#efficient packing tips for moving

[mtcremovalsposts]

When Should I Start Packing to Move?

When should you start packing for a move? Begin 1-2 months before your moving date. This timeline helps reduce stress, giving you time to sort belongings and decide what to keep, donate, or discard. 🚚 Planning a move? 🏡 Follow this timeline for a smooth transition to your new home! #MovingTips #PackingGuide #MTCRemovals Follow a weekly packing plan

[yanderedrabbles]

Thinking about getting into an accident - nothing too bad, just a little fender bender. But you've had a long day, and you give the guy a lot more attitude than you should.

Snapping that this wouldn't have happened if he didn't brake check you. Asking if he can even afford insurance or if you're supposed to pay for this shit out of pocket. Snarling that your daddy is going to sue the living daylights out of him.

Thinking about the yandere mechanic just off his shift who's too fucking tired to deal with your bullshit. Prissy fucking thing, ain'tcha? Thinking you're so much better than him. Sneering at his truck and his clothes like honest work is the filthiest thing you've ever seen.

Yandere mechanic who's been on the end of his rope for a while now. Pay is shit, boss is shit, can't hold onto a girl for the life of him. All he wants is to go home and have a cold beer. But no. Some little bitch is yelling at him.

Yandere mechanic who's spent his entire life on the the wrong side of the tracks. Kind of guy who's had more than a few run ins with the cops. Who's probably served a year or two in corrections, and who's barely holding onto his parole.

Yandere mechanic who finds himself reaching for the tire iron peeking out of his toolbox without even realising it. God, girls like you are the fucking worst. Prancing around in your short skirts and high heels and turning your nose up at anything that bothers you. Daddy's money bitch that needs to be taught a lesson. Needs to brought down a few pegs. Needs to be fucking humbled.

Yandere mechanic who swings the tire iron right at your temple, and never mind that his mama told him to never hit a woman.

You fold like a fucking marionette, passed out as his feet in less than five seconds. Still breathing, not convulsing. Good. Didn't hit you too hard.

Yandere mechanic who shoves his tools off the backseat and tosses you into his truck. Not so fucking mouthy now, are you? Who rips a pack of zip ties open with his teeth and ties you up with the same casual efficiency he uses to change a tire.

Your skirt rides up a little when he hauls you onto his backseat, and he runs his palm down your thigh before he slams the door. God, you've got such nice skin. Bet you taste like sugar and vanilla.

Yandere mechanic who takes you home and then comes back to dump your Audi way out in the sticks. Anything coulda happened to you. And if he's smart about it, no one will ever catch on that he was involved in your sudden and tragic disappearance.

I'm especially thinking about what it must be like to wake up after he knocks you out.

Your head pounding, your eyes aching. Confused. Disoriented. Not sure where you are or why you can't move your hands.

Thinking about noticing him for the first time, sitting in an armchair a little ways from the bed, legs spread and a beer dripping condensation at his feet. The room dark, the only light coming from the moon and his cigarette.

A real blue collar bastard, still in his wife beater and work pants, stained black with grease.

Just watching you.

The tip of his cigarette glowing with each pull and giving you a second or two to see his face - the mean smirk, the too jaded eyes.

"Not so fucking mouthy now, are you?"

You scream.

No use. It's muffled by the gag. Some random scrap of cloth that tastes of motor oil and digs into your cheeks. You try and sit up, but he's got you trussed up good and proper.

He watches you try and get loose, watches you thrash and scream and cry. Until your hair is all over your face and clinging to the tears on your cheeks.

Thinking about the way he grinds out his cigarette. Thinking about that last bit of light going out and the way it's like a kick to the face.

Thinking of the way he finally stands, and you realise just how big he is compared to you. Not pretty boy gym rat muscles either. But the hard shit you build hauling machinery and parts all day.

Thinking of the way he walks towards you, boots so damn heavy on the floorboards. Already reaching for his belt buckle.

"Gonna take real good care of sweetheart. Just gotta fuck all that attitude out first."

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

Ok idea

S1/2 rafe making a mean comment to pogue situationship reader about her weight not knowing she had a ed. And then she spirals.

let me show you - rafe cameron

warnings: eating disorder, body dysmorphia, a bit angsty, insecure!reader, suggestive ending

au: love love love getting requests for insecure!reader! thank you so so much for this request, i hope i did it justice

word count: 1.1k

The bar at the country club was packed tonight, filled with the usual crowd—Kooks with too much money, loud conversations about boats and stocks, and the occasional sneaky pour of top-shelf liquor when they thought no one was looking. You moved through it all like you always did—quick, efficient, unnoticed. That was the job, after all. Blend in. Smile just enough to keep tips coming. Keep your head down.

Except tonight, you couldn’t stop yourself from listening. Rafe was at a table in the corner with his friends, all of them deep into their drinks, talking the way rich guys do when they don’t think anyone else matters. You weren’t even paying attention at first, too busy wiping down the counter, but then you heard your name. It was barely a passing comment—one of them, slurring slightly, laughing as he muttered, “Man, Rafe, you’ve been slumming it, huh? Didn’t know you liked ‘em built like that.”

Your stomach dropped.

And then Rafe—Rafe, who had been sneaking into your bed for the past few weeks, whose hands had traced every inch of you, who had murmured things against your skin that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he saw you differently—just laughed. He didn’t even hesitate. Just went along with it. You didn’t hear what he said after that. You didn’t care. The sound of his agreement was already playing on a loop in your head, digging under your skin, pressing into your ribs like something sharp and heavy all at once.

After that, you couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

—

It got worse after that.

You told yourself it was fine. That you shouldn’t care. That it wasn’t like you and Rafe were serious, anyway. But it clung to you, sinking into the back of your mind like poison. Every time you looked in the mirror, you heard his voice. Every time you stepped onto the scale, the number felt heavier. Every time you skipped a meal, it felt like control. It wasn’t new. You’d been here before—this feeling, this pattern. But now it was worse because he had put you here.

And Rafe? He noticed something was off, but he didn’t put it together. Not at first. At first, it was just a passing comment. “You good?” he asked one night when you were curled up in bed beside him, staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping. You hummed a vague answer, and he didn’t push.

Then, it was little things.

“You’re barely eating.”

“You look tired.”

“You’re acting different.”

He noticed. He always did. He just didn’t know how to really ask.

Until tonight.

—

The scale in the en-suite bathroom was cold under your bare feet, the number blinking up at you in bright, unrelenting red. Too high. Your jaw clenched as you stepped off, heart pounding. The mirror in your bedroom was waiting for you—tall, unforgiving. You turned in front of it, hands resting lightly on your stomach, your ribs, your thighs. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

You barely heard the door open. But you felt him. Rafe’s presence filled the room instantly, his footsteps slowing as he took in the scene. The mirror. The way you stood in front of it, scrutinizing yourself. The way your body tensed when you realized he was watching. You didn’t turn around.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was rougher than usual, laced with something unreadable. You swallowed, forcing your arms to drop to your sides. “Nothing.” Rafe scoffed. “That’s not nothing.” Silence stretched between you. His gaze felt heavy, pressing into your back like the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

Then—he stepped closer. His reflection appeared behind yours in the mirror, taller, broader, solid in a way you suddenly envied. His eyes flickered over you—over the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers curled into your palms. Then, over to the en-suite bathroom, where the scale still sat, numbers glowing faintly. Something clicked.

His expression darkened. “Are you—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “How long?” You didn’t answer. Rafe’s jaw tensed. “Jesus Christ, y/n.” You finally turned to face him, wrapping your arms around yourself like that would somehow make this moment less unbearable. “What?” you muttered, voice flat. His eyes flickered with something almost like frustration. “You—this.” He gestured vaguely at the mirror, at you. “Why?”

You hesitated. Your throat felt tight. And then, before you could stop yourself— “I heard you.”Rafe’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“At the club,” you said, forcing the words out before they could suffocate you. “With your friends. When they were talking about me.” You swallowed hard. “You laughed, Rafe.” Realization crashed over his face. He opened his mouth. Shut it again. Exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw like he was trying to buy himself time. “I—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked, and you hated it. Hated the emotion rising up in your chest, the sting behind your eyes. “Just—don’t.” Rafe ran a hand through his hair, looking more frustrated with himself than anything else. “I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted, voice lower now. “It was just stupid bullshit. I didn’t mean—”

“But you did say it.” The silence after that was unbearable. Then, quietly—

“I hate that you think you need to change.”

Your chest ached. You squeezed your eyes shut, hating how badly you wanted to believe him, hating the tears that slipped down your cheeks anyway. “I hate feeling like this,” you whispered. Something in Rafe’s expression cracked. He exhaled, slow and careful, before stepping closer. This time, when he reached for you, you didn’t pull away. His hands slid to your arms, warm and solid, grounding you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

“I didn’t say anything before not because I didn’t care,” he admitted. “Not in the way you think. I just—I’m not good at this shit, okay? At emotions, at knowing what to say.” He exhaled. “But I do care. More than I should, probably. And I swear to God, I never meant for you to—” He cut himself off, his grip tightening like he was scared you’d slip away. “I was an idiot.” You hesitated. Let his words sink in. Let yourself feel them. For the first time in weeks, the weight of it all didn’t feel so unbearable.

Then, softly, Rafe tilted your chin up, searching your eyes. “Let me fix this,” he murmured. “Let me show you how fucking perfect you are.”

His fingers trailed down, curling around your wrist, and he slowly led you toward the bed. His lips brushed against your forehead, your cheek, then lower, tracing reverent paths over every part of you that you had spent weeks hating.

“You don’t need to change,” he whispered between kisses. “Not for me. Not for anyone.” His hands explored, his mouth worshipped, and for the first time in forever, you let yourself believe it.

[sleepberries]

kiss you on the knee (before the bruises fade)

wayne's vetting process hit 1000 kudos (my first ever fic to do so) so here's a fic i've had written up for a while as a treat. (physical hurt/comfort, body worship, intimacy)

The mission had gone sideways in a way that only their missions could—what was supposed to be a simple surveillance operation had devolved into a confrontation with not one but three separate criminal organizations. By the time they'd finally made it back to Jason's safehouse, both of them were exhausted and nursing various injuries.

Jason had fared better than Peter, protected as he was by his armor. Peter's suit, while technologically advanced, prioritized mobility over protection. The result was Peter limping through the window, holding his side and sporting a bruise blooming across his jaw that was visible even through his mask.

"You look like hell," Jason observed, already pulling off his helmet and reaching for the first aid kit he kept fully stocked.

"You say the sweetest things," Peter quipped, wincing as he peeled off his mask. "I think the Triads and the Russians should consider couple's counseling instead of using me as their personal punching bag."

Jason's eyes narrowed as he took in the full extent of the discoloration spreading across Peter's face. "Let me see the rest."

"It's fine, just some bruising. Nothing's broken," Peter insisted, though the careful way he moved suggested otherwise.

"Parker," Jason said, using that tone that brooked no argument. "Suit. Off. Now."

Peter sighed but complied, slowly unzipping the top of his suit and gingerly pulling it down to his waist. Jason sucked in a breath at what was revealed—a patchwork of bruises in various shapes and colors decorated Peter's torso, with a particularly nasty one blooming across his ribs on the left side.

"Jesus, Pete," Jason muttered, crossing the room in three quick strides. His fingers hovered over the worst of the bruising, not quite touching. "What happened to your spider-sense?"

"Too many threats coming from too many directions," Peter explained with a half-shrug that he immediately seemed to regret. "Couldn't dodge everything."

Jason guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt in front of him to better examine the damage. Peter's skin was warm under his touch as he gently probed the edges of the largest bruise.

"Doesn't feel like the ribs are broken," Jason said after a moment. "But we should tape them to be safe."

"Told you," Peter said, attempting a smug smile that fell short due to the wince it caused. "Enhanced healing, remember? I'll be fine by morning."

Jason didn't respond immediately, too focused on cataloging each mark marring Peter's skin. A fist-sized bruise on his sternum. A scatter of smaller contusions along his right side, likely from being thrown against something. The darkening smudge across his abdomen that matched the tread of a boot.

Something cold and furious settled in Jason's gut at that last one. Someone had stomped on Peter hard enough to leave a boot print.

"You should see the other guys," Peter joked weakly, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

"I did," Jason replied, his voice low and tight. "None of them look as bad as you do."

Peter reached out, tipping Jason's chin up to meet his eyes. "Hey. I'm okay, Jay. Really."

Jason held his gaze for a long moment before nodding once, sharp and decisive. "Stay put," he ordered, rising to his feet. "I'm getting supplies."

He returned moments later with the first aid kit, ice packs, and a bottle of water. Setting everything on the nightstand, he opened the kit and began methodically laying out what he needed.

"Arms up," he instructed, unrolling an elastic bandage.

Peter complied, lifting his arms slowly, face tight with discomfort. Jason worked quickly but gently, wrapping the bandage around Peter's ribs with practiced efficiency.

"Not too tight?" he asked when he was done.

Peter took an experimental breath. "No, it's good. Thanks."

Jason nodded, then hesitated for a moment before reaching for Peter's suit again. "Let's get the rest of this off and check for more damage."

Peter raised an eyebrow but didn't protest as Jason helped him wriggle out of the lower half of the suit, leaving him in just his boxer briefs. The examination continued, Jason's hands carefully checking Peter's legs for injuries.

There were more bruises—a large one on his right thigh, another on his left hip, a scattering of smaller ones across his knees and shins. Jason's jaw tightened at each new discovery, but he said nothing, just continued his methodical inspection.

When he was satisfied that there were no serious injuries beyond the extensive bruising, Jason sat back on his heels, looking up at Peter with an expression that Peter couldn't quite interpret.

"Verdict, doc?" Peter asked lightly.

Instead of answering, Jason leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to the bruise on Peter's right knee—a feather-light touch, barely there.

Peter went very still. "Jay?"

Jason didn't respond, just moved to the next bruise on Peter's thigh, placing another soft kiss against the discolored skin. His hands came to rest on either side of Peter's knee, steadying himself as he worked his way up, lips grazing over each mark he found.

"You don't have to—" Peter began, but fell silent when Jason looked up at him, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes.

"I want to," Jason said simply, before returning to his task.

There was nothing sexual about it, despite the intimacy of the position. Rather, there was something almost reverent in the way Jason's lips brushed over each bruise—a kind of worship, an apology, a promise.

When he reached the boot print on Peter's abdomen, Jason paused, his breath warm against Peter's skin. His hands came up to frame the bruise, thumbs tracing its edges with a gentleness that made Peter's throat tight.

"I should have been there sooner," Jason murmured, so quietly Peter almost didn't hear him.

"You were exactly where you needed to be," Peter countered, one hand coming to rest on Jason's head, fingers threading through his hair. "If you hadn't taken out their reinforcements, we both would have been a lot worse off."

Jason didn't look convinced, but he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the center of the boot print, lingering there as if he could somehow take the pain into himself. Peter felt something in his chest flutter at the gesture.

"You're remarkable," Jason said against his skin, the words vibrating through Peter's body. "So damn strong, but you don't have to be all the time. Not with me."

Peter swallowed hard, emotion welling up unexpectedly. "I know."

Jason continued his journey upward, lips ghosting over the bruises along Peter's side, across his ribs, up to his chest. With each kiss, he murmured something—words of praise, of admiration, sometimes just Peter's name.

"Beautiful," he whispered against a particularly dark bruise on Peter's collarbone. "Brave," against another on his shoulder. "Mine," against the one on his jaw.

By the time Jason had kissed every visible bruise, Peter's eyes were suspiciously bright, and his hands were trembling slightly where they rested on Jason's shoulders.

"Finished?" he asked, aiming for light and missing by a mile, his voice rough with emotion.

Jason shook his head, rising from his knees to sit beside Peter on the bed. "Missed one," he said, gently turning Peter's face to press a final, tender kiss to the bruise on his jaw.

When he pulled back, he kept his hand on Peter's face, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. "You scared the hell out of me today."

Peter leaned into the touch. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for doing your job," Jason said firmly. "Just... be more careful."

"Says the guy who once jumped off a building because he ran out of bullets and decided grappling onto a moving helicopter was the next best option," Peter retorted, though there was no heat in it.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Jason's mouth. "That was different."

"How?"

"It wasn't you," Jason said simply.

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Peter blinked, momentarily speechless, before a slow smile spread across his face despite the pain it caused.

"Jason Todd," he said, "are you saying you can do reckless things but I can't because you worry about me more than yourself?"

Jason's expression turned defensive. "That's not—"

"Because that's exactly what it sounds like," Peter continued, his smile widening. "That's actually incredibly sweet in a totally messed-up, hypocritical way."

"I'm not sweet," Jason muttered, though he didn't move his hand from Peter's face. "I just don't like seeing you hurt."

"And yet you spent the last ten minutes paying very close attention to all my injuries," Peter pointed out.

"That's different," Jason insisted.

"How?"

"Because," Jason hesitated, clearly struggling to articulate something that wasn't easy for him to put into words. "Because you're alive. Because these are just bruises, not... worse. Because every mark on you is a reminder that you're still here, still breathing."

The amusement faded from Peter's expression, replaced by understanding. He knew about Jason's history, about his death and resurrection, about the scars that went much deeper than skin.

"Come here," Peter said softly, tugging Jason closer until their foreheads touched. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't promise that," Jason replied, his voice rough. "Neither of us can."

"No," Peter agreed, "we can't. But I can promise that I will always do everything in my power to come back to you."

Jason closed his eyes briefly, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly where it rested against Peter's neck. "Good enough, I guess."

Peter smiled, pressing a quick kiss to Jason's lips. "Now, if you're done with your very thorough examination, I could really use a shower and about twelve hours of sleep."

Jason pulled back, reluctance clear in his movements. "Shower, yes. Then I need to check those ribs again and rewrap them."

"So bossy," Peter teased, though he didn't object when Jason helped him to his feet. "Will there be more kisses after?"

"Only if you behave yourself," Jason replied, but the look in his eyes promised that there absolutely would be, regardless.

Peter grinned, wincing only slightly at the pull on his bruised jaw. "I'll try, but no promises. You know how I am when you get all protective and caring."

Jason rolled his eyes, but Peter didn't miss the way his expression softened, the way his hands were gentle as they guided him toward the bathroom. "Yeah, I know exactly how you are. A complete disaster with no self-preservation instincts."

"But I'm your disaster," Peter pointed out cheerfully.

"God help me," Jason muttered, but he was smiling now, the tension from earlier easing from his shoulders. "Yes, you are."

Later, after Peter had showered and Jason had checked and rewrapped his ribs with careful, methodical movements, they lay together in Jason's bed. Peter was tucked against Jason's side, head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"Thank you," Peter said quietly into the darkness. "For taking care of me. For the kisses."

Jason's hand, which had been absently stroking through Peter's hair, paused briefly before resuming its motion. "Anytime," he replied, equally soft.

And as Peter drifted toward sleep, body aching but heart full, he found himself thinking that while the bruises would fade by morning—another benefit of enhanced healing—the memory of Jason's lips against his skin, reverent and tender, would stay with him much, much longer.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Action Story

Great action writing draws in your audience, getting their adrenaline pumping as they turn the page.

Elements of a Good Action Story

There are many elements that come together to form a good action story and allow you to tell your own story in your own perfect way:

Sentence length. Writing action scenes involves knowing how to pace the narrative so that readers are fed the action at a steady and satisfying speed. If your action sequences are built with long-winded sentences full of verbs and descriptions, it will likely confuse and overwhelm your audience. Shorter sentences get to the point more simply, delivering the visual quickly and efficiently, cutting down on bulky filler words.

Active voice. Keeping the narrative voice active keeps up the momentum of your story. Readers see how the main characters are actively working and reacting in their environment in what feels like real time, packing more punch into the syntax and keeping the narrative lively.

Character goals. Action should occur for a reason—characters’ actions should be based on their motivations, their points of view, and their previous choices. A protagonist’s actions should always propel them towards their main goal in a way that is related to the plot events at hand. A character’s goals affect their character development, forcing them to change and evolve depending on the way events unfold in your story.

Consequences. Action can be fun to see unfold, but without the element of danger or a potentially disastrous outcome, it lacks that exciting element that keeps audiences on the edges of their seats. Action writing should make the audience feel like something could happen to the hero at any moment, without being overwhelmed with events and losing their place in the narrative.

Tips for Writing Effective Action Scenes

Show cause and effect. From the first time your character receives their call to action, follow up activity with the consequences of their decision. Sometimes the character is causing the action to occur, and other times they’re reeling from action that just occurred. Moments can also be built up so that the cause of certain effects or the effects themselves aren’t realized in their entirety until much later.

Create visuals. Use action in a concise, impactful manner in order to deliver strong images for the audience. The clearer your scenes are, the more easily the audience can understand and absorb them. You don’t want readers or viewers to be hung up on seemingly impossible details or sequences that don’t flow. Visuals that get right to the point and can be quickly understood are best for conveying action.

Drive the story forward. In a great story, the moments in between where the action is happening should still feel alive and like the story is always progressing. Even if your hero isn’t facing off against the villain just yet, the scenes without action should still be driven by the character’s goals—readers or viewers may become disinterested by a sudden slump in energy and stagnancy to the writing. Use montage, flashbacks, or other story writing techniques to keep up the pace while delivering necessary narrative information.

Keep action moments short. Action-adventure stories have many moments of high-intensity activity, and it’s best that they happen in short spurts so that the reader does not get exhausted with high-octane events. The battle against the rogue android in your science fiction action story shouldn’t be one scene that’s 50 pages long—the readers need a breather once in a while in order to reset the intensity and have it built back up for them all over again.

Use effective language. When you write a fight scene or a chase scene, the action is moving quickly, so your language should too. Short sentences packed with powerful images that move at a logical pace are useful in conveying strong action sequences that are easy to visualize. A character should bolt to their destination, not just run. Specific diction can make all the difference in how the action of your story is perceived and how your story is experienced overall.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[jadeshifting]

— THE HOGWARTS NEWSPAPER

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

i’ve had this in my script and my drafts for a while, but i saw @beatrixshifts mention on my tl that it would be cool so that’s why i’m posting it >:)

(also, I did not come up with the name of the newspaper, i got it from another user yearsss ago, so cred to them !!)

“The Daily Prophet and their flobberworm of a head reporter can keep their drama— we don’t twist our stories to fit some stale Ministry narrative.” — The Editor-in-Chief of The Puffinton Post

THE PUFFINGTON POST is a chaotic yet strangely efficient operation run out of a repurposed classroom on the third floor (which is lovingly referred to as The Quillery.) run by a rotating team of overachievers, gossipmongers, and one sleep-deprived layout wizard, it’s both a battlefield of deadlines and the social pulse of the school. the editors use enchanted Quick-Quotes Quills to speed up production, though it’s anyone’s guess if the quills capture actual facts or just the juiciest version of the truth

HOW IT’S RUN

the team is led by an Editor-in-Chief (usually a loud, opinionated seventh-year), assisted by a handful of section editors who wield red-inked quills like weapons. each week, they hold heated brainstorming meetings, where the room crackles with enchanted floating parchment and enough spilled tea (literal and metaphorical) to fill the Great Lake. submissions are open to any student, but staff writers get first dibs on big stories—assuming they can charm the editors, who love a bit of drama

THE NEWSPAPER TEAM

REPORTERS . scout the juiciest gossip, biggest news, and weirdest happenings on campus. practically unstoppable, they’ll dive into the Forbidden Forest for a scoop if it means landing the front page

EDITORS . ruthlessly revise articles and argue over headlines, aiming for maximum drama without ending up on a professor’s radar

PHOTOGRAPHERS . armed with charmed cameras that capture moving images, they often risk life and limb chasing Quidditch players mid-match or snapping Peeves in action

ILLUSTRATORS . craft whimsical moving cartoons or hauntingly detailed sketches, depending on the tone of the piece

LAYOUT TEAM . use advanced spellwork to arrange articles, images, and enchanting advertisements that sometimes wink at readers

SECTIONS & NOTABLE STORIES

HEADLINE NEWS . covers Hogwarts’ biggest events. Recent splashy stories include “Are the House-Elves Planning a Union?” and “Hagrid’s Pumpkin Patch: A Site of Magical Growth or Magical Mischief?”

QUIDDITCH CORNER . tracks team stats, with columns like “Is Gryffindor’s Seeker Actually a Golden Snitch Magnet?”

SOCIAL SPOTLIGHT . a slightly catty, endlessly entertaining rundown of who’s dating, who’s fighting, and who’s been caught sneaking butterbeer into the Astronomy Tower

MYSTERIES & ODDITIES . a deep dive into Hogwarts lore, featuring pieces like “The Hidden Staircase That Eats Shoes” and “Who Really Haunts the Fourth Floor Lavatory?”

OPINION & SATIRE . snarky takes on everything from new potion regulations to the controversial topic of house unity, with regular features like “Why Ravenclaws Think They Know Everything” (written by a Ravenclaw)

CREATIVE SHOWCASE . poems, short stories, and student artwork, like “An Ode to Dobby” or fine-tip pen sketches of the Black Lake’s grindylows

DISTRIBUTION

The Puffington Post is distributed every Friday morning via enchanted paper airplanes that zoom directly to breakfast tables in the Great Hall. the magic wears off if you take too long to read, so dawdling isn’t an option. prefects often complain about students reading under their desks during Charms, but professors secretly subscribe, too.

SPECIAL EDITIONS (every one is a chaotic affair, jam-packed with so much Hogwarts spirit you can almost smell the butterbeer stains on the parchment)

— THE VALENTINE’S SPECIAL : Love, Lies, and Lacewing Potions

this edition is dripping with enchanted hearts and aggressively pink margins, with stories like “Top 10 Secret Spots to Swoon Your Sweetheart” and “The Most Romantic Love Potions You Absolutely Shouldn’t Use (But Totally Will).” the gossip column goes full throttle, outing secret crushes (with questionable accuracy), while the Creative Showcase features poetry so sappy even Madam Pince has been caught dabbing at her eyes

— THE FIRST-YEAR SURVIVAL GUIDE : Sorting, Snitches, and Surviving Snape

released every September, it’s a crash course for newbies. expect practical tips like “How to Get the Moving Stairs to Chill” and “10 Ways to Not Cry in Potions (Impossible, But Worth Trying).” veteran students contribute anonymously to the “Unofficial Rules” section, which includes gems like “Don’t Look the Bloody Baron in the Eye” and “If Fred and George Weasley Offer You Candy, Run.”

— THE YULE BALL EDITION : Fashion, Feuds, and Footwork

a glossy, glitzy masterpiece with enchanted images of past Yule Ball outfits and step-by-step charms for fixing last-minute wardrobe disasters. the Social Spotlight section is essentially a pre-ball betting pool on who’s showing up with whom, while Opinion dives into debates like “Should Durmstrang Boys Be Banned from Stealing All the Dates?”

— THE END-OF-TERM SPECTACULAR : Grades, Gags, and the Great House Cup Debate

published in June, it’s part celebration, part roast. professors get “awards” (like Flitwick for Most Patient and Snape for Most Likely to Kill You with a Glare), and there’s always a cheeky exposé on house-point shenanigans. expect tear-jerking farewells to seventh-years alongside brutally honest year-in-review recaps, like “Was That a Troll in the Dungeon or Just Another Tuesday?”

EXTRA, EXTRA !!

— RIVALRY . there’s a (very one-sided) feud with The Weekly Wizard, a smaller Ravenclaw-run zine, though it’s been dismissed by most students as “too niche and painfully dull”

— BEHIND THE SCENES . the staff always keeps a stash of Honeydukes’ chocolate for late-night edits, and their mascot—a tiny enchanted quill named Zippy—flits around leaving motivational doodles on unfinished articles

if Hogwarts has a pulse, The Puffington Post is the enchanted quill jotting down every thrilling, bizarre, and scandalous beat

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[doumadono]

III - THE WITNESS

Summary: the most loyal hunters of the Sangreal, Toga and Kurogiri, brought unsettling news to the vampire king, All For One, and his hair, Tomura Shigaraki — Dabi had slaughtered a group of low-tier vampires but spared a human

Warnings: mentions of blood, vampires, mentions of vampire Dabi, vampire Shigaraki, vampire AFO, vampire Toga, vampire Kurogiri

WCT: circa 2k

𖥸 SANGREAL - previous chapter 𖥸 chapter IV 𖥸 SANGREAL - playlist 𖥸 MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The Sangreal Fortress stood as a monument to power, carved from obsidian and iron, its jagged spires stretching into the ashen sky like claws, looming over the ruins of Tokyo. The air reeked of decay and death — the scent of old blood soaked into stone like the faint, lingering screams of those who had been dragged here and never left.

Inside, beyond the endless corridors of vaulted ceilings and blackened torches, past the marble halls stained with years of spilled life, at the very heart of the Sangreal’s rule, stood the throne room.

It was vast, cathedral-like, with towering walls etched with ancient sigils that pulsed faintly in the dim, crimson light of the torches lining the chamber. At the farthest end, raised upon a platform of polished obsidian, sat the throne — a grotesque structure of human bones, bound together by sinew. Skulls, spines, femurs, ribs, all of them preserved with unnatural perfection. It was a monument to dominance, to cruelty.

And upon it sat All For One.

He lounged, one leg bent, the other draped over the armrest, fingers tapping idly against the golden chalice in his grasp. Blood. Dark, rich, fragrant. Fresh. It clung to the edges as he swirled it absently, watching the slow, thick movement of the liquid as if considering its very essence.

He was a king of monsters, indulging in his throne of corpses.

At his right, Tomura Shigaraki slumped lazily in his own throne — a smaller, twisted thing made of jagged black stone, positioned just slightly lower than All For One’s own. His clawed fingers tapped idly against the armrest, head tilted, disinterest written in the slouch of his posture. His white hair, messy and unkempt, barely shielded the sharp, irritated gleam in his crimson eyes.

All for One didn’t look up when the doors to the throne room groaned open, but he felt them enter.

Two of his most trusted Hunters.

Kurogiri moved first — calm, composed, his presence as cold and formless as the mist that swirled from his body. Always efficient. Always exact.

Himiko Toga was not.

She strode forward with a skip in her step, fingers curling at her sides, eyes bright with something twisted as she approached. The scent of old blood clung to her like perfume.

All For One did not speak. He merely tilted his head, waiting.

It was Kurogiri who spoke first. “My Lord, we have an unfortunate matter to report.”

All for One took another slow sip from his chalice. “Then report.”

Kurogiri’s voice remained even. “A group of low class vampires was found slaughtered in the Dregs of Musutafu. Not just killed — burned. Reduced to nothing but charred husks.”

Silence settled like dust.

AFO finally lowered the chalice, tapping his fingers against the rim. “And?”

Toga’s lips twisted into a sharp grin, though there was no true amusement in it. “Oh, and you’ll want to hear this one, my lord,” she purred. “Dabi’s been a very bad boy as of lately.”

Shigaraki, who had been half-listening, exhaled heavily through his nose, tipping his head back against the stone wall behind him. “Tch. Again? What did he do this time?” His fingers twitched restlessly against his knee as he improved his position.

All For One’s expression didn’t change.

Kurogiri straightened. “We have reason to believe he was responsible for the massacre of that vampire hunting pack.”

AFO let the weight of that information settle before he glanced to his right.

Tomura sat there, half-sprawled, his body slumped in that lazy, careless way of his. Both legs slung over the armrest, nails tapping against the hilt of the obsidian dagger he was busy with. He looked bored.

Tomura let out a long, slow sigh, tilting his head slightly. “Tch. He probably just went feral. He must be starving.”

AFO raised a brow.

Tomura continued, waving a hand vaguely. “You know how he is. Stubborn little bastard doesn’t drink enough. If he’s not feeding properly, the hunger’s gonna mess with his head sooner or later.”

Toga pouted dramatically. “Boooring answer, Tomura-kun.”

Shigaraki didn’t even look at her. “It’s the most obvious answer.”

All For One was silent for a moment, considering the possibility. 

Dabi had always been a controlled wildfire when he was in the Sangreal — dangerous, but predictable in his fury. The thought of him slipping entirely into mindless hunger was possible.

“That would be the logical assumption,” the king of vampires admitted. “And yet, that is not what troubles you.” His gaze flicked toward Kurogiri. “You wouldn’t have come all this way just to tell me that a failed Hunter snapped.”

Kurogiri’s mist shifted. “No, master.”

Toga beamed. “We have a witness, my lord!”

That caught All For One’s attention. His grip on his chalice tightened slightly.

Even Tomura’s brows lifted slightly.

“A witness?” All For One repeated, voice silky, yet edged with quiet menace.

Kurogiri gave a short nod. “One of these low-class leeches managed to crawl away before getting torched. He saw everything.”

AFO considered for only a fraction of a second before lifting one clawed hand in a slow gesture. “Bring them in.”

Toga clapped her hands together, practically bouncing as she turned toward the guards stationed at the far end of the throne room. “Oh, this is gonna be fun!”

The massive doors groaned open again, and a pair of black-armored enforcers dragged in a wretched figure, shoving them onto the cold marble floor.

The vampire was pathetic. Gaunt, frail, its skin stretched thin over jagged bones, as if it hadn’t fed in weeks. Feral, sure, but too weak to be truly dangerous. The last scraps of what had once been a predator.

The vampire trembled, bowing its head so low it nearly touched the floor, refusing to meet All For One’s gaze.

AFO let the silence stretch.

Then, in a voice that was both bored and utterly commanding, he said, “Speak.”

The vampire shuddered violently, lips twitching as if they didn’t want to form words. But one of the guards behind them pressed a sharp blade against their back, and the creature flinched, choking out a panicked rasp.

“I-it was him,” they stammered. “The— the blue fire— it was Dabi. I swear!”

All For One’s expression did not change. He had already known that much.

“But…” The vampire swallowed thickly, trembling. “B-but he didn’t—”

The low class vampire hesitated.

Tomura’s boredom vanished in an instant. “But what?” he demanded. “Speak, for fuck’s sake.”

The vampire shuddered. “He… he didn’t kill everyone.”

All For One’s fingers tightened around the chalice. “What do you mean?” His voice was deceptively calm.

The vampire squeezed their eyes shut, trembling harder. “H-he saved one. A human. He saved her from me and my friends.”

The words rippled through the room like a shockwave.

Tomura sat up straight, interest sparking in his red gaze. “Bullshit,” the vampire prince scoffed. 

Even AFO went still, his expression unreadable, his mind calculating.

Toga grinned widely. “Now isn’t that interesting, my lord?”

The vampire nodded fervently, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and disbelief. “Y-yes! I swear, it’s the truth, she was a human female! He fought off my comrades, each one of us no match for him. And instead of draining her, like he should have, he left her alive. Alive! And he took her somewhere!” Their eyes darted around as if expecting the very walls to collapse in on him for uttering such a thing.

All For One’s claws tapped against his throne.

That was not expected.

Shigaraki clicked his tongue. “A starving Hunter spares a human girl?” He scoffed, slumping back into his seat. “That doesn’t add up.”

All For One set his chalice down onto the armrest of his throne, the blood within it barely disturbed. “Kurogiri.” 

“Yes, my lord?”

“Do we have any records on this girl?”

Kurogiri’s mist shifted uneasily as his response was immediate. “None.”

All For One exhaled slowly, considering, before rising from his throne. His tall, imposing frame cast a long shadow across the polished bones at his feet.

Toga and Kurogiri immediately bowed lower.

Tomura only tilted his head, eyes sharp. “What now, father?”

AFO’s voice was smooth as silk, heavy as death. “We need more answers.”

Toga tilted her head, golden eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she dared to look at her master. “Or maybe…” Her voice dripped with a conspiratorial undertone, “Maybe she isn’t just some random girl.”

All For One’s crimson gaze flickered toward Kurogiri. “Tell Overhaul we are going to visit his facility.”

Kurogiri gave a short bow. “Of course, my lord.”

The vampire kneeling on the floor barely dared to breathe.

All For One turned to Tomura next. “You’re coming with me, my son,” the vampire king stated simply.

“Oh, come on.” Tomura’s head tilted back, a groan scraping at the back of his throat. “Do I really have to go?” His eyes rolled. “Tch. Why not send Toga? Or Kurogiri? Or literally anyone else?”

All For One didn’t blink. “You are my heir. This is mandatory.”

Shigaraki’s jaw tightened, his fingers twitching against the hilt of his dagger. “Tch. Overhaul thinks too much of himself.” His voice was laced with venom, his disgust clear. “Always acts like he’s the smartest in the room, when really, he’s just a glorified butcher with a god complex. I don’t need to waste my time listening to his bullshit.”

All For One finally moved. He straightened, his presence suddenly heavier, his aura stretching over the room like an eclipse blocking out the last rays of light.

“You will go,” the master said, his voice cutting through the chamber like a cold, sharp blade. “Because Overhaul is powerful,” he continued, patient but firm. “Because he is ambitious. Because, given the opportunity, he would tear down everything I built and remake it in his own image.” The vampire king leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to something almost mockingly gentle. “And you, my heir, will one day sit upon this throne. You must learn to command creatures like him. You must learn how to keep them in their place.”

Shigaraki scowled. He hated when All For One talked like this — as if everything had already been decided for him, as if he were some sucker being given a lesson. His teeth ground together, frustration clawing up his spine. For a moment, Shigaraki debated pushing further. His frustration twisted through him, his hatred for Overhaul bubbling just beneath his skin.

But he wasn’t stupid. When All For One gave an order, it was law. And because deep down, he knew his master was right.

Shigaraki knew Overhaul was dangerous. Too smart for his own good. Too bold, too confident. If left unchecked, he would become a problem.

“You may take a Nomu with you,” All For One added.

A Nomu. A true beast of Sangreal. One of the enhanced creations. A weapon born from blood and suffering, stripped of humanity, driven only by hunger and command.

Shigaraki’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, the prospect more tempting than he cared to admit. 

Even Overhaul wouldn’t be stupid enough to test his patience if he had a Nomu standing at his back.

Tomura let out a slow, sharp exhale, running a hand through his messy white hair. His nails raked against his scalp, but finally, begrudgingly, he uttered, “Fine. But don’t expect me to be polite.”

A trace of amusement curled beneath All For One’s mask of detachment. “I would never.”

There was no triumph in All For One's tone. No satisfaction. Because, in the end, his word had never been up for debate.

taglist:

@redlipstic @alexandhisstuff @pixelcafe-network @crystalwolfblog @fancymoonreview @feral-kittykat @grossograsso @arthurbristow @thewildgardensstuff @violet-forgetmenot @tiny-roki-todoroki @jjksimp3579 @dabislittlemouse @lura-valentine @imidarogerson @bakugoscunny @chaoticpeanuteagle @misafiryanki @dagger-dragger @shonen-brainrot @unhinged-bratty-boy @indignant-alpaca @jake-lockley-vengeance @greaterheart @pridefulbakugou @leven-and-ashley @roast-toast @sahhuban @irkedpomeranian @within-eyesight @isabeauwolf

[justastraymoa]

Something to be Soft for

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Warnings for STBSF: mentions of injuries, blood, gore, broken bones, depression, general sadness, swearing, fear, wolf bites. This is a ABO fic with full wolf shifts.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

From the moment the frantic Beta burst through the trees and helped free Innie from the horrific trap he had stepped into you knew it was all coming to a tipping point.

Now, as you watched the Beta yet again work to save Innie, you felt a strange sense of ease. A feeling of safety and warmth you hadn’t felt since you were very young. Before you knew what you were classified as in other pack members eyes. A tool to give birth and to serve to please.

Innies whine drew your mind back to the task at hand. He was still in and out of a fevered unconsciousness brought on by the nasty smelling wound the fanged trap left behind the day before. The sounds of his distress had woken you up this morning and you had fretted over him immediately, not knowing what to do to help your youngest brother.

You shush him gently and stroke his cheek to comfort him. It was all you could do right now. You didn’t know how to help the Beta, and you would only get in the way if you tried.

The Beta had a stern looking face as he concentrated on his task. He was carefully cleaning the wound of tiny bits of grass and dirt, being efficient and quick with his work, focused entirely on what he was doing. It was obvious he was trying to cause Innie the least amount of pain possible.

Possibly because Minnies teeth were about a foot from his throat.

Near the end, Innie woke up enough to start howling and thrashing. Trying to escape the pain that he didn’t understand. He was unaware of what was happening and scared. But the movement caused the wound to scape the ground again, getting more dirt stuck in it.

“Y/n, hold him down!” The Beta ordered as Innies weakened body shifted to its human form.

You immediately jump into action, holding his shoulders down with all your weight. Lix held down his hips and legs, gripping the wounded one still with all his might. It was all they could do to keep him still enough for the Beta to get back to work.

And he did. The Beta got right back to work with single minded focus, sweat dripping from his brow. “Hold on, little one, ill be as fast as possible.” He murmured to Innie who sobbed.

True to his word, it was only a few minutes more before he sighed and sat back, the wound now free of all debris. Cautiously you let up on Innies shoulders. He had stopped struggling. He obediently lay sagged in relief and panting.

“You did so good Innie.” You praise quietly wiping his tear tracked cheeks. Innie just nodded and reached up for your hand, gripping onto it tightly and hugging it to his face.

The Beta rummaged through the box he brought with him, setting out a roll of bandages, gauze, and a tub of medicine that smelled like what he had on his arm. You watched him closely, curious.

“Lino!” Another Beta called crashing into sight just before the first Beta started applying the medicine to the injury.

Everyone’s attention snapped to the newcomer. A taller Beta, longer black hair and delicate prince like features. Minnie jumped to attack immediately, even as the new Beta dropped to his knees with his hands up.

“No, Minnie please! Don’t hurt him!” The first Beta, Lino you now know, begged, reaching out toward Minnie but not moving to physically stop him.

Minnie is an Omega. Either of these Betas could stop him with one hand, but neither even tried to defend themselves against him. Not even when Minnie bit Lino yesterday. Lino didn’t even retaliate or get angry with him. These Betas were so strange. Nothing like any Beta or Alpha you had ever come across before in your life.

Minnie paused, teeth close to the flinching newcomer, but allowing Lino his explanation.

Lino swallowed audibly but remained stone faced and calm. “He is a pack member. His name is Hyunjin. The pack doctor.” His voice didn’t betray his emotions, even if you could tell he was scared to his core right now. But still, he did not try and physically defend himself or his packmate. “I only know basic first aid. Usually he would be doing this, he is much better and more experienced. But we figured you would be more willing to let me since you had already seen me once and I helped you then.”

“We? How many are there?” You snap. He hadn’t mentioned others. Was all this a trap? Were they going to drag you all away as soon as you let your guard down? It was all a trick!

“Theres five of us.”

“You lied! This is all a trap!” You shove both Lix and Innie behind you, but Lino shook his head.

“No! It’s not a trap, I promise! We truly only came to help!” He denied even as Minnie snarled into Hyunjins face. The Beta flinched but there was still no move to defend himself. “Okay! Okay, okay, okay! I admit, we do want to take you home as our Omegas.” Lino finally admitted.

You growl and shove him away, nails leaving tears in his shirt and scratches on his skin. He allowed himself to be shoved, catching himself, but staying where he landed. Propped up on his elbows on his back, a prone position, leaving his soft belly and neck exposed and unprotected.

“We aren’t going to force you! I really want to help Innie – we all do! If you want to leave you can, you have my word! Just let us help Innie first.”

Minnie growled his disapproval, not trusting. But so far, besides not telling them about the others, Lino hadn’t tried to force anything. Yesterday when you wanted to leave, he yelled after you but didn’t stop you from leaving. And each time he came to help he had taken time to let you decide to trust him to help – explaining what he was going to do patiently and even why he was going to do it. He never even downplayed the pain he would cause, being up front about it.

There was really no excuse not to trust him now.

“Fine. He doesn’t come any closer. And no one else comes.”

Lino nods in agreement and sits up. “Hyune, stay there and tell me what you need me to do.”

Hyunjin nodded, but didn’t move any other part of his body. “The salve I used on you is to prevent infection. Since the infection has already set in, it will be ineffective on his wound. You need to use the paste with the purple lid. It will draw out the infection and has a pain relief agent in it.” He explained.

Lino hummed and dug the correct container out of his box, looking at you for permission before moving closer to Innie again. You nod, appreciating his consideration.

This time, as he worked Lino had Hyunjin giving him little bits of advice and orders from where he still knelt, barely moving a muscle.

The longer Lino worked the more relaxed Innie became. Whatever he put on the wound seemed to be helping. You wondered if you could get some from this pack. Or maybe they would teach you how to make it.

Lino s hands slowed down as he wrapped the wound. He glanced up at you and over at Lix and Minnie too, biting his lip. He wanted to say something. His hesitation was putting you on edge and you shifted.

“What?” You demand eventually.

Linos eyes snapped back to you, sharp and clear. The first time in a long time a Beta or Alpha looked at you and it didn’t immediately make you terrified.

His eyes and demeanor were cold and hard. Nothing about him said warmth or inviting. But you couldn’t deny the safety you felt around him. To your bones you knew that he would keep you safe and protected.

But you didn’t know this Beta, so this feeling confused you and made you resist your own instincts telling you it was okay to relax and put your guard down.

“Where is your pack?” Lino asked after another few seconds.

This seemingly simple question sent Lix into a panic. “Pack? What pack? What’s a pack? Who said pack? What? You’re crazy!” He rapid fire rambled while also backing away from Lino and closer to you. You grip his forearm both to soothe him and gently warn him to shut up. Then you return Linos cold, steely gaze.

“We don’t need a pack. We will not be tools to use and abuse.” You state firmly. “We are fine on our own.”

“Tools? Is that how your pack treats you?” Linos’s face got impossibly dark and the air around you seemed to get several degrees colder.

You straighten your shoulders. “Open your ears, Beta. We don’t have a pack, and we don’t need one!”

Lino seemed to take a steady breath and slowly let it out, forcing his body to relax as he did. “That can wait.” He stated lowly, mostly to himself. “Innie isn’t out of trouble yet. He still needs some care.”

“We can take care of him.” Lix replied, still nervous.

“You don’t know how.” Hyunjin spoke up from where he kneeled. Minnie snapped at him in warning, making him flinch away slightly. “What I mean is its not something that is quickly fixed with some salve and a bandage. His body is weak with infection and malnutrition. He can easily relapse, or the infection could travel into his blood.” He was almost rambling as badly as Lix did earlier, trying to quickly get the information out.

You twist your lips. It didn’t sound like he was lying. And neither of them had broken your tentative trust yet. “How do we take care of him?” You ask, already suspecting the answer.

“Come back with us.” Lino didn’t try to sugar coat it or slowly introduce the suggestion. From what you could tell he wasn’t the type to do that anyways.

Minnie let his displeasure at the suggestion be known immediately with a loud, vicious snarl and a shake of his head. The actions made Hyunjin whine slightly in anxiety and the scent of his nerves wafted off him in waves.

“Hyunjin?” A new voice called out in worry. The voice had an undercurrent laced with unmistakable Alpha.

All heads whipped towards the sound of the voice, but no one appeared from the cover of trees.

“I’m okay, Alpha.” Hyunjin assured quickly.

You sigh and relax now that you were sure the Alpha wasn’t going to attack. He was only checking on his pack. What a good Alpha. Trusting his pack but also having their backs. Strong and supportive. What you always thought an Alpha should be.

Instead, you always got demeaning and domineering. A forceful, petty, vengeful, cruel Alpha who thought only of himself and his own power.

Innie looked so much better just from the little treatment he got from Lino. And you had been so scared when you woke up this morning and saw how bad he had gotten. Even if you knew how to make the salve and apply the bandage, could you keep him from getting bad again?

It’s not like you all didn’t know how bad your situation was. Each of you had gone to sleep with empty bellies just as often as when you were with your awful pack – if not more often.

And several times you ran into large predators who chased you from their territory or other packs who wanted to claim you by force.

But this pack was different. Not once had they pushed too far or forced any of you. They were obvious in their attempt to try and get the four of you to join their pack – but they didn’t force it like a lot of packs did. This pack had treated them with respect. Had treated them as precious. And they helped with no demands for them to return the favor.

You nod, deciding. “Okay. We will go with you.”

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

A/N: So sorry this took so long. I hope this lived up to expectations and was worth the wait!!

☆

STBSF Taglist: @skz-haikyuu-epic-girl @vietjeb @sophiesanders12 @nicoleveno14 @xanhnax @pasteldusks @im-sinking-in-mud @vampkitten82 @lil-bear08 @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @estella-novella @tiana-maxivar

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

[kilojulietsierra]

Jack and Sam Universe:

Emory and Yolonda are Jack’s sisters he never wanted

He helps Emory pack up and move after her divorce and talks about setting up security and offers to be her emergency contact.

Jack uses his connections to look into guys Yolonda is dating to make sure he’s safe. even though she’s going to be a surgeon Jack talks and helps her through tough cases and sends her medical journals that are interesting.

And when Sam is having a hard week at work he plans a surprise spa day for the girls because he knows sometimes his wife needs time with her best friends.

Jacks love language is acts of service - and it extends to his wife’s best friends who’ve become his sisters.

Walsh

- Jack is on the patio smoking a cigar w/ a glass of scotch, reading on Sam’s iPad while Hogans Hero’s reruns play on the Tv. It’s nearly midnight so his cell phone ringing surprises him. His heart rate jumps when he sees it’s Sam.

- They have a rule. No phone calls during work, texts only… unless it’s an emergency…

- “You okay?”

- She doesn’t sound quite right when she says, “yeah baby, I’m fine”

- He breaths a little deeper, “what’s wrong?”

- “Em called,” Sam takes a breath and tells him everything as quickly and succinctly as she can

- 10 minutes later he’s slipping his holster into the waistband of his jeans and grabbing a handful of empty duffle bags out of the closet.

- 20 minutes later he’s letting himself in through the front door of emery’s house

- The first thing she says when she sees him is “im sorry” and he can hear the quiver in her voice so he doesn’t think much of it he just wraps her up in a hug “nothing to be sorry for” and lets her squeeze him tight until she gets her tears under control again.

- She swears up and down she’s not going to stay with them for long. She’ll get her own place as soon as the lawyer says it’s okay. Jack and Sam both tell her not to worry about it.

- She cleans the house a lot while she stays with them, rearranges the cupboards for maximum efficiency, alphabetizes the pantry by food type and organizes the contents of the fridge by best by dates.

- It drives Jack fucking crazy, it’s too organized to neat, too sterile, but he recognizes Walsh’s need to execute control over something in her life

- “Fucking vampires” Emery mumbles when she goes for a glass of water in the middle of the night and finds them eating lunch on the couch at 1 in the morning. “Easy their Chair Force, don’t want you to pull something” Jack teases when he comes home from a shift and finds her doing sprints on the treadmill in the garage

- Jacks the worst to shop for houses with, Sam warned her and she has to try not to laugh every time they go with her and he chimes in, “you know how many shootings we see out of this neighborhood?” “Neighbors have direct line of sight into your backyard.” “You really want to pay to build a fence on top of everything else?”

- They snipe at each other, a lot, they’re too alike in some regards and too polar opposites in others, but Sam sees it when they listen to each other and it makes her heart happy.

- Emery doesn’t buy any of the houses he finds fault with, and Jack spends more time than he’ll ever admit scrolling Zillow with the filters set to her preferences.

- He helps her put in the security system like they have because she called him, not Sam him, the first night she stayed in the new house alone and couldn’t sleep. He pays for it too.

Garcia

- “Something you’d like to tell me? Mrs. Abbot.” He emphasizes the Mrs preceding HIS last name as he leans over the back of the couch and finds Sam looking at what appears to be a dating app. She just laughs and tips her head back for a kiss. “Yo is trying one of these new dating apps, she keeps sending us screenshots.” She reaches for the back of his head and pulls him in for another kiss. “You have no idea how happy I am I met you before I had to resort to this.” Jack kisses the side of her neck, “remember that the next time you threaten to leave me for someone younger.”

- He watches over her shoulder as Sam scrolls through the photos. “Those are all men.” “Government is sure getting there monies worth out of your medical degree.” “Watch it.” He tugs on her ponytail, until she’s looking him in the eye. “What?” She asks when he cocks an eyebrow at her. “Those,” he points to her phone. ���Are men.” Sam shrugs “guess she feels like shaking things up.”

- Jack comes home from a doctors appointment to the three of them in his living room one day giggling, drinking and air playing Garcias phonescreen on the tv. “Not that guy.” They all turn around and look at him, waiting for an explanation. He doesn’t give one. They swipe accordingly.

- Sam starts sending him screenshots second hand of conversations Garcia is having on the apps. What the fuck is wrong with young men today?

- Abbot crosses paths with Garcia in the er one night and under his breath tells her. “Tell the Ryan guy with the neck tat to fuck off” because if he has to see one more screenshot of some 20-30 something year old douche bag with a job in “finance” ask her how long she plans on being a doctor…

- “Game night? At our house? With dating app guys?” Jack is laying on the couch while Sam sets up the cold therapy machine on his knee, “is shooting myself an option?” His wife tightens the sleeve in place and turns on the pump, “15 minutes for now and we’ll see if the swelling goes down.” She gives him a look and reverts to his previous question “if you act like an ass I might do it for you”

- Jack is sitting at the kitchen counter with his head in his hands “I swear to Christ,” he looks up at the young women across the kitchen from him, “you both are too intelligent to subject yourselves to this shit.” He rubs at his forehead, “is that what all these idiots are like?” When Yolanda and Emery shrug he curses, “Je-sus. Promise me, both of you, that you won’t waste your fucking time on these mouth breathers that can’t comprehend that you aren’t just handing out bandaids all day.”

- The dating app conversations die off after that. Sam tells him eventually, while they’re cuddled up on a day off, that Emery has decided she wasn’t ready to get back out there yet. “What about Garcia?” Sam gave him a little smile “she started asking herself if you would approve of them before she swiped. Narrowed down her options drastically.”

- His relationship with Garcia shifted after that. That attitude was still there, typical for a surgeon, but he noticed she seemed to hesd his opinion just a little more than before.

- She came for his OR consults just a little quicker, if he suggested a risky procedure she looked him in the eye and when he nodded, told her, “I’ll talk you through it, you got this Dr. Garcia.” she believed him.

- Garcia started seeking out the crazy, off the handle shit and bringing it to him. “Have you seen this case report?”, “So I watched this video on YouTube last night, there was this aid worker in Uruguay that performed a…”

- So, he encouraged it. He shared his experiences with her. The things he’d seen and done in Afghanistan and Iraq, the MacGyver shit that they would never, ever teach in med school. The unorthodox shit that saved lives.

- A drive by shooting came in one night while Garcia was following Walsh for on call surgery, Walsh now a full fledged and tenured surgeon herself. Jack stood and watched as Walsh did her exam. He smirked as she turned to Garcia and explained to her, “nipples to navel is no man’s land, right Doc?” She glanced up to Abbot and he gave her a nod, “yes it is, and what does that mean Dr Walsh?”

- It was funny, back when he was their age and learning this shit the hard way in the middle of the fucking desert, he never would have imagined how satisfying it would be, how proud it would make him to watch something he had taught be handed down doctor to doctor.

- Especially these two.

Spa Day

- Sam appears in front of him, still in her scrubs, while he’s on the rowing machine in the garage, her hip cocked and an envelope in her hand. So he slows to a stop and pulls his earbuds out. “Hey baby thought you were going to go shower.” “What’s this?” She holds up the envelope for emphasis. “Looks like an envelope.”

- Pushing twenty years together and he still gets a kick out of making her roll her eyes at him while she tries not to smile.

- Once he’s up and off the machine she looks up at him, “what is this for?” He leans back against her Tahoe and pulls her to him by the hips, “I have listened to you bitch and moan about work, every day this week,” she rolls her eyes again and smacks him on his bare, sweaty chest. “So I thought I would try and do something nice.” He sees the look on her face and stops her before she gets the chance to talk back, “just, take it.” He leaned forward to steal a kiss, “been a minute since I’ve got the chance to spoil you a little, so don’t argue.” He kisses her again “you and your annoying friends,” she smacks him again but then wraps her arms around his neck and he just grins, “can go… get day drunk on mimosas, get massages, roll around in the mud” he laughs when she drops her head down and bites him hard on the shoulder, hard enough he knows it’ll leave a mark, “whatever it is exactly you do at these places.” He kisses the top of her head and drops a hand to squeeze her ass.

- He doesn’t finish his workout, not on the rower anyway.

- When she asks him later, in bed, how he knew when they all had the same day off he chuckles, “unfortunately, I know more about those two than I ever cared to” Sam chuckles too, “shut up, you love them.” Jack just grumbles, but eventually he admits, “they have their moments.”

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 25 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Now that Bradley had the ring, he didn't want to wait. He kept thinking about what it would mean to move in with you and Everett and be a family. He wanted all of it. So he got Everett to help him out one last time. 

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst and swearing

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

You locked your office door and sank down into your seat. You were too nervous to eat the lunch you packed for yourself as you got your phone out to call your lawyer. It had taken you a few days, but you decided what you wanted to do about Danny. It wasn't ideal, but you'd do it. 

As you sat and listened to the hold music playing in your ear, you poked at your sad looking salad. Danny was going to blow up at you after this. And it would be months and months before you saw a cent, but you supposed it was the best you could get since you couldn't get Danny stripped of parental rights. Tears pricked at your eyes, because you just wanted him gone. Good and truly gone with no ability to come back and hurt Everett again.

When your lawyer returned to the line, you told him that you wanted to move forward with serving papers to Danny to petition for child support. If you couldn't get rid of Danny, at least you could pad Ev's college account or help him buy a car someday. 

"You do understand that Daniel can take four months to contest the petition? And that's on top of the time it may take to serve him the papers?"

You rested your forehead on your desk and took a deep breath. At least you would be the one dealing all of this shit behind the scenes so Ev wouldn't have to know about it. But Bradley was always imploring you to be more open with him about this, so you'd have to figure out how to tell him that Danny was here to stay. Unless you and Bradley ever got married. Unless Bradley ever wanted to petition to adopt Everett. 

"Yes," you said, your voice only a harsh whisper. "I understand. We can proceed." 

As your melancholy settled in, you decided to text Molly about what you did. It didn't take long for your sister to respond. She must not have been working right now. You never could manage to keep track of her schedule, so you had no idea how Bob was so efficient with it. 

Danny is a little baby cocksucker bitch! Bleed him dry! Do it for Ev! I'll help you take over the world after I have a nap.

You snorted, pleased that not a moment had passed since your parents died when Molly was not one hundred percent on your team. And now you had Bradley. And you supposed you had Bob, too. 

A sharp knock on your office door had you jumping in your seat. "Coming," you called, scrambling to go unlock the door only to find Bradley standing there in his khaki uniform with a bunch of tulips and a wrapped sandwich. His aviators were perched on the tip of his nose, and he looked like a fantasy. You could see three of the receptionists leaning out of their cubicles to get a better look at him.

"Kitten," he whispered with a grin before kissing your cheek. When you silently pushed your door open wider, he brushed past you, and you closed it behind him. 

"What are you doing here?" you asked breathlessly. He set the food and the flowers down on your desk, and you rushed into his arms.

"I just missed you," he whispered in your ear. "And it's Tuesday. Technically the slowest day of the week. I needed a pick-me-up." And with that, he scooped you up into his arms while you gasped, and he deposited you on the edge of your desk.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," you told him, reaching out to pull him closer. He tossed his sunglasses onto your desk, and then you couldn't even remember what you wanted to tell him. Something about your lawyer? His hands were on your bare knees, sliding up under your black skirt.

"You know I love this," he whispered, pushing your skirt up your bare thighs. "I like to daydream about this skirt. On your bedroom floor. Or all bunched up around your waist."

You coaxed his lips down to yours with your finger under his chin and kissed him softly. "I have some free time right now."

Instantly, he was lifting your butt up off of your desk and yanking your skirt up over your hips and around your waist. You squealed with delight as he set you back down and smiled as he knelt in front of you. "Really?" he asked, nudging your inner thigh with his nose and kissing you there. 

"Yes," you giggled as he looked up at you. When you spread your legs wide for him, he kissed your core through your underwear, and you gasped, "Go lock my door, Coach."

He dipped his long index finger inside the lace fabric and nudged your clit with his knuckle. "Where's the fun in that?"

You moaned, and then you were shimmying your underwear down your legs. Bradley tucked them into pocket, and you couldn't believe you were letting him do this with the door unlocked. But the prickle of his mustache along your slit had you grabbing at the back of his head and spreading open further for him. 

He licked a long stripe from your opening up to nibble on your clit, and you dug your fingers into his hair. "That's a good Kitten," he rasped, kissing along your pussy and thighs as he slipped his index finger inside you. Just a few strokes and you were whining for him, your thighs clamping around his head. But he pushed them apart again and kept them in place with his other, huge hand.

"Bradley," you gasped, and he pulled you a little closer to the edge as he sucked on your clit. "Oh god." 

He released you and licked a circle that had you tugging on his hair. "Wanna make sure you think about me when you're at work, Baby," he grunted before rubbing his mustache through your wetness until you were getting a little loud. 

"Bradley!" you whined. He was good. You leaned back on one hand as he made your legs shake. And when he looked up at you as he circled your clit lazily with his tongue, you knew you were getting close. "Keep going," you told him, rocking against his face a little bit. 

The sight of him buried between your legs with your fingers messing up his hair took you all the way. Because when he wrapped his lips around your clit one more time, you came for him. Loud and needy. And then you slowly sat fully upright again while your ears buzzed. He was still placing soft kisses on you everywhere that used to be covered by your underwear. 

"I love you, Kitten," he whispered as he squeezed your thighs and stood up to kiss you. His mustache was wet, and you licked him while you moaned softly. His whole face tasted like you as you licked and kissed him. It was intoxicating, and you pulled him closer so the front of his uniform pants rubbed against your pussy. He was rock hard.

"You wanna?" you asked him as he stroked his fingers along your cheek. 

"Fuck, you know I do," he promised, rubbing his mustache down your neck. "But I need to get back to work."

You bit your lip and watched him reluctantly pull away from you and adjust himself. There was a little wet spot on his pants that absolutely thrilled you as you asked, "Where's my underwear?"

His smile was smug. "In my pocket. I'm gonna hang them in my locker at work like a little souvenir."

You gasped, your pussy still bare for him with your skirt hiked up. An embarrassingly needy little sound escaped you as he patted his right pocket. 

"I hope you don't mind if the guys see them."

You pressed your lips together. You actually really liked that underwear. They were a stretchy white lace thong that you found comfortable. But if Bradley wanted to put them in his locker and think of you every time he hit the shower, then you were more than happy to let him have them.

"I don't mind," you whispered. "But you know you're going to make Bob blush, right?"

Bradley kissed your forehead and said, "Molly has broken him in, I think. He doesn't blush as much as he used to. Now, don't forget, we have plans for the Fourth of July. And I'll see you at your house later tonight after my practice."

You nodded and watched him leave as you stood up and pulled your skirt down. "Love you, Kitten," he called from your open door with his erection still visible in his pants before he strolled away.

You looked at the sandwich he left for you as your stomach growled. Your appetite was back again since talking to your lawyer, so you sat and ate it while you smiled at the spot on your desk where you just had an orgasm. 

As soon as you pulled up the spreadsheet you had been working on, your phone vibrated on your desk next to the tulips he left for you. He sent you a photo of your white lace thong hanging up in his locker. 

Bradley Bradshaw: I wasn't joking. I'm looking forward to getting lots of compliments on my new decoration.

You squeezed your thighs together and squealed. 

--------------------------

Bradley had to rush back to base. When he stopped by the locker room to drop off his keys and wallet, he pulled your underwear out of his pocket. They were a little damp, and when he pressed them to his nose, your scent overwhelmed him. He should have fucking stayed long enough to bury his cock and his cum inside you. What was he thinking? A reprimand from one of the admirals would have been worth it. 

With a deep sigh, he hung his pretty souvenir on one of the hooks and snapped a photo. He sent it to you as he literally ran outside and across the tarmac to the meeting room for his afternoon session. He had your underwear in his locker and your engagement ring in his kitchen drawer. 

He had big plans for that ring. There were just a few things he needed to prepare, and he couldn't stop smiling as he thought about what he and Everett were planning. He could talk that kid into anything over some McDonald's chicken nuggets. 

But he had to keep his thoughts from wandering too much to you and Ev while Mav was lecturing. Because every time he thought about marrying you, he thought about being Ev's dad. And he really needed to not get too far ahead of himself, because he had no idea if you'd support that idea or not. Bradley got the impression that you wanted sole guardianship and legal rights to your son. And honestly, Bradley could also get behind that. One hundred percent. 

When the lecture ended, Bob was waving his hand in front of Bradley's face. "You ready to head to practice?" he asked cautiously. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, jumping out of his seat. Today was the first practice for the rec league team, and Everett had bugged nonstop to come and watch. But Bradley wanted to get one good practice in with nobody there, just in case he ended up being terrible. 

He walked with Bob back to the locker room to change into the navy blue hat and jersey with the number 1 on the back, deciding to skip the shower until later tonight. When he was changing his socks, he saw Bob's eyes wander to his locker, and then he quickly looked away. 

"Nice panties," Jake said as he strolled past on his way to the showers. 

"Thanks," Bradley replied, smirking, because he just knew this was going to get you all flustered when he told you later tonight. 

He drove to practice, and thought about his plan for the Fourth of July. It would be perfect, and somehow, he wasn't even nervous. Because being with you felt right. 

And then he pitched so well, both coaches pulled him aside after practice to tell him he's the best they had ever seen on a recreational team. And Bradley just had to laugh, because he was pretty sure he was still better at playing shortstop. 

"Damn," Bob said in between gulps of his Gatorade. "Your arm is a cannon. I barely managed to hit that single."

"Thanks," Bradley said, rapidly throwing everything into his bag, just wanting to get to your house. And then he paused and really looked at Bob. "Holy shit," he mumbled as Bob adjusted his glasses and checked his phone with a smile. Molly must have texted him. Bob was deeply in love with Molly. Bob might perhaps be Bradley's brother-in-law one day. 

"See you tomorrow," Bob told him with a nod as he hoisted his gear bag up onto his shoulder. And as he walked to the Bronco, Bradley hoped that Everett would be lucky enough to have Bob as his uncle. 

----------------------------

It was late when Bradley got to your house. Everett was already in bed, and you were cleaning up the kitchen and starting to pack lunches for the morning. One more day of work this week, and then you and Everett were both off for Independence Day. And Bradley had invited you to Maverick's hangar for a party and fireworks. 

Of course Everett couldn't wait. But that child idolized Bradley. 

You heard his key in your front door, and your heart skipped around in your chest. "Hi, Kitten," Bradley whispered, dropping his stuff off next to the stairs. "Is Ev sleeping?" he asked, kissing you softly. 

"Probably. I got him in bed about twenty minutes ago."

"I'm gonna go up and check on him," Bradley replied, quietly taking the stairs two at a time. God, you couldn't handle it. Tears filled your eyes. He loved you both, and you wanted him to move in with you in the worst way. But you were just going to have to wait. It would be worth waiting. 

You could hear him come back downstairs a moment later with a little frown. "He was already asleep."

You threw your arms around his waist and squeezed him. "You can make him pancakes and drop him off at summer camp tomorrow. If you want to."

"Of course I want to," Bradley murmured against your hair. "I love your son."

You rubbed your cheek against his soft undershirt and melted into his embrace. "He loves you, too. And if you don't let him come watch you pitch next time, he might cry."

"Fuck. No," he groaned. "You know I can't stand the sight of him in tears. Almost rips my fucking heart out."

You laughed softly. "Guess we'll just have to come to your first game. Now, do you want a bedtime snack while you tell me about practice?"

"I sure do," he mumbled, backing you up against the kitchen island. "Let me finish you off? I had you for lunch, and now you can be my snack."

"Okay," you told him, pushing him away a few inches. He looked at you with wide, curious eyes. "Usually I don't allow food in my bed, but if I'm the snack then I suppose it's fine."

Bradley's eyes narrowed as he scooped you up and carried you upstairs. You had to stifle your laughter so you didn't wake Everett up. When Bradley dropped you onto your bed and climbed on top of you, he took your hands in his and kissed along your neck. 

"Can we talk about the holiday for a minute?" he asked, and you rolled your eyes a little bit. He'd been asking incessantly about taking you to Maverick's and making sure you didn't have anything else planned for the day. 

"Yes, Bradley. But I already told you, Ev and I are free the whole day."

"I wanna take you to the park in the morning," he whispered, his mustache tickling your ear as you enjoyed his delicious body weight. "I want you to see how good Ev is when I pitch to him."

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his hips. "Sounds perfect."

"And then we can head to the party at the hangar. Maverick is setting up a splash pad for the kids," he said, pressing his lips to yours with a grin. 

"Are you going in it?" you asked. "You're an overgrown kid."

"Only if you do," he said as you rolled your hips against his. "You should wear that leopard print bathing suit you have."

You gasped and giggled. "The one I wore to the tee ball pool party? At the beginning of the season? When we had our first real kiss?"

"Hell yes," he hissed. "Couldn't stay away from you, Kitten. I was already in love with you."

You kissed him and held him tight. You couldn't pinpoint the moment you fell in love with him, but you knew you'd never be able to stop now.

--------------------------

Wednesday ended up being a rainy day, and everyone in the entire city seemed confused by it. Even Everett was out of sorts when you picked him up from summer camp. 

"Is Bradley going to come over and play with us tonight?" he asked, staring out the car window as you drove him through the storm. "I wanted him to take me to the park."

He kept pouting as you told him, "He needed to get some stuff done at his apartment tonight." You wished he could wrap up whatever he needed to do early and come watch a movie instead. But he told you it was important. 

"Well can we go over to his apartment?" Ev whined.

It struck you that you'd never once been there. And now you wondered if it looked the way you imagined it. Bradley told you a million times how much cozier your house was than his place, and you just shook your head. Because he could have moved in if he wanted to.

"Not tonight, Ev."

He was silent for the rest of the ride home, plainly annoyed with you for keeping him from Bradley. And then he was pretty quiet as you watched Finding Nemo together for the millionth time. But when you reminded him that tomorrow, if the weather was nice, all three of you were going to the park and then Maverick's party, he perked up.

"Bradley is really excited about the park tomorrow!" Everett said as he climbed into bed. "He's excited to show you something."

"Oh yeah?" you asked, tucking him in while the soft rain hit his window. "What does he want to show me?"

Everett laughed and rolled onto his side. "I can't tell you."

You sighed and kissed his cheek. It was probably something silly or something baseball related. "Well I guess I'll just have to wait then." But he was already starting to doze off, holding onto the stuffed Phanatic.

You were a true San Diegan. All the rain was making you tired. You thrived on sunny days and warm weather. When you went to plug your phone in before bed, you saw a text from Bradley. 

Bradley Bradshaw: I can't wait to pick you up in the morning. Give Ev an extra bedtime kiss for me?

You had to laugh, because he seemed to have no concept of what a consistent bedtime for Everett was. You could already tell that if Bradley ever moved in, he and Ev would be outside playing until well after dark all the time, and you'd be the one reeling them in. 

When you fell asleep, you slept hard. And you woke up to Everett in your room, climbing up into bed with you. "Mommy, I'm hungry." 

It was pretty late, and Bradley was coming over to pick you up for the park, but at least the sun was shining today. 

You stretched and pulled your son into a tight hug. "Cereal or eggs?" you asked as he snuggled up with you. 

"Cereal," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the blankets. "Are you going to get up and put on makeup and a dress and stuff?"

You laughed and said, "We're just going to the park and then a splash pad party in the desert, Ev. I wasn't planning on getting too dressed up today. Why?"

"You should," he said, wiggling out of bed and running out of your room. 

"Okay," you muttered to nobody. And a little while later, you were sipping coffee and eating cereal in your kitchen, still not dressed for the day when Bradley arrived. 

"Why do you look so nice?" you asked when he let himself inside. He was wearing a snug fitting red and white golf shirt and chino shorts. 

"Do I?" he asked, glancing down at himself as he went right to Ev and kissed his forehead. And you didn't even mind that you always got greeted second. Because when you got your kiss, it was on the lips and had your knees going weak.

"Hi," he whispered as you threaded your fingers through his hair. "I missed you last night."

How on earth did he make you this silly? Your heart was beating faster and your skin felt extra sensitive as he ran his big hand down your arm. 

"I missed you, too."

Then he pulled away and looked you up and down. "Why aren't you dressed yet? We have a busy day, Kitten." And you finally went back upstairs to get changed as both of them pushed you out of the kitchen. You could hear them talking softly and laughing as you climbed the stairs. 

When you came back down in some denim shorts with a white tank and a sheer white blouse, Bradley smiled at you before leading both of you out to the Bronco. Everett had his gear bag, and when Bradley opened the back tailgate, you saw all of his stuff there too.

"You brought a whole bucket of balls?" you asked, pointing to the bucket tucked behind his bag. "Are you going to make me play catcher for you guys again?"

"Yep," they replied in unison, making you laugh. 

"Okay, but you know I'm not very good."

"You're stellar, Kitten. Aces, Baby," Bradley promised as he scooped Everett up and carried him around to his booster seat.

You tended to disagree, but if the two of them really wanted to play ball in the park all day, then you would just chase balls around and cheer them on. The ride to the park was filled with Everett asking Bradley questions, something your son never seemed to tire of. And as always, Bradley answered every single one of them the best he could without getting irritated at all. 

At a red light, you reached for his hand and said, "I love you." He responded by stroking your fingers with his thumb as he hummed along to the radio. And soon you were at the park and unloading everything. You watched as the boys both put on their matching Phillies hats and took sips out of a bottle of Gatorade. They had a little routine now, and it melted your heart. 

"Ready?" Bradley asked Everett and then you. 

"Ready," you replied, carrying the bucket of baseballs for them. You followed them to the same shady area where you had played catcher before. The sun was strong today, but at least it wasn't too hot yet. Being in the shade would help with that.

"Ev, start stretching while I get your mom all set up," Bradley said, reaching into his bag and pulling out his catcher's mask and mitt. 

"Hey," you said with a smile. "I remembered it's a mitt and not a glove!" you said, and Bradley pulled you tight to him for a kiss.

He hummed against your lips as he ran his empty hand down your back to squeeze your butt. "It's going to be important that you know these things, because Ev and I are going to be on this baseball shit forever now. We're about to get annoying as hell, Kitten."

"I don't mind," you said, looking up into his brown eyes that were always so sincere. "Please, annoy the shit out of me forever."

The smile that took over his face had you giggling while Everett ran around you in circles doing his own definition of warming up. Then Bradley mumbled, "Gotta keep this pretty face safe," while he fitted the catcher's mask around the back of your head. He slipped the too large mitt on your hand and kissed your neck. "All set now."

"Can we do it yet?" Ev asked, slowing his run down and picking up his bat. "Please?"

"Yeah, kiddo," Bradley replied, turning both of their hats backwards. "We can do it."

You eased yourself down into the uncomfortable position to catch the baseballs for them. But Everett was hitting most of them, which made your job kind of pointless. Bradley was telling Ev what each pitch was going to be before he threw it.

"Here comes a slider," he called out, and you watched your boyfriend's muscles tense up deliciously before he threw a pitch right to Everett. Your son hit it up in the air and Bradley caught it. "Pretty good! Let's try another slider." Then he threw the same pitch again, and Everett hit it over Bradley's head.

"I can't believe you're this good, Ev," you praised, because truly you could not. It was impressive the way he hit Bradley's fastball and curveball as well. You knew Bradley wasn't pitching hard or fast, but he was still pitching to Everett. And your seven year old son was hitting almost all of them. 

"Okay, kiddo," Bradley called out. "This one is the special pitch I've been working on. Are you ready for it?"

"Ready, Coach!" Everett called out in excitement. He turned and looked at you with a smile before he returned to his batting stance, and you made sure you were all set, too. 

You weren't sure what kind of pitch was a special pitch, and Bradley was really taking his time getting ready to throw it. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looked a little nervous, but you didn't know why. It wasn't like you and Ev were going to tell him he did a bad job of throwing a new pitch he was working on. Honestly, you were excited to see it. 

When he finally took a deep breath, he met your eyes before winding up to throw it. The ball sailed right to your mitt, and you caught it cleanly. Everett didn't swing at it, and now he was looking at you with his bat hanging down at his side. When you looked up at Bradley, he was staring at you. Then you noticed that the ball was more red than white as you dumped it out of the mitt and into your empty hand. 

"What is this?" you mumbled, turning it around in your hand. It was covered in little red hearts that looked like they had been drawn on with a sharpie, and there was something written in Bradley's handwriting.

Will you marry me?

You gasped and looked up at Bradley, but now he was down on one knee with his glove on the grass next to him. Everett was bouncing around next to you as you read the ball again. "Mommy?" he asked quietly, and you looked up at his eager face. 

Heart racing, you stood up and shook the mitt off your hand as you looked toward Bradley. You yanked the mask off your head as you ran toward him shouting, "Are you serious?"

His smile looked a little unsure as you tackled him onto the grass and straddled his waist. His Phillies cap rolled away as you looked down into his perfect face. 

"Well? Will you marry me, Kitten?" He held up a diamond ring as you kissed him and started crying.

"Yes. I'll marry you." Your voice was shaky and filled with tears, but you were so happy as you cried and kissed him. 

"She said yes, kiddo!" Bradley shouted to Everett when you buried your face against his neck. And you realized they had both been planning this together which just made you cry more. 

"Yes! It worked!" Everett screamed, and a few seconds later, Bradley was holding both of you on top of him in the grass, alternating between kissing your lips and Everett's forehead.

You were still clutching the baseball in your right hand as Bradley put the ring on your left finger. It was a little big, but it was beautiful. "It looks like a baseball," you said as he grinned.

"That's why we picked that one!" Everett informed you, looking happier than you'd ever seen him.

And then Bradley kissed your finger and whispered, "I'm going to love both of you forever."

-----------------------------

He did it! He asked her! Love how happy Ev is! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 26

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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[catcze]

⠀「 Grocery Shopping *ೃ༄ 」 

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 FEAT : 」 Kazuha, Xiao, Thoma, Ayato, Alhaitham

「 ### : 」 gn reader, domestic fluff, established relationship, modern au

Reposted from my secondary blog !!

⠀「 KAZUHA*ೃ༄ 」

An absolute sweetheart who insists on pushing the cart or carrying the basket for you !!

Sticks pretty close to your grocery list, though if something interesting catches his eye he might pick it up and show it to you in hopes to convince you to get it.

His choices in food are of the healthier variety, I feel like. Mostly goes for organic choices, and is pretty well-learned in knowing which fruits, veggies and fish are the freshest and which are the closest to spoiling.

Tbh grocery shopping with Kazuha is so ?? Chill? Like, little to no stress, swear.

It’s just very easy and relaxing, walking through the aisles at a leisurely pace and plucking stuff off of shelves. You two talk about whatever you want as you walk, or sometimes you sing along to the music that plays from the speakers.

If something is too tall for either of you two to reach there’s no problem!! Kazuha can jump pretty damn high so he can reach the tip-top shelf easy peasy ♡

I feel like Kazuha also has a secret sweet tooth? Nothing too wild, but you’d catch him eyeing a pack of marshmallows every now and then, or staring a little too long at a tub of ice cream.

If you seamlessly pluck up whatever sweet he’s debating on getting and put it into the cart, he’ll literally light up and give you a sweet smooch on ur nose :((

⠀「 XIAO*ೃ༄ 」

To his credit !! He’s pretty damn decent as a grocery buddy. 

Xiao’s a little introverted, typically choosing not to be around other people for very long periods of time, so him actually volunteering to come with you nearly moved you to tears.

He also pushes the cart from you and keeps track of your grocery list, crossing stuff out for you without you even having to tell him.

Xiao doesn’t talk much, which isn’t very out of the ordinary, but he does give some helpful suggestions when you’re indecisive about something. And he’s very pragmatic and straightforward when he helps you make your decisions, too, so it’s very time-efficient having him with u ♡

He barely asks for anything that isn’t on the list tbh? I dunno, I guess he just doesn’t feel the need to. Not to mention, he’s not particularly picky when it comes to his meals either, so he’s content to sit back and let you take the reins for restocking the fridge. 

If his eyes sparkle a little when he sees you picking up ingredients for almond tofu, you choose not to tease him about it.

Definitely the one to try and bring all the grocery bags to the car in one go. And??? He somehow manages it to ??? You have no idea how, or how the guys somehow managed to hold your hand while also toting all those grocery bags but ?? Hey, you’re not complaining. 

⠀「 THOMA*ೃ༄ 」

I shit you not Thoma is the best person to go shopping with. Hands down.

Thoma doesn’t go to the supermarket for his groceries, actually. Or at least not all of them. For some stuff that have to be imported or that are a bit harder to come by locally, he goes to the groceries and such.

However, when it comes too food shopping, his first stop are the farmers markets!

He’s already a regular at the local farmer’s market. Old grannies love to pinch his cheeks whenever they see him and they always coo over you two being an adorable couple.

Thoma leads you by the hand all around the farmer’s market the entire time you’re out, knowing which stall to go to for the freshest produce and the most decent price. 

Knows how to bargain with the locals without being disrespectful! And he always manages to net really good discounts. If you ask him how he does it, he’ll wink and tell you that it’s just his charm. And you can’t fully disagree.

Definitely brings around his own eco-bags, too. He’s used to carrying all the groceries on his own, but if you offer to help he’ll thank you with a kiss and a smile.

At one point while you two separate to cover more ground, he passes by a stall ran by an old couple and their grandkid that sells flowers. He gets you a bouquet— nothing too big that’s hard to carry around, but something small and cute that you can press between your books and display.

When you reunite and he gives you the gift, he looks so goddamn precious holding out the flowers to you with his smile that u just wanna give him a kiss ♡

⠀「 AYATO*ೃ༄ 」

If Thoma is a god-send to be with when grocery shopping, Ayato is… nicely put, the exact opposite.

Listen I don’t blame the man. He’s rich enough that he’s never really had to do his own groceries before, so he’s a bit out of his element when he accompanies you to do it one day, but it’s still cute that he cleared a part of his busy schedule to help you out with this. He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit (and a pretty face, which helps.)

Motherfucker picks up some incredibly overpriced caviar, looks at the price tag ( $95 !!! For 30 grams what the fuck !!! ) nods to himself like he remembers you having that shit on your grocery list (you do not) and would have plunked it into your cart if you didn’t catch him in time.

He reasons that he’s tried this brand before and that it’s a very delicious-tasting one that you should try yourself, and his reasons are honestly pretty sweet, but it doesn’t change the fact that you don’t need the goddamn caviar. When you try to tell him that you don’t have the budget for it, he offers to get it for you which, again sweet and it makes you want to kiss him, but that’s not the point Ayato !!

Aside from his ignorance inexperience with how much a typical grocery run costs, there’s also the fact that this guy can’t cook for shit. As a result, if he’s not tossing rich person food into your cart, he’s placing shit that should under no circumstances be mixed together in the cart, claiming that he thinks the combination sounds nice to consume.

Ayato, dearest, I love you, but what the fuck is a Cheeto mango shiitake salad ?????? 

⠀「 ALHAITHAM*ೃ༄ 」

The mf who makes a detailed shopping list, complete with the specific brand of the item you’re looking for, the exact amount, the exact price for said amount plus quantity, and then several alternate brands if the one he was aiming for sells out. All of these are entirely researched before hand.

Well, he either does that, or he goes for he most outrageous expensive shit you’ve every seen.

And no half of the time he doesn’t even throw in the $60 per kilogram cheese because he likes it— he does it because he kinda enjoys pissing off a certain blond architect who invites himself over to sleep on your couch rather often.

It’s usually up to you to cross your arms and stare Alhaitham down, quietly judging him for a petty bitch while he crosses his own arms and stares back at you, one eyebrow raised in the way that makes you not sure if you want to punch him or kiss him.

Sometimes you win and with a sigh, your boyfriend quietly turns and goes off to acquire the next item on his incredibly detailed list, leaving you to put his purchase back as you victoriously fist pump to yourself.

Other times, he wins and you throw your arms up, rolling your eyes so hard as you try not to look at his smirk for fear of actually punching him (or, you know, kissing him and flagrantly having public displays of affection.)

Fine! You say to him with a huff that’s not actually angry. Keep your goddamn parmigiano reggiano. 

You can never feel huffy about it for long, though— not when you find an extra tub of your favorite ice cream later as you put the groceries away. 

[gynandromorph]

You have successfully gotten me to try out WolfQuest after learning about it's existence in elementary school as a wee baby and never getting the chance to try it out

sleep away from your pups because enemies don't spawn by them unless you're there, don't fight for carcass rights as a solo/two-wolf pack, chase elk to wear them down before going in for the kill so they do less damage (you can tell how tired they are by how much damage they do when you bite), moose and bison aren't worth the injuries, an elk herd moves according to the elk at the front of the herd so if you want them to run in a different direction get near the front of a stampede (the "front elk" changes as the herd changes direction), and spamming howl is the fastest and most efficient way to take territory (interrupt your howl only after 3 seconds of audio or it doesn't count). i hope these tips help and save you from wasting your time contesting a carcass for 30 fucking minutes with a cougar because you aren't aware you can't intimidate a cougar as just one wolf. i think this is a game that can be hard to get into due to the initial frustration.

[kitmoas]

purgatórium versenye

WandaNat x Reader

Warnings: **18+ ONLY** **MINORS DNI*** ***SMUT*** dark and demonic themes, cult vibes, gun and syringe, blood, gaslighting and stolkhome vibes, gives almost...Saw vibes in a way?, clicker training

As per usual if i forgot anything let me know

Author's Note: oh look I actually hit a deadline with this one! Okay second part of the double feature is here!! Again I am still getting back in the grove of writing so I'm sorry if this sucks, also I did not edit this at all sooooo yea

Kitmoas | Necrosis Kitmoas | Navigation

Exhaustion filled your body but thankfully you knew that the wait was almost over. For the past three and a half years your world was four walls, dozens of gadgets, millions of sounds, and two women. It wasn’t torture by any means, the work was nice and the company of two of the most beautiful people to ever grace the Earth was even more nice, but you were more than ready to pack up the project and move on with the next item for your resume. You knew the frustration you had with this job was at no fault of your mentors, a failed experiment is never in the cards for anyone but you couldn’t help but feel some anger towards them and their actions throughout the years. 

There is no doubt that they are gorgeous, charming, and extremely brilliant but you had to ponder their focus on some occasions. Yes, the job was granted funding for four years which allowed a bit of wiggle room when it came to how strict the workplace was on a day to day basis. It meant that the stress was off of the three of you to produce results quickly, but you never thought the efficiency would suffer. In your mind, if anything, it should have been even better since every single detail could be worked. It meant that you could have trial run after trial run, fixing any small little error that you could find but instead the deadline is rapidly approaching with not a single trail run completed. 

“Hey, how do you feel about dinner tonight? Maybe go over the last stage of progress so that we can really get into “trials”?” Blinking, you turn slowly to the raspy voice. She’s a few inches taller than you and a soft smile graces her face as she looks down at you. Her hand is already reaching out towards you, fingers twitching as the tips get closer and closer to strands of your hair. 

It’s easier to talk to her alone, she feels soft and safe. Her presence is calming and she rarely teases you in uncalled for moments, but when fun comes she’s the life of the party. Sarcastic and witty, she truly had it all and you know that she’s way out of your league but you just had to remember that she is your coworker; nothing more. 

You don’t even realize you’ve nodded, agreeing to the plans before your brain can catch up but she’s smiling widely. “Great! I’ll cook, just go ahead and bring yourself and that pretty little smile.” Her hand cups your cheek, thumb graze along your lip before she quickly pulls away. Fleeting touches keep your brain in a spiral, a light haze causes it to be hard to think but your entire body buzzes at the compliment. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the moment your Uber pulled up to the large house, gates opening slowly that you realized you had never asked about your crush’s background. There was no way that the research that you were doing paid for this property. You could barely pay your rent and still have enough money to eat anything besides instant ramen. No one ever got into this world for the money, it was all for the experience. 

The attire you adorned was casual, no dress code given and no formal wear in your closet, you felt completely out of place as you climbed the front steps. The urge to flag down your Uber and run was strong, but you knew that if you finished this dinner you would be done and the end of the job would be near. 

The door swung open quickly, a young man answering it almost the moment the first chime of the doorbell sounded. Your finger was still against the cool metal and the you knew that your face gave away just how surprised you were but you tried to shake it away when you were able to take in what he was wearing. Casual clothes, almost gym attire with what looked like nicer joggers and a colorful tight long sleeve shirt. “You my sister’s guest?” 

His tone was crude, a brash contrast to how the sweet girl you knew spoke and you dumbly nod. It wasn’t that you weren’t used to people speaking to you rudely, you lived in the slums of New York City, but you weren’t prepared for someone who should know your status in the company to treat you as harshly as this. 

“I would have thought the girls could have found a better option, but I suppose this will work.” He’s mumbling mostly, eyes trailing your body up and down before he starts to walk away. The door left open as you watch him retreat into the depths of the house. 

It took you a moment, body frozen as you tried to figure out what to do. The toe of your shoe had barely touched the dark marble floor when a soft hand wraps around the edge of the door, smirking face popping out in front of you. Despite the racing of your heart, and the temporary fear in your throat, you begin to relax as the sight of your coworker. “Well hello édes szerelem, you’re late.” 

The accent settles you even more and you can’t help but chuckle, finally taking your spot inside the doorway fully. “It wasn’t my fault.” You snicker slightly under your breath, a mischievous smirk pulling at your lips as you watch the woman’s eyes roll. While you may not appreciate being so behind, you can dabble in the fun that she brings to the lab. 

“You have literally been standing here like a frozen little gremlin for at least five minutes, I do believe it is your fault.” She grips your forearm, dragging you father into the foyer. She barely waits for you to take your shoes off, a look of confusion on her face as she watches you but thankfully a taunt doesn’t fall from her lips. 

Your jaw drops slightly as she guides you farther into the house, twisting hallways and grand archways blur as she practically jogs. “Well I wasn’t expecting to be greeted by—“

“Pietro.” The sentence gets cut off by the woman you were most excited for as the two of you turn into a wide doorway. You were unsure exactly how she heard you that entire time, but you were glad she did because you felt like she could easily answer any questions that you may have. “I must apologize about him, he’s not too fond of guests; even Natasha here.” 

The redhead chuckles, her grip on you finally relaxing as she separates from you and heads to the bar in the corner. “What can I say, not everyone likes me.” Finally feeling the ability to relax, you allow your eyes to roam and your body to settle on a comfy looking chair. You weren’t expecting such a cozy room, it almost looks like something a middle class family would have. Adorned with cheesy family pictures, a few worn in couches, a huge television and the recliner that you happen to be sitting in you could almost close your eyes and believe that you were at your uncle’s house to watch the lastest football game. 

“Sure and it has nothing to do with the fact that you are a bika egy kínai szekrényben. “Your neck almost snaps as the foreign language catches your ears. Wanda had never once spoken the what you believed to be the native tongue of the mysterious woman drinking a martini in the corner, but here she was. It sounded fluent, a casual switch between English almost like she was with her grandmother who had immigrated to the United States.” 

Scoffing, you can see the ginger purse her lips before she downs the rest of her drink. “Oh yes, let’s just hate Natasha, the new girl. It’s not like I haven’t been trying to fit in because you know I have! I’ve been working hard towards my goals and everything that the family wants time to finish to become one of you.” Her voice comes out in a hiss, anger fueling her speech and you realize that the two had to have forgotten that you were here. 

Clearing your throat, you try to catch one of their attention. You didn’t want to intrude too much, but you also didn’t know where to go to excuse yourself. Jumping slightly you weren’t expecting Wanda to practically jump at you, her body rushing towards you but stopping just a few steps away. She smiles, but it’s a little bit to fake for her normal comforting grin. The look on your face must have indicated her mistake because Natasha immediately crosses the room, slapping the younger girl on the back softly. 

“Now Wanda, don’t scare our guest.” The ginger smirks at you, reaching up to cup your face. Her eyes roll when you flinch, her fingers smooshing against your jaw to keep you still. “We aren’t going to hurt you darling.” She straightens her back, her head tilting to stare you down. “You don’t think we would hurt you do you?” 

The other woman is hunched over, almost struggling to stand up, when you finally take notice of her, Your eyes straining to find hers as you search for some kind of signal what is happening. She adverts your gaze though and instead falls to her knees, settling comfortably and reaching out to lay a hand along your calf. The soft touch slows your heart rate and allows you to focus enough on the questions you were being asked. Slowly you shake your head, unsure of where the intensity has come from. 

Biting her tongue as it slips between her teeth, her smile morphing her mouth some. “Good, now, it’s a custom to play a game. Won’t you play with us?” Her voice is sultry, grip on your cheek forces you to nod your head. She cuts you off before you can verbally answer, raising her eyebrows as she waits for you to actually fight her but she is met with nothing but silence. “Exactly, good. Wanda, would you tell them we are ready to begin?” 

Time practically stands still as you watch your object of affection scurry out the door, and you have to gulp down your nervousness once more while you are alone with the older woman. You have many questions but the uncertain stretches across your skin. Anticipation was rising in your body, as well the blush that tinted your skin. 

It was only a few minutes when Wanda returned, the small device that the three of you had been working on in hand, along with two women carrying covered platters. She makes eye contact with Natasha before beelining it directly towards you, her hand cupping your cheek immediately. “Trust me, everything will fall into the place that it’s meant to be.” Her voice is soft, eyes searching yours as she lets her thumb boop your nose gently. She smiles when she sees you mindlessly nod. 

Your heart races the closer she gets and it practically stops when you realize what is about to happen, though your brain doesn’t get much time to catch up when her lips finally touch yours. The kiss is slow, tender, and it makes your confidence in her statement strong as you realize that she’s going to be the foundation that she falls on during this game. A small electronic click sounds in the room, echoing in the background, and though it sounds familiar you don’t pay it any attention. 

A hand in your hair interrupts the moment you two are sharing, and while your body is tugged away from the older woman your mind stays stuck on it as Natasha’s grip tightens. She’s speaking but you can’t help the hazed look in your eyes as your focus stays on Wanda, unknowingly agreeing to whatever the ginger is saying. “Glad, I’m glad you agree.” Her voice, final and firm, shakes you and you try to turn to look at her but a cool piece of metal lands on your temple. “Nuh uh pretty girl, you agreed to the terms of my game. Now you play.” 

A chill freezes your blood, your muscles locking up as your predicament settles in. Nodding, a small frantic motion, your eyes searching for Wanda’s to try and signal for help but she stands in the center of the floor. She’s calm but her eyes are sharp, watching you almost like a predator watches prey. You weren’t sure why she had your project, but you no longer cared about that. You just wanted to leave this house alive. “Don’t you want to play with us, sweetheart?” It’s her voice that makes you melt, even with the sharp digging of the muzzle into your skull. At your smile, and slight relaxation, another small electronic click.  

Missing the evil smirk that spreads across the ginger’s face, unnaturally sharp teeth showing, you allow your body to press against hers. Believing that Wanda would get you out safely, you decide that you’re just going to allow this game to play out as it was meant to. “Eszter, step forward. Our players are ready for round one.” One of the girls approaches you, standing slightly off center from in between you and Wanda. “I, Natalia Romanoff, the GameMaster officially call a beginning to this trial. Lift the dome, Eszter.” 

The gun is still lazily pressed against your head to keep you inline, and you flinch as a ringing sound radiates into the room when the metal lid scraps. There sits two levers, one red and one blue. “It’s simple, you each pick a lever and you better be fast after you choose. We wouldn’t want the game to end so early now would we?” She steps back, snickering as your body sways unstably. 

A soft hand wraps around your wrist, Wanda reaching out to keep you upright and tugging you forward. She pulls you into another kiss, electronic click sounding. This one was rough, quick, as she forces her tongue into your mouth. It ends abruptly, she rips away from it and smirks at your breathless form. “Come darling, we have to play the game. You pick your lever first.” She sets your hand on the platter, releasing your wrist as she stands back. 

You weren’t really sure what it meant but you knew that you wanted the blue one from the beginning, something drew you to it and you instantly lifted your hand there. Wanda barely reacts, eyebrow twitching slightly as she settles her hand on the red one. A soft countdown comes from behind you, punctuated by a tapping of metal against something. At the count of one you both pull your chosen colors, but only Wanda moves. She’s swift, and if you would have blinked you would have missed the dagger that flies out of the wall and just barely misses her. Thumping into the wall behind where she once stood, you can’t help the gasp that tumbles from your lips. 

Natasha hums behind you, stepping up to press the gun to your lower torso and her hand roughly grabs your hip. Dragging you back so your ass is rubbing against her, and your back is digging into the gun. “You didn’t even move, as if you have a death wish idiot.” Her voice is mocking, teeth biting at your ear lobe. “If you want to live you’re going to have to play the game better than that.” Tutting she shoves you forward, before pulling you back to spin you around. She uses the barrel of the gun along your jaw to move your head around the way she wants, leaning in slightly to hover her lips over yours. 

Chuckling, she watches as your eyes slip shut, and you take a shaky breath in. Lips parted pathetically as you wait for hers to touch. “Do you want me to kiss you, slut?” Her eyes shine, a glimmer that is found when you begin to nod. It’s a quick motion before you immediately try to take it away. Shaking your head to deny it, you didn’t like Natasha–only Wanda. “Nuh uh little one, you can’t take back your first answer.” Allowing her gun to run down your body she smirks at the shivers she causes, before she shoves the metal between your thighs. Tapping it randomly against your covered clit, it shocks you how quickly she finds it but your body reacts subconsciously. 

Hips jumping at the contact, you try to lean into her. Electric click sounding loudly in your ears, echoing in the quiet of the room. You’re confused as you start to crave her touch, being denied it this entire time. You aren’t even sure how long she stands there, playing with your body, but you know that she never lays a finger on you but by the time she pulls away you are soaked. It causes you to fill with shame because you weren’t sure what kind of game you were playing, and you just wanted to live but you no longer wanted to escape. You should but you didn’t. 

“Time for the next round, Dorottya. Bring forth the rest of the equipment, she’s ready.” Wanda jumps forward at Natasha’s words, wiggling up next to you as the last girl steps towards you; pulling the dome off as she comes closer. “This is even easier, no movement needed for the dumb little thing. Pick a needle, and one of our girls here will administer it to you.” She smiles at the two of you, it’s almost too soft and it makes you whine. It’s sinister the way she cackles at the sound, drawing you into her to just shove you back. 

A click. Wanda giggles and kisses your shoulder. Another click. Her mouth stays there though, a low whisper coming out to calm down. “We find out the winner of this round at the end of the game, my love.” You melt and another click, the hint she gives you goes over your head at the possessive pet name. 

Blindly you reach out, rolling the two syringes along the metal. Neither seem flawed nor do they seem to have any true differences, so you just grab one at random. You weren’t sure which girl grabs the shots because the brunette is dragging you into another kiss, her hand mapping out your body. Hands trailing up your shirt, forcing herself under your bra to thumb at your nipples. A click. You whimper softly, for some reason you’re extremely sensitive and you can feel yourself clench slightly around nothing at her touch. It had to be because of how long you pined over her, the gorgeous girl finally giving you the attention that you dreamt about for years. A click. 

Natasha lets her body mold against your back, gun tapping methodically against the outside of your thigh as she grinds in your ass. “Look at you, finally willingly playing the game.” You can feel a bulge against you, and you can’t help yourself as you allow your hips to roll back into it. A click. Something was happening to your body and you just needed more, you wanted to be filled and you wanted Natasha to be the one to do so. 

You move your body as much as you can, trying to find a way for your clit to rub against something. A click. You wanted some kind of relief from the rapidly approaching heat. It wasn’t something that you were expecting, but you were okay with this wild game if it meant that you would be taken care of by these ladies. Maybe it was all fake and they just wanted to be weird, you never know what kind of freaky shit rich people got into. 

Clearing her throat, the ginger shoves you off of her. It causes you to tumble into Wanda, helplessly you flop onto her. You were surprised she could hold your weight but you were content to rub your face against your breasts, though you weren’t allowed to stay long. When the older woman behind you dragged you back down. She effortlessly moved you as if your body was made of a fluff, shoving you around until you were laid out on the ground. A click. 

A growl comes out of her mouth as she lets her body fall on your aggressively, hips humping into you where she had forced your legs apart. It was rough and quick, a moment of chaos in the tight fisted control that the ginger usually had. A click. It was almost like she was losing herself in the pleasure, her hands all over you as she tugged your clothes down and ripped them. “Play the next round.” Her voice was deeper, rough and rumbly, as she moved on top of you. 

You were confused but just as you opened your mouth to ask how, Natasha had pulled away only to be replaced with Wanda. Her mouth was on the exposed skin that was left behind from the ginger ravishing you, and her fingers were already swiping through the wetness that she found in between your thighs. A click. She slips two fingers into you, the tips at first just to test out how tight you were but she thrusts both in fully when a metal collar is slapped around your neck. It all happens at once and your vision blurs as you're filled by the brunette, your pussy stretching around her fingers. A click. 

She uses her hips to shove her fingers deeper into you, while you were unsure of when your arousal got so high, you knew that you wouldn’t last long. A click. It had been so long since you were even touched slightly, and you had been dreaming of Wanda touching you for years. It was everything you dreamed of and you could feel the cool of her rings slightly. They were rubbing against your leaking hole, and your hips jut upwards when her metal wrapped thumb rubs tight little circles on your swollen clit. A click. 

“I pick a card, you win if you get a face card. If you both get one, we continue to play until the first number card is chosen. Who is going to go first?” You can barely see where Natasha is sitting above you. Her voice is nonchalant as she shuffles the cards in her hand. 

At the same time Wanda shoves a third finger into you, chuckling against your stomach where she’s leaving hickeys as her name falls from your lips. A click. You weren’t sure what was happening but you hear Natasha reading out the card she choses. It’s slow, and you let your head flop to the side. Forcing your eyes open you watch as the ginger slowly strokes her strap, it’s large and you crave it. A click. 

The brunette on top of you moans, her hips have found home on your thigh and you can feel her wetness as she grinds down onto you. A click. It’s the feeling that almost pushes you over the edge unexpectedly. You didn’t think you were close, but apparently Wanda knew otherwise. “Natty she’s so fucking tight, her little cunt will be perfect even after she loses.” Her voice is shaky as she chases her own high, fingers inside you almost painful as her control fumbles. A click. 

It’s in that moment that Natasha gasps, a taunting sound as she turns the next card over. It shows a golden five surrounded by butterflies, a soft sweet image for the torture you unknowingly subjected yourself to. “Well well look at this, it looks like the little whore lost.” A filthy moan falls from your lips when you hear the ginger’s words, and humiliation fuels your orgasm even more when you realize that losing has caused you to dangle even more dangerously over the edge. A click. 

The collar around your neck suddenly drops, cold metal instantly tightening around you. Your eyes are wide open, though you are struggling to keep them that way, it allows you to watch as the oldest woman stumbles over to jerk off over you. It’s quick as she grunts, ropes of cum landing on your lower belly from the strap. It almost feels medical as she immediately pulls the harness off, the leaking tube leaves a trail of her cum along the floor as she sets it to the side. 

Though sterile and professional, you can’t help the way the coil in your tummy begins to shatter when Wanda shoves a glob of the cum into your cunt. A click. Another click. Another click. Intense pain starts to radiate through your body, and a searing sting burns your neck. Through your foggy hazed brain, you can hear Wanda excitedly telling the other women that it’s working. 

You can feel metal start to pierce your neck, the pressure breaking as does your skin and the pain throughout the rest of your body overtaking everything. A click. Another one. Your body starts to flail causing Wanda to struggle to keep herself inside you, but she continues to force three fingers into you as you react to the way she touches you. 

“I see the brainless slut lost the second round too?” Natasha laughs, a full body harsh sound, before she comes over to you. Dangling over your face, she smiles at the blood starting to leak around your head. A click.  “I guess we’ll see if the poison or the spikes kill you first, but don’t worry. Your body will be put to good use. It’s already conditioned to the sound, if we did this correctly it should react even when your heart stops.” It’s almost too soft as she speaks to you, but she gives you a soft kiss on your forehead. 

It doesn’t take long for you to stop feeling things, and the disappointment of a ruined orgasm runs through your closing veins. You can’t move or speak, and your vision is extremely blurry but you do see Wanda stand. The brunette leans down, a fake pout on her face as she looks down on you. “I’m sorry but I guess you won’t get to have a little fun before the end, Drágám. I tried but our formula must work too well.” A click. 

The two stand shakily, a sigh falling from their lips as they watch the puddle of blood get larger underneath you. “That’s going to be a pain to clean, they won’t be happy about that.” Pietro’s voice cuts through the room like a knife, suddenly showing up. “Did you have to be naked for this one? I don’t need to see my sister like this.” He pretends to puke, and for a moment things could be seen as normal. The three of them laughing and acting as if they were family, off to go find their elders to show them what they made. The sacrifice they have for them, almost like a present that Natasha has brought them to be accepted into the family. 

Your eyes are wide when the beating stops, when the world goes quiet and the pain ends. Even so, as a click echoes through the room your body convulses and your empty cunt pulses.  

Translations are loose: English to Hungarian

Drágám -- darling

bika egy kínai szekrényben-- bull in a china closet

[new-berry]

NSFW not true Newcastle hotel room shenanigans with Dan /Tino/Anthony/Lewis (Hall)

Something wild in the room

Dan forbids himself from stepping backwards and pressing against the door like someone from Downton Abbey. He doesn’t have explain himself. It’s a modern classic. Besides his gran likes it, and her couch after Christmas dinner is like quicksand.

If quicksand had a vaguely lavender pattern and smell.

The three of them seem perched, even though they are actually standing on the carpet. Hovering like birds of prey, far too beady eyed and alert to movement.

“You’re man of the season,” Anthony manages to make praise sound like an accusation. He looks more like a seagull than a hawk, slightly windswept, chapped lips and flushed cheeks, like he’s about to steal some kids chips at Whitley Bay and wheel off squawking in triumph.

Lewis and Tino are less gull like, more like animals that hunt in packs, circling around behind Dan when he steps into the room and drops off his bag. Dan can’t imagine a universe where he would tell Anthony he’s a seagull and Lewis he’s a hyena, but he also didn’t picture a world where Tino has darted out in front of him to plant a kiss on him.

“Woah,” Dan starts to push him back then remembers Anthony’s words. He’s going to question it, he’s sure he was intending to question it.

Anthony's the one who kisses him next, a quick, fierce press of lips, over before Dan can kiss back.

Dan stares at him. "Excuse me?"

Anthony rolls his eyes and starts impatiently pushing Dan’s clothes off. Dan undoes the buttons from the bottom since Anthony has started with the top. “Player of the season” Anthony repeats. He sounds less annoyed about it now. Maybe a little bit like he is laughing at Dan. Anthony kisses Dan again, his cool thin fingers pressed to Dan’s stomach. The second kiss is just as fierce but slower, with a clever slide of Anthony’s tongue into his mouth that has Dan leaning down for more.

“We’re halfway through the season. Played nearly everyone. This is a little thank you.” Anthony sweeps his hand down his back for a grope across Dan’s ass. “This is just a taster. More later.”

Tino reappears in front of him, minus his shirt, he has a small tattoo of a shell on his hipbone. It’s still pink and new looking and it’s on the tip of Dan’s tongue to ask. But then Tino is more than just the tip of his tongue deep in Dan’s mouth and the confusing puzzle of Tino’s random black tattoos can wait

There’s a million things to consider instead: the game in a few hours, if the doors here auto-lock, if whatever he had for breakfast means he should have brushed his teeth. Dan even considers sharing a few of those thoughts, but then Lewis bites his shoulder and Tino throws his arms around his neck and grinds against him.

"Sounds good," Dan says. Other United have been shit this season. Even after whatever plot these three have cooked up he fancies his chances against Casemiro and whatever that spotty Danish kids name is.

Lewis and Anthony take care of the sensible parts of getting ready, stripping clothes with ruthless efficiency off Dan and Tino. Tino’s voice stays drawled even when his breath is speeding up. He has a black cord around his neck with a little puffin on it.

“Christmas present,” he says following Dan’s eyes. “Dumb joke.”

“Great joke,” Lewis interrupts. Tino shoves Dan over onto the chair before anyone else interjects. He swears, as frustrated as Dan has ever heard him sound when he can’t fit himself on it as well around Dan’s thighs, and drags him onto the floor instead. Dan feels almost dizzy but as a senior player he’s pretty good at rolling with the punches by now.

He clamps his hands on Tino’s hips and pulls him flush on his thighs. It’s much better and Tino curls around Dan immediately, clinging on like some half Portuguese tattooed koala.

Any further animal related comparisons fly out of head when Tino rocks down on his thigh, hard and deliberate, moving up his leg until their dicks are almost pressed together.

Anthony kneels next to them and kisses Dan again, slower this time, with intent and a couple of intriguing, suggestive shifts of his tongue, and fuck, great, that's Tino's tongue on his dick.

Two tongues almost feels like one to many to concentrate on. There’s a sound like wind whistling past his hears as Tino, barely standing on any kind of ceremony, sucks him down hard and fast, using his hand on the base of Dan’s cock that he can’t get in his mouth.

Lewis and Anthony laugh at the noise he makes, but he doesn't care. Anthony pushes two fingers into Dan's mouth and kisses Lewis over Dan's shoulder. It’s humid and sweaty between them already. The carpet promises to burn across his ass and maybe Tino’s knees. Dan thinks about promising himself he’ll stay still, Lewis is pressed against his back, hard cock pressed to his spine and Dan didn’t bother lying to himself.

Anthony shifts over and slides one spit-slick finger into Tino's ass. Tino moans and the vibrations make Dan clench his hands into fists. “The game...” He stutters out and Anthony huffs impatiently; “it’s a finger. Not a cock. He’ll be fine.”

Dan can feel Tino's breathing hitch around his dick, and Lewis says with a low voice like he’s offering a treat, "You should fuck him after the game tonight though."

And Christ, Dan really likes that thought. Dan’s cock really likes that thought. Tino’s mouth closes hard around him like he likes that thought as well. Dan doesn’t want to count his chickens though, cursing the thought of another animal and how he wildly thinks “cock”. Tino presses a knuckle right against his balls, and Dan's hips stutter up automatically and thankfully he doesn’t spit out a joke about cockerels.

“We don’t have much time though, so you know…” Anthony’s bossy as fuck which is a surprise to Dan and Lewis takes over scolding Tino for taking too long which isn’t a surprise really, Tino just sucks harder, his hand scratching with blunt fingernails across the inside of Dan’s thigh.

"I'm gonna," Dan says, and puts his hand on Tino's shoulder. “Don’t swallow,” Anthony and Lewis say together.

Tino looks up so he and Dan make eye contact. His face is merry and he all but rolls his eyes at the other two. Lewis kisses the side of Dan’s neck and grazes his teeth along the vein. Tino pulls most of the way off and runs his tongue under the head of Dan's cock,it’s absolutely enough and Dan comes.

Anthony grabs Tino's hair right away and holds his hand out. "Don’t swallow," he says again. Tino spits out and Anthony rubs his slick, messy palm around Tino's cock. Dan watches them, brain that felt previously shorted-out coming back online with a fizzle. Anthony has still not let go of Tino’s hair.

Lewis grazes Dan's neck again, his dick sliding up and down into Dan’s side, sharp teeth slipping across his skin moaning softly. Dan puts his hand back, to offer help maybe. Lewis holds it against his hip and shoves his cock insistently into Dan’s side. He wraps his hand over Lewis instead holding him close.

Lewis’s teeth are close to leaving a mark, but watching Tino come with an inarticulate gasp Dan decides he doesn’t give a shit about teeth marks. He’ll claim it’s razor burn if anyone asks.

Anthony still doesn’t let go of Tino’s hair, turning his head to kiss him but much more softly than he kissed Dan.

Dan shoves Lewis back who makes a high pitched squeak of annoyance that settles into a happy grumble when Dan turns to jerk him off. Tino’s tucked in, snuggled up next to them, his chin on Dan’s opposite shoulder and he’s watching bright and relaxed, and Dan mourns the recovery of youth.

Anthony kisses Lewis now, dirty and sloppy. It’s an incomplete mess of a handjob, Dan’s hand sliding off and Lewis making a complaining sound.

Anthony makes an outraged huffing noise like he’s going to push Dan away and take over himself. “Game soon,” he says bossily and Tino leans down and mouths the tip of Lewis cock before it disappears into Dan’s fist. Anthony’s body language is a more satisfied line in Dan’s vision.

“What about you?” Dan lifts an eyebrow feeling daft that it's taken him this long to realise Anthony hasn’t gotten undressed.

“That’s for later.” Anthony says. “When we win the match.” Dan is sticky and slightly dazed at the speed between thinking of Lady Mary and getting off in the scuzzy Manchester sunshine, but there’s an interesting promise in how Anthony seems very sure he is the final prize worth waiting for. Lewis and Tino have some kind of one upmanship going on which seems to involve nibbling over his chest.

“We better win then.” Dan says and Anthony nods.

[ameliaunquacksford]

The Tailor's Apprentice | Chapter 3

Summary: Astarion indulges in some classic thievery at Facemaker's Boutique, expecting to find his missing shipment, but ends up finding something much more shocking and much more interesting.

-Astarion x (female) Tav, post canon

-Also posted on Ao3

-Click here for Chapter 2

-Click here to read from the beginning

2k words

There was an easy fix to Astarion’s problem; plain and simple thievery. Yes, he realised he was jumping to conclusions, being so fast to assume that Figaro had stolen his supplies, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look, right? And they were rivals! If anything, it was a good starting point.

So when he closed down the boutique for the day and said his goodbyes to Tav, he went back to his mansion to retrieve his lockpicking kit, now covered in a thick coat of dust from disuse.

He stalked down the dark streets, a devious smile on his face, a kind of excitement bubbling up inside of him that he hadn’t felt in years. Oh, how he missed robbery. He thought about using a scroll of Disguise Self before he left, but the idea of potentially getting caught was just too thrilling. He knew he’d probably get away with it, so why not add stakes?

Hidden behind a dim corner, he watched Facemaker’s Boutique closely for several minutes, peering through the windows to make sure Figaro had retreated to his private quarters upstairs. There was no movement from inside, and all the lights were shut, so Astarion figured he must be asleep now. He had a passing thought, that Figaro had finished all his work early because of his lack of customers. He almost felt bad for him, being in a similar situation not even a tenday ago. Almost.

The street was near empty, aside from a sleeping homeless man, so Astarion took his chance, walked casually towards the door and crouched in front of the lock. He fumbled a few times - he hasn’t done this in years - but he tried not to think about it too hard and let muscle memory do the work. 

He huffed as the lock opened, packing the tools away. In his prime, it would’ve taken 10, maybe 20 seconds. Tonight, it took him about a minute. No matter; the door was unlocked and his shipment awaited. Maybe.

The door creaked open as Astarion slipped inside, the darkness of the boutique lightly illuminated from the moon shining through the windows. He scanned his surroundings, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, if Figaro really was the thief, he wouldn’t leave the shipment out in the open. He’s not that much of a fool. So Astarion carefully padded through the shop, careful not to make too much noise lest he finds himself some unwanted attention.

Under the stairs, he finds a locked trapdoor. Couched down, he took out his lock picking kit and got to work., but just as the lock clicked and the hatch opened, the front door creaked behind him, and before he could even think of his next move, he was already hiding under the hatch, the door resting on his head as his eyes peeked through the small gap.

An indiscernible figure entered the boutique, hidden in the shadows. From the way they sneaked and tip-toed, Astarion immediately understood that it was not Figaro. No, it was another thief.

What a delightful turn of events. 

There was no need for Astarion to be so sneaky now. If he knocked out this other thief, he would have free reign over the shop, able to search every nook and cranny much more efficiently and much more messily. If he got caught, he could say he was passing by and saw that someone broke in and be named a hero yet again. If not, he could leave the knocked-out thief to take the blame. And it’s hardly immoral when they were going to rob the place anyway. He was at least taking back what was already his.

The thief creeped out of view, most likely going to ransack the back of the shop. Astarion carefully slid out from under the hatch, silently sneaking toward the figure, hidden in the shadows. Baring his fangs as he got closer to them, he planned to drink from them until they fell unconscious.

But when he was no more than a metre away from them, a familiar, sweet smell engulfed him, assaulting his senses, and he stopped dead in his tracks, the tip of his shoe scraping against the floor and alerting the other intruder of his presence.

Whipping around, they abruptly withdrew a knife, prepared to attack, before freezing in place.

Astarion’s heart skipped a beat as he was met with Tav’s wide eyed stare, her jaw dropped. They gawked at each other for several seconds, stilled with disbelief. 

“What in the sweet hells are you doing here!?” he harshly whispered, before grabbing her shoulders and scooting her into a darker, more hidden corner.

“What are you doing here?!” she hushed back, her face now completely red and the scent of blood rushing to the forefront of his senses.

“I’m taking back my shipment,”

“I’m also taking back your shipment!”

He gaped at her for a moment, completely bewildered. How can she be a thief? Of all people?

“Listen,” he sighed, “I don’t have time for this. Trust me, I know what I’m doing, so go home, I’ll sort this out,”

She puffed her cheeks, her eyes looking directly into his, fiercely, filled with determination “But-”

With a finger over her lips, he silenced her, “No buts. I work better alone. Now leave,”

She shoved his hand aside “We can cover more ground, more quickly. The sooner we get out of here, the better,” Astarion was taken aback by her forwardness. How such a shy, awkward girl can be so bold was beyond him.

“The sooner you get out of here, the better,” he said, propping his hands on her shoulders once again to maneuver her out. 

She grabbed his hands and pulled them off, speaking just as silently but much more fiercely “I’m helping,”

Her intensity made him shudder, his hands still in hers, and he sighed “Darling, you didn’t even notice the trap door to the basement,”

Her grip loosened as her demeanor changed, her gaze dropping to the floor “There- there was a trap door?” 

There it is. The girl so unsure of herself. This is what he was used to.

“Yes, darling. If he has the shipment, it’s there,”

She stared at the floor for a few seconds, and just as Astarion thought she was finally going to relent, her eyes lit up slightly “...how big is the basement?”

“I-” he began, frustration beginning to take over, “I don’t know. I would know if a little thief didn’t come stomping in,”

“I wasn’t stomping!” she huffed, getting increasingly more flustered. If he gained nothing from this adventure, he at least got to embarrass her a little. “The basement could be huge! Let me help you, please,”

Gods, she was essentially begging him now. Did she seriously think he’d let her tag along, as if they couldn’t both end up in prison because of this? 

But she was also staring at him with those beautiful, big doe eyes, and she looked so disheartened, and sad… 

And she was already here anyway…

He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose “...Fine, but from here on out, we are staying silent,” 

She perked up, her eyes filled with determination as she nodded firmly. Just as he was about to appreciate her compliance, she mimed zipping her lips shut. 

They both creeped down the hatch, Tav noticeably much louder than him, but still quiet enough to not wake Figaro above them.

The basement was a decent size with plenty of shelves and chests, nothing Astarion couldn’t have handled on his own, but definitely faster with someone else, as much as he loathed to admit it. He searched the side closer to the hatch so he could alert her if he heard something, and give her more time to hide. Gods know she’d need it. 

After a thorough check of all corners, boxes, chests, and shelves, he locked eyes with Tav and shook his head. She shook hers too. He didn’t exactly trust her though, so he moved toward her and whispered to her to swap sides and double check, in case they missed something. He knew he didn’t miss anything, but he didn’t want to offend her by implying she was inattentive, even though she was.

A few more minutes of shuffling and searching passed, and he still couldn’t find anything. Maybe the shipment’s in Figaro’s room? 

But deep down, Astarion already knew that Figaro had nothing to do with the missing shipment. He was an honest man - eccentric, yes, but honest. If he thought Astarion was stealing his customers, he’d fight back by producing garments that were better than ever, not by sabotaging him. 

He sighed in defeat, looking at Tav and shaking his head again. She shook hers too.

Walking past her, he was about to climb the ladder, when she tugged on his sleeve and showed him a letter. 

Figaro,

I did not steal your fabrics! Before you send me a letter that long again, make sure to get to the point in the first sentence so I know immediately to burn it.

-Carmen

Astarion tightly clutched the letter. How could he miss this? 

Tav gazed at him, confused. Right, she doesn’t fully understand all the boutiques rivalry’s yet. 

“Carmen’s his sister. They had a falling out years ago,” he sighed. “Let’s get out of here,”

She nodded in response, and he climbed the ladder first, peeking his head out of the gap to make sure the coast was clear.

He looked back down at Tav, nodding curtly. They both left the basement, and Astarion used his picks to lock the hatch again, then signalled toward the front door.

Just as they were about to leave, however, Tav backed into a table and sent a vase shattering on the floor, causing them both to jump. 

Time stilled and they both froze. Astarion���s body screamed to move, and he managed to snap out of his stupor when Figaro burst through the door upstairs screaming “Who’s there!” at the top of his lungs.

He snatched Tav’s hand and dashed out the door, swiftly darting through the streets, twisting and turning between corners, trying to lose Figaro, if he was even chasing them. All he could focus on was getting the hells away from the area and taking Tav with him, the only sound being their trampling footsteps and the accelerated pounding of Tav’s heart.

When he was certain that they were not being chased, and that they were far enough away, he essentially threw her into an alleyway and threw himself against a wall, catching his breath. He could hear her do the same.

How could she be so stupid? How could he be so stupid, letting her tag along like that? He ought to fire her for this!

He felt hot. He felt sweaty. He straightened up and whisked around, fists clenched and teeth bared, prepared to shout, yell, and scold, but when he saw her curled up on the dirt-covered floor and violently shaking, he stopped for a second.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to control the subtle trembles in his body, before slowly approaching and sitting down beside her. She’s lucky he wore bad clothes for this.

Silently, they sat together for a few moments, her breathing loud and uneven, but eventually her heart beat slowed down and her breathing evened, and the scent of her blood wasn’t so apparent to him anymore. Her gaze was trained on the floor, despite him staring right at her.

“...I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He was so conflicted. On one hand, she had almost got them caught, but on the other…

The night was exhilarating. Catching her of all people in the act of stealing, the adrenaline from the vase smashing and Figaro screaming, the rush from running…

The thrill of the chase, if you will.

It reminded him of the tadpole days. The days of hunting and being hunted, ripping out enemies’ throats, running for their fucking lives. He was so scared back then, so terrified, but so free, despite every corner they turned having a new threat to face. Tonight was just like the sweet spot in that time, before they killed the brain but after he killed Cazador, when he was fully free from his master, but still full of anticipation of what was to come, still able to walk in the sun.

He smiled softly before responding, “It’s fine…”

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Click here for Chapter 4

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