#we were passing the water back and forth like Oh my god... this water tastes of NOTHING... it's so FRESH...

[lotstradamus]

what did you do in stockholm! i go there a lot and i’m sooooo invested in what people like to do there

we 1) watched NHL hockey, and 2) wandered around.

We stayed right opposite Central Station which was really handy. Friday night we went to a bar I'd been recommended called Lucy's Flower Shop for drinks, paid nearly £30 for 2, and decided to call it a night. Saturday we wandered around Gamla Stan in the morning and then went to Globen for hockey, then got food from the world's cleanest, calmest McDonalds and ate it in the hotel room. Sunday we wandered around a bit more, ended up in Sodermalm and had an amazing sandwich in a tiny cafe, marvelled at how expensive the vintage stores are, bought nothing, went to get Italian food in Gamla Stan then went to bed. Monday morning I don't even remember where we went, but like every other day it was freezing cold, peaceful, clean and expensive. we got the train to the airport, went through security, had a really nice meal and then waited to board and it was like... serene. I don't know how the Swedes do it but my god what a chill place. going from Stockholm to MANCHESTER AIRPORT was like going from a beautiful mountaintop spa where you're the only person there to fucking Blackpool on a July Saturday. England is hell. HELL

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

I was wondering if you could do a batfam x isekaid neglected fem reader. I only read one so far and I NEED more 😔👉👈

I love this ask !! Been wanting to write one :D

summary :reader comes from a post - apolyptic world where mankind was wiped out due to nuclear warfare and deadly disease . suddenly she is awaken in a world where humanity is thriving yet this weird family behaves so strangely toward her??

I coughed my lungs out - it's been exactly 498 days since my lungs have tasted oxygen . My restless body trudge on - I keep moving - keep moving despite the sore blisters on my feet that pulse and bleed with every step I take.

I don't know where I am - I don't even know if there's anywhere to go anymore - all there is is ash and yellowish fog that cover the land as far as the eye can see. I groan - throwing up bile - I grimaced as my body wasted water so unnecessary .

I was like an ordinary kid - I went to school and came home one day to a news reporter saying there was no school for two weeks - I was so blissful - no more tests for me ! Oh how much I wish to go back - those two weeks were the dawn of a nightmarish hell.

A sudden infection began spreading rapidly on a international scaling and due to poor government decisions - it continued developing , our population began depleting and there was no cure left .

Governments argued back and forth , the people rioting, and sooner than later, the world we knew fell apart . Suddenly there was no more electricity, no more running water and few surviors began to worry.

I remember vividly - ma and pa hugging me before departing with the elders to the nearest cell tower miles away in an attempt to reconnect with humanity. It was on that God awful day - I witnessed a giant flare descend into the blue skies of Alaska and touched down onto the distant cell tower with a loud explosion .

The explosion engulfed everything in its fuery, and what it hadn't burnt it had blown away and covered the skies in a perment yellow fog.I remember screaming , crying out their names helplessly I waited at that abandoned shelter for months - naively awaiting their arrival, but they never came.

Helpless , I was forced to move on without them . Now, as I trudge through ash and fog , I feel my legs give away beneath me, and I feel myself come crashing down onto the ashy floor . I choke and helplessly bang against the ground as a war cry escaped me .

No ! NO - I refuse to end it like this - I refuse to go like this - not when I haven't figured out what happened to my ma and pa - not now . I feel my lungs closing in on me as if someone has grown tired of this chapter and decided to cut the story shut.

I greedily inhaled like a drowning man , my lungs give way, and it's then my eyes flutter close for the last time.

Name awakes - her eyes met by blinding light . Immediately, she closes her eyes - her head throbs in retaliation, and she groans as she curls herself into a fetous position - a pathetic attempt to shield herself.

A long sullen moment passes before name finally grasps the situation she is in - she is alive - when she shouldn't have been . She jolts from the bed - eyes frantically as she intakes her surroundings. Her room is a luscious rich blue - it has dark oak furniture that definitely screams money .

This is not her room - not even remotely - she distinctly remembers her old room having soft pink walls filled with posters of all her nerdy things but here - this room is too dull - to void of anyone living in it.

A knock is heard on the door and name watches in horror as the knob turns , the door opens to reveal an elder male in a tux ? Name is taken aback - exactly where is she ?.

"Master Name, you missed breakfast, so I brought it for you " . Name tilts her head in confusion . Why would anyone miss food ? Food is something sarce and critical- it's precious and it's not meant to be wasted - whoever body this is surely was stupid.

Name nods her head . " Thank you ...." She trails off, realizing she doesn't know who he is whatsoever. The elderly man raises an eyebrow at her , " Alfred madam," he finishes. Name nods - taking that name to memory . " Thank you Mister Alfred," she thanks as she graciously accepts the food. Alfred excuses himself - leaving her to her own devices .

Name hops off her poster bed and waddled her way to the nearest window and sure enough the outside world looks that of her own before the incident - before life ficked everyone over and took ma and pa away from her.

Silent tears roll down her face , hands scrunched against the window sill tightly- she swore she would reunite with them no matter what. After staring into the neighboring houses for a long minute , name returns to her bed and shovels the scrambled eggs in her mouth.

Name no longer questions if her food is poison, slat on or cursed - after all food is food - it is a blessed and sacred resource that she will happily indulge in. Moments pass before her door is barge open again - this time so loud it collides with the door harshly, almost snapoingbit in half.

An angry child ? She assumes storms up to her , face red . " Name how dare you skip out on breakfast do you think k of yourself above us all ?" The child accuses her , pointing his sword at her.

Name immediately kicks him , square in the chest - sending the boy clashing into the expensive hairdresser . Name states at him and then her foot eye wide - it's only natural her body reacts that way - it's how any wounded animal would if threaten .

So why does this bratty child look so disturbed ? Suprised ? The child begins screaming his head off and another adult walks in and embraces him. Name feels herself choke up - how can anyone possibly get so close to another without risking catching the disease ?

Name holds her stance - clearly, these people are psychos and have no regard to anyone’s safety . " Name how dare you kick him he's just a child" the adult ? Starts berating you but you held your fork in front of you - tightening your grasps around it .

"Leave or I will impale you with this" name threatens darkly - leaving no room for hesitancy - only confirmation of their damnation if they dared to cross her . The adult states in her eye wide and opens his mouth, but you are quicker . You swiftly leaped from your bed and launched the fork at the adult full speed , ensuring you rolled the opposite way .

The adult barely dodges. " Name what the fuck-" They curse but you were already out the door. You had to get away from these psychos they're too loose - they're too idiotic.

Name is halfway out a door when a much older man grabs her by the shoulder and spins her around . Name stares at him - all she feels is the dread building inside her akin to the time the dread she felt when she witnessed her parents' demise. Whoever it is grabs her by the shoulders harshly and puts his face in front of hers - immediately making her feel small . The elderly man glares at her before demanding her , " Name exactly what do you think you're doing ?"

please like + share + comment !!!

sorry if this is short this was written at 1 am

[islandofthedollz]

IMAGINE DRUNK JIMMY FUCKING YOU WITH HIS EMPTY BEER BOTTLE ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)

⁠❥TW: Alcohol, beer bottle fucking, drunk

⁠❥ILY thank you for the request I started school today, hopefully it won’t take up to much time I only have 2 classes

❤︎The bottle ❤︎

You been waiting for Jimmy to return home for two hours. You already made dinner set up the table you texted him, but he hasn’t replied to you yet.

So you decide to wait on the couch for him. You end up falling asleep, a couple hours pass, and then you hear the door open and the sound of heavy stumbling footsteps walking. You open your eyes your vision is a bit blurry. We realize it’s your boyfriend he reeks like booze.

“Jimmy are you OK? Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.” You say as your voice is shaky. “Shut up woman” he slurs his words. You try to help him onto the couch his right arm clinging onto his beer bootle.

Jimmy looks at you and the dress you’re wearing hugging your curves in the all the right places accentuating your breast thighs. “I don’t tell you this enough but you’re so hot” he laughs. You give him a Akward smile “I’ll get you some water” as you start to stand up he grabs your hand tightly and pulls you onto his lap.

You feel his hands spreading your legs you try to close them but even in his drunken state he’s still stronger than you. “J-Jimmy we you shouldn’t be doing this not when your like this” you try to reason with him but he ignores you.

You feel him pull up your dress. His hands creasing your clothed pussy. He moves his figures up and down your slit. You bite your lip hoping it would reduce the sound of your moan. Jimmy hears you and perks up feeling your panties get wet by his actions.

Jimmy holds your legs open with one hand and takes a swig of beer. You look at him. He looks you and smiles. He lets go of your leg. Jimmy grabs your chin forcing your mouth open and forces you to drink the beer. The biter taste going down your throat. You feel Jimmy take the bottle away still having some liquid in it. you feel a bit lightheaded but not enough to be buzzed.

Jimmy once again opened up your legs. You looks down with anticipation on what he’s about to do next. You feel and see the beer bottle running up and down your slit. “Ya know I always wanted to fuck with weird objects but your always such a bitch about it always scared and saying no I see the beer is taking efffect your relaxed and don’t have a stick up ur ass”. He grimaced.

He was rubbing the mouth of that glass bottle over your clit, pressing back and forth, the cold, hard glass feeling entirely different from the warm tip of his finger. His eyes glued to yours.

Almost involuntarily you started to close your thighs at the foreign object , shaking my head no. Oh, my God. Oh my God, it felt ... incredible.

You were drawing my knees together when Jimmy’s hand pressed on your inner thigh. "What's wrong, honey? Don't you like it? Look, it's shaped just like a cock just like your used to ." He grinned. You were shaking your head but Jimmy slid that dark glass down your slit and back up. This wasn't right. It shouldn't feel so good. It shouldn't feel so good to be naughty like this, should it?

You reached down and started to push his hand away when he parted your lips and poured the rest of the beer into your hot cunt. His fingers pushing the liquid inside you.

You moaned and like lightening travels, your body reacted. "I'm going to bottle fuck this cunt, baby." Jimmy had that animalistic glare, look on his face. You writhed but shook my head. He rubbed your clit a little but not enough and looked up again, "Yes, baby. You want it." You moaned and my body tightened and shook with arousal, with need.

Jimmy watched your reactions how your body reacted "Look at that baby, your body wants it even if you think you don't."

The intensity on his face just about sent me over. He felt you relax more

Jimmy grinned, "That's a sweet little cunt. A cunt that's going to fuck this beer bottle for me."

Jimmy gripped that tapered bottle low and twisted it, "I'm going to fill that hot cunt all up." Torquing the bottle he slowly pushed it into your wet fuck hole. You quivered as the smooth glass entered.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Look at that." He admired. "Nasty cunt fucking that beer bottle."

You looked down and without warning you started coming, hard and fast my body closing tight over the glass.

"That's it baby. Come hard. Come all over this glass toy." He encouraged me, his voice low and aroused. "Fuck it honey, show me how you like your pussy filled." He slurred.

Your mind was spinning it felt surprisingly good. You never felt this ecstasy before you bucked and bucked, taking as much as you could. Rocking over the bottle that was too long and so wide it was stretching your hole. Jimmy liked that; he liked the girth stretching your pussy. "Fuck that is so hot and nasty baby."

Your breasts were bouncing and you were convulsing unendingly. My body was heaving.

Jimmy continued to swirl the bottle, over your vulva and clit. His hand brushing his cock as it was rock hard again. He lay beside me and he knocked out you smiled, catching your breath, inhaling deeply pulling much needed oxygen into your lungs as your body stilled. I could feel a pulse in your clit, it was remarkable, you had come so hard.

You smiled softly in wonder, made you should do this again.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Phantom

Author’s Note: Sirass part three! I hope you enjoy :D

First.

Previous.

Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @the-pure-angel@whorety-k 

Warnings: none

Summary: Sirass and Pollux go to the afflicted reef to scout how many fellow Astartes they’ll need to destroy the burgeoning garden of rot. What they find surprises them.

“We’re going to have to burn all of the samples the humans took of the diseased wildlife and plants.” Pollux muttered, swimming back and forth in agitation as he waited impatiently for Sirass to finish gearing up.

“I know that, you’ve left instructions and warning for the blue stylus pushers to handle that, right?” Sirass snapped, rolling his eyes beneath his helmet as he continued to check over his gear, wanting to be sure that none of it had any flaws before they went diving into a territory defiled by Nurgle’s Worshippers. “We’ll need to check the machinery as well.”

“... But the Plague-bastard’s curses and afflictions only affect the living. Metals rust and decay but don’t fall sick.” The Imperial Fist spluttered, eyes going wide under his helmet.

“Clearly you’ve never had the dubious misfortune of having to deal with Glitchlings.” Sirass huffed, shaking his head a little “... When were you brought from?”

“Mid M-32, why?” Pollux asked “What the fuck is a Glitchling?”

“My bastard Primarch decided to cut a deal with the Plaguefather for… I’m not sure why… Some time in the past as I know it, after you were brought here. The ritual he used to seal the deal fused Machine Plague and Warp Bullshith together to create Glitchlings. They’re Nurglings, but for machines instead of living creatures. They delight in the corruption of machines and twisting them into horrific monstrosities.” Sirass explained “I heard about it from some of my Chaos brothers in passing and the knowledge stuck with me.”

“Oh fuck that entirely. They aren’t going to be thrilled about having to purge the data.” Pollux sighed. “And don’t call the Ultramarines stylus pushers. They do far more than that and you know it. They’ll likely handle the data as well, and explaining why fire and destruction is the only safe path forward.”

“... True enough.” Sirass sighed, reassured that his gear was in perfect working order. “I’m ready to go.”

“Finally! Remember, this is a scouting mission, as neither of us can deal with a full Rot Garden, we don’t have the kit to do so. There are Salamanders inbound, but it’s going to-” Pollux stated.

“It’s going to take them a few days to get here. Yeah, I know. This isn’t the first shit-awful mission I’ve been on, and I doubt it’ll be the last.” Sirass finished, cutting off the Imperial Fist. “We need to have a rough estimate of how many Death Guard are making this fucking thing, and whether or not they’ve managed to corrupt any humans into worshipping their shit-ass deamon-god. I remember the briefing protocols for something like this, I don’t need to be reminded. Let’s get going.”

Pollux grumbled under his breath, and Sirass pretended not to hear the bitchy bastard as they swum swiftly over the deceptively beautiful waters, diving in.

~

“... Wasn’t the garden bigger, the last time we were here?” Pollux asked Sirass over vox, sounding as perplexed as Sirass felt.

“It was. I helped with the last survey of the afflicted reef two days ago. Something’s changed… I could almost taste the Chaos in the water, but that’s faded somewhat too…” Sirass murmured, scanning the area more closely. “The densest bit of fuckery is this way. I haven’t seen any signs of Death Guard here today, what about on your side, Pollux?”

“No signs of Death Guard on this side of the Garden, either. Maybe they’re deeper in, or off on a hunt?” Pollux offered. “I… Suppose we should push further into the territory.” It went without saying that they should touch nothing in this cursed place unless they absolutely had to.

The signs of decay and illness were still very much present in the plant and animal life, but it wasn’t nearly as dire as it had been a couple of days ago. Some of the fish were actually moving at close to their normal speeds, doing their usual behaviors. The numbers of parasites in the waters had gone down according to Sirass’ scanners, and the amount of chaos taint had plummeted precipitously, now that he knew to look for it, knew what the signs were.

This was true even as the two mer cautiously swum deeper into the garden. Signs of healthy life were beginning to appear, and the dead were no longer crawling or moving in a parody of life. Sirass stilled completely as he reached the middle of the garden, eyes widening beneath his visor “What… Who?... Why?”

Before him was the crawling vine-rose things that marked the heart of a plague garden. It’s tendrils should be glowing and pulsing, trying to reach for anything that wasn’t tainted by Nurgle in order to consume. The center mass of the foul creation should be undulating and hard to look at without nausea and pain ripping through his body and mind.

Instead, the thorn-covered vines were a dull grey color. Lifeless and unmoving. The center mass looked like it had been ripped or slashed apart by something large and pissed off. Clearly someone else had killed the heart of the this Rot Garden, which was what helped to perpetuate Nurgle’s curses and diseases. They hadn’t completed the job, and if left unattended, the Plague Heart would come back to life and start causing problems if it wasn’t thoroughly torched in Promethium-based flames and torn out, roots and all.

But it was an excellent start. 

“I have no idea who did this… I didn’t think there were many Astartes in this area, apart from the group who lives with the humans nearby. None of them reported in, attacking this and they really should have…” Pollux muttered to himself. “We should retreat from here. It may be dead for now, but it’s still dangerous… And the Death Guard could come back. They’ll get nasty as they’ll assume we did this.”

“Mh, let’s get going then.” Sirass agreed, nodding shortly. Agreeing with an Iron Fist felt very strange and vaguely wrong… But Pollux was correct in this instance. The two of them took turns flitting from cover to cover around the periphery of the slowly shrinking Garden of Rot for the four days it took for the Salamander Flamer squads to arrive. Not a single Death Guard, nor any cultists appeared in that time.

Once the Salamanders had arrived and began the task of purifying the area with flames and psykery, Sirass and Pollux left after being checked and cleared for corrosion. The Ultramarines attached to the humans’ ocean preservation group had indeed purged all of the Nurgle Shit from the area, including information and explained why.

Sirass’ human sprinted over to him as soon as he cleared the ocean water. You hesitated for a couple of moments asking “You’ve been through decontamination, right?”

“Yes, my love I have been. The area is being purged by experts.” He explains with a nod.

“Good… It’s going to be a lot of work to restore that area, but it’ll be worth it. I’m glad that… That you’re okay. The… The stories they told us about what those twisting-illnesses can do to a person were awful!” You shudder, running up to him and hugging him tightly.

Sirass smiles a little, holding you close. He nuzzles you lovingly as he takes off his helmet, attaching it to his belt and giving you several loving kisses all over your face “I apologize that you were frightened for and worried over me, love. But I am fine. If you’d like to thoroughly check me over once we get home, I won’t object~”

You blush at his tease but nod, going up on your tiptoes and giving him a loving kiss “Yes please.”

He grins as he scoops you up, swimming through the air towards your apartment.

[the-chronicle-of-holy-days]

Day 3

Liber Liberi vel Lapidis Lazuli

Adumbratio Kabbalae Aegyptiorum sub figurâ VII

IV

1. I am like a maiden bathing in a clear pool of fresh water.

2. O my God! I see Thee dark and desirable, rising through the water as a golden smoke.

3. Thou art altogether golden, the hair and the eyebrows and the brilliant face; even into the finger-tips and toe-tips Thou art one rosy dream of gold.

4. Deep into Thine eyes that are golden my soul leaps, like an archangel menacing the sun.

5. My sword passes through and through Thee; crystalline moons ooze out of Thy beautiful body that is hidden behind the ovals of Thine eyes.

6. Deeper, ever deeper. I fall, even as the whole Universe falls down the abyss of Years.

7. For Eternity calls; the Overworld calls; the world of the Word is awaiting us.

8. Be done with speech, O God! Fasten the fangs of the hound Eternity in this my throat!

9. I am like a wounded bird flapping in circles.

10. Who knows where I shall fall?

11. O blesséd One! O God! O my devourer!

12. Let me fall, fall down, fall away, afar, alone!

13. Let me fall!

14. Nor is there any rest, Sweet Heart, save in the cradle of royal Bacchus, the thigh of the most Holy One.

15. There rest, under the canopy of night.

16. Uranus chid Eros; Marsyas chid Olympas; I chid my beautiful lover with his sunray mane; shall I not sing?

17. Shall not mine incantations bring around me the wonderful company of the wood-gods, their bodies glistening with the ointment of moonlight and honey and myrrh?

18. Worshipful are ye, O my lovers; let us forward to the dimmest hollow!

19. There we will feast upon mandrake and upon moly!

20. There the lovely One shall spread us His holy banquet. In the brown cakes of corn we shall taste the food of the world, and be strong.

21. In the ruddy and awful cup of death we shall drink the blood of the world, and be drunken!

22. Ohe! the song to Iao, the song to Iao!

23. Come, let us sing to thee, Iacchus invisible, Iacchus triumphant, Iacchus indicible!

24. Iacchus, O Iacchus, O Iacchus, be near us!

25. Then was the countenance of all time darkened, and the true light shone forth.

26. There was also a certain cry in an unknown tongue, whose stridency troubled the still waters of my soul, so that my mind and my body were healed of their disease, self-knowledge.

27. Yea, an angel troubled the waters.

28. This was the cry of Him: IIIOOShBTh-IO-IIIIAMAMThIBI-II.

29. Nor did I sing this for a thousand times a night for a thousand nights before Thou camest, O my flaming God, and pierced me with Thy spear. Thy scarlet robe unfolded the whole heavens, so that the Gods said: All is burning: it is the end.

30. Also Thou didst set Thy lips to the wound and suck out a million eggs. And Thy mother sat upon them, and lo! stars and stars and ultimate Things whereof stars are the atoms.

31. Then I perceived Thee, O my God, sitting like a white cat upon the trellis-work of the arbour; and the hum of the spinning worlds was but Thy pleasure.

32. O white cat, the sparks fly from Thy fur! Thou dost crackle with splitting the worlds.

33. I have seen more of Thee in the white cat than I saw in the Vision of Æons.

34. In the boat of Ra did I travel, but I never found upon the visible Universe any being like unto Thee!

35. Thou wast like a winged white horse, and I raced Thee through eternity against the Lord of the Gods.

36. So still we race!

37. Thou wast like a flake of snow falling in the pine-clad woods.

38. In a moment Thou wast lost in a wilderness of the like and the unlike.

39. But I beheld the beautiful God at the back of the blizzard — and Thou wast He!

40. Also I read in a great Book.

41. On ancient skin was written in letters of gold: Verbum fit Verbum.

42. Also Vitriol and the hierophant’s name

V.V.V.V.V.

43. All this wheeled in fire, in star-fire, rare and far and utterly lonely — even as Thou and I, O desolate soul my God!

44. Yea, and the writing

It is well.

This is the voice which shook the earth.

45. Eight times he cried aloud, and by eight and by eight shall I count Thy favours, Oh Thou Elevenfold God 418!

46. Yea, and by many more; by the ten in the twenty-two directions; even as the perpendicular of the Pyramid — so shall Thy favours be.

47. If I number them, they are One.

48. Excellent is Thy love, Oh Lord! Thou art revealed by the darkness, and he who gropeth in the horror of the groves shall haply catch Thee, even as a snake that seizeth on a little singing-bird.

49. I have caught Thee, O my soft thrush; I am like a hawk of mother-of-emerald; I catch Thee by instinct, though my eyes fail from Thy glory.

50. Yet they are but foolish folk yonder. I see them on the yellow sand, all clad in Tyrian purple.

51. They draw their shining God unto the land in nets; they build a fire to the Lord of Fire, and cry unhallowed words, even the dreadful curse Amri maratza, maratza, atman deona lastadza maratza maritza — marán!

52. Then do they cook the shining god, and gulp him whole.

53. These are evil folk, O beautiful boy! let us pass on to the Otherworld.

54. Let us make ourselves into a pleasant bait, into a seductive shape!

55. I will be like a splendid naked woman with ivory breasts and golden nipples; my whole body shall be like the milk of the stars. I will be lustrous and Greek, a courtesan of Delos, of the unstable Isle.

56. Thou shalt be like a little red worm on a hook.

57. But thou and I will catch our fish alike.

58. Then wilt thou be a shining fish with golden back and silver belly: I will be like a violent beautiful man, stronger than two score bulls, a man of the West bearing a great sack of precious jewels upon a staff that is greater than the axis of the all.

59. And the fish shall be sacrificed to Thee and the strong man crucified for Me, and Thou and I will kiss, and atone for the wrong of the Beginning; yea, for the wrong of the beginning

Oh holy day we’re really in it now✨ favorite of the year is with bold letters

2025 faves in slanted

[cymorilcinnamonroll]

Awake O Sleeper (A Jesus x Mary Magdalene Romance)

The Asherah grove at the heart of the temple of Our Lady is full of olives and grape vines, in the sacred heart of our worship. Men come to do penance to the Goddess, worshiping us as the qadesh leads them into the bosom of the Mother. I often go to the well at the temple’s courtyard and wish upon the moon reflected in the still waters. She is beauty in the grips of Yahweh, bosom companion of our Heavenly Father.

Jerusalem is a bustling city, full of Canaanites and Samaritans and Jews and Philistines. This Bethany township is but an extension of the metropolis. Herod rules from his abode and the Temple is corrupted, and people are forgetting the old ways, cutting down Asherah groves at the root and pissing on her fig and olive trees. Where stands a temple to El, there rests an Asherah grove. From the Mount of Olives to our own temple in Bethany, where I left Martha and Lazarus behind to become a priestess, I have been trained in anointment and service to the Goddess.

Sometimes starlings roost in the roof and we clip their wings to keep as pets, and I am reminded, I do not live for myself, but for Her, and my body is but a vehicle of prayers. The grove has stood for mayhaps thousands of years, as the olive tree does, cut down then to spring forth from the stump. We prune, we worship, we sing hosannas and we do not weep.

There is nothing to weep over in the temple of the Goddess. Sacred whore, they say, woman of seven devils. It is true, there are demons in my mind, and I am wont to make love to the Damned as well as the angels, as all my fellow anointed qodeshah are, but that can break the body, disassemble the mind, leak out your wineskin until you take the shape of the emptiness of stars, and then, mayhaps, you die. But I survived the temptations of Samael, I have roosted in Lilith’s Huluppu tree, I have eaten flies with Beelzebub and tasted fish to fight back Asmodeus. I have consecrated my virginity to El and Asherah, and Asherah, dear Asherah, has staked her claim on my destiny.

There are rumors from Nazareth. From Egypt. From Galilee. From sea to desert to mountain strand. God walks in human form. Merely twenty, and I am eighteen. He goes by Yeshua, like Joshua of old, and I am Miriam Magdalene in this temple, a watchtower of the lord, Migdal Eder. Mary Magdalene as the Greeks who worship through me say. They say this young man preaches sermons on mountaintops and topples false idols and cuts down Asherah groves. Cuts the Goddess down by the root. Says he is El, says he is the Father.

I have no time for fools. I have no time for false messiahs. I know Asherah, I know El, and though the Messiah is promised, he does not live on manna alone. This Yeshua shits and bleeds, I am sure he fucks, and were he to come to my temple, I would take my teraphim and drive it through his heart.

God bleeds, after all, and Simon Magus is just as much a fool, levitation or not. So is that John the Baptist, beheaded someday soon, an Essene surviving on stale locusts and rotting honey and dumping bodies in the River Jordan.

I survive on the wilderness alone, the barrenness of my heart, for it is only by being empty that one can let the Goddess in. I am a vessel of dripping myrrh and a garden of lilies, oh Asherah. These cults come with passing moons and cycles of suns, and they wax and wane, Mithras and Cybele and Anath and Baal (there are many Baals, after all) and the strange peculiarities of the Romans. I say, stick with what is tried and true. Lady Asherah is Queen.

My brother Lazarus has taken up with this Yeshua, and I hate this false prophet for it. For stealing my impressionable, starry-eyed brother as some false disciple. They say Yeshua loves Lazarus so much he would raise him from the dead. Crackpot talk. Martha, my sweet older sister, has entertained this Yeshua at our rich home across the field. I refused to go. Why, perhaps because Martha wants to know the heart of God, and this Messiah, this Yeshua, has a strange draw on the practical types like Martha and dreamers like Lazarus alike.

They say he believes women equal to men. That his mother Mary and aunt Salome and friend Joanna and now my sister Martha are equal in his eyes, his radical ministry in the desert. They sew and preach and anoint. In his name, they cast out demons. This strange man that claims to be God may well be speaking parables of smoke and mirrors. Here at my temple, we give our bodies over to the Goddess. When has this Yeshua given his body, his blood, his Sacrament, over to God? If that happens, I shall fall to my feet and worship. But he goes around in tattered clothes, a wanderer, and has the woman radically engaged in his ministry. How strange.

Lazarus writes that Yeshua will not touch women. Resists worshiping the Mother. Does not know the way of the flesh, is a Rabbi yet will not take a wife. Will not even contemplate a woman to share in his ministry at its highest point. I think of the rumors flying around Jerusalem and the provinces often as I tend to the duties of the temple, sewing and cleaning and singing and worshiping in body, wine, and moon’s blood.

How can this Yeshua have sway over Martha and Lazarus, when but Asherah is the way and Yahweh, squeezed into a man’s body, would have but the world as his Logos? Were he to meet me, would he give in to the Goddess? Has this strange madman forgotten the way of our ancestors? For every Yahweh, his Asherah. Thus this Yeshua needs a bride. To neglect the Goddess, why, that usurps the whole sun and moon. That is light without the darkness of the womb.

A starling comes with a note summoning me from the High Priestess. There is a visitor. I must go attend to my temple duties. He has requested me to anoint him and be his vessel of worship. The High Priestess say he has paid handsomely for my Sacrament. Far more coins than ever spent on one of the temple priestesses. I wonder if it is mad Herod himself. That would amuse me more than anything.

I dress myself in scarlet, anoint my cheeks with rouge and lips with berries, line my eyes with kohl, and make a messy knot of my curls. My hair never behaves, auburn in that strange way of women burned in Egypt as witches and my eyes the light speckled brown of a sparrow. Once I am done preparing, bedecked in jewels as befit Asherah, I go to the qodeshah room.

There he awaits. Smiling like a lamb yet with the grace of a lion, dressed simply in dusty white, all lithe muscle and smiling dark green eyes that the fire dances in. Smoke clouds the room. I have the sudden urge to run my hands through his dark locks and kiss him senseless. Gravity overtakes me, that calling that drives me into ululations of ecstasy, only it is not one of the seraphim or cherubim that courts me, but divinity himself. Who is this stranger, eating grapes and draped like a Roman over dinner?

“Miriam, a glass of wine?” he asks with a voice like olive oil. He takes the carafe from the table and smiles bemusedly. The red sloshes into a bejeweled cup. His hands are like the milk from the cows of spring. Not the color, mind you, or the softness – they are tan and calloused, fingernails short like the poor. I would think him a carpenter or stonemason, someone who carves idols or builds temples.

I take the glass of wine and scrutinize him. “I am the one who offers wine and anoints you, oh mysterious stranger. Don’t you know the ways of Asherah?”

He laughs like an ewe. “Oh sweet Miriam, but that is not my purpose. My purpose is to do penance and devotions unto you. Come, sip the wine of my blood. It is to you I offer the first Sacrament. They will forget it was you who I offered the Last Supper to first, thirteen years before my death. Eat this bread, this loaf of my flesh.” He takes from his pocket a rich loaf wrapped in linen. I take it hesitatingly, dip it in the wine, nibble a bit, and it is somehow the best meal I have ever had as I chase it down with the goblet. Strange, this man, a mystic perhaps.

Suddenly, I smell blood. “What?” I ask, incredulous. I look down at the bejeweled cup and am horrified to find ruby blood. The bread I hold is a heart that is bleeding. I drop both and scream. This man laughs, laughs at my terror, laughs at his miracle, as if it is the most mundane thing a woman could ask for.

“Yeshua?” I breathe.

He beckons me to him. It is the most natural thing to curl up beside him. I am under a moonspell of Michael, and rushing water fills my veins, icy yet warm, like the River Jordan meets a desert night. We lay together chaste yet starstruck and I stare aghast at him, unable to resist his gravity.

“That is my name, yes, sweet Magdalane, my comely Bride. They will call you a Whore. But you are my Truth, the Gnostics will adore you, and the Cathars, troubadours, and Knights Templar will worship at your hips. You are Asherah. There is no need for this temple, not anymore, as I hold you here manifest in my hands!”

He runs a hand through my curls and unbinds them. “So it’s all true. You are the Lord made flesh…” I trail off, my tongue still bloody and warm with skin and meat and muscle and gore. The bread I dropped and my goblet of wine have disappeared. I am hyperventilating, barely cognizant in the overwhelming grace and fire of this stranger, yet I know him better in my heart than Yahweh, for he is the Father El, made Son.

Lazarus and Martha were right. Damn me a nonbeliever.

“I am but a man, at most, with a few tricks up my sleeve. You will be my comfort, dear woman. My apostle of apostles. My witness. Follow me out of this cursed ground and leave your seven devils behind. The ways of Asherah are over. For you are Asherah, not these statues, never these trees. To be material is a terrible thing! The ways of whoring out your body are done. It is the dawn of a new age, of my sweet Shekinah, my Wisdom, Sophia made New Eve. Cannot you see how red thread bears my loins and your womb together? They will whisper about us in hushed circles millenia down the line, write us poems and canticles and heresies and all agree that to me, you were above all the reason, my anointer, my best disciple, my most beloved. I will raise the dead for you. I will die for you. And you will grow old without me, and you will be my testament, oh Migdal Eder.”

His words are rapturous. His words are true. I cannot divine the future, but I feel the shape of it.

We burn the Asherah grove down with my oil lamp.

I leave behind any vestige of myself.

I follow him out of the temple, across the field, on a donkey out of Bethany, into the winepress night.

And never, ever, do I look back.

Thirteen years pass, and the Last Supper draws close. I am a mystic following in Christ’s footsteps, ever-weeping, washing the dust from his feet. Peter damns me for my passions, but Levi praises me, and Mother Mary holds me closest of all.

Rain outside the window of our kitchen, and Lazarus’ body is held up in the tomb for four days. My sweet older brother, a starstruck wanderer at Christ’s side, just as I cast my lots in with this mad messiah whose gristle and blood I drank down thirteen years ago at the tender age of 18. All to know redemption, as my Temple of Asherah burned and I left my wanton ways behind for higher ground, better things, blessed by doves. To become Asherah in my own might and right! The plague took Lazarus, a wasting away with pustules and jaundice and fragile limbs.

I thought with the Lord, all things were possible, but in his domain is death, and so in my quiet ways, I rage.

Martha and I have washed and dressed and anointed our brother in myrrh and linen – our wealthy parents died when we were but children, leaving us treasures beyond measure as merchants are wont to do and Martha and Lazarus to raise me. The whole town is in mourning over Lazarus, and our expansive household has been filled with mourners.

Yeshua has been at Jerusalem preaching to the masses, but I sent a pigeon from our dovecote with a letter to my Lord of his beloved’s death, our family whom he cherishes above all, and Christ wrote back in eager, wrathful script that even death has no hold on his disciples.

So we have prepared a feast for the other wanderers: dates, lamb, greens, bread, wine. Martha and I have been hard at work in the kitchen baking and cooking and mixing herbs and fruits and vegetables. I purchased vintage straight from Italy a local trader had traveled far to obtain, enough casks to hold a wedding feast like blessed Cana, only this is a funeral.

I can hear him rumble with wrath in the distance. My sweet Rabboni feels like an oncoming storm. Sometimes when I am debating and sparring wits with him over philosophy and pedagogy and theology, the sky suddenly darkens and thunder rumbles as Christ opens his lips, and out comes rains and retorts as lightning strikes. Once we were debating the virtues and vices of angels – how do they serve God, do they have free will, yetzer ha ra versus yetzer ha tov: is a teraphim able to care for its family or is it more golem?

I said I did not believe in free will, and Yeshua said: “Then what shall I die for but humanity’s freedom, my Migdal Eder?” and he laughed like a wine press and it began to gale and storm.

He took me into his arms and we danced by palms at the oasis in the radiance of the tempest, singing hosannas, and I was soaked to my underclothes and my red dress clung to my breasts and hips. Peter would call me an adulteress just for that. Christ’s dusty white robes were glued to his skin like a snake, Nachash be damned. Lazarus found us both dancing like plagues and begged us come inside and break bread with the other disciples, but we were lost inside each other, starved of the wrath of God.

Mother Mary brought us blankets afterward as we both rid ourselves of chills by the fire, Joseph laughed, and Salome made it a running joke: Mary and Yeshua have the tempers of storms, beware if they curse your fig trees or drive your demons into squealing pigs in the ocean’s squall. Salome and her dagger tongue! Judas remarked we could have been struck by the firmament, but Yeshua said: brother, I am God, can’t you see how the storm is my heart of darkness? Peter and Thomas and Luke and John and James paid reverence to Christ, but I was too busy staring into the fire we grilled fish on, eating my loaf, haunted by what would come when the sky darkened for Yeshua’s death.

My eyes tear up at that memory as I am tending Christ’s bread, which is his body, a small taste of what is to come. It is leavened and ready to be devoured. I set the table, the long wooden beauty my father picked up from some far northern country, was it Ing’s land? Who knows, but the Celts have such intricate eyes for knotwork. Living beasts in the legs. I would like to go to their province someday. To see where these curiosities come from. What strange gods and demons they worship.

There is a knock at the door. Salome is there with Zebedee, John, and James in tow. She looks like a gazelle, all proud and lithe lines, not a bit of wasted space about her. “Mary, Martha, we came as soon as we heard!” Salome explains, impassioned. There are tears in her, Zebedee’s, John’s and James’ eyes. She wipes at it with a cloth. “Lazarus was the best of us. How you two must mourn. Here, John, James, take the horses to the stable, Zebedee, why don’t you unpack and set up camp? Lord knows Miriam’s house is big, but not enough for all the disciples. Elohim took Lazarus under fair weather, so we will have no problem in the courtyard.”

I hug Salome close to me, this mentor of mine who was Christ’s midwife and the first besides Elizabeth to declare him the Son of God. In some ways she was first, first to catch the placenta and afterbirth and caul of Christ the King. Finger withered at his might.

No wonder he was a calamity come into this world that has been relentless ever since. He is my storm dancer. My soul. I can only imagine 33 years ago, Salome at 12, in a manger with blessed, tough-as-nails Mother Mary and nervous Father Joseph. Mary is never nervous. Never doubts. Always asserts. She is our strength, like Gav’riel, who favored her. Sometimes Gav’riel still visits her when he thinks no one is looking and they have long talks in the reeds – angels sound like panpipes and bells and regrets. I have caught her in quiet corners talking with that messenger of the archangels about Yeshua’ road to Calvary and ending in Golgotha. Gav’riel has prophesied as much, told us his days are numbered. Christ accepts it, with the bullheadedness of his mother.

That I will grow old without Yeshua.

It is something I do not like to contemplate much.

“Mary, my sweet daughter, in all my 45 years, I have never seen anyone with as much devotion to Yeshua as you, besides his own mother. He said he would raise the dead for you.” She hugs me hard with her whipcord muscles, then accompanies me to the kitchen and greets Martha.

“Martha, my other blessed daughter, do you not know what service you do to our Lord? Us ladies are the backbone of the ministry, after all. From our own funds we support these rambunctious men. I have tried holding James and John in check, but yet they go casting out demons and fishing for souls and preaching. Zebedee is easier to tame. That is why I married him, hah!”

Martha laughs and embraces us both. “Oh Salome, our family reunited, yet for such sad occasion. Having Lazarus gone, why, a missing limb. Wine without a glass, spilling constantly. Here, eat!” She takes a date and presses it to Salome’s mouth. Salome smiles and bites it mischievously.

“Let us go to the wishing well, girls. The women rode ahead. Yeshua held a lengthy sermon with the men, giving us time to charge ahead and prepare the banquet and speak to the angels. Joanna and Mary and Susanna await.”

“Oh!” I say, wiping away hot tears as I dwell on Lazarus. They say my tears could fill an ocean.

The peach pit in my throat lightens a bit at the thought of my spiritual sisters here to visit my Bethany township. We make our way to the well outside and see Mother Mary and the others divining in the well. They are staring coolly into its depths. Martha, Salome, and I join them in silence. The six of us peering into the silver depths and we summon an image: Lazarus alive, at the cost of Yeshua.

They are inextricably linked.

“A life for a life, my dears,” Mother Mary says, dabbing at her strong brow with her sleeve. “My son will give his life for Lazarus, for that is the only way to cheat the grave. But Lazarus is well worth the sacrifice. We all know what awaits at Golgotha. Perhaps the men doubt, but my son granted us all the sight. Women’s magic: prophesy. In dying for Lazarus, he gives life to us all, a way to Heaven. It is not what I would have chosen for my only child, but he is the Lord, and I will be living testament to his short life.”

We gather round Mother Mary, hugging one another in sisterly love. Salome grips her fiercely and I fall to her feet and kiss them. We then retire to the dining room until the men arrive.

“There was no choice in this, was there, Mother?” I ask Mary.

Joanna and Susanna share a look of wistfulness. Salome bites like a lion with fury into a bit of crusty bread ends dipped in olive oil. The two phases, or likewise feelings, surrounding what awaits Yeshua ahead: fury at Christ’s death or sadness. Or an interim like me, awe and resignation.

Mother Mary sighs. “No, Gav’riel told me as much, sweet Magdalene. My son’s life was never his own, but then again, neither are ours. We will be near deified, us outcast desert ramblers. I just hope I have prepared my loving son for the hatred and ultimate cost of his sacrifice. Joseph will take it the hardest. Joseph always does. Martha will take it the second hardest. Salome, you shall curse the ground the Devil walked upon. Susanna and Joanna, you two will be wed in memories and become some of the most eloquent in voicing his ministry, but they will forget you, just as they will hold small memories of Salome.”

Mother Mary takes a sip of wine, then looks to me with lambent eyes under her shawl. “Girl of Migdal Eder, yours is the most cursed fate. For asking Lazarus back, to you goes the blame. For your passion and devotion, they will mark you a whore. I can see how this all ends, centuries, nay, millenia down the line. Our ministry divided into a thousand fractured shards. Our legacy used for villainy and anything but radical love. They will snuff our teachings out at the bud and mark them heresies. Us women used as props and all but forgotten. They will say my son stood for hatred and oppression, yet while he walked this earth, he was hated and oppressed. And you, my Miriam. You will suffer the most out of love. Love is all our cross to bear. But I say, drink now, live well, and so be it!”

We all echo her and raise our glasses in toast, then chase down the wine. Martha’s eyes are fire. “I know what price I ask of Yeshua. I ask it anyway, so damn me to Gehenna. Lazarus needs to live, just as Yeshua must die for our sins. That was shown to us all in the well, my sisters sweet.”

There are muffled voices outside and the whuff of horses and call of hounds. The men have arrived. With a steel face done with crying, Martha goes outside to meet our maker.

I sit with the women who are closer to me than my own mother. “What Martha asks, what I ask of Yeshua, his will be done, a life for a life, flesh for flesh, blood for blood, a grave for a grave, perhaps they will look back on us and think us selfish. Perhaps they will believe us mighty. But asking never hurt anyone, I say.”

“The sun gives life but cares not who he burns,” Joanna and Susanna say in unison. They are always together, commiserating, sharing ecclesiastic knowledge, singing the Song of Solomon, speaking in rhyme and time. They are full of the Holy Ghost, moreso than any f us.

We all smile. “Makes the mustard seed grow, does the Son,” Salome says in but a whisper, and we all laugh.

There is weeping at the door. Levi clings to hunched over Martha, who looks like she has gone into labor of the soul. He practically carries her inside. Tears flow like gold from her blue eyes. “Mary, the Master is come, and calls you out.”

My heart stirs like a falcon. I walk out to the well. Yeshua stands alone, drinking water from a canteen. The other disciples are heard with Zebedee and James and John setting up camp in the courtyard. My Rabboni’s eyes have flames like Uriel’s sword in them. Some kind of samiel wind from Arabia. Without a word, he embraces me, then kisses me on the lips as he does his disciples when we need the Logos most. I cling to him. I will get in trouble for clinging to him someday, somewhere in a garden, with a stone rolled away, beyond the grips of death.

He laughs and strokes my hair. “Do not cling to me, woman,” he teases. I laugh through my tears and kiss him back. “What did you think, that I would let Lazarus lay dead? Oh my Magdalene, damn your doubts. For you I would raise the dead. It is for you I will die. It is for me you will live and be my witness. Can’t you see how our love will be consummated on the Cross? Me bleeding blood and water into your mouth. Pick up that sword that will stab me, sweet Mary, and become an angel of the Lord, with flaming blade and your red hair of fury. I want you to wreak vengeance with your words and wit when I am gone, my girl.”

I wipe my tears. “Yes, Rabboni.”

“I am not Rabboni now, not ever, Mary Miriam. Call me servant. Call me your lover. Call me your witness.”

“Witness, servant, lover, it doesn’t matter. You are my heart.”

“You are a stubborn girl, aren’t you? Remember when we met those thirteen years ago, I twenty and ever the fool, you 18 and priestess to a dead goddess? No, Miriam, the Shekinah is stubborn, Wisdom never gives up, Sophia is relentless. She comes with the greatest pearl of great price. Challenge me in your storm. Ask, and ye shall receive.”

“Give your death for my sweet brother, Yeshua. Raise him from the dead.”

Yeshua smiles and contemplates the lines on my palms clutched to his hands. “Thy will be done, my Migdal Eder. Where have you laid him?”

“In a cave outside town. The mourners are still there.”

We make our way to the stony entrance. People are red eyed and watery mouthed, wailing, commiserating, remembering, drunk off and stinking of wine. Lazarus was always the most loved, bookish neighbor of Bethany. He was the only one that died of the sickness, as if he was marked by the Lord to suffer. A bleeding wound of God’s tear.

Yeshua falls down weeping, wracked with sobs, and from his tears grow ivy. From his tears grow roses. From his tears grows vines ripe with red grapes. The sky darkens, and the familiar storm of our hearts engulfs from Galilee to Nazareth, with its dancing eye in Bethany. The surrounding firmament is tumultuous, but here where the sky parts, the sun glows, and there is a rainbow akin to God’s promise. The brilliance engulfs my Rabboni, and he curses the stone, and it rolls away of its own accord, revealing my brother’s corpse.

Martha and the disciples have heard the commotion, and Martha is bereaved. “Oh my Lord, he has been dead four days, how he must stink. Surely this is beyond even your glory!”

Yeshua chokes on his tears and roars, hitting the stone and then it fractures into hundreds of pieces. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing and turns to Martha with a feral smile. “I said to you Martha, that, if you truly believe, wouldn’t you see the glory of God?”

Martha is silent, just falls to her knees weeping, and nods. Salome and Mother Mary are by each of her shoulders, comforting and supporting her.

“Have faith in the Lord I have brought into this world,” Mother Mary whispers with her indomitable strength. There is a bit of Gav’riel in her eyes. Over the course of the years, her and her angel have both become messengers, almost yin and yang, Adamah and Chavah, one and the same. At this point, Mary is more queen of angels than human.

Martha blows snot into Mary’s sleeve. Unlike me, she was never a beautiful crier. That makes it more important, the messiness of it. No one would ever build a statue of Martha bereaved, but to me go the idols and repentant whores.

All the disciples and town are weeping. Ululations even, screams of Lazarus, but Christ’s sobbing and fury at that great enemy, Death, are strongest of all. He kneels down, shaking, in prayer, then looks to the swirling sky and violet and green of the parted clouds haloing Lazarus’s stinking grave and suddenly the light illuminates him like a candle flame in Samael’s darkness.

“Father, I thank you that you have heard me. This storm is testament to your wrath, my wrath, at that great enemy, Death. You who always hear me. You who fulfill the wishes of my people, and hence all the world, that follows and loves me. They believe in me through you. I believe in you through them. They are my brides, every one of them, and come New Jerusalem, I will wed the world. But there is a man whose time is not done. My beloved disciple. Lazarus, come forth!”

White light fills Lazarus’ grave, and suddenly my brother rises, rot and sickness gone, still bound in corpse clothes, and his eyes are near violet for a moment until they settle on their black, and Martha screams, and I laugh, and we all fall down in worship to the Christ. I cling to his feet and weep. He embraces Lazarus and undoes the cloth covering his face.

“Yeshua,” Lazarus breathes. “You kept me to your bosom for four days. I would like to return there on my true dying day, to become your marrow, but here I am healed and whole, my body restored, no longer hollow of soul. You talked long over these four days and nights of how Martha, Mary, and I will serve you.”

Lazarus and Yeshua kiss, and then Yeshua picks me up and kisses me. “Rise, my flock!” he says through fierce tears, then embraces and kisses every one of us. We are moved by the spirit and begin singing. The rain comes and we are soaked. Yeshua eyes me as he is kissing sweet, innocent Judas. There is a trickster fire in his eyes, just like Gavr’iel. It is a message I am not yet privy to, as if to say: this is my death, and you are my life, my Magdalene.

Later that night, past supper, Yeshua takes me out into the storm for one of our secret talks, the storm of his heart, and he kisses me, and he whispers in my ear: “In six days before Passover I shall return to Bethany. Wait for me here, sweet Magdalene. Peter may be my Sapha, but you are my Migdal Eder. Your rivalry: watchtower and cornerstone, is but the fight of Adamah subduing Chavah only for Chavah to be triumphant in the end of days. You will cry at my feet as you always do and anoint me as the Bride does the Bridegroom for my death. It is you I place this burden on: my witness. My accuser. My seducer. My destroyer.”

“You know not what you ask,” I whisper.

“Oh, but Miriam, I do. On the Cross I will make love to you finally after these long thirteen years, if only through my wounds nursing you. You will never bear my children as you want, Mary. We will never marry. We will never join as man and wife. I will leave you long behind when I take my place beside my Father, but you will always be faithful in ways Peter will forget. They will curse you. They will drag your name through the mud. But at the end of days, it will be you I wed foremost. It will be you who eats the final Sacrament. Can you promise me Mary, that you will not shy away from dressing me for the tomb? I promise you as Apostle of Apostles, Miriam of Bethany. I pledge my troth to you, though it is a strange and scary vow.”

“I accept it all, all the pain, all the testaments to you! I will anoint you with my own wanton red hair and costly myrrh. I knew this was coming. I bought the myrrh three years ago, sweet Yeshua.”

“Let us dance in this storm, my Magdalene.”

So we did.

[fruitcoops]

just had a tornado blow through...(we're okay, it's kinda normal here). but could we get another blackout/big storm fic? (if you're up for it?)

Glad you're alright! We've got a big storm here tonight as well <3 Have some Lions working through life to distract. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW mild/ medium relationship issues, Sirius' bad habits, and previous people not being very nice to Leo

There was something in the water. Remus was sure of it.

“Put—stop it! Put it down!”

Maybe carbon monoxide was leaking into the rink. Plus all of their houses and apartments.

“I told you, it’s not about the rutabaga.”

Or, fuck it, Mercury was in the microwave again. In the Gatorade? Something like that. He wondered if Marlene would know.

Arthur knocked on the doorframe and the mass of grumbling died down; the air still tasted like sour sweat and irritation and Remus wrinkled his nose at the mats. After a cursory look around the room, Arthur raised a brow and gestured with his clipboard. “Y’know, I’ve got a lot of notes—a lot of notes—but none of you look like you can handle them right now, so we’re doing the short version. Cap, come see me. Lupin, Moody’s waiting for you, don’t give me that face. Olli, figure your shit out. Kuns…Kuns.” He shook his head. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Tremzy, stop being mean, and Harz, stop being stupid. Bliz, Layla gets the honor of having you this afternoon. Do your cooldowns without biting each others’ heads off, please, and then go home and sleep this off. Goodnight.”

“Night, Coach,” came the mumbled chorus.

Remus chewed the inside of his lip while he stripped his shin pads off. Sirius was already halfway out the door, still in his under armor—the rush of endorphins that usually accompanied the sight of his gorgeous fiancé was notably absent. He closed his eyes and took a breath. Recenter. It was a rough day, rough week, rough whatever. It would be best to just let it go now.

A hand clapped his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus!”

“Woah, hey, easy.” Talker held both hands low, palms down between their stalls. “Just saying hi.”

“What—” Breathe. Recenter. Remus blinked a few times to clear his head. “Fuck, no, you’re good. Sorry. Hi. Sorry.”

Talker’s gaze turned dark with worry. “You okay?”

“Just…in my head.” It was a shit answer, but his vague wave seemed to get the point across. Talker nodded slowly. His hands remained on his own side. “You?”

“Been better, been worse.” He tipped his head back and forth, making his small earring swing. A gift from Noelle, if Remus remembered correctly. He watched it catch the fluorescent light for a few seconds before Talker spoke again. “Weird energy in here.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” Remus turned back to his pads with a humorless laugh. “No kidding. We should crack a window or something.”

Talker hummed, tucking his hands beneath himself. One knee bounced incessantly and Remus tried not to let it bother him. “Reminds me of the you-know-whats.”

Remus’ hands itched to knock on wood. “Yep.”

“But we’re not there. Yet,” Talker added after a pause.

“Nope.”

“Cap’s being…interesting.”

“Tell me about it,” Remus muttered.

Something like relief rippled over Talker’s expression. “So it’s not us.”

“When is it ever?” Remus offered a wry smile. “He gets like this. You know that. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

Talker’s shoulder relaxed against his own, warm and solid. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s really not you, man.”

“I know.”

“T.” Remus waited until he looked over, and ducked his head slightly. “It’s not you.”

The kicked-puppy look in Talker’s eye made his chest hurt. Remus knew he had a tendency to put it all on himself—to think he was solely responsible for maintaining the team’s happiness. They were friends for a reason, after all. A missed pass wasn’t the end of the world, but…god, in the NHL? It sure felt like it.

Leo blew past them, not quite stomping, but certainly not pleased. Remus followed his path and found Logan staring at the floor with the same mournful gaze that plagued half the room. His stomach twisted. For a group of guys with everything in the world, they were a bunch of fucking messes, sometimes.

He patted Talker once on the shoulder before standing; he didn’t bother with shoes. It was a quick enough trip to get by in his socks. Moody’s office door was already open when he arrived, and he had barely raised his hand to knock on the frame when a grunt invited him inside.

The door closed with a faint noise. Silence thickened the air, save for the scribble of Moody’s pen. “Coach said you wanted to see me?” Remus prompted awkwardly. He didn’t like this stiffness. They had never been like that before.

Moody clicked his pen shut and leaned back in his chair with a long sigh, rocking back and forth. “Layla says you’re favoring your bad side.”

Tattletale. Remus bit the instinctive thought back. That wasn’t fair. “Probably.” Moody raised an unamused brow at him. “Yeah,” he admitted, scuffing his foot on the floor. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause.”

“The league doesn’t like it when I’m not nice to you boys.” Moody fixed him in place with a look. “But you’re not a snitch, so cough it up, you little shit.”

A scowl tried to claw its way onto Remus’ face, but he kept himself steady. Moody had done too much for him and saved him from too many bad places to be iced out. He kicked at a dust bunny. “Nine years.”

“Since…?”

“Since.”

“Ah.”

He sniffed, dry-eyed and nauseated. “Next Monday. Nine years. I still remember the day and time it happened.”

“We’re not playing Vegas next week.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Moody went quiet, and stayed that way for a long time. His chair creaked as he rocked in slow, maddening patterns. He’d have his leg off, tucked beneath his desk; he rarely left it on when he didn’t need to. Something about sweat. Itching. The works, he’d grumble if Remus asked. The ‘World’s Best Grandpa’ mug—a gag gift from last year’s Secret Santa—sat undisturbed on his desk, filled to bursting. Pens, pencils, a spoon, a screwdriver, an inexplicable parrot feather, all interspersed with his steadily-growing collection of flags.

Remus remembered the day the first one had appeared. A simple rainbow with a wooden stick, no bigger than a postcard. Moody hadn’t said a thing, but he knew it was for him. It wasn’t the only one anymore. The sight of it still made his throat tight.

“Come see me if you need to,” Moody said at last. He tapped his pen on his stack of papers, then nodded. “For the record, I’m not worried. Out of my office.”

“Have a good night, Moody.” Thunder rolled overhead as he turned to the door. “Get home safe, okay?”

He got another grunt in the affirmative and turned the doorknob, hoping the squeaky top hinge would muffle his sigh. The door swung open, Remus walked face-first into Sirius’ chest, and everything went black as night.

--

“I don’t know why you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Don’t pull that bullshit.”

“My feelings aren’t bullshit.”

“Mon dieu—”

“I’m serious, I’m not angry.” Leo shut the drawer a little harder than necessary. The salt shaker rattled on the counter.

“Then what are you?” Logan demanded, keeping his voice low.

“I’m—” He pressed his lips together and tilted his face up to the ceiling. Upset. Hurt. Stressed. Frustrated. Angry. “I don’t know.”

“I already apologized for the rhubarb—”

“Rutabaga.”

“Jesus, Leo.” Logan’s tone was sharp; he flinched. Okay, maybe he deserved that one. He heard Logan’s unsteady exhale and felt a gentle touch on his arm. “I’m sorry. I should have listened better, or texted you when I wasn’t sure.”

And there it was again, that burning flare of annoyance. Leo shrugged him off and turned to the coffee maker. Someone had left their disposable cup in the machine the last time it was used. The sight made him want to take the entire thing and slam it on the floor.

“Leo?”

“I don’t want you to text me when you aren’t sure.” His voice came out shaky and he silently cursed himself. At least his hands didn’t tremble while he swapped the cups. “I—Logan, I shouldn’t have to be your food dictionary.”

“Hey.”

Leo bit the inside of his cheek at the genuine hurt in Logan’s voice and dug through the mug cupboard. “Look, it’s fine, just…look it up if you’re not sure. It’s not like I hide my cookbooks.”

Or, better yet, be a capable adult. Logan’s sneakers shuffled on the linoleum. Where was his goddamn mug? “D’accord,” he finally said. “Yeah, I’ll—I can do that.”

Was it bad that Leo wanted him to push harder? Maybe he was just jonesing for a fight, but Logan’s instant buckling made him feel even worse. They had been waspish with each other earlier, enough that Finn outright refused to be in the same room until they figured themselves out—perhaps Logan had worn out his ability to argue for the day.

Leo snorted humorlessly. That would be a first.

Pastel yellow caught his peripheral vision. He clenched his hands on the edge of the countertop and took a deep, fortifying breath. Throwing a mug at a wall would get him fired. Throwing things at Logan would never be something he did, in this life or the next, no matter how angry he may or may not be.

Leo plucked the Me-Wow! mug from it’s place—dirty—in the sink—also dirty—by its tail-shaped handle and dropped it in the trash, then walked out of the kitchen, leaving Logan and his coffee behind. Thunder rumbled overhead and guilt bubbled up. He shouldn’t leave like that, not when the storm was only going to get worse. Logan didn’t do well alone and upset. He had almost certainly left his headphones at home, too. Leo was never the one to leave but he just couldn’t take it—

He made it ten feet down the hall before the lights went out and silence doused the building.

Fuck.

--

James was not live, laugh, loving in these conditions. First of all, his best friend/ best man/ adopted brother was imploding with self-loathing for approximately the seventh time this week. Second, his wife’s best friend/ best man/ adopted brother was a nervous wreck despite his best attempts to keep himself together. And third, two of the rookies had worked themselves into a tiff that made Finn look like that.

Finn watched Logan leave after Leo in utter misery. Poor kid belonged in an ASPCA commercial.

In truth, James didn’t know what went wrong, exactly. Sirius had these cycles—he’d ride high and be so firm in himself, in what he loved and worked for, then crash so hard James expected it to leave visible wounds. It was far more frequent in the early days. Since Remus entered the picture, Sirius hadn’t spiraled more than a handful of times. It was like he needed a pressure-release valve to make sure all those internal works didn’t melt or rust over. Remus was better at getting Sirius to talk than just about anyone. It was shitty that Remus’ wan smiles and sickly pallor had to align with the exact time Sirius most needed someone who wouldn’t put up with his nonsense.

James did his best, but he wanted them to be happy more than anything. More often than not, it meant he didn’t push nearly enough. They all had bad habits.

He knew Coach would bring it up today. Sirius’ dark mood had set them all on edge, caught in that place between wanting to prove themselves and wanting to stay out of the way. Whatever was happening between Leo and Logan had brought the scrap of good mood to rock-bottom. There was only so much slack James could pick up without exhausting himself, and he was already at the end of his rope.

Talker was still fussing with his sock tape when James looked over. The stickiness was dead from his rhythmic wrapping and unwrapping, but he didn’t seem to care. James nudged his toe with the front of his skate. “ ‘Sup?”

Talker half-shrugged. “Not much.”

“You were good in the scrimmage today.”

His hands stuttered on the roll before evening out again. “You, too.”

James scooted over into Remus’ stall and lowered his head, turning slightly away from the center of the room for an iota of privacy. “You wanna talk about it? If this is about the pass—”

“Noelle can’t make it for my birthday.”

Oh. Oh. James’ heart sank. “Aw, buddy.”

“They’re in the playoffs and someone rescheduled.” His lips pressed together in a tight line. “It’s dumb, I just…”

“Miss her,” James finished when he trailed off.

Talker nodded. “Distance sucks.”

“I know.”

James tried not to be offended by Talker’s immediate skepticism. “You do?”

“Lily stayed in Boston for three years before transferring up here.” Worst three years of my life. “She wanted her BS in chemistry. I wasn’t going to be the schmuck to hold her back. We called, and FaceTimed, and texted when she was at school, but it—”

“Wasn’t the same,” they said in unison.

The ball of tape fell pathetically next to the trash bin. “I want to hug her,” Talker said. “It sounds so stupid, but I want to hug her. And—I don’t know, it’s been rainy today. She likes it when it rains.”

“Yeah.” James leaned over to bump his shoulder. “I hear if you cross your fingers and jump in a circle three times, your wishes come true.”

Talker was halfway through a laugh when the lights went out.

--

Oh my god, I went blind. The thought was wild and harebrained and ridiculous. So, precisely how Remus was feeling in every other aspect of his life.

“Oh.” Sirius sounded surprised. His hands were firm on Remus’ upper arms. “Bonjour.”

Remus blinked a few times to let his vision adjust to the sudden darkness. The remnants of the team’s shouts of surprise echoed briefly before going quiet. “Uh, hi,” he managed. Sirius was nothing more than a blob of shadow, but he felt along his arms and chest until he found a shoulder to pat. “Sorry. Power’s out?”

“Looks like it.”

“Huh. Did you…did you need something?”

Sirius shifted from foot to foot. “Uh. No, not really.”

Liar, but okay. Remus patted him again, and let his hand linger. The rink felt different like this. Low murmuring had started up again in the locker room, but everything else was grave-quiet without the familiar buzz of electricity. It felt like the heartbeat had stopped. Like they had paused in time. “We should—should we go back to the locker room?”

Sirius’ hands pulsed where he held Remus. “Sure,” he said with the reluctance of someone being asked to walk headfirst into the ocean.

Lightning cracked outside and Remus caught a glimpse of Sirius worrying at the inside of his lip in the brief light. “We can stay here,” he offered after a moment. “Or, like…go somewhere else for a bit.”

“Can we?”

The relief in Sirius’ voice ached. They had been so pent-up lately, neither willing to break the ice first but both suffering from their shared bad moods. Remus knew he had been more lost in his thoughts than down on Earth for days, and Sirius was being so…so Sirius. But not his Sirius. The Sirius that was twitchy, the Sirius that tossed and turned all night. The Sirius that barely finished his dinner.

Remus rolled the sleeve of Sirius’ shirt between his thumb and pointer finger, and pulled him in for a hug. His stiffness dissolved in an instant.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Sirius’ collarbone. He smelled good when Remus took a deep inhale, laundry soap and cologne. His arms were strong and solid around Remus’ back—he felt a few deep breaths come and go under his palms and inclined his head to let Sirius’ bury his face in his neck. His hair was damp from his post-practice rinse. It tickled Remus’ nose along the wings he liked to play with when Sirius was sleepy and cuddly. He sighed again. “Sirius, I’m so sorry.”

“I wasn’t there for you this week.” Sirius’ breath warmed his neck. His hold on Remus tightened. “You don’t need to be sorry, loup.”

“Okay,” Remus said softly. “But I am.”

“If you’re sorry, then I’m—” Sirius broke off with a tired laugh and nuzzled further into his neck. “I don’t know. Throwing myself at your feet and begging for forgiveness.”

Remus snorted at that mental image, but held him closer anyway. “It’s okay. I know you don’t like feeling like this.”

“I don’t,” Sirius agreed. “Doesn’t mean I should stop paying attention to you.”

“I’ve been doing the same to you,” he reminded him gently.

“You had a reason.”

“And you didn’t?”

Sirius fell quiet. His fingertips slipped along the divot of Remus’ spine while his palm warmed the small of his back; Remus felt a bit silly, standing there in his socks in the dark, but it didn’t really matter when he could feel Sirius’ heart beginning to even out at last. Someone padded out of the locker room and down the hall. Red hair stood out for a half-second when lightning struck again and his worry eased. If Finn was going to check on his boys, everything would sort itself out.

“I hate that this still happens.” Sirius’ voice barely cleared a whisper. “It sneaks up on me, and then I can’t sleep and I’m not hungry—or, I am, I just can’t—and I don’t know when it will stop.”

“I know, baby.”

“I want to sleep next to you and not be thinking about the next game, Re.”

Remus slipped his hands beneath Sirius’ arms and pressed their bodies together like he could press reassurance into him. If he could take that burden, he would. If he could fix it, he would. If he had the right words to tell Sirius that he didn’t care whether he was perfect or a wreck, he would. He pushed his nose under the soft spot of Sirius’ jaw and kissed him there. “I love you.”

A small sound stuck in Sirius’ throat.

“Je t’aime,” he repeated with another kiss. Just because he could.

The rise and fall of Sirius’ shoulders was steady now. “Je t’aime aussi. Whatever you need for this week, I’m here, okay? I’m in your nook.”

“My…nook?”

“Your—” Sirius huffed a laugh. “I’m on your side. Whatever the saying is.”

“In my corner?” Remus suggested around a smile. Sirius grumbled something vaguely agreeable and swatted at him, but never loosened their hug for a second.

--

Leo was holding him, and he wasn’t even angry anymore. Not like he had been. Thunder rattled a distant window and Logan’s grip twisted in the front of his shirt. “I’m fine,” he said.

Leo kissed his temple. “Yeah.”

They lapsed back into silence. He was usually so good at problem-solving, but every time he tried to speak, his tongue got stuck on the words. The anger had burnt itself out. The frustration and annoyance were still there, alongside the hurt. He wished Finn was there. Finn always knew what words to use.

“I’m sorry,” Leo said haltingly. Logan shifted in his arms. “I was shitty to you. Earlier, I mean. I should have talked to you.”

Logan didn’t answer. Somehow, that was the worst outcome. Leo knew how to match him in a verbal fight.

Lightning flashed. Logan flinched. Leo held him like he alone could stop the light from taking his boyfriend by surprise. That was it, wasn’t it? Even pissed off, he’d still hold Logan rather than leaving him in the dark with a thunderstorm.

They didn’t speak, just swayed in place. Footsteps echoed down the hall, growing closer each second before coming to a halt in the doorway. “Babes?”

“Here,” they chorused softly.

“Um.” Finn audibly hesitated. “Okay, give me a landmark. I’m so blind right now.”

“By the countertop,” Leo offered. Logan burrowed deeper into his chest. He was fever-hot the way he got when he was upset. Finn’s noise of sympathy when he found them and felt it somehow made it worse. “Hey, Fish.”

“Hey.” Leo heard the sound of a soft kiss. “Lo, you good?”

“Ouais,” came the murmured answer.

They lapsed into silence for the length of another roll of thunder. “And you…” Finn faltered. “You figured yourselves out?”

Leo looked away despite the darkness. They remained silent.

“Right,” Finn sighed.

“I don’t know what I did,” Logan blurted. “You said this wasn’t about the rutabaga, but it is, and you said you’re not angry, but you are, and I’m confused. And I’m really sorry for whatever I did to upset you, Peanut. I’m being so honest right now.”

“That’s the problem,” Leo said helplessly.

Logan clutched at his shirt, as if the answers were hidden in the fabric. “What?” he asked. “What is the problem? Stop doing that, I told you, I’m confused. Are you angry?”

“A little,” Leo choked out. Ugh, honesty was sawdust in his mouth.

“Is it about the rutabaga?”

“No.”

Logan made a frustrated noise, but Finn cut him off before he could continue. “What is it about, sweetheart?” he asked, so gentle it burned.

Leo let out a long breath, unwinding one arm from Logan’s waist to wrap it around Finn instead. He was nice and cool from his shower. They had all been running too hot lately.

“I’m not your mom, Lo,” he began. “We’re all grown-ups here. You know what food looks like. You know how to google things.” He felt the feelings ramp up again and rather than swallowing them back, let them siphon out on an exhale. Everything inside him was a miserable, knotted mess. “You don’t need me to come to the store with you all the time, and it pisses me off when you keep asking because I’m—'better at it’, or whatever. It’s not my job to shop for you. I’m sick and tired of it.”

Logan’s chest caved against his own. He mumbled something under his breath and Leo closed his eyes.

“I can’t hear you when you do that, c’mon, please—"

“I said, it’s not because I need you to shop for me.” Logan’s voice shook slightly, but not with anger.

“Then why would you ask me to walk to the store with you for the ‘right garlic’?” he sighed.

Logan raised his head, leaving a cold spot on the left side of Leo’s chest. “Because I want to spend time with you.”

That—was not the answer he had been expecting. You’re better at it, Logan would say. You know the foods better than I do. The realization came in waves; he had been teasing. Joking. Making it a bit. And Leo thought he was dead serious the whole damn time. All the frustration he had built up around himself cam down with a rush and a clatter. His heart made a break for hell with a pit stop at his stomach. He stared into the dark nothingness of the rink break room and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“I…” He broke off. Words had gotten him into this mess. Were they both that terrible at communicating properly? Finn bumped his arm and he took the hint (for once), wrapping Logan in a hug. By some miracle, Logan hugged him back. “That is the sweetest fucking thing, and I’m so sorry,” he managed, hoarse. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Logan, that was such a fucked-up thing for me to think.”

“I do actually like you, you know,” Logan said, muffled in his shoulder.

The remnants of Leo’s heart went for another spin through the shredder. “No, I know, I know, I’m so sorry. I like you, too.” He pressed a hard kiss to Logan’s temple and squeezed him tighter. “I like you so much. So much.”

“And I know what kind of garlic you like.”

Tears made Leo’s eyes sting and he violently wished them back. He had no right to cry over this. None at all. “Of course you do.”

Logan scratched lightly between his shoulder blades. “I don’t want to think about the type of people that made you think I’d do that, though. But if you want to give me names and addresses…”

Leo laughed weakly and felt Finn huff against him. “No, none of that,” Leo said with a kiss to Logan’s messy curls. He kissed his cheek, too, and his lips for good measure. Slow and easy, the way they both liked it. He wanted to make sure Logan was paying attention. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You did nothing wrong. I love you so, so much and I never should have thought that about you.”

In the hallway, the whir of generators kicked up. Soft light cast Logan in gold and dull shadows, just enough to make out the conflicted look on his face. His thumb was rough against Leo’s jaw. “I wish you thought better of yourself,” he said quietly. “You’re fun to be around, even walking to the store.”

I wish I had thought better of you. Leo pulled him close without a word and caught Finn’s gaze over Logan’s shoulder. His expression told him everything he needed to know, and he shut his eyes as Finn’s arms came around them both. A kiss lingered just above his ear. Leo kind of wanted to cry all over again.

--

The generators were a masterpiece of mechanics. The emergency switch flipped the moment the building lost power from the main grid, pooling energy around the rink itself to keep the ice solid. The rest of the lights would come on within fifteen to twenty minutes, beginning with the stadium seats and ending with the more fringe areas, like locker room and kitchens. They were top of the line, the best you could buy for a massive space that relied heavily on electricity to keep it functional.

They were no match for the Lions.

Ice cream, popsicles, and enough beer to cover the team twice over were liberated from the various refrigerators in less than five minutes. The team gathered on the floor of the locker room with iPhone flashlights and glowsticks (also ‘borrowed’ from the adjacent rooms) to enjoy their haul in peace and to play stupid, silly games like middle schoolers at a sleepover. They played games for a living, for crying out loud. Their favorite game. Why on earth would they take it too seriously when an opportunity like this presented itself?

Equal cheers and groans went up when the lights came back on. Moody was the first to leave, having only stuck around that long because the space outside his office door was occupied with an apparently necessary conversation. Arthur was next. The general consensus among the players was that the weather was simply too bad to risk driving. For their safety, they should stay and enjoy their goodies.

The morning security shift found them right where Arthur left them, puppy-piled by their stalls and surrounded by joyous havoc.

[itcanbegoodagain]

What I would want Peeta to say and do to me if I was Katniss, is how I think this deserves to be summed up.

Word Count: 1971

Rating: 18+. Mature, but not explicit. Sexytimes after the break.

Sliding down into the tub, I allow the sweet smell of the soap to engulf me, my eyes falling shut as the warm water creeps up my skin. My aching muscles relax, the tension seeping out of them as quickly as it appeared. The first week or two of hunting in the snow is always harder than I’m anticipating it to be. But I’ll be just fine.

I know Peeta’s home when I hear his gait on the creaking, wooden stairs. Deciding to stay put, I wait for him to find me in the bathroom. He’s home a little early today. Oh, lucky wife am I.

And, truly, I am. There is no better man out there than Peeta. So when he gently knocks on the door, I smile to myself. “You can come in.” My head falls back to rest on the lip of the tub, providing me with a better vantage point to see him.

The door pushes open slowly, and Peeta steps through, shutting the door behind him. Not necessary, since we’re the only ones that live in this house. But no complaints here. Just observations.

“Hi baby,” he says, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms across his chest. There is a slight uptilt to his lips, one that usually indicates a particular line of thinking. I wonder what I’m in for.

I take this chance to stare at him, lazily moving my gaze head to toe, as I know he is sizing me up, too. I avoid the urge to shift my legs together too soon, anticipating the exquisite touch of his hands that’s sure to come.

He’s wearing his normal dark-wash trousers, a long-sleeved shirt in lieu of his usual attire. The tip of his nose is just the littlest bit red. The snow gets to bakers, too, then. Briefly, I wonder what the cold of his nose would feel like while his lips make their way up my thighs. I do know how his body feels, though, as I take in the way his shirt hugs in all the perfect places.

“Hi baby,” I repeat back softly, not wanting to raise my voice too much for fear of bursting this liminal moment we’ve created. It could go very different ways. I know which way I want it to go, and if I know anything about him, I know what he wants, too.

Neither of us moves to break eye contact. Peeta does, however, slowly peel off the counter, walking around the end of the tub to kneel on the ground next to me. His arms rise up to rest on the edge, his fingertips barely brushing the water.

We haven’t lost eye contact this entire time, so when he licks his lips and says what he does next, I am malleable. Pliable. Putty, in his hands only.

“You look very beautiful today,” he says. Normal words, predictable words, but the way he says it - the way he looks at me as he says it - mouthwatering.

Desperation. That’s the thing in my throat that won’t let any other words get out. Desperation to touch, to be touched, which I can see reflected in Peeta’s face, the slight trembling of his fingers.

“You know, these bathrooms really are too large. Look, I take up only half the tub!” I tell him.

He grins. “I have to disagree. There’s only room for one kickass woman in the tub.”

I hum. Trail my fingers, dripping warm water, through my hair. “Too bad. That kickass woman was hoping she’d have someone come join her.”

This is what really catches him. His voice, usually honey-sweet, is strained, just enough to be noticeable. “In that case, I think I might know someone.”

I take a deep breath, surveying him for another moment. “Well, tell him to come my way.”

With that in the air, he finally, finally kisses me. Kisses me with the force of someone who’s been holding back just long enough that they’re about to splinter. His fingers, the tips wet from resting in the water, find their way into my hair, his thumb tilting my head up beneath the chin. Already, he is biting and tugging at my lip with his teeth, which is one of the things he’s best at. Or maybe I just like it.

The kiss is both quenching and provoking. Yes, I finally can taste the love and lust on his lips, but it only makes me want him more. That’s how it works with us. Has since basically day one, though I was blind to it for a while.

Peeta stops for a moment, close enough that we are still sharing the same air. “How can I help you, my dear?” he asks, voice more rattled than before, as one of his hands dips into the water. His fingers find and, gently, scratch along the sensitive skin at my knee. I shiver, despite the warm water. He grins, noticing the gooseflesh that’s appeared on my skin at his mere touch.

A sharp intake of breath fills my lungs, and it takes me a moment to answer. “First, you’re in an unfair amount of clothes.”

He nods his head, pulling his arm out of the water to grab the hem of his shirt and yank it off, the cuff damp where the water had almost reached the sleeve after he rolled it up. His trousers quickly follow, though his undershorts stay on for now. “What else?”

In response, I stand up, careful not to send water pouring over the edge. Peeta stands as well, reaching over to grab a towel and stepping closer to wrap it around me. His hands pause on my shoulders, holding the towel in place around me. He raises his eyebrows. Next?

I send him the best, most flirty smile I can muster. It's never been my strong suit. Then I remove the towel, allowing him to keep it. The moment he realizes my intentions, it’s discarded to the floor, easily and gladly forgotten. In his eyes, I can tell he wants to touch me, desperately, but I make him wait just a little longer.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, one of such need and desire, that it sends a flash of pride through me. Turning a man on is so much more fun than I ever thought it could be. It makes you feel powerful, even if it’s just one person for one moment.

But with Peeta, there are so many moments like that. He praises, he worships me, but it’s never over the top. It is always in the actions: letting me fall asleep in his lap, leaving breakfast on the table, placing kisses along my skin after I have been well and truly tumbled. Doing as much as he can to please me. Yes, indeed. I am a lucky wife.

After I’ve planted myself on the bathroom counter, the edge lining up dangerously with the part of me that is Peeta’s next destination, he is on his knees again. He begins his ministrations slowly, each brush of his fingers or lips on my skin like an electric shock. My skin is so, so sensitive, and he is so, so gentle. There’s nothing better.

By the time he reaches my knees, he has scooted closer, his shoulderblades now between my legs to give him the proper access he requires. Each touch of his mouth to my skin makes it harder not to move, but I try my best. As he nears the top of my thighs, he takes one leg and throws it over his shoulder, carelessly, I would say, if it were anyone else.

“So,” he begins, frequently pausing to occupy his mouth in less talkative ways, “there is so much time left, so many things to do.” His tongue traces a thin line up the most sensitive part of my inner thigh. I gasp, eyes falling shut, hips beginning to squirm. One of his hands pushes back on my hipbone, his fingertips pressing into the skin just hard enough to leave marks. Marks for him to see, later. Maddening. “Where shall I begin?”

I realize, maybe two seconds too late, that he is genuinely asking. “Katniss, baby,” he continues, his rough voice sounding heavenly from between my legs. “Tell me how to help.” To emphasize his point, he flips my other leg over his shoulder, effectively trapping himself between and beneath me.

I gasp again, trying to get the words out. In a moment of clarity, I’m able to string together these words: “Kiss me.”

He hums, running his hands over my hips, back and forth. “From down here?”

Smartass. “Not on my lips,” I manage.

He grins, a fiercely boyish grin that I sometimes forget he’s capable of. “I see. Well, since you asked so nicely…”

I choke out a laugh. “Right. As if you didn’t come home with it already in mind.”

He laughs too, but doesn’t allow it to linger for long. “You got me there.” He says this one moment, and the next, his face is hidden and his mouth and tongue are doing such extraordinary things, and, god, his nose -

Well. I hit the nail on the head with that one.

My fingers curl into his hair, urging him on as I push him closer. I can feel his grin, so I give a sharp tug on the hair I have in hand as recompense. This pulls another sound out of his throat, a gasp out of his mouth. Both feel lovely, situated where he is. So I continue to pull at his hair when he needs some humbling.

It's breathless, it's wonderful, it's only the beginning. I'm trembling, grateful to be sitting, as he makes his way up my body. Lingering kisses on my hips, along my stomach, up my chest. He stays at my neck for a while, paying particular attention there, surely leaving behind bruises that can easily be covered by a turtleneck in this cool weather.

--

A good chunk of time passes before I'm able to drag his lips back to mine, feeling like I might die if I don't get to kiss him right this second. He happily obliges, as he knows that he is good with his mouth. In several different regards. But who's keeping track? Certainly, certainly not me.

My hands, itching to touch his skin, smooth down his shoulders, wrapping around his back, pulling him even closer. Now, he is standing again, my legs circling his waist. Our bodies are pressed together at their most intimate places, though his undershorts are still on. Slowly, I run one of my hands down his side, making sure to take my time, before sliding the tips of my fingers below his waistband. I don't move them, I don't try to take his boxers off, I just let them rest there. Let Peeta give me this incredulous, sex-addled smirk.

"Yes?" I ask. "Is there something wrong?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I'm just thinking..." he trails off for a moment, leaving me to fill in the blank. "Well, you know, it's not only the tubs that are too big for one person. The showers are, too. Haven't you noticed?"

Tapping my chin, I pretend to ponder his question. "Truly? I haven't. Do you care to show me?"

He swoops in for another kiss, this one full of teeth and lips and pressure. He steals my breath away. "Gladly," he says, grinning, hauling me off the counter.

With a quick turn of the knobs, the warm spray of water begins falling from the shower head, and, truthfully, there is no way to describe what happens next. No way to describe it other than really, really good sex.

[tobesoalive]

rises the moon (Josh Kiszka x Reader)

here’s a fluffy smut pice for y'all about the hottest man alive, Josh Kiszka! Let me know if you like it and want to see more of this stuff, I had a lot of fun writing it! Anyways....enjoy!

WARNINGS: smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, the usual 

“C’mon babe! Let's celebrate a little!” you nagged your sweaty, grinning boyfriend. Josh Kiszka was the love of your life, and had been since you met three years ago. It was a warm August night and he had just gotten done performing his first show in months.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let loose a bit” he replied with a grin. “I’m kinda tired though so do you mind if it’s just the two of us?”

“I guess I could tolerate that” you tease.

After about another hour of hearing people congratulate the boys and helping pack up it was time to go. You were able to make it to the car without being swarmed by fans, but still stopping for a few photos. You offered to drive so that Josh could sleep for a little bit. Finally you pulled up to the little bungalow you and Josh had started living in a few months ago. It only made sense for the two of you to live together since you were practically inseparable.

Entering through the garage you kicked off your shoes as Josh questioned what you had in mind.

“Well I was thinking we could put on a record and maybe cook some food? Maybe even enjoy a glass of wine if you’re feeling wild”

“You know me baby, I’m always wild!” he responds, doing a weird voice that you rolled your eyes at, but deep down you loved it.

“I think the term feral suits you better” you quip, pulling him in for an embrace.

He rests his head on your shoulder, nuzzling his face into your neck, breathing deeply. You know how stressed and anxious he has been these past few weeks leading up to the show, and it made you so happy to see him finally relaxing. Silently your bodies part ways and he makes his way over to your extensive vinyl collection in the living room. He’s flipping through records when you run up to your bedroom and come back down the stairs, hands hiding behind your back.

“Hey Frodo, I have a little surprise for you”

“Oh boy what could it be, a sacred ring or some shit?” he says without looking up, putting a Fleet Foxes record on the turntable.

“Sorry for calling you a hobbit, I just wanted to make sure I got your attention.” you say as he finally makes his way over to you.

From behind your back you pull out a single joint and a lighter, one you had hand decorated with little stars and a moon. On it you had written in gold Sharpie “You are my sun”.

“Babe this is so amazing!” he says while taking the lighter in his hand and flipping it around. Josh was always keeping your sketches and random doodles that you thought nothing of, so you thought you’d put them on something he’d get use out of.

“I’m sorry I know it’s small, I just wanted to give you a little something to say congrats.”

“Are you kidding mama?! I love it, you didn’t have to do anything!” he assures you before pulling you in for a kiss.

“I will definitely be putting this to good use, but I think we should break it in now” he says before pulling you over to the couch and putting the joint between his lips.

He passes it to you and you inhale deeply, letting the sweet smoke fill your lungs. This was an activity you and Josh liked to partake in when you had a stressful day, or when you were going on an adventure, or anytime really. Not that either of you weren’t already very laid back and silly.

After a few minutes of the two of you passing the joint back and forth it was gone, and you ashed it out in the tray on the coffee table, setting the lighter to rest beside it.

“God that was a really great present actually, I just wish there was a way I could repay you” Josh says turning to face you.

“It’s a gift, you don’t need to repay me!” you tell him, starting to feel the effects of the weed.

“But you see I’m just a giving person, and what I’d like to give to you right now is a mind blowing orgasm” Josh says, and you can’t help but burst out laughing. You cover your face with your hands before facing him and saying “Kiszka you are such a dork, you’re lucky I find you so attractive!”

Both of you are grinning as your lips collide and after a minute of making out you pull back.

“After some deep consideration, I’ve come to the conclusion that that is an offer i just can’t refuse”

“Oh my love you are in for a treat!” he tells you before pulling you onto his lap.

Your hips start to move against his involuntarily, and you can feel him growing harder beneath his shorts. You tug at the hem of his white shirt and he lifts his arms up so you can pull it off him. Once again you break the kiss to move down on to your knees, ready to tease him with your mouth.

“Oh no princess, none of that tonight. All I really want to do is taste you so you better get your ass on this couch” he says with a small laugh.

You giggle as you get back on the sofa, barely able to contain your excitement. He unbuttons your pants and awkwardly yanks them off, causing you both to laugh. Quickly, his face becomes more serious as he concentrates on running his fingers up and down on the inside of your thighs, lightly ghosting around where you need him most.

“Joshua please” you whimper as you throw your head back, becoming more and more frustrated by his teasing.

“Sorry baby, I was just admiring how wet you already are. Was it from me?”

“Mhmm” you moan in response, tilting your head back down to make eye contact with him.

“Well I suppose I could treat you, since you’ve been such a good girl” he smirks before pulling your panties to the side, running his middle finger up and down your slit.

His teeth bite at his bottom lip as he darts his eyes from your wet center and back up to your eyes. You’re unable to take your eyes off of him, the sight of him alone is enough to make you come.

Slowly, he pushes his middle finger in, down to the last knuckle, letting it sit there a moment before he starts to pump it in and out of you at a lazy pace. Your walls contract around him as your eyes start to tear up, desperate for more.

“Josh more please” you plead with him. Instantly he attaches his lips to your clit, the motion all too familiar to him, the hairs above his lip and on his chin adding extra sensation. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud as his finger speeds up it’s pace. You can feel the heat start to pool in your stomach as he continues his actions. He adds a second finger, taking a moment to pull his mouth away and use his free hand to pull your panties to the side more. He dives back in, more concentrated than ever, fingers curling up to hit the delicate spot inside of you. You can see him rutting against the couch and it’s enough to make you throw your head back and let out a loud and rather pornographic moan.

“I think I’m gonna-” you start to say as the fire in your belly builds.

“It’s okay baby, you can do it, cum for me” he says, flashing his gorgeous smile quickly before returning his lips to your clit, moaning around it, sending delicious vibrations through your body. Your fingers lace through his curls as his fingers pump at an insane speed, sending you over the edge.

Your body shakes as stars form behind your closed eyelids, every part of you basked in complete euphoria, oblivious to everything around you. After a minute you open your eyes as you whimper at the feeling of Josh dragging his fingers out of you, but the feeling of his breath still hot against your clit.

You look down to see Josh with his eyes closed, partially hunched over as his hands rest on his knees, your juices gleaming on his tan skin.

“Wow, I owe you one, that was fucking amazing” you sigh.

“I’d love that, but I’m gonna have to take a rain check, seems my problem took care of itself” he says, cheeks turning red.

You look down to see a dark spot on his green shorts, realizing that he was experiencing just as much pleasure from pleasuring you.

“Joshua Michael Kiszka, that is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life!” you say before pulling him into a kiss, the taste of you lingering on his lips. The thought of him getting off from eating you out alone drove you wild, he really fucking loves you.

“God I’ve never been more tired and content in my life” he says as his arms find their way around you, head burying into your neck.

“Well my prince, why don't you go upstairs and get in bed while I get you a glass of water and a snack”

“Oh my god, how did I get this lucky?” he says

“I ask myself the same thing everyday” you say before giving him one last kiss.

“You are my moon”

“And you my sun”

And you meant every bit of it.

[crowdedimagines]

Spill It - Harry Styles

an// i literally love the spill your guts concept, but hopefully this is a new take on it! also, this is not going to be chronologically correct to real life, that’s the fun of fiction! also in a world without covid

“I will never understand how you continue to convince people to do this.” I sigh, taking in the table in front of me.

“Let’s take a look at what Y/n here is so fond of.” James teases before giving the table a good spin, showing off all of its contents, “To start we’ve got salmon smoothie, beef tongue, bird saliva, scorpion, fish head, hot sauce, bull penis, and finally, the water beetle. I think you’re both familiar with the rules of this game.”

“I’m sure.” Niall smiles, turning his head towards mine and I nod in agreement.

Niall and I go way back, having been friends for years. We met back in 2013 when I opened for One Direction’s tour. I quickly become close with all of them. One more so than the others. Harry. He and I just clicked, everyone knew it. It took months for us to start dating, afraid that we would ruin the good thing we had, but neither of us wanted to wait anymore. You can’t pass up a connection like that.

“Niall, I will ask you the first question.” James announces, “We’ll go with the salmon smoothie.”

“Oh god.” He mutters.

James lets out a loud laugh and covers his face in shock over the question. He turns it to me so I can catch a glimpse before he reads it out-loud and my jaw drops.

“You might as well drink now, not even hear the question.” I tease, leaning across the table.

“Niall, who is your least favorite member of One Direction?”

Niall’s head drops in defeat, even though he was sure going into this a question like this would be brought up. He just wishes it could’ve been on something a little easier to choke down.

“Drink up, babe.” I smile, a teasing smile crossing my face.

“Fuck.” He shakes his head.

“I can’t… “ He reaches for the glass and throws it back, it takes a few seconds for the sludge to finally shift and he can get a mouthful. A sour look takes over his face as soon as it reaches his taste buds. He quickly leans down to spit it in the bucket.

“That’s horrendous.” He coughs, “It was like a salmon yogurt.”

“Alright Niall, your turn to ask Y/n.”

I smile politely to my friend of many years who takes on a sinister look once he’s read the question.

“Please be nice.” I stick out my bottom lip.

“Right right.” He laughs, spinning the table as he takes in his options.

“Don’t forget I have a very good memory, especially of the years spent on a shared tour bus…” I chaff.

“Don’t remind me.” He settles on the hot sauce, thankfully one of the lesser evil options. I would take this over anything else on the table.

I did crash on their bus more than my own. It started because they were fun, barely older than me, but then when Harry and I started dating we became. Even sharing a bunk as uncomfortable as it was most nights. Those boys grew up with me, and I’m thankful to still be in good contact with all of them.

“You recently welcomed your third god-child into the world when Zayn Malik and Gigi Hadid welcomed their daughter to the world.”

“Yes, I did.” I smile at the cheering audience. I have managed to do the impossible in staying close with all of the boys since the hiatus. Well, all but one. Gigi and I met years ago, and I introduced the pair at an award show. The other boys had their reason for making me god mother, but it did give me this monopoly on all of the One Direction children. 

“You are actually the god-mother to all three of the One Direction children. Who’s your favorite?”

My jaw drops at the question. Who had the audacity to ask that? To think I could ever answer that about any of my little nieces and nephews. The audience cheers in shock over the question as well.

“You’re joking.” I scoff, “They’re children, I could never pick a favorite!”

“How about your least favorite then?” James teases.

“You lot are all horrendous!”

I grab the shot glass and down the hot sauce immediately. I love all of them way too much to ever pick. I’m sure it’s exactly what they expected with a question like that. It burns for a few seconds and I put the glass back and try to shake it off.

“Nice one!” Niall cheers.

“Now James-” I clear my throat, the hot sauce catching up with me, “Name one guest that you would never invite back to the show.” I bite back a smile and fan my face with the card.  

James looks up into the camera as if he actually wants to answer.

“C’mon, you can do it! Just for once.” I grin like a little kid in a candy store, I want him to answer. I want to know, and it would be nice to finally get him to reveal an answer like this.

“Are you trying to get this show canceled?” He turns to one of the producers off screen. He looks between them and the water beetle I’ve placed in front of him. He gives his head one last shake before throwing it down the hatch.

“Niall, it’s your last night on Earth, you can either spend it with your ex girlfriend Ellie Goulding or Selena Gomez?”

He goes back and forth, trying to be polite with his answer before eventually picking Ellie.

“Y/n, who is your favorite member of One Direction?” Niall asks, the smirk growing wider with every word he utters.

The crowd roars, knowing very well of my relationship from a few years ago. One that people still brought up regularly in both Harry and my life due to us remaining friendly. 

“What is up with you guys wanting to know my favorites?” I roll my eyes, “Give me something I can actually answer.”

“Fine! I’ll ask you one!” Niall grins, an evil and family glint in his eyes appearing, “What songs have you written about Harry?”

A red hue takes over my face again, only this time it’s not from the hot sauce.

“Either that, or the bird saliva.” He grins, showing off a wide smile. If only we weren’t on national television and I could smack it off.

“It smells like wet dog.” I sigh, I pick it up giving it a whiff before setting it back down on the table, “Could I name one song?”

Niall and James exchange a look before the nod accepting it. 

“I wrote the song Everything about him.” I smile. It shouldn’t exactly be a surprise to most people, there were clues. Both of our fans were smart enough to catch on and read between the lines. It was a song I released almost two years ago, the album following our breakup.

It was a powerful song, it quickly became one of the favorites of my fans. It’s also one of the few that I don’t perform. I can’t think of a time I’ve sung that song without crying, it wasn’t meant for the stage. It was meant to be played in your bedroom while you stare at your ceiling. People have always understood that. 

“It’s a lovely song.” Niall smiles knowingly.

“Thank you.” I smile, I move on and reach out to ask James his question.

“James, you have been blessed to have both Niall and I on for carpool karaoke.” I smile at Niall, “Which one did you enjoy more?”

I can’t fight off the laughter that takes over. As if it isn’t hard enough to answer questions like these, it’s only upped the ante by having us both here.

“You’re kidding.” He dabs away the sweat on his forehead.

“It’s okay, Niall won’t be that offended.” I reassure and stick out my tongue at Niall.

“You’re an arse.” Niall laughs with the roll of his eyes.

In the middle of Niall and I acting like children bickering, James tears off a bite of the cows tongue without another word.

“Oh god.” I turn away from the unpleasant sight.

“That’s rank.” Niall huffs.

Niall answers his next question from James again, successfully getting away without eating anything.

“Y/n, if the past four years you have gotten into acting. You have made quite a name for yourself on the big screen as well as on the stage.” Niall begins.

“I don’t like where this is going.” I laugh.

“Rank your co-stars from your past films best to worst; Dylan O’Brian, Logan Lerman, and John Boyega.” Niall smacks his knee with a laugh.

“I have been blessed to work with so many talented actors” I start, picking up the terrifying looking bug that has been placed in front of me.

“Mhm.” James agrees with an evil smile on his face.

“So talented, that I could never rank them.” I throw back the scorpion before I can second guess myself. I manage to chew enough of it for it to count before spitting it out as gracefully as I can.

That’s a wrap after that, enough time getting juicy content out of us quite literally either spilling or filling our guts. I give Niall a hug before going back to my dressing room. I couldn’t be more thankful to share the couch tonight with a long time friend.

I drive home, eager to go home and relax. The episode won’t air until later tonight which gives me a couple hours of peace from Twitter. I take a bath and make myself some dinner, before eventually climbing into bed and turning on the TV to watch the episode.

It’s good, fun to watch back. Niall and I make a good pair, easy to read the friendship on camera. In time the episode ends and I turn off the TV and decide to go to bed. It’s been a long day full of press. Before I can actually drift off my phone lighting up and vibrating on my nightstand grabs my attention.

You are my everything too. xx

PART TWO??????

[sleep-i-ness]

Wrong Door (Sirius Black x reader)

Synopsis: Your roommate wakes you up in the middle of the night because she can’t get into the flat. Or so you think. (Muggle AU) FOR MY 500 WRITING CHALLENGE

A/N: do not follow what reader does in this in real life. IF SOMEBODY PASSES OUT DRUNK AND DOESN’T WAKE UP, CALL AN AMBULANCE (usa people i don’t know what you do. call an uber to the hospital?)

WARNINGS: Alcohol, really shitty first aid, swearing

BANG! Y/N bolted upright. Fuck, were they being burgled? She checked her watch, groaning at the time. It was 3 in the bloody morning and she had an 8am class. She swore lightly under her breath; she’d clearly fallen asleep while studying on the sofa, a textbook on her lap and an empty bottle of wine in her hand.

She wasn’t one for going out in middle of the week, unlike her roommate Marlene, so being woken up in the early hours of the morning was a common occurrence. Usually Marlene would just stumble back into the apartment, tripping over everything lying in her way. Tonight, she had clearly decided to break the fucking door down.

Y/N heard a key fiddling at the door, and she sighed. That was when the pounding on the door started. Time for her to go help Marlene out.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she grumbled, extracting herself from the cocoon of sheets and cushions.

The banging didn’t lessen, and Y/N groaned as black patches clouded her vision momentarily. Mentally reminding herself to grab some water on the way back from the door, she trudged over to the hallway, propping herself against the wall for two seconds as she swayed slightly. Her fingers clasped around the latch and she pulled it, swinging the door open.

“You’re not Marlene.”

“You’re not James. Did he bring you over or something?” The brunette stranger rambled, pushing past her as he stumbled into the apartment. Y/N was too taken aback to protest at first, watching the man walk in as if he owned the place. “You can close the door, y’know. I didn’t bring back a girl this time because James said he’d literally kill me if I kept him up again. What a hypocrite.”

The man reached out to hang his jacket on an empty patch of wall, staring at it blankly when it fell onto the floor. He tried again, feeling for a hook that didn’t exist and Y/N watched him confusedly from where she stood by the still-open door.

“What on earth are you doing in my flat?” She found her voice at last; his audacity was astounding!

“Your flat? Love, just because James brought you over once doesn’t mean you can start claiming our stuff,” he seemed almost affronted, slurring his words as he let his jacket be on the floor. 

“No, this is my flat that I share with my roommate Marlene. Who the fuck is James? And, more importantly, who the fuck are you?” Y/N had to admit, she was getting a little riled at this point. This drunk man had just waltzed in and begun claiming the place as if she didn’t exist.

The man opened his mouth to protest before taking a good long look at the coral walls and pictures that hung all over them. He closed his mouth, paused, and turned to look at the hall table with their tatty fringed lampshade and geometric-print table runner. Y/N could almost hear the cogs whirring in his brain as he stared bemusedly at the room.

“Fuck. This isn’t my flat. Where am I?” He seemed honestly and completely confounded, scrunching his face up.

“You’re near Kensington, we’re a few roads back from the high street and the market. This flat block is number 48-53?” Y/N gesticulated as she tried to explain where exactly her apartment lay.

She was too busy explaining to notice the queasy expression spreading across the man’s face. He shoved back past her to stick his head out her door and promptly throw up all over her front step. Disgusting. And she was going to have to clean it up! He swayed back and forth, before collapsing backwards, narrowly avoiding falling feet-first into a pile of his own vomit. Y/N contemplated just leaving him there and shutting the door on him. But she knew deep down she’d sorely regret it if any harm came to him because she refused to help him. It wasn’t the dodgiest of areas, but the nights were bitterly cold.

“Hey,” she tapped him on his shoulders, calling upon her memories of first aid and how to deal with a drunk person. He didn’t stir, even as her taps got harder and she decided to take her chances and slapped him straight across the face. She gasped as a red handprint bloomed on his cheek, yet he still didn’t wake up. Hand still stinging, Y/N grabbed his arms, heaving as she attempted to pull him inside. Managing to pull him into the living room, she gently rolled him into the recovery position, ensuring that he was still breathing and that he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit. A dead man in her living room would be difficult to explain to her flatmate.

Y/N trudged to the kitchen, dragging her feet along as she pinched her eyelids to try and keep herself awake. She just needed to grab a glass of water to help with tomorrow’s inevitable hangover and a blanket for the drunkard. Somehow, she managed to complete the task, leaving her standing over the man now covered in her biggest blanket. She knew that she should go back to her room, but it just seemed so far, her legs protesting at the thought of moving an inch. Besides, the blanket was big enough to cover the two of them without having to even touch each other, right?

Sliding under the furthest corner, she quickly curled into a ball, eyes drifting shut before her head even touched the carpet.

:.

Waking in the morning, Y/N nuzzled further into the broad arms wrapped around her, sighing as she breathed in the stale scent of cologne and whisky. Her head pounding as she tried to recall the events of the night before that had led to her in a man’s arms. She startled, bolting upright as she remembered the drunkard who had stumbled through her door. And now she was in his arms. Fuck.

Seeing the man afresh with sober eyes, Y/N stopped to appreciate that he was actually really fucking attractive. It didn’t excuse him trying to break into her flat, but it helped, now knowing she’d cuddled him all night. God, that was embarrassing. How was she ever supposed to explain to the guy on the floor or Marlene what had happened. Slipping out from under the blanket, she tiptoed into the kitchen and slumped against the counter.

Coffee, she needed coffee. Then she could think about what had happened and how to sort out the man passed out in the living room.

Y/N filled the kettle up and spooned out the coffee granules into the cafetiere, frowning when her hand came into contact with air rather than her favourite mug. Fuck. It was still dirty from last night, probably abandoned on the table with her textbooks.

Meanwhile, Sirius groaned as he twisted under his covers. God, his head was aching, and his back was incredibly sore. Remus was going to kill him if he’d pulled a muscle; he was meant to be helping him move on the weekend. His mattress was uncomfortably lumpy; he knew he needed to get a new one, but he’d been putting it off. The bobbly fabric scratched his skin as he stretched out, flexing his fingers.

Hang on. Bobbly fabric?

Sirius cracked an eye open, flinching at the bright light. As his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight streaming in, his heart rate picked up. This was not his apartment. He was pretty sure they didn’t have such awful, tasselled cushions or green lace curtains.

Did he-? He glanced down, releasing a sigh of relief when he noticed he was still fully dressed. Okay, so not that drunk. So how the hell did he end up here?

“Here.” A girl stood in the doorway, an unimpressed expression on her face as she offered him a steaming mug of black coffee. “I didn’t know how you liked it, but I have milk and sugar if you need.”

Sirius nodded, still trying to process how he’d got here. She stared at him, waiting for something. He quickly backtracked the conversation in his head. “Oh, no, I’m good, thanks.”

He sipped at the scalding liquid, face contorting into an expression of pain as it scorched his tongue. His eyes trailed over the girl, surely he’d remember someone this gorgeous. “So,” he winced, “how did I get here?”

She pursed her lips, as if she’d tasted something sour. Okay so that had been a bad question to ask.

“You barged into my apartment, claiming it was yours, threw up on my doorstep and then passed out.”

Oh fuck. His head spun as it tried to remember the events of the night before. He did recall somewhat throwing up, but it was a blurry flash. “Sorry about that.”

She hmphed, stacking some scattered sheets on the small coffee table and collecting up dirty crockery. Sirius swallowed the coffee, grimacing at the awkward atmosphere. Funnily enough his parents had never bothered to teach him the etiquette for accidentally bursting into the wrong flat and passing out.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, glad he didn’t have to feel the pressure of breaking the silence anymore.

JAMES: Where are u?

JAMES: When I said don’t bring a girl back I didn’t mean go back to hers

JAMES: Ur boss called. I said you were feeling under the weather. He said u should get over ur hangover & get into work

REMUS: Why did ur boss call me to ask if we went out last night? I said no btw

JAMES: He called again; said he’d fire you if you didn’t turn up before 11. I told him u were properly ill and I could send him a pic of the thermometer. I think I got you out of that one

JAMES: Mate, I’m getting a bit worried

Shit. When was that last one from? Okay, 11:15 and it was now 11:34. Sirius tapped out a reply to James, unsure how much detail to go into. I’m alright, be back soon. Yeah, that would do. He really couldn’t deal the endless mocking yet, once they’d found out what had happened they’d never let it go. So that would be saved for when the pounding headache had finally settled down.

His phone binged again. JAMES: We’re out of milk can you grab some on the way back?

Sure.

Sirius got to his feet, groaning as the room spun, beige walls all blurring into one. Rubbing at his face, he stumbled towards the kitchen, empty mug in hand.

“Hey, sorry, I don’t know your name.” He leant against the door frame, body sagging. God he was exhausted.

“Y/N.” Her tone was bitter, and Sirius couldn’t help the pang of guilt shooting through him. She’d probably stayed up all night worried he’d attack her or steal something.

“Well, thanks for the coffee, Y/N, and for not leaving me on the doorstep. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

He placed the mug down on the counter and slung his leather jacket on. She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes.

Y/N trailed him to the door, holding onto it as he stepped out, raising a hand goodbye.

“Bye.”

“Thanks, bye.” Sirius watched the chipped door swing shut, sunlight glinting gold off the battered number on the door. Hm, Number 51.

:.

Y/N groaned as the doorbell went. She’d just got settled into her studying. “Marlene, did you order something?”

“No. I’m broke.” Marlene yelled back, sticking her head out of her room. Her makeup was half done, mascara brush in hand and dress round her hips. “I can’t answer it like this!”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’m on it.”

She tipped the papers onto the floor, ignoring the mess they made. Future her could tidy that up. Trudging to the door, she grabbed her phone off the table. So that was where she’d left it.

“Hi,” she nodded at the delivery guy. He was holding a large bunch of flowers and Y/N bit back a sigh her eyes. Probably from another of Marlene’s boys. Honestly, she was thinking of opening up a flower shop, considering the amount of flowers Marlene’s newest was insisting on sending.

“Hi, I’m looking for,” the delivery guy scanned the list on his clipboard, “Y/N?”

She froze. Huh. “Yeah, that’s me.”

He tucked the clipboard under his arm, passing her the flowers. “These are for you. There’s a card with it.”

“Thanks.”

Y/N shut the door, staring at the bunch of vivid blooms in confusion. Who on earth would have sent her these? She racked her brains for any possible romance in her life, but nothing came to mind. With her luck, it was probably her grandma or something. Not that she’d be upset by flowers from her nan but a mystery lover was much more interesting.

She pulled out the gilded card from where it was tucked into the side of the paper, scanning the words.

Sorry for breaking in and passing out in your flat, princess. Text me if you want to go for drinks at some point: +44 7xxx xxxxxx

A smile broke across her face. Maybe she’d take him up on his offer.

-

-

all hp tags: @missmulti @acciotwinz @1marvelavengers1 @samnblack @neymarlionelmessi7 @okkulta  @gredandforge @onestela@yourenotafailureoverall  @milkshakelol

sirius black tags: @holybatflapexpert @methamphetaminee @thefernandasantana @uglipotata72829 @cheapglitter @lozzybowe @persephonehemingway @blisfvlll @mads-bri @fific7 @electrasworld666 @ccosmic-illusion @anniewhoiam @20coldhearts @imcreepininyourheartbabe @whointhehellisbucky @isntmadrid @blackblossomqueen @wheezyreads @tugabooos @atomic-chickenwings @its-evita-here @inkandpen22 @Rue-123  @emilianamason @mesmerisedalien

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Dear wendy, im sorry for being a whore but 👁👄👁 … I kinda want a smut where reader is a milf a mom of geto’s friend… a lot sexual tension would be great 😳

YES AND — my mind instantly said “hey this is how that will play out” and LOW KEY I’ve been waiting for this moment because I, too, am I whore.

Milk and Cookies: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

WC: 1.9k

Tw: NSFW (Lactation kink, unprotected sex)

The chimes and tinkles of the doorbell make you look up from the dirty dishes in the sink, and you pad over to the wooden door, peeking through the peephole.

Your son's friend, Geto Suguru, stands in the entryway, holding a bag as he pushes his hair back over his shoulder, and you instantly open the door for him. God, if he was as old as you, you'd have him snatched up and pinned to a bed. "Hello, Suguru! Just so you know, Kai won't be back for another hour or so. He and his grandfather were caught in traffic on the way back from fishing," you tell the man, and he smiles at you brightly. Your legs want to go weak, but you keep your composure and smile back at the twenty-two-year-old.

"No worries, Mrs. L/n. I'll just wait here until they get back. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," you reassure him and walk past the door to let him in. "The baby is with his grandma, so make yourself comfortable in the living room. Let me know if you want anything to eat." Geto nods at you, then opens the bag he brought.

"I brought some cookies that my mother made for you. She said after having a baby, these really help with your... uh... hormones, I think." You examine the offering when he passes it to you, and take one out of the little box. The oats and dark chocolate pieces melt in your mouth, and you hum in delight.

"These are delicious, Suguru. Tell your mother I said thank you. Did you help her make these?" The grown man shuffles about for a second, then admits his involvement. "You're incredibly sweet," you mention, and a blush creeps up his neck. "You both did a very good job." He looks up at you, dumbfounded, then smirks.

"Wasn't too hard to follow directions. Plus, I love baking. Would love to help you bake sometimes if you'll let me."

"Just let me know when and what you want to bake," you reassure him and he nods, taking a seat on the couch.

When you finish the cookie, you turn back to the dishes and begin to wash them as the TV flicks on in the living room. You're lost in thought about the kindness of Suguru and his mother when you feel the sharp stabbing sensation of a knife poke you in your hand.

"Ah!" When you bring your hand out of the water, you see that the knife sliced the palm of your hand a little, red blood forming along the cut.

"Mrs. L/n, I'll help." Suguru appears out of nowhere and reaches above the microwave to grab the first aid kit from a cabinet. While he does that, you run the palm under water, hissing as it stings but then drying it on a paper towel. Suguru takes a bandaid and places it over your cut hand, then wraps gauze over it. "You should be more careful," he chastises, and you hum in response. "Would hate to see a pretty hand like yours get infected. I'll finish the dishes for you; just sit on the couch and relax." You begin to protest, but Suguru silences you with a five to your lips, pulls you toward the living room, and sits you on a recliner before he leaves to go finish the dishes.

The TV is tuned to HGTV, and you watch Chip and Joanna renovate homes while the man finishes, glancing over at him every so often to see if he's having any trouble. But he looks as studious as ever, hair dangling over his shoulder as he finishes his task. Well, your task, actually.

When Suguru's done, he joins you in the living room, sitting in the closest seat to your recliner. "Tell me about your weekend," he begins, his black eyes staring at your face. You eye your velour tracksuit with disdain, noting that you hadn't even had a chance to get out since the baby was born a month ago and the father had been absent for much longer than that.

"Oh, just cleaning and making the house neat. You?"

"That's all you've done? What about getting a babysitter to watch Kaneda while you go out and have some fun?"

"Um..." How could you explain to the man that you don't have any friends to go out with? "Well, that would be nice."

"I'll ask my friend Shoko if she'll come by. She loves kids." He pulls out his phone and begins to type out a message, then focuses back on you when he's done. "Any news from Mr. L/n?"

"No," you answer quickly. "He's sent his monthly allowance for me and Kai, but that's it."

"Has he seen Kaneda at all?"

"No." Geto lapses into silence, eyes looking down at the carpet.

"I normally don't speak on matters that don't concern me, but fuck him," he mutters, and you look up in shock. "If I had a wife like you, I'd take you out, show you off, make you happy, and keep you satisfied. I'd never--" Suguru clenches his jaw when you touch his hand, a small smile on your face.

"You're too kind. Things between Mr. L/n and I have been rough, but I'm sure he'll come around soon."

Suguru shakes his head, then shifts out of your grip. "I would treat you better," he murmurs, then looks over at you. You swear the flutter in your chest isn't from any feelings and just because of his pity. But when he gets up and cradles your face like a lover would, you break. Tears fall from your eyes rapidly, and he brushes them away with the pads of his thumbs, cooing at you like you're a child.

"You deserve better. Say it."

"I..." But do you? You heard rumors about Kai's mom and how she was abandoned in the same way. Was this your fate, too?

"Say it. Maybe then you'll believe it."

"I deserve... better."

"Good girl." The fluttering feeling returns and your lips part as you inhale sharply. "Now, will you let me give you something better?" You nod immediately, feeling something pool between your legs. When you realize it's heat, you're shocked, but Suguru leans in to kiss you, smoothing the shock away.

"Suguru," you murmur. "We shouldn't--"

"How long has it been since your husband touched you?" You fumble for the time, knowing it hadn't been for over eight months.

"Um... that's--"

"A long time, hmm?" Suguru's eyes roam over your figure. "Then let me satisfy you, just once. If you don't like it, we can stop and I'll never touch you again, I promise."

"Suguru, I--"

"What harm will it do? If you like it, I'll make sure I come by often enough to have you seeing stars once a week. We'll never speak of it again if you don't want to do it anymore."

The deal is a good one, you think. "Well, maybe just this once."

"That's all I need." He unzips your jacket and frees your swollen breasts, rubbing them tenderly and kissing each one with a peck. "First things first, you need some relief from all of this build-up." When he latches his mouth onto your right nipple, you moan loud enough to overshadow the sound of the TV, and you feel milk flowing from your breasts rapidly. Suguru hums, drinking from you greedily, a small river of milk flowing from the corner of his mouth. You feel a tingling sensation, then exhale deeply, closing your eyes as he massages the other breast slowly.

"Oh, that feels good," you whisper and he unlatches from your right breast to your left one, fitting himself onto the nipple perfectly. You hiss in pain for a few seconds until his tongue swirls over the nipple easily. A sudden realization that this is wrong washes over you, but Suguru is tightly latched onto the bud, suckling eagerly. "Suguru..." you whisper, and he opens his eyes, but doesn't stop. "Suguru, this is wrong. You're my stepson's best friend and I--"

"This isn't about him. This is about you," he mutters, swallowing the last bit of milk before he removes his shirt. "Besides, you taste so delicious. I'm sure the rest of you tastes even better." As he removes your track pants, you bite your lip, wanting this so desperately. He spreads your legs and dips a finger into you, stroking your insides gently. "Oh, you're ready."

"Please fuck me," you whisper. "Just do it." Suguru removes his pants and palms himself, his cock rock-hard and standing at attention. The red tip is already dripping with pre-cum, ready for you to take in. He pants a little, lifting you off the recliner and moving you to the couch, where he lays you on the comfortable fabric before parting your legs again.

He runs the tip up and down your slit before sliding into you, his tip caressing long-neglected parts of you. "Su," you whine, and he kisses your cheek.

"Tell me if it hurts, baby." You clutch onto him as he pushes into you again, digging your nails into his back and moaning. "You're so damn tight."

"Feels so good..." You feel the sensation of being stretched to the brim, and wonder where in the hell Sugurus been all of your life. When he picks up his speed, he clutches onto your asscheeks and shifts you up so your knees are touching your chest. As he holds them against your breasts, they begin to leak and stain the fabric beneath them. You gasp and pant wantonly, hoping the sounds out spur him to go faster, go deeper; maybe if you allowed him to--

"Turn over for me." You obey, and he slides two fingers between your pussy lips, bending down to whisper in your ear. "Gonna make you cum in a minute. God, I've waited for this pussy for so long," he moans. "Such a good girl; waiting for months to get fucked. So patient." You whimper, and he removed his fingers, replacing them with his cock head. He slides into you again, and you exclaim, bucking your hips up to meet his. "Such a beautiful pussy, too," he grunts, smacking your ass with a heavy hand.

Then Suguru begins pounding into you wildly, rocking you back and forth on the couch without restraint. You hiss before you feel the familiar build-up of an orgasm, and call Geto's name out before you begin to shake, losing all sense of time and place.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me," Suguru breathes. "You're doing amazing."

"Oh my god," you gasp, cunt clenching around his dick. "I can't--" Another orgasm builds on top of the one you already experienced, and you grip onto the fabric tightly, shaking as you cum again. "S-Suguru, I--"

"Fuck," he whispers in your ear. "Gonna cum too. Where do you want it?"

"Wherever," you pant, and he instantly lets himself go inside of you, groaning loudly.

"God, Mrs. L/n, that was amazing," he whispers, chest heaving up and down. "What'd you think?" When he realizes that he has to remove your hands from the fabric, he chuckles. "You liked it." You nod, feeling his cum leaking out of you. "Let me clean you up, sweetheart." You expect him to go to the bathroom and search for a washcloth, but he pulls your hips up and back, so your knees are on the carpet.

It's only then that he begins to lick you clean, slurping up his cum and your juices. When he's done licking you clean, he pats your ass and you turn over, eyeing the man cautiously.

"I'll come over next week if you want me to. I'll make sure you're satisfied for the rest of your life."

[mythiccheroacademia]

A Dip in the Hot Tub

A/N: Sooooo, I wasn’t originally going to participate in kinktober in any way, but so many blogs inspired me to do something. Even if it’s one thing. So here I am sinning™️.  I wanna start writing for haikyuu, so this is my experimental fic. I wrote it with my two favs so I hope got the characters somewhat right. I hope y’all enjoy this and happy kinktober <3

Pairing: Bokuto x Fem!Reader x Kuroo Word Count: 2k Context: You’re a volleyball player (you choose the school) that caught the eye of the Fukurōdani and Nekoma volleyball team’s captains. They’ve expressed their interest, but you don’t believe it. Now they’ve cornered you and won’t leave until they’ve convinced you of their feelings in a way you can’t deny. 

All characters are 18+

Warnings: sexual content aka dry humping, fingering, threesomes without p*nis to v*gina penetration...but it is later implied, cursing

A Dip in the Hot Tub

The private hot tub was supposed to be relaxing treat. And it was. At first.

That was until you realized you were in the water with two insanely aggravated (read: jealous) men who had recently expressed their attraction to you. And your dumb ass only believed them after seeing their reaction when they caught Oikawa flirting with you.

You admittedly had an ego boost under the power you felt in that moment. Now, with Bokuto and Kuroo sitting across from you, displeasure in their gazes, you were filled with anxiety.

Or was that excitement?

You decided to stay on your side, legs tightly bound together.

“Uhh, so the first day of camp went well,” you said, attempting to make conversation.

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

Wow. Okay.

“Tough crowd,” you muttered. You tried again. “Um, have any plans for the rest of the evening?”

“Not really.”

Then, it was crickets.

You nodded, giving up. You can take a hint.

“Okay, well, obviously I’m not wanted here so I’ll just take my leave—”

“No, wait.” You felt your body tense as Kuroo put his hand on your shoulder. His brown eyes were rigid, but not with anger. It was something more vulnerable. However, he looked away before you could decipher it.

“Kuroo…” you whispered.

“Stay. We didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcomed,” he said.

You stared at him for a second before looking over to Bokuto who still looked…emo…but didn’t seem to make any protest. Despite your apprehension, you let the dark-haired man slowly pull you back down into the water.

“Okay,” you breathed.

You hadn’t realized just how hurt they’d be. Your own insecurities made you believe there was no possible way both of your crushes were interested in you. However, that didn’t give you a right to mess with their feelings like you did. You were grown enough to know better.

Sucking in your pride, you apologized.

“Hey. Tetsu, Tarō. I’m sorry,” you quietly spoke. You looked down at your hands in embarrassment. “I was wrong to not take your feelings seriously. I just…I just couldn’t believe that you two liked someone like me more than a friend. Especially when I um like you two aswell. So, I’m sorry if that really turned you off. I wouldn’t blame you.”

What was said next totally caught you off guard.

“You really don’t understand how much we want you, do you?”

Your eyes snapped up to see a pair of golden irises closing in on you. You couldn’t get the chance to wonder how Bokuto got so close to you because the intensity of his gaze made you blank out.

“Huh?” you dumbly said.

His hands readily found your waist before running down your hips, fingering the laces of your bottoms before finding purchase on your thighs. “Even though I’m incredibly pissed off at you, all I can think about is how much I wanna fuck you right now.”

The way his eyes rolled down your body made goosebumps flood your skin and your pussy clench with desire. Bokuto pushed himself closer to you and you gasped at the feeling of his erection on your abdomen.

You couldn’t even comment before Kuroo came up behind you, placing wet kisses on the back of your neck. You felt his clear excitement on your back.

“I guess we’re just going to have to show you how much we like you, huh princess?” he said with a Cheshire-like smile.

You were easily feeling overwhelmed with four hands and two mouths feeling you up. You wanted it, but you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. You’d never taken two men at the same time.

“W-wait—I’ve never…I haven’t—”

“Don’t worry. We won’t go all the way. We’ve got you babygirl,” Kuroo whispered before nipping your shoulder.

Your words turned into putty as you finally welcomed Bokuto’s lips. Despite his past seriousness, he was soft and hesitant with his kisses until he felt your arms wrap around his neck. Then his confidence shined through. You were pushed further into Kuroo’s embrace as you deepened the kiss.

You felt yourself moan as his tongue passed through your mouth, leaving no crevice unexplored. He kissed you like he couldn’t have enough of your taste, swallowing down every whimper you gave. It was almost instinct for you to wrap your legs around him and you reveled in how he grinded his hips against you. You were breathless as he positioned himself so that he was right on your clit.

“Oh, Bokuto…”

“This is how you make me feel, Y/N,” he panted. “You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt about your legs around me.”

Bokuto’s hips continued to buck into you and it felt amazing. He was slow in his movements, his hips like sensual waves as he rutted against your sensitive nub. You moaned, hands latching onto whatever you could hold of his muscular back.

“You like that? Does it feel good, baby?” he exhaled. “Does it feel good when I pretend like I’m fucking you?”

You whined out a yes and dug your fingers in his hair. But just when you thought this was it, a pair of hands from behind untied your bikini top, letting it fall down your shoulders. Kuroo smoothed one of his hands over your breasts, teasing your nipples with his thumb and forefingers. The other hand squeezed your ass before his thick finger past your bottoms and into your slick folds.

The feeling of his fingers curling against your walls and Bokuto’s dick against your clit made your head fall back. Kuroo bit down on your neck and licked the mark before whispering in your ear, “All we’ve ever wanted was to make you feel good, kitten. There were so many nights I touched myself thinking of how you’d feel wrapped around me. So many nights I wished it were your pretty little mouth choking on my dick.”

He found satisfaction in how his words alone had such an effect on you when he felt you shiver. Meanwhile, you were on cloud nine. You closed your eyes and let a desperate whine drip from your lips as you felt Kuroo start to thrust against your ass. He then took his fingers out from your heat and lied them flat against your tongue.

“Suck,” he ordered, and you did just that, tasting yourself. A delicious moan vibrated through your body as he slowly moved his fingers in and out of your mouth.

It took a few moments, but soon, the three of you were moving in sync, chasing the orgasm you felt within their bellies. The closeness of it all was nearly overwhelming. Their grunts and moans were hot in your ears; one hand was in Kuroo’s hair while the other gripped Bokuto’s back.

“Imagine that we’re in you, filling your pretty holes up. So stuffed that you can barely tell who is who and god—you’d feel so good. Taking us like the good girl you are. So wet and hot for us as we fuck you until you can’t remember your own name,” Bokuto groaned.

Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head. You were trying your best to keep your voice down, but the two men against you were not on the same wave. The white and black haired man gripped the flesh of your thighs to pull you closer as his thrusts got faster and messier.

Bokuto buried his head into your neck and moaned, “Y-Y/N, baby, I’m close.”

Close? You were barely holding on. If it wasn’t for that fact that Kuroo twisted your head to swallow your moans away, you would’ve been heard through the walls of the private room.  

In your pleasure filled daze, you found it within yourself to slip your hand within his trunks and pump his dick. The extra heat from your hand and the way you stroked your thumb over the tip nearly pushed him over the edge. Kuroo let out the prettiest moan that made his face heat up. Gone was the smugness as he peered at you with desperation.

“Princess—fuck Y/N!”

You huffed out a chuckle.

Kuroo took his hand out of your mouth so he could wrap one arm around your waist and pinch your nipples. He began to urgently thrust in your hand as you pulled Bokuto’s hair back so you could also see his face.

You almost came on the spot as he gazed at you like a lovesick puppy, golden eyes begging for release.

Within both of their gazes, you could see the fondness they had been trying to express to you. That along with the overstimulation was enough to make your eyes prick with tears.

The feeling was all too much. Your stomach was coiled tight. One more thrust and you were nearly sent over the edge.

“Kuroo! Boku—ah! Oh shit!” you sung.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Bokuto growled. “You’re right there—ah! C-cum for us.”

He grabbed the ledge of tub and nearly slammed into you as Kuroo licked his lips at the sight of your open mouth gasps. The water sloshed back and forth, spilling over the edges with your movements. You looked so pretty with your tongue out and eyes fluttering between open and closed.

Kuroo’s hand wrapped around your neck and gave it a slight squeeze. “Let us hear you princess—“

Then it hit you. Your eyes blacked out from the intensity. “I’m cumming!” you screamed. A wave of pleasure shot up your belly and spread warmth hotter than the humid air throughout your shaking limbs.

It was weird how their bodies automatically followed yours. Your voices tangled in the air for a few seconds before all that was left were the sounds of your heavy breaths.

The two men slumped over, each taking a different shoulder to rest on. You leaned your head back and closed your eyes to steady yourself from that mind blowing orgasm.

There was a moment of peace as you three simmered in the afterglow. Then Bokuto broke the silence.

“Now do you believe us?” he asked.

He lifted his head and you saw that confidence of his shine behind rosy, cheeks. And although he was flushed from what occurred moments ago, his blush was more attributed to the rush of getting to be so intimate with you.

“Believe you about what?” you panted with a lazy grin.

“That we’re yours, duh,” he goofily smiled.

Kuroo kissed your cheek. “That is…if you’ll have us,” he softly spoke.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the incredulousness of the situation.

Both of them, huh?

You sighed. There was no use in denying their feelings anymore.

“You two always had a weird habit of sharing anyways,” you conceded.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist our charm!” Bokuto cheered. “Now let’s head to my room do the real thing!”

You choked on your spit. “W-what!? The real thing? Aren’t you two tired!?”

“Tired?” Kuroo chuckled. “You got caught up with two A-List volleyball players and you think we’re tired after this? You’re funny.”

You squealed in surprised as Bokuto suddenly lifted you out of the tub, bridal style. They began to cheerfully walk out the room ignoring the fact that you were completely topless. You scrambled to cover your chest and cursed the two out for laughing as if someone wouldn’t see you half naked as soon you walked out of the door.

“Kuroo! Bokuto! If you dickheads don’t get my fucking bikini top—”

“Yeah yeah. You’ll be fine. You won’t need it anyways~” Bokuto chirped.

Kuroo nodded. “What are the chances that anyone will see us?”

“Uhh a lot!?”

“Welp! I guess we’ll find out!”

Just what the hell did you get yourself into?

[nagipops]

hi! i just saw your shikamaru x smart reader piece and it's so clever and sweet and cute!! can I request kakashi or shikamaru trying (poorly) to cook for a gn!reader?

IS IT COOKED?

FEATURING: shikamaru nara!

SUMMARY: in which you and your lazy, culinary-challenged boyfriend attempt to cook up an edible meal.

WARNINGS: food, profanity

A/N: thank you so much, ari :D lowkey feel like kakashi would be a god in the kitchen, so have shikamaru <3

“What a drag...” Shikamaru sighed, draping over your shoulders as you dragged his limp body into the kitchen.

“C’mon, Shika, I’m feeling lazy today.” You turned so that your chest was facing him instead of your back, so his arms slipped around your waist instead. “Plus, I wanna taste your cooking! I’m sure you’ll be great at it.”

He whined with his face buried in your chest. “Finee... but only ‘cause I like you so much.”

You giggled, ruffling his dark hair and wrapping your arms around him. “Like me? What are we, grade schoolers?”

“Like like you.” He pulled himself upright and planted a hand on your head as he entered the kitchen, pulling you in with him. “Okay boss, show me how it’s done.”

Grabbing ingredients out of the fridge and placing them on the countertop, you folded your arms in front of your chest. “Nope. You’re doing this on your own, Shika.”

His jaw crashed to the floor. “On my own?”

You nodded in satisfaction. “Yup. I told you, I’m feeling lazy today. C’mon, show me what you got.”

Shikamaru’s jaw was still on the ground as he gaped incredulously at you for a whole minute before he picked it up off the floor and stared dumbfounded at the heap of veggies and meats in front of him. “What am I… wha…”

Snickering at the fact that you finally caught your smart aleck boyfriend at a loss, you hopped up onto the opposite countertop, swinging your legs back and forth in amusement.

Your boyfriend gave you an exasperated look, slumping his shoulders. “(Y/N)…”

You flashed him a cheeky grin. “I believe in you! Whatever you make, I’m sure it’ll be delicious. I’ll help you out if you reaaaally need it.”

He trudged over and draped his arms around your shoulders, sighing heavily. “Fine… that cute face of yours is gonna be the death of me.”

A blush creeping up your neck, you smiled and hugged him back. “Mhm. Flattery’s not gonna get you out of this one, though.”

“Damn it.”

The crackle of noodles hitting the pan accompanied by the greasy aroma of cooking oil wafted through the kitchen as Shikamaru fumbled with a stir fry spatula while simultaneously attempting to halve an onion.

“Shit.” The wooden paddle clattered to the ground with a deafening crack amidst the cacophony within the kitchen. Meat was sizzling in the pan next to the noodles, the sink was running over the colander of broccoli, countless bowls, measuring cups, and ingredients were strewn about the countertops. You were running out of room to sit.

Biting back a grimace, you piped up quietly. “Shika, I think you got a little ahead of yourself…”

“I am doing perfectly fine, (Y/N).” He huffed, beads of sweat forming above his furrowed brows as he swiftly stirred the yakisoba noodles back and forth in the scalding hot pan. An earsplitting pop followed by a tall fume of smoke sounded from the pan of meat. Eyes panicked, he hollered, “Uh… your help would be greatly appreciated, though!”

Sliding off your tiny sliver of countertop in the blink of an eye, you rushed to your boyfriend’s side and clamped a lid over the pan before flipping off the burner, heaving a relieved sigh. “My god, Shika, you almost burnt our house down!”

He chuckled sheepishly, stirring the noodles more hesitantly. “Ah… sorry ‘bout that. Looks like I need your help, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, lightly flicking his temple. “Even if you burn the whole house down, you aren’t getting my help. That was a one-time save.”

The end of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. “Is it, now? Should I do it again?”

“Try me, witty boy.”

Shikamaru eyed you with a challenging stare, raising an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, boss.” He reached over to remove the lid from the previously flaming pan as you stood rooted to your spot. Clouds of smoke and the acrid fumes of burnt meat instantaneously corrupted your senses as your boyfriend grabbed a pair of tongs and flipped the bright pink slab of meat over so the impossibly charred side was upright.

The two of you stared at the pitch black block of… what could maybe— possibly— pass as meat.

“Well, it’s definitely… cooked?”

“Ugh… Choji would be utterly disappointed in me, huh?”

“Incredibly disappointed. Keep going, though. This is… still edible. I hope?”

Shikamaru heaved an exhausted sigh. “C’mon, babe, isn’t this valid proof that I’m not built for this cooking thing?”

“Careful, those noodles are going to burn too.” You guided his hands back to the non-burning pan, allowing him to stir them back and forth once again. “Timing is everything. You started the noodles too early, and now the veggies aren’t going to be chopped up in time.”

“Constructive criticism, please. Constructive.” He stirred the noodles with a bit more diligence and effort this time as they turned golden brown.

You giggled, carefully grabbing the knife and chopping the abandoned onion in half. “Look, turn off the heat. I’ll watch the noodles for you, you have to cut the vegetables. Sound good?”

Shikamaru whistled in relief as he flipped off the stove. “Music to my ears, boss.” He slyly snaked his arms around your waist as you organized the countertop for him. “Man, this is exhausting,” he whined into your ear. “How the hell do you do this three times a day?”

You smirked in satisfaction, reaching an arm behind your head to ruffle his hair. “I ask myself the very same question. I think we should cut it down to two, no?”

“Noooo… your cooking’s too damn tasty…” he pressed a soft kiss to your neck as you felt his body get limper and limper.

You clicked your tongue, slapping the side of his head. “Hey, no sleeping on the job. Get to work.”

Digging his chin into your shoulder as he unraveled his arms from your body, he sighed, “Aye aye, captain.”

After an abundance of eye watering slices, near finger amputations, and arguments over if “julienne” is a name or a knife technique, Shikamaru was finally completed with his masterpiece of a dish.

A makeshift blindfold fashioned out of a random scarf was fastened around your eyes as you awaited his creation at the dinner table as your boyfriend rustled around the kitchen.

A deafening crash sounded from a few feet away, and your heart leapt out of your chest. “Umm… Shika?”

“I’m fine!” He shouted, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “Uh, just some— shit— just some technical difficulties!”

Stifling a laugh, you eased into your seat once more. “Okay, I’m waiting!”

After a few more minutes of clattering and curses, you heard the tune of your favorite classical song whistled by none other than Shikamaru. “Welcome to the Narastaurant, (Y/N). For today, I present you with…” His fingers hastily fumbled with the knot at the back of your head. “Wait, shit…”

You heaved an amused sigh as a grin formed on your lips. “You need help there?”

“No, I— I got it…” A sharp tug pulled your head backwards as the scarf unraveled into his hands.

“Shika!”

“Shoot, sorry ‘bout that.” He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your head. “Anyways…”

Your eyes were drawn to the colorful plate in front of you. Meticulously arranged into a rainbow of nearly charred veggies perched atop a heaping pile of noodles and half-pink-half-black slices of meat was a steaming plate of yakisoba. A gasp rose in your throat. “Shika! This is incredible!” You whipped around to face him as he stood proudly over you. “How did you plate this so well?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Growing up with that flower pig Ino taught me a few things about color theory and spacing and whatnot.” He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. “As for taste…”

You raised your eyebrows, turning back to the plate in front of you. “Ah, yes, the taste…” Clasping your hands together, you gave a quick thank you for the meal before snapping your chopsticks in half and digging into the colorful dish. You raised a well-balanced bite of meat, veggies, and noodles to your lips and were instantly overwhelmed by the pungent, bitter taste of burnt oil. Pursing your lips as your lungs begged for oxygen, you forced yourself to get it down your throat. “Ahem, ahh, this is… this is something!”

Not one to get offended over his mistakes, Shikamaru only chuckled from behind you. “No kidding. Let me have a try.” Whipping out his own pair of chopsticks, he grabbed a bundle of noodles and two slices of charred meat before raising it to his lips, nearly coughing it back up as soon as he did so. “Oh— oh, god, oh god that’s bad.” Both of your hacking coughs rang throughout the dining room. “I feel like I just ate Satan’s ashes.” He whispered in between strained coughs, tears forming in his eyes.

Laughter welled up in your throat in between coughs as your eyes began to water as well. “I mean—” Cough. “I mean, Satan might like this?”

“Gee— thanks, babe. I’m sure he’d love it if we— we showed up to his annual potluck in hell with burnt pieces of who-knows-what.” Shikamaru was laughing too, gripping the edges of the table as he attempted to regain his composure.

The two of you laughed and coughed and laughed at his failed debut as a chef, teasing and poking each other at the dinner table.

Let’s just say you definitely didn’t eat Satan’s ashes for dinner that day.

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

[neesieiumz]

No one else F. Vermillion

Summary: You and your love struggled through a lot, haven't you?

A/N: God this is so late! This is for a collab with the ever so lovely, @vs-redemption. It was for her 1k Captains collab and I got so busy with packing and moving in for college that this completely slipped my mind. So please, just enjoy this! I worked as much as I could!

Word count: 1.8k

The sun was out and about, the heat beating down against your body. Although the wind blew around you, there was no coolness to it, only throwing around hot air. You raised your hands in the air, taking in a deep breath as you crossed your right hand behind your left. Purple light surrounded your grimoire as the same color lightning sparked and surrounded you. Slowly you opened your eyes, eyes locked on the target before you. Cupping your hands together, the purple lighting surrounded you became attracted to the growing force within your hands, raging and buzzing around it.

“Lightning Magic: Glimmer Spada.”

Holding out the ball of concentrated lightning out, a bright purple beam blasted out of it. It took up the shape of a sword, and made a clean vertical cut clean through the target, through the trees, and even the rest of the forest. It left a thick black smoke behind, and the bark of the target and tree were charred. You let a breath of contentment, a smile curling up on your face. You released your hands, stretching them out as you went to the pile of things you brought. Behind down to pick up your towel, along with your bottle of water, you heard a rustle of leaves near you. Eye perked up, your body was alert as a body pushed itself through the leaves and the trees.

Wild, red hair, and a long red cape to match. You relax as Meroleona found herself in your little training area. You placed your water down as she eyed her, her familiar wild smirk landing on you.

“Lady L/n, I’ve been looking for you!” Her haughty gruff voice rang out through the forest.

You smiled, wiping your face with the towel, “Mero, how long has it been?”

The last time you saw Mero was when she took the Crimson Lions to Ultime-Volcano Mountain Trail. You didn’t go, unfortunately, wanting to stay back with your fiance during his coma. So, it was nice seeing your future-in-law after so long. You knew she came back when Fuegoleon woke up and the two of them went back to Ultime but you were busy training your younger cousins. Despite the sweat dripping down your body, she came up towards you, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and pulling you close.

“It’s been too long, how about we catch up? What say we spar?”

You froze mid-sip, your eyes slowly moving to look at the smiling woman beside you. Despite all your training, you knew that you didn’t hold a candle to her power and abilities. She was a different breed. Knowing this, she just snickered and began to guide you out of the forest.

“Nevermind, let’s do lunch.”

---

After you took a shower, you changed into an all-red outfit, the color similar to the Crimson of the Vermillion Family. You wore a cropped coaster top with thick straps, a matching blazer, and dress pants. You wore dark boots before moving your ring from its chain to your finger. You pulled your hair from a messy bun to a low ponytail.

You followed behind the older woman into the private restaurant, leading up to the hostess who immediately greeted the two o you.

“Lady Vermillion, Lady L/n! Oh es, your table is this way!”

Mereoleona said nothing while you thanked her as she took your menus to a booth. She placed them down and immediately left the two of you alone, closing the door behind her as she walked off. You sighed taking the scenery as you took a seat. The stone walls and wooden floors were rustic, reminding you of your grandmother’s old cabin back when you were younger. You smiled, taking a breath before grabbing the menu before you.

“So, how has my bone-headed brother been treating you?”

You glanced up at Mereo, eyes looking away from a meat special they were having. You smiled at the thought of Fuegoleon, the love of your life. Currently, he was doing another training expedition with some of the Crimson Lions. So you were by yourself in the Vermillion Residence for the most part, save when Mimosa would come to visit. Although you were still a member of the Crimson Lions, you mostly stayed behind for home defense just in case something happened. So it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Fuegoleon to be gone for hours or days at a time. Although he wasn’t home for a lot of the time, when he was, everything was such perfection.

“He’s treating me just fine, don’t worry Mereo.” You smiled down at your menu, before choosing one of the things on the menu.

“How’s the wedding planning?”

“We’ve been taking our tome, he’s been busy with everything that’s going on. Things with the Spade Kingdom and what-not.”

She hummed, before looking down at her menu. The waitress came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses, placing each of them down before you two. Mereroleona took the bottle, uncorking it with her bare hands before pouring the two of you a glass. You smiled, thanking her before taking yours and taking a sip. The smooth fruity taste of the win hit your tastebuds in the right way as you gave another smile towards Mereo.

“I see…”

From there, the two of you talked, about anything really. The new spell you were training, her own training, (which is basically all she does), and little quips about her brother/your fiance tat made you both giggle and snicker.

--

You sighed, leaning against the window, staring out at the group of Crimson Lions training in the field. Although your eyes stared at them, your mind was far away.

“Fuegoleon!”

Eye teared up, burning with pain, you rushed up to your finance. He was currently laying across the bed, blankets pulled over him. You let out a shaky breath as you slowly reached out to him, the only sign of him being alive was his shallow breathing. That’s when you glanced over to his right, before eyes widening at the lack of his right arm. You must have been rocking back and forth, because you felt a hand rest at the small of your back, staying you. Your hands crumpled at your dress as you pulled the skirt up, allowing you to sit comfortably by his side. Your hands raked through his red hair, still dirty from the fight he just partook in.

Lips trembling, you shuffled your body to lay next to him, “my Fuegoleon.”

“.../n…. Y/n… Y/n!”

You gasped, jumping up slightly as you heard your name. Turning around, you found Fuegoleon standing not too far from you, eyes shining with concern. Oh, he was back already? You must have not seen him return, despite your eyes staying near the entrance once you came back from lunch with Mereo. The light from his arm caught your eye once more, the makeshift arm moving up and down as your soon-to-be husband walked towards you. Using his regular arm, he reached out towards you, cupping your face.

“Dear, what’s wrong?”

You just shook your head, turning away from him. He, however, didn’t take that, grabbing you by the arm before turning your around once again.

“Speak to me, please?” You could hear a soft pleading in his voice.

You sighed in resignation, before opening your eyes to look at him. His arm went from your own to your waist, pulling you closer. You felt a sudden heat, a force softly grabbing at you by the chin, before making you look at him.

“I just, I guess I’m just… I’m just remembering, back when you were in a coma.”

His grip around both your waist and ace loosened, and the slight drop in pressure allowed for you to escape his hold. You turned back towards the window, leaning against the windowsill. You could hear Feugoleon sigh, before walking up behind you. His two arms came up and rested themselves upon your shoulders, pulling you back towards him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and bent down, resting his head on top of your shoulder.

“I knew that must have been so difficult for you.”

You chuckled, all though there was no humor behind it, “you were the one in the coma.”

“It still must have been difficult for you, seeing me passed out with no way to talk to me. No idea if I’d ever wake up.”

“What do you mean?”

The doctor sighed, staring at you and the rest of the family, “Captian Vermillion was gravely injured, with the loss of his arm. There’s no way to say if he’ll ever wake up.”

You could felt your ears pop, and then you were on the floor. Right before you could hit it, Leopold caught you, holland you up by the shoulders. The rest of your family only gasped, whispering amongst themselves about the recovery of the current head of the Vermillion family. You ignored them all, you couldn’t even hear Leo’s calls for you. Your head buzzed around, you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak. Fuegoleon.. your fiance? The love of your life? He could... Never recover? You may never see him again?

“We’ll monitor him, but the more time he takes, the less of a recovery chance he has.”

You only sighed, snuggling into his hold even more.

“We dealt with it though, and look, you recovered well. You even got one of the four elemental spirits,” you mumbled.

“That doesn’t mean the journey wasn’t difficult.”

“Y/n, you have to eat something. You’ll lose your strength.”

You could only shake your head, the friction of the bed rubbing against your head. It had been a week and some days since the doctor told you about Fuegoleon’s condition, a whole three weeks since he had been in a coma. You hadn’t left his side, hadn’t changed your clothes or anything, keeping yourself right by his side. Hoping to be there when he wakes up.

“Y/n please, you know he wouldn’t like to hear you are not eating, not taking care of yourself.”

You shook your head again. If your love couldn’t eat, you wouldn’t either.

“But, you’re right, I did recover, and I gained power even more than I could imagine.”

You smiled at that, sighing at the small kiss and nips he left on your cheek and neck.

“And now look at us, preparing for both a war and a wedding. Who other than you, could ever become part of the Vermillion family?”

You couldn’t hold back the giggle that came out of your mouth, squealing as he scooped you up into his arms. He carried you out of the room, mumbling something about having a walk in the family gardens.

[drcalmreid]

friends - s.r. (pt. 1/2)

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

summary: pure angst - friends with benefits always ends up with one person scorn out of jealousy...and in this case, it’s spencer. especially when he sees you flirting with one of his BAU partners.

content warning: consumption of alcohol, indication of sex (no smut!), anger/trust issues, brief mention of blood

word count: 4.5k // part two

authors notes: lyrics = indicate a flashback!! ALSO this is completely inspired by the song “friends” by chase atlantic, so i recommend listening to it while you read! this part is all in spencer’s pov but the next one will be the readers pov ;)

SPENCERS POV

Sweat and tension hang heavy in the air as I sit in the bar, watching my co-workers from the booth. The condensation slides down my glass onto the table, creating a puddle around the cup. I run my fingers around in the ring of water, creating shapes on the table top.

“You know,” JJ says, taking the spot next to me in the booth. “If you’re going to come out with us, you should try to make conversation.” “I think I’m okay,” I smile at her as she nudges me with her elbow. “Really, you don’t have to babysit me. Go, have fun.”

“Alright,” JJ says standing back up. Her eyes scan over me before she turns to gaze to the dance floor. Luke, Tara, Penelope, Emily, and (y/n) all dance together, obnoxiously close to one another (some more than others). “You should tell her how you feel.” JJ comments, swirling her drink with the straw in her mouth.

“What- who? What are you talking about?”

“C’mon Spence! You really think after all this time I still can’t read you?” JJ asks and I shrug, giving her a small smile. JJ leans down to me and whispers, “just go talk to (y/n)”.

I lean back on the leather seat and crack my back, even though I know that the constant cracking of my back actually causes adverse effects...but I do it anyway. I bring my eyes up from the table and my still sweating glass of water and glance over at the dance floor. JJ just reaches the team as they welcome her into their terribly coordinated group. This is the third time the team has gone out this month and the first time I’ve been here to witness the completely obvious flirt-fest between Alvez and (y/n). How do I even compete with someone like Luke? I was captivated by (y/n) from the moment I met her, but was too scared to even process a relationship with her. My brain couldn’t stop running over every possible scenario of what could go wrong if I asked her out...even just for a simple coffee after work. I couldn’t do it, and I knew I wouldn’t. Until (y/n) took it upon herself…

Girl, tell me what you're doing on the other side?

And so, just tell me what you're doing with that other guy?

Cause I ain't got patience to slow down the bass

“You going to O’Malley’s tonight?” (Y/n) asks, peering down at me from the corner of my desk. She sits on the corner of the wooden top, her legs swinging back and forth. I turn in my desk chair and look up at her. It feels as though someone sucked all the oxygen out of the room and I’m lost in her presence. She captivates me in a way that no one has. “Reid?” She asks again, waving her hand in front of my face. She tilts her head down and smiles at me, but waits for me to answer.

“‘M sorry, I-”

“It’s okay, I just would really like it if you came. That’s all,” she grins and hops off my desk onto the floor. “No pressure.” I swivel in my chair and follow her path behind me, my words get caught in my throat before I finally call after her, “I’ll be there!”.

-

“Y’know Spence,” (y/n) drunkenly whispers in my ear, even though she’s practically yelling over the loud bar music. It was only an hour after the team had gotten to the bar, but (y/n) was drinking as if it were her last drink on earth. “I like you…” she trails off, swirling her drink with the straw. She flips her hair over her shoulder and leans down on her arm to stare into my eyes. Her eyes are glossed over from the alcohol she’s consumed and clearly her filter is completely gone for the night. I laugh at her words and lean down to her, “I like you too, you’re easy to talk to, funny, you actually listen to my rambles. You’re a great friend, (y/n).” I practically choke the words out, and thank God she’s intoxicated otherwise she would have caught my inflexion on the word “friend”.

“No, no, no-” She sits up on her stool and glances around the bar. She spots the rest of the team across the restaurant before she continues talking, “I like-like you, Spencer. I like you a lot.”

“(Y/n), do you know what you’re saying to me right now?”

“Of course I do,” she takes a gulp from her drink. “I’ve wanted to tell you for months, but now I’ve got the liquid courage.” She winks and tilts the glass in my direction. I want to believe that this is truly happening, but I can’t. I want to throw caution to the wind and be with her, but I can’t. I don’t trust myself or my past. I’m no good for her.

“I think we should switch you to water,” I say as I raise my hand to the bartender. She reaches over my chest and grabs my arm, carefully avoiding my hand, shaking her head.

“No,” she says leaning in near my face. My heart leaps into my throat and I feel my pulse quicken as she inches closer to me. “Spence, you can give me all the water you want...but what I said won’t change.”

(Y/n) hops down from her stool to meet the rest of the BAU at the large table, but turns on her heel only a few steps away, “you comin’?”

-

“Hi,” I say as (y/n) swings open her front door the next morning. Her eyes are hooded, red and puffy as she shields them from the sun. Her once perfectly curled hair is now gathered into the messiest bun, as she stands in her beat-up FBI training t-shirt and paint-covered sweatpants. “I figured you would want something greasy, so I got you a breakfast burrito, but when you realize that isn’t the hangover cure, I got you a banana and nut mix with some Powerade.” I say, raising up two separate shopping bags.

“Oh my God, my head,” (y/n) whines, shuffling away from the front door plopping herself on the couch. “I was so fucked up last night.” She mumbles as her face is squished in between couch cushions.

“Yeah,” I shut the door as quietly as I can behind me. “You were.” I chuckle, setting the bags down on her kitchen island. I grab the Powerade from the bag and walk back to her on the couch. I squat down in front of her, tilting my head back and forth waiting for her to look at me. Eventually, she turns to face me and a smile creeps across her face. She whispers a quiet “hi” and I mimic back the word, “hi”. She slowly pulls herself up from the couch and pulls her legs into a cross-legged position. I pass her the Powerade and she rolls her eyes at me before opening the bottle.

“Remind me never to drink again,” she crips. “I have no filter when I drink. I mean, I literally told JJ I like Henry better than Michael...who does that?”

“Same person who confessed their love for me last night,” I mutter and my eyes go wide, heart dropping. Did I really just say that? (Y/n) practically spits out her drink and laughs.

“You’re kidding right? Spence-” She leans forward, panic running across her features as she tries to hide it with humor. “Spencer.” She says and I look up at her, “what did I say to you, Spencer? Tell me, oh God maybe I don’t want to know,” she stands from the couch and pads off into her bedroom. I stand up from my spot on the floor and follow her. “No, tell me,” she pivots and leans against her bed.

“(Y/n), you were drunk and I should have stopped you.”

“Spencer, what the fuck did I say?” She says sternly.

All your girlfriends are wasted

They need it, they chase it

Face it. You want it, you crave it

I shake my head clear of that night and let my eyes linger on her. From my spot at the table, I can perfectly watch the team dance their hearts out. (Y/n) dances to the rhythm of the obnoxious club music, her hips moving at a steady pace. Luke stands dangerously close to her as he follows her movements. (Y/n) spins to face him, her laugh bubbling out of her as Luke smiles down at her. She stands on her toes, whispering something to him, before Alvez throws his head back laughing at her. He leans down to talk to her again and (y/n) wraps her arms around his neck, bringing him even closer. The two of them move together now, completely tangled in one another as the songs continue. Luke trails his hands down her sides before they rest just above her waist. (Y/n) lowers her arms and quickly spins in Luke’s grip, her ass now practically grinding on him. Her dress rides up her thighs, inching closer and closer to her waist. The other girls cheer on the two, but JJ looks over her shoulder at me giving an empathetic smile. An anger builds up from deep inside of me and I grip my glass harder than is probably safe. I can’t be here anymore. I stand up abruptly from the bench and work my way through the crowds, desperate for some air and to see anything other than that.

Believe when I say that you'll know once you taste it

“I don’t-,” I start, but (y/n) stands from the bed.

“Don’t give me that ‘I don’t remember’ bullshit, because you can I both know you do,” (y/n) says in a way that leans more nervous and upset than angry.

“You said, ‘I like-like you.’” I choke out, while scratching the nape of my neck.

“What else did I say?” She asks, her eyes wide with embarrassment.

“That, you wanted to tell me for months but didn’t have the courage to.” I say, staring down at the floor before I look up to see (y/n) also keeping her eyes fixed on the hardwood floor.

“You know what they say about drunken confessions.” She mumbles, pulling her hands in front of her to play with her fingers.

“It’s been proven that alcoholic drinks cause neurological and psychological regression with the higher blood alcohol levels, so more hostile and truthful responses are common...but alcohol can’t necessarily make you feel new emotions.” I ramble on and (y/n) shakes her head at me.

“Did you know that or did you look it up after I confessed last night?”

“Both,” I answer and we both release our built up stress in a heartfelt laugh.

“Yeah well,” she rubs her arms. “I didn’t lie. I really do like you Spence,” she looks up and holds my gaze. “You don’t have to say anything, or feel anything… I just- I just wanted you to know for so long, and I guess now’s the time.”

Without hesitation I lean forward, my hands cradling her face and pull her lips to mine. Our mouths melt into one another quickly and I lose myself in her. My mind races through every possibility of what this means for us, but I try my best to shut it off and just be in the present. (Y/n) giggles against my lips, pulling away for a second to look at me.

“I like you too,” I smile down at her, while pushing a loose strand from her bun behind her ear. She grins and stands on her toes, capturing my lips again before we step backward, falling onto the bed.

All of your friends have been here for too long

They must be waiting for you to move on

Girl, I'm not with it I'm way too far gone

I'm not ready, eyes heavy now

I step out of the bar into the cool March air, the night temperature chilling my lungs as I breathe in and out rapidly. I lean against the brick wall of the building, pulling at my tie feverishly trying to get it off. I yank off the tie, untying it in my hands while resting my head against the wall. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale… When I open my eyes again, I look out across the busy street as couples pass by. Each one fixated on the other and my heart pounds in my ears.

“Spence?” A voice calls from near the entrance of the bar, “are you okay? I saw you run out, I-”

“I’m fine, (y/n).” I snap at her. She stands to my side, arms crossed, her hands running up and down to keep herself warm.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.”

Silence settles betweens us for a moment before she steps forward, inching closer to me. We stand next to one another for a moment, both of us resting against the bar wall as cars continue to zip down the street.

“Alright, well if you’re fine, then I’ll leave you,” she sighs. (Y/n) steps back, heels clicking on the pavement as she approaches the bar.

“Do you like him?” I ask, staring down at the undone tie in my hands. She raises her eyebrows and her eyes scan over my face. “Luke. Do you like Luke?”

“Excuse me?” She asks, her hand resting on the door handle to the bar.

“I mean- it seems like you do.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She drops the handle and turns to face me again.

“Nothing, you- you just were dancing and-”

“Oh my god,” she mutters through a laugh. “You’re jealous. Spencer, seriously?”

“I’m sorry that I can’t see you with other guys, it’s not fair for me to watch that. I can’t, (y/n).”

“Well,” she steps back, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “That’s not really my problem is it? You told me to, let’s see...how did you put it?”

She looks up as if she’s trying to remember the words, “ ‘Get over my feelings because we’re not together’? I believe that’s what you said.” She coolly states, quoting my words from days before. I stand against the wall stunned as I blink away tears.

“(y/n), I-”

“Spencer, please just don’t say anything else. You’ve said enough,” she grabs the door handle again and swings the heavy bar door open. She props it open with her foot and glances back at me, “just so we’re clear. None of this is fair, and I can dance with whoever I want.”

Heart on your sleeve like you've never been loved

Running in circles, now look what you've done

My cool fingertips run up and down her bare back, moving along her spine. Occasionally I trace shapes and words onto her skin as she lays against me. The hours pass as we stay in her bed, the world continuing on without us as we lay tangled together.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” I glance down at her. Her eyes flutter open as she looks up at me, keeping her head on my chest.

“Yeah? I bet I’ve wanted to longer,” she giggles, sitting up resting her weight on her elbow.

“Mmm,” I humm and pull her face to mine. Pecking her lips once, “I don’t think so.”

“No? Then why didn’t you say anything?” (Y/n) tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and rests her chin on my chest. Her big, bright eyes piercing into mine.

“I was scared,” I say truthfully and I feel as though a weight is lifted off of me. She tilts her head to one side as she waits for me to keep talking, “I don’t have the best relationship history. Actually, I don’t even have a history.” I take a deep breath and (y/n) smiles, tracing small hearts onto my chest with her index finger. “I- I just don’t know how to do this, (y/n). I don’t even know if I can…” I confess, but (y/n) doesn’t take her eyes off of me. She sits up slowly, the sheets of her bed gathered around her bare chest.

“Spence, I don’t know how to do this either,” she giggles. “But, I’m willing to try to figure it out with you...as long as you are.”

“Let me ask you this,” I say sitting up slightly, leaning against her bed frame.

“Oo yes, my favorite Dr. Reid phrase,” she says laying down under my arm. “Sorry, continue.”

“Do you think we could keep this between us? I’m just not ready for all of the pressure and conversations between the team.” She reaches up as I speak and twists one of my curls between her thumb and index finger.

“Of course,” she smiles and our lips meet each other again.

Give you my word as you take it and run

Wish you'd let me stay, I'm ready now

I close my eyes harshly and rub the back of my eyes with my knuckles, so hard that I see stars and swirls among the darkness. “Shit,” I shout, tossing the tie to the concrete, not caring where it lands. I swing my arms around, smashing my fist into the brick wall. “Fuck!” I whip my hands away from the wall, shaking my hand off. My knuckles are open, bloody, and throbbing. I fling myself off the wall again, headed back into the bar. My head is spinning and cloudy, but all I know is I have to get to (y/n). I have to apologize to her and tell her the truth. I need her to listen, I need her to understand, hell...I just need her. I pull open the wooden door and blasting music hits me like a wall. I shake my head at the change in volume and push through the crowds. I make a bee-line for the BAU’s table in search of any one of my team members. Penelope spots me first as she skips over in her brightly colored heels. “Reid, oh Reid! My personal genius! Come! Come,” she tugs on my shirt sleeve, pulling me closer to the back table. I turn my head back and forth, scanning over all of the faces in the crowd in search of (y/n). “Garcia,” I say, trying to put my heels down. “Where is (y/n)?” She ignores me and continues pushing us through the sea of people. Finally our table appears and Emily, JJ, and Tara sit in a semi circle shaped booth. “Found him,” she cheers, pushing me into the booth. She sits down across from me and turns to JJ. “Now shimmy over, I have a question for the good Doctor.”

“Garcia,” I practically beg. “Where is (y/n)?”

“Oh, sorry! She left with Newbie.” Penelope answers, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“No, Pen,” JJ glances up from her drink to meet my eyeline. “Not like that, Luke was just driving her home.”

“Are you kidding? Those two were hot-and-heavy on the dance floor. Totally into each other… Oh my god imagine their kids!” Garcia beams, clasping her hands together. JJ frowns, but nods at Penelope, not to give her any indication of my feelings. “So! Tara was telling me that alcohol actually-”

“Garcia,” I interrupt and stand up from the booth. “I’m so sorry, but I really have to go.”

Just give me some time and space to realize

That you, were busy lying, sleeping 'round with other guys

And what the hell were we?

Tell me we weren't just friends

This doesn't make much sense. No.

“Spencer for the love of God open the door,” (y/n) mumbles against my neck. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her words.

“I’m trying, but you’re distracting me,” I respond. The hotel keycard fumbles in my hands against the door as (y/n) lingers next to me.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m distracting you?” She coyly asks, running her hands under my shirt. Finally the door chimes and swings open. “Thank god,” she says pushing past me into the hotel room. I shut the door behind us and within seconds, were connected again, our moans echoing throughout the empty hotel room. It’s been nearly four months since (y/n) and I decided to hide our feelings from the rest of the world. It’s safer and easier for both of us, but every moment with her makes me want to scream it from the rooftops. Everytime we sneak away to our hotel rooms on cases, share secret glances during profiles, bring each other coffee in the mornings, or just be around one another for longer than usual, my heart begs for more. The two of us agreed that with our jobs and personal struggles the easiest thing would be to enjoy each other when we could, but not stress ourselves about the labels. “Friends with benefits,” (y/n) would label it after we spent one of our first nights together. I hated the term, but by definition… it was true.

Moments pass by and before I know it we're both covered in sweat, tangled in the hotel sheets. We both collapse onto the bed, quickly trying to catch our breath. I plop down on my back, curls covered in sweat and slicked to my forehead. (Y/n) nuzzles into my side, our skin sticking to one another as she fits herself under my arm. My eyes get heavy and I continue to move my hands through her hair onto her bare skin. I reach over with my loose arm and flick the light off, before I bring my arm around her and pull her in closer by the waist. Minutes of silence tick by as both of us are drowning in sleep; I close my eyes letting the night time wash over me and (y/n) does the same. After a while, I feel myself losing to the tired, but before it completely consumes me I hear (y/n) whisper, “I love you”.

But I'm not hurt, I'm tense

Cause I'll be fine without you babe

The bar door swings open again with force and I step onto the sidewalk. The cold temperature chills me again, but I push through the air away from the restaurant. I have no idea where I am headed, but my legs carry me away from the doors and walk for blocks. Thankfully, I had walked to the bar tonight because I am way too restless and anxious to be behind the wheel. Before I know it, I’m in front of my apartment complex. I release a big sigh before climbing the steps up to my home. If I didn’t know any better, I would have ended up at (y/n)’s apartment on my hands and knees, begging for her to take me back. But this isn’t a fairytale, it’s life. Life of a traumatized FBI agent who’s terrified of commitment and loss. I turn my key in the front door and stumble inside the apartment. I toss my shoes by the door and walk through the living room, laying down on my bed as sleep washes over me.

Saturday morning comes only a few hours later, the day drags on as I lay on my bed fully clothed. I rub the back of my eyes with my knuckles before I feel an intense pain in my hand. Shit. I stand up from the comfort of my bed and walk into the bathroom, cleaning off my knuckles and the dried blood from the back of my hand. Pain sears through my hand, but I welcome it, the physical pain taking away from the hurricane going on in my head.

I walk out of the bathroom flipping over a stack of books near my desk. I can’t be trapped here anymore. I have to get out. I pull on a half-worn cardigan over my button up and flatten out my pants, grab my shoes by the door and leave.

Again, I find myself walking in the cool spring air, the streets beginning to fill with morning crowds. I walk the couple of blocks from my house to the BAU, knowing the offices will be empty on the weekend and I can have a space to work without my bed calling my name from the other room. I push open the glass doors to the BAU bullpen and practically collapse into my desk chair. I flick on the reading light and set my head down on the table top. Silence.

“Luke, if you don’t stop,” the words come from the doorway and a chill mixed with shock runs through my body. I whip my head in the direction of the voice and spot Luke and (y/n) laughing together....(y/n) in her dress from the night before. (Y/n) locks her eyes with mine and frowns, “Oh my god, Spence.”

—

oooo shiittttt!! two parter!! whatsss gonna happennnnnnnn ;)))))

part two

masterlist // requests

stay safe & wear a mask!! -m