#why does sock have blood on his mouth?

[very-uncorrect]

Love thinking about how if they were to become friends (and/or more) in canon then Jon would have to eventually be cool with the fact that Sock has killed people (his own parents no less)

Time taken: 1 hour 20 minutes

[moonstruckme]

If you don’t mind what about poly!marauders (emts version) x reader where she hides a injury that’s kinda serious (idk like a cut that’s pretty deep or smth) but she doesn’t think it’s serious, so she tries to hide it from them to not feel like a burden since they are always busy with work. Basically just a mix of emts marauders and casual dominance

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: mention of blood

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You’re trying to figure out whether putting your shoe in the washing machine will damage it irrevocably when the bathroom door handle twists. 

You look up like a deer caught in headlights. Sirius’ gaze flits from the shoe in your hand to the bloodstained sock on the floor to your wide-eyed look. 

“Shut the door!” you whisper-yell. He must be reeling, because he actually does it, closing the door with a click and dropping down beside you on the bathroom floor. 

“What’s going on?” he asks. Again, his gaze goes to your once-blue sock, now marred by a dark red stain. “Are you hurt?” 

You see the moment Sirius notices the foot you’re holding, layers of toilet paper wrapped loosely around the arch. His eyes sharpen. 

“Don’t tell James and Remus,” you plead. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks again, sternly now. 

Your lip finds it way beneath your teeth. “Not really,” you say. “It’s not terrible or anything, I just can’t get it to stop bleeding.” 

“That’s not usually a great sign, sweetheart.” Sirius scoots closer, holding out his hands. “Let me see.” 

You know better than to argue, transferring your foot into his lap. He gives you an odd look about the toilet paper before starting to unravel it, the thin material tearing under his rushed handling. Your boyfriend relaxes slightly when the wound is revealed. It’s deceptively small for how much blood seems to come out of it, the cut only a couple of centimeters along the arch of your foot. 

Sirius adjusts his grip, lifting it to the light to see it better, and you try not to look so visibly flustered at the tender way he’s handling you. 

“It’s little, see?” you say. “No need to bother anyone else.” 

He lowers your foot to give you an amused look. “Darling, as much as I love to have our dirty little secrets together,” he says, “you know they’d kill me.” 

“They wouldn’t,” you say, half desperate. “They love you, and I’ll protect you anyway.” 

Sirius’ mouth pinches. He thumbs at your ankle apologetically. “James would have us both flat on our backs in under a minute. Admire your confidence, though.” He sucks in a breath. “Rem, James!” 

The TV shuts off, and then there are footsteps on the stairs. Sirius is impervious to your glare, only picking your foot up again and turning it this way and that to see it better. 

“What?” James calls. You can hear Remus grumbling about how your apartment is hardly large enough to necessitate this much yelling. 

“In here!” Sirius shouts back. 

The door opens a second later, your other two boyfriends crowding the already small bathroom. James is crouched in an instant, setting a hand on Sirius’ shoulder to steady himself. 

“Oh, lovie, what’d you do?” 

You open your mouth to respond, but Sirius says, “Can one of you grab the first aid kit and a pen light? I can’t see if there’s anything still in here.”

“There shouldn’t be,” you say as Remus goes for the kit. “I already took out the glass.” 

Both Sirius and James look up from your foot, eyebrows raised. 

“And what were you doing that you ended up with glass in your foot?” Sirius asks. 

Your shoulders gravitate towards your ears. “Cleaning up the glass that I broke.” 

Remus hums disapprovingly as he passes a pen light to Sirius, who clicks it on, shining it onto your foot. You do your best to pretend this doesn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin. 

“When did that happen?” he asks. 

“This morning.” 

“Sweetheart.” James’ disapproval is evident in his voice. You can’t bring yourself to look up and witness it in his face, too. 

“And why didn’t you say anything when you hurt yourself?” Remus asks. He sits down beside you, eyes on what the other two are doing though you can feel his attention on you. 

“Because I didn’t want to bother you,” you say quietly. 

He tsks, and he doesn’t need to say anything more. It’s plain enough you’re in trouble. 

For a few moments, the silence is thick and hot, torturous, but surprisingly it's Sirius who does you the mercy of putting you out of your misery. 

“It doesn’t look like you’ve got any more glass in here.” He clicks off the pen light, and your hamstrings sigh in relief as he lowers your foot to rest back in his lap. “That’s lucky,” he tells you severely. “You can’t always rely on just picking out the big piece and having that be that.” 

“Stitches?” Remus asks, and you tense. You hadn’t even considered that. 

“I don’t think so,” Sirius says, but he sounds uncertain. “It’s just barely deep enough, though.” 

“Let’s see.” James holds out his hands, and Sirius hands it off to him. You try to ignore the fact that your foot is being passed around like something a child brought to show-and-tell. James takes up the pen light, peering at it for a few moments before nodding decisively. He pats the side of your foot. “I think you should be safe.” 

You must look as relieved as you feel, because James smiles, squeezing up the length of your calf. 

“What I really don’t understand,” he says lightly, “is why the hell you’ve been keeping it wrapped in toilet paper.” 

You can’t help but return his smile sheepishly as you shrug. “It works,” you say. “Plus, Remus gatekeeps the first aid kit.” 

“It’s only in the cabinet above the toilet,” Remus sighs. 

Sirius scoffs, and James reaches across you to pat him on the thigh. “No one can reach it up there but you, love.” 

You look over in time to catch your boyfriend’s eye roll, paired with the smirk he tries to hide. “Regardless,” he says, “it seems as though it wouldn’t be an issue if anyone who can’t reach it,” his eyes slide to yours, and you find new interest in the floor tiles, “would just ask someone else to get it for them, rather than being secretive.” You can feel his gaze searing into the side of your head, but you refuse to look up even when Sirius snickers and pinches your leg meanly. “If you didn’t have the kit, how did you clean it, dove?” 

“It’s clean,” you hedge, but make the mistake of looking up into Sirius’ stern gaze. He cocks an eyebrow as if to say Go on. “I ran it under the tap in the bathtub.” 

Remus sighs, Sirius groans, and James lets his head fall fully forward onto your knee. 

“Sweetheart,” James presses a kiss to your shin, “my love, I know you mean well, but this is why you need to tell us things.” 

“What’s the problem?” you ask as Remus moves to sit by Sirius, opening up the first aid kit. “Water’s just as good.” 

“It’s really not,” Sirius says, “seeing as water doesn’t actually kill bacteria. Do you want to stay where you are or sit up on the counter, darling?” 

“I’ve got a better idea.” James scooches over by you, lifting you by your waist and setting you in his lap. “There. Far more comfortable, don’t you think?” 

“Much.” You grin, turning your head to kiss him. “Thanks, Jamie.” 

“Spent a whole day keeping secrets and still getting the princess treatment.” Sirius’ tone is equal parts teasing and affectionate as he smooths a hand up and down your calf. “We must really love you or something.”

[kaisaerinlover]

half vampire sae who notices you at his game and feels so hungry for you he almost can’t focus on the game at hand :< your blood smells so sweet and he wants a taste so badly.

half vampire sae who secretly prays that you don’t leave too quickly so he can talk with you without anyone noticing it.

half vampire sae who’s usually expressionless face almost contorts into something akin to disgust as he sees one of the lukewarm players from the opposing team trying to talk to you.

half vampire sae who’s relieved it was so easy to get you to trust him so quickly after he dealt with the loser who was trying to talk to you. he makes small talk with you and calls you princess subtly and you’re giggling instantly and nodding so sweetly to his request for a date.

half vampire sae who realises why you smell so delicious: you’re so innocent. he hasn’t ever smelt blood as pure and it’s taking everything he has in him to not ravage you in the movie theatre he generously took you to for your date.

half vampire sae who finds you pretty cute actually, he notices your little quirks and how jumpy you are at any physical contact.

half vampire sae who completely flips a switch when he finally manages to lure you back to his mansion, but you’re a little too late to realise it. when you realise him guiding you to his room you blush and look down and tell him you’re a virgin.

half vampire sae who simply leans down a little and licks his lips, and tells you it’s okay, he’s not going to fuck you, as he pins you down onto his bed and salivates at the sight of your neck. so pure, so sweet.

poor you who’s confused yet enjoying him licking and nipping at your neck, til he suddenly sticks his fingers in your mouth whilst leaning over you and chastises you harshly, yet albeit a little soft voiced, that you need to ‘sh’ now.

poor you who’s still sucking absentmindedly on his fingers, you trust him right? stupid naive you, trusting someone as thirsty and deprived of a being as pure as you for as long as he can remember so quickly. he doesn’t feel bad for what he’s about to do though, this will teach you not to be so naive and trusting!

half vampire sae who finally bites into that sweet area of open skin on your neck, and he knows someone like him has no chance of getting to heaven if it’s real, but it can’t get better than the taste of this. he almost allows his mask of nonchalance to slip, not that it would matter anyway, your eyes are closed, sobbing around the fingers he still has slotted in your mouth.

half vampire sae who’s draining the shit out of your neck, the sweetest nectar he’s ever tasted. but he knows he has to pull away eventually, he doesn’t want to accidentally kill you after all. he withdraws his fingers from your mouth and is leaning over you, blood trickling down his lips.

half vampire sae who actually feels something for you, he thinks you look delectable down there, caged beneath his arms. and he does something he never did for any girl he thirsted for. he smashes his lips into yours. you can taste your blood on his tongue, and his sharp teeth cut your already aching mouth up.

half vampire sae who’s still showing no expression at all as he pulls away, but the way he just acted says it all. he wants you so bad, and he’ll keep you. you’re a real catch, little thing, he can’t let you go now. he already imagines how much easier life will become having a sweet fountain like you to drink from.

half vampire sae who’s staring down at your terrified form, trapped on his bed beneath his arms. cute. he uses his thumb to wipe away some of the blood from your lip, and sucks it clean. “mine now.” he mumbles to you.

half vampire sae who has one arm draped around you in bed holding you close to him so you can’t escape. he has you dressed so nicely in a white flowy nightgown and some frilly socks. he’s gross, he thinks, because he’s excited to stain it with your innocent blood the very next morning. no morning coffee can beat this, believe him.

half vampire sae who’s never really lusted for girls further than just their blood, which were lukewarm anyway, until now. he falls asleep arms wrapped around you thinking of how hard he’s going to fuck your innocence away whilst drinking you down even more. but he knows you’ll still taste as sweet as ever, you’re an infinite source of purity. he truly won today.

half vampire sae who wakes up and indulges himself immediately, waking you up in the process. you’re so fucking cute when you wear that fearful expression. so scared of him. his princess, his new everything. and he knows it’s sealed when he stops his brutality every few minutes to gently nibble at your lip and peck you so sweetly, an ironic act.

half vampire sae who’s excited to see how the rest of his life plays out with you by his side now.

[ddejavvu]

HI!!! Please can i request an awkward!glasses reid oneshot where he’s like pining over the reader?? maybe with a bit of tension ;))) but he like slips up and says something like ‘god ur beautiful?’ THANK UUUU

The rain pouring down in massive, silvery sheets does nothing to dull your halo, Spencer thinks. Actually, it might make it shine brighter, a haze of mist clouding your form as you traipse through the downpour.

"Seattle sucks!" You gush, raising a hand to smear away the wet strands of your hair that cling to your face, "God, why can't Arizona have another murderer running around?"

"The rain is actually a good forensic countermeasure - it washes the blood away so that he can drag the body wherever he wants and we won't be able to follow his trail." Spencer has to shout to be heard over the splattering of water upon the sidewalk, and he tries not to cry as he feels water seeping into his boots. Rossi had treated the entire team to a pair of galoshes after his precious Italian leather shoes became mottled with mud, and though they're helpful for trekking through the storm, they're also fantastic at catching rainwater.

"I hate it when serial killers are smarter than us!" You plunge your hand into the pocket of your jacket, digging out the key fob for the car. You unlock it with a beep and the taillights shine in the storm. You're more than happy to throw the door open and slip out of your jacket, taking minimal rain damage to your outfit as you slide swiftly onto the driver's seat of the van.

Spencer hears you let out a groan as the car roars to life, and so does the heater. You throw your head back against the seat, hair stringy and soaked, face dripping with rain.

One droplet slides down your nose and dips between the curve of your lips, something you can't bring yourself to care about as the heater blasts the chill from your blood. He watches you melt into the seat, and only one thought comes to mind: "You're beautiful."

His voice is a quiet murmur, and he's also speaking over the torrential downpour outside, so you don't catch what he says, thankfully. He doesn't know why his brain had miscalculated his thought and sent it down through his mouth instead of just his head, but he fumbles to snatch the opportunity you give him to save himself.

"Hm?" You turn to look at him, brows slightly raised in curiosity.

"My boots are full!" He blurts, cheeks red but not from the heat as he reaches for one of his rain-soaked shoes, "I- I- There's rainwater in my- my boots, and I need to-" He tugs the rubber off of his foot and turns it upside-down outside of the car so that it splashes off of the pavement, and he jams it back over his soaked sock while furiously avoiding eye contact.

Your pants were looser than Spencer's own, and you'd been able to tuck them over the mouth of your boots. Yours aren't even remotely soggy inside, so you laugh incredulously as he releases his tsunami before you drive off.

"Spence, that's insane," You watch as he stuffs the second boot back onto his foot, "You poor thing, are your socks all wet?"

"Yeah," He breathes, finally shutting the car door and trying to relax his tensely-held muscles as he comes down from his embarrassment, "Uh- yeah it's fine, though. They'll dry out."

"Use the foot heater," You flick a button on the center console, and hot air seeps from a vent beneath the glove compartment, "That better?"

"Yeah," Spencer toes off his boots, letting the warmth aid his chilled skin and damp attire, "Thanks, Y/N."

"Thank you," You nod and turn your eyes to the road as you pull out of the parking lot.

"For what?" Spencer looks briefly over at you, glasses spattered with raindrops.

"For calling me beautiful," You grin.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 2 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, difficulty conceiving, mention of pregnancy symptoms, lots of Eddie being a mush

WC: 1.5k

February 1999

You didn’t get pregnant that first month. Your period arrived unceremoniously, leaving in its wake blood-stained underpants and disappointment.

It didn’t happen in December or January, either, despite meticulous cycle tracking and Eddie barely keeping his hands off of you. Each negative test feels like a failure; you’ve stopped taking them when Eddie’s around because you can sense his disappointment, though he puts on a brave face to comfort you.

But now, you’re late. Only by two days–if you weren’t paying careful attention to the dates, you might not have noticed. You have to bite back a smile as you tear open the box, fingers trembling as you poorly contain your excitement. It might be nothing, just a period ironically delayed by stress of trying to conceive.

Or you might be pregnant.

You inhale, filling your lungs with air and holding it there for a while until you let it out in one strong breath. All you’re doing is peeing on a stick, but your body nervously buzzes with each passing second. You’ve likely taken a dozen of these by now, and there’s nothing that should make you think you’ll get a different result today.

With utmost care, you place the used test on the back of the sink and wash your hands. You keep pressing on the soap handle to the point where a small pool forms in your palm, but you can’t draw your gaze from the tiny result window. The control line begins forming quickly, as it always does. 

How long ago did Eddie leave to grab breakfast—maybe ten minutes? Sundays at Zeke’s Bagels are usually swamped, so you have plenty of time to wipe away your tears if that sacred second line never appears. 

“Mommy?”

A drowsy voice interrupts your inner monologue. Harris stands at the bathroom doorway, wiping the sleep from his big brown eyes and yawning. 

“What’s up, Har?” You hope your anxiety doesn’t bleed through, though you doubt he’s awake enough to recognize it. 

He squints as he adjusts to the light. “Where’s Daddy? Also, I’m hungry.”

A sigh of relief escapes you when you realize he’s too focused on breakfast to pay attention to anything else. “Daddy left to get us some bagels,” you explain, allowing your heart to slow to a normal rate. “Why don’t you go make your bed, and we can watch some cartoons while we wait for him, okay?”

Harris nods, barely picking up his sock-clad feet as he trudges back towards his bedroom. You giggle at the way he tries to fight his sleepiness, shaking your head in amusement. 

That’s when you see it, faint but still definitely present: the tell-tale second pink line.

“Oh my God.” Your hand flies to your mouth in complete shock, tears forming a film over your eyes so the results become blurred. You blink them away to get a better look, partially convinced that you’re hallucinating or projecting your hopes, and that reality will set in and show a negative result.

But when your vision clears, both lines are still visible.

You’re pregnant.

Now you just have to tell your husband; the question is, how?

You’re still mulling over the possibilities when the key clicks in the door ten minutes later. Eddie carries in a brown paper bag of bagels, whistling a tune that startles you from your thoughts. 

“Food’s here!” Eddie calls out; your stomach flip-flops at the sound of his voice. The temptation to let giddiness take over and wave the test in his face is strong, but you hold yourself back. First and foremost, you don’t want Harris knowing until you’re safely in the second trimester, but another part of you is still in denial that you truly are pregnant. That there’s a tiny little life growing within your womb, half you and half Eddie.

I’ll test again in a few days, you tell yourself, and if it’s still positive, then I’ll tell him.

You shove the test in the top drawer among your make-up and hair care products where it will be safe from your husband’s wandering eyes. Before you shut off the light, you get a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. You look the same as you always do, but there’s no denying that you feel different.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant with Eddie’s baby. In approximately nine months, the Munsons will be a family of four.

“Mommy! Daddy’s home!”

“Coming!” You wipe away any remaining tears and make your way to the kitchen, trying to quell the excitement of knowing that you’re technically eating for two.

Breakfast drags a bit, both because of the weighty secret you’re guarding and the fact that cream cheese apparently now makes your nose wrinkle in disgust, but Harris’s animated storytelling makes the time pass a bit faster. Apparently, being seven years old is more dramatic than you’d remembered.

One particular story involving Harris, Joshua Harrington, and a celery-stick sword fight remains etched into your brain even as you brush bagel crumbs off of the table and into your cupped palm. Harris has plunked down in front of the television, gaze glued to a show about a conjoined cat and dog with screeches so grating that you find yourself wincing with each piece of dialogue. The distraction is enough to keep you from tuning into Eddie rummaging through the bathroom drawers, searching for the nail clippers.

“Um, babe?” His voice cracks on the second word, and you can sense both confusion and concern in his tone. “C-Can you come here? Now?”

Oh, shit. 

You dash into the bathroom, shrinking into yourself when you find him, one hand bracing his body weight on the sink and the other clutching a very positive pregnancy test. 

“Are…is this…” He turns to you, wide-eyed, lower lip quivering. “When…?”

“Right before breakfast,” you jump in, your pinky finger nudging his along the sink’s edge. “I wanted to do something special to surprise you after I took another one later this week, y’know, just to be sure.”

Eddie exhales a breath that’s half-laugh and half-cry, lowering the test to the ceramic ledge so he can place both hands on your cheeks. “You’re pregnant?” he asks, words thick with disbelief. He chuckles when you nod, head moving up and down between his calloused palms. “Holy shit; you’re having my baby.”

His mouth finds yours in an instant, fingers leaving your face and traveling to your waist. Eddie pulls you in close and punctuates the long kiss with several little pecks. 

“My gorgeous girl is having my baby,” Eddie murmurs, gently sinking to his knees so he’s eye-level with your stomach. It’s still far too early to be showing, but he still bunches up your shirt just above your belly button. You giggle when he presses his lips against your skin, an involuntary ticklish reaction. “I just…I’m so happy. I got kinda worried when it wasn’t happening, that something was wrong.” He looks up at you with an expression of relief and awe. “We’re having a baby, Sweetheart.” His thumb trails along your exposed flesh, the place where your child will develop over the next nine months.

You laugh, pulling him up so you can kiss him again. He tastes like the orange juice he’d drank with breakfast, sweet and tangy. “We should wait to tell people until a doctor confirms it,” you murmur as he rests his forehead on yours. “Let it just be our little secret for now, okay?”

Eddie nods, lips occupied with kisses that render him unable to speak for a minute. “I’m glad I found out when I did, to be honest,” he admits with a small smile. “I missed so much of this with Harris, and I wanna be part of everything with this little munchkin.” 

“Everything?” you ask suspiciously. “The morning sickness, the mood swings, the swollen feet? I’m pretty sure my mom got hemorrhoids when she was pregnant with me–”

“Everything,” Eddie affirms, lacing his fingers with yours. “The good, the bad, and the…hemorrhoid-y.”

You can’t hold back your amusement, throwing your head back with laughter. “I’m holding you to that.”

But you know you won’t need to, because this is Eddie, and the love he already has for this child radiates off of him.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, holding you around your shoulders so that his soft arm hair brushes the nape of your neck. He keeps you safe in his arms while you keep the baby safe in your womb.

In a little while, a commercial will interrupt Harris’s TV show. He’ll come running over to exclaim that he needs the toy being advertised, despite having a present-filled birthday just three weeks ago, and the Munson home will return to its definition of normalcy. For now, you and Eddie relish in this special moment, just the two of you and the tiny bean that is Baby Munson.

--

[luveline]

Hi lovie! A fic request: Eddie or Steve with a reader whose insecure about her stretch marks and just like major fluff

thank you for requesting!! ♡ 1.2k

Steve puts a cupcake in front of you with gold foil and orchid pink frosting, kissing you soundly on the temple. "Something sweet for my honey." 

You laugh at his tone, delight hooked into the corners of your smile. "When did you get this?" you ask, lifting your head from your book to follow his movements. 

Steve rounds the couch to sit next to you. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest mock demure.

"Does it matter?" he asks. "Just eat it." 

"Doesn't matter, but I don't get how you hid it from me, we've been together all day… Did you really manage to grab this while I was in the changing rooms in Seaver's?" You'd never have guessed he went anywhere —he looked the exact same when you emerged as when you left him, mildly distracted but not bored. He's a sweetheart like that. 

"I'm good, right?" he asks, grinning. 

You peel back the paper and shuffle closer to his side, holding the cake toward him, "You better have the first bite. I'm not sharing." 

Steve takes the cake carefully. His bite is little but adorable, a smear of frosting left lingering on his top lip. You point to it on your own face with a pinky finger, and he licks it away as he passes the cupcake back to you.

"You're, like, the quickest girl ever when it comes to fitting rooms. I had to sprint." Steve smiles as you take your own first bite. 

"I buy the same things every time," you say through frosting, hand held over your mouth. 

"Why is that?" he asks. "You could stand to be a little more adventurous. I'd love to see you in little shirts and skirts and stuff." 

"You don't like how I dress?"

"I love how you dress. But I love your arms and legs too and I never get to see them." 

An odd thing to say but not for him. He slides down the couch and puts his feet on the coffee table, a hand straying on automatic to your thigh, where he gives you a good squeeze. You think about what he's saying through chews. You believe him, you really do, when he says he likes how you dress, that his motivation for what he's saying is simply a desire to see you branch out of a self imposed box, but there's a reason you dress how you dress. He must know it himself. 

Even now you're wearing an oversized shirt, the short sleeves big enough to hide the stretch marks on your upper arms. Steve knows they're there undoubtedly. He's pressed enough kisses over every inch of your arms sitting exactly as you are now, hip to hip in front of the TV. He gets distracted at night, pulling your arm into his chest, chin dipped down to nose at your skin. 

"You don't think it would be, like… brave? To wear stuff like that?"  

"Brave?" 

You take a bite of cupcake so you don't have to talk. Steve's interest is piqued, a shark to blood in the water, though the blood is your embarrassment, and the shark your tender boyfriend. He gets softer the longer you're together, and when he speaks it's emphasised. "What does that mean, brave? You think you couldn't pull that off? Babe, you'd kill in a skirt, you'd kill me." He presses his cheek to your shoulder quickly. "I'd die if you had that mini skirt like Madonna–" 

"Madonna doesn't have a gazillion stretch marks." 

Steve sits up. 

You've dropped him in an awkward position, and you rush to pull him off of your hook, "And she's Madonna, so. I can't be expected to live up to that." 

"Obviously you'd live up to that. And Madonna has stretch marks." 

"You've met Madonna?" 

Steve laughs, pulling his socked feet down off of the coffee table to angle himself upward, taller than you once again. "Yeah, I met her– No. No, but I don't need to meet her to know she has them, everybody has them." 

"Not everyone." 

"I got a wall of 'em on my back, doesn't stop me from wearing that cropped sweatshirt." 

Steve looks fucking good in his cropped sweatshirt, admittedly, confident and gently muscled. Never once have you thought about his stretch marks when you aren't touching them, even when they're on display. But… "It's not really the same, Steve. I have them everywhere. I have them on my arms, I mean," —you shake your head slowly, though you've kept your smile in an attempt to be less obviously pathetic— "who has them on their arms?" 

Steve moves the half of your cupcake you have left and puts it on the armrest before taking both of your hands into his. Yours are a little smaller, a little softer, and cool to his warm. 

"You do," he says, suddenly serious, "and they're fine. They're perfect, because they're on you. I don't know if I'm gonna say the wrong thing so don't wring me out if this isn't the right one, but they're just skin." 

"They're ugly." 

"No, listen. I've never looked at you and thought you should hide them, they're not ugly–" 

"Steve," you say again, startled by his passion, "you don't have to. I shouldn't have said it. It's not like you could tell me they're gross." 

"They're not gross," he says severely. "And I'm not just telling you what you want to hear." Steve drops your hands in favour of your waist. "Come here." 

It shouldn't surprise you to be treated so sweetly; Steve's always sweet, even when he's moody, he'll be frowning and choking the breath out of your chest or rubbing his face roughly against the back of one of your hands. He's a tactile creature, and when he doesn't know what to say he falls back on touch instead. 

"I just thought you were a bit shy about showing skin," he murmurs, pushing his cheek into yours, his lips by your ear, "how can you think they're ugly?" 

"They're bumpy." 

"Jesus, babe. Are you supposed to be like a china doll?" 

You laugh softly, and under the comedy of his question is the reality of what he's really saying. Steve isn't expecting anything but what you have, marks and moles and scars alike. He never thought for a second that they were a reason to hide away in long sleeves. 

"Some of them are bad," you mumble. 

"I like them. I really like them." He pulls away ever so slightly as a warm hand starts to move, your view of his face unobstructed as he teases the hem of your shirt with his fingertips. 

"Weirdo." 

Steve can likely hear the love in your voice as his thumb traces the seam of a stretch mark under your shirt. His touching slows to match, and when he leans down for a kiss, it's twice as reverent as usual, and it tastes faintly of cupcake frosting. Your breath catches at the sound he makes, a contented sigh.

He pulls away again. "You believe me, right?" he asks, the exhale of his words fanning over your lips. 

You nod and tilt your head to one side, wading in for another kiss. He gave a convincing argument, as does his searching palm. 

[heich0e]

[warning: while f!reader is not described with any specific physical characteristics, the child in this fic is described as having inherited all of Megumi’s attributes and none from reader! please read with that in mind, or pass over this fic if not <3]

"We've got some stuff to talk about."

Megumi watches as Kota's little sock-clad feet swing back and forth while he sits in his chair at the table in the middle of the staff room of the veterinary clinic. He's eating some of the chocolate covered mushroom-shaped cookies the vet keeps tucked away in the back corner of one of the tallest cabinets out of sight, with a glass of milk.

At the counter on the opposite side of the room, Yuuji is slicing him an apple. Megumi stands at his side.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Yuuji asks him under his breath, in response to the answer Megumi had just provided him about who this kid is and why he looks just like him. "He's clearly—"

Yuuji's voice pitches up a little too loudly and both men quickly glance over at the little boy on the other side of the room, who is watching them curiously. Yuuji smiles, though Megumi can see just how strained it is from up close, and then the two men shift away so their backs are to the child once more.

"Fushiguro, that's clearly your kid."

"Not possible," Megumi replies immediately, and he means it. Sure he'd thought the same thing when he first saw the boy, but with every passing moment he's come more firmly to the conclusion that it simply isn't plausible. There's just no way.

Right?

"Hey, Kota-chan?" Yuuji calls over his shoulder, still hacking away at the apple in his hands. "When's your birthday?"

Kota's lips purse, a smudge of chocolate next to his mouth.

"I dunno," the little boy replies.

Both of the men hold back their groans.

"Mama never bought you presents and gave you cake after she sang you a song?" Yuuji tries again.

Kota's eyes light up and he nods. "Yeah!"

Yuuji laughs a little at how the child's expression has changed. "What was the weather like outside that day?"

Kota seems to think very hard about this new information. "There was snow outside. Mama made a snowman with me and then we went inside to eat cake."

Megumi watches as Yuuji does the calculation in his head. It takes a while.

"Kota told me he's four, so who were you seeing in the... late winter or early spring five years ago?" he finally works out the math and asks his friend from the corner of his mouth.

Megumi thinks back, though reluctantly.

"No one," he says finally, upon a moment of reflection.

Yuuji looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel.

"What are you doing, by the way?" Megumi asks, watching Yuuji drag the knife along one of the apple slices, peeling away only a small section of the skin.

"Making bunnies," Yuuji replies, holding one up for Megumi to see.

It does kind of look like a bunny, he has to admit, with two little bits of the peel cut out into points. It's not the most realistic rendition he's ever seen, but it's a close enough approximation. He watches as Yuuji sets the last rabbit-esque slice onto a plate and carries it over to Kota at the table.

"Here you go," he says with a smile, setting the plate down in front of the boy.

Megumi can practically see the sparkles in the child's eyes when he looks at the slices of fruit.

"Bunnies!" he says, beaming up at Yuuji. The pink haired man returns his smile with an equal enthusiasm. The boy picks up a slice immediately, holding it up to his face to appreciate it. "Mama puts bunnies in my lunch sometimes."

Yuuji's smile falters a little. "Hey, Kota-chan, is there anything else you can tell me about your mama? She must be really worried about you, you know."

Kota's lips curl into a sad little frown. He avoids Yuuji's eyes. "Mama was working, and I knew she wouldn't let me help the bunny if I told her because she was really busy, but I had to help him."

Yuuji softens a bit, huffing out a breath. He plops a hand down into Kota's dark hair, ruffling it gently. "You're not in trouble, buddy. And you did help the bunny. But we've gotta try and get you home now, okay?"

Kota nods a little.

"You said your mama works nearby right?" Yuuji asks, and again Kota nods. "And it's a restaurant?" Another nod. "What does mama do there?"

"She brings people their food! And she brings them drinks!" Kota replies.

A server, obviously.

"Okay, good job, Kota. I'm gonna see if I can figure out how to get you home, alright?"

The little boy nods, taking a bite of his apple slice.

Yuuji approaches Megumi, still hovering on the other side of the kitchen. "I'm gonna give Nanamin a call and see if anything's come in about a missing kid at the station, if not I'll jog around the block and check the local restaurants. You stay with Kota and write me down a list of all the women you've—"

Both men look over at Kota, who's watching them raptly with a cheek full of apple.

"—been friends with." Yuuji finishes his sentence strangely, but Megumi gets the message anyway.

The dark haired man feels heat flare in his cheeks, grabbing Yuuji by the front of his shirt before he can step away.

"I've always been very..."—he glances over at the child on the other side of the room—"careful with my friends."

Yuuji understands what he means.

"You can never be careful enough," he remarks pointedly, albeit a bit awkwardly—his cheeks are a little bit pink now too.

Yuuji and Megumi don't ever talk about stuff like this, at least not in such specific detail. This is the kind of conversation Yuuji'd have with his friend Todo, or maybe Nobara, and the kind of conversation Megumi would rather take with him to the grave.

Megumi grits his teeth. "I'm not making a list."

"Fushigu—"

"I don't need one. It doesn't merit the paper." Megumi cuts him off, his cheeks burning so hot he's surprised the room hasn't gotten brighter. Yuuji's eyes widen a little as he processes the admission. Megumi's never really been one to sleep around, and while he's had a few long-term partners, none of them were around the time that Kota would have been born. Plus Megumi's relationships all ended relatively amicably—he'd have known if one of his exes had a baby. "I'm telling you, it doesn't make sense."

Yuuji nods a bit, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Alright, alright," he says. "Let me go call Nanamin and we'll get this figured out."

Megumi watches as his friend steps out through the doorway to the staff kitchen, breathing out a long, weary sigh once he's gone.

"Erm—Doctor Shiguro?"

Megumi freezes, glancing over at the little boy at the table. He'd sort of momentarily forgotten he was even there.

Kota is sitting at the table, rubbing at his eyes with his small fist.

Megumi looks at him expectantly.

"I'm sticky," Kota says, holding up his hands with his fingers splayed.

The man blinks for a moment, and then nods, retrieving a small bit of paper towel and running it under the tap to dampen it. He brings it over to Kota, handing it to the boy, but the child sticks both of his hands out. Megumi hesitates and then takes one of his small hands in his own, sweeping the damp towel across it.

He repeats the motion with the second hand, making sure to get any lingering stickiness off of his smooth skin. His hand is incredibly tiny, Megumi can't help but notice—there are dogs he'd tended to with larger paws than Kota's little hand.

Once Kota's hands are clean, Megumi glances up at his face. His eyelids are drooping, and the man realizes it's quite late for such a young boy to be awake (and eating snacks no less.) That smudge of chocolate is still on Kota's cheek, so Megumi wipes it away with the damp towel too.

"Doctor Shiguro?" Kota mumbles tiredly.

"Fushiguro," Megumi gently corrects him.

"Is my bunny really gonna be okay?" the little boy asks, rubbing at his eyes again.

Megumi thinks back to the way Kota had the little rabbit held against his chest underneath his coat to protect it from the rain; how desperately he'd asked him, a stranger, for his help; how scary it must have been for such a little boy to be out so late, in such a bad storm, all alone.

He nods.

"Yeah, he'll be alright."

[bunysliper]

Castle Ficlet: Off the Highest Shelf 1/1

Off the Highest Shelf A Deep Cover (6x12) Post-Ep

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He hesitates at the threshold to his bedroom - their bedroom - watching her. Although she'd left her coat and the impossibly tall boots she'd worn all day in the closet by the front door when they got home, she hasn't yet shed the rest of her armor, instead floating through the main areas of the loft in her jeans and her cream turtleneck for the evening. She hasn't been in their room at all as far as he can tell.

Until now.

And now Kate stands in her socked feet, staring at their bed with her lip pulled between her teeth. There's a tightness around her eyes that makes him wince, an exhaustion he hates seeing from his partner. After a moment, she sighs, runs a hand through her hair, and steps over to her side of the bed and starts tugging at the covers. Not with the intention of sliding into bed, but to strip the linens from the mattress.

A glimpse of red, already dark and browning with oxidation, reminds him why she can't just climb into bed and surrender to a restful night's sleep. He slips forward at that, joining her at the head of the bed on his side.

"Are you mad?" he asks as they work in an almost choreographed tandem, stripping the pillows and the duvet while she untucks the sheets and bundles them, carefully avoiding the blood - his father's blood - on her side.

"Well, I did like these sheets," she says, dry and contained. It's exactly the response that tells him she is angry, even if she doesn't quite realize it yet.

"That's… that's not what I mean. Are you angry about… my dad?"

Her face twitches just a bit and she sighs. "I'm frustrated that you kept it from me," she admits after a beat. "You had this entire experience in Paris last year and not only did you shut me out then, you continued to do it until now, until this case - until you had absolutely no choice but to bring me in on the family secret. Would you have even told me about him had I not stumbled upon him bleeding on my side of the bed with your mother tending to him?"

He opens his mouth to reply, to defend his decision not to tell her a year ago when Alexis was kidnapped and then to continue to hold that secret until just a few days ago, but sound doesn't make its way past his lips. Her fingers clench against the bundle of sheets and he moves to take them from her; though he's not sure if they are salvageable, he'll send them to the cleaners to have professionals try.

At first it doesn't seem like she's going to give up the linens, but when she does, she speaks again as well, "For years, you made it your mission to turn my life into an open book for you, whether I wanted it to be or not, but you're happy to stay locked up tight, to be a volume that's just high enough on a shelf to be considered off-limits, so nobody will try to read it."

"That's not-" Is it? He's not locked up tight; he shares plenty - doesn't he?

She licks her lips, running a hand through her hair before adding, "I'm trying. I'm trying to read it- you. I want to read you, as strange as it sounds to say out loud like that. You told me earlier tonight that you realized he's not family; that I am. So, start acting like it, Rick. Talk to me - tell me things."

"You don't need to be off-limits anymore," she adds, lifting a shoulder quickly as if it will distract from how deeply she feels about this subject.

Taking a deep breath, he leans over to drop the sheets on the floor near their bedroom door. It's not a perfect solution (and a little bit gross if he thinks too hard about it - he'll make sure to clean the hardwood, too), but he needs his hands free to reach for her and draw her into his chest.

Beckett sighs, relaxing into his embrace and slipping her arms around his waist. Her breath skims across his neck and he feels her sink deeper against him.

"I think… more than anything, I think it hurt my feelings," she admits into his skin. "Being left out like that."

His hands flex against her back, his eyes squeezing shut. "I'm sorry. That was… it was never… I'm sorry."

She nods after a moment, accepting his fumbled apology. "I know. And I know that was how you felt with the AG job and the interview."

Castle brushes his fingers through the ends of her hair, contemplating her words. They'd done the same thing to each other - unknowingly and unwittingly, but they had.

"Kate-"

Her lips brush his jaw, cutting off whatever it is he'd been about to say (though he's not entirely sure what it had been, beyond another apology, maybe even an assurance that he hadn't been trying to even the score or something like that).

"I know, Rick. I know it's not some kind of tit for tat. But…tell me now?" she asks, lifting a hand to cup the back of his neck. "While we make the bed?"

He nods, resting his cheek against her forehead. "Okay. But I warn you, it might give you more information about my mother's sex life than you ever want to know."

Kate laughs, giving his neck a squeeze. "I think I can handle it. I do sort of live with her now, you know."

Castle touches his lips to her hairline. "And you know what she's like."

"Oh hush, she's not that bad." Kate steps back, reaching for a bottle of disinfectant that he takes and sprays for her.

"Now. Imagine back then."

Kate hands him a rag to swipe over the mattress as well. There aren't any visible stains, thankfully, but he's not going to argue with her directions.

"I don't need to imagine," she says, rubbing a hand down his back. "Because you can tell me."

Her lips dust the back of his neck, the gesture soft and relaxing; it's not an interrogation, she just wants to know, wants to listen. So, he talks, telling her his mother's side of the story from when he was growing up, weaving it into the tale of the harrowing days when Alexis was missing and his father's daring rescue in Paris.

When that story concludes, all it takes is a soft look from her and a squeeze of her hand on his forearm for him to offer up everything else that's been on his mind since they caught their most recent case.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ Long time, no see! It's been a time recently, and putting words to paper has been difficult, but I was able to finish this yesterday so I figured I would offer it to the world today. Thanks for reading.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Salvia Splendens Means Forever Mine- Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 1.8k

TW: Death, blood, bleeding out, making out, kissing, men being creepy, swearing, blood, trauma, cliffhanger moment

A/N: Guys I am so sorry. School has actually picked up and so have rehearsals, I'm losing my mind, but I'm trying to write multiple things at once, and that's so silly of me. I'm sorry this is so short, and I promise the next one will be longer. Thank y'all for your patience. It means a lot! PS That's fully Lady Mac in the painting !!

Part 1 Part 2

In all fairness, it was your turn.

Spencer had been captured and drugged, Derek had been arrested and charged with multiple murders, Gideon’s lost love had been murdered by a serial killer, Elle had someone reach into her body and write with her blood on her living room wall, so truthfully, you were a little shocked it had taken you this long to be murdered, or kidnapped, or who knows what else. 

The team hadn’t royally fucked up, per se. You all were beyond careful, but sometimes, when you misprofile, things happen. How were you supposed to know that it was the girl and her boyfriend, and not just the boyfriend. 

The best part about this was the fact that you got to watch as the woman you saved two days ago get stabbed to death repeatedly, screaming at you to save her. Her blood splattered across your face, your clothes, your skin, permanently staining it in your mind. Your favorite Shakespeare show had always been Macbeth, it seemed a bit ironic now considering you felt as though you would never wash her blood off your hands. 

The screams would echo around in your head as you stared at her body on the mattress across from you. The red grew in splotches like a sick mold, blooming out from underneath.

The boyfriend, whose name was slipping your mind, slid the knife up your thigh, and you couldn’t tell if he was drawing more of your blood, or dragging hers across you. 

The couple had been so kind as to remove your shirt and pants, leaving you in nothing but undergarments, and no socks. Colorado was fucking cold at night

You heard the girl, Millie, giggling as she shoved the woman’s body with her foot. You winced as you felt the knife going higher than you would have preferred, his hand sliding around your waist. 

“Andrew. What are you doing?” 

His name was Andrew. Got it. 

His hands immediately retracted, shrugging and crossing his arms, but still standing over you. 

“Go dispose of her body.” 

Andrew nodded, quickly tugging your hair, painfully, before moving to clean up the mess the two of them had made. You swallowed the groan in your throat and closed your eyes; the woman’s body never left your sight though. 

“Why does a gorgeous agent like you wear such a boring necklace.”

Your eyes shot open as Millie swung the little gold chain around her fingers. You pulled you hand, intending to reach your neck, but the restraint dug into your wrist, surely leaving a mark in the process. 

You hadn't realized it was gone. Your neck suddenly felt so cold, so make, without it.

“Oh so which one of them gave you this?” 

You exhaled, but kept your eyes on her hand at all times, not wanting to lose sight of the necklace. 

She smirked, watching as every muscle in your body stayed as tense as it could. 

“Was it…Agent Morgan…Agent Prentiss…no, hmm…” She twirled it around, enjoying as you fidgeted around, terrified that the necklace would break. 

“The skinny one?” You tried so hard not to react, but you have this nasty habit of biting your cheeks when you get extremely nervous or worried, and Millie’s smirk turned wicked when she realized. 

“Ah, so it is the nerdy one…interesting…Andy?”

Andrew, who had been leaning on the door frame, eyeing you up and down, making your skin crawl, looked over at Millie. 

“Baby…” She drawled, “Put this necklace on me?”

“No.” You couldn’t help it as the words shoved their way out of your mouth before you even had a chance to process it. 

Andrew stalked towards Millie, eyeing her up and down before snatching the necklace out of her hand. “It’s real pretty on you baby.” He slowly placed it on her neck, the gold contrasting against her skin. 

“Ya know, I just have to ask…what does this stupid pendant even mean?” 

You shook your head, eyes cast downward, unable to watch someone else wear the necklace Spencer had given you. 

“Hey. Fucking answer me.” She kicked your shoulder causing you to wince in pain as you felt the bruising start to form immediately. 

You missed it as Andrew picked up the knife. You missed it as Millie took it from him. You didn’t miss how she stabbed you in the gut, causing your eyes to flash white. 

People say pain is hot, it shoots through you like a fire you can’t put out, but they’re wrong. It is ice in your veins. The numbness slowly takes over your body as it shuts down, trying to avoid the unavoidable. 

Your mouth let out a strangled “fuck” when Millie ripped the knife from your stomach, causing the blood to start oozing out of your wound. 

God it was not supposed to end this way. 

You placed a hand over your stomach, barely registering the wetness as you pulled it up to your eyes. You watched as the blood dripped down the sides of your hands, and that's when the adrenaline shot kicked out from underneath you. 

“Oh my god.” you mumbled, placing your hand over the wound. The first thing you were supposed to do was stop the bleeding. With what? There’s nothing around? Panic was seeping through every pore in your body. You had been trained for this, why couldn’t you remember what to do? What should you even use to stop the bleeding, god it fucking hurt. 

You watched as the door across the room slammed shut, causing you to flinch at the sound, causing you to groan in pain at the sudden movement. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” 

This couldn’t be it. You couldn’t just die while some sick and twisted bitch walked around with your necklace on, while you slowly bled out on some disgusting mattress in god knows where. 

Maybe this is what Spencer thought about while he was dying. 

“I’m not dying.” You whispered, wavering slightly. The blood loss was getting to your head and your eyes were getting heavy. “I’m not…shit. It’s fine…I’m”

His hand was softer than you remembered, but at least he wasn’t as nervous as before. It was your six month anniversary and Spencer had gone all out. He had taken you out to dinner, your favorite restaurant in the area, wined and dined you. It was perfect. The two of you had ended up back at your place, your back against the door as you dug your hand around in your pocket. 

“Spence.’ You mumbled, smiling against his lips, losing all focus as one of his hands grabs your waist, squeezing it with anticipation. 

Your lack of focus spurred Spencer on, and suddenly the door to your apartment was opening–he had found your keys and opened it, all while distracting you with his lips, his touch.  You were glad someone had their head on straight. 

You stumbled back slightly, not leaving his touch, feeling the warmth on his hands on your arm, pulling you back into him. 

“Move in with me.” He whispered against your lips, and you’re not sure if you heard him correctly. 

“What?” You whispered, taking the slightest step back, opening your eyes and looking up into his eyes. His sweet, shining eyes, filled with hope, and something a bit more. 

“Move in with me…” Spencer licked his bottom lip, that same nervous tick that would drive you fucking crazy whenever you looked at him. 

“What about the team…” Spencer shook his head. 

“Who cares.” He smiled at you. “I just want to wake up next to you every morning.”

Spencer kissed your lips softly.

“Please sweetheart” Your jaw.

“Every single morning” Your neck. 

“Spence…” You moaned slightly, surely leaving bruises on his arms from your grip. Your mind was everywhere, unable to truly cling onto any of the words Spencer was whispering to you.

“In our bed.” 

“Sold.” You pulled his head up and basically launched yourself at him, lips on his. 

Spencer was not having as great of a time in his head as you were. 

Just as the team was getting out of their cars, he had heard your voice, causing him to immediately go on high alert, hand on his gun in an instant. The rest of the team had followed suit, all of them quickly looking at Hotch and Reid, trying to figure out a plan. 

Reid almost had to be held back by Morgan the way he basically started to walk right into the building. He knew what happened in hostage situations. He knew how unforgiving captures could be. He couldn’t stop picturing all of the possibilities of what made you scream out in such pain. 

But suddenly, he heard the front door slam, causing all of them to instantly aim at the couple, demands and yelling all happening so slowly.

He could hear the suspects voice, that dumb asshole that wouldn’t stop flirting with you in  the restaurant they had eaten at a couple days ago. His arrogance was the least of Spencer’s problems now. 

Then, he heard a woman’s voice, calling the unsub “sweetheart” and “darling” and “baby”. How could the miss the girlfriend? 

She had seemed so…submissive. But clearly, the profile was off a little bit. 

That’s when he heard the first gun shots go off, causing him to look up at the body on the ground, and the girl sobbing but getting on her knees. The boyfriend had a gun in his hand, but was too slow. 

Morgan quickly walked up to the girl, Hotch following him closely, gun trained on her. 

Hotch’s eyes went wide, and he quickly gave a nod to Emily, causing her to block Spencer’s path. 

“Where did you get this?” Hotch yanked it off of her neck, clutching the necklace in his hand. 

“You’ll find what’s left of 'em in there.” She smiled sickly, getting shoved by Morgan towards the black SUV brigade. 

But Spencer had already seen the necklace, and heard her answer. It was a miracle how agile he was, considering the FBI had to waive all of his physical exams to let him go into the field. Before anyone could really clear the building, Spencer was already inside of it, ignoring the shouts from his superiors and peers. 

He slowly made his way through, trying not to vomit at all of the blood all over the floors and the very clear drag marks of a body. 

His eyes landed on your body, bloody mattress and all and he froze. He couldn’t believe his fucking eyes.

Next Part

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SSMF Taglist: @raely-study @multifandoms-assemble @marylovesevanpeters @shqwqrma @niya06

[museumgiftshoperaser]

A Matter Of Time

(Steve&Robin | Rated T | 1.2K | AO3)

Welcome back to the aro Steve agenda. Here's something angsty and bitter and sad I wrote when I was going through it <3

It’s two Fridays before Christmas and Robin is replacing him. She should be home any minute now, with fresh stories, sharp like daggers, and that innocent grin. Just two Fridays until Christmas and Steve is alone in the kitchen.

He slides his pizza onto a plate. Burns the side of his pinky finger on the metal rack in the oven while he’s at it. Skin sizzles red and hot and the pain follows a second later. Steve curses into the empty kitchen and Robin isn’t there to scold him. To take his palm into her hand and insist they get out the first aid kid to prevent sepsis or some shit. Isn’t there to frown and drag him, by the unscathed hand, towards the sink.

Because she is replacing him.

What a terrible thing to think.

The kitchen is dark, has been dark this entire time, so Steve slumps into the living room, plate balanced on one flat palm, without needing to turn the light off. He doesn’t run his finger under the tap, just shakes his hand a few times fast until his brain confuses the tingle and the sting.

He’s barely made it to the couch when the front door swings open.

“Steve!”

He can’t see her yet, back turned towards the little hallway, but her boots stomp on the floor, rattling the whole apartment as she presumably shakes off the snow. Steve sets his plate on the coffee table and sinks into the couch. “Steve, you have to-” More footsteps, sock soft, but closer this time, and she sounds so happy. “Why is it so dark in here?”

Steve takes a deep breath and looks over his shoulder, mouth open before he’s even thought of a lie.

“You’ve got a headache again?” Robin is in his space before he knows it. Icy fingers pressed up against his forehead. “You’re burning up.” “Yeah, because you’re hands are freezing.”

He swats at her wrist and Robin pulls her hand back and frowns. “Are you sure?” “Positive.” Steve lays it on thick with a once winning smile. “Time just got away from me.” The frown melts. Slowly, but it does and Robin drops herself right next to him on the love seat. No space for a full couch, not in Chicago. It was either a second bedroom or any space to breathe, and while Steve and Robin grew joined at the hip, they were certainly not sharing their sleeping arrangements.

So her knees bump his’. Her hands flutter into shared space as she talks. She’s close enough to see the snowflakes clung to eyelashes and the twitch of a coy smile in between sentences.

The girl’s name is Wren, and doesn’t Steve think that’s poetic? Birds and all. Two of them, one stone. Dead. He doesn’t say that last part. He doesn’t say anything as Robin, the better of two birds, rattles off the story of a second date. Third really, but both girls insist that first one didn’t count. Too shy still. Not quite ready to toe the line.

Not anymore, though. Two weeks ago Robin arrived home with the story of a kiss, a good one, and Steve bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

It’s on him, really. He put all his eggs in one basket again because that’s just what he does. Takes his heavy, hollow heart and drops it right in someone’s lap. He did it to Tommy. Did it to Nancy. Did it to Eddie during that one flash in the pan summer before they broke up and skipped town. Both in different directions. Started doing it to Robin well before that. Left his sticky heart in the hands of a girl who promised, drugged out, bathroom floor promised, that she’d never break it. Couldn’t break it. Didn’t have the stomach for it.

It was only a matter of time before someone would fall in love with Robin. Beautiful Robin, with her razor sharp tongue and her shiny new confidence. She’d been single for a lack of trying back in Hawkins, but the effort expanded with the size of the city.

Even with little to show for it, Robin has been trying to replace him for a very long time.

It was like that with Tommy, who went out with a different girl each week, searching desperately for someone he could go and love more. So Steve went and found Nancy, who never looked right athim, but held his hand when they walked side by side. He loved her best he could with his heavy, hollow heart until she caught his gaze in the mirror, called bullshit and left.

And Eddie.

That boy saw right through him, with brown eyes and a bruise blue vigilance. It would have been a perfect honor, except Steve was made of air. Nothing to see, nothing to give. Eddie’s gaze landed behind him and in the distance, he saw New York. Got two tickets for the greyhound. Said if you love me you’ll come with me. Steve was dizzy with it.

He told Robin he got dumped, later that same night, because it was easier than explaining the well at the bottom of his stomach, where all his crushes went to die. She ran her fingers through his hair and told him it was his loss, Eddie’s, because she didn’t know of the gap in Steve’s torso.

And he loved her. Loves her. Will love her.

But Robin is trying to replace him. Because she could love anyone if she wanted to. Why wouldn’t she want to? Two small town kids in a city of millions, with love on the horizon.

“I’m really happy for you.” He speaks the words into existence, hopes it will make them true, but it’s dark and black in the pit of his stomach. Where good intentions go to die.

Steve has always been a liar. Saying things he doesn’t mean. Carving space for shit he doesn’t feel. A boy so bitter, sooner or later, everybody spits him out.

The words tumble down Robins tongue, “I asked her to be my girlfriend.” And she said yes. Of course she did. A four letter word disguised under many other names. They hug. Him and Robin, close together on the love seat and his chest hurts. Heavy and hollow.

What a terrible person he is.

He lets Robin tell the story, lets her get to the part where she tells him not to lose hope. That there’s someone out there waiting for a boy like him. City of millions, apartment for two, and Steve’s not sure when she will notice it’s too small. But Steve knows. He’s known all this time.

It was always a matter of time, but Robin smiles like she can’t see it. Or maybe she does. She looks him right in the eye and says nothing, all talked out, like she’s waiting for something.

He sees a future in her eyes. A forever spent on the same love seat, odd jobs, movie nights, shared bank accounts, gray hair. Steve wants to do his taxes with her. Laundry. At the end of a long day, he just wants to go home and tell his best friend all about it.

And she wants that too, just not with him.

Robin raises an eyebrow, bumps her knee against his thigh.

I love you, he wants to say, the words all prepared in his mouth.

But he doesn’t.

[tomurderornottomurder]

i don't want to talk; saul goodman

pair. saul goodman x gn!reader

summ. you and your boss are kidnapped cartel style and have a somewhat quiet moment after

gen. angst, hurt minimal comfort

wc. 1.8k+

tw. breaking bad related themes, kidnapping, guns, blood, descriptions of injuries, focus on mouth injuries, death mentions,

note. i still need to finish better call saul. old draft but i really like it.

Your wrists are freshly raw from the rope they had been bound with. You rub at them with your fingers as you twist them around, trying to massage the marks away. You sit in the arid desert on the dry, sandy ground. Your expensive, secondhand suit will suffer from the harsh minerals rubbing against the fine material. Your cheeks should be stained with tears yet none had come even face to barrel with a gun larger than the hand holding it. You were resilient in the moment, strong and silent, something you hadn't been able to be before, yet while facing death, you could finally be. Your disposition was for nothing though as you had made it out alive and yes, you were grateful but what's amazing about standing your ground and living?

The red marks on your wrists remain despite all the effort and you can only manage to sigh in disappointment. Footsteps sound behind you and you have to fight back the violent urge to turn and see who's coming. If it's your captors, goodbye; if it's your boss, well, who knows? Some would argue that it was his fault you were here but you know better, you always have. You didn't blame him and he shouldn't blame himself either, you doubt he would admit such a thing out loud anyway. You were kidnapped together, bound behind the back, bags over your heads; the whole shebang. Even behind you two, a grave dug just big enough to fit your rotting corpses but shallow so as to not show respect. What was respectable about either of you? There was nothing. There was nothing.

The footfalls stop just beside you and in a quick second, you hear the familiar groans of the older man. Saul Goodman, your boss, and he was sitting with his legs crossed like a kindergartener. You almost couldn't believe it but then again, Saul has done more unimaginable things. You look over at him, careful to not look anywhere near his face. You see his legs all crossed and his socks that peak out, you could laugh at them if you hadn't just been threatened with a barrel pressed against the roof of your mouth. You notice how high his pants come up as he sits like that, how his belt looks -too smooth to be real leather and too tacky of metal to be anything valuable. You notice the small scuff marks on his shoes that could only be from today and you wonder why his shoes are so nice and expensive but his belt isn't. You don't say anything though. (Why would you?) 

"Hey-" Saul tries to speak, genuinely too, you can tell.

You snap, "I don't want-" You lose your fire immediately, you can't even finish the damn sentence; he knows what you mean anyway. There's something in your heart that can't be mean to him. Not even now. Not after feeling the cool metal of your kidnapper's gun against your tongue and tasting your blood after your captor hit you with it. Not after sitting in the blaring heat of the sun in the middle of the desert in nowheresville USA with your arms bound behind your back and the heat weaving through your skin, waiting to coil up and take your life like the very snakes that called this place home. Not after all of that can you manage to be mean. 

You don't wonder if Saul feels bad. He does. Of course. He scoots closer, his arm touching yours. He doesn't want to freak you out. He doesn't care that much about you. You're his employee, not much more. But a shiny, purple bruise has a glare that some people -people like him- can't ignore. Right there on the left side of your face, surrounding your eye is the deepest purple Saul has ever laid his eyes on. Marks litter the bridge of your nose and it's starting to swell. Your mouth is worst of all. Blood will not stop rushing past your lips, there are cuts all over inside, a tooth was knocked out in the chaos, your tongue was cut (even just the littlest thing makes it bleed so much), and your lips are raw and scratched. It looks like someone let an animal loose inside your mouth. It's horrible. 

Saul watched it happen. Them, the people who kidnapped you both, shove a gun into your mouth like it belonged there. Twist it around and threaten you as Saul pleaded with them doing what he always does and striking a deal, persuading the audience, getting them on his side, trying to save someone; someone who he had gotten into this mess, someone he cared about -even the littlest bit. You got hit repeatedly, swung at with the gun or knuckles, a mix of the two, or a kick to the ribs. You didn't let out anything. Not a single word. You let Saul do the talking. You took the punches. That was your job in this little operation. Maybe that was always what was supposed to happen. 

You can't shake the metal that had been in your mouth. You can't shake closing your eyes and making peace and just being quiet and waiting. You don't even know what you were waiting for. Death or release or life after all of this? Freedom or pity or indentured servitude? Sweet peace or life-long guilt? It wasn't fathomable. It wouldn't be for years. 

You almost jump at the touch. Saul's finger graces your bruise. You hold back a hiss and you wonder what he's doing. There are things you know and there are things you wonder about. Saul's touch not feeling like fire against your skin is something you can only wonder about, you will never understand that -for lack of a better term- relief. You sit silently with your legs bent in front of you and your back straight waiting. For death, release, or sweet, sweet peace. You can't choose in this one. Freely, your fate is decided by one Saul Goodman. You trust him enough for that yet you wouldn't trust him with your car keys. 

You don't want to look at his face, especially not his eyes. You know what happens if you do. You can't deal with that right now. He makes that mission difficult. He takes his fingers off your bruise and places his thumb at your nose. In a strange way, it was like a medical examination or at least with the precision of one. Like he was assessing you for damage. Maybe not so medical-like after all. You wouldn't expect less from him. It almost makes you smile. He was tallying up his losses. Smart move, you think. 

He reassigns his thumb to swiping blood from your chin even as it still dribbles out. Your poor mouth; all beat up for the senselessness of it. He wants to examine your mouth, maybe see what exactly is going on in there but he finds himself at a loss (funnily enough). He can't see this looking very good. He can't imagine how you'd interpret it and he's at a crossroads. Maybe he should talk to you? But that directly disobeys your earlier word. But he's the boss? Who tells him what to do? You, you, of course. 

He's yet to see your tears from this. A normal person would be concerned. A normal person is no Saul Goodman. 

The blood seems to stop at least flowing out of your mouth but inside is a whole other story. He wipes his your-blood-stained thumb against his already bloodied shirt. His head turns as the wheels of your captors' vehicle squeak and kick up dirt creating clouds of shit he'd rather not inhale and neither would you. He flips open his phone, one bar, good enough. He flips the phone closed. He's not so scared anymore.

What you'll think of him he cannot say nor can he decide and maybe that's good. You should have your own feelings about him, he couldn't stand it if they weren't yours. Maybe he could for a while but that's not forever, it's temporary and fake; stale like potato chips that have sat in your kitchen for months now with the bag open and you mean to throw them out, you really do, but you never quite get around to it and they are always, always just left there in the end. Your feelings for him couldn't be stale potato chips. 

Maybe he should have thought it through better but those clouds of dust must have gotten to him because he presses his thumb against your bottom lip and he doesn't say anything or give you any sort of look, you just open your mouth. It's like an active warzone inside. There's blood here and a cut there, some deep indent northbound, and an empty space where a tooth should be. Your raw lip does not feel good against his thumb. He hates it actually but it stays there for a good long moment as he totals the loss of your mouth. It was like a bomb exploded and he was picking up the missing limbs. His mind entertains the idea of what you'd look like with a gold tooth, he doesn't like it. 

He lets his thumb off your lip like letting a foot off the gas and then there's eye contact. Yours meet his, his meet yours. You look empty. You look like you're about to cry. He couldn't blame you. He was probably going to go home and cry about all of this later. 

He pulls all of his limbs away from you and against himself as he sits at your side. He doesn't look at you or turn his head. He feels your head rest against his shoulder and it's like he's allowed to breathe. He lets out a deep sigh like he's been absolved of all sins. He's quiet. He hears your sobs. They are deep and powerful sobs that he can tell you need to let out. He wraps his arm around your back, maybe even holding you a little closer. 

The sun's harsh glare washes over you both. The air is dry and humid and the horizon is baking. It's like you're in an oven. You've been kidnapped and shrunk and placed in an oven with your boss because life is cruel and why shouldn't you be trapped in an oven? But you're not. Kuby is on his way to pick you both up and you're never going to speak about it again. Saul will not mention the gun in your mouth or the crying. You will not speak thanks to said gun in the mouth and you won't care to regale anyone on how you were kidnapped and beaten up and left to cry on your boss' shoulder because why would you? 

[dice-nagito-ace]

Nine Clowns Walk Into A Hospital

king: hey wouldn't it be funny if we started dominating the world like joker keeps joking about

queen: king, you fucking megalomaniac queen: we go with russia first

OR; Post-Game VR AU where DICE, without it's beloved leader, commit to the bit.

so it was real and it wasn't, almost a sick imitation of limbo, purgatory in which they signed their lives away into it.

they're left in a room where they're all fine, technically, but there are echos of the experience that they can't shake off and they can't, exactly, talk about it, NDAs were such a pain.

they've all agreed to keep contact, if nothing else but the fact that only they could understand what it was like, their own bond forged in blood.

except, there was only one left missing, surgery had to be done the moment his simulation was disconnected, to stop the stress on his bones.

they don't know how to approach him, his presence lingered all the same within their minds, either way.

they're not sure on who's going to come out that door, the one before, the one after or an amalgamation of both.

they're not sure what they want to see.

they never get to.

because there's a knock on a different door and out comes and comes and it never stops until it does and now there's nine new people in their fragile haven, all in white suits and wearing masks, falling in line, waiting.

they ask– of course they ask and the one of the smaller ones, smiles, bared teeth and friendly but no doubt, ready to bite.

"we're waiting for joker."

it takes a while, but the detective is the first, easy enough to connect really, when he looks and sees– checkered items, somewhere on their person, black and white, whether that be socks, bracelets or their masks.

"you're- DICE...?"

they grin but say nothing else, waiting, watching, they're not here for them.

and when the doors burst open, grand entrance for a grand leader, heterochromatic eyes– and wasn't that a surprise, it shouldn't but it is– taking stock of the room, pausing in recognition to the lackeys he's missed, mouth parting to call only to stop.

kokichi stares, no grins, no cheeky remarks and it's almost more off putting to see him without his sharp edges and the DICE members fidget and squirm.

"what did you do?"

one of them cracks, "it was king's idea."

"lead by jack's unit!" "under queen's orders!"

they fall into squabbling and they have to blink and wonder why the fuck were they intimidated at all by these people.

"my royal flush, my sweet suits." kokichi trills in the tone of a waiting disappointed father or a simmering angry mother, a role reversal that has them all silenced as he smiles.

"what did you do?"

it's quiet, one of the boys cough.

"you won the russian election?"

...what.

but the biggest surprise was that kokichi wasn't, instead looking exasperated and checking his phone.

"i was gone for a month."

"it was a bet-" "we wanted to see if we could-" "come on, joker, you kept saying stuff about world domination-!" "you like the cold!" "we can go ice skating for free now-" "joker, please don't be mad-" "dad-" "HA! you called him dad, again!" "da- joker, it's a gift, surprise?"

DICE all but scrambles over to their boss, one of them begins putting on a hat and cape and his signature bandana, on top of the hospital gown he was still wearing.

"who were the other candidates?"

"they were assholes, joker-" "nooo, i don't want them in power." "come on, joker, they're letting us have panta imported there." "the public loves you-" "plus with danganronpa you're already in the public eye-"

they all watch as DICE fall over themselves to make up to their disgruntled head of the organization.

"and i'm guessing we have new recruits?"

"yeah!!! you're not lying when you said you have 10k now, boss!"

"gods, you're all clowns." "hey now, boss you called us a circus for a reason!"

[allthesmutl0vers]

The Weight of Blood: Tom/Theo/Draco/Regulus/Fem!Reader (Part Five)

MDNI,18+,NSFW Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Masterlist Pairing: Tom Riddle/Theo Nott/Draco Malfoy/Regulus Black/Fem!Reader TW: Mentions of suicide attempt, mentions of past self-harm, lots of fluff. Protective Tom/Theo/Draco/Regulus.

Chapter Five

Regulus

I feel like I’m going out of my mind. I haven’t seen y/n for three days. Did she drop out? How could she leave without saying goodbye?

I shake my head. That’s ridiculous. Why would she? She barely knows us. I immediately stop pacing the dorm when I get an idea. A stupid, reckless, possibly get myself expelled idea. But an idea. 

I swing open the dorm room door, running right into Theo, Draco, and Tom. “Woah,” Theo chuckles. “Where are you in a hurry to?”

“I’m going to check on her,” I try to move past them when Tom stops me. 

“Have you completely lost your mind?” He looks at me with a hardened facial expression. 

I scoff and shake my head, pushing his hands off of my shoulders. “You don’t get it. Just because you think less of her,” I swallow. “Doesn’t mean I do.” 

“And just how do you expect to get into her dorm? Hm? There’s probably other girls in the dorm, not to mention you don’t know the damn password.”

I blink a few times and look off to the side. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You’re risking everything to check on her?” Draco scoffs. “What happened is fucked up, but it’s none of our business. None of yours.”

I hold back the need to sock him in the mouth. “It’s my business if I say it is,” I step up to him. “I’m done,” I look over at Tom. “Consequences be fucking damned.”

Tom’s eyes narrow on me, but I don’t back down. His jaw ticks, and finally, he takes a deep breath. “Fine. But we’re coming with you.”

I don’t even let myself stop to think about what he just said, what he’s doing to help me find her. We haul our asses through the corridor until we find a lone Gryffindor boy, probably fifth or sixth year, and corner him. 

“What’s the password to your house?” My tone is rushed as my hands shake. 

He looks at me like I just asked him to hand over his wand. “Excuse me?” 

“The password. Now,” Tom demands, stepping up to my side. 

I watch the kid’s eyes widen. When Tom says jump, you don’t ask why. You ask ‘how high?’ 

“Fortuna Major,” he rushes out. 

“Where is y/n’s dorm?” Theo asks. 

The kid shrugs. “From what I heard from Cormac, it’s at the end of the hall. She has her own. Right staircase.”

I break out in a sprint, caught cutting classes be damned. I just hope to Merlin that if she’s leaving, she’s still packing. That she can give me the chance to ask her to stay. 

We get into the common room, and I run up the staircase on the right, just like the kid said, and twist the doorknob. Locked. I start to knock on the door. “Y/n?” I knock louder. “Y/N?!” I call her name louder, knocking harder. 

“Move,” Draco pushes me out of the way and draws his wand, pointing it at the lock. “Alohomora.”

The lock clicks, and I open the door. “Y/n?” Theo calls out her name. I look around her dorm for any sign that she’s packing. 

“Shit,” Tom mutters. I turn to look at him, holding a piece of paper. 

“What does it say?” I move over to him, grabbing it from his hands. My stomach plummets. “Oh my God,” I mutter, dropping the letter and looking around. 

“What?” Draco asks, leaning against her door frame. 

I see water on the floor coming from behind a door. I try to open it, locked. I pull back and ram my shoulder into the door with every bit of strength I have. “Oh God,” there’s so much blood. I rush to y/n laying in the tub, wrists slit and her face pale. “Oh, no. No, no, no!” 

“Y/n!” Theo calls from behind me as Tom turns off the water, and I lift her out of the tub. “Is she?”

“Put her on the floor,” Tom directs me, and I lay her down on the wet floor. 

“Don’t let her die,” my eyes water as Tom pulls out his wand. 

“Vulnera Sanentur,” Tom waves his wand over her wrists, and the blood stops flowing from her wrists. 

“Oh my God,” Draco moves to stand in the bathroom with us, his eyes wide. 

“Vulnera Sanentur,” Tom repeats, his voice calm even when kneeling in her blood. 

“She’ll be okay,” Theo grabs my shoulder and tilts his head down, closing his eyes. “Per favore, vivi. Dio, non lasciarla morire. Bebe, vivi per favore,” his voice cracks. (Please live. God, don't let her die. Baby, please live.)

I can’t breathe as Tom repeats the incantation a third time. The wounds on her wrists appear closed, but it’s hard to tell with all of the blood. I just pray we aren’t too late. 

“Vulnera Sanentur,” Tom repeats, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s holding his breath too. 

“Please breathe, little lamb,” I sniffle. I see her chest rise and fall, and I let out a deep breath. “Thank fucking God.” 

“She’ll survive. But she needs to rest,” Tom rises onto his feet, scooping down and lifting her body into his arms. “Move,” he looks at me and Theo. I could kill him for acting like this, but I’m too thankful for him saving his life. 

Tom lays her on her bed and looks back at the three of us. “Get some dry clothes. The water was cold.”

Draco looks through her closet without a word, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a big T-shirt. Looking at her lying in her bed, I can see all of the scars on her legs and stomach. I’ve seen scars like that before. On Tom. 

“I’ll change her. You lot turn around,” I take the clothes from Draco. They listen without a word, even Tom. I carefully strip off her shorts and T-shirt, leaving her bra and panties on to cover her. She’s been assaulted before, and when she wakes up in clean clothes, I don’t want her to think we touched her in any way we didn’t need to. “I’m done.” 

We all sit around her dorm, waiting for her to wake up. Tom looks over her books, finding some kind of book with pictures in it. Theo opens her window and lights up a smoke. Me and Draco join him after I clean up her bathroom, and Draco removes the blood from her clothes. 

Hours pass as we wait for her to wake up. “I can stay if you guys want to go,” I look at each of them.

“Nobody is going anywhere,” Tom says, not taking his eyes off the page of one of her books from her shelf. 

I look over at Theo and Draco on the small couch to see if they feel the same way. They both shake their heads, agreeing with Tom that they’re not leaving. I sit down in the second armchair next to Tom, my leg bouncing with anxiety. I look over every few minutes to make sure she’s still breathing, but I need her to wake up so I can hear her voice. 

I need to ask her why she would do this. Ask her why she didn’t come to me first. I know we’re not together, but fuck. I would’ve done anything to make her feel better. Hell, I’m willing to throw everything away for her. 

I look over at Tom and swallow. “I meant what I said, you know.” 

Tom finally looks up from her book. He nods and looks back down. “I know you did.”

“Are you going to tell them? My parents, or Bellatrix?” My leg continues to bounce. “I just need enough time to grab some stuff before they disinherit me.” 

Tom sighs and puts the book down in his lap, looking up at me. “No. I’m not. As long as you respect that, I can’t just walk away.” 

“You could.” 

Tom looks across the room, out the window. “I have nothing else.” 

“That’s not true,” Theo answers. “You have us.”

“Yeah,” Draco nods. “We’re not going anywhere, mate.” 

Tom’s jaw ticks, and he shakes his head. “It’s too late for me. I’m already in too deep. I have a meeting with Viktor Krum. We’re supposed to set up a time for him and the students from his school to go to the manor to meet Bellatrix.”

“Tell him you changed your mind,” Theo offers. “Tell him it was all a prank. Or that the ministry caught on, and it’s over.”

“Just forget it. I’ll handle it,” Tom sighs and nods to y/n’s bed. “She’s waking up.”

I stand up, and so does everyone else. They stand around her bed as I sit down next to her, holding her hand. 

Y/n groans and shifts and her eyes finally flutter open. “Wh— What happened?” 

She moves to sit up, and I help her. “Here, let me help you.” 

Her eyes lock on mine as she blinks a few times and looks around her, noticing the others, and she starts to panic. “What the Hell? How did you guys get here?” She looks down at her wrists, only small scars remaining. “No, no, no,” she stands up and looks at all of us. “What did you do?!” 

“We saved your life,” Tom answers her, straightening his back. 

She moves toward him, raises a hand, and goes to slap him when he catches her wrist, and she starts to cry. “You had no right!” She shrieks. 

Tom’s eyebrows furrow as he looks down at her. “Neither did you.”

“You… I was ready! I wrote my Mum, I…” She starts to cry, her legs giving out when Tom does the last thing I ever expected him to do. He holds her.

“You’re not finished yet,” he mutters as he wraps his arms around her waist, letting her kick and slap him to her heart’s content. I feel my heart crack, and I see Draco’s eyes fill with tears, same with Theo.

“I don’t want to be here. I can’t,” she sobs, and then she breaks my heart with four words. “I want to die.”

“Shh,” Tom holds her tight. “You don’t mean that.” 

She finally settles, and Tom lets her go. She crawls onto her bed, sits against her headboard, and pulls her knees to her chest. “Little lamb?” I sit next to her, and she sniffles, wiping her tears. She looks up at me with bloodshot eyes and lets me pull her to my side, wrapping an arm around her. I open my mouth to ask any of the questions that I had ready to ask her, but none of them come out. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

She nods and looks up at me. “Were you the one that saved me?”

I shake my head, brushing her hair out of her face. “It was Tom.”

Her eyes widen slightly and she looks over at Tom standing at the end of her bed. “Thank you, Tommy.” 

Fuck. He hates that name. I look up at him, waiting for him to correct her, and ready to hex him if he hurts her like he does when Theo calls him that. But to my surprise, he nods, even smiles a little. “You’re welcome.”

Theo, never missing the opportunity to make someone smile, falls on his side onto her bed in front of us and gives her a cheeky grin. “So, are we finally on a nickname basis, bella?” 

Y/n scoffs a laugh but smiles. And my god, if it is not the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Depends.” 

“Pray, do tell,” Theo winks, making me chuckle and roll my eyes. 

Y/n sniffles and smiles. “Do you have any weed?” 

Draco laughs and sits on her other side. “Oh, darling,” he smirks at her. “We always have weed.” 

“Make room for Tommy, Theo,” she pulls Theo to sit up. 

Tom scoffs and shakes his head, sitting down. “Merlin, must you call me that?”

“Want me to call you Riddle instead?” She cocks a brow in his direction. 

Tom chuckles and shakes his head again. “Fine.” 

Theo lights his joint and passes it to y/n. “You know how to smoke?” 

“I’m not a goody two shoes, Theo,” she takes it from his hand and puts it to her lips, taking a long drag and coughing hard when she blows out the smoke. 

Draco laughs and puts a hand on her shoulder. “You sure about that?”

Y/n flips him off and passes it to me as Tom hands her some water. “Drink.”

Y/n smirks and drinks it, handing me the glass when she’s done. “Yes, sir,” she chuckles. 

Tom smirks and rolls his eyes. We all talk, and she tells us about how hard she’s been struggling. She shows us her bruised and scabbed knuckles from punching the astronomy tower railing and how that night is when she made her decision. And about sneaking away to Hogsmeade for one last butterbeer. We listen without judgment and in silence as she explains everything. Even the scars we saw on her legs and stomach, which are apparently from punishing herself for not being good enough in her classes. Her need to be the best only rivals Tom, who did the same thing for the same reason, but he doesn’t tell her that. 

When she finally finishes, and the joint and the next one are smoked, she sighs. “I’m sorry for putting you guys through this. I’m so embarrassed,” she shakes her head. 

“Bella, you have nothing to apologize for,” Theo smiles. 

Draco clears his throat, and she looks at him. “I’m sorry for adding onto it. I shouldn’t have called you…what I called you.” 

Y/n leans her head on his shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

“But it’s not,” Draco tips her face up by her chin. “I’ll make it up to you.” 

Y/n doesn’t say anything; she just nods as he lets go of her chin. I clear my throat, and she turns to look at me next. “Next time you feel this way, come to us. Any of us, okay?” 

She nods and holds up her pinky. “Pinky promise.” 

I cock an eyebrow at her, confused. “What’s that?” 

She blushes and shakes her head. “Right, sorry. It’s a muggle thing,” she chuckles. “You link your pinkies with someone and shake, making a promise. And if someone breaks it, you break their pinky,” she narrows her eyes at me. “It’s very serious.” 

I chuckle at how ridiculous it sounds, but she waves her pinky. “Well, come on then.” 

I link my pinky finger with hers, and we shake. “You’re ridiculous.” 

She scrunches her nose and chuckles, turning to Tom and offering her pinky. Tom sighs, and pinky promises her, too. “Just so you know, I will break it if you break your promise.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I take it so seriously,” she raises her brows at Tom and makes the same promise with Draco and Theo. She sits back and yawns, covering her mouth with her hand. “Fuck, I’m tired.” 

“Mio amore, I may never let you sleep again,” Theo smirks. 

Y/n scoffs and smiles. “Well,” she takes his hand. “I need to sleep sometime,” she drops his hand and looks at all of us. “I’ll be fine. You guys can go. It’s getting late anyway.”

Tom actually laughs. “You think we’re leaving you alone after we found you almost dead?” He cocks a brow. 

Y/n scrunches her face. “Well, there’s only my bed, and I’m not—”

Tom shakes his head and waves his wand, making three sleeping bags appear on her floor. “We’ll be fine.” 

Y/n opens her mouth to argue, but I grab her hand. “It’s no point arguing with him. You won't win, lamb.” 

Y/n sighs in defeat and raises her hands. “Fine, fine.” 

“Or we could all doggy pile in your bed,” Theo winks. 

Tom smacks him upside the back of his head. “Don’t be stupid.”

Y/n giggles, pursing her lips. “Theo, I promise one night we will have a good old-fashioned slumber party, and you can all sleep in my bed.” 

“Merlin,” Draco groans and turns to y/n. “Now you’ve gone and done it.” 

“What?” Y/n laughs and points at Theo, making puppy dog eyes at her. “Look at that face. How could I say no.”

Draco snorts and smiles. “Just prepare yourself. He’s a bed hog.” 

“Am not!” Theo gives Draco a fake offended look. “I am a perfect gentleman, I’ll have you know.”

“Mhm. Sure,” I laugh. 

“Vaffanculo,” Theo waves his hand. (Fuck you)

We laugh and chat for a few more minutes until y/n starts to drift off on my shoulder, so we all stand up from her bed, and I pull the covers over her, kissing the top of her head. 

“So, Tommy, huh?” I joke as we all get into our sleeping bags. 

“Shut up,” Tom glares at me, trying not to smile. 

I shake my head. “Ready to jump ship?” 

Tom swallows and bites his lip. “I can try to figure something out.” 

I decide to leave it for now, that’s as much of an answer I know I’m going to get out of him tonight. I sigh as I sink into my sleeping bag, y/n sleeping peacefully just a few feet away and Draco and Theo on my other side. 

And then four turned to five.

Part Six

[legobiwan]

What do you think the rest of the mario crew thinks of luigis villains?

Oooh hoo hoo. Fun question, anon! I'll include my projected opinions of Bowser, Peach, Mario and maybe a little addendum of E. Gadd as they're the main players who would have definite and varying things to say about each villain.

Bowser

Antasma: Thinks he's an absolute pushover and annoying, to boot. 10/10 would join forces with and betray again as it was almost a little too easy.

King Boo: Is extremely wary of him and tries to avoid entering any deals or partnerships with him, as even Bowser thinks King Boo is seriously deranged and from the rumours he's heard from the Boos who immigrated to the Darklands, he is a petty, tyrannical, and insane ruler. (Not that Bowser isn't petty and tyrannical - at least in his own mind. But, in reality, Bowser is pretty fair according to Darklands culture and treats his minions well, even if he yells and stomps around a lot).

Dimentio: Hates him with a burning passion and wants a chance to go one on one with him, just so he can personally stuff a sock in the smooth-talking jester's mouth. Bowser is always open to less-than-healthy alliances for personal gain, but even he knows Dimentio is someone you do not do deals with if you want to live. But by the lava gods, would he love to dig him up from the River Twygz, just for the opportunity to bury him again.

Peach

Antasma: Frankly, to Peach, Antasma is another villain-of-the-week who kidnapped her. She has no patience for villains who rely solely on kidnapping as their modus operandi, it's insulting and she's over it. She'll, of course, keep an open line of communication with the Pi'illo Kingdom in case Antasma or someone similar tries to make a pass at the Dream Stone, which is a wildly dangerous artifact.

King Boo: Even though King Boo did kidnap her once, Peach holds less disdain for King Boo than Antasma, as, at least with King Boo, her imprisonment wasn't targeted solely on her. She has a healthy respect for King Boo's powers and does not want to get the Mushroom Kingdom entangled with whatever bizarre blood feud is going on between him and Luigi.

Dimentio: She's just glad he's (hopefully) dead. This hasn't stopped her from drafting up a contingency plan to account any reappearance, just in case. She considers him one of the most dangerous villains of all time and worse, due to the whole Chaos Heart fiasco, that contingency plan she's created? Strategies to contain Luigi are also in that plan, and she hates every word she has to dictate to her scribes.

Mario

Antasma: Hates him for the fact he managed to infiltrate his brother's dreams and not only violate his deepest thoughts, but bring Bowser along for that ride. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as the old saying goes.

King Boo: Wants. His. Head. On. A. Platter. (But also, that whole thing makes him doubt himself? He's supposed to the protector, not Luigi. And three times now, Mario has managed to fail and been taken captive by ghosts. He can't figure out why he's so ill-disposed to deal with the paranormal. He needs to fix it).

Dimentio: Mario simultaneously despises Dimentio and is also terrified of him, as he's one of the only bad guys he's never truly been able to kill. Sure, they brought down Super Dimentio (Mario doesn't want to think about that, the other way his brother was folded and stretched into a grotesque monster of the apocalypse), but even then, Dimentio had one last trick up his sleeve and if not for Count Bleck and Tippi, the worlds would have ended and that damned jester and his in-thrall brother would have been left kings of an empty universe. More than King Boo, the nightmare that returns to Mario again and again is Dimentio rising from Underwhere with dangerous, silky words, somehow convincing Luigi to join forces with him to reignite the Chaos Heart and bring reality crashing to an end.

Post-script: E. Gadd

I think of all the villains, E. Gadd would be most fascinated by Antasma. King Boo is a nuisance, one created - if he were to be honest with himself - in part due to his own negligence. He'll never know everything about ghosts, but he knows a damn lot after all these decades. But to traverse the world of dreams and use them to alter reality - that is something E. Gadd has not encountered before, and he would love to study Antasma's powers and see how they align with the brainwave charts he's taken in secret of Luigi.

[pinkpastels113]

two is a party

a bechloe + a cat drabble

“Mrowww.”

Beca groans, rolling over in bed and opening her eyes to see Chloe’s cat yelling at her girlfriend’s face. She glances at the bedside table where the digital clock blinks 3am. “Dude.” She untucks her hand from under her chin to pet Danny’s back. “It’s three in the morning.”

Chloe stirs, a sleepy sound leaving her lips even as she snuggles her face further into Beca’s neck. “What does he waannt,” she whines.

Beca chuckles. For all people say about how Chloe seems like a morning person, Chloe is actually just as bad as Beca; sleeping late and waking up late and having a persistent scratch in her voice until she’s had her morning coffee. Chloe’s just drifted off for a half hour, and now her cat is giving her a hard time. Beca shifts her attention to Chloe’s red locks. She kisses Chloe’s nose, laughing at the way it wrinkles. “I think he’s hungry. Or bored.”

“I filled his bowl before I came to bed.” Chloe huffs, her eyes still refusing to open. Her arms tighten around Beca’s middle, the moonlight dancing in from their partially curtained window reflecting off the few freckles on her skin. Beca breathes in Chloe’s sleepy flowery scent, her heart content with the way they currently are. As if feeling left out, Danny meows again. “Becs, make him stop please. I wanna sleep.”

Beca looks at the cat again. Danny stares at her, and then slow blinks, perfectly innocent in all his troublemaking mixed gray tabby glory. “Maybe he just needs some attention.” She reaches across the blue comforter to play with his white socks. “Are you bored, baby?” When Danny chirps low in his throat as if in agreement, Beca coos. “Awww.”

And Beca doesn’t know if it’s because she’s become soft now that she’s in a relationship with her long-time crush or if she’s practically adopted Danny like one of her own, but the sympathy she has for the small thing now pawing at her fingertips prompts Beca to sit up. This proves to be a bad idea, because seconds after she’s detangled from Chloe’s arms, she’s quickly reminded that she’s naked. Goosebumps erupt up her spine and on her chest, and Beca curses, gripping the comforter to her skin. Chloe’s also realized that her warmth is no longer there, which causes her to grumble and sit up as well.

“What the hell,” Chloe says, her face all scrunched. She glares at the situation, her blue eyes narrowing surprisingly more at Beca than Danny, even though it was Danny who started this stupid thing. “What was that for?”

Beca gapes, appalled. She doesn’t mean to be defensive but it’s not her fault Chloe was woken up. She’s confused as to why Chloe’s more irritated at her than at her cat. “What do you mean? He needed us! What am I supposed to do? Ignore him?” She crosses her arms, clutching the bedsheets closer. It suddenly feels chilly. “I would never do that.” Beca looks to Danny for support. “Right, buddy?”

Danny meows his affirmative. He makes a show of getting on his hind feet and rubbing his face on Beca’s hand.

“You didn’t have to leave me like that though.” And those words, combined with the disgruntled tone of Chloe’s voice, allow Beca to truly understand what the problem was. “You could’ve given him his attention from here.” Chloe pats the space between them.

Beca bites the smile spreading across her mouth. Something flutters in her chest, settling dense and deep into her lungs and blood. “Wow.” She leans into Chloe’s pout, scooping up Danny along the way, cuddling him against her cheek, “You’re just as needy as him, aren’t you?”

The accusation is met with a heated kiss, Chloe’s tongue flirting with hers. Her weight tries to push Beca down, but with Danny’s protest, Chloe changes course. She switches their usual position, lifting Beca and the cat up until they’re both in her lap. Chloe then scoots them all down, laying on her back with a nip to Beca’s lower lip. When she’s done; when Beca is tracing a trail down Chloe’s neck and Chloe is gasping and Danny is happily kneading biscuits into the mattress beside their heads, Chloe answers.

“Maybe. You are mine after all.”

*****

fin.

[johnslittlespoon]

Find the Word

Rules: Share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

thank you @alienoresimagines for the tag!! <3

My Words: blue, gentle, tight, music and rustle Your Words: train, water, blood, stare

Blue:

“You should come,” John says, almost imploringly, and the way those blue eyes come alight with his carefully placed optimism makes Gale want to throw caution to the wind. It scares him, how easily John can make him think bad ideas are good, even if only for a moment. He doesn’t really know why he’s so reluctant to go– he just feels, somehow, that if he does go, nothing will be the same by the end of the weekend, and he’s not sure he’s ready to face whatever that might mean. [you're a dog (i'm your man) – ao3]

Gentle:

Curt wakes up in the morning to the feeling of long fingers working him open, muscles aching in protest when he flinches as soft curls tickle the inside of one thigh. A gentle kiss is placed there instead in apology, and he sleepily lifts his head to find John laid between his legs, large hand warm against his side. “Morning,” the husky greeting is murmured against his skin, lips dragging up his thigh as John turns to look up at him, eyes dark and hungry. Curt flushes, dropping his head back against the pillow, attempting to close his legs against John’s sides. [the fuse to my fire – ao3]

Tight:

John thinks maybe in another life, he could’ve been an actor, with how good he is at playing a part during these phone calls. He lies like it’s second nature, anything to stoke the smile he can hear coming through from the other end of the line, reaching for laughs like pulling teeth. He finds himself smiling for real sometimes when Gale’s relaying the events of his own week, prying and asking whatever questions he can to keep him talking as he slides down to the carpet and leans his back against the wall, stretching the phone’s coil tight. [unnamed wip that's making me wanna dance in traffic]

Music:

“Shit.” There it is. A murmur of surprise, of thrill, of satisfaction, music to Gale's ears. John wraps his hand around the outline of his cock, timid like he’s waiting for Gale to turn over and sock him clean on the beak, but when Gale whispers out a curse of his own, it’s like he’s given John the green light. His hand immediately tightens around him, squeezing him through the fabric. [i don't wanna be alone tonight – ao3]

Rustle:

Gale leans in without a second thought, capturing John’s lips with his own, freezing at the noise of surprise John makes into his mouth. They both grow still for a moment, panting against each other, waiting for the sound of sheets rustling or any sign of the others stirring, but the room stays quiet. He's more careful this time when he goes back in, pressing his lips softly against John’s, but John pushes back eagerly, teeth clacking quietly against his, drawing hushed laughter from both of them. [i don't wanna be alone tonight – ao3]

this is my fave writing tag game i think, it's like shuffling your works until you get something that clicks loll and it's so fun to read the pieces everyone picks of their own fics <33 tagging @air-exec, @counting0nit, @nicijones, @eternallytired17, @hauntingcontradiction, whoever else wants to! i think i already tagged most of you the first time i did this challenge loll so feel free to ignore of course :-)