#a descent from the top of the box to the bottom...

[wykwryt]

wanna play through whatever hallownest cuno was imagining in that box

[averagejoesolomon]

Gang, I could not be more delighted to share this chapter with you. I know I always tell you to buckle in, but for this one, you ought to buckle in. I'm so serious. You don't have any idea what you're in for. And if you're new here and want to get in on this madness, you can read Full Circle from the beginning on Ao3. Enjoy!

Chapter Five

The most prominent religion in Russia is Orthodox Christianity, but the national church is the Bolshoi Theatre, where crowds worship week after week, night after night, among gods by the name of Ramanov, Stalin, and Gorbachev. Built less than a mile away from the heart of Moscow's governing epicenter, the Bolshoi weaves ballet into the political pulse of the country. It announces a national pride on stages across the world. It is an institution. It is a sacred arthouse. It is the venue of choice for Russian chairmen and it is the top item on the visitation itinerary for any and all foreign dignitaries.

It's also a spy's worst nightmare, crawling with the sort of people Matt's made a career out of avoiding.

He can think of at least two-dozen different ways to spend this evening that don't include revealing his face to the better part of the Soviet parliament. A single misstep—one unlucky run-in, introduction, or incident—could spell serious trouble for Matt someday down the line. When he brought this concern to Rachel, she had suggested he wear a disguise.

"I can't do my job wearing a disguise," he had told her, and when she inquired as to why, he had said, "Disguises, by design, draw the eye. If you want me to be your guy in the crowd, you can't paint a three-inch scar on my face or put me in some God-awful gaudy wig."

This must have been a convincing enough argument, because she didn't have a counterpoint to match it. Instead, she calmly pointed out that he could either show his face anonymously at the ballet, or he could wait until the Soviets found it next to his name, age, place of birth, and designated passport number. The choice, she had said, would be up to him.

So now he stands at the base of the Bolshoi foyer, an exposed American nerve in a hostile crowd. "All good, Ace?"

It had been Rachel's idea to travel separately, all four of them staggering their arrivals across the past six hours. Grace has been onsite for ages, posing as a photographer for a famous Russian newspaper that took a bribe from Langley five weeks back. Abe followed close behind, masterfully playing the role of low-ranking British royalty and receiving all of the VIP tours and introductions that come with his faux dukedom. He'll join Matt and Rachel for the performance later on, watching from the elite visiting dignitaries box while the two of them slum it in twelfth-row center.

Matt, for his part, has already slipped in through the maintenance corridors under the guise of a furnace inspection that's been scheduled for seven months. He's shed himself free of the branded navy coveralls to reveal the perfectly tailored Versace below. As he fusses with his ivory cufflinks, he wonders how Rachel managed to pin down his exact measurements, but knows a fella shouldn’t ask questions he doesn’t want answers to. "Patience, Nebraska," she says, voice crackling in his ear. “Good things come to those who wait."

Last, but certainly not least to arrive is Rachel, who carries enough natural poise to breeze through the Bolshoi's front doors without a second glance from anyone in sight. From his place at the bottom of the Bolshoi's elegant double staircase, Matt spots her through the crowds above, clocking the familiarity in her movements before anything else—the stubborn set of her shoulders, a graceful glide of her hand along the banister, confident steps as she begins her descent in his direction.

And by God, she is a sight to see.

Her dress is the classy sort of affair that suits her perfectly, a solid black number sewn from silk and cut into a simple silhouette. The neckline settles along her collarbone and swoops from shoulder to shoulder, paired with soft loops of fabric that drape listlessly along either arm. This weighty, sophisticated feel curves down to her hips, where the dress drops off into an inky sheath that pools at her feet, as though she's been poured straight over the steps. She lifts her hem with a gloved hand, the motion effortless and practiced, and she never looks more like herself than when there's a string of pearls around her neck. With each step, Matt notices her anew, taking in the sheen of the silk, the red of her lips, the soft, subtle bounce of a relaxed updo pinned in place by Swarovski crystals.

Just when he thinks the sight can't get any better, she looks up at him and smiles. "There you are, darling."

Her Russian is technically perfect, the same way her shots always land dead center, and her punches always strike in exactly the right spot. "Are you ready, my love?" he responds, his own contrasting Russian forged in the streets of Leningrad. "I was beginning to grow worried."

He meets her at the final stair and passes along a sleek glass of bubbling Champagne to match his own. Neither of them will drink tonight, but the glass had given Matt a reason to look busy while he waited for her arrival. Somehow, she makes it look like the perfect golden accessory to her ensemble and, after a demure sip that doesn’t make it past her lips, he holds out an arm to her. When her sleek glove slips through his elbow, he can’t hide the warm, tingling shiver that buzzes straight down his spine.

"You will never truly understand the woes of the women's restroom," she replies, and he senses some truth in this predetermined conversation point, despite it being scripted to subdue wandering ears. "Do you have the tickets?"

With his free hand, Matt reaches into his inner pocket and produces two strips of cardstock placed by Rachel before leaving the safe house. This sparks a subtle satisfaction in her, as she mentally checks another box in her fifty-point plan for the evening. Change into her dress, check. Meet on the lower level, check. Pretend to be married, and dating, and in love—check, check, check.

Etiquette dictates that he lead them inside, for the sake of chivalry. Handily, the mission brief also dictates that he lead them inside, for the sake of discretion. Guided by the two complimentary motives, Matt greets the usher with a perfectly neutral hello, and the usher tears their stubs with a hospitable smile. They both receive a program and make their way into the low hum of chatter inside the theatre doors.

Matt has only seen the inside of the Bolshoi once before, when the agency first sent him overseas to train and take in the culture. It's just as striking as he remembers, six balconies carved from intricate gold and dressed in heavy, burgundy velvet. In those early days, a more senior agent had suggested that this place was designed to highlight its visitors just as much as its on-stage talent, because if one could afford an extravagant evening at a Bolshoi performance, then they were certainly the type of person worth noticing. This is especially apparent with the presidents’ box, which takes up two full stories at the center of the balconies and is accented by all the usual curtains and trimmings one might expect to adorn the stage.

Matt and Rachel’s seats are less auspicious, which is entirely by design. The carpet sinks beneath their shoes as he guides her toward a stout velvet seat tucked beneath the first balcony. They offset one another, Rachel’s sharp vigilance balanced by Matt’s casual covertness. As they walk, Matt spots Abe three stories up, chatting to a gentleman with a round gut and a distinguished mustache. Grace is out of sight and, if all goes according to plan, she will be all night. The ambassador to Turkey is ten yards away, the Minister of Justice is sharing a drink with the Minister of Transport, and Matt’s fairly certain that the young lady seated two tiers above them is a descendant of the long dethroned royal family—at least, she’s surrounded by enough armed goons to make people think she is.

If they get out of here without incident, it’ll be a miracle. "After you," he says, gesturing toward their seats. He wraps a possessive hand around to the small of her back, intending to let his lady lead the way like his pops taught him, but something in his brain snaps when he feels her bare skin at his fingertips, a warm and golden flood now washing every thought downstream.

So caught up in surveilling the crowd, he’s neglected to notice one key element about his partner—she seems to be missing half her dress.

The modest neckline sweeps into a wholly immodest back, a deep black V dipping low along alabaster skin. The silk hugs the outer edges of her rib cage, narrowing until meets at a single point that cradles the base of her spine in a gentle, swooping ripple. She's surprisingly soft for someone so fit, carved from demure muscle perfectly suited to the deception of spycraft. The smooth slope of her traps. The rounded angles of her shoulder blades. Matt's eyes trail along her exposed vertebrae, connecting the dots down, down, down her back until he's thinking the sort of thoughts that would have his mama clutching at her pearls. It ain't hard to imagine—except, no, he ain’t going to imagine. It ain’t right. It ain’t gentlemanly, to picture his fingertips brushing down her backbone. To hope she’d melt beneath his touch. To crave the feel of his hand at her back, reeling her in close, holding her right up against his—

"Darling?"

And it just ain’t fair, the way she puts on that alluring tone. The way she glances over her shoulder with a pout that sends his pulse plummeting. The way her dark eyes flicker over her dark dress and the way he could tear that damn thing off her, here and now—

God almighty, he has got to get a grip.

"Uh-huh." He feels his cheeks flushing, not with the sight of her, but with the images running through his own head. He blinks them away, silently scolds himself, and clears his throat with the hope that this one action will clear everything else, too. "Coming."

When they sit, Rachel makes a show of reading the program, expertly delving into the sort of bored small talk that belongs to socialites who have spent their entire lives in gorgeous theaters. But beneath the surface, she’s taking stock of every last detail around them and Matt knows he ought to join her. He knows he ought to note the exits, count the security officers, spot every diplomat that might be spotting him. Except the part of Matt that’s trained to notice everything can’t stop noticing her, all of his good sense getting tangled up in the sight, the smell, the presence of Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.

Three cameras cover his closest exit. Rachel’s lips form thrilling new shapes around her Russian. There’s a plainclothes guard sitting two rows ahead. Rachel has a birthmark below her chin. The director of ballet walks in the east entrance. Rachel’s breath hitches on the rise and fall of her chest.

The house lights dim, and Matt uses his Champagne to wash down all the want.

He takes on his own private mission of reigning in his rampant thoughts, but she doesn’t make it easy on him. She smells like wildflower fields and Nebraskan sunlight. She looks the way rock and roll feels on US-20, when all the windows are rolled down. She sounds like a good idea he can’t quite shake. And that dress, that dress. It turns his insides into a mid-April storm, and he’s not sure how he's supposed to sit beside her for the rest of the night, especially not when his brain insists on identifying and cataloging every latch he'd need to unhook in order to unwrap the rest of her.

The orchestra hums to life and the glow of the stage fades into the crowd. The low, blue light seems to catch Rachel in all the right places. The curve of her nose. The pout of her lip. The sharp edge of her jaw, the tender lines in her neck, the elegant curve of her collar bone. The Bolshoi is known internationally for its magnificent mastery of the ballet. It is, in the eyes of many, the most beautiful expression of the most beautiful art form in the world. And yet, as music fills the hall and dancers fill the stage, Matt just can't bring himself to look away from Rachel.

One day, he’s going to kiss her right there, and there, and there.

He will never kiss Rachel Cameron.

One day, he’s going to hold her close, and closer, and closest.

He will never hold Rachel Cameron.

Matt sits through five full movements of Tchaikovsky’s finest, wrestling with back-and-forth thoughts, before Rachel reaches through the darkness and effortlessly laces her fingers in between his. Her hand is cold. Her hands are always cold. It’s one of those things he already knows about her, and the familiarity is enough to send a pang of longing straight up his arm, filling all the empty spaces in his chest until he’s about ready to burst. She’s playing a dangerous game, dancing on the edge of something Matt’s barely managed to restrain. He remembers with a start that she’s wearing a wedding ring—a diamond-studded gold band made to look old and worn, courtesy of Langley’s top jeweler—and he reckons this might be it. This might be the final crack in a dam that’s already on its way out.

That is until Rachel leans in close, her words a whisper rolling over his shoulder, and he realizes that this, actually, is the thing that ends him.

Her breath raises goosebumps along his neck, his shoulders, his back. It’s all twisted up in the raspberries and walnuts they shared in the afternoon, a sweet and earthy scent in equal measure. There’s nothing between them now, except the single inch of her mouth from his ear as she leans in with all the casual belonging of his supposed wife, and he gets so caught up in the feel of her that it takes too long to realize she’s back to speaking English. “Fifth balcony,” she whispers. “Ten o’clock. What do you make of her?”

On instinct, his eyes flick up to her target. He spots it too, a young woman rapt with the dancers below, leaning along the railing just to get a better look. To the untrained eye, she looks like anyone else in the crowd, but as someone who spends plenty of time trying to blend in, Matt notices all of the ways she stands out. Her hair is tied in a low, unglamorous ponytail. Her dress isn’t couture, like so many others here. She wears modest jewelry made from mixed metals—a cardinal sin among polite society. And he’s seen that bag before, in a shop window somewhere in Manhattan.

His attention falls back to Rachel with every intention of crafting an intelligent response, but he gets caught on her eyes before he can get anything out. The way they wait for him. The way they dance between each of his. The way they drop to his lips. The way he can’t help but drop his own gaze to match.

He will never kiss Rachel Cameron.

“The bag,” he mutters instead, and he can’t tell if he’s still looking at her lips or not. He thinks he might be. He probably is. Is he speaking in Russian or in English? “I think its…”

He’s never noticed the low point of her cupid’s bow. The downward draw in each corner of her mouth. The way her cheeks divot ever so subtly, as though she was supposed to have dimples but never found the time for them. Red lips curve around the unsaid end of his sentence. “American made,” she confirms.

The flood is back, biblical and mighty, and his insides warm with the rushing current. Every nerve in his body seems to have found a way to his front, and the shift in weight sends him forward, forward, forward, heavy in her direction. She’s looking up at him—not the stage, not the ballet, but him—with eager eyes, chin raised high, just as it always is.

Except the orchestra trills to a stop. Applause surrounds them. The house lights come up.

Intermission.

The lights break through whatever feelings were fostered under cover of shadow, and the only thing remaining are Matt and Rachel, far too close to something neither one of them can explain. “I should—” he starts at the same time she says, “You need to—”

He waits for her. She waits for him. Finally, when the space between them grows too tight, she reaches through it, hands landing on his bow tie. She straightens each end, then brushes lint from his shoulder. “That’s your cue,” she tries again. “Don’t lose your head.”

It is entirely too late for that, but he swallows this thought down, and opts for a simple, “Yes ma’am.”

It takes more effort than it should to stand from his seat. Somehow, she now sits at the gravitational center of the room, and he has to strain against the pull, one step at a time. Eventually, he manages to join the dozens of other attendees who rush toward the bathrooms and the bars, and the further he walks, the weaker her pull.

When he finally makes it to the lobby, his head clears just enough to wonder what in the Hell just happened.

The events come to him like a mission outline, as though he’s about to debrief with a superior and desperately needs the notes for reference. It’s the only way he can wrap his head around the moment, working through it one step at a time. Except no matter how many times he runs through it, he comes back to the same two steps.

He leaned in.

Then she leaned in.

And he reckons he can understand the first part easily enough, but it’s the second part he keeps getting stuck on, because there’s not a room on this Earth they’ve shared without a fight. On the relational spectrum of people likely to kiss and people likely to brawl they’ve always leaned more toward the latter, and now seems like a Hell of a time to make a leap in the other direction. This is the same woman who tore him apart in Baltimore. The same woman who told him to get lost for two years straight. The same woman who, when they first met, took one glance at him and vowed to make his life harder than it had ever been before.

A lady like that doesn’t lean in. She fights, and yells, and holds grudges. She tells him where to be, when to be there, and what to wear. She gives orders. She makes plans. Rachel Cameron does not lean in—and she certainly doesn’t do so on a whim, in the middle of a mission.

And it occurs to him that this is just another check mark on Rachel’s list. Another scripted moment in her perfect strategy. Of course it is. A wife kisses her husband before he leaves. It’s a cover. It’s a legend. She’s always been one step ahead of him with this sort of thing.

At least, that’s what Matt tells himself as he meanders through the crowds, and it helps his racing heart slow to his resting rate. Mind clearing, he brings his mission objective into focus and works his way toward the fifth balcony using one of the paths Rachel mapped out for him weeks ago. He stops in bathrooms, refreshes his Champagne, and swipes a bite-sized chocolate desert from a passing cart, partly because it’s his best bet at cover, and partly because he’s a sucker for a chocolate mousse. One staircase at a time, he climbs that magnificent Bolshoi Theatre and works his way onto a balcony that isn’t his.

In Rachel’s grand Moscow plan, Matt has six pre-approved options for approaching a potential target. Since the first requires their target to be a man and the second requires there to be a gun pointed at his head, Matt settles for option number three—the confused tourist gambit or, as he prefers to call it, the National Lampoon. “Excuse me, miss?” he says, in the best lost American voice he can muster. “Do you know the way to the—?”

She turns, and any commitment Matt had to his cover immediately shrivels when he realizes he knows the young lady perched in the fifth balcony. He used to have dreams about her. Spent the better part of a year trying to remember every detail about her, from the red hair, to the ring on her finger, to the way she threw a baseball in the basement of Wrigley field. He last saw her skipping down a stoop in Georgetown and if she’s here now, he knows in his gut that something has gone horribly, staggeringly wrong.

“You?” he says, abandoning all pretense as he bolts toward her. “What are you doing here?”

The redhead moves quick, snatching her leather messenger bag and pulling it in close as she scans the balcony for an escape route. Every instinct Matt’s got tells him that she can’t leave with that bag, so he makes himself big and impassable, barely hooking the leather strap as she tries to slip past him. “Let go of me,” she hisses. “What are you doing? Let go.”

“Drop the bag.”

“We’re on the same side.”

“Drop. The. Bag.”

She’s slippery, in that same way Joe can be slippery when he wants to be, and Matt wonders if everyone in the Circle of Cavan learns to run before they fight. She wriggles against his grip, bright eyes wide with panic, but Matt pins her down easy. He’s got plenty of experience keeping runners in one place. “What are you doing here?” he asks again. “Who’s your buyer? What are you—?”

“On the ground!”

When a third voice interrupts, Matt mistakes the accent for Abe and says a quick prayer of thanks for the backup. This relief is quickly doused when he looks up to find a tall, slender stranger holding a gun to the girl’s head. “Whoa, hey,” he says, holding out his free hand. “Easy with that thing.”

“Get on the ground,” says the stranger, and Matt realizes that the gun is actually being pointed at him. “Now.”

Thirty seconds too late, Matt suddenly understands that he hasn’t intercepted a trade. He’s walked right into the middle of it. What’s more, he’s gone and done the exact thing Joe’s always warning him about—he’s backed himself into a corner, stuck between the buyer and the seller with no good way out. “I’ve got company,” Matt tells the team in his ear. “What’s my way out?”

Grace’s voice is absolute, ready with an instant reply. “Through,” she tells him. “There’s a stairwell to the right, but you’ll have to get off that balcony first.”

“I’m coming up,” says Rachel.

Matt shakes his head, even though she can’t see him. “No time.”

“I’m coming up,” says Abe.

“Better make it quick.”

“I won’t tell you again,” the stranger says, adjusting his grip on the gun. “Get on the ground.”

He holds his pistol like law enforcement, all rigid shouldered and stiff stanced. The sight makes Matt sick to his stomach. “You don’t want to do this,” Matt tells him. “You’re putting real lives at risk, doing this.”

The stranger huffs, like he knows everything and Matt knows nothing at all. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he says. “Give up the passports and no one gets hurt.”

“A lot of people get hurt,” Matt argues still pulling at the bag. “Let’s figure something out. Let’s—”

“We are well beyond figuring something out,” says the stranger. “That ship has sailed, and you’re going to jail for a long time.”

“I’m—” Matt’s already started rolling into his next argument before this sentence has time to land. When it does, it stops him in his tracks. “Hold on, I’m what? What are you—?”

In this profession, there are plenty of people Matt never wants to cross. He spend his days with spies, con men, assassins, and rogues, all of whom know how to make his life miserable in horrible and exhausting ways. Right then, Matt adds another name to the list as he watches Abe Baxter sneak up behind the stranger, grab hold of his weakest joints, and bend them in ways that bring the man straight to his knees.

And when Abe looks down at the man’s face, it’s clear that he isn’t truly a stranger after all. “Townsend,” he groans. “You absolute twit.”

Over comms, Grace says, “What the bloody hell is he doing here?”

“I fully intend to find out,” Abe answers. With a glance up at Matt, he gives a nod. “You got the passports? Good on you.”

Matt doesn’t have the passports, so much as he still wrestling for them, but when he goes to point this out, he realizes that his sparring partner is nowhere to be found. In the time it took for Matt to talk his assailant into Abe’s hold, the mysterious redhead has completely vanished. In her place, the strap of the messenger bag is looped around a small golden gargoyle, and Matt’s been wrestling with a ghost.

“Get up, Townsend,” Abe says, and even though the not-so-stranger Townsend has an extra foot of height on Abe, there’s no questions about who’s in charge. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Matt unloops the strap and digs inside the messenger bag. Sure enough, he finds a pile of little leather covers. He looks over his shoulder, toward the audience below. Toward Rachel, who knows better than to meet his gaze, but does it anyway. He nods, and so does she.

For a single moment, Matt lets himself fall into his own relief. Mission accomplished. Lives are saved. He won’t have to worry about agents arriving at the ranch, or an assassin knocking on the door of the M street apartment. At least, not for now.

But there’s something scratching at his instincts, like he’s being watched, and not just by Rachel. There are eyes everywhere in Moscow, and there are eyes on him now. When Matt scans the crowd below, he spots a gentleman looking back at him. Wide face. Bushy eyebrows. Armed. Matt's short-lived relief fades in a flash as he remembers where he is, and remembers how deadly it can be to be spotted in a place like this.

The house lights flash once, twice, three times, and Matt steps back from the edge of the balcony. Intermission, he thinks, is over.

[revlyncox]

Take Chances, Make Mistakes, Get Messy

Following the example of Miss Frizzle from the Magic School Bus, let's make the most of the Interim opportunity by embracing surprise, wonder, and discovery in the liturgical year that has just begun. This sermon was delivered to The Unitarian Society in East Brunswick on October 1, 2023, by the Rev. Lyn Cox.

September was a month of opening up, welcoming new experiences and new sensations and new friendships. We got a great start to the liturgical year here, and some exciting new ideas are brewing among us. I feel a spirit of hope and joy in the congregation, and I am glad to be partnering with you as we grow in that spirit. 

In my family, September is also when we started a new school year. We homeschool our eighth-grade twins. The subject I manage at home is science, and we are studying the physics of motion right now. We have a curriculum and an online community for the class and some video lectures from a teacher, and we also have lots of room to try things out on our own. Which is how we ended up climbing to the top of a ladder with a raw egg last week. Let me back up. 

One of the concepts in our lesson last week was inertia, the tendency of objects at rest to remain at rest, and of objects in motion to remain in motion in a straight line at a constant velocity, unless acted upon by an outside force. We also learned about gravity as a force, and how different objects with different masses tend to fall at the same rate unless there are factors like wind resistance at play. And so one of the lab assignments the teens had was to create a structure that would keep a raw egg from cracking when dropped from a height. The curriculum had very few rules other than that the egg must be a raw chicken egg and that we should submit photos or videos to the learning community by the following Sunday. 

I sent the teens on a scavenger hunt around the house to find suitable materials for an egg protection and descent unit. (In case you were worried, I got permission from the teens to mention them in this sermon.) There was cackling and running, and very soon the kitchen table was full of potential engineering assets. It was kind of a mess, but a temporary mess. I had this idea that we were going to have an orderly design process and they would sketch their ideas on paper and create a whole plan before moving ahead. That is not what happened, and what did happen was a better way to start the year. 

The two of them brainstormed together and came up with a concept, then divided the labor so that one student worked on the restraint system and the other student worked on creating air resistance. I supplied a box of round objects like ping-pong balls and bouncy balls so that we could have a few trials with crash test dummies. 

In the first trial, they surrounded the crash test subject with cotton balls, plastic wrap, duct tape, and a sandwich bag, placed that in a plastic container full of water, and taped packing material to the sides and bottom of the box. They taped one corner of a pillowcase to the top of the box as a kind of kite tail. Test subject one landed with a loud thump that suggested the box was heavier than they expected, and they did not achieve the air resistance they had hoped for. 

In the second trial, they replaced the water in the container surrounding the padded non-egg test subject with poly-fill from the craft closet, the kind of filling I would normally put inside stuffed animals. The pillowcase was attached on two edges to try to create more of a cape effect. This time, the thump was less loud, but still pretty thumpy, and the apparatus landed upside-down. 

The student working on wind resistance tried a few more ideas using a different container. The final design was a parachute attached to strings at each of the four corners, each string duct-taped to a corner of the box containing the egg. The student working on the restraint system added even more padding, especially to the top of the box. Then we were ready for the live trial with a real, raw chicken egg from the fridge. The parachute deployed, the box landed with an audible but cushioned thump, and the egg was extracted from the apparatus unharmed. Then I made celebratory omelets for lunch. 

We learned about trying different things and making improvements each time. We learned that wind resistance makes a difference on something that’s being pulled by gravity. And we caught some of the wonder and excitement that is possible in science and engineering. It was a good day. 

One of my science education role models is Ms. Frizzle from the book and TV series of the 1990’s, The Magic School Bus. The books were written by Joanna Cole and Bruce Degan, and the animated Ms. Valerie Frizzle was voiced by Lily Tomlin. There was also a reboot on Netflix from 2018-2020 with Valerie’s sister, Fiona Frizzle, voiced by Kate McKinnon, becoming the new teacher. If you don’t know about The Magic School Bus, ask your nearest children’s librarian. 

In every book or episode, the students in Ms. Frizzle’s class complete research projects about something like magnetism, the solar system, dinosaurs, or the human digestive system. When the students run into a question they can’t answer, Ms. Frizzle proposes a surprise field trip. “To the bus! Seatbelts, everyone!” The bus mysteriously becomes big or small, or travels through time or outer space, or withstands the conditions of a volcano or a waterfall so that the students are able to make observations and answer their scientific questions. Ms. Frizzle always says, “Take chances! Make mistakes! Get messy!” These three instructions are key for the ability of the class to learn new things and to have fun while learning. 

Take chances. Make mistakes. Get messy. You will hear me say these three things again, because they also speak to a congregation’s opportunities during the Interim Ministry period. 

In our engineering experiment, we took a chance with an egg. We actually had plenty of eggs in the fridge, so losing one was fairly low-stakes. But the thing that was harder to risk was failure. Sometimes people make mistakes (we’ll cover that in a minute), and sometimes things just don’t work out. Trying new things always risks the theoretical ideal of what could be so that we can live into the complexity of what actually happens. Starting off our school year with an experience with an iterative process really helped open us up to the awe and wonder of science. We could try different things because there would be lots of tries. 

We take chances. Not everything turns out the way we hope. Our inability to control the universe does not mean we are bad or lazy or incomplete. Living life to the fullest, learning and growing, requires a certain degree of risk. 

In spiritual community, especially during the golden opportunity of an Interim year, we take chances together. We experiment with new ways of understanding the world, with different spiritual practices, and ways of doing church. Right now, as I speak, we are experimenting with a hybrid ministry that makes it possible for us to work together and gives us a training ground for hearing a broader diversity of voices in the pulpit in the future. We can take the risk of letting go of things that do not serve the mission of the congregation. We may take chances with different ways of sharing leadership, or new traditions. We take the risk of speaking the truth with love. Take chances. 

Make mistakes. Ms. Frizzle reminds us that the scientific method involves making a hypothesis and testing it. If we guess right every time, science doesn’t advance as quickly. We have to be willing to be wrong sometimes, and to admit we were wrong so that we can get to the juicy, exciting part of the learning process. We are human beings and we are fallible. 

Perfectionism is a poison that gets in the way of relationships, innovation, and the health of our bodies and souls. Perfectionism is one of the traps that leads to defensiveness and gets in the way of our journey toward an anti-racist, beloved community. Our tendency as humans to make mistakes does not and should not cut us off from community or from the traditions of spiritual growth or from the disciplines of science and craftsmanship. Humans are welcome in community, broken and whole, flawed and fabulous. 

Getting better at anything, from engineering to teaching to cooking omelets to being human, means we have to start out not being very good at it. Fail spectacularly. Fail with gusto. Fail better, and keep learning. 

In teaching science to middle schoolers, there are times when precision is important and times when it isn’t. When we get to chemistry at the end of the semester, precision will be more important. I thought careful planning and lab reports were the correct way to start, but the curriculum designer knew that generating and harnessing excitement is the right way to start. We start getting into lab reports and data sheets in the second week, after the students have already gotten excited by the science. I was wrong and I had to take a minute to adjust to that realization. When I remembered that it’s OK to make mistakes, I was able to celebrate the learning process and get caught up in the excitement rather than dwell on my miscalculation. Make mistakes. 

Get messy! Science education can lead to all kinds of messes, from vinegar and baking soda reactions to rock collections discovered in odd places around the house to close observations of living things. I have to admit that I was a little overwhelmed when I saw all of the potential engineering materials spread out on the kitchen table. The mess was part of the process.

Mess can mean different things to different people. For some of us, mess is about a loss of the illusion of control. Most of us aren’t as in control as we think we are, and so perhaps mess can sometimes be a teacher. Letting go of the illusion of control can help us to open ourselves up to collaboration and learning. Getting messy can lift our senses to discovery. In the story, “A List” (from Frog and Toad Together by Arnold Lobel), Toad has a hard time letting go of control of his day when the list blows away. We can all hope for a friend or a partner like Frog, who will stick with us and help us to find our way back to inner peace at the end of the day. Maybe sometimes we can be that friend. 

For some of us, mess is stressful if we worry about what other people will think. If those other people have power over our employment or housing or health care, that is scary. If we are going to create communities and learning experiences following the wisdom of Ms. Frizzle, we also need to create safe places for people to be human, including secure housing and other human rights. Within our communities of love and care like congregations, part of our spiritual work is to be compassionate toward ourselves and each other for a little bit of the mess of trying new things. 

For some of us, mess feels threatening if we feel isolated and responsible for cleaning it up. When we can count on each other to keep each other safe and healthy, to restore things to the places where people who need them can get them, getting temporarily messy is more fun. And if you have ever reorganized a closet, you know that we have to get temporarily messy in order to get to the part where we have everything in the place where we want it. 

In the middle of the lively jumble of being in community, let’s pay more attention to what we are doing together than on looking neat and pristine or on creating the illusion of having everything together. In a spiritual community, we get messy by being vulnerable and by accepting the range of wisdom and experience and emotion that our companions bring into the circle. An inclusive community welcomes all people, but not all behaviors. Figuring out how to be together, setting boundaries to help the congregation to be a place of courage and growth, is not easy. This is the art of covenant. Communities where people are authentic are complicated and difficult and heartbreaking and annoying and surprisingly joyful. Get messy.   

Let us give thanks. Let us remember the risks and acknowledge the losses, yet let us focus on gratitude and abundance. Fail better, and increase tries. Let us celebrate the skills within us and among us, and let us commit to the love and artistry of living in community. As we bring in the first fruits of this new congregational year together, let us commit to a path of spiritual growth, lifelong learning, diverse and welcoming community, justice, and compassion. To stay on that path, let us take chances, make mistakes, and get messy. 

So be it. Blessed Be. Amen.

[speedyposts]

The French Algerians moving to Algeria ‘seeking freedom, opportunity’

Fafa finally feels free in her attire, long scarves and abayas covering her head to toe.

The 28-year-old can wear them today in Algeria without the trouble she would have faced in France, her country of origin which she decided to quit in 2016, seeking more religious freedom.

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Dabiri-Erewa warns Nigerians against irregular migration, Especially to Canada

The Nigerians in Diaspora Commission (NiDCOM), Abike Dabiri-Erewa, has urged Nigerians travelling abroad to go legitimately and with proper documentation

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Third-generation French Fafa, who comes from a Muslim family, says she never felt uncomfortable in France until she decided to become a practising Muslim as an adult.

According to German online portal Statista, there are more than 5.4 million Muslim French people, about 8 percent of the population.

“When I discovered Islam, I naturally adopted a religious lifestyle in line with my principles, and since then, I no longer felt at home in France,” she tells Al Jazeera.

“We could easily end up being snubbed, insulted, even attacked. We’re asked to change our lifestyle. We’re prevented from doing certain things or going to certain places because we are veiled.”

Fafa is sure the marginalisation she felt was not due to her “foreign origins”, but rather was only about her religious affiliation.

“My husband, who is of French descent and converted to Islam, felt the same. This sense of not belonging in France clearly comes from the fact that we’re Muslims,” she underlines.

What was once a one-way street leading north to France now seems to be a two-way street with a noticeable number of people heading south to Algeria.

The mother of three says the move she took eight years ago is “the best decision” of her life.

“We feel fulfilled… The climate is much more pleasant and serene than in France, where there is an oppressive atmosphere. I feel at home and … so does my husband,” she confesses.

Many Algerians still believe in a better future on the other side of the Mediterranean and try to get out of Algeria in any way possible.

“The only people who try to dissuade me from coming to Algeria are Algerians. Most of them believe there are no opportunities here,” says Ahmad*, a 24-year-old French-Algerian political science student.

For some French Algerians in France, discontent with how their country is treating people who look like them is driving them away.

In December, the French parliament voted on a restrictive immigration law, triggering demonstrations all over the country and increasing the desire to leave France among the children of immigrants.

While the law was referred to the Constitutional Council, which decided on January 25 that one-third of its clauses were unconstitutional, the right wing, who had championed the law, has vowed to fight back and called for a referendum on it.

The contested articles clawed back benefits like family reunification, social guarantees for foreign students, health-based residence permits, and social benefits like family allowances and housing assistance.

“It is a law that … spans from the right to asylum, obtaining a residence permit, creating new residence permits, and even defining an illegal stay as a criminal offence, which, in my opinion, is one of the most dangerous measures.

“Currently, being in an irregular situation in France is not a crime,” Magda El Haitem, a lawyer at the Paris Bar, tells Al Jazeera.

Ahmad sees a divide between before and after the Charlie Hebdo attacks: “Racism and Islamophobia became accepted after 2015. I was in high school … I remember my teacher comparing me to Hamas.”

A series of tragedies fueled the fears of the Muslim-Arab community, such as the killing of young Nahel by French police in late June. “Sadly, it’s not an extraordinary event. It was just filmed this time,” regrets Ahmed.

The increasing rightwards leaning of the French government does not reassure the community either.

“Gabriel Attal is known for his decision to ban the abaya in schools when he was the minister of education. Today, he’s been appointed prime minister. It seems that Islamophobia in France leads to promotions,” Ahmad adds bitterly.

As those events raised tensions, conversations between French Algerians about moving to Algeria emerged on social media.

In addition to exchanging advice, many use them to share their experiences of Islamophobia. Some people have talked about the challenges their children face, such as not having any halal meat options at school or being told they cannot pronounce the one-word Muslim “Bismillah” prayer before eating.

For his last week in Algeria after a five-month internship, Ahmed is a busy man but wants to make the most of it. He is not sure when he is coming back.

“I’m sad to leave back to France. I’m honestly not ready to face the asphyxiant atmosphere again,” he confesses.

He calls himself “an Arab of France” because he does not feel completely French or Algerian.

“I’m both, but with the direction France is taking, I feel less and less French. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve grown up and see clearer or if it’s getting worse.”

Before this trip, Ahmed had only visited Algeria a few times. Second-generation French, he sees Algeria as a potential future home.

“If there’s an opportunity for me here, I will immediately seize it.”

For some dual citizens, the desire to return is driven by economic interests, as they are encouraged by the lack of competition and the unexplored Algerian market.

Like Rym Bouguetaïa, the 29-year-old entrepreneur behind Eryam Cosmetics who decided to return to the country her parents fled in the 1990s.

“It’s always been a dream… Even though I was very well integrated in France, my country of birth, I’ve always felt indebted to Algeria. I believe that it’s up to us, the children of Algeria, to help the country evolve,” she says.

Perhaps aware of this interest, Algeria issued a new law encouraging foreign investors in July 2022 and President Abdelmadjid Tebboune addressed several messages to the diaspora as a call for investments.

“You have been ignored for a long time; now you need to feel that you are an integral part of the homeland. You are a creative force. The country needs you,” he said in one.

Despite the government’s efforts, it is not clear sailing.

“I had to go through a year of paperwork before my project saw the light. I also deal with slow internet, especially during the Baccalaureate exams when the government cuts the internet for a week,” Bouguetaïa says.

“The diaspora should have more interest in Algeria while the government should provide more assistance and encouragement for the diaspora to return.”

The efforts among France’s far-right to increase the flow of people of Algerian origin or descent going to Algeria are continuing.

Those include working to cancel a 1968 agreement between Algeria and France that regulates the movement, employment and residence of Algerian nationals in France.

Baptiste Mollard, PhD candidate at the Center for Sociological Research on Law and Penal Institutions, feels that this ambition is to pressure the Algerian government to take back its citizens staying in France irregularly.

France’s government has a long history of measures aiming to set limits on what it sees as an influx of Algerians.

In 2021, France decided to cut by half the quota of visas, starting a long diplomatic crisis with Algiers. That year, only 63,000 visas were granted compared with 200,000 to 400,000 in the previous years.

Further back, the 1964 Nekkache-Grandval labour agreement led to the creation of the National Office for Algerian Labor (ONAMO), responsible for the selection of workers.

“Fear among decision-makers of a massive and anarchic immigration justified numerous discriminations, as well as large-scale repatriation or expulsion operations,” Mollard says.

“Arbitrary health checks were implemented at French borders. It often resulted in detentions of several days – not justified by any law – on the premises of what would later become the first French administrative detention centre in Arenc, Marseille.

“The French Ministry of the Interior also conducted a hunt for ‘fake Algerian tourists’. In addition to a special queue for them in ports and airports, Algerian tourists suspected of coming to work were subjected to insults and harassment.”

*Name changed upon the interviewee’s request.

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Dabiri-Erewa warns Nigerians against irregular migration, Especially to Canada

The Nigerians in Diaspora Commission (NiDCOM), Abike Dabiri-Erewa, has urged Nigerians travelling abroad to go legitimately and with proper documentation

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[mackenzielovee]

parenthood part two: playing defense

a/n: i needed comfort from these three today so here's this in case anyone else does too <3 let me know what you think and enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, swearing

ambivalence masterlist , parenthood masterlist

     “Baby, baby, baby, what the fuck are you doing?”

You freeze, the box at the top of the storage closet in your office halfway off the shelf. You’re on your tiptoes trying to pull it down, hoping you could do so before Rafe found you. 

“Nothing,” you reply, too scared to turn around and face him. 

“God,” he mutters, “I told you, you should be resting. Not looking for clothes to give to Maddie.”

You sigh and shove the box back on the shelf. Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you off the chair, letting you wrap your legs around his waist, hands catching his neck. 

Telling Kelce had gone smoothly, Maddie told you, but you’d chickened out of telling her about you. Again. She went to the doctor on Tuesday and it was confirmed; she is seven and a half weeks along.You’d gone to the doctor on Wednesday, finding out that you’re only four weeks along, as suspected. 

“She’s going to need them,” you frown. 

“So will we,” he grunts, “You’re pregnant, too.”

You pout, but you know he’s right. Neither of you know what you’re having yet, so maybe giving her clothes is a little premature. 

Kelce and Maddie are coming over later on to hang out and talk about everything, and Rafe refused to let you clean when you told him you had to. He’d been taking the brunt of it; vacuuming, getting Connor to pick up his toys, making a beer run, and getting the backyard ready in case you all sit outside. Which is how you wandered upstairs, hoping to finish your task before he caught you. 

“Where’s Connor?” you ask him. 

“Playing in his room. It’s fire trucks today, I think.”

You laugh and so does Rafe, who carries you out of your office and to the stairs. When he sets you down, he gives you a kiss on the forehead. 

“Go sit down. I’ll make you lunch in a minute,” he promises. 

You just nod, knowing he’ll never let you protest that. You can remember what he was like when you were pregnant with Connor and you’re not at all surprised he’s remained the same. Weekends, he says, are meant for resting and taking care of his baby. 

You start your descent down the stairs, your stomach telling you you’re ready to eat. How Rafe knew that exactly, you’re sure you’ll never know. You smile just as you hear him peek his head into Connor’s room. 

“Hey, little man, wanna come downstairs and help me make lunch?”

Rafe, ever so big on quality time, loves asking Connor to help him do all the little things. You hear Connor’s enthusiastic ‘yes!’, which makes you laugh right as you hit the bottom of the stairs. Rafe and Connor follow behind; Connor holding Rafe’s hand as he starts down. 

You do as requested and make yourself comfortable on the couch, grinning when Connor steps away from Rafe and over to you just for a hug. 

“Time for lunch, Mama,” he tells you. 

You give him a kiss and let him hurry off with Rafe again, leaving you to channel surf and listen to them laugh and joke from a room away. Soon, Connor comes in with a plate containing a sandwich and stacks of fruit, which you know is Rafe’s doing. 

“This looks great, thanks, baby,” you smile as you accept it. 

“Welcome,” he replies, hurrying back to the kitchen. 

Rafe and Connor join you to eat, Connor’s eyes glued to the TV while Rafe’s seem glued to the two of you. 

Just as you finish eating, the doorbell rings. Connor jumps up and smiles at you expectantly, knowing who it is. 

“Can I get it?” he asks. 

“Check and make sure it’s them first, please,” Rafe tells him. 

Connor nods and hurries to the front door – keeping his pace between running and walking so you don’t correct him – and opens the door once he sees Maddie and Kelce on the front porch.

“Little Cameron!” Kelce cheers, hoisting Connor up over his shoulder, “What’s up, dude?”

“Eatin’ chips,” Connor replies. 

“Oooh, can I have some?”

“No,” Connor giggles, “Hi, Aunt Mads.”

“Hi, handsome,” she smiles at him as he dangles over Kelce’s shoulder. 

The trio enters the living room, where Kelce decides to put Connor down. You and Rafe stand from the couch, greeting the pair with hugs and handshakes. 

“How are you?” you ask Maddie, keeping your voice quiet while Rafe and Kelce talk.

“I’m good, actually,” she nods, “Figured we’d get parenting advice from our favorite parents.”

You smile and give her a side hug just as Kelce cuts in between the two of you. 

“Yeah, but Ward and Rose were unavailable, so we came to you two,” he teases. 

You jokingly punch his arm, which makes him laugh and pull you in for a hug. 

“Hey, congratulations, Mads,” Rafe says to her, “I’m so happy for you guys.” 

“Thank you,” she smiles, returning Rafe’s hug.

“Yeah, pretty soon there’s gonna be two little rugrats racing around, huh?” Kelce says, trying to tease Connor.

“Are you talkin’ about the baby?” Connor asks, making his way over to the group with a potato chip in hand.

Rafe looks at you with wide eyes, both of you realizing too late that you should’ve told Maddie and Kelce before they were around Connor. 

“Aw, you guys told him already?” Maddie gushes. 

“Um–” you start.

“Actually–” Rafe says at the same time, but you both get drowned out by your son. 

“He’s in here,” Connor says, reaching up to touch your stomach, “With Mama.”

The room falls dead silent for a moment as Kelce and Maddie process, trying to figure out if Connor is just confused about who is pregnant – or if you genuinely are. One look at your face and Maddie squeals loud enough to make Rafe wince. 

“You’re pregnant?”

Kelce’s jaw drops, head snapping over to Rafe, who shrugs and grins. He’s met with a hug from Kelce, and before you know it, Maddie’s hugging you, too.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you on Monday, it just wasn’t the right time,” you say quietly. 

“No, it’s okay!” she pulls back, still smiling from ear to ear, “This is so great! Congratulations, you guys. I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you,” Rafe grins wide, “We’re pretty thrilled ourselves.”

“Damn, Cameron,” Kelce shakes his head, “You’re always one step ahead of the rest of us, huh?”

“Watch the little ears,” Rafe smacks Kelce’s chest, “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? You’ve had your wife picked out since you were six, dude. You’ve always been ahead of the game.”

You swear Rafe’s cheeks flush slightly, and as if to conceal it, he bends down and picks Connor up, holding him against his hip.

“Do I have to get married when I’m six?” Connor asks. 

“No, buddy,” Rafe laughs, “I just loved Mommy when I was six. Did you know that?”

Connor just about rolls his eyes, making you laugh under the hand you’re using to cover your mouth. 

“I’m three and I love Mama.” 

Kelce cracks up and Maddie hides herself in his chest, trying to conceal her laughter for Rafe’s sake. Rafe looks up at you, a boyish, almost shy grin on his face. Out of all the things Rafe Cameron had thought of when having a son, the fact that someone else would love you so unconditionally hadn’t crossed his mind. It becomes only more beautiful to him as Connor grows older, able to express his love more verbally. 

“So, you have me beat, is that what you’re saying?” Rafe asks his son. 

“Yes.”

Rafe laughs, “Okay. You win. And you’re not three yet, stop trying to grow up so fast.”

Rafe presses a kiss to Connor’s cheek, then sets him back down on the ground. You blow Connor a kiss when he looks over at you with a wide grin that makes him look so much like Rafe, you physically swoon. 

“Come on, let's all sit,” you say, gesturing toward the couch, “Do you guys want anything to drink? We have beer, Kelce, and Mads, I can get you some water or tea.”

“Kelce and I will get it, sweetheart. You sit down, yeah?” Rafe speaks up, guiding you over to the couch.

You sit and so does Maddie, who you can’t help but notice is biting down on her bottom lip.

“Are you okay?” you ask her.

“I feel guilty,” she confesses, “He’s been doing so much since I told him. Literally Rafe-level shit. Researching the best cribs, ordering baby clothes, I mean – we’re going out to Ikea on Sunday to buy stuff for the baby’s room. I’ll only be eight weeks. I keep telling him that maybe, you know, just in case, we shouldn’t–”

“Mads,” you stop her, “He’s excited. Rafe went through the same thing. Let him have this.”

She nods, “Did Rafe ever calm down?”

You laugh just as the guys walk back into the living room, both holding beers for themselves and water for the two of you. 

“No,” you mumble to her, making her laugh. 

Rafe settles in beside you, wrapping his arm around the back of the couch and tucking you in close. Connor rises from the floor after a few minutes, where he’d been playing, and climbs up into your lap without a word. 

“Okay,” Kelce says, earning the attention of the room, “Has anyone told Topper about the babies?”

You grin. The babies. You love that. 

“We haven’t told anyone,” Rafe replies, “It’s really early though.”

“How far are you, Y/N?” Kelce asks. 

“Four weeks,” you reply.

“Oh, shi– shoot,” Kelce glances at Connor, “That is early. I was thinking, we should all have dinner at the Club tomorrow. We can invite Top and Sarah, too–”

“Are they dating yet?” Maddie asks you. 

“No idea,” you shrug, “I’m guessing, yes, because Top is always conveniently busy when I ask him to hang out.”

“I’ll ask Wheezie,” Rafe mutters, pulling his phone from his pocket. 

“Dinner at the Club sounds great though,” you nod, “That okay, Rafe?”

He nods, “Of course, baby. Whatever you wanna do.”

Kelce smiles in confirmation and says he’ll make a reservation, leaving Maddie to turn to you and start firing off questions about your pregnancy. You answer every last one of them, doing your best to be hopeful while Rafe strokes his hand up and down your leg.          Rafe grins as he watches you shift Connor from one hip to the other, tapping his nose with your finger and making him giggle while you lead him up to the Club. You’d gotten a bit dressy for dinner and Rafe had too, both of you feeling like you need a nice night with friends. Topper, Sarah, Kelce, and Maddie are all already seated at a table when the three of you round the corner of the deck. Connor giggles in delight at the sight of Topper standing and widening his eyes, looking too excited to see the boy. "There he is!" Topper exclaims. You laugh and set Connor down, letting him run the three feet into Topper's arms. He picks him up immediately, squishing his face with kisses. "Oh shit, can I do the same with Y/N?" Kelce teases as he stands, moving around the table to greet you and Rafe. "Fuck off," Rafe mutters. You laugh and give Kelce a quick hug, Topper a kiss on the cheek, and Connor a ruffle of the hair before moving back beside Rafe. Maddie and Sarah both receive hugs from you as well; you and Maddie exchanging knowing glances. Rafe pulls a chair out for you and tucks you back into the table, leaning down to whisper that he's going to hunt down a high chair. Kelce sits and Topper follows, content holding Connor on his lap and bouncing him up and down. “Is your husband getting you a drink, Y/N?” Topper asks. Kelce clears his throat loudly, earning a short glare from Topper. You laugh and then shake your head, giving Topper your best convincing smile. “No, I’m not drinking tonight,” you say simply. “Interesting, Maddie said the same,” Topper purses his lips, and for a moment, you panic that he’s going to figure it out, “Are you guys going to brunch in the morning or something?” Maddie laughs, “No. Kelce and I are going furniture shopping.” “Oh. Where?” Topper asks her, then reaches up to pull Connor’s hand from his chain. Quietly, you try to get Connor to stop, and if he’d listened right away, you would've recognized that Rafe shouldn't have been gone this long. Across the deck, Rafe approaches Marco to fulfill his request for a high chair for Connor. As much as he still disliked your old boss, he'd put it aside when you quit and his appearances at the Club became minimal. Now, he's just someone Rafe puts up with. "Good afternoon, Mr. Cameron," Marco greets, tight smile evident on his lips. "Hey, man. I need a high chair," Rafe replies, giving Marco that same tight-lipped expression. "I'll have someone bring it over when they can," Marco agrees. "No need. I can wait for it if you'll just have them bring it out."

Rafe watches as Marco nods, looking around the deck to assess for an available employee. After a moment, he settles on the fact that he himself will have to go get it. "If you'll wait down at the end of the bar for me, I'll bring it out. Let me just get these drinks off, okay?" Rafe nods and thanks him, moving off where he'd been instructed to wait. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he debates checking it only for a moment before he considers it might be you in need of something. His head is down as he approaches the end of the bar, finding that the message is from Ward, updating Rafe on a contract. At first, Rafe is too absorbed in his response to recognize the voice he hears to his left. He's leaned up against the bar, back almost to the women, as he types. All at once, his thumbs freeze and his ears perk up. "I mean, Rose told me they're doing fine, but I think she's just saying that to save face. I mean, your step-son gets a girl pregnant that young and you're going to actually admit to people that the situation is wrong? So not Rose." His jaw clenches but he doesn't turn. Instead, he listens when another woman begins to speak. "Every time I bring up how young they are, she shuts down. I'm telling you, there's no way it works. I was with my second husband for four years before I realized he's an asshole. It's only a matter of time."

"Poor girl. She'll end up divorced and a single parent by the time she's twenty eight. I feel sorry for her." "Me too." Rafe's phone gets calmly tucked back into his pocket, forgetting all about the half written response to his father. He's angry; angry that people would ever think he would allow that to happen. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, trying his best to calm down before he responds. "I'm debating even inviting Rose to brunch next Sunday. All she talks about is that grandson of hers, like any of us are old enough to relate! I'm sorry my son didn't get a girl pregnant–" “Good afternoon, Ms. Kate." Rafe's voice is calm, almost too calm, as he spins around and greets her. His smile is tighter than the one he gave Marco, and it almost hurts him to give her a smile at all. The only thing he can think about is how you would handle it, and he knows exactly what you'd do. As much as he doesn't want to, he decides to be classy and gracious.

Kate, one of Rose's oldest friends, sits there with a woman Rafe doesn't know. She looks like the epitome of a Club woman; pearls strung around her neck, makeup and hair immaculate as she sips from her mimosa. Her face turns white as a ghost when she sees him, champagne flute in midair. He just continues with his smile, nodding his head to the other woman she's sitting with.

"Rafe," she barely whispers, "Oh, my goodness. How are you doing, honey?" Rafe's jaw shifts around in his mouth, fighting the urge to react the way he wants to. With another deep breath, he speaks. "I'm doing great," he replies, "Work keeps me busy. Business is great. My son is turning three in a few months." He watches Kate's smug expression when he brings up Connor, his protective instincts rising to the surface. His heart starts beating even faster as he silently dares her to try him. "Although," Rafe adds, "I gather you've heard all about that from Rose." Kate's face falls when Rafe confirms he'd heard the women talking. It's his turn to look smug; knowing these two have nothing better to do on a Saturday than sit at the Club and gossip. "Rafe, I just–" His hand comes up, silencing her from speaking. With a head shake and a small, incredulous laugh, he speaks to her again. "As much as I value the concern, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't compare my marriage to your own," his tone is condescending, but he doesn't care, "And, as far as my wife goes, she will never be a single parent. She'll never be divorced. Really, what I'm saying, Ms. Kate, is that she'll never end up like you." Kate's jaw drops and Rafe feels triumphant. His eyes catch a figure coming up behind Kate; Marco holding a high chair and an apologetic expression. "Sorry that took a minute, Mr. Cameron," he says quietly, handing off the high chair. "No problem, Marco," Rafe replies, patting the man on the back before he runs off again. Rafe allows his eyes to bead into Kate's for another moment, deciding whether or not he should rip into her again or walk away. He turns to do just that, but changes his mind after one step. Kate watches as he spins again, halting his body even closer to her than he had been before. "Rose will see you at brunch next Sunday," he says, plastering a fake smile across his features, "When she shows you pictures of my son, you'll smile and act like you care. I'd hate for her to find out about this little incident." Kate's jaw clenches at the threat, but she knows Rose could destroy her reputation on the island if provoked, "I would, too." "So, we're in agreement, then," Rafe nods, holding his hand out for her to shake. "I suppose we are." She reluctantly takes his hand, Rafe dropping it a second later. "Fantastic. It was really great seeing you again, Ms. Kate. You should meet my wife sometime. You'll like her. Honestly, it's impossible not to," Rafe turns, looking head on for the first time at the woman Kate sits with, "I'm sorry, how rude of me. Rafe Cameron. You are?" "Melanie Covington," she swallows, shaking Rafe's hand when prompted and looking a little scared. "So nice to meet you, ma'am. I'll leave you two to it. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Rafe grins and it's real this time, watching both women gape at him and then nod to answer his question. "Have a good day, Rafe," Kate dismisses him, picking up her mimosa glass once again. "You too, ladies," he starts to walk backward, and when he realizes he never indulged his old self, he adds, "Oh, Ms. Kate?" She looks up at him again, eyebrow raised, "Yes?" "Call me the next time you get divorced. My uncle's a great lawyer." Her eyes narrow and she opens her mouth to form her rebuttal, but Rafe turns his back on her and walks off. The high chair hangs from his hand, knuckles turning white around it. When he turns the corner and sees you, talking away as Topper hangs on your every word, he smiles. His heart fills to the brim, looking between you and then over to his son. Rafe notices how you hush yourself when he appears at the table, but he doesn't question it because he's too busy silently admiring how you'd done your hair differently today. He hadn't noticed originally, and now, he can't figure out why. "Put that over here, dude," Topper directs Rafe.

Rafe breaks his eyes from you and sets the high chair down beside Topper, too impatient to help him put Connor into it. He steps over to his chair and drags it over beside you, putting his arm around you when seated and attempting to get as close as possible. "Are you okay?" you ask him, leaning in as you whisper. He nods and presses a long kiss to your temple, "You know I love you, right?" You search his eyes, his face, looking for some clue to tell you if something happened while he was gone. He stares right back at you, the words single mom and divorced running through his head. "I do," you say confidently, "I love you, too, Rafe." He hums in content and allows his eyes to close, just for a moment, as he echoes those words in his head. Although he's heard them hundreds of thousands of times from you, he swears it will never be enough. Because he knows, even after all this time, that he'll never get used to the fact that you love him back. That he gets this life with you. That small detail is the reason why he pushes Kate's words out of his head. He's confident in himself, in his ability to love you so effortlessly, every day, for the rest of his life. He'd done it every day up to this point, and he's sure he'll never stop.

"Did something happen?" you ask him, reaching up with one hand to stroke at his cheek, observing the crease lines in his forehead. He relaxes immediately, which is how you realize his jaw has been clenched tight. His eyes open again and meet yours, and just for a moment, he considers telling you. Then, Connor giggles from Topper's lap and the sound, the happy, innocent sound, reminds Rafe that he's gotten everything he's ever wanted, and Kate never had. She's never been half as happy as he is to have this family. Which is the only reason why anyone would ever say what she did. "No, sweetheart. Everything's fine," he promises, a smile teasing his lips, "You look gorgeous. Love your hair like this." You smile and lean in to press a chaste kiss to his lips, "Thank you."

His arm tightens around you, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible. He watches your eyes fall from him to the menu, and he wonders quickly why you're looking at it when you'd had it memorized since you were seventeen. "You can tell me what happened when we get home," you tell him. He sighs, because you know him too well, "I can do that." You smile victoriously and pat his thigh, then look up to check on Connor. He's got a firm grasp on Topper's index finger, pulling on it to try and get Topper's attention from the menu and onto him. "If you tell me what you two were whispering about when I walked up," Rafe counters. You grimace, “Don’t be mad.” Rafe smirks and shakes his head at you, looking over to Topper and knowing immediately what you’d been telling him. “He’s your best friend,” Rafe sighs, “You had to tell him. I get it, baby. I’m not mad.”

Topper gives Rafe a headnod as a silent congratulations, which Rafe returns across the table. Sarah, now being the only one who doesn’t know at the table, seems oblivious as she plays with Connor. “We have to tell, now,” you say quietly, “He’s going to tell your sister for sure. Topper can’t keep secrets for shit.” Rafe laughs loudly, “He never told you I was in love with you.” You consider this and eventually nod your head, letting him win. Even though you know Topper, you also know Sarah and you’re aware she won’t go running to everyone announcing your pregnancy. She’ll come to you first. “That’s true,” you whisper, “Look at you now.” He hums contently and presses a kiss to your temple, “Will you tell me, please?” “I love you, Rafe.” “I love you, too, sweetheart,” he replies, guiding his hand down to your stomach and laying his palm flat across it, “I love you so much.”

With a chaste kiss from you and a beer served to him minutes later, Rafe Cameron can’t help but feel as if he’s on top of the world; wife beside him, son across from him, and his baby growing by the minute.

Tags: @goldenjo @onmykneesforrafe @valeriiecameron @lovedetlost @lurkymurker @scenesofobx @mardema @girlsneedloovee @red-wine06 @itsalexwin @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess @witchwyfe @malums-trash-can @emotionalbruv @parkerreidnorth @milkiane @rafecameronswhore @kotzmagoatz @wanniiieeee @kookkyra @sarahwasfound @lilgoddesshines @abrunettefangirlnerd @the-chaotic-cow @absolute-fcking-chaos @kaatelyyynn @jordynsharum @anonymousobxfan @premixed-margarita @princesspogue @outlaw-abby @samcaniglia @dr3aming0utl0udx @thisisthewayrose @iammirrorball @r0und3bitch @thesimpletype @fashphotolife @notdisneychannel @gillybear17 @solllaris @i-is-for-inspiring @sksliz @drewstarkey @luversgirl

[blueberryrock]

Just a taste.

A/N this turned out to be longer than originally planned but eh that's what happens when i write for Thranduil 💀oh well i hope you guys like it, i know i had fun writing it cause i need the fluff lol, anyways enjoy!

Rules, Requests, and More!

The heat of the large open ovens makes Y/N’s apron and clothes cling to her skin, silently thanking the Valar for remembering to keep her hair in a tight bun at the top of her head instead of allowing it to cling to her skin like her clothes. With a quiet huff, Y/N dumps the carefully measured cups of flour into a large metal bowl before whipping away the sweat that had gathered on her brow.

Her ears twitch at the sound of elves making a commotion but Y/N decides to do her best to ignore them until the head chef gently grabs her shoulder as she whisks together dry ingredients. 

“Look sharp Y/N,“ her boss, the head baker, muttered. "Our King has decided to check in on our progress for the feast and I heard his dwarven guests kept him from lunch."

"Oh no," Y/N groans as she turns around to face the head baker, hugging the cold metal bowl to her chest as she continues to whisk. "You know to hide the pie filling right?" 

"Do not worry my Lady, I have already ordered that," the head chef nods, crossing his arms over his chest. "We have also hidden the stuffing as well."

"Good, good," Y/N hums, turning swiftly on her heel to start dumping the dry ingredients into the larger bowl with the wet ingredients. "Then I assume all that is left to hide is my work?"

"That is correct, my Lady."

"Then do not concern yourself with it," Y/N grunts as the mixture in the bowl becomes thicker with each stir. "I will make sure it is well guarded."

"If you say so my Lady," the head chef nods before swiftly walking away to leave Y/N with her dough.

"Oh Meleth," Y/N mutters to herself as she continues to stir the dough, making sure all the flour has been thoroughly mixed in. "Why must you be so childish about these things?" A frown tugs at Y/N's lips but she shakes it off, setting the large metal bowl filled with plain cookie dough, Y/N wipes her flour-covered hands on her apron before turning away in search of something to put in the dough.

From what little knowledge of dwarves that Y/N has, chocolate seems to be a hit between both elves and dwarves. Y/N just hopes they like chunks of chocolate. The kitchens were crowded more so than usual, which is to be expected for the kingdom's guests, but it made it difficult for Y/N to navigate to the very back where the oven's overwhelming heat doesn't touch.

A shiver runs through Y/N as she reaches large wooden doors built to keep the hot air out. The doors open with a loud groan as Y/N quietly slips inside to find a set of stairs waiting for her. Immediately her hands rush to cling to the freezing railing as she makes her descent to the cold room where they keep any and all perishable items.

The quiet sound of rushing water tells her that she's almost at the bottom. The cold nips at Y/N as she finally reaches the bottom, her eyes scan through the shelves of meat and jugs of milk to find what she came down here for. A smile grows on her face when Y/N spots the large box near the back of the cold room. Carefully she makes her way to it and kneels in front of the chest.

The creak of its hinges tells her that it probably hasn't been open for a few months, but she still digs through the mountain of paper-wrapped packages to find one labeled with the kind of chocolate she needs. Once found, Y/N climbs to her feet and closes the box behind her, rushing towards the stairs as she knows she's running on limited time. 

Closing the large doors behind her, Y/N happily welcomes the familiar heat of the kitchen's ovens. Pushing past the rushing elves, Y/N is happy to find her counter space barren of the Elvenking, and she quickly starts to unwrap the bars of chocolate.

Chewing her lip in concentration, Y/N begins to break the thin bars into small bite-sized chunks before she dumps the first handful into the untouched cookie dough. Quickly folding in the chocolate chunks, a tired sigh escapes Y/N as large hands slide across her waist to pull her against a tall lithe form.

"Hello, Meleth nin," Y/N hums as she continues to fold the chunks in. "Thranduil."

"What are you making?" Thranduil asks, gently resting his chin in the crook of Y/N's neck. 

"It matters not, you're not getting a taste."

"Who are you to deny your king?" He hums before pressing a soft kiss to her neck. Another sigh leaves Y/N as she slowly melts against Thranduil. 

"I know what you are doing," she says as Thranduil continues to pepper her neck with small warm kisses, nearly dropping the dough-covered wooden spoon when Thranduil finds a sweet spot.

"Can I not shower my love with affections?" Thranduil murmurs before moving her tunic to place a long kiss on Y/N's shoulder, slowly her eyes fall shut as Thranduil's grip grows slightly tighter. 

"I…umm, HEY WAIT," Y/N's eyes flicker open as she feels one of Thranduil's hands snake away, quickly glancing down she finds his hand reaching out to grab the bowl. Immediately Y/N smacks his hand, which earns her an undignified yelp from the king.

"You dare strike your king," Thranduil murmurs as he immediately backs away, Y/N turns on her heel and rolls her eyes. "I should have you thrown in the dungeons."

"You still would not get a taste of the dough Thranduil," Y/N says as she crosses her arms against her chest, glaring at Thranduil as he rubs his hand. "You know nobody can eat this until it's cooked."

"How boring," Thranduil hums as he slowly closes the distance between them. Y/N's hands fly up to press against his chest in an attempt to hold him back, his long untied hair tickles the back of her hands, but Thranduil instead gently grabs her wrists and presses a small kiss to her palm.

"T-this will not w-work on me Me-meleth," Y/N stammers as he presses another kiss to the inside of her wrist. "I ju-just wish not to see you sick, e-especially when we h-have such important g-guests over."

"It would be such a shame if the king were to fall ill and those important guests would have to be sent home," Thranduil grins as he drops her hands, his hands wrapping around Y/N's waist again only to press her against the countertop. "Besides, you should know that I have never once gotten sick from eating raw cookie dough, I highly doubt I will now."

"B-but."

"Hush Meleth nin," Thranduil hums before pressing a soft kiss to Y/N's lips. "It's just a small taste." He adds before kissing her again, this time Y/N's hands move to grip his soft tunic. 

"Fine," she says breathlessly, not entirely sure if the heat on her face is from the ovens or Thranduil. "But only if you promise it's little."

"You have my word, Y/N," he grins before letting her step aside. "And as your gracious king, I will allow you to have a small taste as well."

Y/N rolls her eyes before a small smile of her own spreads across her face. "You forget who made it," she says, watching Thranduil use one of the yet-to-be-added chocolate chunks as a spoon to scoop a small amount of the dough out of the bowl. "I can have as much as I want."

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[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Day 22 — Halloween Prank

Pairing || Roommate!Bucky x Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 700

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Angst — mention of weapons and murder, horror vibes.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Flufftober Masterlist

Tonight was yours and Bucky’s weekly movie night marathon, and since it was October, you were, of course, going to watch something spooky.

“Ok, are you ready for some spooks?” Bucky asked as he sat the popcorn down on the coffee table.

“Oh, yes, I am.”

He found his place beside you on the sofa with all the soft and fluffy blankets, pressing play once you both settled down comfortably.

For the first 20 minutes of the movie, everything was fine until suddenly, all the power went out in the house, making you shriek in fear.

“Well, that’s not fucking scary at all.” Bucky chuckled nervously.

“No, why did this happen while watching a fucking scary movie, Buck?” You panicked.

“It’s probably just a circuit that’s been overloaded. Don’t worry; I’ll fix it. Just stay here. I know how much you hate the basement.

“Hurry, please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

You grabbed your phone and put the flashlight on so that you weren’t sitting in total darkness.

It’s been 10 minutes, and he still wasn’t back. Why was it taking so long? It shouldn’t be so hard to turn it back on.

Suddenly, you hear a scream that sounded like Bucky coming from the basement. In a panic, you got to your feet as you called for him.

“Bucky! Bucky! Are you alright?”

Nothing…

You called his name again, but no answer.

Worried that he may have tripped and hurt himself, you make your way to the basement door. Standing at the top of the stairs, you shined the light down to see if you saw anything.

“Please, Bucky, tell me if everything’s ok!”

Still no answer…

“I swear to fucking God, Buck, you better not be messing with me!”

Nothing…

“Alright, I’m coming down.”

You fucking hated the basement, but you had to make sure he was ok. You slowly started your descent down the stairs. The wood creaked under your steps. Your heart was pumping hard and fast in your chest.

What if someone had broken into your house and turned off all the lights on purpose to get you both down here and murder you? What if Bucky was dead? Fuck, why didn’t you bring a fucking knife with you?

When you got to the bottom of the stairs, you listened for sounds, but it was dead quiet. That made it even more terrifying.

You made your way to the circuit box, shining the light in the pitch-dark basement.

A chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something or someone was watching you.

Suddenly, you felt light breathing down your neck. Your blood turned cold, and your body stiffened up when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

This is how you fucking die. Someone had come to kill you.

You turned around and were met with a horrifying face—a face of a demon.

You screamed as they do in horror movies.

You didn’t know what to do, so you did the only thing your mind and body could think of, getting down to the ground in a fetal position. There was no point in running. You were going to die.

You suddenly hear laughter, and you immediately recognise that it's Bucky. That little fucking shit was enjoying how much he had petrified you.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Bucky? I almost had a fucking heart attack. I really thought I was gonna die. It’s not fucking funny.” You hit his shoulder. “If I had brought a knife down with me, I would have fucking stabbed you, asshole!”

He took the demon mask off, still laughing.

“Oh, you should have fucking seen yourself, doll. Absolutely priceless!”

“Shithead.” You mumbled under your breath.

He offered his hand to help you up from the ground. You looked at it in disgust for a second or two before you took it. He pulled you up and gave you a big comforting hug.

“I’m sorry, doll. But I did prank you real fucking good; you have to admit that.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Well, I love you too, silly girl.”

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

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[sweetbuckybarnes]

You Call One, They All Come Running 1/2

Summary: The Featheringtons are being robbed. Not on Penelope Featherington's watch.

Masterlist

Penelope woke up to the sound of rustling coming from downstairs, in the middle of the night. The only way Penelope knew it was the middle of row night, is because it was still dark outside with the moon and stars shining in the sky.

What on earth was going on?

She wrapped a robe around her and poked her head out the side of her door. She could see her older sister Prudence and her mother doing the same thing.

Smash!

One of Portia's precious vases went shattering to the floor.

There was someone in their home! The Featheringtons were being robbed!

Portia very nearly let out a loud gasp, but Penelope held out her hand, telling her to stop and not alert the robbers that they knew they were in the house.

Very quietly, Penelope snuck along the corridor and reached into the door on the landing which held spare blankets and sheets. As well as the late Baron Featherington's gun.

Which he had once taught his youngest daughter to use at the ripe age of seven years old.

Penelope loaded it with the remaining bullets left in the box, quietly creeping along the corridor (hearing her mother quietly ask her what on earth she was thinking, and to get back at once).

But for once in her life, Penelope paid her mother no attention, as she stood at the top of the stairs, gun in hand - she cocked the barrel, alerting the robbers.

"I am going to give you 2 seconds to get out before I shoot one or both of you," she says, there was not a single stutter or a shake in her hands as she uttered those words.

"What are you going to do, little girl?" One of the robbers asked.

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "I have a loaded gun in my hands, and you're questioning me?" She asked, raising the gun closer as if she was preparing to take a shot. "Do as I say. Get out,"

The men, more like boys, slowly took steps back towards the open door - as Penelope reminded them to drop the things they had stolen, as she took one step at a time down the steps.

Once outside, and the boys were at the bottom of the steps - the one who had asked her what she was going to do, asked her this again.

"You must have forgotten who lives across the road," she says. The taller (and smarter of the pair) turned around to look at the house across the street. "ANTHONY!" She cried.

She remembers from tea time at the Bridgerton House, the layout of the upstairs bedrooms. Where the current Lord Anthony Bridgerton and his wife slept. And with all the Bridgertons sleeping under one roof tonight, she knew it wouldn't just be Anthony coming to rescue them.

She heard her mother's gasp, hearing her youngest daughter refer to Viscount Bridgerton by his first name. But, Anthony has known Penelope since she was still in frocks.

As expected, flying out of the Bridgerton House, was Anthony quickly followed by Kate, Violet, Benedict and Colin. A coming moment later was a very tired Eloise, Francesca, Gregory and Hyacinth.

"Here's the thing with the Bridgertons," Penelope started, making her descent down the stairs, so the smallest man was eye-to-eye with the gun. "You call for one, and they all come running."

"Penelope, are you alright, darling?" Violet asked, being forced behind Benedict as pregnant Kate was pushed behind Anthony.

But, Penelope never took her eyes off the men in front of her. "I'm alright. We just need to get them off our property before I shoot one of them."

The smallest had some kind of death wish, as he laughed and said, "A girl can't shoot a gun."

"Mama, do you have a least favourite flower pot?" Before her mother could reply, Penelope took the gun off the man and shot one of the porcelain flower pots by the side of the path.

Smash!

It was obliterated, as the mud came crumbling out and the flowers fell to the floor.

"Would you like to repeat yourself, or would you like to get out of the front garden, before I do to you what I just did to the flower pot?"

It was enough to scare the pair away, and as they ran down the street were gone.

Once she knew they were gone, Penelope dropped both the gun and her facade, as she almost collapsed in on herself.

"Penelope," Violet cooed, reaching over to bring the youngest Featherington into her arms. Violet dotted on Penelope like she was her own, she always dreamed one of her boys would marry Penelope and make her an official Bridgerton rather than an honorary one. "It's alright, darling. It's over."

Over his mother's shoulder, Colin could see Penelope's face going green. "Mother..." he trailed off as Penelope pulled away from Violet, she turned her head to her mother (who hadn't moved from her spot whilst her youngest daughter shot a flower pot and all but collapsed into the arms of Violet Bridgerton).

"Mama, do you have a least favourite bush?" Penelope muttered, then waved a hand and found the nearest rose bush where her nerves got the better of her.

"Penelope," Two women hurried around the red-headed young lady. Violet and Kate Bridgerton. Despite their falling out, Eloise also came over to comfort Penelope.

Once Penelope was finished, and standing upright. She looked over at Eloise, uttering the words she had wanted to say for so long. "I'm sorry."

It was enough for Eloise to just burst into tears. They knew they would have to sit down and have a full conversation about Lady Whistledown, but when there are witnesses surrounding them, it was all Penelope could say without incriminating herself. Eloise wrapped her arms around her best friend, as they sobbed into each other's shoulders.

Violet pulled Kate away, staring up at Penelope's mother - who was still frozen solid, instead of at her youngest daughter's side, comforting her through a traumatic episode.

She looked over between Benedict, Colin and Gregory - who was staring at Penelope in different types of awe. She hopes that Colin would eventually look inside himself, to see what was fluttering in his heart before she got away.

There was so much of her Edmund she could see in Colin and so much of herself in Penelope. She just hopes it wouldn't be too late.

[firerose18991]

Stretch to Fit

Minors DNI(age in bio)

Agedup!Maki Zen'in x Fem!Reader

Info: (lesbian) smut, touch of exhibitionism, s*x toy, fingering, reader is Maki's neighbor, All parties mentioned are 18+

A/N:Y'all I'm in love with the women of jjk

Wrdcnt: 1.152

"And like I want to do it but I think I'm too *small*." You confided in Maki one late night in the dorms.

 You and her had been having a weekend celebration at Maki's new apartment after her successful mission and ended up on the topic on your sex life. You were bi but lacked experience with either gender. While Maki was very experienced. It made sense to you to express these concerns to your friend.

"Women can push babies out and you think you're too small to fit a toy." She teased.

"I tried! I just can't do it properly." You were clearly embarrassed by your inability to fit the new toy you had purchased for yourself.

"Well let's see it." Maki suggested. Which was somehow more embarrassing than not being able to fit the toy.

Nonetheless you went to your home to retrieve the toy and show her. It was, true to your statement, far too big for a beginner let alone an experienced individual.

When you took it out of the box and displayed it there was a beat of silence.

"Why did you buy it so big!" She laughed in exasperation as her hand went to her face.

"Maki don't be mean!" you squealed back at her.

She reached over for the TV remote and turned up the sound on the movie that was playing and threw it away.

"Alright whatever, lay back." She instructed as she shed her pajama top and sat only in her underwear. 

"Wha-" before you finished Maki pushed you back on the bed.

"Common you spent a lot on this thing, at least try it. Think of something that turns you on. And maybe play with yourself a bit." She pointed to your clothed body.

"In front of you?!" You said almost sitting back up only to be pushed back down by Maki.

"Nothing I haven't seen before." She gave you a wicked grin.

Regardless of the odd circumstances you followed her orders. You laid back, pulled off your pajama bottoms and searched your mind for something to get you going. Maki was the only thing on your mind at the time, it felt a bit weird to think of your friend in a sexual fantasy but it worked and soon you fingers found their way to your pussy to massage your clit. You let out a heavy breath and Maki had noticed the gathering slick around your entrance. She pushed your thigh up a bit to get a better view. Feeling her intense gaze only accelerated your descent.

"Maki?" You questioned breathlessly feeling the movement. 

"Relax." She kissed down your inner thigh.

You weren't even differentiating reality and fantasy at this point and small desperate moans started to spill out of your mouth. You continued to play with your clit, your chest was heaving. The feeling of Maki slipping a finger inside your hot pussy made your eyes roll back. She moved the single digit slowly and attempted to remind you to lower your volume to not disturb the other neighbors. A second finger was added in the same manner as the first, Maki's goal was to let your body relax and accept the intrusion. But the third finger tested your width. She spread you to her satisfaction to accommodate the toy.

"Knew you could take it. Wanna try the toy?" Maki said. She gently lead your hand from your clit to above your head.

You were barely there. Your arms were splayed above your head, legs shaking. Your clit twitched at the edge of pleasure. Maki grabbed your dildo and rifled around in her dresser for some lube. She coated it with a generous amount of lube. She also ruffled the bed sheet under your bottom to give her a better view of your hole. Your lips were puffy and she had a clear view of your entrance. She pushed the head of the toy onto your hole.

"It's mmm tight." You said feeling the stretch.

"We're gonna take it slow. You'll get used to it." Maki said holding her position with the toy. She let you experiment squeezing around the tip to your content before she began to push it in again.

This time through a more narrow part of your body. You tensed your body pushing the toy out a bit.

"I can only put it in if you want it (Y/N). Don't move okay?" She cooed at you. By this point Maki had laid herself next to you and let her hands work with the toy while she whispered and kissed your ear.

You nodded at her command and she worked the dildo back in this time past the point of comfort. You held your breath and stopped your movements but the burn didn't stop.

"Keep breathing" Making said between her kissing your neck.

"It feels really good and really bad." You breathed out. 

"I know." Maki nuzzled the side of your face "We won't get the full thing today, but…" Making reached the desk beside the bed and grabbed a pocket mirror. "Take a look."

She handed you the mirror and you held it up so that you could see yourself completely wrapped around the head of the dildo. It still wasn't comfortable but seeing it turned you on a bit more. 

"It's cute." Maki whispered. You twitched around the toy in response and turned to look at Maki.

Her eyes were opened lazily, drunk on the view of you. You pulled her chin towards you and connected your lips. The two of you stayed like that for a while. Your arousal started to grow again. You could feel Maki pull back on the toy and soon you were empty. 

"You'll finish on my fingers for today." Maki said, placing the toy down. She could tell you were already worn out and trying to push on any further wouldn't yield any results.

You were oversensitive from the previous intrusion when Maki slipped her fingers in you flinched a bit. The previous coating of lube helped tremendously and Maki worked you up slowly. You moved your hips in time with her fingers and squeezed up Maki's thigh. You worked her panties down her hips and she finished kicking them off her legs. She moved her thigh to give you better access.  

You rubbed her sensitive clit. Watching you try tour first dildo had gotten to her. The two of you rocked together on her small bed, in a messy chase of pleasure. The two of you perfectly muffled each other with your lips. You came first, your walls sucked up on Maki's fingers. You separated from the kiss gasping on her chest. You continued swirling your fingers on Maki and she followed soon after you. She laid back breathlessly on the bed. The two of you fell into a deep sleep for the rest of the night. 

-firerose(based on a true story😳)

[bestiesenpai]

Toji with a little bunny hybrid, that’s the tweet. TW: noncon that turns dubcon, forced orgasm,

Bunnies were fast, evolution had trained them to be that way. Always skittish and ready to run, a predator could come at anytime and kill them. You were no exception, running as fast as you could right now.

“L-leave me alone!” You sobbed, running through an abandoned neighborhood. Ducking in and out of alleys, there was always the feeling of that man chasing you and he wasn't far behind.

“C’mon little bunny, I have a carrot for you!” He shouted back, laughing maniacally at his own words. Doubling down on your efforts, you took an unexpected turn and lost him.

There were some old boxes behind a dumpster, and you dove right into them. Curling yourself tightly into a ball, you tried to calm your shaking breath and trembling body. Listening keenly to the world around you, it was silent.

“Caught you!” A hand dove between the boxes and grabbed the base of your ears, yanking you up and into the alleyway.

“Stop! Stop! Let me go!” Your screams were mixed with frantic sobs, your hands clawing at his to let you go. “P-please sir!” You hiccuped loudly, looking up at him with eyes clouded with tears.

“Well would you look at that! You’re pretty cute!” He says it mockingly, shaking you by the ears for effect. “You got a little tail too?”

“Stop!” You try to fight it, but he turns you around and chuckles at your little white tail. His hand gives it a sharp tug and on instinct your leg kicks back and nails him in the shin.

“Got some fight still you in, huh.” Facing you again, the man smirks widely at you. He’s truly getting a kick out of this and the scar at the corner of his mouth stretches as well.

“L-let- let me go.” Whining now, you thrash your body a few more times.

“I got someone paying me a lot of money for you and I’m not about to let that slip away. Now come here.” Easily manhandled by this burly creature, you’re held by the waist under his arm, like a limp doll.

It’s not far from where you are to where you’re going. A nondescript housing block in a poor neighborhood. The man walks past a few people in the halls and all of them avoid looking at your pleading face staring back at them. Whoever this man was made people scared.

“Home sweet home, bunny bitch.” Dropping you on the floor as soon as he kicks the door closed, the man snorts when you scramble away to the farthest wall. It’s a small studio you’re in, the kitchen not even a few feet away from your head. There’s a mattress on the floor in the corner, messy blankets and pillows strewn about.

Your eyes catch sight of the small window above the kitchen sink. It would be a tight squeeze, but if you could just push enough of your body out you could make it, even if it was a long way down.

“Hey.” Grabbing your head roughly, the man turns you to look at him. “You tryina jump out that window?”

“N-no!” Pushing him away, you feel the corded muscles of his chest under his shirt. There was a thing on his shoulder, it looked like a worm, and you’d seen it spit out weapons for him.

“Think about leaving this place, I’ll cut off one of your feet. They’re good luck, aren’t they?”

“No!” You shout again, tucking your feet under yourself. With a sick laugh, the man pushes your head against the wall and leaves to the bathroom. He can hear you crying outside the door, cursing him and whoever was making him do this.

When he comes back to the main room, your cries immediately stop. You clam up, simultaneously avoiding his gaze and watching him. It’s cute to watch you, still amped up from adrenaline and scared.

“Say bunny, you got a name?” He asks, grabbing himself a glass of water. You took one glance at him and went back to staring at the floor. “Hey!” The man barked, kicking the wall right by your head and planting his boot on it, making you scream. “I asked you a fucking question, didn’t I?”

“I-it’s-it’s-”

“It it it it’s what?”

“(Y/N)!” Throwing your hands in front of your face, you wanted to avoid his pointed gaze. Fresh tears were falling now, dripping down your chin.

“What a cute name for a cute bunny.” He sneered. Looking down his nose at you, he grinned. “Not that it matters but my name is Toji. Toji Fushiguro.”

“Okay.” You whispered pitifully, nodding your head. The more Toji looked at you, the more he was beginning to like you. You were a cute little bunny thing, absolutely scared beyond all reason, and seeing you cower and make those little noises had him getting excited.

Taking a drink of his water, Toji poured the rest on your head. Jerking away from the stream, the water caught the back of your shirt and soaked it. Toji laughed, watching you scurry away to the other side of his room near his bed.

“Don’t like water?” He teased. The water had stained your back, making your shirt see through. Toji could see the straps of your bra plain as day, and when you lifted your shirt to try and fan it dry, he got a glimpse of your bare back as well.

What happens next is a blur. One moment, your trying to dry your shirt off, the next your face is being pushed into the edge of the mattress and your shirt hiked up your back.

“Stop!” You try to reach back and hit him but it’s no use, you don’t hit hard enough to stop him from yanking your shirt off.

“I can’t have you getting sick with that wet shirt on, little bunny. Best if we take it off.” Tojis hand that’s not holding you down takes your bra off in one go. Your hands rush to hold onto it and protect yourself and in doing so you’re nudged by his knee further onto the bed.

Your arms are crossed tightly across your chest as he flips you over and the look of determination you have makes him grin. It’s funny that you think you can stop him from doing what he wants, it truly is.

Grabbing your wrists, it takes him all of two seconds to rip your bra off and pin your arms to your sides. You’re kicking him in the chest and stomach, but Toji’s used to it. And besides, a little bunny like you doesn’t have nearly enough strength to fight off such an offending predator.

“Ya know, the guy who wants you is a real sick fuck.” He says, sitting on top of your legs and staring at your chest. “He wants to do all sorts of things with you, he told me himself.” Toji can see your eyes begin to widen slightly. “Oh yeah, little bunny, he said he was going to fuck you raw every chance he got, forcing you to take his cock whenever he wanted. He wouldn't even get you wet, just sticking it in and hoping you bleed and cry every time.”

“Stop it.”

“You know what he said he really wants to do with you?”

“I don’t wanna hear it!”

“He said he’s gonna get a group of all his friends and watch as they abuse your little holes until you pass out. Probably drug you up so you can’t run away or make any noise, too. Gonna tie you up and-”

“Stop!”

“Do you not like that? You don’t want to know what your future holds?” Toji wasn’t lying either, it was the truth. There were so many other things the two of them had discussed, much sicker than what even he was used to. “And if you get pregnant-”

“No, no!” You’d had enough. You don’t want to know anymore. “Please, I’ll do anything, don’t take me to him!”

“Anything?”

“Yes! I don’t want to go to there!” Sniffling pathetically, you finally looked him in the eye. Anything would be better than what he had described was waiting for you.

“Make me happy and I’ll see what I can do for you.” Your face falters, you know exactly what he means but you refuse to believe it.

“W-what?”

“Don’t play dumb little bunny.” Letting go of one of your hands, Toji grabs your breast roughly. “You know what I mean.” Giving your nipple a harsh squeeze, Toji smirks when your hand flies up to hold his wrist.

“I-I-”

“I’ll take what I want either way, but at least you’ll have a fighting chance.” Leaning down over you, the expanse of his chest is enough to block out the one overhead light that's on.

Unable to answer verbally, you bite your lip and nod your head. Your gaze wavers from his, dropping down to where his shirt has dipped and exposed more of his chest.

“Good girl.” Squeezing your breast a little softer this time, Toji makes his descent. Smothering you with his lips, he bites you to make your mouth open and slide his tongue in. He laps at the few drops of blood that drip out, the metallic tang mixing with your saliva.

The kiss is easily overwhelming, and you let go of his wrist to push at his face. You’re quickly running out of air, getting lightheaded as the seconds tick by. After you’re sufficiently drained does Toji break the kiss, watching the saliva drip down your face as you gasp for air.

Bumping your chin up with his head, Toji bites down on the side of your neck. Breathlessly, you squeal, smacking him in the face from the sudden pain.

“You’re such a rough little bunny, hitting me like that.” Toji coos, licking at the mark that’s quickly bruising. He doesn’t mind it, likes it actually - prey that’s still willing to fight back is the best kind.

An unintelligible whine leaves you, and he bites you again. The pain is enough to make you wriggle and every so often you hit him again when it’s too much. Every smack on his face makes Toji groan a little bit, rutting his hips against yours each time.

After your neck is sufficiently covered in the marks of his teeth, he moves to your chest and does the same thing. His messy black hair is tickling you, and you let go of his face to brush it away from you.

“Getting soft on me?” He teases, looking up at you.

“No!” You’re quick to answer. Toji laughs at that and nips at your skin one more time. Quickly capturing one of your nipples, he isn’t gentle with it, rolling it between his teeth and pressing on it too hard with his tongue.

It makes you groan, but otherwise you try to remain silent. It hurts, and there’s no reprieve from it as he switches to the other one. Your skin is littered marks, bruises you’ll feel for a long while after this.

Gasping loudly as Toji rips your bottoms off, you try to stop him from forcing your legs open.

“Thought you wanted to make me happy, bunny?”

“Not there, please!” You shake your head, legs struggling against the iron grip he has.

“Hm.” Grunting and rolling his eyes, Toji hoists your legs up behind the knee, forcing them against your chest. “Look at your little cunt.” With a cocky grin, Toji hooks your panties to the side and stares. “You’re a little wet.”

“No, no I’m not.” You shake your head again, harder this time against the mattress.

“Liar liar.” He tsks. His finger dips down to your slit, making you jump and hit your head on the wall. “Careful now bunny, don’t want you getting hurt.” Swirling his finger, Toji presents it to you. You are wet, regrettably so, and it makes shame soak you.

Screwing your eyes shut, you let out a little whine when he pushes his finger inside you. It’s thick and calloused, much bigger and more unforgiving than your own. He pumps it a few times, rubbing the pad against your spongey walls.

“I wonder...” Toji thinks out loud. His finger slows to a stop before fully withdrawing.

“Woah!” You’re pushed and pulled again until you’re laying the right way on the bed, your head pushed into the pillows and your ass up in the air. “What’re you doing?!” You shriek, trying to push yourself up to look at him. Toji is now behind you, gripping your ass in his hands.

“I just want a taste, bunny.” Spreading your ass apart, Toji spits directly on your asshole, smirking as it and your cunt clench around nothing. It drips down into the slick beginning to seep out, mixing together until they’re the one and the same.

“Ah!” Your body lurches forward when his tongue comes into contact with your cunt, and it earns you a harsh smack on the ass.

“Don’t try and run away now.” Toji speaks, his voice slightly muffled with how close he is. His tongue easily finds your clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking it.

“T-to-” It feels good, it feels good and you hate that it feels good. Your body gets hotter, and you’re fighting with yourself to not push back against him. With a firm grip on you, Toji shoves his tongue as deep as it’ll go inside you. Drawing out a long moan from you, he laps at your cunt and nearly cums from feeling your walls contract around his tongue.

Obscene slurping noises fill the room as he eats you out with a fervor, thumb finding your clit and rubbing it quickly. You soon lose the battle with yourself and begin to try and hump his face, bouncing your hips and pushing yourself into him.

“Good little bunny.” He pulls back enough to speak and then goes back in. He smacks your ass again, grinning when you yelp. The sting from his palm makes you push back even harder, practically grinding yourself on his face.

“I-I’m gonna-” You pant, overwhelmed with the pleasure that he’s forcing on you. Your senses are quickly becoming overloaded, stinging your brain and making it go foggy.

You cum with a loud cry and Toji fucks you through it, his mouth moving even faster to drink up your release. His tongue has made you an even bigger mess than before, a mix of saliva and your release smeared all over your sex.

Pulling back, Toji lets your spent body fall limply to the mattress. Your tail is twitching randomly, your legs still shaking slightly. Almost gently he coaxes you onto your back, gripping your chin to focus your attention on him.

“You don’t think we’re done, do you?”

“Huh?” The words he's saying don't make sense, but you watch him undress regardless. His body is beautifully sculpted with multiple scars and plenty of muscle. When his cock is freed from his pants, it slaps loudly against his stomach. It’s huge both in length and in thickness, waking up part of your brain in fear.

“Say ‘ahhh’.” He sticks his tongue out, forcing your mouth open with his hands. Climbing up your body, he cages you in with his knees on either side and puts the tip of his cock against your lips.

“I-I’ve never-” Your words are cut off as he pushes his cock past your teeth and into your mouth.

“Don’t bite me if you know what’s good for you.” He’s still holding your mouth open and you open it a little more so your teeth don’t graze him. The look in his eyes is enough to tell you to be careful, even if this is your first time.

Toji starts you off moderately easy, shallowly thrusting his cock into your mouth. Your tongue lays dead, unsure of what to do - or if you should do anything at all. Eventually, Toji lets go of your mouth and it stays open.

“Suck.” He commands, pushing in one of your cheeks. “Like it’s a lollipop.” You do as you’re told, hollowing your cheeks and sucking. There’s saliva pooling in your mouth and you rapidly swallow it, making Toji shiver at the feeling.

“This is gonna be your favorite candy, little bunny. The best lollipop you’ve ever had.” He says it more for himself than for you. Grabbing the side of your head, Toji thrusts a little harder into you, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag.

Your eyes fly open and look up at him, but it’s no use. He sees the pleading look in your eyes and the way tears prick your lashes, but he doesn’t stop. He does it again and you gag harder and slap his thigh.

“Remember the teeth.” He warns, and then he’s forcing your nose to brush his stomach with a tight grip on your head. There’s pitifully frantic noises coming from your throat, clicking against the tip of his cock and making him groan.

Toji lets you go, lets you get a couple proper breaths in before he does it again. You begin to cry as he fucks your throat, your mouth struggling to stay open and hollow your cheeks. Snot begins to run down your nose, mixing with your tears and saliva.

“Oh, don't be so sad.” Toji mocks, roughly wiping away your tears. “I thought you’d like this? Am I wrong?” He knows he’s wrong and watching you try to nod in agreement makes him chuckle. “Oh well.” He shrugs, pushing your face down again. Your body is actively trying to get him out, he can feel your tongue and throat and hands pushing at him.

Only when he's on the verge of cumming does Toji stop. He lets your head go and fall back onto the pillows. You’re absolutely spent, and curl up into the pillow as best you can, staining it with your tears.

You don’t try and fight him when he moves down your body again and wraps your legs around his waist. The tip of his cock slaps against your clit a few times, making you jolt but otherwise unresponsive.

“Hey bunny.” His voice is a whisper, making you turn your heavy head and look at him. “You a virgin?”

“Yeah.” Wiping your nose like a child, you expect him to say he’ll go slow. Nothing about him suggests that, and you know he won’t, but there’s still hope.

“Not anymore.” Is what he says instead. He bottoms out immediately, groaning loudly as his cock is stuffed into your cunt. The tip bumps your cervix, instantly molding your walls to fit around him.

Your shout echoes in the room. One leg unwinds from him to kick at his chest, and Toji catches your foot before it slides up and hits him in the face.

“Careful now.” Squeezing your ankle, he puts that foot on top of his shoulder and nestles even deeper inside of you. Grinding his pelvis against you, Toji looms over your face. Kissing you again, he draws out slightly.

He humps you shallowly at first, getting a feel for your body and how tight you are. He can barely pull out until you’re sucking him right back in, milking him with every stroke.

Pulling out fully, he does one full stroke and you moan into his mouth. He smiles at that, his teeth hitting against yours. He repeats the motion a few more times, building up the slapping of his hips against yours.

“Toji!” You finally say his name as you turn your head to the side and break the kiss, gasping for air again. The pounding of your heart is so loud that you’re sure he can hear it too. It’s making your ears ring, and tears are once again misting your lashes.

“Say my name like that again.” He groans, dropping his head to your neck and biting down on a mark already there. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. The foot on his shoulder slides off and rejoins along his waist.

“To-ji!” You squeal, bumping your hips up when one of his hands goes back down to rub your clit. The stimulation from his cock is already too much, making you go dizzy, and the added sensation of his calloused fingers massaging the swollen bud had your back arching high off the bed.

“Fuck yes, bunny.” Sitting up slightly, he looked down between your bodies. “You’re absolutely creaming on me.” You had no idea what that meant, but you nodded like you did. Pressing his chest against you, Toji lifted your hips up.

“Ah-ahhh, To-” Babbling like an idiot, you cum on his cock, squirting all over him. Your nails raked down his back leaving angry red trails, your body clenching up tightly.

Pulling back to look, Toji and you stare at his crotch. It’s absolutely soaked and so is the inside of your thighs. Giving your thigh a slap, Toji forces you onto your stomach and shoves a pillow under you to keep your hips up.

With your legs laying flat out behind you and Toji on top, you can’t move around too much save for gripping the blankets and pillows. His strokes are even faster in this position, using gravity and his strength to his advantage.

Toji presses his chest nearly flush with your back, one hand holding him up while the other grips your stomach to keep you up. His breathing is ragged and loud in your ear, and he rubs his face against them.

“So soft.” He mutters, and he briefly lets go of you to tug on them. His hands are sweaty and it transfers over to you, making the fur on your ears damp.

“Toji!” You gasp, rolling your head around.

“Ssshhh, shut up.” Letting go of your ears, he smacks your thigh. “You like it, I know you do.” You truly can’t think of anything at this point, whether you like what’s going on or not. Getting fucked through your second orgasm and hurtled into overstimulation, there’s not much you can do, let alone think about.

Spreading your legs a little more, Toji pulls back slightly and fucks into you as hard as he can. Your ass jiggles with the force, stinging with every slap of his skin against yours.

Desperately, his fingers find your clit again and you nearly tear the pillow underneath you.

“Toji, Toji- plea-se! Ah, I-” The words coming out of your mouth make no sense and he pays them no mind.

“Make me happy, bunny.” Toji needs to feel you cum around his cock one last time, and you’re quick to deliver. With a sharp cry, you cant your hips up and back onto him, your back bowing hard.

Feeling the impossibly tight squeeze of your cunt, he finally cums himself. His pace doesn’t falter, if anything it picks up as he fucks his seed into you. Toji doesn’t stop until he’s gone soft inside you and his hand is cramping up. Slowing down, he collapses on top of you, crushing you with his weight and enveloping you in his sweaty body.

He shifts to your side and brings you with him, making sure his cock doesn’t slip out. Nestling you on your side, he pulls your ass flush to him and feels his cum squish out.

“Mmmm, Toji-” You groan, trying to slide him out of you.

“Aht, keep me warm bunny.” He gives your thigh a tap.

“Okay.” For a minute, he’d thought you had passed out, but then you speak again. “Are you still going to give me away?”

“You made me happy, so I’m keeping you.” You grin for a moment, happy at the outcome.

“When do I get to leave?”

“Never. Why give you to that sick bastard when you’ve already got one right here?” Toji feels you jolt and he’s quick to wrap his arms around your middle so you don’t run, even if you’re too fucked out and tired to walk he doesn’t want to take any chances.

“B-but you said-”

“I never promised I would let you free. I only promised to see what I can do for you. And this is what I can do for you.” Accentuating his words with a few hard pats on your cheek, Toji grins when you let out a whine and start crying.

“Toji!” Pushing your head into the pillow, you sounded like a child who wasn't getting their way. “Please...”

“Quiet now, bunny. You need to go to sleep.” Putting his hand over your mouth, Toji took a deep breath, ready to get a few minutes of sleep as well. “We have to get to know each other more, and you’ll want plenty of rest.”

[vs-redemption]

This piece was written for my Birthday/Halloween Jeopardy event!

First Kiss (Tooru Oikawa x GN!Reader)

Requested by: @love-oikawa Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: fluff and cuteness

For such a peaceful fall evening, the nearly vacant beach seemed to be alive with sounds. The lazy ocean waves lapped rhythmically against the shore, a few crickets chirped their song somewhere off in the grass, the wood on the fire popped and crackled soothingly, and the hushed conversation and laughter from you and Tooru all blended together as the sun made its descent. The slight chill in the air had deterred most beach goers from venturing out, but you and your boyfriend had decided it was a perfect night to stargaze and make smores. It had not been long since your friendship with Tooru had blossomed into something more and the thought of doing something so nice together had filled you with a giddy excitement.

“It’s gonna burn,” you warn him while opening up the box of graham crackers and pulling the large chocolate bar from its wrapper so everything would be ready to go when the marshmallows were done. You roll your eyes when Tooru ignores you completely. He was crouched down next to the fire pit, tongue poking out in concentration with his marshmallow skewer stuck into the dancing flames.

“Tooru, it’s going to catch on…” A well timed yelp interrupts your comment as your boyfriend’s marshmallow ignites. He jerks his skewer out from the fire and blows out the flames but the damage was already done. His whole body slouches in disappointment at the sight of the marshmallow that now resembled a lump of charcoal.

“At least we know it’ll melt the chocolate,” he reasons.

“Actually it won’t,” you come over and take the skewer from his hand to pull off the ruined marshmallow with a paper towel. “The top layer is scorched but the middle is completely cool, see?” You offer to let him poke at his failed attempt and he frowns when there isn’t even a trace of heat on the gooey inside of his marshmallow. You chuckle and lean into his side.

“No pouting,” you tell him encouragingly, “that’s why I brought the whole bag with us. Here, I’ll show you.” You reach into the bag and pull out a fresh marshmallow, sticking it on the end of the skewer and going back over to the fire. You plop your bottom down on one of the log benches and hover the marshmallow to the side of the fire where a few pieces of wood had broken off and started to smolder. Slowly but surely, the outside of the marshmallow began to turn a nice shade of golden brown.

“Well, look at you,” Tooru teases, his pout from before pulling into an impressed smile. “I didn’t know I was dating a smarty pants.” He stands up to go grab another marshmallow and skewer so that he can try again. Your eyes follow him instinctively and your heart gives a little skip at the reminder that you are dating now. Sometimes it still felt like a daydream.

“Aren’t you supposed to be turning that?” His question pulls you from your musings and you realize you’d started to neglect your own marshmallow. He chuckles at the way you startle and quickly pull the skewer back to inspect the damage. “Sorry,” his big brown eyes sparkle with mischief now, “I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“You wish,” you click your tongue. “Besides, it’s fine. I just need to roast the other side now.”

“Right,” Tooru sits himself next to you on the bench, close enough so that your whole side is smooshed against his. He sticks his skewer over the embers and starts rotating his marshmallow like you’d shown him. After a few close calls where his marshmallow nearly fell off into the fire, it was time to move on to the next step.

“All right, so just put the marshmallow right on top of the chocolate,” you tell him while sandwiching it all down with the top graham cracker. With the both of you working together, you’d thought it would keep the mess down to a minimum but you were mistaken. By the end, you both end up dissolving into giggles with your fingers covered in sticky marshmallow goop.

“Believe it or not, the mess is part of the charm,” you explain once you both finally have your smores in hand. “Go ahead and try it.” Tooru brings the treat to his mouth and takes a big bite, face lighting up instantly at the taste.

“Oh wow, that’s really sweet. I like it.” He hums and then lets out a laugh when you take a bite of yours. “Uh oh, you got a little chocolate there.” He points to your cheek. “Want me to get it?” The question seemed innocent enough and you found yourself nodding your head even though it was a little embarrassing to have him wipe your face. You gasp in surprise though when he simply leans in and kisses the chocolate off you.

“Tooru!”

“Sorry!” He says in a sing-song voice that didn’t sound sorry at all. “You have some on the other side too, may I?” His eyes search yours for permission playfully.

“Yeah… sure.” He leans in and kisses the other side, leaving both your cheeks tingly from the new feeling of his mouth on your skin. Your boyfriend surprises you one last time when his thumb comes up to brush your bottom lip.

“Might be a little here too?” he grins eagerly, “it’s hard to tell in this lighting.”

“Better safe than sorry I suppose,” the words slip out before you can stop them and Tooru wastes no time in pressing his lips softly to yours for the first time. Your eyes flutter closed but it only lasts a brief moment and then he’s pulling away.

“Think I got it all,” he says softly, a pretty blush spreading over his face.

“Thanks,” you let out a little laugh while reaching out to take his hand into yours. The reassurance seems to give him a bit of confidence back.

“We should finish our smores while they’re still warm and gooey, yeah?” He asks, glad that his affection had been received so well. You nod in agreement, hesitating for just a second before replying.

“Just let me know if you need to get any more chocolate off my face, okay?” Your boyfriend’s delighted look gives you butterflies and he readily agrees, ecstatic at having an excuse to kiss you again soon.

“Of course,” he tells you resolutely. “I’ll make sure not a single spot gets past my attention.” After leaning in to give you a quick nuzzle, you both go back to munching on your smores. Even as the fading daylight allows the stars to shine through more prominently, the familiar sounds of the beach persist, including the soft laughter between you and Tooru who just use the crisp night air as a chance to snuggle up closer in the light of the fire.

[baijingting]

COMPREHENSIVE GIFFING TUTORIAL (vapoursynth + ps cc 2018) + some tips and tricks on color correction, blending and subtitles

You guys asked for it, so here we are! This is by no means the gold standard to giffing. Rather, this is simply my process and my own preferences. Take it as you will. Additionally since I use a mac some of my controls/panels may look different than what you would see for windows users.

DOWNLOADING YOUR SOURCE

This step is extremely important to the quality of your gifset. If you want high-quality gifs I would recommend giffing sources in 1080p whenever possible (especially if you’re going for larger dimensions). You may get away with 720p for smaller gifs. For kdramas, your go-to source would be dr*maday or torrents. (you can search my faq tag if you’d like to know specifics on finding and downloading torrents).

IMPORTING + PROCESSING YOUR FILES WITH VAPOURSYNTH (VS)

Please note that this tutorial does not cover basic installation and set-up of vs. If you would like to know how to download and set-up vapoursynth (it works for both mac and pc) along with some of it’s basics you can find more information at: https://hackmd.io/@nibreon/vapoursynth-book/%2F%40nibreon%2Fvapoursynth-book

Once you’ve identified what portion of your video you’d like to gif, simply drag your video file into VS. Specify the start time and duration of the clip you’d like to import. Typically you’ll be aiming for ~3-8 second clip depending on how big your gifs will be. I am very lazy when it comes to importing. The less of it I have to do, the better. Therefore, I often import clips that are 10-15 seconds long, sometimes even up to 20 seconds. I wouldn’t recommend going over 15 seconds most of the time though, because this will usually bring you over the 500 frames photoshop allows you to import at once. (when I do go over, I will sometimes import the processed VS file into PS in segments). You can also choose to import the VS output as segments if you want all your gifs on separate canvases. (I'll go into more detail on this later)

Once you’ve imported the clip into VS your screen should roughly look like this once the resizer pops up:

In the top left is where you will be applying your cropping, sharpening and denoising filters. Cropping: Keep in mind the Tumblr dimensions: 540px for full-width gifs and 268px for half size gifs, 177/178/177px for 3 gifs across. The height is completely up to your own preference. Usually I work in 540x300px. Once you edit those parameters you can drag/resize your video file to fit your new canvas. Sharpening + Denoising: You can choose to skip this if you would rather sharpen in ps. I personally do all my cropping, denoising and sharpening in vs. I use finesharp and KNML for sharpening and denoising respectively. Once you select those two filters from their drop down menus, be sure the select the checkbox as well. You should now notice 2 additional lines of code in the top right box. The line that reads: video = core.knlm.KNLMeansCL(video, 0, 6, 4, 1.2, channels="YUV") is where you will adjust your denoising parameters. You will only be adjusting those 4 numbers. I usually use: 0, 1, 0, 1.2. Now find the line that reads: video = hnw.FineSharp(video, sstr=0.22). These are your sharpening parameters. once again we’re only adjusting the number at the end. I typically use somewhere between 0.33-0.55. Depending on the quality of your source and preferences these parameters may change. 

Here is a breakdown of the KNML parameters (source: @/nibreon HackMD):

Once you have finalized your parameters, copy all the code in that top right box and paste it into your vapoursynth editor. Note: you can ‘inactivate’ certain lines of code by adding the # symbol at the start the line. That line of code will then be greyed-out. This is what your code should now look like (the highlighted section is the part I just copy and pasted):

If you would like to preview your filters and see if you need to make any adjustments, simply navigate to the top bar and select script > preview. If you like what you see, great! If not, you can adjust the parameters directly in the editor until you see a result you’re happy with. Once you’re happy you can move onto the final step in vs: processing. 

Processing: Once again, navigate to the top bar and select script > encode video. Another window should pop up. Make sure you set ‘header’ to ‘Y4M’ then click ‘start’. Patiently wait for that to finish processing. The longer your clip is and the more filters you add, the longer it will take. 

IMPORTING YOUR CLIP INTO PHOTOSHOP (PS)

Now you’re done with the vapoursynth section! Not too hard, right? I use the timeline method when I gif. To import your video file into ps navigate to file > import > video frames to layers. Here you can use the sliders to further specify what range you would like to import. Make sure the ‘make frame animation’ box is checked. To optimize smoothness of your gif, avoid checking the ‘limit to every _ frames’ box. Hit ‘OK’ and wait for the frames to import. Depending on the size of your clip, ps may notify you that you are importing a large file and it may take a long time to process, simply say ‘ok’ to this. UNLESS you get a message saying it will limit to 500 frames. This means your clips contained more than 500 frames and you should select a smaller section to avoid cutting out any critical parts. (Note: you can always go back and repeat this process to select a smaller range of frames from the same video clip until you’ve imported all the frames you need).

Timing: You can adjust the timing of your gifs before converting to timeline. Select all the frames (Navigate to the icon with the 4 bars at the bottom right of you screen. Select “select all frames”). Click the drop down next to the timing of any of the frames. Select ‘other’ and input a your preferred timing. I personally use ‘0.04′ but I've seen people use anywhere from 0.4-0.8ms. Also as a note: when you convert your gif to timeline it has a tendency to mess up your timing so even if you input 0.04 or 0.05 it won’t actually be that timing later. If you want the true frame rate you can set your timing right before saving. You can also adjust timing at the end. (see export/saving gif section for more info)

Now the next part can be tedious and for that reason I’ve created numerous actions to speed up this process. But for the sake of this tutorial I will walk you through the steps. At the bottom of your screen is your timeline. As you can see, it defaults to frames, but we want to convert this into a smart object so that all your coloring/edits are made to all of the layers. To do this: 1) Navigate to the icon with the 4 bars at the bottom right of you screen. Select “select all frames” 2) Now select all your layers in your layer panel. On mac you can use cmd + option + A as a shortcut. 3) Back to the icon with the 4 bars, select “convert to video timeline” 4) Right click on all layers (which should still all be selected) and find “convert to smart object”

(Aside: Actions) actions are SUPER helpful to streamlining your giffing process. you can find actions people have made available on resource blogs like itsphotoshop OR you can choose to make your own custom actions. To do this, all you need to do is locate your action panel. Then from the controls at the bottom of the panel select the one that looks like a sheet of paper to “create a new action” Once you’ve named it and hit ‘ok’ the record icon should now be red. PS will now basically ‘record’ whatever you do. To stop recording hit the square icon. Now whenever you want ps to execute the same set of steps you just did, you can locate the action you just made and ‘play’ it by selecting the triangle icon. I highly recommend making an action for the steps I just outlined above to convert your gif into a smart object timeline. It will make your process much faster and more painless. 

COLORING

Now the fun part! I focus on emphasizing the colors already present in the video source or getting rid of some less-than desirable overtones when I color. It gives the gif a natural look, but makes everything pop a little more. We will be working with selective color, curves, levels, and brightness/contrast mostly. This is the original gif I will be using to demonstrate coloring:

Curves: I always start with curves. The first curve layer I use to set a desirable black point. To do this, locate the top dropper icon from the curves panel and select the darkest point of your image. This will set that section to “true black” Feel free to play around with this until you find a desirable outcome. Now add another curves layer. This one we will be using to adjust the brightness/contrast. First, I always start off with ‘auto’ and see where that takes me. If you like the outcome, great! If you don’t play around with the different curve points until you get an outcome you like. 

Selective Color: This adjustment layer will be your best friend. For me, I will typically work with reds, yellows, and black. If the source has a lot of blue/cyan I will use those too. Basically look at your source and determine which base colors you’d like to emphasize/alter. For blacks I usually up the black by +1-5 depending on the source. For reds, it also depends on the source. But I will typically either decrease cyan (to make red stand out more) or increase cyan (to make the red not look so overexposed). You want to be careful here. Overexposing the red can make your skin tones look like red tomatoes! And for my content base, where most of the actors are of asian descent, we should be emphasizing the yellows and NOT the reds (see aside on color correction + skin tones for more info). After altering the reds to my liking, I do the same process for the yellows. To bring back natural skin tones and color, you will likely want to darken the yellows, expose them a bit more and maybe even  up the yellow slider. A common rule of thumb: if you want to make any of the colors less exposed, increase the cyan. If you want to increase exposure on any of the colors, decrease the cyan. If you want a color to appear more strongly or prominently, increase the black. The magentas and yellows I use more to adjust hues. You can add multiple selective color layers to further emphasize your changes. 

Levels: Now we will work on the lighting some more. This creates more contrast and depth to your gif, often making them look ‘crisper’ To emphasize the bright parts, move the right-hand slider to the left. The emphasize the dark parts, move the left-hand slider to the right. You may also choose to move the middle slider to adjust more neutral lighting. Do so until you find a setting to your liking. 

Miscellaneous: Depending on your gif you may need to play with other adjustment layers. Some other ones I often use are the brightness/contrast and exposure to adjust lighting and add more dimension to the gif. For additional color correction I use color balance and to a lesser extent hue/saturation and vibrance. 

(Aside: Color correction + skin tones): We are anti-whitewashing and anti-redwashing when it comes to asian media. Like I mentioned earlier, natural asian skin tones have yellow undertones, not red/pink. Therefore when you’re bringing in color you should be mindful of this delicate balance. Adding more red does NOT equal un-whiteashing. Be VERY careful how you balance the yellows with selective color/hues/color balance.

^^ Here is an example of what I mean by overexposing the reds. Poor seungho is looking as sunburnt as a cherry tomato. Note: if your original source is already overexposed with red, fix it! You can do this by applying the same basic principles I explained earlier. Try upping the cyan on the reds in selective color, or shifting the color balance to favor cyan over red with the color balance adjustment layer. You may also choose to favor the yellow over blue.

^^ Now this is straight-up whitewashing. This is what happens when you are not careful with your correction of yellow. I’m not saying you can’t touch the yellow slider or get rid of some yellow form the overall image (because sometimes it is very much needed), but you should be very mindful how your corrections can affect skin tones. If you decide to decrease saturation of yellows, or decrease yellow in the selective color section of the reds, do so with caution. If your reds are looking too pink, add some yellow in the red selective color, up the yellow and black of the yellow selective color.

^^ If you hit that happy medium, you can emphasize the natural skin tones without overexposure. Here the underlying tones are very much still in the yellow range. 

(Aside: Blending): I will very briefly talk about how to blend two gifs together. First make sure you’ve imported both your gifs into ps and converted them into the timeline format. On one of the gifs, right click the gif layer in the layer panel > duplicate layer > select the canvas of the gif you’d like to blend the gif with. On the canvas you just copied your second gif to, you can now drag the two layers around the on the canvas to get your desired positioning. On the top gif apply a layer mask. This can be found in your layers panel at the bottom, and is indicated by the white rectangle with the circle. Next, make sure you select the mask in the layer panel (it will show up as a white rectangle on the layer you applied the mask). Grab your paintbrush tool and make sure your color is set to black. Now you can effectively ‘erase’ the part of the top gif you don’t want to show anymore. I recommend setting your brush hardness to 0% to get a smoother transition. You can also play with the opacity settings. If you want to add back in a part you erased, just switch to a white paintbrush and you will be able to undo what you had just ‘erased’ with the black. When you merge the gifs, they will play the same number of frames. This means your blended gif length is limited by the gif with the fewer number of frames. You can move around your timeline layer and shorten the included portion by dragging either end of the timeline layer in until you get both gifs to play the parts you want.

CAPTIONS/SUBTITLES

I often get asked about my subtitle font/styling settings. Personally I find the best fonts for subtitles are calibri and arial. I use calibri with the following settings: 12-14px, bold italic plus faux bold, 1px black stroke (optional: drop shadow set to ‘multiply’ at around 85% opacity), and tracking (VA) set to 75. If you would like your subtitles to fade-in or fade-out you can apply the ‘fade effect’. Locate the b/w square icon in your timeline panel. Select fade and drag it onto your text layer in your timeline. You can then right click on the wedge shape to adjust your fade duration. I usually use 0.35s. If you drag and drop the effect towards the beginning of your text you can get the fade-in effect. To get the fade-out, simply drag and drop your fade towards the end of your text layer.

SAVING/EXPORTING YOUR GIF

We’ve reached the final stretch! If you need to adjust your frame rate timing: you will need to revert your timeline to frames. To do this: 1) Navigate to the icon of 4 bars at the right of your timeline panel. Select convert frames > flatten frames into clips. 2) Navigate to the icon of 4 bars at the right of your timeline panel. Select convert frames > convert to frame animation > when promoted hit ’ok’. If at this point you see more than one frame in your timeline panel, delete the frames until only one is left. In the example below I would delete the first frame by hitting the trash icon from the timeline panel.

If there is only one frame, leave it as is. 3) Navigate to the icon of 4 bars at the right of your timeline panel. Select ‘make frames from layers’ You will most likely need to delete the first frame in your timeline panel (it won’t have your coloring). Sometimes ps adds in some ‘blank’ frames as well, delete those too. Now you can adjust your timing. 

Once your timing is set: When you’re saving your gif, just keep in mind it must be under 10mb. Navigate to file > export > save for web. When it comes to your save settings I typically use either selective diffusion or adaptive diffusion. I also also occasionally use adaptive pattern (I find this is best for dark scenes without a lot of contrast). Set colors to 256, quality to bicubic and looping options to forever. If you want to preview your gif, hit the preview button in the bottom left. Otherwise, go ahead a hit ‘save’ and you’re DONE!

ADDITIONAL RESOURCES

Feel free to check out my ‘ps things’ tag for more photoshop stuff/mini tutorials. Additionally @/nibreon and the hackmd site I linked previously are your best resources for vs questions. If you would like to see my giffing process in motion feel free to check out this video. It’s sped up but you can slow down the playback. Additionally be sure to check out resource blogs like itsphotoshop for more helpful tutorials and resources.

If you reached the end of this beast, kudos to you! I hope this helps and never be afraid to reach out with any questions.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, violence and abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of death [other warning to be added throughout series]

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader’s husband brings home an unexpected houseguest.

Note: So i just worked my ass off and retail is always crummy this time of year so I’m gonna escape with some sweet Arvin Russell writing. 

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The spring air was warm as the breeze swept over the low fence and fluttered the tails of shirts hung across the line. You grabbed two pegs and a swathe of damp fabric and stretched it over the cord, pinning it in place before moving along. Your old machine had taken much of the day to wrangle and had even received a kick. It was decades old, an heirloom inherited with the old country house and much more clunky than the modern machines. Not many in the county had anything more than the old wringing machines.

Roy would be home soon. Your husband hated to hear about how the wringer jammed so easily and the fear that your fingers might again be bruised by the mechanism. Even so, you were certain it wouldn't last for much longer. It's rattles foretold its imminent fate. You'd be back to a bucket and board soon enough.

As you hung the last piece, Roy's oil stained overalls, you heard the putter of the truck. You picked up the woven basket and headed for the gate along the front of the house. You waved as he pulled up, tires loudly mulching the dirt, and you stopped short as he came to a jagged halt. He wasn't alone and you were stillwearing your grimy and wet apron.

Roy pushed his door open so roughly it creaked. He stepped out and gave an exaggerated stretch as he glanced across the roof of the truck and slammed the door.

"Don't forget your bag, boy," he growled at the other man as he felt around the chest pocket of his overall for his smokes. "Looks like you're too late for laundry day."

"Roy?" You unclasped the gate and opened it as Roy stomped across the gravel and lit up a smoke, "How was your day?" 

You peeked over at the other man who climbed out of the truck. He wore similar overall, though they were unbuttoned over a greasy white shirt, and he was shorter and thinner than your husband. He reached back into the truck and grabbed a long military style duffel before he swung the door shut. 

Your husband grumbled and blew out a mouthful of smoke.

"We have a guest?" You asked as you stayed by the gate.

"Arvin Russell," Roy flicked the ash away, "You remember I was talkin' 'bout renting out the attic."

"Um, yes," you blinked as the other man, Arvin, neared meekly. Roy had mentioned the idea once when he noticed the way his truck had started rumbling.  "It'll need a good dusting."

"So you better get on that." Roy coughed. "What's for dinner?"

"Meatloaf," you answered and turned back to smile at the other man as he bowed his head and passed through the gate.

"Hello, missus," he said kindly, "Nice to meet ya. I work with your husband, says you're a fine cook."

"The one thing she can do," Roy muttered as he ambled up the steps of the porch and dropped onto the bench sat by the window. "You go grab us some bottles."

You closed the gate behind Arvin but he waited for you to precede him before going any further. He was surprisingly polite for any man who worked at the shop. 

"Yes, Roy," you hid your disappointment. Those nights when Roy started drinking before dinner rarely ended well.

"Can I just have some water?" Arvin asked as he followed you onto the porch, "Please. I didn't get to my lunch today so I'm not really feeling like drinking."

"Of course," you said, "If you're hungry, I got a box of crackers and some cheese I can bring out."

"Thank you but I'd hate to spoil dinner." Arvin sat on the end of the bench and kept his bag between his feet as Roy threw away his cigarette. "Thank you both for having me."

You nodded and quickly skirted inside. You were a bit confounded by Roy's sudden burst of generosity. He rarely did anything for anyone else. To think he'd offer a room to a coworker was unlike him.

You went to the old fridge, marked with dings and dents, and wiggled the handle until it opened. You remember the day you Pa had broken the handle, he'd always promised to fix it but had only managed to make it worse. You missed him. It was easy to miss him in this old place. His wedding present to you and Roy. It was too tragic he hadn't lived long enough to see you enjoy it.

You grabbed a brown bottle then filled a tall glass from the tap. You went back to the door and opened it with your elbow. You handed Roy his beer as Arvin stood to accept his glass of water.

"Thank you," he chimed but your husband only popped the cap of his beer with his teeth and glared out at the yard.

"Well dinner is in the oven still. I'll just be finishing that before I get started in the attic." You told Roy but he only shrugged and gulped down the beer. "Let me know if you boys need anything." 

"Peace and quiet," Roy snarled. "S'all I need right now."

Arvin gave a sympathetic look and traced his thumb along the side of the glass. You hid your discomfort and retreated inside. That was just Roy. He was always in a mood after work. An hour or two and he would mellow out. The beer would surely help.

🚬

When you finished supper, you called the men in to eat. Roy started his second beer as Arvin remained quiet and awkward at the table. You didn’t say much as you pondered the work still left to be done. You had to tidy the attic before the night ended and collect the laundry from the line. You would also have to clear the table and clean up the mess of your cooking.

You stood before the men finished. You scraped your untouched scraps into the dish of leftovers and placed the glass lid on it. You scoured the loaf pan as you listened to the clink of cutlery on plates and set the pots on the drying rack. You returned to the men to gather their empty dishes and Arvin thank you as Roy belched and stood with a satisfied but gruff rumble.

Arvin watched you as you tried to ignore the pity in his face. You knew your husband wasn’t the most loving or vocal, but he was yours and he worked hard. You turned away and went back to the kitchen. You finished washing the last of the glassware and dried it before stacking it in the cupboards.

As you passed through the dining room, Arvin was gone and you could hear the buzz of the radio from the front room. Roy always liked to listen to the game after he ate. Sometimes you sat with him and crocheted or read but not often.

You tiptoed upstairs and found the footstool hidden in the bottom of the linen closet. You climbed onto the step and reached up to unhook the cord of the attic door. It dangled down and you pulled it carefully as you backed off the stool and kicked it away. The steps unfolded and you barely stepped out of the way of their descent as the heavy wood thumped against the carpet.

It had been a while since you ventured up to the third floor. There was only dust and forgotten memories up there. You slowly made your way up and sneezed as you reached the top. A wall of boxes blocked the window along the front of the house and shrouded furniture sat beneath grimy sheets.

You started with the boxes. You took one and peeked under the flaps. Some old oil lamps hoarded by your father from his own parents. You awkwardly made your way back down to the second floor and placed the box at the bottom. When you had them all down, you’d take them into your father’s old room to store. Perhaps you should sort through them at last and get rid of the unneeded artifacts.

You were six boxes deep when you were startled by a shadow in the open hatch. You exclaimed and nearly dropped your armful as Arvin poked his head through and peered over at you.

“Arvin,” you gasped. “My apologies, this place is a mess.”

“Not so bad,” he climbed up and stood, “You need some help?”

“Don’t be silly, I can manage--”

“You’re right. It’s a mess,” he insisted, “A lot for just one person.”

You stared at him and gave a small smile. He was funny. He neared you and reached out for the box in your arms.

“How about this, I’ll stay on the ladder and you bring the boxes to me and I’ll take ‘em down.” He took the box gently from you, “It’ll be much quicker.”

You looked into his soft brown eyes and let him. He backed away and cautiously made his way down the ladder. You turned and grabbed another box and he reappeared through the hatch. You handed him the box of figurines and he retreated once more. You carried on and soon, the boxes were stacked high on the lower floor.

“Alright,” Arvin climbed up and dusted off his hands, “Already lookin’ better.”

He neared the old sofa against the wall and pulled off the sheet. He coughed as the dust was kicked up and it soon turned into a chuck as he waved away the cloud.

“We can keep this here,” he draped the sheet over his arm and pulled the next from the tall lamp with the glass shade, “Move this into the corner,” he continued on and peeked under a sheet before unveiling the tall shelf, “If you don’t mind, of course?”

“Not at all. We should’ve sold all this years ago.” You teetered on your heels anxiously. Every piece reminded you of your father. “There’s a cot folded up over there,” you pointed behind a hidden end table, “But that wouldn’t be much better than the floor.”

“It’ll do,” he assured you and turned to sit on the sofa. He bounced as he hugged the sheets. “This isn’t too bad.”

“Well, there’s a bed down in my pa’s room. We could try to bring it up tomorrow. If you don’t mind offerin’ a little more help.” You wrung your hands. You were never very good with strangers and Roy’s friends often weren’t much nicer than him. You were tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I think I could do that,” he stood and wiggled his nose as a sneeze threatened. “You got a broom? Maybe a duster?”

“You’ve done enough, I can finish it--”

“Ma’am, I’m a guest in your home. I might be paying for the room but it doesn’t make you my maid,” he intoned, “You’ve already done more than enough. I don’t think I’ve eaten so well since before my momma died.”

“Oh, I’m… sorry,” you uttered. “I--”

“Now, don’t be sorry,” he cooed, “Nothing to be sorry for. I assume you lost your daddy if his bed is free.” 

You nodded dumbly and blinked.

“Well, at least let me take these,” you reached for the sheets and he hesitated before he let you take them. You struggled to keep them balled up and hugged them against your hip as you turned back to the hatch. “I’ll bring you the broom.”

“Thank you,” he said behind you and you looked back at him as you took your first step down the ladder, “You let me know when you bring that washin’ in and I’ll help you fold.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I want to. Makes me feel a little better about stealin’ your attic,” he assured you.

You looked down and slowly descended. As your feet met the carpet, you sighed and looked around at the boxes. You couldn’t remember a time Roy had ever offered to help with anything. If it wasn’t to do with his truck, he couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger.

🚬

You were completely drained by the time you retired to your bedroom. You were still on edge, your exhaustion laced with anxiety as you unbuttoned your blouse. You sat on the side of the bed as you slowly undressed. It was still absurd to you that another person, barely more than a stranger, was living in your home. In your father’s house.

It changed your whole routine. You couldn’t help but go over it in your mind. That meant three plates, not two, for every meal, that meant the laundry basket would fill up quicker, than meant the shoes tracks in the front entrance would need to be mopped up more often. That mean you had to act like your marriage was truly happy.

You pulled on your night gown, the short sleeves tickled your upper arms as you dropped your clothes in the wicker basket on your chest of drawers. A framed photo of your parents’ wedding day sat beside it and on the shelf beside the door, was your own wedding portrait.

Three years wasn’t so long but it felt an eternity. You couldn’t quite recall when Roy had changed. When the beer had started to taint his kisses and his words. When all pretense fell away and only the man remained. The brutish country boy with the churlish demeanour.

Maybe the first day of your marriage. Maybe. You were so nervous on your wedding night that it angered him. You’d mend your dress one day, hopefully when you had a daughter of your own so you had something to promise her. 

Or maybe a week after the wedding, when you broke the vase gifted to you upon your nuptials and it shattered across the floor. Roy’s booming voice and his boulder-like fists.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, a month in when the world went black with his hand on your throat and you awoke alone on the kitchen floor.

Maybe a year when your finger was dislocated by a slammed door. Maybe the next year when you couldn’t sit for the pain in your hips. Maybe the one after when he’d grown impatient for a child only to find your sheets soaked in blood. 

Maybe it had always been there, from the first date, but you’d simply refused to accept it. Not you. Not Roy. You loved him and he loved you, didn’t he?

The door slammed and shook you from your sombre recollections. You looked up as Roy stumbled in. He snickered darkly as your eyes met his and his legs wobbled beneath him drunkenly.

You slid off the bed and turned to plant your elbows on the mattress. A prayer before bed, as your grandmother had taught you. Another sarcastic chuckle aimed in your direction as Roy’s stained white tee missed the basket.

“On your knees for me already,” he sat beside your elbow as he unbuckled his belt.

You couldn’t focus on your inner recitation. You could smell the alcohol on him, the stench of oil and his sweat. You clutched your hands together and cleared your throat.

“Why didn’t you call me?” You asked calmly.

He frowned and stood to shove his pants past his knees. He kicked the jeans away and fell heavily back to the bed.

“Call you?” He sneered.

“To let me know about our guest?” You wondered innocently. “I could’ve readied for him better.”

“Workin’,” he growled. “I don’t got time to be callin’ you with my head under an engine. Fuckin’ Christ.”

“There isn’t a bed in the attic.” You said.

“So. Arv’s small enough. I’ve seen him sleep on a stool.” Roy spat. 

You hid your chagrin behind your hands as you pressed them to your lips.

“Why’d you bring him?”

Roy’s nostrils flared and a fist formed atop his hairy thigh. “I gotta explain to you?” He snapped. “He paid me outright and he been sleepin’ at the motel since he started.”

“Mr. Dace has a room--”

“Mr. Dace lives twice as far as we do. I did the kid a favour. He saved my ass his first day.” Roy stomped his foot. “Woulda burned down the whole garage if he hadn’t caught that leak.”

“Kid? He that young?”

“Couple years younger than you, I s’pose, maybe less,” Roy rubbed his cheeks and shook his head, “What’s it matter to you?”

“Curious,” you said quietly and closed your eyes as you rested your chin on your knuckles.

Roy was quiet. He let out a long, thick breath and the bed jolted beneath your arms.

“You finished bleeding?” He asked gruffly. 

“I’m praying, Roy,” you insisted.

“How long’s it take you? I’m sure God’s heard it all before.”

“Don’t talk like that, R--”

You squeaked as he grabbed your wrist and wrenched your arms away. He rose and lifted you with him. Always a strong man, he moved you like a puppet to his will. He took your other wrist and pulled you against him.

“You know, I don’t even care if you’re bleeding.” He turned you and shoved you onto the bed. You cried out as you bounced so hard you bit your tongue.

“Roy, please, I’m tired,” you stared up at him fearfully as you pushed yourself up on your elbows. You could taste blood.

“You’re my wife. You do your duty.” He pushed his underwear down as his cock twitched. “You got energy to wash all them clothes, you can lay on your back for your husband.”

“Roy--”

“Shut up!” He shouted. “We got company. I don’t need ya keepin’ him up with your whining.”

You closed your eyes as he fell onto you. He crushed you beneath him as he tugged your skirt up harshly. He pushed your legs apart with his knee and you braced yourself for his painful intrusion. Even so long into the marriage, you had never grown used to his touch.

He retracted his hand and began to touch himself. He stroked his cock as he swore under his breath.

“Fuck. Come on.” He moved his hand quicker and rubbed his soft tip against your folds. “Open up.” 

He forced his dick against your entrance and tried to push inside. He was still half-flaccid and struggled to get further than an inch. You balled your hands and sank your head into the mattress as he thrust. He fell out of you, softer than before.

You opened your eyes sat up on his knees and looked down at his limp dick. He gritted his teeth as you watched him.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he punched your stomach as hard as he could and you wheezed as you folded in on yourself. “Can’t even keep me hard.”

“Roy--” You hissed. “I’m s--”

“One more word and you’ll be real sorry.” He pushed himself from between your legs, making certain to pinch you as he did.

He stood and turned. You barely moved out of the way before he sprawled over his side of the mattress. You held your stomach, a painful pressure lodge there, and rolled to the edge of the bed. You reached over and pulled the chain on the lamp. 

As you laid back, Roy caught the back of your neck and kept you in a painful limbo.

“On the floor,” he jarred your neck as he tried to throw you off the bed. “Like the dog you are.”

You slid off the side and landed sharply on your knees. You stifled a shameful sob and lowered yourself down onto your side. You bent your knees and cushioned your head on one arm. You stared into the void beneath the bed as the frame groaned beneath Roy’s heavy body.

“Goddamn bitch,” he uttered groggily. “Fuckin’--”

His words turned to snores as he finally drowned in his bellyful of beer. You listened to his jagged, drunken breaths as you shivered on the cold wood. You closed your eyes and recalled the first night you’d slept on the floor. You’d been in much poorer shape and it had been the dead of winter.

At least, you didn’t have to sleep next to him.

[mercurial-madhouse]

@oldbay-on-apples asked, I wish you would write a fic where characters of your choice are spies and trying to escape a facility with the blueprints they need!

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

See my point of view (As someone staring back at you)

“We’re in, Haz.” 

Louis’s voice transmits through his earpiece. The tech relies on sound vibrations, picking up the resonance of Louis’s vocal cords so that, even though they can all hear him clearly, on Louis’s end his words are below a whisper. 

“Surprisingly, I can see that.” Harry scans the multiple video feeds on the screen before him. Louis, Picklock, top left; Niall, Ammunition, bottom left; Liam, Data Encryption, bottom right. 

Top right: blank. Where his feed should be. 

Louis’s face pops into Liam’s camera long enough for him to wiggle his eyebrows. All black looks so damn good on him. “How’m I supposed to know you weren’t mid-kip, old man?”

Harry tears his gaze away from Louis before his attention is compromised. Louis’s only two years older than he is and he’s been arse over tit for the footie player-turned-spy since they met years ago. But feelings cloud judgement, a potentially fatal threat too dangerous to dare in their line of work. He eyes the silver-tipped black cane leaning against the table next to him.

Current mobility status: severely limited.

“Promised Payno he wouldn’t have to babysit you alone,” he mutters without missing a beat.

Louis screws his features up then disappears from Liam’s screen, clearly shoved aside. Light glints off the camera implanted in the thin film of the eye-contact he’s wearing that’s allowing Harry to see their views. The nanotech Liam used to create it and their earpieces is too valuable to risk discovery by foreign governments. Any indication of compromise they must destroy the only lifeline Harry has to them.

Frustration tenses his muscles and tweaks the bulging disc between vertebrae L4 and L5. A lance of pain shoots up his spine. He raps a button on the keyboard. A fourth feed appears, the hijacked surveillance camera on the front gate with views of the Russian security guard manning the video booth.

Niall’s already detached from the other two. He oversees the perimeter. In complete silence he’s setting up remote-controlled explosives, the failsafe to create chaos should the other two need help during the extraction. Liam and Louis are silent. Harry watches like a video game without a controller as they scale the rear wall and infiltrate the building through the massive heating duct. 

As rogue operatives, their only link back to MI6 is a non-existent papertrail: an agent simply known as Z (probably because Q was already taken). The most dangerous jobs go to them, the ones MI6 can’t chance having connected back to the British government if the four of them are compromised on a mission.

If the window of opportunity to sneak into the Kremlin for a specific set of blueprints only known as TMH-11 weren’t closing fast, they might have waited for Harry to heal. All it’d taken was an unfortunate twist on their last mission in Bulgaria and he’d slipped a disc. He’s certain a gunshot to the back would be less painful. Louis had barely kept him on his feet to get to safety.

The silver world surrounding Louis and Liam steadies. For a few seconds Harry can see them both as they look at each other.

Liam glances at his watch. He’s spent months logging the patrols for the building and knows the timing by memory. 

“Six minutes, Tommo. No more.”

Louis nods. A breath, then they lift the ceiling grate aside. Liam finds leverage, planting his feet, gloved hands tight around the rope as Louis hovers towards the ground. The red laser lines criss-crossing the entire area as thin as trip-wires. 

Harry releases a breath when Louis’s feet touch down soundlessly, just before the tiny metal boxes all stacked like mailroom slots at a post office. The grid’s so small Louis’s got to keep his knees locked together. Even then, barely a centimetre separates him from discovery.

He works efficiently on the lock for box TMH-11, tools so tiny they make his slim fingers look even more slender. The miniscule flame of the blowtorch matches the alarm lasers in width. 

“Two minutes, eight seconds,” Liam says, tone even.

Plenty of time.

Louis is silent. He doesn’t answer when he’s concentrating. All of them know he’s heard.

The flame flares once. Louis cuts it off, pocketing the tools. He eases the door open, peering inside.

Motion on the screen catches Harry’s attention. The security guard’s feet have landed flat, squinting at the video monitor in front of him. His hand hovers over a call button, lips moving.

“Possible indeterminate error,” Harry warns. “Lou, get out now.”

Louis slides a cylinder from the box. At least a metre long, he slips it up to Liam.

“I’ve got movement,” Niall reports.

“Tommo, now,” Liam hisses.

Louis clicks the box closed. There’s no time to get the lock back into place. Footsteps fuzz through Liam and Louis’s earpieces. Pain surges through Harry’s back as he lurches forward, staring at Louis’s feed. Louis’s gaze whips over his shoulder towards the closed door of the vault.

“Lou, get out!”

Liam appears on Louis’s screen. Louis’s silent, but whatever he says to Liam with a look has Liam shaking his head.

Harry’s seen this too many times in his nightmares. They know their orders. They know what’s most important. “Lou, you still have time. Go.”

“Get that cache to Niall,” Louis whispers. He detaches the line from his back.

“Lou!” Harry shouts, in time with Liam. “Niall, code one. On my command.”

“Copy this.”

“Payno, go.” In Louis’s feed, Liam looks too far away. It’s not the distance that’s the enemy, it’s getting Louis through the grid without tripping the alarm. It’s precision that can’t be done quickly. The moment they trip the alarm the whole building goes on lockdown, cutting Liam off too.

Liam curses. Louis’s face vanishes in his screen, replaced by the cord Liam’s hauling up, then the descent of darkness as he closes the vent.

Heart racing, Harry splits his attention between Liam and Louis, anxiously tracking Liam’s progress back through the building. Louis doesn’t move except to press his forehead against the wall of metal, completely still. He can’t risk alerting the guards or sounding the alarm before Liam’s far enough out.

“Lou, he’s on the roof.” Harry doesn’t need to whisper, but his voice comes out soft anyway. “It’s only four metres to the door.”

If anyone can get out, it’s Louis. He’s as expert at slipping through tight spaces as he is at picking every lock. Harry refuses to believe he can’t find a way through these.

Louis pushes out a slow breath, loud enough for Harry to hear through the wire. “I won’t make it, Haz. You know I can’t risk it.”

Fuck. Fuck. This possibility isn’t a surprise. They’ve got hundreds of contingency plans and this one is no different. Once Liam successfully drops the cache with Niall, he’ll go back for Louis. 

“Payno, report.”

“Three minutes.”

Three minutes to get to Niall and back. A dangerous gamble.

“Think you could go a mite faster there, Payno?” Louis mutters, voice light despite the tightness.

Another man has joined the security guard. They’re pointing at one of the feeds. Harry’s heart thuds as dread washes over him, pulse pumping in his jugular. 

“Damnit, I should be—”

“Right where the fuck you are,” Louis cuts him off, an edge to his words. They soften. Something indescribable leaks into his tone and slicks Harry’s palms with sweat. “Right where you need to be, Haz.”

“I need to be with you.” The words are out before Harry can stop them, but it’s the truth. If Harry were there this wouldn’t be an issue. He should be getting Louis out while Liam runs the line. They operate in pairs for a reason.

Louis hasn’t moved at all. His control is impressive. Off the clock he’s all manic energy. On a job every move he makes is precise and carefully thought out. None of them could possibly fill his role.

“One minute,” Liam reports. He’s scaling to the roof.

Footsteps echo through the corridor behind Louis. Russian voices, too far for the mic to pick up, so the internal translator won’t work. They stop outside the door. The bleeps of a keypad.

A torpedo of terror surges into Harry’s chest and ruptures.

“Hazza—”

“Niall, now! Liam, go!”

“Haz, I’m sorry... I’m in love with you.”

Niall’s explosives detonate. Louis’s feed goes dark. Harry’s heart gets caught in the blast.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*< 

(Ok, I tried so hard to make this a drabble of 500 words. Then 1k. It wasn’t meant to be. This is the story the characters told me. I hope it fits the bill, love! I do enjoy me some spy AUs even though this is my first to write! Love my action and adventure!)

Have something else you’d like to see me write? Go wild! Pairing, situation, feeling… Send me an ask (anon or not) completing the sentence ‘I wish you’d write a fic where…’

Superpowers Drabble

Invisible Drabble

Only one bed (H-POV)

Only one bed (L-POV)

ABO new-omega!Louis drabble that became a fic on AO3.

[songbirdstyles]

candy girl.

summary: you and harry have a picnic in your backyard.

warnings: a whole lot of fluff + smut

word count: 3.3k

song inspo.: candy girl - frankie valli & the four seasons

There’s something sweeter about the spring months - more than any other season, the air is soft and light like the skirts of the sundresses that you can finally pull out of the box you’d shoved them in the autumn prior. It’s the perfect mix of heat with no humidity, where sitting outside on a checkered picnic blanket for more than ten minutes doesn’t have you dripping with sweat, and you can lean into your boyfriend’s grasp without feeling your skin stick together uncomfortably.

It’s always been your favorite season and it’s a sentiment you share with Harry. The two of you seem to shine in the springtime and you’re in the thick of it, now. Your garden smells of flowers and perfume - the French cologne you’d bought him for Valentine’s day generously spritzed on his neck, even if you’re the only one to enjoy it - and you lean back against the blanket, supporting yourself with one arm while your other hand runs down your leg to brush off the stray piece of grass decorating your exposed thigh. Your dress had risen up when you’d perched yourself on the picnic blanket Harry had set up and, really, who were you to fix it?

Harry is as gorgeous as the season itself when you glance up at him, clutching one of the caprese sandwiches you two had made together earlier in the day. He’s not looking at you - eyes glazing over the wide expanse of your backyard, a haven of the seclusion and privacy that you’d both yearned for when you’d picked this house. It’s always been nice, feeling like you’re in your own little world with the love of your life even when you’re sitting in your yard, but especially now that the world has come to a standstill - you try to take advantage of your home as much as possible.

Picnics are a must. They’re one of your favourite things to do and plan, slicing watermelon and packing cookies into a basket only to carry it five feet into your backyard, grass between your bare toes, and take it all back out. There’s something distinctly more intimate about dining in nature than at the kitchen table and you’ll never stop appreciating it.

“What’re y’lookin’ at, doll?” Harry’s raspy voice brings you back to life. You’d been too caught up in gazing at him, you suppose, to focus on much else - but it’s a sacrifice you’re all too willing to make. “Don’t tell me I’ve got vinegar on m’face.”

You smile softly, leaning forward just enough that you can reach up to wipe off the spot of vinegar that, sure enough, had been gracing the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t notice it until you mentioned it, actually, but you did.”

Harry hums softly, puckering his lips to press against your thumb as you drag the digit lightly across the soft expanse of his bottom lip. “So jus’ lookin’ at m’pretty face, then, weren’t you.”

Yes, truthfully, and in a garden filled with flowers that the two of you obsess over taking care of, you think it’s fair to admit that he’s the prettiest sight to see out here. So you merely nod, shifting closer to him so he can land his palm on your exposed thigh, fingertips brushing against the flowing fabric of the dress you’d picked out just for today. In any other context you’d see his hand placement as a scheme but perhaps it’s the overwhelming innocence of your picnic - you just can’t see it as that. “I was,” you confess, voice soft as you rest your hand overtop of his, and Harry squeezes your thigh softly, nails gently digging into your skin with small, crescent shaped indents that will surely fade within minutes. “I can’t help it, you know. Just so beautiful.”

You can practically hear his teasing demeanor softening at your gentle admission, and it grows louder as your boyfriend leans down to press an open mouthed kiss to your cheek, then another closer to the incline of your jawline. “Could’ve said the same ‘bout you, my love,” he murmurs, fingers stroking soothing circles into your inner thigh. “Y’make me crazy, y’know.”

“Do I?”

Your teasing tilt has Harry’s eyebrows raising, and he moves his head from the side of your face to stare at you as though you’d personally affronted him. The absence of his lips on your cheek is almost overwhelming enough to make you miss what he says - almost. “Y’better. Reckon m’doing somethin’ wrong if y’don’t know what a fool I am for you.”

You hum softly - the tune to some song that had been playing earlier, while you and Harry packed your picnic basket, and the name of which you can’t remember - and shift closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder, cheek brushing against the soft material of his flowy shirt. You’re not sure how to articulate exactly how you’re feeling and perhaps Harry senses that, because he ends the brief moment of silence settling between you by sighing, “Been searchin’ this whole world t’find someone like you. Y’make me as happy as can be. I’d give y’the clothes off m’back, if you’d let me.”

“Well, I do like that shirt,” you tell him, relishing in his breathy chuckle, resting your chin on his shoulder so you can glance into his eyes. They’re filled with adoration and another emotion you can’t quite decipher, but it’s as soft and sweet as the springtime around you and you love to see it. “Gonna love you ‘till the end of time.”

“I hope that’s a promise.”

“It is,” you assure Harry, and you take just a second to watch the slow smile that stretches across his face before leaning up to land your lips against his. He tastes sweet and when you run your fingers through his curls they feel sweet and when he squeezes your thigh the feeling of his nails against your skin feels sweet - in fact, you’re not sure any moment between you two has been quite so sweet and, God, you could live in this feeling. You practically already do, you suppose. 

You’re more than happy to spend the rest of the evening like this, lips never leaving Harry’s, but after a moment your boyfriend pulls away, hand stroking up and down the expanse of your thigh, inadvertently sliding your dress further and further up your legs. “I hate t’ruin this moment,” he declares, reaching for the picnic basket just as you swing your legs onto his lap, sliding closer to him to make the position more comfortable, “but I remember slicin’ an’ packin’ watermelon for dessert - can’t let that go t’waste, now can we.”

He’s already pulling out the glass tupperware container of watermelon before you have time to point out that, actually, you had sliced and packed the fruit, but you suppose it doesn’t matter, anyway. He unsnaps the lid and rests the cool container on your calves, picking up one of the two pieces you’d packed before resting the lid back on its counterpart and resting it back on the blanket.

“Don’t I get one?” you question, reaching back for the container without waiting for a response. 

Harry tuts softly before hooking his arm around your waist, successfully preventing you from grabbing the tupperware, and you settle back into your spot half on top of him with little fret. “Doll,” he begins, in a cloying tone that sounds strangely deceiving in a way you can’t quite place your finger on, “sharing is caring, y’know.”

Yes, he does sound slightly scheming, but the arch of watermelon he’s raising to your mouth is delicious enough to allow you to overlook it. So you open your mouth for him, stick your tongue out just for show, and you take a generous bite of the center of the piece once it’s close enough. A droplet of watermelon juice trickles down your lip and you can feel its cool descent beginning down your chin as Harry pulls the watermelon back from your mouth, and before you can raise your wrist to wipe at it, he’s leaning in - lips pressed to your chin, slightly parted so you can feel his tongue flicking against the juice. It’s a sensation that has your stomach flipping and your arm, hooked around his neck, tightens just enough to hold his head to your face a mere second longer than necessary.

But, God - when he pulls away, you wish you’d held him a second longer. He is a devil, you suppose, and you can see it flashing in his eyes. Harry knows what he does to you and you can’t resist him, now, watching him take a bite of watermelon as though he’s a painting, merely meant for you to observe. But he likes the attention - you can tell - and he puts on a show for you, sinking his teeth into the erubescent flesh of the fruit, tongue running over the melon in a way that’s so sensual you’d nearly consider it pornographic.

“Jesus,” you breathe, bringing your thumb up to wipe at the juice beginning to trickle from the corner of his mouth. The liquid is ruby red on your finger and you bring it up to your mouth, tongue swiping against your thumb to taste the candied flavour. “God, Harry -”

But whatever else you’d been meaning to say (which was, truthfully, not much at all) gets lost in the spring air around you as Harry lowers his lips to yours. Instinctually your hand digs back up into his curls, fingers tugging at the strands - he tastes like the fruit you’d been sharing, with just a hint of the caprese sandwiches you’d had, and it’s twice as delicious as sinking your teeth into either. And his hand on your thigh is sliding further upwards, past the fabric of your dress that’s risen so much it hardly serves its purpose to cover you up, and his other hand still holds the watermelon, juices surely coating his fingers and you can think of a few other things you’d rather see his hand dripping with -

And, just like that, you’re moaning into his mouth, eyes rolling back at just the mere thought. You pull away for just a second and your full intent is to slam your lips back against his like your life depends on it but before you can even lean back in, Harry’s raising your shared piece of watermelon up to your mouth, and your teeth sink into it with a fervor you hadn’t intended on showing or even simply possessing -

Digging your lips into the piece just enough has the juice coating your lips and beginning to trickle down your chin and that’s exactly what you’d wanted, as he leans back in, lips attaching to yours once more. His breathing is picking up and his hand slides up your thigh around to your ass, cupping it and pulling you closer to him, fingers hooking into the waistband of your lace panties, stroking into the smooth skin they’d been protecting.

“Harry -” and that’s the only word you can mutter against his lips before he pulls away, even if you’re still yearning for his taste. “Please, Harry - driving me mad, here.”

His soft humming is beyond peaceful in a moment that’s become anything but, and he takes another bite of watermelon - God, takes his time chewing and swallowing and lapping up the liquid on his lips before you can lean in to capture it - before murmuring, “Tell me what y’want.”

What do you want? Everything, you suppose - in the simplest terms you want everything he can give you and more. You want him to fuck you into the picnic blanket, dragging that piece of watermelon up and down your body and licking up the juice it leaves behind. And you want to lie down in front of him with his dick in your mouth, giving him the pleasure he so deserves, and you want to ride him slowly, confessing to him how much you love him because, even in the thick of a moment like this, it’s always in the forefront of your mind.

But - right now, what you really want is currently clutching a piece of watermelon.

“Give me your fingers, Har,” in a faint, whiny plea, already reaching to wrap your fingers around his wrist to force him to comply - but you know he wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. “Need to feel them inside of me.”

Harry’s throaty groan is the only response you need, and his ring-clad hand that’s groping your ass slides back around to the front of your body. On instinct you part your legs wider for him - one still resting on his lap and the other dropping onto the checkered picnic blanket beneath you, and you can feel the gentle prickle of freshly cut grass poking you through the fabric. 

He’s a tease and you figure that’ll never change - fingers trail up and down your inner thighs, dancing across the damp part of your panties that’s proof of exactly how much you need him and yet he doesn’t budge. Doesn’t slip his fingers into the cunt that’s aching for him because he loves to keep you on edge and, sometimes, you love it too. And, right now, you appreciate it because it’s as good a time as any to reach down, grab Harry’s wrist still clutching the half eaten piece of watermelon, and you tug it up to your mouth to take another bite of the dessert you’d been assaulting for the past ten minutes -

You’d no sooner swallow the chunk of watermelon than Harry’s dragging you in for another kiss, lips slotting together slow and smooth, like he’s trying to memorize the taste on your tongue. You don’t tell him that there’s no need to memorize it - you’ll be here for the rest of time - but you appreciate it, parting your lips for him to slip his tongue into your mouth as his fingers slide into the front of your panties.

A soft gasp escapes your throat and you pull your face from Harry’s, eyes shifting downwards - you’re tempted to pull your dress up so you can see his hand, prominent through your panties, but there’s something better about not being able to. Secretive, perhaps, or simply more intimate, but it’s enough to have you resist the urge to tug the fabric up and watch him at work.

Harry’s digits begin soft and slow, simply dragging up and down your dripping folds, pressure so soft you could trick yourself into thinking nothing’s happening - but then his fingers are sinking into your cunt with absolutely no hesitation. Merely feeling the coldness of his ring against your folds has you tossing your head back with a cry that rings through your backyard, high pitched and needy, and when you glance back at Harry there’s a slow smirk spreading across his face - a cockiness that should, perhaps, bother you, but it only sends another gush of arousal straight to the apex of your thighs.

“Oh, God -” your voice is barely above a breath but it’s quiet enough in your yard to sound like a scream. He’s breathing heavy and so are you but that’s it and it’s a testament, perhaps, to either the absolute seclusion of your backyard that feels like a dream right now, or the overall silence of the world - that the sound of people on the streets or at your neighbors’ houses isn’t interrupting your moment. And, whichever it is, you’re savoring it. “Feels so good, Har.”

The slice of watermelon falls from Harry’s grasp onto your calf, resting on his lap, and his now-unoccupied hand grips your outer thigh that’s fallen off his lap, groping the skin just hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll surely admire tomorrow morning. Finger shaped bruises that you can’t help but press on, just to remember exactly how spectacular it feels right now, but even when they’ve faded, he can’t resist marking you up again - and he only proves it by leaning down, lapping a thin stripe down your jawline before landing his lips on the column of your throat. Harry’s thumb, buried in your panties, shifts to work at your clit, his other digits still pumping in and out of you - slowly, just enough to keep you needing more, curling upwards with every thrust to swipe that spot inside of you that has your back arching upwards and your hips rolling to meet his fingers.

“C’mon, sweet girl,” Harry’s whispering, pressing quiet kisses below your ear as he eggs you on, and you whimper softly as his thumb presses circles into your clit. “Need t’hear you - tell me how good it feels.”

For how much he’s pleasing you, you figure it’s only right to give into his praise kink - “Feels so good,” you moan, hips rocking into Harry’s hand, arm still hooked around his neck and holding him close to you. “I love you so much - oh, god - makin’ me feel so good.”

“I love you,” he breathes, nuzzling his forehead ever so slightly into the side of your face and you turn your head to capture his lips once more, slipping your tongue into his mouth to try and reassert any semblance of dominance that you can find but he’s got you wrapped around his finger, and you both know it. Fingers curl in your pussy and his thumb working circles on your clit picks up speed until your head feels like it’s fucking spinning, the slow pace he’d had before long forgotten - the sound of your wetness is nearly embarrassingly loud but not louder than your desperate sobs, crying and begging for something you can’t quite pinpoint. 

For a moment, that’s all there is - your moans landing right into his mouth because, no matter what, you can’t bear to take your lips off of his - his fingers, digging near-painfully into your thigh in a way that you can’t bring yourself to dislike - so on the verge of cumming that it seems like anything could tip you over the edge -

And anything ends up being Harry, reaching down to grab the slice of watermelon dripping onto your calf, raising it up to his mouth to take the final bite of the fruit before letting the rind fall onto the picnic blanket beneath you. The mere sight of the juices dripping down his face has you clenching around his fingers but then he leans in, lips pressing to yours again, and when your mouth parts for him there’s a gush of the juice that flows into your mouth and -

With one final cry, your head drops back, the sticky liquid coating your tongue and your throat as you swallow it before the band snaps, pressure building in the pit of your stomach finally unleashing with the force of your orgasm raining through your body. It’s a euphoric feeling you’ll never get old of and Harry knows just how to work you through it, lazily pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt as your arousal coats his fingers and your body nearly convulses overtop of him, eyes rolling back until all you can see is the bright blue sky spanning above you.

It’s hard to feel anything but peace afterwards but you can’t help frowning as Harry pulls his fingers out of your cunt, glistening in the sunlight with your cum. And he stares down at his digits like it’s a fucking dessert, or a delicacy, before raising them to his mouth and wrapping his lips around his fingertips in a way that already has you ready for a part two -

“God,” Harry remarks, pulling his mouth off of his fingers with a soft pop that makes your stomach turn - “Taste sweeter than the watermelon, doll - like candy -”

But you’re not focusing on him, even when you part your lips to taste your arousal on his fingers - all you can see is the second piece of watermelon, encased in the glass tupperware like a goddamn piece of art, ready for whatever you have planned for it - and you have a lot.

[katwritessometimes]

A masquerade themed collab piece for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten Citrus Dome Server

Read the other entries here!

Warnings/tags: Smut, Super slight exhibitionism/voyeurism (threat of being caught)

6k ish words (shout out to my lovely @teddieh for keeping me on track and helping me thirst over the discount Pikachu we all love lol)

Read it on Ao3

"Masquerade balls were something you’d only ever heard about in movies. You couldn’t deny the prospect was intriguing; donning your most elegant attire, confidence boosted by your anonymity, and the intoxication brought on by such a magical atmosphere. You and your fellow partygoers were almost doomed to desire, inhibitions washed away long before the wine and spirits started to flow. 

The mystery, majesty, and potential for mischief were far too enticing to resist. 

So, when you received an invitation to Midnight’s Masquerade, you didn’t think twice about accepting…"

Midnight spoke to you often about the extravagant galas she threw at least once a month. The hero had taken a liking to you ever since you started dating one of the up and coming hero’s at her agency Chargebolt. You couldn't deny the idea of attending one of her grand parties sounded appealing. Though you shrank back just as hard at the idea of being surrounded by Japan's top heroes. You’d met a handful of Denki’s pro friends, you'd even hung out with them fairly regularly, namely Sero sometimes Kirishima, and Hitoshi. But you knew he’d gone to school with a lot of Japan’s biggest names. 

A soft hum leaves your lips as you shuffle through your mail, an elegant black envelope catching your eye. The matted black paper standing out from the normal sea of white, a delicate swirling blue pattern accenting the black. You drop the rest of the mail, attention immediately captured by the expensive and intricate-looking paper peeling back the pretty wax seal. 

From: Mistress Midnight 

You are cordially invited to Midnight's Masquerade. Join me and all the other guests in a night full of fun, mischief, and anonymity. 

A black-tie event, Don't forget your mask~

You pause for a moment eyeballing the card, this was the first time Midnight sent you an official invitation. Normally offering you an invitation verbally. You smiled, she must have finally gotten tired of you trying to talk your way out of her invites in the moment. Before you could give it much thought you check off attending in the appropriate little box and tuck the rsvp card in the little mail-back envelope already provided. You smile at the Hero Midnight themed postage stamp dropping the card off by your keys so as to not to forget to mail it before moving on with your day. 

You spend the next few weeks searching for the perfect dress, Kaminari reassuring you that nothing you could pick would be too much for one of Midnights parties. Still, you were a little hesitant to buy anything too insane. When you did finally come across the perfect dress the choice is easy scooping it up quickly with a wide smile on your face. 

Three days before the gala Denki saunters into your shared bedroom with a shit-eating grin on his face. You raise your eyebrow at him as you dry your hair, fresh out of the shower in your favorite fluffy robe. Eyes immediately focusing on Denki who was clearly hiding something behind his back. 

"Whatcha got there Kami?" You humm as your blond counterpart holds out a small not so elegantly wrapped box waving it at you. You laugh tossing the towel you’d dried your hair with to the side before crossing the distance towards Denki. 

"Oh come on now Sunshine, it wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told ya what it was now would it?" Kaminari teases. You roll your eyes at him adjusting your bathrobe before taking the small box from him. You give him a playfully suspicious squint before tearing at the paper as Kaminari fully closes the gap between you. A warm strong arm settles around your waist as Kaminari presses himself against you. You relax into his hold absent-mindedly accept a kiss from him as you unwrap the gift fully. 

Heat flashes through you as you get a peek at the present, finally understanding why Denki had walked in with the shit-eating grin on his face. You hear Kaminari chuckle as he leans in again, nuzzling at your cheek with his nose, his hot breath ghosting over your still slightly wet skin. You shudder pulling away from him a little to look at the small box in your hand. “Is this?” You mumble as your boyfriend’s hand begins to worm its way into the robe you’re wearing. Warm callous fingers exploring the soft plush flesh hiding underneath the soft fabric. 

“I just thought.” Denki stars leaning back down towards you again. “We could have a little fun at the masquerade.” he hums lips brushing your collar bone. You stare at the toy through the transparent section of the packaging, light purple in color in a distinct U shape. One end of the toy had a rounded end while the other had a more flat textured end. Kaminari nips at your neck before pulling away from you, pushing the bathrobe off your shoulders exposing you to him. The cool air of the bedroom hits you all at once, your skin erupting into gooseflesh and your nipples slowly pebbling. Kaminari takes the toy from you, the ever mischievous smile on his face as he pulls it out of its packaging. 

Kaminari holds the toy in one hand, the other coming down slowly to brush against your steadily warming cheeks. He hums as his hand trails down your neck, over your collarbone, and between your breasts before tumbling at your pert nipples. He chuckles as you whimper at the contact, continuing his decent warm callus fingers trailing down to your stomach before finally finding perch on your hip. 

Denki lifts the toy up so that it is at eye level with you before speaking. “This end.” He says almost in a sing-songy voice thumbing at the rounded portion of the U shaped toy. The hand perched on your hip continues its descent down your body until his fingers are parting your folds. You shudder at the feeling, already worked up from his previous exploration of your body. You whine as he dips a tick warm finger into your aching core. “Goes inside of you here.” Kaminari’s voice is deep as he pumps his finger into you a few times. You squirm furrowing your eyebrows in frustration as he teases you. 

“And this flat textured end.” Kaminari moves from the rounded end of the toy to the other flat textured end. The finger playing with your pussy leaving your warmth and you half whine half moan out his name in protest. Only to quiet again as Kaminari runs the finger now slick with your juices through your lips and up to your clit, pressing against the bundle of nerves in soft gentle circles. “Gets to stay nice and snug right here, pressed up against that pretty little clit of yours.” You moan at the stimulation, pressing yourself against him as he plays with you. Denki smiles, discarding the toy on the nearest surface before pressing a kiss to your lips. You whine into the kiss and Denki chuckles against your lips, his warmth leaves you all at once as he pulls away a smirk on his face. You’re left needy and pouting staring at the back of Denki's head as he walks over to the bedroom closet. 

"Hey, hey no no get back here" you chirp once you settle yourself a little, watching your boyfriend put the toy away and shrugging off his jacket. 

"Awe come on sunshine, where's your sense of dramatic build-up." Denki laughs leaning on the dresser, yellow eyes taking in your form. Naked bare, just for him and only him to indulge in, his gaze warms you up all over again despite the cold of the room.

"Dramatic build my ass, you came home got me all worked up. You'd be such a whiny bitch about it if I'd done that to you" You know you're being childish crossing your arms over your chest, even a small stomp of your foot for dramatic effect. The goofy smile on Denki's face never wavers, but you see it in the way his eyes turn from a bright yellow to deep honey gold. He’s in front of you in three long strides, his hand enveloping your face large fingers giving your cheeks a firm but gentle squeeze. 

"Well Sunshine, I was going to play with you later after I'd washed off the day. But if you wanna keep mouthing off" Denki punctuates the last bit with a kiss to your nose. "You'll get nothing tonight, and I might not even go through with what I had planned for the party" His tone is firm but teasing and you definitely hold his gaze. He quirks an eyebrow at you still smiling, no real hint of disappointment with your bratty attitude on his face. You know you can keep mouthing off, get him to press you into the mattress, and fuck you just how you like. But you can tell when Denki is planning something, and his favorite form of punishment is denial. So you cave in with a sigh averting your eyes and resting the weight of your head against his grip with a dramatic sigh. Knowing that if you behave tonight you'll get to take part in whatever he's scheming for the next day. 

“Good girl” Denki chuckles leaning in to kiss you fully on the lips, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it lightly as he pulls away. Denki leaves you there a soft chuckle coming from him as he heads into the bathroom to wash off the day. You can't help the frustrated huff that leaves you.  

You’re in bed when he comes out of the shower, spreading your legs for him in invitation when he spots you. Lust filled golden eyes rack over your body as you present yourself for him. Kaminari is on you in a flash, warm callous hands gripping your thighs harshly as he crawls up to your core. Large tongue lapping at your pussy, his fingers finding their way to your clit as he licks up your juices. Happy praise and teasing words spill from his lips as he eats you, keeping you panting and on edge all night denying you every time you’re near release until you're nothing but a blubbering crying mess beneath him.  

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

You squirm in the seat of the limo Midnight sent for you, fiddling with the intricate mask on your face in anticipation. You can feel the rounded end of the toy snugly inside of you, the flat textured end pressed up against your clit comfortably. Kaminari had devised a game to make the night more interesting, vibrator hot or cold he called it with a stupid smug grin on his face. You’d tested it out earlier that day, the insertable end stretching you nicely and when Kaminari activated the vibrating with his quirk it was strong but nice and quiet. Kaminari assured you no one would be able to hear the toy, but you would be lying if you said you didn't get a little bit of a thrill at the idea of possibly being caught.

Kaminari goes ahead of you to the masquerade the day of, parting ways before getting a chance to see your dress and sends you a text just as the limo you’re in pulls into the venue. 

Kami: Don't forget, the stronger the vibration the closer you are. I'm already set up, ready when you are sunshine. 

You shift your legs in anticipation at his text, a smile dancing on your lips. A soft sigh leaves you as you step out of the limo, taking a second to steady your nerves before heading into the venue. Briefly, you wondered if Midnight always pulled out all the stops like this. The entrance leads to a grand staircase, a gentleman taking your coat, and asking if you'd like your arrival to be announced. You thank him but decline before descending the staircase down to the main ballroom. Soft fairy lights and sheer blue fabrics draped over the banister as you make your way down the stairs to the main hub of the party.  

A massive chandelier hangs up high illuminating the ballroom, bathing everything in a warm glow. There was already a healthy crowd of people mingling, everyone dressed in their most elegant outfits for the night faces adorned with equally intricate masks. Midnight had a clear black and blue color scheme going, intricate black flowers decorated the walls and some of the tables, accented by various shades of blue flowers. 

You take a breath smoothing out your dress before searching the crowd for a familiar head of blond hair. You figured you’d take a strategic approach to finding Denki turning your attention first to the back corners of the ballroom eyes searching for familiar blond hair. A smile taking over your face as the toy buried in your cunt begins to vibrate gently indicating you'd started off in the right direction. 

Despite your nerves at the beginning about not knowing anyone, this game of hot and cold you were playing with Denki made things much more bearable. You didn’t feel obligated to make idle chit chat with other random partygoers. Instead focused on finding your lovely boyfriend, the anxieties of having to socialize with strangers melting away. You head towards a door, the toy buried deep in your pussy speeding up significantly and you have to pause mid-step. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, bracing yourself against the door. You smile, pushing to open the door, certain Denki would be on the other side. “Found you!” the words come out playful tapering off in a soft moan. 

You furrow your eyebrows when you realize the room is empty, it's some sort of small lounge, maybe a changing room for when there were performers in the venue. Vanity mirrors with soft lights run the length of one of the walls, a counter just underneath lined with chairs. A coat rack hanging in the back end of the room and a large fainting couch off to one side, another full-length mirror lining the opposite wall. You pout, the room was clearly empty despite the steady strong vibrations of the toy. With a sigh you close the door, leaning your back against it a little and you squeeze your thighs together. You didn’t think the toy would be much of a problem, the insert wasn't too bad. However, the portion that was snug against your clit providing steady simulation against the sensitive bundle of nerves was really starting to get to you. With a shaky sigh, you steady yourself and head off to see if you can find your favorite blond. 

An hour and a half into the party you're dripping wet as you sit at the bar. You'd started your game with Denki twenty minutes into the party. Responding to the speed and his signals in an attempt to find your tease of a boyfriend. Though he was having none of it, the vibration peaking as you got closer sending shivers through you every time you finally caught a glimpse of the blond. Only to lose him in the crowd when the toy’s stimulation became too much, freezing you in your spot in an attempt to keep your composure. Denki disappearing while you’re distracted prolonging the game. You let out another frustrated sigh as the bartender refills your drink. Doing your best to squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to find some semblance of relief, Denki never lets the toy be consistent enough to allow you to find release. Edging you on and then turning the thing off just as your pleasure is about to spill over. 

“I'm so happy you decided to come!” Midnight's voice snaps you out of your thoughts coming over to you. The ever-elegant woman is wearing a beautiful blue and black themed mask and gown, taking a spot next to you with a sly smile on her face. You smile back at her complimenting her dress and she waves her hand at you in dismissal. 

“I saw Denki earlier with a shit-eating grin on his face but didn't see you. I wasn't sure if you were here at all.” You hum doing your best to pay attention but the toy deep inside of you started to vibrate intensely again, your walls fluttering as you clench around it. You try your best to hide the heat in your face and the tremble of your lips as the intensity of the toy continues to increase. Midnight chuckles resting her chin in her hand as she watches you, a sly grin on her face.

“I take it you're enjoying the gift Denki got you?” You choke on your drink at Midnight’s blunt words, sputtering a no as your face becomes incredibly heated. “Oh don't bother denying it, so what model did he end up going with?” Midnight leans closer to you the smirk on her face turned into a full-blown shit-eating grin. “Front and center, or center and back?” Midnight wiggles her eyebrows at you suggestively as you choke on your words trying your best to assure her it's not like that. “Little minx, I knew Pikachu was a freak, but I'm surprised you play along with him.”  You groan unable to concentrate on anything as the toy begins to vibrate with the most intensity all night. You lay your head down in your arms on the counter, half-embarrassed by Midnight's words and half unable to function with the steady warmth pooling in your belly. You hear Midnight chuckle patting you softly on the back followed by the click of her heels as she walks away. Leaving you to pool in your embarrassment, upset that her words riled you up more than you’d already been despite the light tingle of embarrassment. 

"Aren't you a pretty little thing." Kaminari's voice sends a chill down your spine. You stifle a moan sitting up and leaning into his warmth on instinct. Practically coming undone as the vibrator maxes out in speed. "You look absolutely stunning sunshine" His hand comes to rest on your bare shoulder, a spark of electricity shoots through you. You hum, doing your best to focus on his words as a steady pulsing being again against your clit.

 “Den-” You can barely get your lover's name out as another spark that you know stems from Denki’s quirk running through you. 

"Such a good girl, you've been holding on so well sunshine.” You let out a whimper and suddenly the toy goes completely still inside of you. You finally get the chance to turn your head looking up at your boyfriend for the first time that night. Any sort of sexual tension that’d been building over the night dissolves as you see his masquerade mask. You spiral into a giggle as your eyes meet lust-filled golden ones. You can’t focus on that though, all you can concentrate on is Denki’s mask as you try your best to stop your giggles. It’s vaguely mouse-shaped, black with golden details on it which on its own would be fine. The thing that pulled laughter from your lips was the awkwardly shaped snout that protrudes from the center of the mask golden whiskers coming out from where his cheeks would be. 

“Really out of all the things you could have picked this is what you went with?” you chuckle reaching out to touch the whiskers on his mask as Denki pulls you out of your chair. 

“I thought it was cool.” Denki pouts and you can't help yourself as you lean in for a kiss, the snout on his mask squishing against your own nose. Denki sighs pulling you towards the dance floor. You can't help the smile that takes over your face as he leads you into a slow waltz, a warm hand settling on the small of your back. You let Denki pull you in close, laying your head on his chest slowly swaying to the slow song together. Denki humming along with the music leaning his head against yours as you dance together. 

You pull away from each other as the song ends, a joke about never expecting him to dance so slowly on the tip of your tongue but it melts away when your eyes land on his ugly mask again. You choke on your laugh, Denki lets out a snarl, a spark from his quirk flows through you, the vibrator inside of you springs to life. You bury your face into Denki’s chest muffling the moan that escapes you. “Not so funny when you can’t think straight huh sunshine?” Denki teases his grip on your waist tightening as he leads you off the dance floor. You pull away from him scrunching up your face in frustration as he smirks down at you. His usually bright yellow eyes blown out with lust turning them into that beautiful honey-gold color you loved so much. 

“Need you” you mumble tugging on his arm with a pout. 

“Someone's eager isn't she?” Denki teases letting you lead him along towards the back end of the venue. “Where are we going, sunshine?” you ignore him finding the room you’d first discovered earlier that night. “Sneaky thing, are you that impatient for me to fuck you?” A pleasant electric buzz spreads from where his hand is against the small of your back sending a shiver up your spine as you make your way into the still empty room. 

Denki has you up on the counter within a breath of stepping into the dimly lit room. He’s on you then leaning down to kiss along your exposed collar bone. The whiskers on his mask tickling your cheeks, and you try your best to hold back a laugh at the sensation. Denki rolls his eyes as your snorts turn into a bubbly laugh. The snout on his mask twisted awkwardly and you can't help but laugh even harder. 

"Awe come on Sunshine I'm trying to be romantic here" Denki whines a half-hearted pout on his lips. You try your best to stifle your laugh but can't help yourself. You reach out for Denki’s mask pulling it over his face and tossing it to the side. Denki beams up at you the dopey smile you love so much adorning his face as he helps you take your mask off as well. 

“You did so well today Sunshine” Denki hums softly nuzzling his nose against yours before leaning in for a soft kiss. You smile into the kiss, fully intending on tease Denki about his odd little rat mask some more. Those thoughts however quickly melt away as warm hands sneak their way under your dress. Callous fingers sliding up your thighs, hiking your dress up along with them. 

"Look at that you almost soaked through your dress” Denki chuckles, you whimper at his words embarrassment seeping into you. He continues to pull up the long skirt of your dress up and over your thighs before stopping holding the edge of the fabric up to your mouth. “Open” Liquid gold eyes sparkle as you open your mouth on command, taking the front end of the fabric into your mouth and out of the way. “Good girl” Denki praises a large warm hand stroking your cheek before trailing down to your chest. Denki gently pushes at your chest forcing you to lean back a little against the counter before sinking down to his knees. 

Denki presses his nose against the warmth of your thigh, trailing slow lazy kisses against your soft skin. He brings a hand up to your thigh, squeezing the plush flesh of your legs as he makes his way to your already soaked center. Denki squeezes, a gentle shock trailing from his fingers and igniting the toy. You cry out, sounds muffled by the fabric stuffed in your mouth. Denki chuckles fingers trailing the outline of the toy currently buried in your pussy through your panties. You whine as he begins to tug on it gently, your walls camping around the toy not wanting him to pull it out just yet. You huff out a muffled “no” and Denki laughs sitting back a little tugging your panties down, a simple elegant lace. He smirks tucking it into his breast pocket before turning his attention to you again. 

You hear Denki’s breath hitch as he finally turns his attention to your core. “Awe you're quivering.” he teases and you try to reach out to tug at his hair but he stops you with a tut. The toy is still vibrating as Deki slowly trails his finger around it, pressing his finger along the soft silicone. You take in a sharp breath, not expecting the extra intrusion and your chest flushes, warmth pooling in your cheeks in anticipation of where you think this could be going. Denki peaks up at you, his eyes blown with lust “What do you think sweetie, can you fit me in there too?.” your eyes widen at the thought and Denki begins to pump his finger into you the vibrations against you clit speeding up ever so slightly. 

Denki stands up to his full height then, gripping your thighs and pulling you flush against him. “Please” you whimper out through the fabric in your mouth, way too worked up after all the stimulation you’d endured all day. Denki’s teasing smirk turns soft, pulling the fabric from between your lips before leaning down all the way to kiss you soft and gentle. He picks you up with ease, the perks of dating a pro hero, and heads off in the direction of the fainting couch  in the corner.

  “You were so good for me today, played along all night, I think my baby girl deserves her reward yeah?” Denki mumbles against your lips as he carries you, you hum a “please” into the kiss. Denki settles you on the small couch, guiding you onto your hands and knees before positioning himself, his own self-control waning. He bunches up your dress in one hand, fingers exploring your dripping core, the light purple toy still buzzing away in your over-stimulated cunt. 

“I think you're more than ready don't you?” Denki hums and you feel it when he finally begins to press himself into you joining the soft silicone toy in your drenched pussy. You cry out in bliss as he finally penetrates you, a delicious stretch as he presses in deeper alongside the toy. You and Denki had played with toys together before but you'd never taken him and a toy at the same time in this way. 

A shudder runs through Denki as he finally settles fully into you, using his quirk to ease the vibrations of the toy that was now also pressed snugly against his cock. “Fuck” he huffs out leaning his head against your back. You giggle through your haze “Yeah it's not so easy when that thing is vibrating up a storm is it.” You tease and Denki begins snapping his hips without mercy at your retort. 

The hand not holding onto your dress comes up to grasp at your scalp pulling your hair and angling your head back allowing him to lean over against your ear while he fucks you. “Don't appreciate the snark darling.” Denki hisses in your ear before trailing open-mouthed kisses against your neck and exposed shoulder. You whine and his hand trails down from your hair to squeeze at your breasts over your dress. He manages to pull them out somehow, small pleasurable shocks running through you after every tweak and pinch of your nipples, complement of his quirk. You loved the way his electricity ran through you, a pleasant buzz that always felt intimate somehow since it was his quirk. 

“You’re fucking soaked baby, taking me and the toy so well, you like being filled up like this don't you Sunshine? Stuffed nice and full with my cock?” You choke on your moans as he mumbles filth into your ear, too far gone to really respond in any way as he fucks into you. The stretch of his cock along with the toy gave you a feeling you'd never experienced before, one you knew you'd quickly want more of. 

“Look over love.” Denki’s voice comes out almost in a growl as he fucks you, a moan slipping through your lips as you try your best to focus your lust hazed eyes in an attempt to comply with his request. Your brain is mush from the intense stretch of Denki pressing into you along side the toy providing consistent stimulation against your clit. You finally manage to lift your head from where he’d previously been pressing it against the couch. Your brain short circuits at the sight, the moan that leaves your mouth is filthy. You clench around Denki and the toy harder when your eyes land on the full-length mirror sitting parallel to you and Denki by the couch. Your breath hitches at the sight, you look completely fucked out of your mind. 

Denki leans over you again, pressing you further into the couch as he continues to fuck into you. “Look at you, such a filthy mess. Letting me fuck you like this, with all those people just outside that door.” You whine, unable to take your eyes off the mirror. Denki’s tuxedo pants barely hang off his waist, your breasts spilling over the front of your dress. The long skirt of your dress held tightly in Denki’s grip pushed up and over your ass. “So good for me sunshine, greedy little pussy taking me so well. Look at how wet you are. Can you see your juices dripping down your thigh?” You whine as Denki continues whispering dirty things in your ear. 

You drink in the view from the mirror, Denki's face is flushed red, his hair just as disheveled as yours. You focus on the way he looks fucking into you, the sight of his hips meeting your exposed ass, soft flesh giving way as you push back against him. You're able to watch Denki's face contort in pleasure for a moment before his honey gold eyes meet yours through the mirror and he gives you that goofy smile you love so much. You can't really process the feeling of watching yourself getting fucked, but you know that it makes the knot forming in your belly ever tighter. 

“You’ve been so good for me tonight, do you think you deserve to cum sunshine?” the vibrator picks up again, strong pulses against your clit and you can't help the cry that leaves you. Denki shushes you hand coming over to cover your mouth his eyes never leaving yours through the mirror. You moan desperately into his palm, the sight of his fingers in your mouth through the mirror driving you insane. “Desperate little thing, it's almost like you want them to hear you. Is that what you want baby? Want someone to walk in on us and see how much of a greedy cock slut you are for me?” His words make you clench around him and he chuckles before pulling out and away from you fully. A desperately frustrated huff leaving you at the loss of contact. 

You slump into the couch muscles sore, but the thought is quickly whipped away as the vibrator picks back up again. Denki helps you roll onto your back warm callous hands collecting the juices dripping down your thigh. With a smirk, Denki brings his slick coated fingers up to his mouth “So sweet just for me.” He purrs, trailing his fingers up your thigh again, small electric shocks stemming from his fingers and spread through your whole body, you can't help the plea's that slip from your lips.

“De- Denki please.” You whimper reaching your hands out to him, soft golden eyes staring into yours as he smiles down at you.  “Alright come here Sunshine.” Denki coos gently bunching up the front of your dress, pulling the delicate fabric up and having you hold it in one hand. Denki ever so gently pulls the toy out of you, a desperate whine slipping from your lips, displeased with the feeling of being empty but the thought is quickly dispelled as he sinks into you again. Denki leans into you for a kiss guiding your legs up to settle on his hips as he picks up his pace again. 

“So fucking sexy Sunshine, you feel so good like this my beautiful baby girl.” You bring a hand up to his hair tugging on it slightly. Denki chuckles warm callus fingers finding their way to your clit causing you to cry out. “You held on for so long sunshine, you did so good. But now it's time to let go yeah? Do you think you can do that for me, baby, do you think you can cum all over my cock like a good girl?” You don’t answer, unable really to form coherent thoughts, but concentrate instead on Denki. The sound of his thighs slapping against your ass as he fucks you, the way his hair feels beneath your fingers, the previous images of your reflections in the mirror. The delicious stretch of his cock as he fucks into you, his warm finger circling your clit, the filth he's whispering in your ear. Your eyes meet his honey-gold ones, Denki gives you a soft love-struck smile leaning in to kiss your forehead, then another tenderly on your lips.

 “That’s my girl, I've got you,” Denki mumbles into your hairline, a gentle shock from his quirk on your already abused clit sends you over the edge and your cumming. Your cries are muffled against his tux jacket as Denki fucks you through your orgasm. You shut your eyes tight, toes curling in your heels. The pleasure that had been building all night finally releasing in a wave. 

 You go limp as your orgasm subsides, Denki stilling in you. Trailing kisses along your face and stroking your hair as you come down from your high. You bask in each other for a moment, nuzzling into his neck a happy content sigh leaving you. Denki pulls out of your abused pussy a few moments later and you whine. He chuckles teasing you about how pretty you look fucked out like that, juices dripping down your thigh but you can't really concentrate on his words. 

You hear him as he cleans himself up before helping you sit up peppering your face with soft kisses, the smile never leaving his face. “God, I love you so much you know that?” He helps you up and you smile, leaning up for a kiss as he helps you off the couch and onto unsteady legs. Denki coos helping you smooth down your dress, and fiddles with your hair. You fuss with his clothes, fixing his tuxedo jacket and tie when you're done, he pulls you into his side and you both take a quick look in the mirror. 

Laughter spills over both of your lips at the sight, Denki’s hair is a mess from where you’d been gripping it like crazy. Your dress is a little crooked and your lips are swollen, you chuckle as Denki wipes at the thighs of his pants. “At least it's dark, no one will notice it's wet.” You roll your eyes at him and turn to him fully leaning up a little bit to kiss him on the lips. 

“I love you.” You whisper, Denki’s goofy grin goes soft as he strokes your cheek. 

“I love you too Sunshine.” the soft smile on your face turns wicked then leaning down to pick up your discarded masks and the toy Denki had tossed on the floor. 

“So, do you wanna mingle some more,” You ask with a smile on your face as you pull your mask on and hand Denki his. 

“Or?” He asks adjusting the mask to his face head tilted cutely to the side as you open the door to the ballroom the noise of the party flooding into your small sanctuary. Denki comes over and you lean up to kiss his cheek. 

“Or we can go home, and you can let me wrap my lips around your cock and return the favor.” you whisper into his ear, the way his golden eyes light up is all the answer you really need. 

You catch Midnight waving as you and Denki head out for the night, a knowing smirk plastered on her face. Denki chuckles rubbing the back of his neck as you duck out of the venue throwing a wave behind him. 

“She’s never gonna let this go is she.” You chuckle leaning your head against Denki as you settle into the limo for the ride home. He laughs, taking your hand in his and running this thumb over your knuckles before bringing your hand up to his lips. 

“What that we fucked at one of her parties? No probably not.” you both break out in soft giggles as another mischievous idea sparks in the blond.