#to sit at a desk and draw for several hours

[mommyslittlebird]

What the Body Wants

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

Summary: Now that you’ve decided to stay home for good, Wanda decides to take a step further into her role as your mama. The side effects bring out parts of her you’ve never seen.

CW: Stepmom/stepdaughter, induced lactation, breeding, cum strap, ovulation, light choking, W wants a baby, R is lowkey a bad fuck, R is confused but enthusiastic

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: Writer is also confused but enthusiastic. I’m not entirely sure I did this right but I like how it turned out and I really loved the premise. I hope this lives up to the hype/the rest of the series!

Part 5 of Her Special Girl

———————————————————

Coming home actually turned out to be a bit of a better deal than you expected. You’d half prepared to be regretting your decision by now, longing for the dorm life and solitude that moving away had given you. But, in reality, that college had never really given what you had hoped it would, so it didn’t feel like you were leaving anything behind.

Home life had also improved in the years you went away. A new custody agreement between Wanda and her ex-husband meant the boys were gone every other week, and they had grown up enough to not be riding Wanda’s coattails like they had been when you left. Your father was still deadweight, but he fell asleep early and stayed at work late, so even he was only an issue on occasion.

Even though it was only a 15 minute drive to campus, you adjusted your schedule to only have in-person classes on Tuesday and Thursday so you didn’t have to go everyday. So you spent most days in the bay window of Wanda’s office with your laptop and a lap desk, silently working on classwork while she sat at her computer.

Since you’d decided to stay home 2 weeks ago, Wanda had started the process of induced lactation, a thing the two of you had discussed in the past. You couldn’t help but be fascinated by the process. She would sit down on the couch or in bed, and spend around ten minutes with the funny looking devices hooked up to her chest. She still had an electric pump from when she had the twins, and you love to watch in awe as the clear plastic methodically massaged your mama’s nipples. She’d simply be reading a book or watching TV, but your eyes never left her chest.

If you asked nicely, she would let you help her use the manual pump. It never failed to amuse her how seriously you took this task. You would straddle her lap, furrowing your brow and sticking out your tongue slightly in intense focus. You always made sure the cup was placed perfectly, and you watched her face to gauge her reaction as you started to squeeze the pump. You were so receptive to anything she told you, whether you needed to squeeze it a little bit more, or if you’d gone too far. You always felt so honored to be allowed to take part in the process.

Your favorite, though, was when she invited you to join. She always insisted that the best form of stimulation was your suckling. She would lay you across her lap, running her hands through your hair, telling you that you did it better than the machines ever could. You spent 10, sometimes even 20 minutes on each side longing to draw out the process for as long as possible. Occasionally, she’d let you suckle on one side while she hooked up the electric pump to the other. She seemed to get extra stimulated on those days, hardly able to sit still even with your full weight in her lap.

On this particular afternoon, the two of you were curled up on the couch watching one of Wanda's favorite movies. You thought it was a little boring, but you weren’t going to complain while you curled up in her lap, securely wrapped in a soft blanket. The boys were at their dad’s house, your dad was at work and wouldn’t be home for several hours, and Wanda didn’t have any meetings this afternoon, so you didn’t have to worry about getting caught.

You wiggled around a little, trying to get comfortable, and you accidentally pushed your shoulder into Wanda’s chest.

She winced and sucked on her teeth. “Careful baby,” she whispered. “Mama’s a little sore.”

“Sorry, mama,” you apologized, turning to face her while carefully avoiding hitting her again. She took her breast in her hand, gently massaging it to ease the tension. You could see through gritted teeth how sore she was. You wanted to help her in any way possible. “Do you need a massage?” You asked innocently.

She perked up a little bit, intrigued by the offer. “Do you wanna give mama’s breast a gentle little massage?”

You nodded, and she slipped her shirt off over her head, revealing her chest. You could’ve sworn it was growing, though not so much she couldn’t hide it with baggy clothes. She took your hand in hers and slowly raised it to her breast. She could see you were nervous. You didn’t want to hurt her.

“It’s okay baby,” she reassured you. “You aren’t gonna hurt mama.”

You bit your lip, determined to do a good job and ease her pain. She was doing this for you, after all. You cautiously massaged the skin with your fingers, working your way carefully around her chest.

“Mmm,” Wanda hummed, throwing her head over the back of the couch. You could see her chewing the inside of her cheek, breathing shakily through her nose.

“Is this okay, mama?” you ask, concerned. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No, sweet girl,” she assured. “Don’t stop, just a tiny bit harder… ahh. You’re doing such a good job making sure your mama is all taken care of.”

“Mama?” you asked nervously.

“Yes, sweet girl?” she responded breathily.

“Is it hurting your body? To try and make milk for me?”

Wanda sat up straighter and cupped your soft, worried cheek. “Aww, sweetheart. You’re not hurting mama, baby. Mama is doing this because she wants to. And it doesn’t hurt so much as it’s just sensitive.” She stroked your cheekbone with her thumb, noticing how worried you still seemed to be. “Can mama tell you a secret baby?”

You nodded and leaned in, pressing your ear to her lips even though you were the only two people in the room.

Wanda dropped her voice to a whisper, playing along with your overly stealthy approach. “Mama’s body is reacting like this because all this pumping is making it want a baby.”

She took your hand, sliding it down her body and into the front of her pants. You nearly gasped as you felt through her thin underwear just how soaked she was. You pressed lightly into the wet patch, sliding two fingers up her slit through the fabric. She inhaled sharply, already grinding up against your hand. “It’s so sensitive, baby.”

She pulled back, gauging your reaction. There was a glint of recognition in your eyes. You were familiar with this sensation.

—----------

You stood in the doorway of her office, anxious and sweating. Your body felt it was on fire, tingling from your fingertips all the way down to your toes. You typically had a decently high sex drive, but you couldn’t remember a time when you’d ever felt this needy. It would have been easy enough to go to your room and masterbate, solve the problem on your own, but you wanted more. You wanted Wanda.

“Mama?”

Wanda turned her office chair to meet you. “Yes, sweet girl? What can I help you with?” She opened her arms, signaling you to come in.

You sat down in her lap and laid your head against her shoulder. She cradled the back of your head, stroking your hair softly with her thumb.

You hadn’t exactly planned to press your lips to her neck, to gently suck at the skin under her ear, but you were so hot, and her skin looked so soft, and you were so close, and she smelled so nice. And god, the taste, the sound you drew from her lips, the warmth of her skin. You needed her so badly. You slid your hand under the hem of her shirt, sliding your palm across her warm stomach.

“Sweetheart?” she said in a warning tone, using her hand to gently pull you from her neck. “What are you doing?”

She looked down, finding your eyes already glazed over with lust. You were hot to the touch, and just the simple tug of your hair pulled a low moan from your throat. “I need you, mama….”

She swallowed hard. It took a herculean amount of strength not to throw you over her desk and take you right there. If she hadn’t been a tad concerned that you had lost your mind, she would have. “Baby…” she asked. “What’s going on? Talk to mama.”

Your eyes looked into hers, pleading for more. Anything to take away the aching from between your legs. “It… I feel… It’s all so tingly. Everywhere. It… it hurts mama.” You were practically begging her to rip your clothes off and fuck you senseless.

“Ahh,” she hummed in recognition. “It’s that time of the month, is it?”

You furrowed your brow, confused. “What? No. My period was last week.”

“So your ovulation is this week,” she posited, smiling devilishly. “I’ll have to start keeping track of it, if it’s hitting you this hard.”

You groaned and buried your face into her shoulder while your hips bucked against her lap for any source of friction. You didn’t exactly know what ovulation was or what it had to do with you being so unbearably horny, but you weren’t exactly in the mood for an anatomy lesson.

Wanda kissed your head sympathetically and rubbed gentle circles on to the small of your back. “I’m so sorry, little love. Mama will take care of you in just a minute, just let me email Tasha and let her know I’m taking a long lunch.”

Thankfully, Wanda was true to her word, wrapping up her things rather quickly and carrying you to the bedroom. Your body hummed with electricity as she gently undressed you, making sure to egg you on with wet kisses and random hickies placed sporadically across your skin. You nearly jumped off the bed when she finally touched you, running a single digit up your folds and standing back to admire the results.

“Oh sweet girl, look at this,” she purred, holding her fingers in front of your face, covered in your excitement. As disinterested as you were in anything other than her hands and mouth on your body, you were admittedly a bit curious as to why it looked so different. What was usually a thin, clear liquid was now thick and white. She brought the fingers to your lips and you obediently took them into your mouth. “Do you know why it looks like that, sweetheart?”

You shook your head, quietly moaning at your own taste.

She leaned forward, whispering into your ear. “It’s because your body wants mama to give you babies.”

Just the raspy way the words left her mouth sent your hips flying off the mattress in a jolt of arousal. She stilled them with her hands, moving to kneel between your legs.

You had always had a pretty strong preference for missionary. You like to wrap your arms around Wanda’s waist and bury your face in her neck to stifle any sounds that she pulled out of you. This time, however, Wanda grabbed your legs and pushed your knees to your chest, gripping your thighs just below the underside of your knee.

You whined, feeling too far away from her, but she bent forward and kissed your head. “Shshsh. It’s okay sweet girl. Mama’s got you.”

You almost wanted to protest, but as soon as the tip of the toy hit your skin, any objections melted away. It was bigger than the toys you typically used, but you were so soaked the first four inches still slid in with ease. Your body momentarily seized and you breathed out a straggled moan.

Wanda took it slow at first, leaning forward to kiss your face and whisper words of encouragement as she gently eased the toy deeper and deeper with each thrust. “That’s it. That’s my pretty girl,” she cooed. “You look so pretty stretched out around mama’s cock, baby. Does it feel good? Is this just what you needed from mama?”

“Uh huh,” you moaned, eyes already starting to roll backwards. Your face flushed red when you realized you had nothing to cover your mouth with, leaving you squeaking and whining uncontrollably with each thrust.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream as Wanda bottomed out. You quickly realized the reason Wanda had you folded over like this: the strap could go impossibly deep, stretching you out in ways you’d never felt before. It was like she was kissing your womb with every stroke.

She groaned, slowly but firmly thrusting in as far as she could and holding it there before pulling back again. “Look at you, honey. Mama’s got you nice and ready. Are you gonna be a good girl for mama and let me give your body what it needs? Are you gonna let mama give you her babies?”

You bit down hard on your lip. You didn’t really understand what she was talking about. She couldn’t actually get you pregnant, but you did not care. You nodded eagerly, looking up at her with pleading eyes. “Mhm.”

“Say it for me. Tell me you want mama to fill you with her babies,” she commanded gently, continuing her slow and careful thrusts.

“I want… I want your babies mama. Please. Please mama I want you inside me forever,” you whined. Still you didn’t exactly understand what you were begging for, but the glare in her eyes told you that must have done the trick.

She leaned forward, pressing her whole body against yours and pinning you to the mattress. Your feet went up over her shoulders, keeping you trapped in the position even as her hands moved from your legs to the mattress. What had previously been slow, shallow strokes turned into faster, brutal thrusts. She pulled the toy nearly completely out of you before slamming it all the way back in. Her hips met yours in a merciless rhythm that left you shaking.

“Fuck! Mama… Mama!” You screamed, trying to reach out and grab her, but unable to get your hands out from under your legs. “Mama… I love you. I love you mama.”

“I love you too, sweet girl,” she said, nearly grunting with the intensity of her movement.

There was a shift that happened sometimes, when things got particularly intense between the two of you. It was like the slipping of a mask, but not in a scary or malicious way. Just Wanda so brutally intoxicated with you that she lost control. Her eyes narrowed and her face hardened. Her breaths came more as grunts than light moans. Her grip on you tightened into something more possessive and domineering. It never failed to drive you crazy.

“Fuck,” she growled, leaning back and moving her hand to your throat. “I’m gonna breed you. I’m going to keep filling you up until you can’t do anything but lay here and wait for me to come back and fill you up again. I’m gonna keep you leaking with my cum until this sweet little belly is all nice and swollen. Would you like that, angel? Do you want mama to keep you nice and full?”

“Yes mama!” you cried. “Please… please mama. Mama I’m gonna cum for you. Please cum inside of me mama. Please cum in…” you were cut short by an orgasm tearing through your body, leaving you speechless and dumb.

Wanda did not let up, continuing to chase her own pleasure. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t get out anymore than incoherent babbles. Wanda grabbed the vibrator she had given you earlier from your hand, turning it on and holding it to your clit. You writhed underneath her, jerking and spasming off the mattress, but she held you firmly in place.

Neither of you could do anymore than whimper or squeak. The only sound in the room was her hips hitting yours and the low thrum of the vibrator.

She let go of your throat, leaning forward again so she could kiss your face. “You're so beautiful, angel. And you feel so good on mama’s cock.” She turned up the setting on the vibrator, burying herself inside of you as deep as she could go. She could feel the vibrations against her own clit now. “Oh angel, mama’s gonna cum inside of you. Mama’s gonna fill you up and give your body everything it wants.” She squeezed the strap as she came, filling you with a warm, thick liquid unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

Wanda slowly pulled out, and gently guided your legs down to a more natural and comfortable position.

You shuttered as you felt the liquid leak out of you and drip down the crack of your ass. You furrowed your brow in confusion. “Mama…” you whined. You were so exhausted you couldn’t do anything but turn your head to look at her.

“Yes, little love?” She said, leaning forward to gently wipe the stray hairs from your sweaty forehead.

“What was that?” You asked breathlessly. “Feels funny…”

“Mama just came inside of you, sweet girl,” she explained quietly, bending down to kiss your head.

“It’s so… warm,” you noted, rolling your head to the side. Your nose pinched uncomfortably as you felt the thick liquid dripping down onto the bed sheets.

Wanda reached her hand back down between your legs, collecting the cum on her fingers and pushing it back inside of you. You whined.

“Shshsh angel,” she cooed. “Mama’s just making sure you stay nice and full, sweetheart. You remember what we talked about, yes? That’s why you’ve been so needy for mama all afternoon. This is what your body wants.”

When she was satisfied, she discarded the strap and laid down behind you, putting her arms under yours and methodically rubbing your stomach. She imagined your stomach swelling with life you created together. What a beautiful display that would be, of your love for each other. She moved your hair aside so she could kiss the back of your neck and the spot up under your ears.

You laced your fingers in hers, resting them just below your navel. “Do you really have to go back to work, mama?” You couldn’t handle it if she left you in here alone, all sweaty and still leaking cum. Surely she would at least carry you to the bathroom, maybe run you a bath and get you cleaned up.

Wanda chuckled and kissed your shoulder blade. “I think Tasha can handle it on her own.” She pulled you closer, rubbing her cheek against your shoulder. She wasn’t exactly sure how she would explain this to her coworker in the morning, but she would be sure to start taking a day off around the same time every month.

—---------

“You want me to…” you asked nervously, but even the idea made your pupils dilate. You had never used that particular strap inside of her. She’d only ever used it on you. It was honestly still a mystery to you, how the thing worked.

Wanda bit her lip and nodded, pulling your hand from her pants. “I mean, only if you-”

“I do!” you interrupted.

She raised her brows and opened her mouth like she was getting ready to chastise you for interrupting, but when she saw the eager, innocent excitement in your eyes, she just sighed. “Okay angel. Let’s go up to your room.”

You practically jumped up off of the couch and raced upstairs, grabbing the strap and shedding your clothes before she could even make it up the stairs. She merely chuckled at your overeager behavior, casually stripping off her own clothes while you fiddled with the harness.

She sat down naked on the end of the bed, helping you secure it around your waist. She pulled at the straps you had already managed to get twisted and tangled, adjusting and tightening it to your body. “Is that too tight?”

You shook your head, waving your hips back and forth to make sure it was snug.

She led your hand to a bulge at the base of the toy. “Now when you’re ready, you’re gonna squeeze right here, okay?”

You nodded, feeling the unfamiliar shape with the pads of your fingers.

Wanda scooted backwards until her head hit the pillows. You followed, crawling on your knees until you were nestled comfortably between her legs.

You were always a little awkward, trying to get the toy in. Luckily Wanda was right there to help. She eased the tip in herself, biting her lip to contain a moan as she did so. “Okay now remember, just start nice and slow.”

You leaned over her, putting your hand against the mattress on either side of her. You stuck your tongue out slightly in concentration, trying to focus on finding a good movement. If you were being honest, you were never particularly good at this part either. But what you lacked in skill, you made up for in determination. You found a slow, and slightly awkward, but steady rhythm.

Wanda hummed delightedly, pulling you down against her. “Mmm… that’s it angel. Nice and slow. Give mama some time to adjust.”

As you continued your easy, slow ministrations, you found yourself being able to go deeper with each stroke. It was only a minute or two before you were all the way inside. If you weren’t actually trying to make her cum, you might just stay like that forever, deep inside of Wanda, feeling her body clench and pulse around you. It felt so natural. More natural to you than anything else in the world. Your bodies fit together like perfect puzzle pieces.

You took the opportunity to crane your neck downward and trace your tongue over her sensitive nipples. She gasped, squeezing her eyes closed and burying her hands in your hair. You sucked the hardened bud into your mouth and gently flicked it with the point of your tongue. Her body was taut like a bowstring, hardly moving under you aside from a few swallow gasps. You moved to the other side, gently circling the exposed one nipple with your fingertip while you did the same with your tongue on the other.

“Keep going, baby,” she panted, arching her chest up into you. She reached one of her hands down to play with her clit. “That feels so good. Mama is so sensitive for you. Mama’s body knows you’re her baby.”

You moaned at her words, your mouth and fingers doubling down. Her body shuttered and you felt her start to pulse around the strap. You felt a surge of warmth pool between her legs. You pulled your head up to look her in the eyes. “Did you just…”

She nodded and chuckled a little bit. “I told you I was sensitive.”

Your eyes went wide. You had never made her cum so fast. But a certain pride swelled up in your chest as you watched her body react to what you were doing. You gained a bit of confidence: enough to start rolling your hips in a steady motion against hers.

The smug chuckle immediately stopped as the strap started to scrap her sensitive walls. The toy was traced with vein-like bumps that scratched at that special spot inside of her. Her hands shot up and wrapped around your back, clawing gently at your shoulder blades and the length of your spine. “Ah!” she squeaked in pleasant surprise. You’d never quite taken initiative like this before. “Good girl. You're making mama feel so good. Keep going, just like that.”

She wrapped her legs around your waist, keeping your thrusts shallow and deep. “Oh god. I want to feel your cum inside of me, angel. You’re gonna make mama feel so full and happy. Tell me you want to cum inside me, sweet girl.”

“I wanna cum inside you mama. I wanna make you feel so full and… and happy. I’m gonna do such a good job for you mama. I promise,” you stammer. The sounds she was making were music to your ears. Her heels dug into your thighs in tandem with her nails on your back. She was everywhere, surrounding you in every way possible. You looked down between her legs, watching the strap slide in and out of her pussy. That was your cock inside of her.

Suddenly, as if it were some trick of your brain, you could feel it, warm and wet, drawing you in again and again. She wanted you to cum inside of her. You wanted to cum inside of her. You wrapped your arms around her back, pulling her slightly up off the mattress as you started to go faster. You buried your face into her neck, muffling your noises.

“Oh fuck,” Wanda panted, bury her hand in your hair. She cradled your head just over her shoulder. “Fuck… you would give me such beautiful babies.”

You whimpered and rutted into her so hard and fast she nearly hit her head on the headboard. She smiled breathlessly. Clearly she got you riled up.

“Did that make you happy? The idea of giving mama a baby?” She asked, turning her head so she was only inches away from your ear.

You whined and nodded, rutting into her again. This time she let out a deep, satisfied moan as she felt the tip of the toy kiss her cervix. “You want to put a baby inside of mama?”

You knew it wasn’t possible, of course. Wanda couldn’t have any more children, and even if she could you certainly couldn’t get her pregnant. Still, the idea tickled your brain in all the best ways. It would be a part of you inside of Wanda. You nodded eagerly, biting your lip. “Mhm.”

You wrapped yourself even tighter around her waist thrusting your hips into her with a new determination. “I wanna hear you say it baby…” she gasped. “Tell mama what you want.”

That was all she needed to say to get the dam to break. As soon as you open your mouth, the words flowed out of you in a flurry of desperation. “I want… I wanna fill you up mama. Please. Please, I need it. Please mama.” You were bucking into her like a virginal teenage boy, erratic and sloppy, like you could actually feel yourself inside of her. “You feel so good, mama.”

“I’m so full,” she breathed. She was so sensitive. You were hitting every spot inside of her while simultaneously laying on her aching chest. “Fuck, angel, you’re filling me up so good. Do you want to feel mama cum on your cock? Do you wanna make mama cum?”

“Yes. Please yes,” you begged, rolling your hips into hers. You sat up a little more, getting a better angle that allowed you to get even deeper inside of her. There was a surge of hunger that shot through you at the sight of her, absolutely beside herself with pleasure underneath you. You reduced her to this. You are the reason she feels so good. In a feeble attempt at dominance, you took her wrists in your hands and pinned them to the bed.

“Yes, baby. Hold mama down and make her take your babies,” she moaned.

You whimpered. You were far too small to even attempt to actually hold her down, but the sentiment still drove you both crazy. You buried the strap as deep as it would go, squeezing the base and releasing inside of her.

She arched up off the mattress, mouth fixed in a perfect “o” shape as she came around you.

You stayed like that for a second, buried inside her until she stopped shaking and collapsed back onto the bed. Slowly, you eased yourself out of her, watching your seed spill out of her. You hadn’t expected it, but there was a certain level of discontentment you felt, seeing your essence drip onto the mattress. You gathered what you could onto the tip of the toy and gently pushed it back in.

She groaned, exhausted and unable to move. You gently eased yourself down to lay on her chest, careful to avoid her tender breasts. You went limp on top of her, merging together in a boneless and sweaty pile of heavy breaths as you both tried to recover.

When she regained the ability to move, she scooted back to sit up against the pillows and moved to stroke your hair. The toy slowly fell out of her, and the warm remnants of your orgasm started to pool on the sheets below. After a long moment of lying lifelessly sprawled out on top of her, you heard her chuckle. You lifted your head to find her smiling down at you in an ecstatic giggle.

“What?” you asked, confused as if you had missed some joke.

“Nothing,” she replied. “I’m just happy.” She craned her neck so she could see your face. She was grinning ear to ear. I was a true smile: one she couldn’t even repress if she tried.

“About what?” you asked, confused. Sex, even good sex, had never left her with such a cheery disposition before.

“Just…” she paused a minute, trying to figure out how to best phrase what she wanted to say. “My body is aching for a baby and then I look down and… you’re here.”

You smiled at that, feeling that you had filled some deep biological need within her just the same as she filled one in you. You looked at her swelling breasts, and you nosed at them in a silent question. She guided your head towards her nipple in a silent answer. Your lips wrapped delicately around the hardened bud, naturally massaging it with your tongue. Much to her dismay, there still wasn’t any milk, but there was a different type of magic to knowing there would be, eventually.

The two of you were working together to create a beautiful thing. It was a sort of tangible proof that her body was responding to you, claiming you as her own. Her breasts were growing for you. Filling with milk they made for you. Because she was your mama, and you were her baby.

[sunwayholm]

[sea-lanterns]

THE PURGE

synopsis: (slasher! AU) a group of purgers break into your home.

featuring: arlecchino, columbina, sandrone, signora

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom characters, mentions of blood, vague descriptions of murder, there is a body, mentions of weapons, home invasion, masked se.x, five.some, org.y, transfem! columbina (she has a di.ck), strap ons, oral (both reader and character receiving), face sitting, fing.ering, slight exhibitio.n, may be ooc, not proofread.

art credits: high rise invasion.

Unloading the last of your groceries from the car, you closed the trunk and began walking towards the front entrance of your house. It was a somewhat chilly, somewhat warm day, March 21st to be exact. While the weather was probably enjoyable to those outside of your country, today was going to be a day of misery to many. From March 21st to March 22nd, The Purge will take place; a twelve hour period in which all crime including murder was going to be legal. 

You weren’t exactly sure why your government decided to mandate such a brutal “holiday” but unfortunately as someone who didn’t participate in the Purge, this made your life a lot harder than usual. You had to take extra precaution throughout the year to not make any enemies in your life, even going as far as to shut yourself off from having any friends or close family. 

‘Just twelve hours…I’ve done it several times before, I can do it again.’ You told yourself, unlocking the door to your house. ‘I’ll have to set up the security system again. Only three hours until the Purge.’ 

“Hey neighbor!” You heard a familiar voice call, causing you to look over at your neighbor who was perched against his fence. “Three hours until the Purge, huh?” 

“Ahaha…yeah.” You were getting nervous. It was never a good idea to bring up the Purge with anyone. 

“Hope you’re prepared. Lots of psychos out there who have access to the most dangerous weapons available. I even saw a woman with a chainsaw last year. Had a leather mask and everything.”

“Yeah…” you smiled, but honestly you just really wanted to get in your house.Your neighbor –although seemingly friendly– always gave you the creeps and you tried your best to be on his good side no matter what. 

“Well…Hope for the best for you during this Purge!” He smiled unnervingly wide, making you shiver and fumble to open your door. “Yep! You too!” You called out quickly, shutting the door behind you as quickly as possible. You locked the door immediately and carried your groceries to the kitchen, where you proceeded to double check every exit of the house.

You went through the yearly ritual. Double checking the doors and barricading them with heavy furniture, locking every single window and drawing the blinds (you would activate the security systems later), as well as making your way down to the basement to make sure all your weaponry was secured. 

…And by weaponry, you really only meant the small handgun you kept in a safe down there. You weren’t a super strong person by any means, so a handgun was probably your best suited weapon when it came to defending yourself. However, the handgun was only used as a last resort, so luckily you’ve never had to use it before on any of the previous Purges. Hopefully this year you won’t have to use it still.

You grabbed the handgun and made sure it was loaded before making your way upstairs. Due to being a member of the upper class, you had managed to reinforce your home with a special security system used for keeping your home safe during the Purge. Though it was only three hours before the Purge started, you weren’t taking any chances and activated it now. 

You watched as every door and window in your house became protected beneath a large metal shutter, turning on your security cameras so you could watch whatever was happening outside from the safety of your home. You nestled into the cozy chair of your desk and mentally prepared yourself for another twelve hours of manslaughter you would have to endure. 

You watched from your phone as the infamous warning for the Purge began to play. The alarm never failed to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end, the long list of rules flying over your screen as you peeked through your security cameras. So far, the only things you could see were a bunch of hooligans setting fire to a trashcan in some random alleyway. Okay, not bad. You expected a few arsonists in your neighborhood anyway…

You grabbed a bag of chips from your snack stash and opened it, continuing to watch as you stuffed your face with food like you were binging your favorite TV show. Though the Purge was a very scary time, it never directly harmed you through all the years you survived…

At least, you thought. 

For the next two hours, you simply watched in the comfort of your own bedroom while people in your neighborhood were being slaughtered left and right. You winced when you watched a poor victim get a machete to the face by some woman in a hockey mask. Oof…that’s unfortunate. You heard another scream from afar as another victim got stabbed repeatedly with a kitchen knife by a woman wearing a ghost mask. Hm…why did they look familiar? You wonder if you’ve seen them before… 

You took a sip from your drink and laid back, before nearly jumping out of your skin upon spotting a group of Purgers on your porch. Despite being masked, you could tell from their figures that they appeared to be women, with four of them in total all staring at you through the security camera. 

‘Oh…shit.’ You felt your heart sink as you waited for them to say something, anything. You hadn’t expected any Purgers to actually bother you tonight, as the most that Purgers would do is knock over your trash cans and maybe graffiti your garage door. 

One of the Purgers —a woman wearing a dove-themed mask— stepped forward and smiled at the camera. She raised a delicate hand, before ringing the doorbell and speaking into the camera. 

“Hellooooo~ Is this (Reader)’s residence?” She sang beautifully, toying with the ends of her hair. You tried to figure out her appearance to see if she was familiar to anyone you knew or talked to, but you don’t recall ever meeting a woman with black hair and bright pink streaks. 

You stayed quiet, hoping that they would just assume you couldn’t hear them and move on. This however, didn’t work as the group of women were persistent.

“Hellooooo~ I know the cutie is in there…” The dove-masked women cooed, ringing your doorbell again before one of the other Purgers got impatient. A taller, blonde woman wearing a moth-themed mask grumbled and raised her weapon, “It’s no use. Let’s just find a weak spot and break in.” 

“Nooo! That’s so barbaric, we must treat a woman gently.” 

“We are quite literally, purging her home.” Another woman chimed in, this time a short woman with beige-colored hair wearing a doll mask. 

“Yes, but I would like her to respond before we break in.” The dove-mask pouts. 

“Enough.” Finally, the fourth woman spoke up, her posture and height intimidating as she stepped to the front. This time it was a woman wearing a harlequin mask, her gaze piercing through the camera. “We know you are listening, (Reader). It isn’t polite to keep your guests waiting.” 

She smirked at the camera, as if edging you to press the call button and respond. You felt as if your blood was being drained from your body, a morbid feeling of death looming over you like a cloud. You had no choice, if you didn’t respond they would just try and break in anyway, so perhaps it would be wise to try and convince them not to? 

You did not think that was plausible, but Purgers were still human. Maybe they will be human just for you… 

“C-Can I help you?” Fuckkkkk you did not mean to sound like a timid fast food worker working at the Drive Thru. You mentally cursed yourself as you watched the other four women smile at your compliance.

“There’s her cute voice!” The dove-mask exclaimed excitedly. “I was worried some other Purgers may have gotten to you already…” 

“Can I help you?” You stated again firmly, wanting them to leave as soon as possible. “If you’re looking to rob my house, I’m afraid I don’t have anything of value.” 

“Oh…sweetheart,” the harlequin-mask chuckled, sliding her hand across the handle of her bloody ax. “You’re in there.” 

Oh great. Yeah why bother spending the Purge robbing stuff that is actually useful to you, when you can murder people instead. Genius. 

“…Okay, I know what you are implying, but I beg of you not to kill me! I promise that after the Purge is over I will compensate for you all somehow. Whether it’d be money or anything else you’d like, I’ll do it!”

“Open those ears of yours, girl. We want you, not your house.” The moth-mask tsked, a bit of annoyance present on the edge of her voice. “We are coming in whether you like it or not. As long as you are inside, we will get in too.” 

“…No need to be so mean, Signora.” You heard the dove-mask huff, folding her arms. “Just hold tight, baby. We’re coming to find you~”

You let out a small, panicked squeak of terror and cut the mic, standing up from your seat and making your way to your drawer to check on the handgun you had stashed away. You couldn’t believe that this was the year you would have to use it, and your adrenaline was pulsing like crazy. 

‘All loaded’ you mentally prepared yourself for the worst, taking deep breaths and walking back to your computer monitors that displayed the cameras. You let out another panicked squeak when you saw that the Purgers had left your front porch, now scattered around your property doing god knows what. 

“Why this year of all years?” You whined, keeping your handgun close to you as you kept looking through the monitors. Okay, okay, they were just circling your house, no biggie. Their weapons appeared to be of class 1 only, so it would be next to impossible for them to break down your security systems. 

Really, though you were on edge, you should be relatively safe so long as the power doesn’t—

Almost as if your fate was being toyed at the hands of a God, your lights suddenly went out and the sound of your metal shutters started coming up. Oh…you were fucked now.

‘…I am dead.’ You wanted to scream, but knew better as it was time for survival. It was every woman for herself, no beating around the bush. Logistically you weren’t sure if you could take out four Purgers on your own, but if you were going to die tonight you were going to die fighting ugly. 

You heard one of your windows shatter and flinched when you heard footsteps now roaming the downstairs of your house. Okay, you got this. You technically have an advantage as you have a firearm and they don’t know where you are, you should play this safe. 

You held your breath and stealthily made your way downstairs, holding the gun. You saw the broken window in your living room, swallowing thickly before looking around to see if there was anyone around. Your eyes suddenly landed on a bloody trail that looked as if a body had been dragged through your house. Did they just kill someone? 

You suddenly heard a thud behind you and whirled around quickly, only to accidentally let out a gasp when you saw the dead body of your neighbor just lying there on your kitchen floor. You managed to hold in a scream, but it was no use when you felt strong arms hold you from behind, a yell escaping your throat as you felt one of the Purgers’ grip on you.

“Mm…not a screamer…quite the silent one, aren’t you?” You heard a rough, raspy voice as the woman behind you grabbed your gun and tore it away with ease. Just how strong was she?! Your breath hitched when you felt the sharp end of a knife press against your throat, her voice humming with pleasure. “I like quiet girls.”

From your peripheral vision you saw that it was the Purger with the harlequin mask, her hair mostly white with a few streaks of black, yet another person you were not familiar with. Footsteps then entered the kitchen from the thick fog of darkness, a giggle leaving another one of the Purgers. 

“You caught her! Heh, I guess you won this one, Arle~!” It was the Purger with the dove-mask, her cute and feminine voice not matching her appearance at all as her white dress was covered in blood. “I want to pet her!” 

“Wash your hands, Columbina.” Another voice came, this time it was the doll-masked Purger who came walking out of the darkness. “I don’t want you getting blood all over her. She’ll stink.” 

“A little blood won’t hurt her, Sandrone.” 

You whimpered when the woman named “Columbina” walked closer to you, her sadistic smile present as she ran her fingers across your cheek. You would flinch away if not for the harlequin mask —you believe she was called Arle?— holding you in place, her muscles tightening around you and preventing you from squirming. 

“Ah…how cute!” Columbina cooed. “I almost feel bad for scaring her, she looks like she’s about to cry.”

“She looks prettier that way.” Came a deeper, more mature voice, as the moth-masked woman —Signora, if you remembered correctly— came into view. You gulped when Signora strutted over to you and took your chin in her hand, admiring you from behind her mask and turning your face to look at all your angles. “Loosen your grip a bit, Arlecchino. The girl looks like she’s about to pass out from blood circulation.” 

Arlecchino let out a titular hum. “And why would I do that? If I let her go, she can run off.” 

“Not with us here. We all can catch her quite easily.” Sandrone said matter-of-factly. 

“I suppose that wouldn’t hurt.” Arlecchino leaned down and whispered gravely into your ear. “I don’t recommend running, little one. All four of us can hunt you down quite easily, and if you ran out into the open during the Purge, well…”

She chuckled and playfully blew on your ear. “Someone else might get to you before us.” 

Your body involuntarily shivered and you felt the back of your ear grow hot. Upon seeing how much of an impact she had on you, Arlecchino smirked and carefully let go of you. 

You should run. In fact, you weren’t sure why you were staying in place surrounded by these murderous women. Every instinct and sense of logic in your brain was telling you to make a run for it, but another part of you knew that it was fruitless to even make it out of your house. 

“You know, you should be thanking us.” Signora said coldly. “Without us here, you probably would’ve been murdered by that neighbor of yours.” 

“Wh-What?”

“Oh! She speaks…” Columbina giggled. “Believe it or not, we found him messing around with some circuit box in your yard. Looks like he was the one who knocked out the power to kill you himself.”

Your eyes landed on the body of your neighbor laying on the floor. His eyes still wide open like he was stuck in time, lips parted like was in the middle of screaming before meeting his bloody demise. “Of course…we took care of him for you! Wouldn’t want our pretty girl to get hurt.”

Columbina smiled and kicked his body away like it was nothing, looking up at you like they had just done a great thing. You kept looking between the Purgers and the dead body of your neighbor, unable to cope with the fact that this would be the first Purge where you might end up like another body bag. 

“…Is this where I get killed now?” You laughed weakly, cold sweat dripping down your face. “I…I’m not sure what else to do at this point, get on my knees and beg for my life?”

“Ooh. I like the kneeling and begging part.” Sandrone comments bluntly. Meanwhile, the other women chuckle at your pathetic display, with Arlecchino pulling you towards her and murmuring in your ear. 

“Oh, we aren’t interested in hurting you. At least not that much.” She suddenly slid her hands up your stomach and towards your breasts, a gasp leaving your lips when she fondled them through your shirt. ”…Soft.” 

“Easy now, Arlecchino. She hasn’t accepted yet.” Signora hums, gently pulling Arle’s eager hands away from your chest. Arlecchino slips out a small growl of dissatisfaction, but pulls away anyway to comply with Signora’s requests. Despite how refined Arlecchino seemed to be, you could tell she was a woman of a lot of restraint, and she had been itching to feel you up despite her calm demeanor. 

“If it wasn’t obvious by Arlecchino’s…desires,” Signora comments, stroking your face, “We want your body, but not in the way that you think.” 

“You’re just so pretty…especially when your bottom lip wobbles in fear,” Columbina whispers. “How could we not want you this way?”

Oh…oh.

Now you know why they haven’t killed you yet. 

“Look at her face, all dumb and bewildered.” Sandrone comments, the faintest of grins appearing on her face as she took in your confused expression. 

“What do you say, let us have some fun with you?” Arlecchino purrs from behind, making you shiver in anticipation and a little bit of curiosity. 

“…I suppose.” You said softly, a little hesitant to agree. 

“Oh my, what a promiscuous thing she is,” Signora comments, a sly smile making its way to her lips. “Wanting to take all four of us at the same time, what a whore.” 

“Easy now, Signora. She can’t help how curious she is.” Columbina smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. “Arle~ Be a dear and carry the poor lamb upstairs. The dead guy is killing the mood.”

“Of course.” Arlecchino grinned wolfishly and took you in her arms, throwing you over her shoulder like it was nothing while going up the stairs. You could only watch helplessly as the three other women followed after you, smiling at how utterly pathetic you looked while being carried by Arlecchino with one arm. 

…You weren’t sure how you got up to this point. One moment you were almost pissing your pants in fear, and the next you were suddenly thrown into your bed and surrounded by four Purgers. All of them stared down at you with a look of pure joy in their eyes, practically ravishing you on the bed with just their gaze alone. 

Surprisingly, it was Sandrone that made the first move. For as quiet as she was, the woman crawled on top of you and grabbed your face for herself, pulling you into a kiss. 

“Oh my! I didn’t expect Sandrone to be so eager…” Columbina giggled. Meanwhile, in the corner of your eye; you could see Arlecchino unzipping her pants and Signora taking off her gloves. 

You couldn’t watch them for long, however; as Sandrone forcefully pushed you back and shoved her tongue down your mouth, turning the kiss into a more seductive dance of tongues. The doll-masked woman moaned at the taste of you, pulling you in closer to her as she aggressively pushed her hands up your shirt. 

“Mm…what a sloppy kisser. I could tell you’ve never had another woman in your mouth before.” Sandrone pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your tongue with hers. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix that for you.” 

“Arle, no need to be so impatient. She’s still on the bed.” You heard Signora gently scold Arlecchino and looked over to see what she was doing. The harlequin woman was gritting her teeth and tugging her trousers off as fast as she could, the base of a harness and what looked to be a crimson-colored strap peeking through the gap of her zipper. 

Oh…they were prepared for this. 

“Hey. Don’t look at her, look at me.” Sandrone sounded annoyed and gripped your face to look at her again, pulling you in for a kiss. 

“Pfft. Sandrone is getting jealous.” You felt the bed space behind you dip, and in the midst of making out with Sandrone, you felt Columbina’s lithe and petite body encircle yours. “Let’s see how good you taste.” 

Columbina’s lips latched onto the back of your neck, sucking and nibbling on your skin hard enough to leave a few bruises. The choked whimpers you let out made the dove-mask and doll-mask moan with pleasure, Sandrone pulling you more against herself while Columbina grinded her hips from behind. 

As Sandrone’s hands fondled your breasts under your shirt, you felt something small yet hard growing under Columbina’s dress. It was clear the two women were getting heavily turned on, with how Sandrone was starting to tug off your shirt and Columbina grinding faster against you. 

“Let’s put that sloppy tongue to use.” Sandrone comments bluntly, lowering you down against the bed as she raises her dress to pull off her panties. Columbina takes her position between your legs, pulling your pants off and eagerly wanting to stuff her face in your cunt. “No teeth now. Try to be a good girl.” Sandrone slides her panties off and spreads her legs over your awaiting mouth, using her fingers to give you quite the show of her sweet pussy glistening with juices. The doll-masked woman didn’t wait for another second and took her place at her rightful seat, letting you taste the sweet tang of her cunt smothering your lips. 

Meanwhile, Columbina was eagerly pulling your own panties down with her hands, her tongue —which was freakishly long— swiped at her bottom lip the moment she saw your bare entrance. “Mm…Gotta make sure you’re wet enough to take Arle’s strap.” She whispered, parting your legs gently –though her nails were digging into your thighs– and licking a long stripe across your clit. 

“Nnnh–!” You moaned into Sandrone’s own clit, causing her to buck her hips needily. “Fuck…her tongue feels so good.” 

“I can only imagine,” Columbina coos, smothering her face deeper and darting her hot tongue out quickly. Her hands trailed down to her dress and began lightly jerking herself off while she ate you out, moaning into your thighs as she ravished your insides. You hadn’t expected to be double teamed so easily, but you didn’t mind, eating out Sandrone and tasting her folds more thoroughly while Columbina masturbated to the taste of you. 

“Are you– mmppgh…guys ready?” Sandrone moans out sweetly, riding your face harder as she looks back at Arlecchino and Signora. Both women had stripped out of their festive Purger outfits, with Arlecchino wearing nothing but a thick, girthy strapon and Signora dressed in the prettiest lingerie you had ever seen. “Oh come on Signora, that’s– fuck, overkill for the Purge, isn’t it?” 

“The girl likes it.” Signora tuts, casting you a smirk beneath her mask. “Is she wet enough, Columbina?” 

“Nope!” Columbina pulls her head away from between your thighs, her face smeared in all your juices while your thighs are left a trembling mess. 

“Liar.”

“She needs to be wetter! Let me eat her out more!”

“Columbina.” Arlecchino finally makes her presence known, crawling over to the bed and pulling her hair back, forcefully pulling her away from your cunt. Columbina whined and gave Arlecchino a glare, not quite finished with eating you out yet. “Arle, I said she needed to be wetter.”

You couldn’t believe you had four women in your bed, all fighting for you during the Purge. You would voice your concerns if not for Sandrone still whining and grinding on your face so roughly. Though the woman was a small, seemingly gentle woman, it was obvious she was one of the more desperate ones of the group. 

“Suck on her tits or something. I want her tight cunt swallowing my strap.” Arlecchino growled, possessively stroking your thigh while Columbina huffed. “Fine.” She gave your inner thigh one last bite, causing you to jolt and accidentally make Sandrone come from the sudden movement. 

“Oh– nnngh!” Sandrone’s little legs trembled greatly, her orgasm washing over her as she ground her hips more firmly. The sweet, succulent taste of her cum washed down your throat, making your eyes flutter shut in how good Sandrone tasted. “Was her tongue game that good, Sandrone?” Columbina purred, suddenly taking an interest in your mouth. “Yeah, her movements are amateaur at best, but somehow feel really good?” 

“Heh, good enough for me.” Columbina proceeded to shove Sandrone off and take her place, dangling her small, yet very eager cock in front of your lips. “Let’s get those pretty lips sucking me off, hm?” She smiled and caressed your cheek before slipping her tip inside, watching with satisfaction as you took all of her length so easily. Meanwhile, Arlecchino and Signora were more occupied on your raw pussy, which was twitching with need after being neglected for too long. Signora cooed and pressed a teasing kiss to your clit, lightly blowing on it before rising to focus on your breasts. 

“Poor baby is feeling neglected up here, huh?” She teased, the blonde woman leaning in to lick a long stripe across your tits before latching one nipple in her mouth. She took pleasure in the way your back arched off the bed, the Fair Lady’s tongue swirling around hungrily as her fingers swirled around your clit. “Give me some lube, Arle. I want to finger her for a bit before you start.” 

You heard the sound of growl before Arlecchino reluctantly obliged. “Make it quick, I want to fold her into the mattress myself.” She gave Signora a bottle of lube and you could only moan when you felt the Fair Lady’s cold fingers circle your entrance with a slimy substance coating them. When you moaned however, you choked on Columbina’s cock, causing her to groan and buck her hips. “Goodness her throat is…quite tight.”

Signora chuckled at that and pressed her fingers deeper into your entrance, watching with great pleasure as they sunk in with little to no resistance. “And quite wet. You did a good job of loosening her up, Columbina.” Signora proceeded to finger you to see just how far you could take her. Her fingers –which were very long and thin– stretching you out and brushing up against all your tender spots to see which ones would make you squirm. 

As this was happening, you felt Columbina’s tiny cock start twitching in your mouth, signaling that she was getting close. Unable to keep your moans to yourself, you stifled a small whine and traced the underside of her shaft with your tongue, watching as her face made all sorts of lewd expressions. “Oh f-fu– I’m gonna come…” she whimpered, riding your face faster before shooting a hot load down your throat and throwing her head back. 

“Oh? What a good girl, making two of us orgasm already.” Signora hummed, pulling her fingers out and licking them clean. “I guess it’s time to get to the main event now.” 

Columbina tiredly got off you and went to join Sandrone, who was lying blissfully on the bed and watching how you took the final two women. The taste of sex and cum lingered on the back of your tongue, yet you were now hooked. You gazed at Arlecchino who had been waiting impatiently at the foot of the bed, stroking her fat strap and making sure you saw. 

“Hold her down, Signora.” Arlecchino commanded, watching as you were manhandled to switch positions. No longer were you lying flat on your back, as you were now sat up against Signora with her chest against your back, bare breasts and stomach pressed against your skin and making you shiver. “Such a good girl, letting us manhandle you as we please…” Signora’s deep, husky voice whispered in your ear, her hands making their way down to your thighs and keeping them spread for Arlecchino. “Have fun with her, Arle.” 

Arlecchino didn’t need to be told twice. She crawled on top of you and angled her strap to brush against your entrance. Her eyes narrowed as she saw how needy your pussy was after going through three women, seeing how twitchy and puffy it was. “You three really did a number on her.” She mumbled, brushing the tip of her strap between your folds. When you trembled and let out a gasp at the feeling, both Arle and Signora smirked, with Signora trailing her hands down to pull your folds apart. 

“Do your worst. She wants it.” 

Arlecchino grinned and sandwiched you against Signora, slowly pushing her strap into you and watching as you were speared open on her faux cock. “Fuck– she’s tight still…” She grumbled, enjoying the way your pussy gripped the silicone so roughly. 

“Well you did buy a girthy one.” Sandrone says matter-of-factly. 

“I know, but she seems to enjoy it anyways.” Arlecchino laughed wolfishly and continued to spear you open while your cunt struggled to accommodate her girth. You had never felt so full before when taking a toy, letting out sweet whimpers as the smallest beads of tears formed at your lashes. 

“Oh, don’t cry…” Signora hummed behind you, licking your tears away. “It’ll feel so good soon~”

The harlequin let out a grunt as she pushed her hips further, watching as her strap finally nestled itself comfortably inside you. She could see the slightest bit of arousal pool at the base of her strap, and that only spurred her on more, starting to thrust at a shallow pace. You threw your head back against Signora’s shoulder, feeling her soft lips press kisses on your tear-dotted face. Arlecchino was just so deep, filling your insides on just her girth alone while she thrusted. 

“My…what a peculiar sight.” Arlecchino chuckled, her eyes filled with pure desire as she saw you trembling beneath her. Your legs pathetically squirming yet being held down, clearly overstimulated now that you had to go through the fourth Purger. 

“I haven’t even bottomed out yet.” She smiled wickedly, pinning you in place while she nearly folded you in half. If not for Signora sitting there behind you, you were sure she would have pushed you into a full on mating press into the mattress. “Hold her tighter, I’m going all in.” 

Every woman in the room watched with interest as Arlecchino took a deep breath and slowly inched herself deeper until your cunt hit her harness. With each inch, you felt a loud whine rip through you, the fat tip of Arle’s strap pushing against your walls and forming a slight belly bulge. “Oh my…” Signora’s eyes glazed over with lust, trailing her hand up to rest atop the bulge. “Look how deep you are in her, Arle.” 

“How cuteee!” Columbina cooed. “I wanna give her a belly bulge too!”

“Maybe another time. The poor girl looks as if she’ll pass out after this round.” 

All four women leered at you hungrily before Arlecchino pulled out and slammed back in. They took great pleasure in watching Arle ravage your insides, wet smacks filling the air as your expressions formed into even lewder ones. Signora looked the most ecstatic, her hand gently pushing down on the bulge each time Arle bottomed out and thrusted back into you. 

The extra force of Signora pushing down on your stomach and Arlecchino fucking you like an animal was almost too much to handle. Each punctuated thrust of Arlecchino’s hips made your poor body bounce rather weakly, your legs scrambling to pull away from Signora’s grip and latch around the harlequin’s waist. 

“She’s getting close. I can feel it…” Arlecchino growled, craving to see your cum form a ring around her base. “Come for me…I know you can do it.” 

She held onto your ankle and gave it a small kiss, looking down at you as you writhed around like a worm. The way your leg twitched and the tears trailed down your face was enough to make all the girls swoon over you harder. You were just too cute, they were glad they broke in to get you. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you felt your pussy tense up before cumming all over Arlecchino’s strap. The harlequin groaned at the sight and started thrusting even faster, going feral at the sight of your cum drenching her faux cock and helping you ride out your orgasm. The other woman in the room giggled at the sight of you reduced to a whining, babbling mess, Arlecchino finally pulling out and admiring how soaked you made her strap. 

“Goddamn…” she grunted, dropping your legs to the bed and watching as you collapsed against Signora, too tired to even keep your eyes open. 

“Look at her, barely able to stay awake.” Sandrone comments, gently massaging one of your thighs. “We really did a number on her.” 

“Awww, I really wanted to fuck her too.” Columbina pouts, tracing the hickies and bite marks the women left on your body.

“Maybe when she wakes up. For now, let’s let the poor girl rest.” Signora gently caressed your cheek and gave you a small kiss. “Close your eyes, little one. We will keep you safe throughout the rest of the Purge.” 

Arlecchino crawls up to join you by your side, pulling you against her while all the other women adjust to snuggle around you, essentially turning this into one big cuddle pile. “Rest well,” Arlecchino whispers huskily, your eyes growing heavier as you bask in the embrace of the four Purgers who broke into your home, yet showed you the best way to celebrate the gory holiday.

“Happy Purge.” 

[maybanksprincess]

thigh riding.

warnings: thigh riding, fingers in mouth, kissing, jj cumming in his boxers, palming, tiny aftercare at the end.

summary: jj cums in his boxers to his pretty girlfriend riding his thigh <3

requested by this ask, (thank you anon!🤍)

it was 9:56 on a saturday night. your at jjs house and you had grown bored several hours ago. you were sick of scrolling on ur phone and seeing peoples instagram posts about their boring life.

you look over at your boyfriend in his gaming chair. he's wearing a wife beater and some grey sweatpants, his foot tapping the floor, softly drumming against the wood of the floorboard.

you can't help but bite your lip as you look at him, the way his arms flex, along his hands quickly pressing the buttons on his controller. you catch yourself pressing your thighs together in attempt to get some relief from the throbbing on your core.

you would've said something way sooner about wanting attention, but you couldn't bring yourself to draw your eyes away from how sexy he looked playing his video games.

you decide you want some attention, so you stand up, adjusting your shorts and then walking over to his gaming chair where his setup is.

He has his computer screen on the desk, along with a keyboard with crumbs of weed on it, (of course). Theres a joint, freshly rolled, beside his mouse.

you take a seat on his lap, straddling his thigh, and wrapping your arms around his neck. You bury your face in his shoulder and try to forget about the ache between your legs.

JJ immediately pauses his game, turning his attention to you, and setting down his controller on the messy desk.

"hey baby, what's wrong?" he asks in that raspy voice that never fails to turn you on. he looks at you with those baby blue eyes that make your heart race and your thighs clench.

"jus' wanted to be held..." you mumble, a little pout forming on your lips.

he can see the way your thighs clench as you look at his arms, and his lips involuntarily curve into a smirk. "yeah? you jus' wanted some attention, huh baby?" he can already feel his cock start to stir in his pants, and he shifts around, trying to get comfortable with you sitting on his leg all pretty like that.

in the process of him shifting around, his knee bumps up to your core, your eyes fly open and go wide, a high-pitched moan falling from your lips suddenly.

his smirk grows even wider "did that feel good mama?" he already knows the answer, but he wants to hear it out of your mouth.

you nod and start to ground your pussy on his thigh, the wetness in your panties starting to seep through onto his grey sweatpants.

jj groans at the sight, "mm your gettin' so messy f' me baby. keep riding my thigh. mhm jus' like that" he bites his lip to keep himself from pathetically groaning at the sight of you riding his thigh.

he reaches over with the hand that isnt on your waist to palm himself through his sweatpants. his eyes roll back, and he thinks about how good it would feel to be inside of you.

he starts to hear your breathing get heavier, your movements more frantic. "are you close baby?" he asks in that soft voice, gently tracing his veiny fingers along your thigh.

you nod, and your eyes roll back as you continue to ride his thigh. you can feel the pressure in your core building up and his sweet praises have you at the very edge.

"cmon sweet girl, 's okay. you gonna cum f' me?" he asks while using one hand to brush your hair away from your damp forehead, pushing your hair gently behind your shoulders. he sticks his two long digits into your mouth to help with the pressure.

at his praise, and warm fingers gently weighing on your tongue, the pressure in your stomach snaps, and your orgasm rips through.

at the sight of you riding out your orgasm, and the feel of your warm cum coating his thigh, his cock twitches in his pants and he cums, shooting thick ropes of white cum in his black calvin cleins.

he groans softly, still caressing your thigh, gently squeezing the flesh.

after a few moments of silence, he speaks. "you good baby?"

you continue to pant softly, mumbling out a soft "mhm"

he nods, and turns off his gaming device, and scooping you up in his arms. he carries you over to his bed and you two cuddle for the night <3

[mythblossoms]

to come home

pairing: zayne x gn!reader

content: fluff and comfort, soft yearning, kissing, suggestive if you squint?, lighthearted, established relationship, unedited

a/n: i just think zayne deserves a quiet life where he can be the little spoon ♡ coming back to writing after so long is scary but hi ♡

wc: 1.1k

It’s 11:01, the harsh blue glow of his computer screen illuminates his office, and Zayne is thinking of the comfort of home. 

Not the physical structure - all concrete and glass, hard walls enclosed around structured spaces that begged for routine, but the warmth that often resided within.

You, curled up on the couch, book in hand and eyes slowly skimming through the words. You, perched on the counter top, sipping a sweet latte and sighing contently. You, watering the plants on his windowsill and whispering little words of encouragement. You, a warm sun that cast light into every room you stepped into, leaving the space a little darker, colder when you left. 

It’s 11:05, as Zayne stares at the remnants of a hazelnut latte sitting on the corner of his desk - delivered to him by you several hours earlier. A drawing of a little snowman poking its head over the sleeve of the cup. A small dose of warmth in an otherwise blurry day. He missed you. Not that you hadn’t seen each other, but this was different. Rushed, fleeting moments existed — small, sweet treats that left behind a craving. Truthfully, he didn’t think he could ever be fully satisfied, not when the treat was gone but the sweetness still lingered on his tongue.

It’s 11:15, and the soft ping of his phone is notifying him of messages from you with hidden notes tucked tenderly between the letters.

- ping

Have you eaten yet? (I miss you, take care of yourself)

- ping

Let me know when you’re on your way! (I care about you, please come back safely)

He had grown accustomed to these secret words and meanings interwoven into the space that was you and him. With each message, his heart ached a bit more. 

It’s 11:27, and the lights of Zayne’s office are off. A cup with a snowman drawing is gently placed in a waste bin. His bag and coat are missing from the coat rack by the door and he’s driving to his home. 

It’s interesting how home can be anything. Home can be a house, the things gathered to create a space that belongs to the person living there. It can be a family or a person, the people who hold the hearts of their loved ones close. How odd that Zayne never thought of home before you. 

Seeing you silhouetted in the ambient light, his cardigan draped on your figure - too big in the shoulders, too long for your frame - the smell of mint tea hanging in the air — this is what it meant to be home. His heart swelled as you turned, that bright smile welcoming him home. 

“I see someone has found a sweater to their liking.” 

“Yep,” you quipped, hugging the cardigan closer to your body. “I think it likes me more than its current owner. It wants to live with its friends back in my closet.” 

Zayne smiled slightly, stepping into the warm kitchen as you placed two mugs on the counter. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t keep it from its true desire.” 

His arms circled around your waist, pulling you back securely against him. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck - settling into the warmth and pressing one soft kiss onto the collarbone peeking out from the collar of the cardigan. A contented sigh leaving your lips as you leaned into him, cupping the warm mug in your hands. 

“Thank you for this,” he murmured, attempting to stitch every unspoken feeling along those four words. ‘Can we stay like this a little longer?’ ‘I want to be with you - always.’ ‘You’re home to me.’ You had a way of weaving these declarations tenderly into your actions and words. Zayne hoped, by closing his eyes, by holding you closer, these unsaid words would flow to you. 

Gently, you turned in his arm to face him, one hand still clasped around your mug. You gazed up at him, placing your other hand on his chest, feeling the warmth there. “I’m glad you’re home,” you whispered. No hidden meanings - stated so honestly as you smiled. 

Zayne took the mug from your hand, setting it on the counter behind you, and dropped his forehead to yours. “If I can be a bit…selfish,” he breathed, ghosting his lips over yours. “There’s one more thing I would ask for.” His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks, and guided your lips to his. Slowly, his lips moved against yours. His hands, cool on your warm face, moved down your shoulders, dipping underneath the oversized cardigan and caressing your waist. Each movement intentional, as if his fingers had memorized the curve of your body - the feeling of you under his hands grounding him. 

Again, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing slowly as he released the kiss. His eyes locked on yours, dazed, as his hands tightly held your waist. Words were no longer needed, every movement proclaiming every feeling Zayne had tried to contain. He leaned down to grasp your waist, lifting you onto the counter. 

“Oh-”, you mumbled as you felt the cup behind you. “Your tea!” 

“Tea,” he said, pressing another kiss to your jaw, “can wait. Right now - I just need you.” His voice was soft as he slowly trailed his lips up your jawline, punctuating each sentence with a light kiss. 

Zayne was always so patient, quiet in a collected way. Need was a new word - and your heart ached as his hands pressed in your lower back. Your arms found their way up around his neck, running your fingers up and through his hair. “I’m here,” you whispered, pressing light kisses up his jawline to the shell of his ear. “You have me.” 

Zayne took a deep, controlled breath as he ran his hands up your spine, fingers tracing the arch of your back. “I like it when you’re here,” he murmured. His lips found yours again, savoring the way they melded together — relishing in the small sounds you made as he deepened the kiss and held you as though you were keeping him afloat. 

He hesitated again, his eyes still closed and hands still pressed against your back. “It would be even better, if you were here all the time.” He chanced a look at you then, barely opening his eyes. 

And you were smiling at him, pulling him closer still and cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your subtle way of asking if I would like to move in?” Your lips, still pink from the previous kisses, pressed one small kiss to the tip of his nose - an unspoken answer of ‘I want to be with you all the time too.’

Zayne looked down, the corners of his mouth slightly turning up. “How else will I retrieve all my missing sweaters?” He hooked his hands under your thighs, lifting you off the counter. “I think I’ll start with this one.” 

Your warm laughter filled the air as he carried you to his room, the mint teas left to cool on the counter.

[soulofapatrick]

Protect You - Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Summary: You come into work injured and Hotch accidentally outs your relationship

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: None really

Notes: I honestly don't know where this one came from but enjoy hehe

Y/N’s POV

As I step into the familiar confines of the BAU bullpen, a sigh of relief escapes my lips upon noticing it’s only Spencer present as the others always arrive later. Hotch and Rossi must be holed up in their offices, shielding them from witnessing the bruised left side of my face and the split lip that I’m trying to conceal with my hair, keeping my head down. I would try make-up but they’re profilers, we’re profilers, there’s no point hiding any of it as they’ll work it out. 

Every moment reminds me of the ache throbbing on my face, a constant reminder of the altercation that occurred early this morning. I try to mask the discomfort with a tight-lipped smile, but I know Spencer sees through it the moment his gaze flickers up from the file he’s absorbed in. His eyes widen in concern, and he’s on his feet so fast his chair clatters to the ground, abandoning his document to rush to my side. 

I appreciate his silent understanding, his quick grasp of the situation without needing an explanation. It's moments like these that remind me why the BAU feels like family.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice is gentle, his concern palpable as he takes in my appearance, eyes flickering over the bruises, assessing whether I need medical or not, “What happened to you?” 

I offer a weak shrug, sliding onto my desk so Spencer can slide into my chair like we usually sit, waiting for Emily, JJ and Morgan to arrive, “Oh just a little accident.” I murmur, trying to downplay the severity of it, though the pain pulses with each word. Spencer raises his eyebrows, scoffing lightly, drawing a heavy sigh from me, I relent, knowing I can’t actually keep it from my best friend, “Jessica might have found me in Hotch’s bed this morning after he left to be here early,” I pause, letting that sink in first, the fact I was in our boss’ bed, “She… well, she punched me and I just left her… she’s still grieving and it’s been just over a year now…” 

Spencer's hand finds mine, a silent gesture of solidarity amidst the chaos. And in that moment, I'm grateful for his unwavering support, his quiet strength anchoring me to reality when everything feels like it's spiralling out of control, “Are you going to tell Hotch?” 

Before I can respond, the authoritative timbre of Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, drawing my gaze towards his office. Instinctively, I turn my head away, a futile attempt to shield him from the truth of what his ex-sister-in-law had down to me. But it’s too late. The damage is already written across my bruised face, a stark reminder of the violence that had erupted in the early hours of the morning. 

Hotch strides into the bullpen, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on me, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. "Tell me what?" His voice is clipped, demanding answers that I'm not ready to give. Spencer gets up from my chair and moves over to where the coffee station is, staying within hearing distance but giving us enough privacy. 

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of Hotch's gaze bearing down on me like a heavy burden. "It's nothing, Hotch," I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper as I keep my head bowed, unwilling to meet his gaze. But I can sense his skepticism, his unwavering determination to uncover the truth lurking beneath my hesitant words.

Before I can protest further, Hotch grips my chin with a gentle finger and thumb, forcing me to raise my face and meet his gaze. The shock that flashes across his features sends a shiver down my spine, his expression morphing from concern to horror, then to simmering anger barely contained beneath the surface. 

His voice is low, a dangerous undercurrent lacing his words as he practically growls, “Who did this to you?” 

I try to shake my head free from his grip but he won’t let me, cognac eyes full of anger as he searches my face. Every part of my wants to submit to him but I can’t ruin the last bit of Haley he has left by telling him and he finally sighs. He takes a risk and presses his forehead to mine, eyes closing and taking a deep breath before he’s letting me go and taking a step back just as the bullpen doors open. With one final lingering look he turns to the others and tells them to meet him in the meeting room in ten. 

As Spencer intercepts Hotch on his way back to his office, a sense of foreboding settles over the bullpen, amplifying the tension already thick in the air. I watch, heart sinking, as Spencer murmurs something to Hotch, the words lost in the charged atmosphere. Hotch's head snaps up, his entire demeanour shifting in an instant. Even from behind, I can sense the fury radiating off him, a palpable force that sends a shiver down my spine. Whatever Spencer said has stirred a tempest within Hotch, one that threatens to consume everything in its path.

Before I can comprehend the gravity of the situation, Derek's voice breaks through the tense silence, his concern evident in the way he addresses me. "Oh shittt, what happened to you, baby girl?" he asks, his usually jovial tone replaced by genuine worry. 

Spencer slumps back into my chair, his expression somber as Derek rounds the desk to his, drawing Emily and JJ's attention in the process. In moments like these, the boundaries between colleagues blur, replaced by the unspoken bonds of friendship and camaraderie that define us as a team. They crowd around me, their questions a chorus of concern as they inspect the bruises marring my skin. Despite their genuine care, I can feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken questions lingering in the air like a heavy fog. 

Just as I'm about to ask them to drop it, a voice cuts through the chaos, echoing from Hotch's office with a force that silences the entire bullpen. "HOW DARE YOU LAY A HAND ON HER?!" Hotch's voice booms, despite his door and blinds being shut, reverberating off the walls with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.

A stunned silence settles over the bullpen, the air thick with tension as Hotch's voice echoes through the confines of his office, despite the closed door and drawn blinds. His words hang in the air like a heavy pall, commanding attention and demanding justice. The sudden yelling draws Rossi out of his office, his expression a mix of concern and confusion as he surveys the scene unfolding before him. It's rare to witness Hotch lose his composure, and even rarer to hear him raise his voice with such raw intensity. 

But, as the seconds tick by, the tension in the air becomes almost palpable, a tangible force that hangs heavy around us. We exchange uncertain glances, the weight of Hotch's anger casting a shadow over the once tranquil atmosphere of the bullpen. And then, just as quickly as it began, Hotch's voice rises again, the sound muffled by the closed door of his office. Despite the distance, his words carry with them a sense of finality, a declaration of his unwavering resolve, “I CAN DATE WHO I WANT, YOU DON’T GET TO DICTATE IF Y/N IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.” 

As Hotch's voice reverberates through the closed door of his office, his words cut through the heavy silence like a knife. The weight of his declaration hangs heavy in the air, leaving us all stunned into silence.

Derek's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his mouth slightly agape as he processes the implications of Hotch's words. Emily's eyes widen, a mixture of shock and admiration reflecting in her gaze as she exchanges a quick glance with JJ. Spencer, ever the observer, remains stoic, his expression unreadable as he absorbs the gravity of Hotch's statement. 

The realisation settles over us like a heavy blanket, each of us grappling with the implications of Hotch's unwavering resolve. In that moment, it's clear that he's not just defending my honour; he's asserting his autonomy, refusing to be swayed by the opinions or judgments of others. And as the echoes of his words fade into the background, we're left in a stunned silence, the weight of the moment pressing down upon us like a tangible force. For a brief moment, the chaos of the world outside fades away, replaced by the quiet intensity of the bullpen. 

But our reverie is short-lived as Hotch reemerges from his office, his face flushed with anger and frustration. His gaze sweeps over us, a silent command to gather ourselves and move forward. Without a word, he gestures towards the conference room, his authoritative presence brooking no argument. 

As the rest of the team practically rushes towards the conference room, driven by the urgency of the moment, I find myself lingering behind. The weight of everything that has transpired settles heavily upon my shoulders, anchoring me to the spot as I struggle to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. I remain perched on the edge of my desk, head bowed, my hands suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. The sound of familiar footsteps draws nearer, the rhythmic cadence echoing through the empty space of the bullpen. And then, like a beacon in the darkness, Hotch's shiny smart shoes appear in my line of sight, his presence casting a warm glow against the backdrop of uncertainty. 

He says my name softly, a gentle reminder that I'm not alone in this moment of vulnerability. I lift my gaze to meet his, finding solace in the depths of his unwavering gaze. There's a tenderness in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the tumultuous journey we've embarked upon together. 

In that moment, he looks at me like I've hung the stars, like I'm a goddess deserving of reverence and adoration. It's a gaze that speaks volumes, a silent confession of the depth of his feelings. And then, with a gentle touch, his hand reaches out to cup my unbruised cheek, his touch a balm against the ache of the morning's events. In the stillness of the bullpen, he draws me into a soft kiss, a silent promise of solidarity and unwavering support. In that fleeting moment, time stands still, the chaos of the world fading away as we find solace in each other's embrace. And as we pull away, the weight of the world feels a little lighter, buoyed by the strength of the bond that binds us together.

With a silent understanding, we rise from the tumult of the morning, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And as we make our way towards the conference room, hand in hand, I know that no matter what the future holds, we'll face it together, united by the unbreakable ties of love and loyalty.

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y @rosaliedepp @kajjaka

[spencewalterreid]

what if…don’t hear me out on this, i’m sleep deprived and projecting…reader is something of a favorite student of spencer’s whom he confronts about the, erm, suspiciously increasing bandages he’d been noticing on their leg or smt? he’d probably frantically point out the abundance of arteries there at some point 😭 please ignore this so hard if you don’t feel like it lmao

In The Morning, I'll Make Cereal

Summary: When Spencer notices you've been in a daze, he checks on you and finds bandages on your arm.

Pairing: Professor Reid / Reader (p)

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Suicidality, self harm, scars, surviving an attempt

Word Count: 2,262

Author's Note: I loved this prompt. I hope you appreciate my interpretation of it:) it wasn't very specific but I did what I could!

It had been a long fucking week. Finally, at long last, it's your last class on Friday, But Professor Reid has been rambling for the last two hours. This class is only supposed to be an hour and forty-five minutes, but good God, this man can drone. Generally, you wouldn't mind it. On a better day, you would relish in his tangents, on and on about victimology and how parents not kissing their children enough makes them kill people or whatever, you're just not into it today.

Squinting, you scratch a few more lines of graphite into the head of the portrait you're drawing in the margin of your notebook, trying to shape the hair properly. It's giving you fits. You knock your knee against the side of your desk absentmindedly to the rhythm of the music in your wired headphones.

Spencer pauses mid-sentence, his brow furrowing as he sees you. There’s at least a hundred kids in this room, so he hadn’t noticed it before now. His amber eyes scan the classroom as they always do, but keep returning to you; head in your notebook and your bouncing knee. He sighs softly, rubbing his temple before continuing his lecture.

"…and as we've discussed, the lack of proper familial affection in the formative years can lead to a host of psychological issues that may manifest in aggressive or criminal behavior later in life. Take, for instance, the case study of Ted Bundy, who…"

Spencer's voice drones on, the words blurring together as you tune out, focused on the intricate details of the portrait taking shape beneath your pencil. You lean forward slightly, squinting as you shade a particularly difficult shadow, your tongue poking out the corner of your mouth in concentration.

"That's all. Thank you for your patience, I know today ran long. I'll see you all on Monday," Reid says, his gaze lingering on you. You’re always so attentive, hanging on every word. What the hell? He waits a moment at his desk, looking over the notes the students had dropped in the tray before leaving, but keeps glancing up. A few minutes pass and you’re still scribbling away, making no move to pack up. His face pinches in worry.

“Hey, class is over now. We just ran a bit over today," he says, projecting his voice to reach you.

Spencer stands up, straightening his suit jacket as he walks over to where you sit when you don’t reply, still scribbling away. He glances down at the notebook, his eyebrows raising as he recognizes the portrait beginning to take shape.

"I didn't realize you had such skill," Spencer comments, unable to hide the note of surprise in his voice. He leans down a bit closer to get a better look.

You don't reply at all until he leans down and you finally notice his presence. Your pencil scrapes across the portrait when you damn-near jump out of your skin. "Jesus!" you gasp, then place your hand over your heart. "You scared me." The corner of your lip twitches up into a smile, and caught up in your embarrassment that he saw the portrait of him, you didn't even realize that your long-sleeve shirt rode down a bit, revealing a bandage wrapped firmly around your forearm.

Spencer takes a step back, looking mildly alarmed at having startled you so severely. "I apologize, that was not my intent. I didn't mean to frighten you." His gaze drifts down to your wrist, his eyes widening briefly as he notices the bandage. "Are you… are you alright? That looks bad," Spencer asks, taking a knee and reaching for your hand to take it in his to assess the damage before you subtly pull it away.

Your heart falls through the bottom of your ribs, clashes against your intestines, and tumbles straight out your ass. "Uhm." Words. Form them. Hang on, do I even know any? Shit. You force a wry chuckle, dropping your hands to your lap and wringing them together, knocking your sleeves down enough to cover your wrists again. "I just." Ahem. "I just dropped a knife last night when I was making dinner. No biggie." Please, Please believe me. You thank any God that might be out there for having everyone else clear out before he approached you.

“Okay,” he agrees with a nod, letting you believe that he buys it. “Uh, you should be more careful, though,” he continues hesitantly. He reaches for your arm again and you let him. He pushes up your sleeve, and you swallow an argument. “Right here,” he says, dragging a finger gently along your forearm, the inner part of the left side, along the outer part of the bone. “This is the ulnar artery. You’ve got a lot of smaller veins in your arm, too, that could be dangerous if nicked, but that could have been really bad.” You don’t tell him how close his finger was to the gash made only hours ago.

Spencer wanted to pretend not to notice all the smaller scars dotted along the base of your wrist, and a couple on your hands that you could more believably wave off as accidents. He rests his elbow on your lower thigh, above your knee and a bit inward, making you wince. Again, he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

“This,” he draws another line, this time down the side of your arm, “is the anterior condylar vein, or ACV. Easier to hit because it’s more shallow.” Spencer sighs, dragging a thumb across one of the smaller, now raised and white nicks. “I didn’t want to say anything, but-”

“I know,” you interject. “You have to report this. I get it.” The beginnings of tears nudge at the back of your throat, agitating a lump into it, and threaten to fill your eyes. “It’s okay,” you add, yanking your cheeks up into a suggestion of a smile.

The professor huffs again, revoking his touch and shifting from a one-legged kneel to a squat, resting his elbows on his own knees and looking up at you. “I’m not going to report you. I don’t think-” He runs a hand through his dark curls and puts it back on his leg. “That has only exacerbated the issue, in my experience. I need you to know… to know that I care.”

You shift uncomfortably, staring at your fingernails as you drag dirt out from under them. “Okay,” you mumble. To say you believed him in the slightest would be a falsity of the highest order.

“I do,” Reid insists as though he read your mind, craning his neck down and chin up to catch your eyes under the curtain of your hair. “I do care. I know you’ve been going through something, and I’m sorry, but I’m here.”

Spencer reaches out to gently tilt your chin up with his fingers, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that managed to escape. The empathy in his eyes makes your stomach churn. He’s just so genuine.

"Listen to me. I know you're hurting. I know you feel alone. But you're not alone right now, do you understand that? You have me, and I promise I will help you through this, any way I can. My offer to talk stands, anytime, anywhere. My door is always open to you."

“I heard you.”

“No, I know you heard me. I asked if you understood me. There’s a difference.”

Your lip wobbles against your will and you know you’re about to cry. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head away from him, a last ditch effort to hide your face. “I can’t-”

He leans in, pulling you into him, his voice lowering to a low, soothing murmur. "Please, don't let anyone else see these scars. Not until you're ready. I need you to take care of you. You're stronger than this. You have so much potential, so much to offer the world. Don't throw that away. Not now, not ever.”

Sobs wrack your body, and as the breaths leave your lungs in short, desperate hiccups, his embrace is an anchoring force. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay. This isn’t your fault.” One of Spencer’s hands card through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. “I’m here, alright?” He doesn’t expect you to answer.

“I almost killed myself last night,” you sob, pulling away with great reluctance.

Okay, he really wasn’t expecting that. The look in his eyes, despite his trepidation, encourages you to elaborate. He only now notices how pale you are, and the dots connect.

“I–” You take a deep breath, centering yourself before you continue. “I had a spiral. I called- called everyone. My mom, my best friend, even the fucking hotline. And you know what? It was busy,” you laugh incredulously. “The suicide hotline was busy!”

He doesn’t get a word in, you’re too busy in a tear-fueled tangent. “And I- I cleaned my room. Spotless. I made my bed, and put on a good outfit, and I wrote a letter, and I, uh-” you smile, and it’s sad, a macabre thing. “I knew about the arteries.” Your spine straightens. “Anyway. I ended up sleeping in, so I guess that’s good, but when I woke up… it felt… it felt so dull.”

“What do you mean?”

“It felt small. My arms had scabbed over, miraculously, and I got up. I wrapped them, and I brushed my teeth, and I made cereal. I got in the car and drove 120 on the highway to get here, and I didn’t crash. I jaywalked across a busy street and nothing happened, and I just-” a shaky breath flowed over your lips and you slumped down in your seat. “I failed, and the world kept turning. I could have died last night, should have, and… nothing changed. Nothing at all.”

Spencer listens intently, his face twisted in something that looks an awful lot like heartbreak. When you finish speaking, he takes a deep breath, choosing his next words carefully.

"I'm so sorry you felt you reached that point, but I'm nothing short of relieved at your survival. You did the right thing by reaching out, even if the support you needed wasn't immediately available. That takes courage and strength."

He places his hand on your shoulder, warmth seeping through your jacket, and squeezes. "Feeling small and insignificant after a crisis like that is completely normal. It's a common reaction, but it's a lie. Your life has value. Your existence matters, and the world changing or not is not a reflection of your worth."

Spencer studies you like at any moment, you could fade into smoke. "You didn't fail last night. You survived. That's not a small thing, it’s significant. It means you have the strength to keep going, to keep fighting. And I will be here to support you in that fight, in whatever way you need. It means,” he pauses to gently jab a finger at your chest, above your heart. “It means that this doesn’t care about your feelings, and I apologize if that sounds harsh. When you… When you did that, your baroreceptors activated, which monitors your blood vessels, and caused your heart to start taking blood away from your limbs to keep it in your core, keep you warm. That caused vasodilation and a decrease in heart rate, which lowered your blood pressure back to a survivable rate.”

“What’s your point, Professor?” you ask, rolling your eyes in frustration.

“My point,” he continues firmly, “Is that your body is stronger than your mind sometimes. It fought to keep you alive, even when you felt you wanted to let go. That's a testament to your innate will to live, to survive. It's not a reflection of your feelings or wishes, but it's a part of you that can't be ignored."

Spencer takes your hand, covering it with both of his. "Please don't dismiss your survival as insignificant. It matters, and I believe it's a sign that you have the strength to keep going, to keep living. I know it's hard, and I know grief and pain can feel all-consuming at times, but you have so much life ahead of you. Your mind and your body are connected, but they are also their own beings in a way. Your body has carried you your whole life. Your blood cells have fought sickness, your muscles have soothed their own aches, and your bones have held you up. Your body isn’t attacking you, but you’re attacking it. How is that fair?”

You’re not sure what to say to that.

Spencer looks at you intently, pressing your hand in his tightly to ground you. "I know this is difficult to process. I know you're hurting. But I need you to understand that your body and your mind are not your enemies. They are part of you, and they need your care and compassion. I’m not going to make you promise me you’ll seek help, or that you’ll stop. I know it isn’t that simple. But I will ask this,” he says, and your heart contracts. “Be kind to yourself. Have compassion. Try to put things in perspective. You deserve so much better than this.”

“Can you feel that?” he asks, tilting his head to your hand.

You consider it, and you notice the steady throbbing from his unforgiving grip. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispers, and the sweet look in those beautiful brown eyes almost makes you believe it. “You’re gonna save your life, and I’m gonna cheer you on.”

[billiethepumpkin]

Best Pain I Ever Felt: Eijirou Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: Rated R. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years or older. If you are a minor, do not interact.

Contains: Fem!Reader. Descriptions of violence. Descriptions of injuries. Emotional.

Featuring: Eijirou Kirishima.

Author's Note: All characters are written to be adults because I am an old fuck :)

You saw it on the news.

Everyone had. You had probably a dozen text messages and at least three phone calls from people who loved you asking if everything was alright, if you'd had any word.

If you had, your heart wouldn't be sitting in the soles of your shoes right now. It seemed impossible. Your mind was trying to convince you that you hadn't really seen what you just saw. But you did. There was no denying that it was real. You knew by the warm tears that fell down your cheeks without any beckoning.

Red Riot had taken on a massive attack. He had been fighting some villain that you had only heard of a couple of times. You guessed he was supposed to be a small time villain, but the way he was attacking Red Riot... It seemed relentless, like he was made for killing even the toughest heroes.

Red Riot, who took every hit without so much as flinching. Red Riot, who refused to let any of the pain show, no matter how badly it felt like his skin and bones were on fire. Red Riot, who kept going back for more, ready to defend his city and the rest of the world, if it came down to it.

Red Riot, who loved you deeply. Red Riot, who bought you flowers after any mission that kept him away overnight. Red Riot, who took baths with you and gave you massages, even though his work days were much more taxing than yours. Red Riot, who would go to the ends of the earth to protect you, to show you that he loved you.

The villain had tried to escape, but was so beaten and exhausted after his showdown with Red Riot that he was easily arrested. The last image of Red Riot that the news had shown was a split second of him knocked out on the ground, covered in scrapes and bruises, bleeding from the side of his head. You wondered how long it would be before somebody at the agency called you. It had already been twenty minutes. Maybe, you thought, their not calling was a good sign. Maybe it meant there was nothing to report, that everything was fine. Maybe it meant that he was okay.

Or maybe it meant that people at the agency were drawing straws to figure out who was gonna break the news to the boss's babygirl...

You couldn't sit there anymore. Someone had to know something about what happened. You tried to call the receptionist at the agency--nothing. You guessed it was kind of late, probably past her normal business hours. You tried to call a different agency number. And when that failed, you tried to call your husband's cell phone, because maybe someone from the agency had it and would be able to give you some kind of answer as to what the hell was going on.

No answer.

At this point, you stopped thinking. You got in your car and drove to the agency. Somebody had to tell you.

When you got there, the office was eerily quiet. You walked around for a little while. Finally, someone came walking down the hall in the opposite direction. "Hey, Ms. Y/N," he said. "You didn't hear? Red Riot's at the hospital."

After figuring out which hospital, you didn't even bother to say goodbye to the man as you rushed away. You begged the front desk at the hospital to give you any information on your boyfriend. But when she couldn't reveal anything to you for privacy reasons, one of Kirishima's sidekicks called to you from a few feet away. "He's going to be fine," he reassured you, leading you to a bench outside the room where he was resting. "He was hurt pretty badly. He has a concussion and a collapsed lung, along with needing several stitches and a heavy dose of pain meds. But he's okay."

For the first time since you watched the story on the news a little more than an hour and a half ago, you took a massive breath, your hand falling onto your chest in an attempt to ground yourself. You felt tears well up in the corners of you eyes. "Thank you," you muttered as the sidekick opened the hospital room door for you.

And there he was. Your Kirishima, wrapped up in bandages and hooked up to several monitors for his own health. His eyes were closed, resting. You could hear his labored breathing, even through the oxygen tube in his nose.

How could someone do this to another person? Someone as wonderful as him? You silently swore you were going to personally hunt down whoever had done this and take care of them yourself. Then you remembered they'd already been arrested. You guessed there wasn't much to be done about it.

You caressed his arm, still sweaty and covered in dirt after his fight. His eyes opened at your touch, and he looked right at you. "Hey, babygirl," he said, smiling sleepily.

"Hey," you said, your smile and tears intertwining. Your fingers laced with his, dried blood and debris now smearing over your hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad right now," he answered. "Doc's got me on all kinda pain meds though."

"You scared the hell outta me," you whispered, quickly wiping the tears away before they could completely fall down your face.

Kirishima's hand reached up to hold your face, catching any of the tears that continued to fall, regardless of how you commanded them not to. "'m sorry, honey," he responded.

You shook your head and held his hand against your face "No, don't be sorry," you told him, kissing the dirty palm of his hand. Seriously, he just took a massive beating, and somehow he feels like he needs to apologize? "What did the doctor say?" you asked him. You already got some information before.

Kirishima took a deep breath. "Concussion. Collapsed lung," he said. "Doc said if everything looks good, I can go home tomorrow."

"That's good," you remarked. "I'm gonna take a few days off so you have an extra hand."

"You don't have to do that," he tried to say.

"I'm gonna take care of you," you told him.

"Pshh, I'm fine. You don't have to do anything for me," he tried to claim. Even in his words, you could tell that he was a little unsure. Red Riot was the toughest hero you knew. And Kirishima was the strongest man you knew, even beyond quirks. Kirishima moved a little, seemingly trying to move himself to the side a little. He winced with every single movement, shutting his eyes tight to brace himself against the pain. When he couldn't take it anymore, he gave up. He stopped moving and allowed tears to fall down his cheeks. "Shh, shh," you breathed, wiping his tears away. "It's okay. You're okay. Don't try to move."

"You mean to tell me I can't even make room for my girl on the bed?" he argued with himself. He was trying to make light of the situation, but his voice shook in frustration as he remembered just hours ago, when he was the hero people called when they needed someone tough. Now, he couldn't even shift his weight in a bed.

"I don't think you need to make room for me, babe," you rolled your eyes.

"Y/N, please," he asked. "Everything hurts, inside and out. I'm practically bedridden. All I want is to hold you. Please?"

You pressed your lips together, thinking of a response. You had half a mind to double down, to tell him you'd sit right next to him, but that he needed to rest in the bed. But you knew better than that. You knew he'd at least be here for the night, seeing as it was already almost nine o'clock at night. And you knew it'd be torture for him to not be able to do anything for himself the entire night. You could give him this one thing. You sat next to him on the bed, as closely as you could get to him, and you carefully laid your head on his shoulder. He was wincing before you even lowered your full weight onto him. Once you were fully situated, he took another deep breath, and his pain seemed to ease. "Does this hurt?" you asked, being careful not to press anywhere that would be too painful for him.

"Yeah," he asked, his face spreading into a sweet smile. "Best pain I ever felt."

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

The Scientific Method

Pairing: Moonknight trio x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: just a bunch of ritual things, there's mention of blood and reader cuts their hand open

Genre: angst/fluff

Summary: They are determined to go through with this mind link and you have to do everything in your power to protect them

***

You groan to yourself as you shut yet another old heavy grimoire. The more you try to research this dammed ritual the more you feel like your head this close to exploding. You're overwhelmed trying to sort through conflicting information, unclear instructions, and a seemingly never-ending list of cautions. Several times over the last few hours you debated if it'd be easier to change their minds than go through with this. The knock at your apartment door shocks you so much you practically jump out of your skin. With a sigh, you stand from your desk and walk to the door. When you open the door you barely register your boyfriend standing there, your eyes trying to recover from combing over walls of text all day.

"Hello love." Steven smiles at you.

"Hi baby, what brings you over?" You ask stretching.

"It's movie night." He frowns.

"Right! Shit, is it time already?" You shake your head.

"How could you forget?" He chuckles.

"Well someone wants so badly to risk their sanity I've been doing research all day to protect this silly individual. Lost track of time I guess."

"You've been doing research on it?"

"Of course I have. If I'm going to do this insanely dangerous ritual I need to know it so well you'd think I was there upon its creation." You say.

"What have you found out?" He asks.

"I'm sitll sifting through it, there's possibly a potion involved-"

"Well you can put a pin in it for now, because it's movie night." Steven grabs you by the shoulders and leads you to your couch to sit you down.

"I'm just worried there's some time sensitivity aspect I'm missing. Something this complex probably requires very specific circumstances in order to have even a chance of being successful. Like what if it can only be done during a solar eclipes, or when all the fucking planets are aligned or-"

"Baby you don't have to work it out all at once, we're not in a rush, plus we trust you. I don't think you have anything to worry about." Steven says gently.

"That's fine for you, I'm the one performing the ritual you just have to show up, I'm the one responsible for making sure you don't die or lose your mind or lose a limb or-"

"Breathe." Marc says grabbing your hand. You stop and take a breath.

"Marc-"

"Don't start, and don't get yourself all worked up. It's like you don't even realize how powerful you are. You're not going to kill me, or drive me insane, or steal my arms. We will absolutely come out on the other side of this for the better." Marc says firmly.

"When did you get all optimistic?" You chuckle.

"When you showed up and gave me something worth living for." He says kissing your temple.

"You're such a softie." You scoff.

"Yeah yeah, now let's get this movie night started, you can research the spell later."

"Alright alright. I'll table it for now." You sigh letting Marc pull you closer to him as he starts the first movie for tonight.

*~*

You draw the last of the symbols on the ground, checking them for the umpteenth time that you got them all correct. You drove hours out of the city to prepare and do this spell. Marc is meant to meet you any minute now, but you've already been here a while getting all the bits and pieces together. You read your notes again, as if you haven't seared them into your brain at this point, but it helps you feel in control. You've done all the research you could possibly do without having a first hand account of doing this spell. You're as ready as you can be, you know you are, but there's just so much that could go wrong it's impossible not to be nervous.

"The pacing does not bode well for your sanity." The booming voice almost makes you drop your pages.

"Holy fuck- you brought the bird?!" You clutch your chest when you realize your boyfriend has arrived and so has Khonshu.

"I am not some pet he does not bring me anywhere. He is my Avatar, if you intend to disintegrate his mind it's in my personal interests to be aware of that." Khonshu says.

"I'm not disintegrating anything you kooky old skeleton but if you insist on being here do not interrupt." You roll your eyes.

"Even if it saves him from your incompetence?"

"Marc may work for you but I don't you fucking-"

"Khonshu don't speak to her that way." Jake interrupts. "We didn't tell you about this so you could come all this way just to insult her. She's powerful and capable and we have faith in her. Your opinion on the matter is not only unwanted, it is also unfound." You look between them as Jake's words hang in the air for a moment. 

"You hold her in high regard." Khonshu hums.

"You knew that already." Jake glares.

"To see it is a different thing."

"Are you two done?" You ask.

"Sorry mi amor, I told them to leave Khonshu in the dark but no one listens to me. How are you feeling?" Jake takes your hand in his, eyes scanning your face.

"Fine. Good. As good as I can be. Everything's set. How're you guys?" You ask.

"Steven's a little nervous."

"Just Steven?" You probe softly.

"Sí just Steven. Marc is, impatient and I am, managing our expectations."

"As always." You kiss his cheek.

"Are you two quite finished with the- whatever this is?" Khonshu scoffs and you're sure if he had eyes to roll he'd probably be doing that.

"Oh I'm sorry did you mistake us for a theater show? We're not here to entertain you." You roll your eyes. You walk over to your bag and pull out a small bottle. "Drink this."

"What's this?" Jake asks.

"Step one."

"Which does what?" His eyebrow cocks up at you.

"Makes you more susceptible to the magic of the spell so it's easier." You say, that's not exactly right but the full explanation would be far too much to break down and you need to focus on getting through this not giving a potions lesson. Jake downs the murky liquid and cringes slightly. It probably doesn't taste great based on the ingredients. "Stand in the center where all the lines meet."

"How should I stand?" He asks.

"Still." You mutter walking over to your bag for your ritual dagger.

"What?"

"You asked how you should stand. Stand still." You say.

"Amor?" Jake calls, making you look up from your recitation pages. "Te amo."

"I love you too." You say. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. It's now or never.

"Ich baln kikae fineir shel cae ganel ufnae oulm antae woom bae." The circle starts to shimmer in that familiar but unnatural way that's so custom of magic. You twirl the ritual knife once in your hand before slicing open your palm. A spell meant to bind you and another person in any way almost always requires blood.

"Ich Maie fanie rach el aer wol nihar welm intalm axo tanit shway." One hard squeeze of your hand drops blood on the first of the seven symbols that make up the points of the circle. The symbol lights up and the corresponding line follows and shines from end to end.

"Baint int quare yeel fren smer worsh ufer dal krei lut isht." More blood on symbol 2 lighting it and its line.

"Pahb arth e rinethow finae ni shabnida." Your hand is starting to hurt but you squeeze blood onto the third symbol and watch it join the first 2 in brightening the circle.

"Inae fuu raunk valum dae chaw ji prosh shay zila trof renda ishan." You watch the fourth symbol light up and move on to the next.

"Urf nae inst purn wolay kirna ru gant verin herab vins tae." Five down, two more to go.

"Ich shie bruy pir exun bakiyen wishor itarm kastey." Onto the last one.

"Intraey izarnit wor bint azun oxair yerin jiha geins." The last of the symbols lights up, and you walk over to Jake in the center. You tip his head back and squeeze blood into his mouth.

"Mierda! You didn't mention anything about-" Jake doesn't finish his sentence, he drops to the ground and you gasp.

"I imagine that wasn't supposed to happen. Was it?" Khonshu muses. You roll your eyes you wish he'd shut up but at least the irritation overrode the panic bubbling. You take a deep breath and recite the last bit of the spell. It won't do you any good to leave the circuit incomplete, an unfinished spell could do more damage to Jake than whatever's already going on.

"Rahg inth der minshea loun weemae zontho ich baln kikae fineir." With the final incantation complete you watch as the spell circle burns brighter and brighter until all the symbols seemingly drain towards the center, disappearing one after the other as if Jake's body is absorbing them.

"Is it over?" Khonshu asks.

"Well the spell circle... disappeared so- I guess?"

"He's still unconscious."

"Gee hadn't noticed." You roll your eyes.

"There has to be something you can do about this you did the spell."

"Just pick him up off the ground." You say packing up your spell items.

"Why would I do that?"

"That spell wasn't easy, I don't have the strength to pick him up but it's not like we can just leave him out here overnight." You cross your arms.

"I am not carrying him all the way into town." Khonshu says.

"Why would you do that? Did you walk here?" You ask.

"The British one doesn't have a car."

"Sure but Jake does."

"Jake didn't want to have to leave the car here if something happened." Khonshu says.

"Whatever, I drove. You just need to get him to my car." You say.

"And what if I don't?"

"If you don't he spends the night out here." You shrug grabbing your bag of things and trudging away from the clearing.

"Well- hang on!" Khonshu huffs. A few moments later you hear his heavy footfalls behind you. "Would you really have left your boyfriend laying in a field unprotected."

"Of course not, the field had a bunch of defensive spells in place." You scoff.

"Why didn't you say that!?"

"I knew you wouldn't call my bluff." You say opening your car and tossing your bag in the passenger seat. "Drop him in the back please." You open the backseat door and help Khonshu fold your boyfriend across the seats.

"You had better hope they all survive your odd experimentation."

"It was their idea you foolis- you know what, it doesn't matter what you say, you have no right to pretend you value their life beyond how you can use them like a puppet of course I hope they survive I tried to talk them all out of this like 5 times. Stubborn fools." You shake your head.

"So what happens now?"

"Now I take him home and we hope for the best." You shrug getting into your car. You drive home, anxious to get your boyfriend home so you can start looking for some way to reverse this or at least help in some way.

Back at your apartment you struggle to get the body up to your place. Luckily it's incredibly late already or you'd probably have to explain this to more than just the person frowning at you from behind the front desk when you walked in. Once in the safety of your own apartment, you take a deep breath as you look at Marc passed out in your guest room.

"I don't want to get to say I told you so but you had better give me a chance to yell at you for being an idiot. You owe me that. Please wake up, you're far too stubborn to die like this. It'd be a rather pathetic way to go, given all the shit that didn't take you out." You huff. You feel so restless, you need to shower and you know you need to sleep because it's been a long and exhausting day but there's no way you'll get any rest with your boyfriend passed out indefinitely in the other room, all you want to do is sit up sifting through grimoires until the answer jumps out at you from one of the pages, you can't just leave him like that and not do anything-

"Stop." You say to yourself, hoping to stall your racing thoughts for a moment. "Okay, strategize. Realistically if you try to comb through your grimoires and things right now your eyes will literally fall out bleeding you have done entirely too much today even if you found the answer you wouldn't have the strength to do anything with it. He's physically safe and while you can't possibly know what's going on internally that'll have to be enough for now because you can't save him if you don't take care of yourself. Let's shower and try to get some sleep and we can approach this with a fresh mind in the morning."

With an acceptable game plan officially vocalized you take one more deep breath and clap your hands once to center yourself. Your shower helps tremendously which you knew it would but sometimes it's hard to regulate when so much is going on at once. You put on lotion and your pajamas and check on the trio once more before forcing yourself to go to bed. Hopefully you can get some sleep and maybe start problem solving this whole nightmare in the morning.

***

A/N: So sorry it took so long to get here my mind is a labrynth and my life has been a tornado lately, it's getting calm so what else would you like to see from this series?

Tagged Users: @itsmskeisha @auntiegigi @neteyamsluvts @a-lil-bit-nuts @i-love-sammwiches @chaosgoblinreblogsthings

[therealflickerman]

Split Lips (tasm!peter parker x reader)

Part one

series summary: Its simple hating peter parker, the cocky asshole who has made it his mission to one up you every chance he gets. In the same vein, its simple loving spiderman, the sweet masked vigilante who has made it his mission to ensure your safety. How simple will it be when the two worlds meet.

______________________________________________________________

chapter summary: you finally get the chance to one up peter and officially have the honour of meeting the friendly neighbourhood spiderman that everyone has been talking about.

word count: 2.3k

contents: reader is intended to be fem! (she's briefly described as such in this chapter), possible emetophobia warning?, tiny blood warning, language, a little banter and a little fluff, possible OOC peter? idk..., reader is anxious and clumbsy #selfprojecting, i'm not american which means i may get things wrong, please bare with me!!.

note: this is my first fic ever but let me cook!! thank u charlie for editing.

masterlist

series masterlist

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four (ongoing!)

Your lip sits between your teeth, occupying them with the task of removing dead skin, it was a poor habit, something you’d done to settle nerves from a young age. You’re sure you’ll draw blood any second now as Miss Ritter works her way around the classroom, handing test results to uninterested students. A large part of you envies the way their eyes merely skim the front page of the test paper, you could only pray to care that little.

Your teeth continue their assault on your lip as you feel the usual pair of eyes boring into the side of your head. You truly do almost entertain the idea of meeting his gaze but you can’t bring yourself to give him the satisfaction. 

“You’re gonna have an aneurysm over there if you don’t chill out”

You’re not entirely sure what you did to deserve a seat next to Peter Parker, but every day for the past month you’d apologised to all possible gods for whatever sin it was that you had committed.

You avoid his gaze and he lets out a humoured scoff. 

Your foot taps against the floor as Miss Ritter now approaches your desk. She stands in front of you sorting through the test papers antagonising slowly, and for a second you’re sure she's teasing. 

“Well done” She offers a sweet smile, although it goes unnoticed as you scramble to pick up the paper from your desk.

98% 

Your eyes meet Peters,

“What did you get,” you ask, your lips leave your teeth for the first time that period and you try to suppress the cocky grin growing on your face but you’re not sure it’s possible. You watch his smirk widen and for a moment you feel yours falter.

“96%” 

A laugh of relief bubbles from your chest,

“Thank you god,” you tease and your laughter dies down.

You’re met with an eye roll. 

"What happened to the bravado, huh?" You give him a light poke in the arm, teasingly.

"Ouch... okay, I get it," he grumbles, his brows furrow slightly,  though a hint of a smile remains on his lips.

“We have a bio test on Monday don’t get so cocky” 

You shrug dismissively as you flip through your test results.

______________________________________________________________

You’re just about done with everything.

Work had practically doubled after your coworker had puked all over the break room, leaving you to scrub her throw-up from the divots in the tiled floor, and cover the two hours she had left of her shift. 

You swore you could still smell it.

You shift from foot to foot, feeling suffocated in the subway. It's packed to the brim with football fans, dressed in the colours of their respective teams and once again you’re apologising to any and all gods out there for whatever you did to deserve this. 

You’re so very close to getting your elbows involved as you push through the crowds, making it off the subway several stops early, to simply give yourself a moment of peace.

Making it to a familiar back street you take a moment to check your watch, the long hand sits just after six and the shorter one points between ten and eleven.

Silently, you curse your stupid, sickly coworker and your own poor decision-making. Your feet throb against the leather of your work shoes and you almost begin to miss the subway's scent of beer breath and football stand food. 

Your teeth catch your lip again, this time they draw blood and you wince at the sudden stinging. 

“Shit” you groan in a hushed whisper, you curse the habit as you bring your hand to your lip, examining the damage. A drop of red colours your fingertip as you touch it to the nick and pull it away so you can see. 

You roll your eyes at your luck and rub the blood from your fingers before continuing with your walk, wishing you’d simply seen the subway through and stayed on until a stop closer to home. 

“You’re out awfully late miss” 

You just about jump out of your skin at the voice. It's eerily mechanical as though it’s meant to be disguised, under the circumstances, it sends chills up your spine. 

“Holy shit, you scared the fuck out of me” you hold your hand to your chest in an attempt to calm the beating of your heart. You turn and your eyes meet big ovals of tinted glass, adorning a red mask. It hits you that they belong to those of Spiderman and suddenly the voice makes all the sense. 

“Don’t… don’t creep up on people like that, especially not,” you pause to find the words, “unsuspecting women… alone at night” you let out awkwardly, your furrowed brows ease up as you take in a deep breath. 

He lets out a small laugh from behind the mask, head tilting to the side as he manages to lock eyes with you even though you can't quite meet his gaze.

“Sorry, sorry” he lifts his hands defensively, “just making sure you’re okay”. There's a grin evident in his voice.

“No, I’m…” you let out a breath. “I’m so sorry, it’s been a rough day”, You offer an awkward smile and silently curse yourself for being an asshole to some guy that spends his life-saving people. 

“Don’t stress,” he brushes it off. 

‘Your…”, he raises his hand to where his lips would sit behind his mask, “... lip is bleeding.”

“Shit… yeah” you mumble, bringing your own hand to your lips. You lick your fingertip and wipe both the fresh and dried blood from the cut. You suddenly wonder how silly you may have looked with a trickle of blood gathering on the rim of your lip.

“I bite ‘em… my lips, when I’m anxious” you clarify, offering another awkward smile. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he offers with a shrug, taking a step in the direction you were walking when he had first approached. 

“My lip biting?” You question furrowing your brows and following his footsteps. 

“Your day” he humours you. 

“Right,” you let out a sheepish laugh and you feel your cheeks flush. “You do that?” you question, skipping a step to keep up. 

“Do what?” he asks, his brows furrow behind the mask. 

“Give out free therapy.” Your eyes lock on the ground as the two of you walk side by side. 

He chuckles, “not often… I make exceptions.”

“I’ll walk you home, you just talk” he offers. 

You accept the offer, quite gladly. It felt strange, though nice, talking to someone as a friend without the, ‘what do they think of me’ barrier. For all you knew you’d never see Spiderman again. 

You hadn’t particularly been one for friends. Not that you hadn’t wanted them, it was rather that no one seemed to fill that hole. You’d had friends throughout middle school, some in the early stages of high school but each time you’d simply fall out of friendship, and that was that. 

It was nice to talk rather than listen.

“Then my coworker, Kaylie, she threw up all over the break room,” you rambled,

Spiderman gags at the thought, ‘Not you too’ you murmur softly, though he catches what you say and lets out a chuckle.  

Your lips press into a smile, satisfied with his laughter you continue your story.

 “My asshole of a boss made me clean it,” you emphasise, “then made me stay back and cover her shift, now it's… what” You lift the sleeve of your jacket checking the time, “10:39 pm and Spiderman, of all people, is walking me home”. You send him a small smile with a shrug. 

“Well firstly your boss sounds like a jackass” he adds, almost as if stating a fact, “but at least you got to meet Spiderman', he nudges you faintly, pulling another soft giggle from your lips. You agree with a hum and a nod, once again making eye contact with the floor.

“Oh, I got a 98 on this English test,” you add looking up at him, “so, y’know… hasn’t all been bad”. 

“Wow look at you,” his grin peaks through his voice.

‘“What can I say?” you giggle with a sheepish shrug. 

“Peter, this kid in my class,” you clarify, “has been one upping me all semester, and I have finally,” you emphasise, “gotten a better grade than him”.

‘We don’t like this Peter?” he asks, studying your face as you answer. 

You smile at his use of ‘we’. 

“He’s…” your words die on your tongue as you think for just a moment, “kind of an asshole,” you nod, “but sweet…enough” you shrug with a sweet grin and meet Spiderman’s ‘eyes’. 

“He’s funny I’ll give him that” 

Unbeknownst to you, Spiderman’s lips curl into a grin. 

“As long as he’s being nice,” he adds. 

“I don’t know if I’d say nice” you giggle. 

______________________________________________________________

“Well Spidey, this is almost me” you beam, pointing to the apartment building across the street with your head, your hands are kept inside the pockets of your jacket where the cold New York air can’t reach them. 

“Thanks for, you know… walking me home, letting me talk, I don’t really do that too often” you smile up at him, meeting his hidden eyes.

“What, you don't get to talk a lot? I doubt that” he laughs, watching as you roll your eyes. 

A soft ‘shut up,’ rolls off your tongue with a smile. Your cheeks are flushed against the crisp of the night and you feel your grin grow. 

‘I better…’ your words die on your tongue as you point to the apartment block. 

He lets out a hum of approval with a short, knowing nod. 

You take a step or two backwards, sending him a wave and a sweet smile, though forgetting to look both ways as you cross the seemingly empty road. 

Spiderman's voice rings out as you turn, faced with a fast-paced car. The owner honks its horn, sending you an angry glare as it drives past you. You quickly place your extended foot back onto the safety of the curb and send Spidey a sheepish smile. 

“You need me to carry you to bed and tuck you in?” He jokes with a shake of his head. 

“I’m good thank you,” heat rushes to your cheeks and the tips of your ears, reddening them further as you turn to look both ways. 

“That’s a good start” his voice rings from the other side of the street, watching you cross the road more safely this time around. 

You wave him off with an eye roll, not turning to look at the vigilante as you trot to your apartment complex. 

______________________________________________________________

“Is that you love?” Your mother rings out from the couch.

The apartment is dimly lit, the glow from the tv lights up your mothers features as you approach her. She sits in her pyjamas, a glass of red wine in her hand, which is expected on a friday night. ‘Dirty Dancing’ plays loudly on the TV, you’ve seen the film a million times over because it’s her favourite. 

You slide your backpack off of your shoulder, lean it carefully against the couch, and collapse down next to her. 

“Hi love,” your mothers lips press against your forehead, placing a soft kiss. 

You hum, closing your eyes. 

You feel her pull away, she replaces her lips with a hand and lets out a worried hum. 

“You’re warm” her brows furrow and you feel your blush spread further. 

You’re grateful she can’t see your flushed cheeks in the darkness of the apartment. 

“Ran home,” you simply smile with a nod, “gonna go to bed.” 

She nods, giving you a tight hug and wishing you sweet dreams. 

You let your eyes close as your head lolls against the cool of your bedroom door, taking in the stillness of your room. You begin to untie your work shoes, leaving your eyes shut as you place them neatly by the doorway. 

You let out a yawn, rub your eyes and stand up from the carpeted floor. Taking a seat on your neatly made bed, your hands find the buttons of your work blouse and slowly unbutton them one by one. 

Your mind drifts and a smile curls onto your face as you think of the sweet, masked man that had walked you home. 

You wonder about his features, the colour of his hair and skin, if his face is freckles or if he has little moles that litter his body. You wonder how old he is, if he has lived his life, seen things and loved, or if he’s young, possibly even your age. If he puts the rest of his life on the line each night he puts on the suit. You frown at the possibility. 

Your teeth once again catch your lip, tongue grazing the dried metallic blood, you wince at the taste you’ve grown familiar to. Scolding yourself softly, you make a small mental note to quit the habit before putting on pyjamas and slipping into fresh sheets. 

A soft smile adorns your face as you stare up at the ceiling, you realise you had forgotten to tell your mother about your English test, how you’d gotten the highest grade in the class, and you keep in mind to tell her over breakfast. 

Your mind slips back to Spiderman. There's an unfamiliar tug in your chest and you selfishly wish to see him again, despite how busy he may be with truly important things. You think of his gentle nature and the gut feeling, a disgusting mix of guilt and longing, spreads.

Guilt for both wishing something from a man that wasn’t fair, and for allowing yourself this wish. 

You want him to be there the next time you get a higher grade than Parker, which will hopefully be sooner than later, or the next time your coworker lets her lunch out onto the table where you sit and eat, which you pray will never happen again. 

You feels a moment of guilt for your wishful thinking before rolling over to get some sleep. 

[redskull199987]

i have two so I'll probably send them separately, but at the same time I feel like that would be a lot of notifications (also fem reader please); #1 is giving mike schmidt head under his desk while he's at work and stuff , #2 is like playing with mike's hair and stuff to help him sleep and cuddling with him , and #3 is mike bending reader over his desk and going to down because he's had a pretty bad shift and needs to relieve stress. you can just do one or all, it's up to you

First of all, this is only one of these three requsts, the second one to be precise. The others will follow of course, don't worry. Until then, I hope that you enjoy this one. I had lots of fun writing this:D

So hear my Voice, remind you not to bleed

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader Request Word Count:1.3k Warnings:tooth rotting fluff,kissing and hugging, that’s all, slight movie spoilers Summary:You knew that your Boyfriend had trouble falling asleep, so you did everything you could to help him find his way into sweet sweet dreamland…

Masterlist

You felt like shit. At least, that was the short version. And the longer one wasn't even that much longer. To put it simply, you had an awfully long week. And that was probably an underestimation. 

You fought murderous animatronics, a creepy dude in a bunny costume, a feral cupcake and after all that shit, you barely escaped with your life. And while you were fortunate and had only obtained a few minor scratches and bruises here and there, Mike had a few life threatening flesh wounds and Vannesa was lucky to be alive at all, after her father had stabbed her.

Your Bones ached and your head was pounding, as you finally made your way home. Unfortunately, you couldn’t just ask your Boss to give you a few days off because you had several Animatronic-induced wounds scattered over your body. Heck, you were happy you didn’t just lose your job after not showing up for three days in a row. 

All you could do was tell them that you got involved in a car accident and that you and your boyfriend had been in the hospital for a few days. Much to your favor, they believed you and the fact that Vanessa was still in the Hospital only backed up your little lie.

Your Mind was still racing, as you reached your little Home. It was already dark outside, as you stepped into the comfort of your Apartment. You saw Lights coming from the Living Room and the Sound of the TV slowly made its way into your Brain and pushed away the gruesome memories of the Pizza-Plex.

“Mike?”, You shouted into the darkness,”Abby? I’m Home.”

You didn’t receive an answer, so you quickly discarded your shoes and Jacket and walked into the Living Room. Only now, you noticed Abby sitting in front of the Sofa, drawing with her Crayons and listening to the sound of the TV.

“Hey Abbs.”, You smiled and leaned down to greet the little Girl. She practically beamed at you and gave you a small hug.

“Have You eaten yet? Where’s Mike?”, You quickly asked again as you rose back to your feet.

“Yes, we had Spaghetti with meatballs.”, Abby stated happily,”And Mike said he was tired and went to sleep already. He told me I could stay up for a little bit longer:”

“Okay then.”, You mumbled, gently running a hand through Abby’s Hair,”I’ll go join your Brother in Bed. Don’t stay up too late, okay Love?”

Abby nodded at you profusely before turning her focus back on the Half finished Drawing in front of her. You looked at her once more, before deciding to finally go see your Boyfriend in your shared bedroom. You knew that he was always tired. Even before you started dating. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

 But after recent events, his insomnia seemed to get severely worse. He could barely fall asleep anymore and even if he did, he’d be awake again a few hours later, jumping up with heavy breaths and a sweaty forehead. You always tried to comfort him and be there for him, but you still felt like you weren’t doing enough. Like, you should do more. But you didn’t know how.

With a sigh, You slowly pushed your bedroom door open. You were surprised as you realized that the lights were still on and Mike was sitting in the middle of the Bed, still fully dressed.

“Mike?”, You asked with furrowed brows,”Are You okay, my Love?”

He didn’t answer you at first. Only as you got closer and sat down next to him, he looked at you.

“S-Sorry, must’ve been lost in my thoughts again. I didn’t notice you coming in.”, Mike explained. His voice was raspy and tired. With a soft smile, you grabbed his hand, squeezing it lightly:”It’s okay, don’t worry. You wanna go to sleep?”

Mike only gave you a nod and got up to change into his sleeping attire,which consisted of a Shirt and some sweatpants. You quickly followed him over to the wardrobe and before he could pull off his hoodie, you carefully hugged him from behind, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I love You.”, you uttered against his skin. You could see how the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and the shiver that went down his spine.

“I love you too.”, Mike answered, taking a hold of your hands and turning around in your embrace. For the first time today he gave you a smile. A lazy one, but you saw that it was genuine. You quickly leaned forward, planting a kiss on his cheek, before you connected your lips with his in a tender kiss. You felt his hands wander to your waist and he pulled you closer. Warmth radiated off of his Body, while his lips worked against your own in passion.

As you finally parted due to the lack of oxygen, both Mike and you were panting against each other's lips. It was quiet for a few minutes and no one said anything, while the two of you just enjoyed each other's company.

But then you reached for the hem of his hoodie and as Mike realized what your plan was, he obediently raised his arms, so that you could pull the hoodie off of his body. After you let the Hoodie fall to the Floor, Mike grabbed the Hem of your sweater and the two of you repeated the whole action, but with your roles reversed this time. 

It didn’t take long, until you were both in your sleeping attires after you lazily helped changing each other.

With a drowsy smile, You grabbed Mike’s hand and pulled him back towards the bed. You had of course noticed that his expression wasn’t really the happiest, as he was afraid of having nightmares again. He had told you about them. It was always the same. He saw Abby, Vanessa or You getting stabbed by William Afton and there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t move or scream. He just had to witness it.

“Come here.”, You mumbled and held out your hand as you saw that Mike was hesitating to lay down. His gaze wandered from the sheets to your face and it seemed like the soft smile you gave him did the trick on him. He gently grabbed your hand and let himself be pulled down by you. As his head was laying comfortably in the crook of your neck and your hands were slowly brushing through his hair, Mike let out a deep sigh.

“It’s okay. I’m here with you, Mike.”, You mumbled into his ear. You felt how his arms slung around your waist, pulling you closer.

“I know.”, Mike muttered under his breath,”You’re here.”

He took a deep breath in again, before you finally felt his body relax against yours. You quickly grabbed the blanket, pulling it over the two of you.

“Just concentrate on my voice.”, you said, soothingly rubbing his back with one hand, while the other still brushed through his hair to calm him down,“Listen to my voice. You’re not alone. I’m here with you.”,

“You’re here with me.”, Mike repeated quietly. You only nodded and continued to mumble sweet nothings into his ear. And within Minutes, you felt his grip on you loosen ever so slightly, while his breath became more even.

With a soft smile, You kissed the crown of his head once more, before also letting your eyes fall shut. If Mike could sleep, you could sleep too. And if he woke up, You would wake up too, no matter what.

[sapphichotmess]

All I Do Is Dream of You

Ellie Williams x plus size!f!reader (not really specified, but that’s what I write)

Name inspired by Dodie’s song All I Do Is Dream of You

Even though this is not 18+, I am an 18+ blog, mdni

continuation of this

Warnings/Tags: horrendous writing with very little dialogue (bc idk how to human), fluff, reader wears makeup, reader is able-bodied, reader is right-handed

PLS COMMENT & RB FOR ME PLS

thanks for reading this for me babe @les4elliewilliams u deserve to be fucked so good <3

It has been several days since you were literally knocked off of your feet by one Ellie Williams. And every day since then has been better than the last. You two have been texting non-stop, giddily giggling into your phones with warm cheeks at all hours of the day. 

All it took was one meeting, and you were utterly captivated by the adorably dog-like auburn-haired woman, her presence—even if only by phone—filling your heart with a warmth you couldn't explain. 

You can’t get the woman out of your head, always seeing her pale green eyes piercing into you when you close yours. And don’t get you started on her adorable smile, her lips quirking up and parting, showcasing a slight bit of white teeth. You groan, staring into the mirror on your desk, right hand holding eyeliner up though doing nothing to put any on. All you can think of is the way her cheeks flushed adorably, highlighting the smattering of freckles on her face. You want to trace them—learn the pattern to a T. Learn everything about her, really. 

Your daydreaming is disrupted by the buzzing of your phone which is sat face-down on your bedspread, music blaring from it’s tiny-but-mighty speakers. You drop the eyeliner you were using to make the wing on your eye, drawing a black line down your cheek in your haste. Socked feet making gentle thudding on the hardwood floor, you reach your bed in record time. With your heart racing, you swiftly pick up your phone and flip it over to see the notification. It's another message from Ellie; the sight of her name sends a wave of excitement through you, your heart dropping from your chest out of your ass and a warm flush tickling your cheeks. With trembling fingers, you open the message, eager to see what she has to say. 

Ellie's message pops up on your screen, and you can't help but grin as you read her words:

heyyy you! just wanted to say hi and see how your day is going. i've been thinking about you bunches today. craving one of those bomb cupcakes you whip up... you know, those red ones with the fucking insane frosting? the one i had the other day?

Not bothering to wait more than a few seconds, you quickly type out a response, unable to hide your own excitement:

hi ellie! literally made my day hearing from you fr ❤️ 

you send one text, instantly starting on another:

oh, the red velvet ones? i won’t be making those in the shop for a bit… BUT i can totally open the bakery on an off day and make a batch for you?

Happy with your words, you go to sit down your phone again, butterflies swooping around aggressively in your stomach, but before you do, it’s vibrating in your hand. 

It was Ellie reacting to your first message with a heart. She must have been waiting for your reply—or you were being a horrible loser and texting back too fast. Shaking your head at that thought, you watch as the texting bubble appears, heart racing as you wait for her reply. 

You can't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of Ellie's response. Was she as eager to continue the conversation as you were? Or perhaps she had something else in mind? With bated breath, you wait for her message to come through, the seconds feeling like an eternity as your mind races with all the possibilities of what she might say. The anticipation only adds to the butterflies swirling in your stomach, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Finally, Ellie's response comes through, and you eagerly read her message:

DUDE, no way! opening the bakery just for us? that's fucking awesome! i'm so down to hang out with you, especially if it means i get to devour those bomb-ass cupcakes. hit me up whenever you're free!

A grin spreads across your face as you read her words, your heart soaring with happiness. It seems Ellie is just as excited about the idea as you are, and the thought of spending time together fills you with warmth. It would be the first time you guys would meet face-to-face since your first encounter. 

Fuck you couldn't wait to bask in the magnificence of her; her being in your space, filling her lungs with the very same air you breathe. 

You are in trouble if these thoughts are an indication of anything. 

Quickly typing out your reply, you suggest a few possible dates and times for your cupcake date, hoping that one of them will work for both of you. Positively beaming, eyes glimmering with youthful mirth, you finally set down your phone and turn on your sock-clad heels to head back toward your vanity. You make it halfway before you remember what day it is.

The bakery is closed. 

You could see Ellie today. 

Then, you’re slipping against the hardwood, trying to get back to the bed as quick as possible. You finally get your footing after sliding around and almost ending up on your ass, practically flying toward your bed and divebombing onto the soft mattress. Your phone bounces with the impact as you scramble to get to your knees and grab it from mid-air. Somehow, you end up on your back with your phone smashed onto your nose. 

Ouch. That's definitely going to leave a mark.

You grab your phone, scrubbing a hand at your sore nose. After the shock of the hit has left, you regain your urgentness, unlocking your phone, bringing up the messages app, and clicking on your and Ellie’s chat. 

Your fingers move at what seems like the speed of light as you type out a new message: 

so, um, funny thing... i was thinking, and why wait for your cupcakes when you could have them today? how about you swing by the bakery this afternoon?

Thinking for a second, you quickly send a second text:

we can even bake them together! how does that sound?

Nausea creeps up on you as you wait, heart racing and dry eyes staring at your messages to Ellie for several minutes without a text bubble. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, a bubble appears on the screen, only to disappear just as quickly. This pattern repeats a few times, leaving you on edge.

But then, finally, Ellie's response lights up your screen:

i'm so down for a baking session at the bakery. what time should i be there? 

A wave of relief washes over you as you read Ellie's enthusiastic reply—though you are confused as to why it took her so long to come up with this response. With a wide grin, you quickly type back the details, feeling excitement building in the pit of your stomach. 

Finally having that done, you put your phone back on the bed—hopefully for the last time for a while. Then, you finally sit back down at your vanity, ready to finish your makeup for the day. When you look in the mirror, your smile falters and your mouth hangs open in disbelief. 

There is a long, thick black line running across your cheek. 

“Fuck.” 

***

You’re just setting up everything you need for red velvet cupcakes when you hear the front doorbell ring. Your head snaps up so fast you’re surprised you don’t break your neck. However, any pain is worth seeing Ellie walk into your bakery looking so damn fine. 

The olive-skinned girl is wearing a pair of blue jeans that fit her ass nicely, a grey t-shirt, and a burnt-red flannel that looks well-loved with tearing seams and fading colors. Her shoulder-length auburn hair is pulled into a half-up, half-down look, with some stray hairs framing her face. Your hands itch to push them behind her ears, even standing at the distance you are. 

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you set the pan you had in your hands onto the counter with a clatter, causing Ellie to start. Making your way towards the front of the store where Ellie stands with hands in her pockets, you call out her name.  

"Ellie!" You greet her with a wide grin, unable to contain your excitement at seeing her—even if it was planned just short of an hour ago. 

“Ah, uh… Hey!” the freckled girl stutters out. “I… it’s good to see you?” 

“Was that a question?” you ask, hiding your smile behind your hand. 

“Uh, no?” Ellie says before realizing that she phrased her response as a question, too. “I mean, no. No, it wasn’t a question. I, um, I am excited to see you.” 

You can't help but find Ellie's nervousness adorable as she stumbles over her words. Suppressing a giggle, you offer her a reassuring smile, eyes crinkling on the edges. "Well, I'm excited to see you too," you reply warmly, noting the faint blush creeping up on her cheeks.

As Ellie's gaze drifts somewhere behind you and she nervously swipes her hand over her nose, you realize just how nervous she must be feeling. Wanting to ease her discomfort, you gently reach out and place a hand on her arm—holy shit, you didn’t realize she was strong, but you can feel her muscles under her flannel. "Hey, it's okay. No need to be nervous," you say softly, trying to ignore your thoughts about what she could do with that strength. "We're just here to have fun and bake some delicious cupcakes together."

Ellie’s green eyes finally meet yours again, though a crease forms between her eyebrows as she does. “I just, ah… you’re, like, stupidly pretty. And, you know, it’s really distracting.” Ellie's cheeks flush a deeper shade of red as she confesses, her final words coming out in a rush.

Your heart skips a beat at Ellie's unexpected compliment, and a warm flush of pleasure spreads through you. "Wow, thank you," you reply. "You're not so bad yourself, you know."

Ellie’s eyes widen in surprise at your compliment, her right hand coming back up to shuffle across her nose. “Ah, thank you?” 

Giggling at her utter lack of words or charm, you grab her hand as it falls from in front of her face. “C’mon! We have so much to do. I’m so excited to teach you how to bake!” you say in a high-pitched voice, obviously excited. 

Pulling her by the—fucking giant—hand to the back of the bakery where you do all the… well, baking, you continue, “I’m almost done setting up everything for us. There are a few ingredients I have to pull out since I wasn’t gonna be using them, but it shouldn’t be too long until we can start.” 

“I—oh,” Ellie lets out a strangled breath as she is suddenly dragged by you into the back room. “That’s okay. I’m just, uh, really excited for the cupcakes.” 

As you lead Ellie towards the back of the bakery, you can't help but chuckle at her adorable awkwardness. "Don't worry, I promise it'll be fun," you reassure her, looking behind you with a warm smile. "And don't worry about being nervous. Baking is all about having a good time and enjoying the process."

Ellie nods once, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, I'm sure it'll be great," she says, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Reaching the back room, you release Ellie's hand and gesture towards the kitchen area. "Here we are," you say, motioning for her to take a seat on one of the chairs you pulled back here from the dining room. "Make yourself comfortable while I grab the rest of the ingredients."

As you rummage through the cabinets and pull out the remaining ingredients needed for the cupcakes, you can't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of teaching Ellie how to bake. Getting to spend any time with the adorably awkward, puppy-like freckle-faced girl was a blessing, but getting to do your favorite thing with her? It’s a dream come true. 

Returning to the counter with an armful of ingredients, you grin at Ellie. "Alright, let's get started," you say eagerly. “First up, we have to… turn on the oven,” you stumble in the middle of your sentence as you get lost looking at Ellie’s tanned face, trying to memorize the placement of her paint-splattered freckles so that you could imagine her going do—that isn’t what today is about.

Ellie nods once, standing to her feet. “Sounds easy enough.” 

As Ellie stands up, hands on her knees to help her get up, you can't help but admire the way her eyes sparkle with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as she looks at you. Holy shit, she’s looking at you. "Great!" you exclaim, shaking off your momentary distraction—for the hundredth time—and focusing on the task at hand. "Let's get this show on the road."

Together, you and the freckle-faced girl move towards the oven, your hands brushing against each other as you reach for the knob. Heat crawling up your neck and over the apples of your cheeks, you quickly move your hand and turn the knob to 350 degrees Fahrenheit, the soft hum of the oven heating up filling the air.

Still hot in the face, you turn toward Ellie, "Okay, next step, cupcake pans," you say, gesturing toward the neatly lined trays on the counter. With Ellie by your side, arms brushing, you grab the pans and place them on the counter, ready to put the liners in. 

As you work, you steal glances at Ellie, admiring her focused expression as she carefully places each cupcake liner in its designated spot like it’s some kind of science experiment that could go wrong. Her tongue slightly sticking out of her plump lips in concentration is definitely cuter than it should be. 

What you weren’t ready for was to have the auburn-haired girl turn her head and look at you as you distractedly stared at her, unable to shake the image of her soft, freckled cheeks, long, slender fingers, and strong arms from your mind. 

Caught off guard by Ellie's piercing green gaze, you feel your heart skip a beat as you quickly avert your eyes. Clearing your throat, you focus on the task at hand, determined to maintain composure.

"Um, so, uh, yeah," you stammer, trying to regain your train of thought. "Looks like we're all set with the cupcake pans." You can practically feel the heat radiating from your cheeks as you turn back to the task, hoping to distract yourself from the intensity of Ellie's gaze.

With a shaky hand, you reach for the extra cupcake liners, trying to steady your nerves as you carefully place them back in a stack, ready for you to put away later. 

When you're done—and your hands aren’t shaking anymore—you finally drag your gaze back to Ellie. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize she is still looking at you. Her green gaze—what you can only describe as a moss-covered forest bathed in warm, sparkling sunlight—feels like taking a knife to the heart, her head tilt—so dog-like—a sucker punch to the gut. You want her eyes on you forever—to bask in the warmth of her eyes and bathe in the depths of her soul—you realize as your heart tries to beat out of your chest. 

Somehow, you find it within yourself to tear your eyes away from Ellie’s; it’s one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, and you run a bakery by yourself. Clearing your throat and staring at the prepped pans, you say, “Ah, um, we can start making the batter now, I guess.” 

Ellie doesn’t hold in her laugh at your obvious discomfort, her melodic laughter filling the room with a warmth that soothes your frayed nerves. Despite the embarrassment of being caught in a moment of vulnerability, you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you at the sound of her laughter.

"Yeah, let's get started on that batter," Ellie says, her voice laced with amusement as she reaches for the ingredients on the counter. “What do we start with, pretty girl?”

“I–uh, holy shit…”

The freckled girl laughs even harder at your stunned expression, mouth hanging open and eyebrows raised. “Close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies,” she says, lips quirked up as she nudges your chin with her hand. 

Her hand on you gets your mind racing in all different directions before you remember where you are. Snapping your gaping mouth shut, teeth clacking together, you gather yourself. “Uh yeah… we have to, ah… start with the dry ingredients.” 

Ellie hums a “Mhmm” out, mouth still curved in a cocky smile as she tilts her head again—her stupidly pretty auburn hair catching the midday light filtering in from the window—leaning her hip against the counter. 

“We have to shift the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking powder, and baking soda together into… this large bowl.” you point at every ingredient when you name them, picking up the stainless steel bowl when you find it.

“Sounds easy enough.” 

This time, it’s you who hums an answer as you put the bowl down and grab the ingredients to start measuring. “If I measure, would you shift, Ellie?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” she gives you a little salute. 

So, as you hand over every measured dry ingredient, Ellie shifts it into the bowl. Her tongue makes another appearance as she focuses on getting every ingredient into the bowl with no spillage, causing you to overfill the ¼ teaspoon of baking soda. You quickly get the right amount into the teaspoon and clean up your mess, wiping your hands on your apron. 

“Okay, now that’s done, we have to add the salt and whisk everything together.” 

Ellie reaches for the salt, adding it to the bowl as you grab the whisk. She slides the bowl over to you, watching intently as you whisk. It’s one of the most mundane, boring parts of the baking process, yet she looks so entranced by the whisk circling the bowl, mixing the ingredients together. 

Once everything is thoroughly mixed, you tap the whisk on the bowl and set it aside, putting your hands on your hips and turning towards the girl leaning casually on your counter. “Can I trust you with a knife?” 

“Wh–I–Yes!” She splutters, eyebrows raised. 

Giggling quietly to yourself, hand over your mouth, you shake your head. Dropping your hand, you say, “Sorry, I just had to ask. I need you to cut the butter if you could, please.”

“How could I say no to those puppy dog eyes, hmm?” 

This time, it’s you who splutters, caught off guard. Instead of deigning the tease with a response, you turn your back to Ellie, hiding your burning face and grabbing the stand mixer you equipped with a paddle attachment. When that’s set up, and you can feel the burning embarrassment leave your face, you turn to Ellie, who is wielding a knife, cutting the room-temperature butter into uneven pieces. 

“Babe, it’s gotta be more uniform than that.”

Ellie’s head snaps up, eyebrows furrowed, pupils blown wide, and knife almost cutting into her fingers. “Wh–what did you just call me?”

Caught in a moment of panic, you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to come up with a plausible explanation. The air feels thick with tension, every second stretching out into an eternity as you search for the right words to say. You hadn’t even realized you said it; it came so naturally, calling the auburn-haired girl babe. “I… nothing, nothing at all,” you spit out quickly, eyes going wide. 

“Nah-uh, you called me ‘babe.’” A loud clattering sound makes you startle, your eyes moving from Ellie’s piercing greens to the knife that just hit the countertop. 

"I… I didn't mean to," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. "It just… slipped out."

Ellie's gaze remains fixed on you, you can feel it like a weight on your skin, pinning you in place as you struggle to regain your composure.

“Look at me,” she demands. You follow her directions immediately, your gaze taking in her expression. She looked almost dazed with a quizzical brow as she scratched her head.

"I'm sorry," you continue, your words tumbling out in a rush. "It was just a slip of the tongue. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."

For a moment, the silence hangs heavy between you, broken only by the sound of your own rapid breathing. And then, without warning, Ellie's features soften, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"It's okay," she says softly, her voice like a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. 

As Ellie's soft smile spreads across her face, her pearly whites making an appearance, a sense of relief washes over you like a warm embrace. Your shoulders drop from where they had taken a place beside your ears, and tension leaks out of you like butter in a baking croissant. The weight that had been pressing down on you lifted away like a heavy fog dispersing in the morning sun.

"Thanks," you murmur, gratitude lacing your words as you meet Ellie's gaze once more. Her eyes hold a warmth that makes your heart flutter, a silent reassurance that everything is okay between you.

With a playful glint in her eye, Ellie leans closer, her voice a soft whisper falling from her plump lips that sends shivers down your spine. "You know," she says, her tone teasing, "I don't mind being called babe."

Your heart skips a beat at her words.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you lean in, unable to resist the magnetic pull of Ellie's presence. "Good to know," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'll try to remember that for next time."

As the last of the tension melts away like butter as it’s baked into the delicious treats you make, you and Ellie dive into the joyful task of baking red velvet cupcakes together. With each step of the recipe, you find yourselves falling into a comfortable rhythm, working seamlessly together as if you've been doing this for years.

The scent of cocoa and vanilla fills the air as you and Ellie chat and laugh, exchanging stories and getting to know each other on a deeper level. From childhood memories to dreams for the future, you two open your hearts and minds to each other. 

As the cupcakes bake in the oven, you steal glances at Ellie, admiring the way her eyes light up when she talks about her passions and the infectious laughter that bubbles up from within her. 

And when the cupcakes are finally cooled and ready, their red tops gleaming with perfection, you and Ellie decorate the cupcakes with swirls of cream cheese frosting and a sprinkle of red velvet crumbs together, playfully bumping shoulders and laughing at Ellie’s attempts at decorating. 

As you sit down to enjoy the fruits of your labor, savoring each bite of the moist, decadent cupcakes, you realize that this is just the beginning of a beautiful friendship—and perhaps something more. 

[fluentmoviequoter]

Make the Wall

Dalton Lambert x fem!reader | fluff | 0.8k+ words (blurb)

A/N: I found another forgotten Dalton blurb. I hope you enjoy!

“Stop fidgeting,” Dalton commands, not looking up from his sketch pad.

“You’re making me nervous,” you respond.

Dalton stills his pencil, glancing up at you. He cocks his head to the side and focuses on your eyes.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much.” You look away from him as his gaze intensifies.

“So, what if I am? You agreed to let me draw you,” Dalton argues with a smile.

You groan and fall over onto his bed, hiding your face in your folded arms.

“I can’t draw you if I can’t see you.”

“Then draw something else.”

“No other models as pretty as you,” Dalton says as he nudges your arms out of the way to see your face.

“Shut up,” you mumble. Dalton smiles and you don’t give him a chance to respond before you add, “If you tell me to make you I will punch you into Chris’ room.”

“You wound me. I just want to draw and you’re depriving me. I think, whoa, I think I feel faint,” he exclaims, raising a hand to his forehead.

“Dalton, don’t!”

You try to move out of the way but are too slow. Dalton lands on top of you, his arms holding yours to your side as his face is directly in front of yours.

“You don’t have to draw me now. You can just hold up the flat piece of paper, now that you’ve crushed me,” you tease, leaning your head forward to brush your nose with his.

“I love you,” he says.

“Got a weird way of showing it, Lambert.”

“But it’s my way, Lambert.”

“What?”

Dalton shrugs and raises his hands to cup your face, holding himself up on his elbows. “Figure we’ll get married sooner rather than later, might as well start now.”

“Shut up,” you repeat, much quieter now.

“Make-“

You cut Dalton off with a kiss, holding the sides of his shirt in your hands as he reciprocates your movements. When you remember what he said, you push him away and smile at the furrow between his brows.

“I love you.”

Dalton smiles and stands up, pulling you with him.

“I need to go buy a new sketchbook, wanna come?”

“Didn’t you just get that one?” you ask, pointing to the one he bought just a few weeks before.

“It’s full,” he answers, grabbing his phone and a jacket.

“May I?”

“Of course.”

You open the sketchbook and see a drawing of you, then flip through and see dozens more.

“Dalton, what are all these?”

He takes the book from your hands and sets it on his desk. His hands raise to hold your jaw and he kisses your forehead before speaking.

“You’re right. We should get the biggest canvas we can find so I can put the next one on the wall.”

You lean your head forward and groan into his chest.

“You’re so in love with me it’s sickening,” you say as you wrap your arms around him.

“Right back at you.”

You step back as Dalton flips his sketchbook to his most page. He sets it on his desk, where he had been working to draw you, and takes a seat.

“You have an empty spot,” you point out as you lay on Dalton’s bed.

“What?” he asks, looking up from his art project before he can focus on it again.

“Right there.” You point to a spot on his wall that doesn’t have any artwork on it.

Dalton nods and puts his pencils away, then wipes his hands as he stands and moves beside the bed. He smiles down at you then looks up at the wall.

“I think I have just the thing.”

You watch as he flips through his sketchbook before removing a page. He stands on his bed, careful not to step on you, and attaches it to the wall with glue dots. Once secured, he drops to his knees and lays down beside you, slipping his arm under your head and encouraging you to move closer. You move to place your head on his chest and get a better look at the new drawing.

“Dalton,” you gasp as you sit up.

“Yeah?” he asks, smiling as he watches you.

“You drew me?”

“Several times. That one’s my favorite though.”

You remember the day; you had saved him from an afternoon of socializing with Chris and ended up sitting in a park for hours.

“When did you do that?”

“That night, after I came back. I just couldn’t get you out of my head.”

You smile and lay on top of Dalton, hugging him tightly. He wraps his arms around you, leaning his head against yours.

“Hey, I made the wall!” you say excitedly, sitting up again to look at Dalton.

“You could be the entire wall with how many sketches of you are over there.” Dalton smiles and brushes his hand along your cheek.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Drawing me. Loving me.”

“I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

You lean forward and kiss Dalton, letting your actions tell him that you feel the same.

[petertingle-yipyip]

STRANGER (viii) - KAZ BREKKER

tags: @beekeepingageissome @shadowzena43 @nikfigueiredo @mp-littlebit @starmansirius @hadesnumber1daughter @directioner5life @strvngestark @hostilityghost @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @justnerdystuffs // previously // next

Pairing: Kaz x Davina Rollins (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 6,076

Summary: Kaz Brekker complicates everything. Whether or not he knows it, Davina doesn’t know, but the whirlwind of confusing feelings is only beginning as far as he is concerned. But one fading battle is replaced quickly by another.

That sick squelching sound of your blade pulling free haunted you, even weeks after the Dryden job.

Kol and Melli were waiting for you at the Rook. Once you parted with Inej, who you owed in a way you didn’t think you’d repay any time soon, you snuck back to your gambling hall and made it to your office. You practically collapsed once you shut that door. Both of them had already been inside, hauling you to your chair before Kol got to work on your seeping wounds.

“Saints, Davina!” Melli chastised you anxiously. You noted the frayed cuff of her shirt and the thread stuck under her fingernail. “We thought you were dead!”

“Nearly.” Kol frowned. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, Davina.”

“I know.” You nodded. “Thank the Wraith I’m alive.”

“The Wraith?” Melli paled.

“She heard you two when you were passing through, went to see what was happening.” You winced as Kol pulled gently on the knotted fabric around one of the wounds. “If she hadn't shown up, Pekka would’ve put a bullet in my skull.”

Neither of them had anything to say after that, but you didn’t miss the look they exchanged.

Adrenaline wore off as he was about halfway through the knife wound and you let yourself fall into the darkness of unconsciousness.

You woke several hours later. Melli was asleep at her desk and Kol had brought in a chair for himself. He was folded atop a corner of her desk as well. You smiled slightly at their dedication before running your fingers over the various new scars. They were faint, invisible in the darkness of your office, but you could feel them. The only one that really stood out was the chunk taken out of your palm’s edge.

The only good thing about that night was that your small crew was paid the kruge you were promised.

You didn’t tell either of them anymore of what happened at the Dryden Estate after they left. You couldn’t tell them, which only made the memory of the night weight heavier on your conscience. Killing someone in the Barrel was inevitable, you had accepted that from the minute you decided to leave your father behind, but you were naive enough to believe you could avoid it for a little while longer.

You were sitting on the roof near the Slat one night when the silence was particularly unbearable. You had just sat with Kol as he received his snake, which he decided would wrap around his bicep. He hardly said anything, only squeezed your hand occasionally while Melli was inking his skin.

Your clothes were all black and with your hood drawn, you hoped you blended into the shadows. The busy sounds of a Ketterdam night helped, allowing you to lose yourself for minutes at a time in your drawing - that night’s focus was the poison driven vision of Kaz in the sunlight - but when you closed your eyes for too long, you saw the bloodied blade. You felt blood on your hands. You heard your voice, cold and distant.

No, I don’t think you will.

You looked around the roofs and noticed a familiar window open. You saw Kaz go by and you felt your stomach lurch. Surely he had killed someone, given how many tales had formulated around his name. He himself had said that there was enough truth in every tale, so he had to have some blood on his hands.

You crept across the roof and positioned yourself near his windowsill. It wasn’t until your back was against the Slat that you questioned what you were doing.

Why would you go to Kaz for comfort? He would laugh at you, realize you were mentally weak and target you. Your snakes would fall apart and you’d lose everything. Every threat you made to your father, every warning that you and Kaz would take his empire out from under him, would mean nothing. You caught sight of your drawing and it truly settled that you had nothing.

“I know you’re out there.” Kaz spoke from the window and you flinched. You quickly turned towards the windowsill and he was already looking at you. Immediately, your thought was the drawing. “What are you doing here?”

You quietly shrugged and shifted your papers under your cloak, unable to trust your words.

“Do you intend to stay out here all night?”

Another quiet shrug.

Kaz sighed and offered you his hand. Hesitantly, you accepted it and let him bring you in, finding comfort in the familiar feeling of his leather gloves. Once you were inside, you pushed your hood back and found something to occupy your attention so you wouldn’t have to look at him. Instead, you admired the DeKappel painting he had hanging in his office.

“Davina.” He said simply. It was simple but you could hear the underlying meaning. Why are you here? What happened?

You took a deep breath and turned to face him. “Have you… How many…” You dropped your eyes and ran a hand over your face.

“Inej told me about the Dryden job.” He said instead and you looked up at him. You crossed your arms under your cloak, feeling as if you could crumble in on yourself. “She said it went bad for you.”

“The Dime Lions showed up.” You confirmed. “Shot me, twice, cut my arm, took a chunk out of my palm.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Got us ten thousand kruge.” You shrugged.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” You tried to sound casual, but the unamused expression he wore told you otherwise. “I believe it was you who once said profit was your father and Ketterdam your mother.”

“My father isn’t the one causing trouble. Tell me, in your own words, what happened that night.”

“Pekka Rollins admitted he’s finally disowned me. He had a gun pointed to my forehead. He would’ve done it if Inej hadn't shown up.”

“Is that what this is about? Pekka disowning you.” The disbelief in his tone and on his face made you want to strangle him. He had to be messing with you. There was no way he thought that was true.

“No, I don’t care about that.” You wished you could be smaller, just to avoid Kaz’s intent stare. “I care about what I did.”

“And what did you do, Vina?”

“I killed one of them.” You snapped and you felt the blood drain from your face. Kaz seemed unfazed and it made you want to slap him. Or scream at him. Or hug him. It was such a mess in your head. “I put my knife in him, right here.” You pointed to the spot on your own abdomen. “He threatened to kill me, said he’d do it himself, so I pulled the knife out and his blood coated my hands. It took me four times to get it from under my nails.”

“You did the right thing. He likely would’ve come for you, your lieutenant, your Heartrender. None of your Snakes would’ve been safe.”

“The right thing?” You laughed in disbelief. “The right thing? No, Brekker, the right thing would’ve been to let Pekka kill me and be done with it. The right thing would’ve been to have never started this war against him. The right thing would’ve been to-“

You closed your mouth quickly. You didn’t dare finish that sentence, even though the thought was very clear in your head. The right thing would’ve been to come to you in the first place instead of thinking I could do this. The right thing would’ve been to be at your side instead of against you.

It was a traitorous thought, born out of contempt for who you were now. Killing a man changed the foundation of who someone was, and ever since you did, all you could think was that you were no better than your surname.

“I haven’t told Melli or Kol.” You confessed, hoping to steer the conversation away from you near admission. Letting Kaz know you doubted your ability to lead was as much a death sentence as letting Pekka know, and you would risk neither. “How can I?”

“You underestimate their trust in you.” Kaz said matter of factly. “They wouldn’t follow you this long into a battle so blindly if they didn’t have faith in you.”

“But does killing a man so coldly not make me exactly like him? I am my father’s daughter, I’ve claimed it a hundred times when it serves me, but I don’t want to be his daughter like this.”

Kaz sighed and gestured for you to follow. You didn’t move. Instead of following, you look back at the DeKappel. You remembered hearing rumors that it had been lifted from one of the merchant houses, that the job was so clean it was either multiple people or a ghost. You understood then that it was, in fact, both. Multiple ghosts.

You heard an impatient throat clear from the other room so you breathed a heavy sigh then headed over. Kaz gestured for you to sit on his bed and you found the setting familiar. He went over to a set of three mirrors, watching you in the reflection, while he carefully removed his gloves.

“You are not Pekka.” He said purposefully. You fidgeted slightly and felt the rustle of papers under your cloak and against your torso. Gently, you reached under the fabric and counted they were all there. “Killing one man, who would’ve killed you and everyone you care about, does not change who you are.”

“How would you know?” You challenged, though the words lacked any venom. “You don’t know me anymore, Brekker.”

“Don’t I?” He turned, crossing his arms and hiding his hands. “I know exactly who you are, Davina. You haven’t changed much since we were kids.”

“Neither of us are that same kid anymore.” You shook your head sadly. “You told me the boy I knew died. What’s to say the girl you knew didn’t as well?”

“Part of that girl, maybe.” He came and sat beside you, leaning his elbows to his knees. You shifted back slightly to ensure he had his space. “But in your heart, you haven’t changed. Instead of fighting the neighborhood kids, you’re fighting your father.”

“He’ll best me. He always does.”

“He’s yet to truly best you, Dear, because you sit here in one piece. You live and breathe and you fight, because that is what we do. We never stop fighting.”

The weight of his last sentence sat like an anvil in your chest. Regretfully, you knew he was right. Kaz had been fighting since he was a child, since you last saw him with his brother rightfully beside him. Your fight didn’t start until later, when you had the confirmation that Pekka’s greed had been the cause of their deaths. 

“I’m not in one piece.” You said shakily, trying to swallow the threatening tears. “I can’t stand the silence anymore because all I hear is the sound of my knife. I can’t look Melli in the eyes knowing I’m hiding this from her. I’ve worked so hard to convince her - and myself - that I am more than just another Rollins, willing to kill those against me and steamroll whoever I have to. And all that’s gotten me is kidnapped, beaten, deceived, poisoned. Having my mother’s heart has done nothing for me.”

“Your mother’s heart is not a curse.” He said firmly. A tear escaped at that and you wiped it away harshly. “For it to survive so long in you makes it strong. It makes you strong, Vina.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t call you Kazzle anymore, now do I?”

“Tell me.”

“Because it makes me think that…” You let out a shaky breath. You’d already confessed so much to Kaz that night. What did one more matter? You planned to drink yourself into a stupor upon your return to the Rook anyway so you wouldn’t remember any of it. “That you and I don’t have to hate each other. That we can find a way back to what we had before… It was sweet and real.”

“Sweetness in the Barrel doesn’t last.” He almost sounded regretful. His gaze went down to his hands and yours followed.

His fingers were long and slender, riddled with scars from fights. You wondered if he remembered where each one came from. Kaz had to be like the crows he claimed as far as his memory was concerned. He wouldn’t forget those who were kind, same as he wouldn’t forget those who crossed him. Maybe that meant he remembered everything about his own history.

He had the hands of a lockpick, you decided. You didn’t need to see him work to know he could get through any lock in record time. Not only that, but he had the hands of an illusionist. His sleights were known across the Barrel, and they said even if you could see Brekker’s hands, that didn’t mean you were safe. Nothing was safe if Dirtyhands was around.

“Do you know why I wear gloves?” He said suddenly.

You brought your eyes to his face but he wasn’t looking at you. He was very intently staring at a spot on the floor where two boards touched.

“No one truly knows.” You shrugged. “Some say you have talons, others say just bones. Once I heard that your hands were rotten and the flesh was barely hanging on.”

He smirked slightly, head dipping for a moment before he turned to face you. You’d never seen him so vulnerable. You almost felt as if you were intruding, and in a way, maybe you were.

“When the bodymen picked us up, I wasn’t dead, but I was dropped in the harbor all the same.” He began and you felt a coldness under your skin. Goosebumps raised on your arms and you wrapped them around yourself under your cloak. “To get back, I had to swim.”

“Those waters are torture to swim. They’re freezing more often than not.” You thought of the day he practically threw you into the canals, your chattering teeth and trembling hands as you got back to your building.

“Yes… The living tend to sink, but the dead…”

“Saints, Kaz. That must’ve been horrible.” You breathed. You automatically reached a hand for his shoulder, to offer some comfort, but as you did, the true realization dawned on you. Instantly, your hand vanished back under your cloak. “That’s why you practically shut down in that alley, when I touched you.”

He nodded, a single dip of his chin.

“Why would you tell me this?” You asked, looking at his slender fingers for a second. You imagined his younger, smaller hands having to cling to the cold and swollen body, desperate to return to land. It made you sick, not so much for the action but for the cause.

Pekka Rollins did more than kill Kaz’s brother. He truly tortured Kaz Rietveld, scarred him permanently in a way you had a feeling you’d barely seen the surface of. How else had Pekka ruined your old friend?

“You shared a secret with me.” He turned to face you and you met his eyes. You also felt his hand land on your leg but you didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s only fair I share one with you.”

“And you trust me to know this?” Your hand found his forearm, ensuring you didn’t cross the barrier of his sleeve.

“You trust me to know yours?”

“No.” You laughed slightly. “But I had no one else to tell and you would’ve found out sooner or later.”

His arm gently twisted under your hand and you glanced down. His hand was now palm up towards you, as if quietly asking for yours. You looked back at him with questioning eyes but neither of you dared to move.

You were quickly trying to figure out what Kaz was doing.

Kaz wasn’t even quite sure what he was doing. Telling Davina that he couldn’t stand physical touch was one thing. Most people he interacted with figured it out in one way or another, but it was the why that no one ever knew.

But Davina wasn’t like anyone else, not to him at least. They were tethered in a way he was yet to understand. They always had been. As kids, they took to each other almost instantly. She weaved intricate backstories for their games and he loved to hear her talk. He had an interest in the street magicians and she plotted how to sneak away and go see them. If he scraped his knee, she was there with a cloth and kind words. If she was smiling, he was too.

He was hers, in any and every way a person could be, but he fought it now. As he grew into Dirtyhands, he forced that connection to the back of his mind. He hoped every vile action he had taken would chip away it, leave it severed and pathetic by the time she showed her face again. However, it all sparked back to life when she spoke to him as her true self that night she escaped the Emerald Palace.

In another life, maybe. He tried to convince himself. He pretended he believed that. But if there was ever a Saint that paid him a passing glance, he asked them for it to be his life now.l

She threw all of his thoughts into a whirlwind. He wanted to see her as nothing but Pekka’s prodigy, the heir to the Lion’s kingdom, but she was far from it. She was her own woman, a new Barrel Boss. The Rollins Princess, yes, but underneath every title she was stil just Vina to him.

Her smile still sparked something in his chest. Her voice sent his stomach into an acrobatic performance. Her laugh made him dizzy in the best way. She was everything good, everything that he yearned for without even knowing. She was his. But he could never say that to her.

So he shoved it all down as best he could, buried it under foul act upon foul act. He wanted to snuff out those embers in the very depth of his soul, those cursed feelings were so embedded. It wasn’t Dirtyhands Brekker with those feelings, but Kaz Rietveld who was supposed to be dead.

Davina was his revival and he cherished her as much as he hated her.

You wondered how long you two had stayed in that position. Kaz said nothing to you, lost in his own thoughts. Was he plotting a way to kill you, take the knife from under your cloak and drive in your chest? For a fleeting moment, you thought of death as a relief.

But as you slowly dragged your hand down Kaz’s arm, you wondered if that was wrong. When you reached his cuff, you angled your wrist so your fingertips were barely touching him. With bated breaths, you let your fingertips ghost along the length of his palm and down his middle finger. He flinched at the contact but did nothing else.

Finally, both of your hands returned to yourself and rested in your lap. He looked down at his own hand as if he was mystified. Whatever sensation he felt wasn’t what he expected. You smiled to yourself, foolishly hoping that you had found a way you could make amends to Kaz. If you could mend this one thing for him, allow him to interact fully with those around him instead of lingering in the outskirts, you could put to bed the fears that you were no more than your surname. Your mother’s heart could prevail.

Your thoughts stalled when you felt the faintest brush of knuckles against your cheek. You looked at Kaz and found his eyes watching you intently, as if he wanted to memorize your reaction. Your eyes were wide and you didn’t move, like you were interacting with a jumpy animal. One sudden move and they’d claw your eye out.

“When I was here last, I saw you.” You said suddenly and instantly regretted it. “In my dreams.”

His brows raised but he seemed more focused on whatever he was testing out. You felt him gently push your hair over your shoulder and his fingertips ghosted the side of your neck.

“I imagined what life could’ve been if Pekka hadn’t been so cruel…” You pulled the drawing for your cloak and glanced at it once more. As usual, your capture of Kaz’s features was as if it was a mirror, but he wore an expression you had only created in your haze. Closed eyes with a content smile, face turned towards the sun. You handed it to him and his fingers brushed yours.

You thought of making a comment, something about the touching and how he wasn’t exactly avoiding it, but you quickly decided against it. You liked the fleeting contact, and after the way you’d been torturing yourself with your secrecy, you wanted to allow yourself temporary comfort. You could pretend that you had Kaz still, even if it was only for that night, only in his room.

As soon as you would choose to leave, you’d be back to Dirtyhands against the Hood. The Dregs against the Snakes. The Rollins Princess against the Bastard of the Barrel.

So you let yourself be just Davina and Kaz, two kids forced apart and now finding their way to… something.

“You thought of me?” He asked, sounding almost breathless.

You shrugged and were glad he was looking at the sketch just so he wouldn’t see the blush spreading across your cheeks. “It may have had something to do with the fact that you were the last person I saw, or just that gnawing guilt I live with.”

His eyes met yours and they were noticeably softer than the way he normally looked. The Barrel had reshaped so much about him. You respected the man he had become, feared him enough to know the limits you could push him. Just like he said to you that not everything had changed, he still had some of his childhood traits too. A perfect example was those shining eyes, taking in a new wonder. It was a look you remembered from when you two snuck to East Stave to watch the street performers, but it left as quickly as it came.

“I should probably go.” You said finally. You had felt something shift between you two and it made you dizzy, like the world was tilting under your feet. You carefully stood, offering a kind smile as he stood with you. “Thank you for the chat. What are you charging for advice these days?”

He offered half a smile before reaching for his cane. He lifted your drawing as he followed you to the next room. “I’d say we’re even, Dear.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever be even.” You swung a leg out the window and looked back at him. He leaned against the wall near the opening.

“Davina?”

“Kaz.”

He seemed to reconsider what he was going to say. Your head tilted in quiet question but he sighed inwardly instead. The end of his cane tapped your thigh. You wondered if that was his way of telling you something, but you didn’t quite know what that was. You smiled at him regardless.

“We'll see each other soon.” You promised. “We always do.”

You didn’t wait for a response, partly because you knew there were enough pieces of you that would sit and wait in that windowsill forever, just to hear any and every word he had for you. It was unlikely you and Kaz could have that, not with his Crows counting on him and your Snakes counting on you. So you climbed out the window and back to your building.

At least the silences weren’t all consuming now and while the sound of the knife and tone of your voice still echoed in your head, it wasn’t going to suffocate you anymore. You could make peace with what you’d done. At least Kaz had given you that if nothing else.

You didn’t see much of him or the Dregs for weeks after that. It was better, you knew, but you still found yourself looking for them. Maybe you could catch a glimpse of Inej in the shadows, hear the tap of Kaz’s cane in a crowd, see the glint of Jesper’s revolvers. But those never happened. You knew you and Kaz weren’t really allies, but you weren’t exactly nemesis anymore either.

It was all rather confusing.

You and Melli were dressing in your bedroom one night. You had received an invite a few days prior to an event at the Emerald Palace. It was said that all Bosses in the Barrel received the invite, which meant that Pekka wanted to make a spectacle of something. It was a show of power, some sort of new acquisition he wanted to flaunt and was practically demanding an audience for.

“Are we sure we should go to this?” Melli asked as she pulled in the front laces of her bodice.

You convinced her to wear a dress, and she had grumbled an argument ever since, but that didn’t stop her from pulling out the best thing she owned. She dawned a dark purple dress, white ruffles lining the neckline of the corset bodice. The long sleeves hung off her shoulders but you carefully adjusted and pinned them to make sure the snake that started at the top of her shoulder was hidden.

“Not going is exactly what he wants.” You explained, fastening the front buttons of the waistcoat you were wearing over your dress.

The neckline of the dress came about two inches up your throat, which you chose to keep your snake covered, and had long sleeves with snug cuffs that easily concealed a strapped on sheath for a blade. The waistcoat added two more hidden sheaths on your ribs, deep enough for throwing knives to completely hide in. The soft skirt hung loosely around your legs, but you wore short pants under just in case you had to run or fight. 

“He’s counting on me not going.” You continued. “I’m sure it’s just some brag fest about a new acquisition or something ridiculous. We’ll make an appearance, hear his spiel on his newfound power, and quietly leave.”

A quick three taps sounded on your door before it cracked open. “May I come in?” Kol asked.

“Come in, come in.” Melli beamed. You noticed she shook out her hair and brushed away imaginary lint.

He entered with a dark red shirt, a subtle nod to his Corporalnik heritage. He wore black trousers and a black waistcoat. He explained that he chose his outfit based on the kefta Heartrenders wore. The outfit suited him.

After a few finishing touches, the three of you made your way to the Emerald Palace. The doorman refused to let you in, even after you flashed the invitation you had slipped up your sleeve. He wasn’t amused by your summoning of the paper. When you wouldn’t leave, he went off to find Pekka.

“The guest of honor!” Pekka announced as he saw you. Your brows furrowed for a moment before you smiled politely.

You and your friends were led to a table at the front of a stage. The curtains were drawn and you wondered what theatrics your father had in mind. Soon after your arrival, you saw Kaz, Jesper, and Inej be led to a table beside you. Kaz ended up taking the chair closest to you.

Jesper smiled widely at you. Inej offered a polite nod. Kaz only looked at you for a moment. You waved slightly to all of them before a waiter appeared at your table.

You denied any sort of drink. After what happened at the Crow Club, you were taking no chances.

Kaz had two drinks brought to him. A few moments after they arrived, you felt a tap on your arm. You looked over and he offered you one of the glasses. You raised a brow, but he nodded slightly. A silent exchange that you both understood perfectly.

Can I trust this drink?

I wouldn’t give it to you if you couldn’t.

You took it with a small smile and turned back to your table. Immediately, Melli grabbed your hand and began teasing you for the interaction. You shook your head in amusement but Kol still stared daggers at Kaz. Clearly, your friend hadn’t forgiven Kaz for that night at the Exchange.

And when you thought about it, did you? Or were you just ignoring it?

The idle chatter seemed to drag on. You maintained ample conversation with your friends until finally, the curtain raised and the room silenced.

A performer came out, dawning a long wig that was eerily similar to your own altered hair color. You shifted slightly in your seat as you noticed the gaudy feather boa around their neck and down their arm, cut and pinned to the elbow of their sleeve. The outfit was remarkably close to what you tended to wear, down to a lazy replica of the Grisha made vest.

“Is that supposed to be…” Kol hesitantly pointed out.

“Who is that performer?” Melli asked quietly.

“Is that Poppy?” You heard Jesper.

“Who’s Poppy?” You leaned towards him.

“They used to perform at the Club.” Kaz explained. “Until they claimed to have a better offer… Seems we know what that means.”

You looked back at the stage, eyes burning and jaw clenched. Pekka had a play drawn up to make a mockery of you and the Snakes, and he wanted every gang in the Barrel to see it, but you didn’t understand why. It seemed petty and trivial, but it also seemed just the spectacle  he would make. You looked over at Melli and Kol to gauge their reactions. Melli was confused, her brows furrowed and her eyes wide, but only you would know to check her hands. They were both in her lap and the small movement told you she was worrying away at the cuff of her sleeve. Kol was angry. You could see the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the fidget of his fingers.

The actor, Poppy, played out various scenes. The play fabricated how you met Melli and how you met Kol. Both were apparently people you slept with. That got a few good laughs from the crowd and you could feel Kaz staring at you for those scenes.

You didn’t look at him.

The play went on to your first encounter at the Emerald Palace. The actor playing Pekka showed him being merciful, pleading for his daughter back and offering her sanctuary with the Lions, while Poppy portrayed you as cold, striking down your father mid-sentence. That scene you were alright with.

The night at the Exchange. Again Kaz looked at you and again Poppy portrayed you as a floozy. According to the play, you were practically throwing yourself at Kaz for him to protect you. Your nails were digging deeply into your palms by then.

You were slightly relieved that at least he didn’t know about Per Haskell’s poisoning but then your stomach dropped.

The stage changed set pieces until it was a Merchant’s office, ordinary in most regards, but you knew what it was supposed to be. Any uncertainty disappeared when Poppy shared the stage with three burly actors and the one playing Pekka. Kaz’s cane tapped your shin and you knew that he knew too.

It was supposed to be the Dryden Estate.

Kaz grabbed your arm and you leaned closer to hear him. “Why is he doing this?”

“He wants everyone to know he disowned me. He must think his last name is what’s kept me alive since I left.” You answered in the same low tone. “He wants a target on my back.”

“Yes, and he’ll get it if you let this continue on.”

You straightened back in your seat. Kaz was right.

“Kol?” You said quietly and he made a small noise in response. “Drop them all. Melli?”

“Already on it.” She answered in the same low tone.

You glanced over and saw him smile at you. His hands moved quickly, Melli had reached under her skirts to pull a pistol from her leg holster, and the five people on stage fell unconscious. You stood when they hit the ground and palmed one of the blades from your waistcoat. Melli and Kol stood with you and you gestured for them to follow you to the stage.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kaz’s head tilt in interest. Jesper’s hands disappeared from view and Inej sat up a little straighter.

“While this has been hilarious to watch.” You announced sarcastically as you took the stage. Melli stood on one side and Kol stood on the other. “I won’t sit here and be mocked any longer.”

“It’s no mockery, little one.” Pekka called from the side of the room. “It’s just the story as I know it.”

“You really think I’d need Dirtyhands to protect me?” You laughed slightly. “No offense, Pekka, but you don’t scare me that much.”

He chuckled and made a quick gesture. Several men, more than you could take on even with your friends, stood from all over the room. You gripped the blade tighter but left no other indication that you were concerned. Your head turned slowly as you surveyed the room. You ran through a thousand scenarios in a matter of seconds, and none of them ended without a few Lions dead.

Your eyes landed on the Dreg table last. Inej adjusted her coat and you saw her vest full of blades. Jesper tilted his head in acknowledgment of the pistols on his hips. Kaz was calculating some sort of plan while he looked at you.

“I’m sure this is to tell everyone in the Barrel what you said to me that night. Isn’t it? Well, I’ll save everyone the task of sitting through that and I’ll tell them myself.”

“Davina.” Kaz tried but you ignored him.

“As some of you may know, I am Davina Rollins.”

“The Princess!” Someone called out mockingly.

“Stand up!” You challenged. “Let me see who said that!”

A man stood and Kol’s hands moved quickly. The heckler wasn’t standing for long and a murmur went through the crowd. You heard the fear as they said “Heartrender”. You stood a little taller, Kol proudly beside you.

“The stories Pekka fed you tonight are just that. Stories. Twisted versions of my life since I left his house. But he knows nothing… The only truth in this whole charade would’ve been what he showed with this final scene. With a gun to my head, he said ‘You are no child of mine’. “

Another murmur through the crowd. Some said he was right to do that. Others said that they could take you down easily now. A few said Pekka was wrong to do that to his only daughter.

“We’re leaving now.” You told Pekka as you descended from the stage. Kaz held his cane towards you to help you down and you wondered what the others present thought of the gesture. “You will not have us followed and you will not move on us.”

“You don’t give orders here, Davina.” Pekka countered as you got closer.

You lifted your blade, admiring its point before you tapped it against your father’s chest. None of the Lions around him moved.

“Don’t I?” You smiled slightly. “Your Lions are men after all, and all men can be afraid.”

“Your Grisha dies first.” He spat.

“I’ll take quite a few of your Lions with me.” Kol hissed. “Tell me, Pekka. How many Lions must be lost before the Kingdom falls?”

“Shall we find out?” Melli asked and cocked her gun. You were proud of her for adding to the scene.

“Leave.” Pekka said firmly. “This is the last time I spare your life.”

You took a step back, sheathing your blade, before you dramatically curtsied. You left with your friends at your side and no one tried to stop you. No one followed.

Once you were home, you told Kol and Melli everything.

[azu1as]

Can you please write something where Cheong Myeong dies but Tang Bo survives and navigates the loss of his taoist hyung? I really like your work and J hope you know amazing you are. Thank you 😊

⚠ main character death, tangcheong

»—————————–✄

"Isn't this view amazing, hyung-nim?"

Tang Bo watches as the sun falls behind the horizon, the warm colors of the sky cooling as night settles once again. The wind brushes against his hair and it comes to Tang Bo as easy as breathing to ignore the loneliness and loss that have carved out permanent spaces for themselves in his heart.

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint's funeral felt ill-fitting for a man whose sacrifice ended the increasing threat of the Demonic Cult. The affair was somber, attended only by the man's martial siblings and few select representatives from several other sects.

Standing among the sea of pink, Tang Bo's eyes remained dry as the hours went by with the crowd slowly decreasing until eventually all that stood between Tang Bo and Cheong Myeong were the empty silence and the cold, damp soil under which the man—what they could find left of him that is—rested.

A warm hand on his left shoulder pulls Tang Bo out of the haze he unknowingly found himself in. He turns around and, in a voice that fell flat even to his ears, greets, "Sect Leader Cheong Mun."

The older man has clearly seen better days. Red-rimmed eyes, slightly unkempt hair, and more lines on his face than when Tang Bo saw him last, clearly the man had not taken the death of his younger brother well. He was the only one who could pull Tang Bo away from Cheong Myeong's gravestone.

The trek back to the Sect Leader's residence was filled with a sense of disquiet; their mutual grief made it difficult to break the invisible wall between them.

Cheong Mun has Tang Bo sit in front of him as he pulls out a small chest of letters. With slightly unsteady hands, the man hands him a letter from Cheong Myeong. It was part of the pile of written messages that Cheong Myeong left on the Sect Leader's desk before he left Mount Hua with no other explanation.

Six months. Cheong Mun prayed for Cheong Myeong's return. He had sent out multiple missives and personal letters to various major and minor sects in the hopes of catching Cheong Myeong and bringing him back to their sect. Instead, what returned was rumors of one man single-handedly tearing through the Demonic Cult's ranks.

And, at the end of those six months, all that returned of Cheong Myeong after the Demonic Cult finally fell silent was news of his death and the broken shards of his sword.

Tang Bo could recall the moment with vivid clarity as Cheong Jin, devastating grief marring his features, fell to the ground in front of Cheong Mun and a visiting Tang Bo. His hands bled with how he clutched at the pieces of Cheong Myeong's broken swords and the burnt green ribbon that was stained in dried blood.

The sharp clack of Cheong Mun's chest closing draws Tang Bo away from those memories.

His eyes shift down to the letter, without even reading it, he could tell that Cheong Myeong had written it in a rush. The words that marked the letter as his sprawled across the page with some letters having been smudged in the haste it was written. These were all but Cheong Myeong's last words to him. He wants to read it. He doesn't want to read it.

Cheong Mun silently slides him a letter opener. Tang Bo knows the man also wants to know what had been written for Tang Bo. Cheong Mun's letter was filled with gratefulness and apologies from Cheong Myeong. There were no explanations from him. They hoped Tang Bo's letter would give them more clarity.

Trembling as his eyes passed over the words, Tang Bo's breath is pulled out of his lungs as if he had been struck by a painful punch. The paper in Tang Bo's hands crumples before it flutters uselessly to the ground—and with it, any doubts that Tang Bo had about his hyung-nim's actions leading to his death.

I was promised a life for a life. Tang Bo, I hope this time you live well. Travel the world for me.

Tang Bo's eyes fall shut and when he reopens them, he returns to the present. A beautiful view that greets him and him alone. In another lifetime, Tang Bo would have really liked seeing this view with Cheong Myeong.

[rambleonwaywardson]

10/10

A To the Moon and Back "drabble"

Author's note: My lovely beta reader hit me with a pickup line today, and then I wrote this for the gay space boys. The same silly line, over a decade apart ❤

---

It’s about 11pm on October 10th, and Gale has been at his desk for hours. Literally. He even ate dinner at his desk sometime around 8:00, and he hasn’t gotten up since then either. Bucky managed to sneak a couple pieces of pizza out of the dining hall for him after he didn’t give into the pleas of “Come on Gale, just take a break for thirty minutes.”

Gale doesn’t particularly want to know how Bucky got the pizza out of the dining hall without being seen by the staff, or what said pizza may have touched in the process. It wasn’t much, and it was cold by the time Bucky made it back, but it made Gale’s stomach stop growling enough to get back to work.

He’s had to pee for a while, but he keeps just kinda forgetting to actually get up and walk down the hall to the bathroom, too focused on the equations running through his head. He’s sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, his toes curled over the edge of his dorm-standard wooden chair, his sweatshirt sleeve pulled over the hand he isn’t writing with and a pencil gripped too tight in the other. Crumpled pieces of notebook paper litter the floor around him.

He’s jumped from task to task over the last several hours: fighting with C++ in Programming for Aerospace Systems to cramming for his Modern Physics exam to solving a problem set for mechanics II. That’s just how midterm season is.

Gale, for some fucking godforsaken reason, decided to throw himself into one of the most demanding majors the university has to offer, and that means that he doesn’t actually have a “midterm season” or whatever. His midterms start about three weeks into the semester and end about two weeks before finals, with a rise in intensity during October. Like a bell curve, where the median represents the peak of Gale’s exhaustion.

His own handwriting is starting to swim in front of him now. There’s too many variables on this damn piece of paper, and he’s the one who neatly wrote them beneath the problem that he copied down from the textbook. The stepped shaft is subjected to cyclic bending due to a transverse shear stress varying from neg to pos 3.5kN. He has a sketched drawing of the problem on the paper in front of him, with diameters, radii, and forces labeled. He needs to determine the safety factor, which means he has to find the moment of inertia and the bending moment of the cut in order to find the nominal and maximum bending stress – sigma nom and sigma max – and then he has to use those to find…

Fuck. 

This should not be that hard. It’s not that hard. He’s done this kind of problem dozens of times now. He’s got it drawn out. He just needs to… he needs to… fuck what even is ‘k’???

Maybe Bucky was right when he told him he needed to give it a rest an hour ago. He feels like his head is stuck in quicksand and he can’t even remember how he got as far into the problem as he has, and his brain just doesn’t like what he needs to do next and he can’t get himself to write out the next equation.

He flicks his pencil out of his hand so it rolls to the back of the desk, knocking into a framed photograph of him and Marge, and he drops his forehead onto his knee with a thunk.

He feels so fucking stupid.

“Hey Buck?”

“Mmm?” Gale doesn’t even look up at the sound of Bucky’s voice. His roommate – wait, boyfriend, now. John is his boyfriend now – has been sitting on the twin bed opposite Gale’s, watching a movie on mute on the too-small TV set up on top of their mini fridge.

“Are you today’s date?”

Gale sighs and lifts his head, looking at Bucky with an unamused arched eyebrow. He is not in the mood for jokes or unnecessary questions. But Bucky’s smile is bright, and it makes that little ‘I have a boyfriend!’ piece of Gale’s heart flutter despite himself.

“What?” he asks.

“Are you today’s date?” Bucky repeats. “‘Cause you’re a ten outta ten.”

Gale blushes and looks shyly away from Bucky, wrapping his arms tighter around his legs even though the position is becoming uncomfortable. He hides his smile against his knee.

Bucky isn’t deterred, though. He throws himself off the bed and kneels on the floor in front of Gale, movie forgotten. He’s shirtless, even though it’s freezing in their dorm right now, and his curls are a mess. Gale knows that if he looks at him his blush will only get brighter. But Bucky brushes back Gale’s hair and urges him to look at him anyway. “Get it?” he asks, flashing that dorky smile.

Gale rolls his eyes, but he leans into Bucky’s touch, warm fingers pressed to his cheek. “Yeah, John. I get it.”

“Good,” Bucky says. And he kisses him.

—

It’s about 9pm on October 10th, and Gale has been sitting on a stool next to the pool table for a good hour now. Jackie mixed him some non-alcoholic drink that she called ‘the Cleven,’ something special since he’s getting married tomorrow, she told him. He doesn’t even know what’s in it, but it’s damn good, and he’s on his second glass of the night. The whole wedding party is in town, even their old Air Force buddies, and everyone is gathered at the Hundred Proof. Gale, John, Marge, and Curt argued at length about whether or not they should have two separate bachelor parties – Bucky referring to Gale’s as the bachelorette party the whole time – but since their attendants are all about equally good friends with both of them, they decided to bring everyone together for the night instead.

A decade of friendships and found family consolidated into one, cacophonous room.

Curt, Brady, John, and Rosie are playing pool, Gale having played a couple games himself before losing interest. It’s a game his dad loved – a bit too much just like everything else – and therefore a game that Gale himself never cared for. But being able to shoot pool is basically a requirement of the USAF and JSC families, so he’s learned to like it well enough.

The guys have all had a few drinks, and their technique is getting messier the more games they play. The other wedding attendants have been rotating in and out; Marge and Helen really gave Murph and Crank hell last game. As usual, people are playing darts behind Gale or gathering around the pool table to watch the game, dancing to the music playing through the bar or snacking or drinking or just talking and hanging out. It’s been nice to catch up with the guys they haven’t seen in a while.

Sitting on the stool, Gale leans back against the wall behind him and laughs as Rosie completely misses a shot, collapsing forward onto the pool table in embarrassment. Inwardly, though, Gale’s feeling increasingly nervous as the night goes on, and he’s a little mad about it. He was talking to Croz and Alex, but they headed off to get more drinks from the bar, leaving him to his own devices as he watches the others descend further into mild chaos. He mindlessly wipes his thumb over the side of his glass, smearing the condensation.

He’s getting married tomorrow.

He’s getting married tomorrow.

To a man that he’s been in love with for half of his life.

And then his new husband is launching himself off the planet.

To the moon.

He’ll be the first man to step on the moon in 50 years.

And Gale will be… here. Just… hoping nothing goes wrong.

There’s too many thoughts running around his head, and he almost wishes he were halfway to drunk like everyone else just to clear them out. He’s getting married tomorrow. That’s nerve wracking enough on its own even if he’s been looking forward to this day for the better part of a decade. And add onto that the whole moon thing? What if something happens to Orion? What if something happens to Starship? What if something happens to John’s EVA suit? What if…

“Hey angel!”

“Mmm?” Gale blinks at the sound of Bucky’s voice cutting through the grime of his catastrophizing brain. He rubs a hand tiredly over his face and looks around.

His boyfriend – no, fiancé, nearly husband – is at the other end of the pool table, leaning against it with the end of his pool cue resting on the floor beside him like a staff. He’s putting more chalk on the tip, but his eyes are right on Gale. “Are you today’s date?” 

Gale sighs and crosses his arms, resting his half-empty glass against his bicep. “What?”

“Are you today’s date?” Bucky repeats, handing the chalk to Curt. The other guys all stifle a laugh. “‘Cause you’re a ten outta ten.”

Gale rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the blush that colors his cheeks or the way the corner of his mouth pulls up into a smile. He tries to hide it behind his drink, taking a sip of whatever concoction Jackie’s given him. But Bucky’s dorky, love-struck smile is the same as it’s always been, and the ‘I’m getting married tomorrow!’ part of Gale’s heart jumps a little bit.

“Get it?” Bucky asks as he wanders over towards Gale, leaning the pool cue against the wall so he can use both hands to pull Gale up off the stool.

Gale doesn’t protest when his fiancé’s hands find his waist, and he lets the touch ground him. “Yeah, Bucky, I get it.”

“Good,” Bucky whispers. And he kisses him.