. as those words sink in, your breath catches in your throat. "what?" you manage to croak out, hardly believing what you've just heard.

you observed a flicker of vulnerability in her expression that's quickly replaced by a hardened composure. there was no turning back, the cat was out of the bag, and so she only pressed forward with determination.

her voice descending to a low, sultry tone, she says "you think watching what's mine prancing around like a slut at her own workplace doesn't make me livid?" each word drips with possessive anger and suppressed desire.

your voice comes out smaller and fragile than anticipated as you muster the words, "i’m… i’m not yours." you struggle to meet abby's intense gaze, your body tensing subconsciously as you push yourself against her desk, attempting to create some space between the two of you. the air is thick with tension, the room practically vibrating with the weight of abby’s confession and your denial. you felt trapped, your body practically molding into the desk behind you.

"do you believe that?" she inquires, raising a brow in challenge. she lifts a thumb to slide across your bottom lip, her touch firm yet almost teasing. she pauses for a moment before letting out a gravelly chuckle, further probing into the tension. “i don’t.” she admits with a light shrug. her movements felt taunting, yet calculated as if she’s trying to catch you in a lie, and to fess up.

abby was frustrated, bordering on infuriated, trying to make sense of the situation. her mind was a tangle of emotions, and she felt like she was grasping at straws, trying to connect the pieces in her head. she had the mental board laid out in her mind, each string connecting to a different thought, all pointing to one central question: you and cassidy, and the enigma of your poorly hidden relationship. this uncertainty fueled her anger, and you weren’t making it any better. she wanted to do something— anything— to show you that you weren't just anyone's; you were hers.

"what about alexa, huh?" you ask, gaining a peak of confidence, your words snapping her attention back.

“what about her?” she questions truthfully, amused by your presumed jealousy. “you jealous?"

caught off guard and exposed, you feel the equilibrium shift, upending the chess pieces in your mind. "i’m not jealous," you insist, realizing the power her words hold. it’s as if she has cornered you in this game, check. mate.

“oh, sure you aren’t." abby steps closer, her body pressing against yours, trapping you between her and the desk. her words take on a dual edge of ire and yearning as she smirks. "i should’ve known with the way you’ve been acting, you’re practically begging me to put you in your place.” she murmurs, chuckling gravely. "to fuck you until you can only say yes, doctor anderson." she feigns a high pitch moany tone, a lewd and terrible, yet obvious admit of sounding like you as she says “yes, doctor anderson.”

she laughs before humming, seeming to enjoy that fantasy as she lets herself become lost in the idea for a moment before continuing.

abby’s features lean in closer, the heat from her breath caressing the apple of your cheek as she murmurs against your ear, “tell me, do you let cassidy make you her personal pocket pussy?” her words send a shiver down your spine as her hand moves to caress your cheek, pausing to let you feel the weight of her question in the air before inquiring further, “to bend you over anywhere, anytime, and you’ll just take it like a good girl?” her words laced with a lewdness that sends a thrill through your body, despite the fact that you know you should reject the notion. the question itself was filthy, taboo, and utterly intoxicating. but you couldn’t deny the existence of being drawn to it, deep down knowing more than ever if you ever were to think of that fantasy, you’d want it to be her, not cassidy.

“no, no, it’s not like that.” you attempt to defend yourself, trying to find the right words, but abby interjects before you can say anything else. she scoffs at your attempted denial, her grip on you tightening, causing you to wince. her voice lowers into a dark laugh, her disbelief evident. "oh really? you really expect me to believe that bullshit?"

her name escapes your lips in a gasp, but abby cuts you off yet again, her eyes darkening as she speaks.

"lemme tell you what it's like," she begins, her tone husky. “i think you'd like it. hell, you pray that it does happen because you're nothing but just a pathetic girl who wants some attention. is that what you want? attention?" abby inquires, licking her teeth in an almost predatory manner. your heart races in your chest as her words cut through you.

the tension in the room is palpable, thick with unexpressed desire and emotion. you find yourself unable to hold back any longer, your voice quivering as you voice your deep-seated need. “i want your attention," you confess, your words almost inaudible, they're so faint.

even if faint, she heard all of it, dissected each syllable. it’s all she ever wanted, no, needed to hear from you. “yeah?” her voice falters into a soft whimper, tilting her head to the side and grabbing your cheeks with her large hands, only now focusing on your lips. “i’ll give you all my attention.” she promises, swiftly pulling your face, smashing yours onto hers.

your body trembled from the conflicting sensations, a clash of cold and hot, a maelstrom of warring emotions. years without her touch had left you craving her embrace, and her lips on yours sent heat coursing through your veins. though the kiss stood unspoken, there was no need for actions that spoke louder. both hatred and desire intertwined, two sides of the same coin, fueling this volatile gesture. your hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and contour, as hers did the same, desperately pulling you closer, kneading your flesh like clay. your hands finally found a resting place on her shoulders, gripping her like a lifeline in the storm of sensations swirling around you.

your movements, your gasps and sighs, fueled the fire within abby, and with a determined strength, she hoists you up onto her desk. the sudden change in position elicits gasp from you, pressing your body against hers with an arch, and abby seizes the moment, slipping her tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth with a fervent passion. it was a dance both familiar and new, a moment of fiery connection that consumed you both.

her breath ragged, lips tingling from the passion of the kiss as stares down at you, her eyes dark and filled with hunger as she murmurs her confession. "i've always dreamt of this… having you," her fingers roaming over your body slowly as she says this, relishing in the way you react to her touch. she presses her forehead shading yours, her dilated eyes reflecting the depth of her desire. her cold thumbs find their way underneath your clothes, tracing slow circles, sending a shiver through your body. "having this feeling of your skin under my fingertips."

your voice quivered as you call her name, and for a moment you think your plea to have her lips on yours again are answered, but instead, she finds her new focus, your neck. her lips fall, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites. the sound of your whimpers only spurred her on, her hands gripping your hips possessively as she continued to mark your skin, leaving a trail of hickeys.

abby was in her element now, and your desperate tone only fed her desire. she wanted more, to hear you call her name even more. with a smirk, she lifted her head, eyes burning with amusement. "yeah? you like the sound of that, pretty girl?" she muses, her hand suddenly landing a sharp smack on your thigh, making you jump. in response, she chuckled at your reaction, her laugh sent tingles down your spine, a mixture of amusement and desire. her grip on your thighs tightened, pushing them higher up, and drinking up the sight of you, spread before her with your feet on the desk sent abby's desire spiraling out of control. she couldn't help but lick her lips, taking in the full view of your flushed skin and parted legs. you couldn't hold back a squirm, feeling so exposed— though you weren’t — under her intense gaze.

"i love seeing you like this," she murmured, her voice thick with arousal. she steps towards you again, nestling herself in the newfound space. her lips return to your neck, greeting the previous bruises plastered on your neck with soft licks and kisses. "so desperate and needy."

her hands leave your thighs as she lifts herself up to meet your gaze, taking in your already disheveled state. with a hum of satisfaction, she asks, "who gets you like this?"

you manage to respond with a barely audible, "you, abby." she hums at your whimperish respond, a smirk crossing her lips at the confirmation, "yes, not that bitch, cassidy. me. and only me, right, baby?" she gives a slight nod, as if she’s responding for you.

the blonde brings her hand up to your lips, watching as you open your mouth to invite her thumb, which she eagerly accepts.

she let out a low, guttural groan as you suck and lick her pad of her thumb, enjoying the sensations that your mouth causes. she couldn't resist the urge to voice her thoughts, her words thick with possession and desire.

"hm, such a dirty girl." she paused for a moment, taking in the sight of you, before amending her statement with a husky tone, "my dirty girl."

you release her thumb with a pop, humming a tone of satisfaction, and licking your lips to savor the lingering taste of her. a chuckle escapes abby's lips as she watches you, her eyes roaming your body yet again. the desire to rip your clothes off and shut you up has been building since the moment you walked into her office, "take this off, baby. you’re killing me with not showing me what's mine," she growls, her words tinged with need and possess. "need to see it, feel it. need." she mumbled against your skin, completely submitted to her delusions. you don’t fight this time, barely able to remove each article of clothing with abby eagerly kissing and licking every available inch of skin. but stops at your bikini line, encountering a setback— your underwear — cockblocking her.

her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, looking up at you with an almost comical expression of frustration, and offense. as if being unable to take off your underwear because of her was a you problem. “funny.” she retorts, tone dripping in sarcasm, but nothing on her face shows amusement. “real fucking funny.” she remarks, punctuating her words with a sharp smack to your hip, kneading at the red skin roughly, making you wince. “you fucking tease.” she continues, her voice laced with a mix of desire and irritation.

"i should punish you for that little stunt," her fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear, intending to pull them down herself since you’re incompetent to do so. “but, fuck, look at all this.” she relents, sliding them off your legs— and pocketing them for later — to reveal your core, practically weeping for her. “all this f’me?” she pants, eyes flicking up to yours.

a whiny moan of her name slips past your lips, but she shushes you gently, her voice softer now. "i know, baby, i know." she cooed, her large hand running comfortingly up and down your side. as she spreads your quivering legs further, exposing your drenched folds, abby feasts her eyes upon the sight before her. her lips curve upward, "fuck," she breathed, her eyes never leaving your pulsing core. “look at this pretty pussy. this is prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen—this has to be mine.” she leans down, her warm breath ghosting over your clit before she pressing a tender kiss there, savoring your reaction to her smallest touch, and now wondering what other reactions she could get out of you.

you weren't prepared for what came next, not one bit. expecting her to take things slow, you were completely caught off guard as abby gripped your thighs and, in one swift motion, separated your slimy folds, lapping any sweet nectar waiting for her. you tense from sudden sensation, letting out a loud, unapologetic moan as you arch off the desk. your hands instinctively tangle themselves into her steady braid that soon unravels from being used as reins.

encouraged by your fervent response, abby delved deeper, her skilled tongue tracing a path to your engorged nub. enclosing it between her lips, she whispered her praise, "you taste better than i thought." her voice trembled, mingling with your own moans.

as her teeth gently nipped at your sensitive bundle, you cried out, your thighs involuntarily squeezing her shoulders. a wicked smirk graced her lips as she basked in your reaction, taking immense pleasure in your submission.

the unexpected pinch sent jolts of shock through your body, your limbs twitching and writhing in a frenzied dance. in response, abby repositions her left hand on your abdomen, gripping tightly to anchor you in place. each sound that escaped your trembling lips fueled her hunger, her throaty hums resonating against your flesh. with a devilish gleam in her eyes, she teasingly traced circles near your navel with her thumb, heightening your anticipation.

a groan rumbled in her throat when your fingers gripped her hair, the sensation only spurring her on. her mouth fastened more insistently around your swollen nub, sucking harder as you cried out her name. the strain in your voice confirmed her suspicions: you were on the cusp of your release, and she was eager to push you over.

abby's fingers joined the fray, sliding in and out of your slick folds with practiced ease. her relentless assault on your clit continued, her touch sending shivers through your body and causing your breaths to come in ragged gasps. the sight of you, quivering and exposed before her, stoked a fire within her, a determination to send you flying over the edge.

abby derived an addiction from your pleasure. each moment of ecstasy seemed to fuel her further, driving her to amplify the tempo and depth of her ministrations. as the room filled with the lewd symphony of flesh meeting flesh and intertwined heavy breaths, something stirred within abby. something unfamiliar, uncharted. normally, she would exhibit unrivaled confidence during intimate encounters, but with you, it was different—more intense, deeper. a desperate craving to be perfect, to ensure you'd never seek anyone else but her. she’d hate to admit it, but the realization gnaws at her: the longing for you even after this is over.

"who's making you cum tonight?" abby questioned the obvious once more, but her arrogance tone underlined the strong need for reassurance. your moans were her only response, and while she adored the sweet sounds, she craved more. a sudden shift in her fingers’ movements made you yell out, "you, abby," your words punctuated by cries of pleasure.

her fingers, now confined within your tight grip, sensed the growing tension, the impending eruption, the imminent of your orgasm. "uh-huh, come for me," she ordered, "let me hear who’s making a mess of you."

the warnings of your impending release came with fervor, each thrust hastening to the inevitable snap of the tightening band in your abdomen. then when it did, a cry rang out, loud and clear, as her name left your lips in tandem with your essence painting her features. in this haze of euphoria, you suddenly find a sense of clarity, wondering how in all worlds did you end up in this situation, in the arms— or rather the mouth of your boss?

it’s rather short lived, quickly fading into a hazy blur. you threw your head back as her eyes closed, savoring the taste of your ecstasy with a hum, helping you through your orgasm until your body laxs.

withdrawing her fingers, abby admired the sight of your juices clinging to them, a testament to her efforts. a satisfied smile stretches across her face as she reveled in the knowledge that she had brought you to such heights.

she licks them clean, feeling a rush of gratification that only you can provide. releasing her fingers with a soft pop, her lips make way and pave along the curve of your hip, leaving a trail of wet, sticky kisses behind as she moves up to stand before you. “such a good girl..” she mumbled against your skin. you lift yourself up with your elbow, taking a moment to catch your breath, your body still quivering from the intensity of your orgasm that has left you momentarily speechless. you couldn't help, but notice abby’s disheveled appearance as well. untangled, her hair strays from its famed braid, now flowing around her face like a cascade of waves.

but before you could comment on the sight, she claims your lips in a tender, sweet kiss, her hands cupping your face. the connection was brief, and when she pulled away, a grin lit up her features. without another word spoken, she unclothes herself, revealing herself in all her glory. you knew she worked out, but goddamn, did she work out! the determination to achieve the physique showed immensely. in your admiration, you felt the apple of your cheeks warm up, causing you to look away.

"don’t go shy on me, babe," she chided playfully, repositioning your face to meet hers. she seals the deal with another kiss pushing you down gently onto the desk. "lay back f’me, ‘kay?"

with a nod, you comply, watching as the corded muscles in her arms flex as she moves into position, lifting your leg. a grin tugged at the corners of your lips as she placed a tender kiss on your ankle, making her soft chuckle fill the air in return before she securely set your leg on her shoulder.

the moment your wet folds connected, a guttural moan escaped her lips. the sensation was everything she craved, wasting no time in starting a vigorous grinding motion. as she ruts back and forth, she can’t help but mutter curses under her breath, lost in her own pleasure. "fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good." she hisses, throwing her head back. the raw intensity of her emotions written clear as day on her features.

her concentration nearly falters when she glances down, and the sight that met her eyes threatened to make her cum on the spot. the image of your hair spread out across the desk, your bouncing breasts with every upthrust combined with the feeling of your warmth against hers drove her to near insanity.

abby swore she had to be on the edge of a near-death experience, or some type of dejà vu as she gazed upon you in awe, swearing that you resembled a goddess straight out of a mythology book she had once read. though the memory of the goddess’s name was just out of reach, abby couldn't shake the feeling that she had personally seen a painting she once visited come to life in front of her very own eyes.

your hair, freed from its usual up do, was now cascading around your head and spilling off the edge of the desk like an ebony waterfall. your body, unrestrained, was a breathtaking display of femininity. each heaving breath caused your breasts to sway gently, your nipples hardened in anticipation. the way your skin glistened with a thin film of sweat only added to the captivating tableau.

in that moment, abby could almost imagine you as a divine muse from an ancient myth, a vision of beauty and desire. if she didn't snap herself back to reality, the mere sight might have been enough to send her hurtling toward an orgasm. but she had other plans, and she was determined to make them happen.

without warning, abby leaned down, her left hand resting beside your head to brace herself. as her mouth wrapped over one of your taut nipples, her tongue danced over the sensitive bud. simultaneously, her free hand kneaded your other breast, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. your hips bucked involuntarily, meeting her thrusts, and for a moment, it stuttered her pace, a low moan escaping her lips.

"fuck—baby, don't—don't do that," she pleads, filthy groans slipping pass her lips as her hand slides down to your hip, holding you firmly in place as her engorged clit pulsated with building intensity. she was determined to make you cum before she did.

your whispered invocation of her name caused her to glance up at your flushed, disheveled appearance. the sight was a temptation she couldn't resist, and crashed her lips against yours, the feverish kiss mirroring the urgency of your coupling. the closeness and ferocity of both embraces unconsciously synced your movements, hips rocking in unison.

"fuck! abby, i’m gonna cum, please!" your gasps grew heavier and staccato, your forehead pressing against hers as her pace quickened, breaths entwining. normally, abby would step in and reprimand her employees for behaving too freely when seemingly having too much fun. however, in this moment, she actively encourages it, the atmosphere brimming with an intense hunger for it.

"i know, baby, i know." abby's hand found your cheek, stroking it soothingly as if trying to appease your mind to allow what’s inevitable. "cum for me—cum with me," she pants, her pace faltering as she reached her zenith. her arms enveloped you, her hair acting as a curtain around the two of you. guiding you through your release, the slick of your shared pleasure coated your entwined bodies.

once over, abby’s rhythm ceased, and she collapsed on top of you, utterly spent. the weight of the night's passionate encounters bore down, leaving the two of you entwined in the afterglow.

in the act of catching your breaths, it gave abby post-nut clarity. her cheeks reddened, overwhelmed with shame for her past behavior, guilt gnawing at her insides as she realized how much of an ass she had been. it makes her get up, promptly making you sit up, confused.

with a shaky breath, she pushed her hair behind her ear, an expression that was nothing like her usual confident self. "look," she began hesitantly, her voice strained as she struggled to find the right words. unable to meet your gaze, she continued, "i’m sorry for everything. i've been having these feelings, feelings i-i don't even know how to process about you, but i... just wanted to say that i'm sorry for being such an asshole. it was pathetic."

finally, she looked at you, her lips laced in a pout. her confession took you by surprise, leaving you speechless. it was a side of abby you never saw, apologetic.

“asshole is an understatement.” you finally say, laughing softly, an attempt to alleviate the tension in the air, yet it brought no amusement to the receiver. with a quick gulp to clear your throat, you question, “what kind of feelings?” tilting your head to one side.

abby's mouth forms into a tight smile at your lighthearted comment. "they're romantic feelings," she confessed, taking a step forward. she knew the likelihood of your response, but nonetheless continued. "i wasn't lying when i said 'i love you’… but if you don't—" she let out a shaky exhale, the next words stinging. "I'll understand."

unable to suppress an oncoming smile, you take the sight of the usually tough-as-nails abby anderson, now a softie. taking for a moment before responding with a soft voice that leaves abby confused, "you look pretty like this.”

"what?"

"yeah, you should wear your hair down when we go on a date."

PERMANENT TAGLIST, @dyk3ang3l, @elliesprettygirl, @les4elliewilliams, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @marsworlddd, @bready101, @abbysleftbicepp, @airenaa, @caraphernellie, @astralnymphh, @whore87, @kaiilectric, @sapphicontherun, @mikellie, @nihilisticangelbby, @be3flow3r, @ppuussyyy, @clairoscharm, @lvlymicha, @brackishkittie, @loveyru

ONESHOT TAGLIST, @st4r-b3rries, @h0pe-scotch, @grey-jedi12, @lucidfairies, @luvmily, @sarahduke, @sc0ttstre3ted, @lonelyfooryouonly, @4pascal, @rew1nds, @viswifetotallyreal, @giuliaexe66, @andersonfilms, @ankle-biter69, @ellieslovr, @wakeupitsdawn, @lavdia17, @donalesaa, @xayn-xd, @brunaedn, @fatamoangana, @drunkonnatasha, @freesmbdy134, @sincerely-forest, @mytwoseater, @starrywilliams, @pinkygirliee

[jodoesnew]

On the other end

A small dcaXy/n idea I had

Premis: Y/N works part time in the daycare but doesn't really interact with the dca which doesn't mean the dca didn't notice them there.

Start of the story

Y/N gets messages from an unknown number and decides to answer

They start messaging thinking that they don't know each other at all

They notice that the tone and wording in the messages switches completely throughout the day but get used to it way too fast

Y/N's life is a complete mess right now so Unknown is a pleasant distraction

They never tell each other their real names but use nicknames instead

Both share how they feel often and text about life and just anything that they think of

Someday y/n just calls their unknown friend to share some great news because they have no one else they want to share it with

They don't pick up but call back later

A male voice they have never heard answers. A pleasant one. They talk for hours.

But the voice tells them to only call at night bc he can't talk on the phone while working. But texting is fine

Y/N falls in love over late night phone calls and long text convos

They ask if they could meet up and hang out

He doesn't answer

The connection goes silent

The last thing he sent is "I'm so sorry. But I can't" written only a few minutes after their question (in the middle of the day)

Hours go by and they get no answer from him anymore

Hurt and worried Y/N is in a daze of crying and starring at nothing for the rest of the week

This is when Y/N misses their break bc they stayed in the daycare closet to cry

As they step out the daycare is dark sth that Y/N was never there to see

Then they hear it. The voice of the person they love singing from where the kids are sleeping.

Y/N stumbles through the dark until they reach the kids and lock eyes with the daycare attendant

Moon goes quiet and his eyes betray him and show his shock

Y/N is stunned

"It's you?"

Awkward

P2, P3

[distantmaniacallaugh]

I dumped pure pink-ness on a random sketch page and this abomination came out

Close-ups of his ASS under CUT for the SIMPS among you. Also what the fuck did tumblr do to the colors, damn. Click for better quality i guess.

Yes I’m posting a Kinger simp y/n design in the year of our dead lord 2025. Screw you all I do what I WANT

[babsworlds]

THE ALCHEMY.

pairing. Pedro Pascal x younger! wife! reader

synopsis. “Where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me.” — Pedro wins the 30th SAG Awards.

warnings. mention of age gap (late 20s/late 40s), just fluff, real people fic, Timothée is THE Timothée, based on song The Alchemy by Taylor Swift.

babs’ note: this is officially my first pedro fic<3 since my obsession over this man is unreal I’m starting to write him too but atj is still my main man!

TODAY WAS A DAY YOU HAD BEEN LOOKING FORWARD FOR MONTHS. Hosting the 30th SAG Awards with your very good actor friend Timothée was already thrilling, but the fact that your husband, Pedro, was nominated in one of the many categories made the whole day even more exciting.

The red carpet was a dazzling sight, teeming with your celebrity friends, all dressed to impress. Timothée's humor and charm made the event even more enjoyable, and the two of you shared many laughs as you made your way through the evening.

You had already hosted and commented on many categories during the ceremony, and you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. Each winner's reaction was unique and heartfelt, creating moments that were unforgettable. Whether it was tears of joy, expressions of shock, or grateful speeches, every victory added to the magic of the night.

Now it was time to announce the winner of Male Actor in a Drama Series, the category Pedro was nominated for. Your heart beat like never before, the chance of your husband winning was thrilling.

As you stood on the stage alongside Timothée, close to the microphone, you waited for the room full of people to calm down. The anticipation in the air was palpable, and you could feel the energy of the audience buzzing around you. You couldn't help but steal glances at Pedro, who was smiling at you like a crazy, proud husband. His excitement mirrored your own, and it made your heart swell with love and pride.

Timothée gave you a reassuring nod, and together, you both prepared to announce the nominees. The screen behind you lit up with clips of the talented actors in their respective roles, each one deserving of recognition.

You took a deep breath, your hands slightly trembling with anticipation. As Timothée began to read the nominees' names, you focused on maintaining your composure, though your mind was racing with hope.

As you stood on the stage alongside Timothée, close to the microphone, waiting for the room full of people to calm down, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Pedro, who was smiling at you like a crazy.

Timothée, ever the supportive friend, sensed the significance of the moment and handed you the envelope with the winner's name, knowing how much this category meant to you.

Your heart raced as you slowly opened the envelope, your hands trembling with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and shared one last look with Pedro in the audience before finally looking at the winner's name. The room seemed to hold its breath as the paper unfolded in your hands.

“And the actor goes to…” Timothée spoke, drawing out the suspense as you opened the bent paper.

On the paper, written in bold letters, was your husband’s name.

You tried to maintain a composed demeanor, but your happiness was evident as the corner of your lips turned into a smile. You shared a look with Timothée, and in a playful tone, you teased everyone in the room, especially the nominees. “You want to say it?” you asked, your voice filled with excitement and anticipation.

“You say it,” Timothée laughed, enjoying the playful banter and the suspense you were creating. The room was buzzing with curiosity and excitement as they waited for the big reveal.

Taking another deep breath, you focused your gaze on Pedro, who was now sitting on the edge of his seat, his eyes locked on you. You looked around the room, taking in the expectant faces of the audience, before finally announcing, “Pedro Pascal, The Last Of Us!”

The room erupted into cheers and applause. Pedro stood up, waving to the crowd before quickly making his way to the podium.

Completely ignoring Timothée and the trophy he held, Pedro hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. “Oh my god,” you laughed, feeling the joy and excitement of the moment. Timothée gave the audience a confused look with a smile, adding to the lightheartedness of the scene.

Pedro gently set you down and kissed you. The kiss tasted like sweet victory. You didn’t expect it, but you liked it. Despite the age difference between you and Pedro, you were the iconic couple of Hollywood, and people loved seeing you two together.

He shook your hand and Timothée’s, finally taking the trophy as he made his way to the microphone with a proud smile.

Pedro placed the trophy down on the glass table next to the mic, taking a moment to collect himself. “This is wrong for a number of reasons,” he began, his voice still trembling a bit from the shock and excitement of winning.

“I’m a little drunk,” he admitted with a sheepish smile, “I thought I could get drunk.” You shared a playful look with Timothée, rolling your eyes in amusement. This man was unbelievably adorable.

Pedro continued, “And thank you, HBO,” he trailed off, gathering his thoughts. “Mostly, I want to thank my beautiful wife, Y/n,” he said, looking back at you and then looking ahead again. “Y/n, you’re an incredible woman, and thank you for always supporting me.”

Even though you had promised yourself you wouldn't cry, you couldn't help but tear up when Pedro mentioned your name. The emotion in his voice and the sincerity of his words were overwhelming.

“Thank you for making me take the role of Joel,” Pedro continued, his voice filled with gratitude and love. He didn't stop there. He gave you so much credit for his success, acknowledging your unwavering support and encouragement.

As you listened to him, pride swelled in your chest. You were so proud of him and everything he had achieved. The recognition he was giving you made the moment even more special.

“I love you,” Pedro finished, his voice trembling with emotion.

Pedro took the trophy in his hands, "I'm going to have a panic attack, and I'm going to leave," he joked, causing the room to erupt in applause once again as he left the stage.

You and Timothée took your place in front of the mic, proud tears still running down your cheeks. "Wow, Y/n, you look really touched," Timothée joked into the mic, eliciting laughs from the audience. "Say something," he urged, his comedic timing spot-on and making everyone chuckle.

You took the mic, your emotions a mix of pride, joy, and amusement. "Pedro, you bastard," you said playfully, causing the audience to burst into laughter.

[drewsephrry]

Drew Starkey the man that you are!!

[fallenprophets]

✩‧₊˚ bad with words

Steb x reader

Summary: after an exhausting (undefined) meeting, you find a moment of peace in your home, with an old friend.

No spoilers, no dialogue, no use of Y/N. Set at undefined time. sfw as always (although be aware of sultry eye contact)

Warnings: profanity (fuck, said once), kinda short

A/N: I hope the three Steb fans out there enjoy this one ! English IS my first language, but this shit is not proofread. bon appetit

You don’t really register how exhausted you are until you leave the council meeting. 

As the door shuts behind you, your armour seems to turn to lead; giant hands press down on your shoulders, softly whispering to you to lie down and close your eyes. 

You do neither of those things. In fact, you do the opposite: you straighten your posture. You readjust the collar of your shirt, fix your breastplate. You even comb your hand through your hair. 

There is nothing more important than being strong, you tell yourself as you head down towards the stairs. Your appearance contributes to most of that strength. 

However, when you see who is waiting for you at the window downstairs, the facade gets considerably more difficult to uphold. 

He turns to you, his eyes wide and so unbearably blue. He bows his head at the sight of you; people often do, intimidated by your shining armour and the way you hold your chin up.

He does it because, unbeknownst to you, he can’t hold your gaze for more than five seconds. 

You don’t say a word. Your shoulder brushes his as you walk past, and that is enough for him to follow you, his gaze fixed on the spot between your shoulder blades. 

You and Steb have always been good at communicating nonverbally; words are rarely spoken when it’s just the two of you. But that is no bad thing. 

You listen to his steady footsteps, glancing at him when he comes up beside you. The stupid, traitorous part of you longs to reach for his hand. Thankfully, you are still somewhat in control of your own body; you keep your hands balled into fists by your side. He doesn’t notice (he does). 

You make it to your apartment without saying anything brash (although it is hard). Only when the door is locked and he is standing, half of his face lit up by the soft lights shining through the window, does your strength waver. 

You swallow, passing your dry tongue over your lips. Your heart is pounding. He is watching you in that strange way of his; curious, but not cruel. 

Your resolve crumbles all at once. 

You don’t cry; but your shoulders sag, and your knees wobble, and you stumble towards him. He catches you, looping his arms under yours, holding you up despite the weight of the armour you are still wearing. You sag against him, the hard lines of your armour digging into your skin. 

After a moment, he pulls away. You nearly cry then, your fingers digging into his arms. He tilts his head lightly, motioning for you to turn around. You furrow your brow at him. He pries your fingers off, gently guiding you back. He makes the same circling motion with his hands, and you obey this time, turning so your back is to him. 

Slowly, you feel the straps of your armour coming undone. Your breath stutters in your throat and your legs turn to jelly; but you don’t fall, don’t even sway. Even here, you need to be strong. 

As the plate that covered your back comes away, you begin to work at the bands wrapped around your forearms. Steb shifts and appears at your side, working at the straps over your shoulders. You let him, unable to pull away from the soft warmth of his proximity. 

Why are you doing this? You want to ask. You want to scream it until your throat is raw. There is a reason why you wear that armour- the illusion of strength, which he is so easily pulling apart with a simple twitch of his mouth. 

Your breastplate comes off, and you’re left in a soft white undershirt and the plates on your legs. He hesitates for a moment, facing you, and you nod, once, quickly. Your eyes shift away just as he gets down on one knee. His fingers nimbly unlace the remaining armour, leaving your boots untouched. He brushes his knuckles over a bandage wrapped around your calf; you shiver and almost gasp. 

He is painstakingly slow with it, careful not to damage any of your kit. When he’s finally done, he stays there, looking up at you with the prettiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. 

Fuck it, you think. Your heart is pounding, your lungs are so tight you might pass out, and your legs might just fail you if he keeps looking up at you like that. 

You tug off your gloves, and you are vulnerable before him, dressed in soft white clothes, your armour scattered around you. He has never seen your bare hands before, and they are a sight to behold: soft skin, knuckles reddened, marred with old cracks. Your nails are broken and bitten. 

You take his face in your hands and draw him up. He stands, his own hands automatically finding your waist, then, almost nervously, going to cover yours. His eyes are wide, his skin soft against your touch. You had always wondered how this would feel. 

There are so many things you want to say to him in that moment. You feel bare before him; you may as well be out with it, all the grand feelings battling in your aching chest. He has seen you now, stripped of your weapons and armour, hands bare, eyes half-shut as you swallow all the emotion clogging your throat.  

But you’ve never been one for words, and neither has he. 

You think about kissing him. You picture it, and it amplifies all of your feelings tenfold. You picture his warm breath fanning your face; you imagine his eyes shut, his brow furrowed, that tic in his jaw finally loosened as your fingers brush over it. 

Before you are able to do it, your legs seem to give way, and he catches you, pulling you tight against him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he supports most of your weight, his face falling to the crook of your neck. If you concentrate, you can feel his mouth, not quite but almost kissing the skin there. You tighten your grip on him, as does he. 

You think about all the unsaid things that have passed between you. The looks, the brushes of your gloved hand against his; the absence of horror from his gaze, even as he watched you beat a man to death with your own bloody, bruised knuckles. All the times he has put his hand on your shoulder and squeezed softly, all the times you have brushed against his arm when you hoped he wouldn’t notice (of course he noticed, it’s you). You think about him, and all that he has done for you. It returns the strength to your legs. Enough for you to support yourself, push away from him ever so slightly, press your forehead to his and look directly into his eyes for the first time in a long time. He does not look away, unlike all the other times your gaze has caught his. He falters, and his eyes flitter for a moment, but as your hands come up again to cup his face, he seems to give up against whatever feelings are warring within him. 

All of the things you’ve wanted to say disappear, and you smile very lightly. 

Neither of you have ever been very good with words. 

You kiss him, your eyes shutting almost immediately. He kisses back just as eagerly, pulling you closer, his hand finding the small of your back. His mouth is just as soft as you pictured, and you can feel his fluttering gills against your cheekbones. He is still holding you up, even though you don’t feel you need it anymore. 

When you pull away, your heart is no longer pounding. Your breath is even, synchronised with his. 

And he smiles, and you smile back. 

[riddleswhcre]

casually thinking about tom riddle as head boy

like yes sir i will give you head

warnings; smut, oral (m rec), mean!tom. degradation. head boy superiority complex, spit, gagging, a lil bit of choking, tears, no aftercare (obviously. he does not care). tom calling you pathetic bc he means it. rough. dumbification if you squint.

𓏲 ࣪₊ ❥ 𓂃 more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

‘if you’re going to kneel,’ tom mutters, fingers curling in your hair, sharp, unforgiving, ‘then do it properly.’

his voice is smooth, indifferent, like he’s already bored, like he hasn’t got your knees pressing into the cold stone floor of the head boy’s dorm, his cock heavy against your lips, the tip flushed and leaking.

but you don’t make him ask twice.

you drag your tongue over the slit, slow and teasing, tasting him, swallowing around the precum that coats your lips. he doesn’t react, not at first—just watches you with dark, unreadable eyes, fingers tightening just slightly against your scalp.

‘don’t waste my time,’ he mutters, unimpressed.

so you open your mouth and take him in.

he lets out a sharp breath as you sink down, your lips stretching around the thickness of him, your jaw already aching, but you don’t stop, don’t pull away, just let him press deeper, deeper, until he hits the back of your throat, your lashes wet, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

‘fuck,’ he breathes, head tipping back just slightly, and it’s the first real reaction you get, the first sign that he’s letting himself feel it, letting himself enjoy the way you choke around him, your hands gripping his thighs, nails digging into the fabric of his uniform.

‘this is what you came here for, isn’t it?’ he muses, looking back down at you, his voice slow, deliberate, like he’s still in control. ‘so desperate to get on your knees for the head boy.’

you hum around him, and his fingers tighten.

‘s’that why you’re so eager?’ he continues, the words low, curling around your spine, setting you alight. ‘because you want to be a good little thing for me?’

he pulls back, just slightly, lets you take a breath, and then he’s pushing back in, faster now, rougher, making you take it, making you let him use you, your throat burning, tears slipping down your cheeks as he fucks into your mouth.

‘look at you,’ he murmurs, voice rougher now, like he’s getting close, like he’s barely holding onto that perfect control of his. ‘so messy, so pathetic. is this really all it takes to ruin you?’

he groans as you swallow around him, his cock twitching against your tongue, his grip bruising in your hair, and you know he’s about to cum, know he’s going to finish exactly where he wants to—down your throat, spilling over your tongue, making you swallow every last drop.

‘don’t you dare spill a fucking drop,’ he mutters, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark, cruel, dangerous.

and you don’t.

because he’s the head boy.

and you do as you’re told.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[angst-cravings]

let you break my heart again (2)

part 1 | part 1.5

summary: you take the leap.

pairing: matt murdock x reader

words: 2.2k

an: i rewrote this like three times and i’m still not happy with how it turned out, bi foggy, you make the first move, gender neutral reader

cw: mild angst, fluffy, some explicit language

You didn’t know this, but later that night, Karen and Foggy started scheming. Foggy wasn’t dumb, and he’s known how you both have felt for a long while. Maybe they’d try to get you two alone in the office tonight. Or they could stage a dinner where they’d have to cancel. Every plan had a flaw. If you two were alone in the office, you might just end up working alone. Or at the dinner, no one would say anything to each other. Karen decided that it’d be best if she sat down and talked to you seriously. Although you’ve always been good at reading people, Matt was far, far better. You just needed the confidence to confess. Foggy was far less engaged in the conversation that Karen was.

Truth be told, it did kind of hurt. Foggy wasn’t in love with you (he hasn’t been since college), and he always wanted you to be happy, but he always held a tiny bit of resentment towards Matt for being far more successful in relationships than he was. Or maybe he held a tiny bit of resentment because he wasn’t the one in the relationship with him. Either way, the planning to get you two together was bittersweet. He’d be happy for you two if it went well. Or at least he tried to convince himself that was true. 

“There is literally no way he doesn’t like you. He always responds differently from when me or Foggy talk to him.” Karen is perched on the edge of your desk, legs slightly swaying.

“Well he’s clearly not pining over me! And this is how he’s always treated me, it’s probably just because of Foggy. When he gets here he’s probably going to start talking with him about that woman he slept with last night.” 

You glance over your desk, case files strewn about haphazardly. Everything is putting you on edge, including the chaos on your desk that is reflecting your current mental state, “Just like every other night after we go to Josie’s. Half of me wants to stop going just so I don’t have to see it. It hurts, Karen. I just want to get over him.” Your face falls into your cold palms, and you feel like your button-up is suffocating you. 

“Maybe you should say something to him.” You hear her rise and you feel the gentle touch of her hand on your back.

“Maybe… I’m just so scared. I don’t want to fuck anything up.” You admitted, looking up at her kind face.

“I know. But sometimes we have to take risks. That’s why you guys started this firm. That’s why we do so much pro-bono work. And you both are mature enough to not let something like this affect your work.”



And that’s when Foggy enters. Karen stands up a little straighter and removes her hand from your back.

“Morning you two!” He’s cheery, as usual. That was half the reason you appreciate his friendship. It was ironic that his nickname was Foggy, because you always pictured him as the one who could clear the clouds away.

“Good morning Foggy. How was Josie’s last night?” You inquire with a faux nonchalance. You really just want to hear about Matt’s escapades and if he had really gone home with that woman, but you obviously weren’t going to let Foggy know.

“Oh you know, the usual. Karen left not too long after you, but I’m sure she’s told you that. Matt did seem a little off last night though.” He opens the door to his office, puts down his bag, and leans against the doorway of your office. “Oh?” You can’t tell what his comment made you feel. A cauldron of emotions swirl in your stomach. 

“Yeah, after you two left we kind of just sat there as he stared off into space. More so than usual.” Your mouth turned up slightly at his comment. You were a little confused though, there’s no reason that he would feel that way. Maybe something happened that day that you missed. Part of you started to regret going home early.

“So he… never went home with that woman? She was really gorgeous, that’s a shame.” “Yeah, I think he was too out of it to seal the deal. Something’s up with him, and I can’t quite place it. You’d think I knew my best friend a little better.” 

You gasp, faking offense. “I cannot believe you’d call him your best friend when I am right here Foggy.” The grin you were trying to hide to punctuate your teasing creeps up onto your face. Then the door opens. 



“I’m your best friend?” Speak of the devil and he shall arrive. He has on a crisp suit with a burgundy tie. It’s one of your favorite colors on him, it compliments his glasses. He has a large brown paper bag in his hands.

Foggy pauses for the briefest moment. “Yeah, you are. They left us last night at Josie’s all alone, so I think they deserve a demotion of the best friend title.”

“Yeah, well I had a headache, so you’re the bad friend for not being considerate of my feelings.” 

“Speaking of, why didn’t you say something before you left last night? I wanted to say goodnight.” Matt walked over and gently placed his hand on your shoulder. 

You could feel your heart start to pound, and you couldn’t discern whether it was over the touch or anxiety about the question that you didn’t want to admit the answer to. “Uh… well I didn’t really want to bother you. You seemed… preoccupied.” You force a smile.

“Well, you are more important than her. You should say something next time,” Your heart skips a beat, and his hand falls from your shoulder, “I, uh, I brought bagels for everyone.” As Matt shows everyone the bag, you see the logo of the bakery beneath your apartment.

“Thank you so much!” Foggy immediately goes to grab a bagel, and goes to his office, “No rest for the weary! I’m going to work on the Maddison case, you all should get to work soon too.” His office door shuts, and Karen nods.

“I should probably get to work too. I have a lot to do today.” You shoot her a glare, knowing that she’s just trying to get you two alone. She smirks, and you sigh as you watch her escape to her office.



“When did you go to the bakery?” You try to make your question nonchalant, but you can hear your voice betray your interest. “I guess after you left, since you weren’t there when I was there.”

“What, did you want me to be there?” You teased, but you could feel the rush of blood reach your cheeks. You silently prayed thanks that Matt could not see you.

“And what if I did?” Your breath catches in your throat. 

You quickly recompose yourself. “I mean that thought process is valid, I would want to see myself too.” You hope your smirk can cover the way you reacted to his statement.

“That’s where you have it wrong. I wouldn’t see you there,” A smug look forms on his face as you roll your eyes. 

“Whatever Matt.” 

“You love my jokes.”

You grab a bagel and usher him out of your room. “I actually have work to do, so I’ll talk to you later.”



Matt stiffens at the sound of a knock at his office door. He was so absorbed in the case he was reading that he tuned everything else out. He takes a second and recognizes Foggy at the door.

“Come in.” He raises his voice just a little so Foggy can hear him. 

“Hey, uh, Matt, can we talk?” Foggy shuts the door behind him and sits in front of Matt’s desk.

“Of course,” Matt shifts some of his papers, “What’s up?”

Foggy takes a deep sigh, and pauses before he forms his words, “You should tell them.”

Matt freezes. “W-what do you mean, Foggy?” He tries to laugh away the nervousness in his statement, and anyone else probably would have fallen for it.

“I said, you should tell them. It’s really obvious that you like them, and I can’t stand watching you two dance around each other’s feelings even though you share them.” Foggy seems sincere, but there’s some other emotion that leaves a subtle aftertaste in Matt’s mouth. 

“I know, they’re pretty damn good at hiding their emotions,” Foggy shifts in his seat to inch a little closer to Matt, “but I think it’s pretty obvious that they like you. Take it from their best friend.” “Hey, I thought you said that I was your best friend.”

“Well, you both are,” Foggy changes back to his more playful demeanor, “Anyways, here’s the plan. We’re going to order takeout for the office, and then Karen and I get pulled away by a phone call. Then you two will be all alone. You should say something or you’re probably going to regret it.” He stands up, and opens Matt’s door.

Matt can’t get a retort in before his door is open. “Alright, well, thanks for helping me out Foggy.” 



The smell of Chinese takeout hits your nose, and you immediately leave your office. “Thank God, I am so fucking starving.” “Yeah, well, don’t be too excited, because I actually got a call from a friend and they’re in the hospital right now,” Karen says, “So I’m going to go make sure they’re okay.” 

“Oh my God, is everything alright?” Your eyebrows furrow in concern. “Yeah, they said it’s just minor, but I just want to check on them. Here’s the takeout, have a nice dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Karen puts the takeout down onto the counter.

“Yeah, call me if you need anything Karen.” You change your phone from silent to vibrate as Karen scurries out of the office. Foggy and Matt step out of their offices as you start unpacking the food. Everyone has a usual order, and you set them out according to the order.

“Smells delicious. I heard Karen leaving?” Matt walks up, cane in hand, and grabs his order.

“Yeah, one of her friends is in the hospital. I hope they’re okay.” Your face is covered in worry, and you can only pick at your food. You hear the ring of a phone, and watch as Foggy picks it up.

“Hey man, what’s up? Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I’ll swing over right away. I’m so sorry, I totally forgot. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” He quickly hangs up the phone, “Sorry, I promised Tom I was going to help him move. I’ll see you both tomorrow though!” Foggy grabs his food and rushes out the door.



“And then there were two.” The corner of Matt’s mouth was slightly lifted.

“Yeah…” Your heart starts racing, and you silently are thankful that you get some time alone with him. The air is silent and awkward for a few minutes. You swallow hard, and decide to take a leap. It was now or never.

“Hey, uh, have you ever had this before?” You gesture towards your food, knowing that Matt could probably pick up on the context.

“No, actually. It smells really good though.” He smiles, and takes a bite of his own food.

“Would you like to try?” You start panicking slightly, but you’ve already taken the first step. You won’t back down now.

“Sure.” He grins at you, and your heart leaps. His smile has always been one of your favorite things about him.

You grab a piece of your food with your chopsticks, and walk towards him. 

“Open your mouth.” You lower your voice. 

He looks like he’s about to protest, but opens his mouth, and you place it on his tongue. He closes his mouth around your chopsticks, and you gently draw them out from between his lips. The face he makes is beautiful, and he makes a soft Mmm sound as he savors the food.

“This is really good. I can see why you order it.” “Do you want another taste?” You hold your breath. 

“Sure, you can have-” You cut him off with a kiss. 

You can taste the tang of the sauce on his lips, and you know he can too. The kiss feels like a sigh of relief. You’ve wanted to do this for such a long time, and although your nerves are tainting it, at least you’ll have done it at least once. You were kind of proud of yourself, usually Matt was the one with the smooth pickup lines. Yours wasn’t the best, but it was still pretty cheesy. You hear Matt set down his takeout container to pull you closer to him, deepening the kiss. You gently push away, and you rest your hands on his broad chest.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He barely breathes out, his voice so quiet you can barely hear him.

“I could say the same thing to you.” You grin, and his face mirrors yours.

[andreaheartscats]

Imagine going to the pool with Ellie.

imagine seeing her in swimmsuit for the first time, and her seeing you in one for the first time.

imagine her not being able to take her eyes off of you.

imagine her pushing you into the pool (lol)

imagine her laughing like she never did before while splashing you with water and having fun

imagine her hugging you from behing in the pool.

imagine her noticing how you were hiding yourself under the towel cause you felt insicure and then she kissed every part of you that you felt insicure about and told you how beautiful you looked in that bathing suit

imagine her getting a sunburn and then coming to you and crying like a little kid

imagine her falling asleep in the sun next to you

imagine her bringing water guns and having a fun little water gun fight with you.

live laugh love Ellie Willams

[rosa-tulipano]

one of my favorite fluffy scenarios i allow my brain to fade into during the particularly mind-numbing moments at work... i imagine luigi to be a man who always puts up a happy front. always the fun-loving, optimistic, smiley guy. ever the sturdy-rock therapist of the friend group. but with you, he allows his polished ceramic façade to crack. he doesn't feel as if he needs to keep himself jammed into a mold he outgrew long ago to be loved by you as he does with most others.

he's still learning to be completely upfront with you on his feelings, sometimes he just doesn't want you to worry, but with your constant reassuring words and loving touches he's been getting better and better at it.

"luigi?" the fingertips of your honeyed voice reached out from the doorway to your beloved sat on the edge of the couch, his body slouched forward, elbows digging into his thighs as he clutches his head in his palms.

you don't get more than a sniffle in response before he whips his head up, swiping his hands down his face in an attempt to wipe as much grimness from his expression as he could before cracking an unconvincing smile. "i'm okay, baby"

if his unusual posture and voice- crackling and weak- didn't give him away, his gaze definitely did. his once confident, sparkling hazel eyes were weary and trembling.

the look on your face as you took in the sight of him made luigi breakdown, unable to pretend any longer. "oh, my love..." was all you said as you surged toward him, haphazardly throwing yourself onto the cushions beside him, sat on your knees, to pull his large frame into your chest.

you felt his shoulders begin to shake, his tears seeping into the threads of your cardigan that his fingers gripped. his side was pressed into your chest, your left arm cradled his head that was tucked into the crook of your elbow while your right arm wrapped around him to draw him as close to your body as physically possible.

"that's it, honey, just let it out. i've got you" you soothed him as best you could, laying your cheek against his hair, smoothing your hand up and down the panes of his broad back, letting the fingers of your left hand dance across his cheek as you whispered sweet nothings into his curls.

after a while, his body wracking sobs were replaced with intermittent hiccups and long sniffles. he pulled away just a little, but you didn't let him get far. you cupped his face gently in your palms, tilting his face up a bit to look up at you. his eyelashes fluttered with remaining moisture, the last couple teardrops tumbling down his cheeks. you kissed them away softy as they crossed his beauty marks.

the tenderness with which you held him made luigi want to cry even more. he's never felt more safe and loved than he does with you.

your caress your thumb over one cheek while your other hand pushes his hair back from his forehead. with his tears finally subdued, he can clearly see you now. the way your brows furrowed ever so slightly as you tried to dab away the stray tears on his jawline and neck with the sleeve of your cardigan, the weight of worry in your eyes as you peppered pecks all over his face, the twitch of your lip as you internally debated whether or not to ask him what happened.

luigi hated showing his "unsavory" emotions around most others. but you took those very emotions and held them dear to you. nurtured them, cared for them, accepted them. just as you did with him. he nuzzled his cheek into your hand, gently wrapping his fingers around both of your wrists before placing a kiss against each of your palms. with each meeting of rosy his lips against your supple skin, he stayed like that for a few seconds just taking in your warmth before covering your fingers with his own and pressing your hands even further into his cheeks.

you cracked a little smile at his loving actions, unable to stop yourself from giving a quick peck to his flushed nose. he huffed a small air of laughter, using your fingers to cover his eyes.

"feeling better now?" you whispered, moving your hands to capture his own between him, pulling them from his face and into your lap where you smoothed over them.

he nodded aggressively, keeping his eyes shut for a few beats longer before he looked at you, "loads" he murmured, a content smile lazily drawing up the corners of his mouth as his puffy eyelids drooped

"you wanna talk about it?" you tried a bit apprehensively, trying to look for any hesitation in his tired eyes.

a sharp breath was drawn through his nose as he leaned all the way back suddenly, tossing his head to hang off the couch. you gave him a while to compose his thoughts and he ran his hands over his face a couple times, turning your own hands' attention to the wrinkles in his flannel as your brain tried to think of what could've happened.

as soon as he shuffled a bit, your eyes were back on his face. "hm, maybe later," he started before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in to straddle his lap. his arms were tight around your waist as he leaned back again bringing you to lay over his chest. "i just want to be with you like this for a bit first"

you smiled to yourself, pressing a quick kiss to the side of his neck where your face nested, "whatever you want, baby. i'm here when you're ready to talk"

he didn't say anything, just let out a tranquil sigh, letting his body relax and melt into the couch.

you felt his arms squeeze your body against his, as if to say "thank you" though you know that would never be necessary.

my first post on this blog, i hope you liked it! let me know what you think and send me your own luigi daydreams, please :D

[aouiaa]

oneshot preview

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄’𝐒

❝ A WAVE OF EMOTION ❞

NOT JUST ANYONE’S, never truly understanding why your boss, dr. abigail “abby” anderson, harbors such animosity towards you. that is, until a moment initiated by the arrival of a newcomer to the team inadvertently triggers suppressed emotions to surface, revealing her true feelings.

FEATURING doctor!abby anderson x nurse!reader

THE ONESHOT CONTAINS (enemies to lovers), porn w plot (yay), a word count of 15k+, wlw content, mean!abby, jealous/delusional!abby, mentions of reader’s hair, abby being a book wormy, abby describes the reader as a goddess (once), fluff, angst, different povs, bullying, light workplace mistreatment, SEXUAL CONTENT, mean/softdom!abby, sub!reader, semi-public sex (hospital’s office), panties stealing, spanking, cunnilingus, fingering, hair pulling, masturbation, usage of a vibrator (once), scissoring, squirting, nipple play, degradation, body workship/praising, overstimulation, usage of pet names (baby, babe, pretty girl, good girl, dirty girl), cum eating, mutiple orgasms, DARK CONTENT, stalking, act of stealing narcotics, cursing, jealousy, alcohol/drug consumption, mentions of inflicting harm on others, acts of frame-up, (none of the content shown here is encouraged to be done irl and the photo below are for aesthetic purposes)

❝ CRASHING ONTO YOU AND I ❞