#going to go through the same motions as before and fuck up their communication like last time you take that fucking back you bitch'

[fluffypotatey]

If wukong told (lied) to macaque that he never cared about him, do you think that would make macaque even more aggresive or like shut down/be the final straw that finally makes macaque let go of wukong

so, just like my answer for whether macky would willingly erase swk from his life, I think this answer also depends on when in the show swk told macky this, and what better way to explain this than by going through each outcome per season :)

UNO

looking at s1, we meet a Macaroni who is very hellbent on killing (or at the very least, heavily damaging) SWK because he feels like the guy never truly gave a shit about him (<- my interpretation). thus, it is safe to assume that if Wukong were to laugh off Marnolo's hurt and anger and tell the guy that he never cared, Mac&cheese will only feel that his current assumptions of SWK are correct and that the guy only cares about himself and his image.

would he feel hurt about it? oh absolutely. maybe punch a wall, destroy the "dojo" he allegedly lives in in an outburst of power and anger. maybe scream and cry but be mad at his own tears (begin to wipe them away but is too hash so he scars himself and then can't stop bc he's very self-destructive)

DOS

technically, Wukong is MIA so this would never happen. BUT! have you considered!!! Wukong telling MK that Macdonalds was just some guy from his past, nobody super important, basically a nobody he wronged in his long list of enemies. which MK might possibly parrot back to Macadoo in 2x07

heavens above Marconi would be pissed.

forget trying to be a dick to MK and "teaching" him that his path of emulating Wukong has already made him forget his friends (untrue, but this is what i assume was Macky's interpretation of MK's actions since the guy didn't actively search for his missing friends, who MK thought left him on purpose).

nah, Macky is hunting SWK down. he is out for blood because "did i serious mean so little to you? were our nights under that tree sharing secrets, dreams, peaches fucking nothing to you?" (and idk....maybe after the air clears out, possibly, macky would realize SWK's true reason for being MIA and....help out???? mayhaps???....yeah, yeah, i know only in my dreams T^T)

TRES

ok, so we could technically say this sort of happened in ep1 when Sun Wukong said, "i thought it was someone important," and, "so what, you're her puppet now? i mean, makes sense. you always did have a sidekick kind of vibe."

and that is basically Wukong implying that he viewed his relationship with Macaque as one where he didn't consider Macky to be important to him, or someone he saw as a close friend. however, this is also a tactic Wukong uses against nearly every villain he interacts with, simply to get a rise out of them. so, pin that down as Wukong being observant enough to know which words to use to hurt.

AND Macky's reaction to it is him jumping out of his cool-ass looking jet and body-slamming the monkey king to the floor. so, uh, it is safe to assume that Macky was pissed off at Wukong's comment.

THUS! with that in mind, we can say that in this context, Macackle will be upset enough to fight him; however, if we were to consider the end of s3 (like Samadhi Fire ritual to the end) i would go with the option of Mackarell shutting down and feeling like that comment is the nail in the coffin for their relationship.

CUATRO

in s4? absolutely not. he would be dragging Wukong by the ear, demanding that he repeat what he said, ordering Wukong to try and convince himself that their past meant nothing while Macky still lives and breathes. and especially after the s4 special.

you could argue that Macky could shut down in the beginning of s4, but i think he'd probably laugh it off because he knows now that Wukong is lying. he's being his old deflective self and probably doesn't know where to place Macanoli in his head now that they're technically on better terms with LBD done with.

but after all the drama of going through SWK's memories? nuh uh, Wukong can't get out of this, nope. you handed iMac a chocolate peach popsicle. it is too late for you turn back and lie about your feelings. you can dig your grave and lie about it, but he's just gonna hit you right back with your own medicine and make you understand that if y'all truly want to reconcile, you cannot continue lying to yourself that you don't care.

not anymore.

so, anyway, i hope this answers your question, anon! i had a lot of fun running this question around in me braincage :3

[highhhfiveee]

can I request mike, reader, and Abby going to the beach :p!?

[i'm combining this with another ask! they requested the same setting, but with a scenario!]

i wish i could go to the beach so bad!! i fucking love the summer and it's damn near the dead of winter where i live ],: i also get cold so easily and i can't take freezing every morning lmao

tags: sweetgf!reader + dickheadbf!mike, light smut (oral [deepthroating and come swallowing], m!receiving), mostly fluff and being grateful for life and the people who you live it with [: proofread but maybe there are still errors! kill me, i'm human!

i am imagining:

you and mike are sitting on the couch on a late friday morning, hypnotized by daytime television after a big, indulgent breakfast and chats about mike's shift. abby had retreated to the adjacent loveseat, fast asleep with a stomach full of pancakes and eggs.

"it's so hotttt," mike grumbles, stretching his sweaty body out like a starfish. the limbs on his right side invade your space, leaving you to shrink into the couch with a groan.

"yeah, mike, too hot for you to be doing that. stoppp," you return his irritated tone, bringing your hands up to push into him. it was the hottest day of the summer so far, and it wasn't like you weren't also feeling the elements. not even the AC unit turned to full blast could cool the living room, and it made every breath feel thick and labored.

mike stands from his spot on the couch, dramatically dragging his body over to the kitchen. you watch as he yanks the freezer door open with impatience, craning his head into the crystalized cool and saying, "it's too hot to be living."

you turn your body to extend across the whole sofa, thankful that your hair is up and out of your face so you're able to feel the tickle of a breeze on the nape of your neck. you bite at your bottom lip as the gears of your brain churn through a heat-induced fog, thinking of how to keep cool at a time like this.

abby stirs then, stretching and yawning and squealing, "it was hot in my dream too." you turn your head to her, pursing your lips to the side in disappointment.

"aw, abs, i'm sorry. that sucks."

"i was at the beach though, which i think makes up for it---"

"omg, the beach! we should go!" you cheer, but mike shuts you down once he hears abby wholeheartedly agree.

"uh, the closest beach is six hours away."

"well, maybe we can make a weekend out of it," you suggest, motioning for abby to come sit with you. she delicately settles on your thighs, relaxing into the couch and swinging her legs over the edge.

"yeah, with what money?"

"i can dip into my savings a little bit, at least for the hotel and gas," you offer, and mike is shutting you down again, shaking his head as he cranes it towards you and humming "nuh uh"s.

"c'mon mike, i don't mind! listen, i want to do this for us," you're hugging abby into you, pressing your cheeks together and telepathically communicating for her to help you convince mike with her own set of puppy dog eyes. "we'll leave in the evening so you can get some rest, and we can split the drive."

"abby doesn't have a license."

your face scrunches as you confusedly mutter, "why would you include your eleven year old sister in a 'we' of that context?" as abby states, "you're weird, mike." in the same tone.

"i know, my joke didn't land, i guess," mike sighs, letting his head drop between his shoulders as he closes the freezer door. the sound of suction punctuates his action, and he turns to you and abby with a grimace before saying, "three hours behind a steering wheel just doesn't seem appealing. two would be a hell of a lot more digestible."

"oh my god, mike, you're so pitiful," you playfully chide, crossing your arms over your chest. "i promise that you'll survive, grumpy. tell you what, i'll drive four hours so you'll only have to drive two."

the sweet drawl of your voice and trivial suggestion to take on more work is all it takes for mike to fold and drive all six hours.

he doesn't do it with a smile, but you're still grateful for his sacrifice, cupping his face and kissing his cheek as he drives into the sizzling orange pulse of the sunset. "i love youuuu," you sing, and he grumbles for like the millionth time that day as you ignore him and muse, "and abby loves you, and we're gonna have so much fun on our beach weekend!!"

you and abby begin to whoop and cheer and dance in your seats, chanting, "beachbeachbeach!", and you pretend not to notice the slight smirk that cracks the perpetual stiffness of mike's mouth.

you spend the first half of the trip singing along to an old CD abby had burned sometime ago--"you always have to keep a road trip mix on hand"--, playing various word association games, and sucking fluorescent orange dust from your fingers after you chuck a cheeto into mike's mouth and pass the bag back to abby.

the second half is stiller; abby has fallen asleep again, soothed by the motions of the car, and you're staring at mike's side profile as he drives. he's so tired; it's painted in his eyes and over his body, with the way he slumps into the driver's seat and focuses on the road like nothing else is around him.

he catches your gaze after a bit, breaking himself away from his trance. he switches hands on the wheel so he's able to clutch your thigh, gently kneading at your skin, and with a small grin, asks, "got a nice view?"

"yeah, but it seems the view isn't feeling so nice," you raise your hand to his shoulder, your turn to massage into him. he's so tense under your touch, and you watch his eyes flicker with your words, training back on the four lane highway ahead. "i think this will be nice for us. we all deserve a nice vacation; especially you, mikey. you've been working hard, and i know you're tired."

"yeah," mike breathes softly, the gentlest you think he's been all day. "i'm sorry about the way i was acting about the drive. i just couldn't think straight after my shift, your delicious breakfast, and sitting in the heat."

"i understand. three hours of driving isn't fun, but that's why i offered to take more of the load after you made that...bad joke."

"so now it's just categorically bad?" mike pouts with comical sorrow, and you giggle at him, nudging at his shoulder with soft pressure.

"yes, because why was she included in we? obviously abby can't drive."

"it was supposed to be one of my sillies,"

"you're just usually better at them," you argue, and it sends the both of you into a laughing fit that gives you a stomach cramp, mike affirming, "yeah, yeah, you're right, you're right. shit, are you okay?" as you try to calm down.

after relaxing back into a comfortable silence, you're bringing mike's hand to your lips, kissing at his knuckles when he blurts, "thank you for putting up with me, and for paying for stuff so short notice."

"oh hush. i love you, mike. truly. we take care of each other, don't we?" you squeeze his hand as you continue, placing it over your heart. "there hasn't been a second i've been with you where i haven't felt supported, and now it's my turn to support you. plus, this is like abby's first real vacation. i want her to have the best time too. we don't have any money when we're dead, so we might as well say we had experiences, yeah?"

"i love you. you're an angel on earth," mike hums lovingly as he pulls off of an exit, able to relax his head against the headrest and leer at you once he brakes at a red light. "our angel on earth." you writhe under his enamored stare, blushing and gnawing on your bottom lip with an airy giggle, and later, after you've gotten to your hotel and tucked abby into bed, you're back in the car doing that same giggle with his dick lodged in your throat.

"my angel on earth," he repeats as he folds his fingers into your hair so he can pull on it, maintaining eye contact while you sloppily guide yourself on him. his toes curl and his thigh muscles spasm, and he's panting down on your face as his other hand grabs his steering wheel in a white hot grip. "fuck, baby."

you're grateful that you were able to book a room facing outwards on the first floor of the hotel; you could be disgusting with mike in the car while ensuring abby's safety through the front windshield.

it helped solidify that there were no worries in your orbit; everything here was perfect, and you feed that passion into taking mike deeper, holding his gaze even as a tear runs down your cheek after an obscene gag that resonates through the whole car.

you swallow around him as you reach down to caress his balls, and crack a triumphant smile when he tenses, brokenly whimpering and bucking his hips into your face with sinful desperation. he doesn't stop as he shoots his come into your mouth, using the hand in your head to tilt your head back so the overflow doesn't choke you.

you moan as you taste him on your tongue, drinking it down while you flash mike the watery, filthy twinkle in your eyes. he thinks that it extends his orgasm, his balls tightening with another spray of white down your throat.

though his body burns with fatigue, mike brings his thumb to the corner of your lips to collect a spilt remnant of himself, pushing it into your mouth where he feels the warm plushiness of your tongue wrap around his digit. "god, i think you're gonna kill me one day. this mouth is deadly."

"one day, yes, but not today or saturday or sunday. not while we're on vacation."

you both retire to the room after, two immovable stone statues in bed until 7 am, when you're both ripped from your sleep by abby's noisy movements. she's enthusiastically throwing the curtains open, drowning you two in painfully bright sunlight and skipping over to hop on the bed, narrowly missing your shins and knees with her uncoordinated steps.

"abby, abby, abby," mike drones groggily, reaching out for her ankles.

you blearily watch as she snatches it out of his reach, and you can't help but laugh as you two make eye contact. "come on!! we're on vacation!! we've gotta start vacationing now!!"

"we don't have to start at...seven twenty-two in the morning," mike complains, wiping at his eyes after throwing his gaze to the alarm clock. "maybe we can do...ten."

"ten is way too late! if we eat now, we can wait it out and then go to the beach and stay all day! pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease--" you wrangle abby into your arms, squeezing her close to your body in an attempt to quiet her.

you smooth her hair down, tucking it behind her ears as you whisper, "hey, hey, how about we go get breakfast and meet mike a little later, okay? we can go in our pjs and everything," abby's eyes light up at your plan, and she's nodding excitedly, pulling on your wrist in order to wrench you from the warm bed. "let's go now then!"

"let me brush my teeth first, sweet thing, at least."

after another generous breakfast, two cat naps, and endless searching through bags marked with the sharp zztt zztt zztt of zippers, you, mike, and abby are established in the warm sand of a southern beach; it'd been a bit of a hassle to put the umbrella up, with its complicated, ancient instructions, but your tired muscles and mind are extraordinarily grateful for the effort as you lounge in your chair, leaning your head back into a neck pillow and scanning your eyes over your science fiction read.

after a bit, you stick your bookmark into the crease of your pages and remove your sunglasses from your face so you're able to get a clearer view of abby and mike along the shoreline.

they're laughing together, running back and forth and taunting the tide as it crashes against the sand in a white foam. "you can't let the tide get you, abby! the sea monsters will take you whole!" you chuckle as mike sweeps her up in his arms, swinging her over the water as he treads deeper.

you set your book down and travel towards the tide, picking up more of their conversation over the soft wind.

"wait, what---what---oh no, the sea monsters are speaking to me. they're saying...i have to give you up." mike shakes his head in faux despair, beginning to fake cry as abby yelps in his arms. "they say they've been looking for an eleven year old girl named abby for their mission!" he continues swinging her, pretending to dunk her in some moments and keeping her away from the water in others, claiming, "no, i won't let them have you!"

you place your hands on your hips, raising your eyebrow in preparation to play along as they make their way back to land. "everything okay over here? i heard something about...'sea monsters'."

"the sea monsters have mastered mind control," abby matter-of-factly explains, wiggling from mike's grasp and curling her toes back into the wet sand during her impromptu intermission. "they specifically need an eleven year old abby, but mike is such a great brother that he wouldn't dare give me up."

"wouldn't do it for all the money in the world," mike affirms with a smile and finger wag pointed to the sky. after a moment, he winces and squeezes his eyes tightly in pain, rubbing at his temples with two fingertips. "they're still in my head though. it's taking all my willpower to fight against them."

you nod at the both of them, an oddly fascinated smile etched onto your face. "well maybe you two can take them down and make them reform. ask them why they need children for their mission in the first place."

"well they don't always, do they, abs?" abby shakes her head as mike reaches out for you, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "in fact...they're asking for...you now."

you widen your eyes, playing up your shock with a hand to the heart. "oh jeez. well, thank god it's an adult this time. what would the world be without abby?"

"what would the world be like without me? you ask great questions, y/n. that's why i love you."

"i love you more, abs. i'm not letting them get you either," you reply, running your hand over the crown of her damp head with an affectionate grin as you feel mike sneakily wrap his arms around your waist, pressing you into him. "mike, wh--"

"the sea monsters have spoken. they want you!" you're off your feet before you can even finish your screech, flying towards the cresting waves. one moment, mike had you in his arms, trudging into deeper surf, and the next, you're shrouded in icy ocean water, the salt stinging your eyes and coating your unexpectant tongue in a disgusting layer of minerals.

mike's laughing as he slowly makes his way to the sand, his back facing the shore while he waits for you to come to the surface. he's beside abby when you finally rise, the joy dropping from both of their demeanors when they take you in.

your staunch displeasure could be seen from football fields away and it makes abby mischievously gulp, "uh oh" as you irritably trek through the water, stopping when it reaches your mid-thigh.

you're like a goddess, appearing from the ocean in your simple black bikini, water droplets beading over the exposed parts of your smooth bronze skin, and it's all mike wants to make you feel like in order to atone for his obvious mistake. he wants to throw you into his arms and apologize profusely and plant kisses all over your body and ask you what he can do to make it right; he'll do anything if it means he won't see you with crossed arms and a deep scowl.

your attitude has mike sprinting over, almost face planting as his feet slip in the waterlogged sand. his eyes are overwhelmingly remorseful, and he begins to spew sentiment as he grabs for you.

"i'm so sorry baby, are you okay? are you hurt?" his voice cracks as he examines you thoroughly, grazing his hands over your face and body. you nearly give up your act at his attentiveness, but you maintain, rolling your eyes at him. he deflates at that, whimpering, "fuck, i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. i should've asked before i did that, i-i-i just thought since you were playing along that maybe it'd be okay...." mike's ramble trails off as he focuses on you stepping back into deeper water, and even more terrifyingly, your continued silence. "baby, hey, hey. are you okay?"

he follows you closely, and it's a foolish mistake on his own part; his consideration leaves him vulnerable, and you're able to ram your small frame into his torso, wrapping your own arms around his waist and tackling him into the chilly water. he goes down with a yell and comes up soon after with a cough and a smile, shaking the saltwater from his hair.

he wipes at his eyes as he reorients himself, rasping, "oh, i see. you were just getting back at me, being all cold and shit."

you watch him with your lips pursed amusedly, traversing around his recovering form so that you have an unobstructed escape route. "you gave me to the sea monsters, mike. i couldn't not get revenge."

"yeah, well, now this sea monster's gonna get you!" you noisily squeal as you run with high knees all the way to abby, who jumps and cheers for you back at the dry shore. "don't let them get you, y/n!"

"i won't!" you scream back, your words broken up with chuckles as you try your best to escape mike's aquatic nefariousness. you've made it out of the water, pulling abby into a wet embrace when mike clammers into the two of you, sending you all down to the lush sand.

it sticks to your skin as you belly-laugh with abby under mike's weight, feeling his heart pump through his ribs with adrenaline, and you can't help but think about how memorable this time will be for all of you.

mike and abby would be your family forever, and moments like this cemented that.

cute beach time!!! i love sweetgf and dickheadbf, they warm my heart.

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear-@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

[explorevenus]

I NEED A EDDIE FACE RIDING

YES.

OH YES.

first of all thank u for the request, i appreciate your patience ♥ and second of all i imagine that eddie loooooves giving head and probably spends an unhealthy amount of time thinking about u sitting on his face like,,, pretty much since u met. sooo why don't we give the man what he wants right ?? <333

nsfw (18+) - minors dni !!!

word count - 1.1k

warnings - none really just some good ol' fashioned face riding

my masterlist ♥

fic under the cut,, thanks so much for reading and i hope u like it !! ♥

"B-But what if I squish you?"

"You're not gonna squish me, honey."

"But how will you breathe?"

Eddie's lips parted in a smug chuckle, thick lashes fluttering as he replied, "I'm not really worried about that either. There're worse ways to go."

Cheeks burning, you swatted at his chest, voice breaking in a shy whine, "Eddie!"

He simply caught your hands in his with a gentle laugh-- he gazed up at you from where he laid on your plush, pink bed, as you were sat on his stomach, knees tucked to either side of him. It wasn't like he'd never gone down on you before, in fact it was one of his favorite pastimes-- his words, not yours-- but now that he was asking you to sit on his face, you found yourself inexplicably nervous. You'd never tried it before, not just with him, but with anyone. Certainly you were intrigued, just worried about the logistics.

Lucky for you, Eddie had practically mastered calming your nerves by now, having familiarized himself with the quirks in your thought processing enough to break through them, when the situation called for it. Big brown eyes softening, he reassured you, "I'll be fine, I promise. I wouldn't ask you if I felt otherwise, m’kay?"

"A-Are you sure?"

"Positive. Now, have a seat, princess," He encouraged, tone dropping to that husky whisper that he knew always cut right through you, fingertips hooking into the hem of your thin cotton panties.

Blushing at his words, you buried your face in your hands as he helped you shimmy out of your underwear, but of course he was quick to call you out on such behavior. "Hey," Eddie warned, "C'mon, sweetheart, no hiding. Lemme see you, hm? Wanna see that pretty face while you ride mine."

That definitely didn't help with the blushing, but he'd convinced you all the same. You pulled your hands away, however hesitantly, tilting your chin down enough for him to see, though you still had a hard time meeting his eyes. His thumbs dragged back and forth on your soft thighs as he waited patiently for you to collect yourself. With a mildly unsure breath, you squeezed his hands for comfort before scooting yourself forward, hovering shakily over his face in what you could only guess was the right position. Your heart was hammering away inside your chest, accompanied by a familiar growing heat between your legs. For a moment, driven by anticipation, time slowed to a crawl.

Pupils swelling with lust and adoration, Eddie smooched lazily inward until his lips met your dripping cunt, pulling you downward by your hips until you were properly seated. Almost immediately your jaw dropped in a breathless gasp, “O-Oh, fuck, Eddie...”

With his mouth otherwise occupied, he couldn’t exactly reply with words, but the slight chuckle he let out against you was enough to communicate his pride, both in himself, and in you for trusting him. Clearly you were right to do so. His tongue slipped teasingly inside you before trailing upward to swirl around your jewel, and you drew in a sharp breath in response, hips bucking forward as your shaking hands quickly found purchase in his thick, curly hair. The motion only seemed to encourage him.

Sucking harshly on your clit, his tongue slid forward to flick at the swollen bud, sending waves of white hot pleasure through you. You let out a broken cry, trying desperately to keep still as your hips trembled above him, thighs tightening over his ears. Face burning, you subconsciously began rocking into his ministrations, the (perhaps irrational) fear of suffocating him slowly melting away to make room for the glittering heat that was pooling up inside you. As if to encourage you further, he tugged you down just a little more by the plush your thighs, fingertips printing into your skin until you fully relaxed your weight into him. 

He lapped at you greedily with a satisfied hum that ricocheted through your core, making you jolt and clutch his hair at the roots. Your breathing faltered, chest rising and falling in stutters, and as you looked down to check on him, you nearly thought you would faint-- Eddie looked exceptionally good between your legs, the inky black of his pupils swallowing up almost every last trace of that familiar coffee color as he raked up the length of your quivering body with a hunger you almost couldn’t believe. By the looks of it he was in his element, and he was enjoying himself just about as much as you were. After all, he’d been waiting on this for a while.

Dragging the flat of his tongue up the length of your cunt, collecting a pool of your slick arousal in his hot mouth, the two of you moaned almost perfectly in sync. His hands slid upward and back behind your hips, cradling your body and rocking you into himself a bit harder than you were on your own, sending white hot pulses of pleasure deeply through you with every seemingly minute bump of his nose against your heat. As much as you hesitated to admit it, you could feel your peak looming on the horizon already, and quickly at that. Surely he could tell, but Eddie certainly wasn’t cutting you any breaks, the devil that he is.

“E-Eddie,” You gasped, blushing body misted with a thin sheet of sweat, hands fisted tightly into his locks. “I’m close, I-I’m getting close--”

Your words trailed off as he sucked your swollen, aching clit between his lips, before pulling back with a soft pop just enough to free himself to speak. “No one’s stoppin’ ya, doll,” He mused, taking a short moment to catch his breath before he continued to mercilessly devour you.

As if his encouragement was the only thing holding you back, your eyes screwed shut and you let out a breathy, high pitched whine as that coil deep in your stomach wound itself tight, and then snapped. Sparks showered over you in rhythmic waves, and you couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed anymore as your pussy clenched around nothing, and your cum flooded his tongue. Grinning against you as he held you down by your thighs to lick you clean, he truly looked like the embodiment of the cat who got the cream.

Only once he was satisfied with his own performance did he let go of you with a parting squeeze of the flesh, fingertips trailing softly down the length of your legs, and in the aftermath, it quite tickled-- it was hard not to giggle a bit as you jolted away from him, toppling over on to the bed beside him as he tried to subtly regain control of his breathing. His lips and cheeks glistened with your arousal, and donned a proud smirk.

Eddie reached for you, rubbing your back as you shook and caught your own breath. “Good girl,” He hummed. “I take it that wasn’t so bad, huh?”

[secretaccountlol]

Smut with Peter x Reader where it’s their anniversary ( wedding or dating you choose) and they go raw for the first time and Peter is a absolute mess plus his dick is sensitive

Hiii~! Hm so. Hopefully this is to your expectations-!

So I interpreted, this as a bit of a subby/switch Peter I hope that’s alright.

this also can be read any spidey too :3

Also you didn’t use any she pronouns so I went ahead and made the reader AFAB! :3

18+ no minors <3

Cw:overstimulation, unprotected sex, teasing,switch!reader, switch! Peter.

“Peter…”

“Yeeesss?”

“Why am I blindfolded?”

“Can I not surprise my fiancé?”

Peter says ‘fiancé’ with a French accent, putting extra flavor in the ‘e’.

“You can but why do I have to be blindfolded!”

“Mm cus it makes it more exciting?”

You groan, “get on with it, Pete!”

“Ugh! Ewww ungrateful!” Peter put on a false voice, you held your laugh trying to keep the appearance of annoyance.

“I can see trying not to smile, baby. Can’t fool me” even though you can’t see him grinning, you could feel it.

“Okay, you caught me but please no more waiting I’m excited!”

“Alright.”

You felt a woosh as your eyes adjusted to the light, a gasp emits from your mouth as you feel Peter hug you from behind.

“Like it?”

“Awh, Pete you shouldn’t have.”

The living room was decked out with fairy lights, your couch was made into a fort moved from its original place to make way for big comfy blankets and pillows replaced it, with your favorite snacks and drinks in the middle and your head turned to the tv.

“Peter…” you feel a press of a kiss on your cheek as your eyes glitter with tears, an album of your best moments together plastered on the screen, some of the pictures were just of you when you weren’t looking at Peter. He liked that, taking pictures of you off guard, it was “artistic” he said.

“Do you like it?” You nod squeaking out a “yes”, it was clear you liked it but Peter always needed that extra reassurance.

You run over to the fort, you can’t contain your joy.

“Wait wait, before we sit down.” Peter puts his hands out before shooting his webs to grab a bag on the counter.

“Matching PJs.” Peter shrugs and you squeal with delight.

-

“Peter.”

“Yes, love?”

Your eyes train on Peter, biting your lip.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing nothing- just..I-I uhm have a ‘surprise’ b-but I feel like it’s lame compared to” you pause motioning all around the room, “This!”

“You know I don’t care about how grand it is.” Peter nuzzles his nose with yours making you giggle.

“W-well uhm. I-hh..”

Peter leans into you, eyebrows raised awaiting your answers.

“I-..started taking birth control. S-so we could ..”

“Do it without a condom?” Peter finished your sentence, his eyes glossed over, you nod you couldn’t get the words out so you’re glad he said it for you.

“I-i wanted it to be a surprise for our anniversary” you fiddle with your PJs you lift to see his eyes, his jaw was clenched as you scanned his face your eyes naturally travel down to his bulge.

The fabric strained against it you wet your lips instinctively stealing a glance at Peter’s lust-blown eyes, “I’m not gonna lie..I-i really I want to fuck you right now.”

“I mean” you pause, biting your lip, “I-I told you for a reason.”

You watch that as a glint in Peter started to form, the same glint you always see when you know he’s about to tease you.

“Tell me what you need, pretty one?” Peter’s hand's inch up your thighs, his head dipped down low to try to meet your eyes.

“Pete..”

“Come on, you can do it.” Pete’s lips graze your cheeks, his mouth near your ear now.

“We won’t get anywhere with silence, y’know? Communication is key right?”

“R-right.”

Peter holds your chin hostage forcing you to stare into his eyes, “What do you wanna do, hm?”

Your eyes wander a bit before you snap back to him via his hands gripping your chin hard, it makes you whimper.

“I guess you don’t wanna-“

“No!”

You close your eyes, breathing through your nose because opening them again, “n-no I.. I want t..to have sex with you…!” Your lips wobble after you spoke, he knew you were shy and he loved to exploit it.

“Now was that so bad?” Peter smirked as you broke out of your shy trance, you push him away

“Oh fuck you! You know I get flustered when you do that stuff!”

Peter’s hands play with the buttons on your shirt, undoing them one by one, “can’t help myself, you look so cute when your all embarrassed like that” Peter discards your pajamas top leaving your bare chest on display, you feel the urge to be modest but you know how Parker would react. His hands hooked onto your PJS bottoms, you lifted to help him slide them off you.

“God I’ll never get tired of looking at you, y’know that?” Pete traces your nipples with his tongue before undoing his shirt and pants.

You hum in agreement, “What’s with the rush, Petey?” you tease, well try to at least you leaned into his face, planting kisses gently which were returned in good favor. “Mm, when’d you learn how to tease?” Pete’s hands were soft as they cupped your face.

“You”

“Me?” he giggled as you nodded, “Nice to know I rub off on you.” His fingers creep up the sides of your body, eventually reaching your boobs giving them a squeeze then rubbing them in soft soothing circles.

“Pun intended”

“You’re so corny! we’re about to raw dog for the first time and you're making puns?” You climb into his lap, pouting to keep yourself from laughing at his antics.

“Mm, cus I know it makes you happy and cus I know you're nervous..” Petey smiles as your eyebrows arch.

“Mm? I’m not nervous bout that..” your head tilts in confusion until it hits you, he’s nervous. “Aw babe..” you shift your weight, pressing your core into his bulge.

Peter’s breath hitched, “I’m not nervous at all, I can’t wait to feel you cum in me.” Your eyelid lowered, your hands picking at his boxers, before diving into them, fishing out his cock.

Your hands glided up and down his cock, Peter's sharp breath made you grin your pace sped up in the effort for more. “Fuck-! W-who are you? W-what have you done to my fiancé?” Peter smirks in false control, only to be interrupted by a kiss from you.

“S-so soft.. I-i love your hands-“ Peter’s hands grasp your wrist, “but I don’t wanna c-cum there.” You pull your hand away, leaning back to study his face as his hands went to return to favor. Slithering into your waistband, “god, you’re so wet..I can’t wait to fuck you” Peter groans, his fingers slipping up and down your slit, probing your hole.

Your hips buck up with soft sighs, “No point in w-waiting, I’m wet e-enough..” you lift letting Peter slip off your underwear, “I wanna see your f-face when you enter me” you felt hot, you’ve never been this straightforward with him before but you could tell he relished it.

Peter nodded, breathless as you lined yourself with him. You grasp his dick, you push the tip against your clit, letting your slick cover it.

“Fuck- god! That.. that feels so good..” Peter’s words were through gritted teeth. “P-please baby put it in..” you feel a fire ignite in you, you want more.

You leaned against his chest, allowing your body to grind against his cock, letting your pussy slip up and down, “bab-baby fuck that feels so good. Please please- l-let me fuck y-you.” His voice was higher than usual, hands on the floor gripping the sheets, his hips trying but failing not to thrust into you.

“I’m sorry I was just getting payback for all the times you’ve edged me” you leave kisses on his lips, as you guide his dick to your hole, letting yourself slide onto it, agonizingly slow moaning as you adjust. Your eyes gazed at Peter, his mouth open but no words or sounds just pure bliss, his eyebrows knitted together, head thrown back.

You raise yourself, slamming back down, skin colliding on skin making a delicious smacking sound.

Peter whimpers, “fuckfuckfuck- you feel like heaven oh my god! So..sososo warm ohh.”, his hands instantly are off the floor and onto your hips. “Please d-don’t stop..! D-don’t stop pleasepleaseplease…!” Peter’s whines filled the air, his voice made your insides clench.

“Aah- fuckfuck- please do that again. Fuck! it feels so good.” His hands use your hips as handlebars, using them to push and pull you up and down his cock. “M-more more more I need more..! Nngh-“

“Oh god- Pete! Mmhn- “ your legs hug him tight, driving him deeper into hitting directly into your g spot, your head is thrown back as it hits over and over again.

Peter whines, “ooh-“ his thrust are sloppy as he fucks himself into you. “N-never been so dee-ahh…!“ Peter's hands are quickly planted on your back, laying you down, returning to hips in seconds.

A crushing grip, that will leave bruising marks to be remembered and kissed upon tomorrow. Peter’s whimpers swell in your mind as your own choked moans spill out your mouth.

Your hands travel down to your clit rubbing furious circles as you sob in pleasure. “P-peter! Mmmh- so fast..!” Your free hand pulls his head down for a kiss, his shaky breaths against your soft lips, you muffle both of your moans with a searing kiss.

Tongues and teeth clashing in a mess of lust and love, little whispers of “I love you” bounce back and forward as eyes gaze at each other through hazy vision and tears.

“Ooh..Pete-“ your eyes close as you buck up, “S-say my name again, please..” soft touches of the cheek compel you to say again and again, Parker’s fingers dig into your skin as his thrust becoming harder and harder making your body shake as your eyes pinched.

You arch as you feel yourself clenching, pressure building up more and more at your core. Peter keeps his tempo as you squirm, “g-gon-“ your hands go haywire as you let out a scream.

Your ears ring as you pant, fingers splayed out on his chest. “Oooh” Peter whines out more obscenities as he fucks you through your orgasm, “Y-y..fuck even more wet..I’m- fuck soosososo cl-“ peter sobs, hiccuping as his moans get louder.

“Fuck! Ilov- Mm! Iloveyousomuch!!” Peter's rough fingers make their way to clit, harsh and fast strokes make you whine, your body moves against your will trying to match his thrusts.

“I-I’m - shitshitshit- imcummin’!” Peter’s eyes roll back as he pumps into you, a warm pressure courses through your body as Peter's cock pulses in you, “Hhn-oh I-I can feel you in me..” you push your body against his cock, Peter throws his head back as obscenities flow out of his mouth.

“Ah-..! Y-you mm- you're practically milking me. Fuck-“ Peter presses down on your stomach you groan in delight. “I-I’m g-gunna cum again, Ah-mmhnn!” You throw back again, convulsing with pleasure.

“M-me too, fuck your- “ Peter grunts as crams more

cum into your hole, “Y-ya take it..take it”

The room was stuffy, both your heads were spinning as you breathed as you stared at each other.

“T-that was..”

“Amazing, spectacular, sensational?”

You half-hazard hit him, “You’re such a goofball!”

“Mmm, you love it though. Dontcha?” Peter winks with his head tilted, his hair stuck up and all different ways.

“Hate to admit it, but you’re right.” You ruffle his hair.

[magicalbats]

Sanctuary

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 10,874

Warnings: sacrilegious content, monster fucking, tentacle/tongue fucking, brief throat fucking, reader is a nun so take that as you will

A/N: this is my very first commission ever and I had a blast working on it so I asked if I could share it with everyone! I went through and removed the identifiers for their OC but otherwise its exactly the same. I'm going to make a comms page later on for anyone interested so keep an eye out for that, and please enjoy! ❤️

⭐

Snow flurries around your face and buffets the skin to leave your cheeks feeling raw as you peer out over the assembled crowd. There’s a restlessness that hangs over the multitude of heavily bundled bodies lined up in the town square but order had largely been maintained all morning. It was mostly a variety of women in differing sizes, shapes and ages, which tended to help in that regard, while the occasional man was either old, sick or otherwise unfit for the labor needed to support themselves. These people relied heavily, sometimes exclusively, on the church’s community efforts to keep themselves afloat. You could even make out a few small children among the masses where you were standing; antsy from waiting and fussy with hunger, and who were starting to get on their accompanying parents' last nerves by the looks of it. 

Cloak whipping in the frigid wind, you shift behind the table where two other Sisters were diligently working to ladle out the porridge and pass out thick slices of bread quickly enough to keep the line moving at a reasonable pace. You were technically supposed to be on break after standing in the same spot for hours, your dominant wrist giving a muted throb from overuse when you take up the spare baler spoon and dip it into the massive pot, but you were having a hard time walking away. You usually did, though. Some might accuse you of taking your responsibilities a little too seriously at times but you liked to think of it more as simply being pertinacious. It was better to toe the line of overzealous than to be apathetic or indifferent to the plights of others, after all, and you couldn’t think of anyone more in plight than hungry children. 

Speculatively, Sister Darya eyes the bowl you fill and set aside before starting to spoon out another serving into a second dish. She sends you a sidelong glance even while her hands continue to work through the monotonous motions. Dip, pour, pass across the table. Dip, pour, pass across the table. She doesn’t have to look to ensure every moving piece ends up exactly where it needs to be, and the line keeps moving without interruption even as she sets her prickly sights on you. 

“Back so soon, Sister? Perhaps we should have you chained to the nearest bench to ensure you take your breaks when you’re supposed to.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” You respond with a cool indifference, unperturbed by the pointed stare she gives you when you reach to fill a third bowl. “I’ll go take my rest once I give these to the children. Surely you won’t find any complaint in that?” 

Sister Darya draws a careful breath and lets it out with a sigh. When she speaks next, it’s very soft so that only you might hear her quiet response. “They are supposed to wait in line just like everyone else. Those are the rules. Do not give me that look, Sister. You know as well as I do what lows the starving and the sick will sink to.”

“Then I will take care to ensure nothing of the sort comes of it.” Stamping down the flare of annoyance that sparks in your chest, you stiffly drop the baler back to the table. The older woman narrows her sharp beady eyes at you in warning yet you pay it little mind. 

Quickly shoving a spoon into each of the four bowls you’ve prepared, you juggle the dishes into your hands and step out from behind the table. You can barely catch the sound of her grumbling something to the other nun stationed with her as you walk away but aren’t quite able to make out what’s being said. No matter though. She’d never been particularly fond of you and the feeling was decidedly mutual. Nothing that happened here today was going to change that. 

The first child you manage to track down in the crowd is on the verge of tears, fitfully tugging at his mothers skirts while he asks her how much longer it will be. She has her hands full with a mewling infant, swaddled and bundled in so many layers that it takes the use of both hands to properly hold onto the bulky mass, and she could not offer him much comfort aside from gentle reassurances that it would be soon. One look at the tired, heavy bags under her eyes vindicates your decision. These people needed help, and you wouldn’t sit idly by if there was something that could be done for them. 

Sweeping closer to the pair, you keep your voice gentle even as you project it enough to be heard over the general din. “Do not cry, little man. You must be strong for your mother and your new sibling, isn’t that right? Look at what I have for you.” 

Red faced from the snow and the wind, he turns to glance up at you from under the brim of his wide, fur lined cap. The green of his irises seems to swim with valiantly held back tears but they clear almost immediately when he sees the bowl you carefully offer out to him. They appear to you like crystalline lakes turned dazzling with the azure sheen of algae, and you give him your best smile when he eagerly reaches out to accept the porridge in his tiny gloved hands. 

Her expression morphing from one of surprise to immense gratitude, the mother ducks her head in quick thanks. “May the Cryo Archon bless you, Sister. Your kindness means much to me and my children.” 

“Speak not another word of it. You’re almost to the front of the line now, so you’ll be able to fill your stomach soon. Please take care.” 

With a brief nod of acknowledgment, you move on. There’s another child a few paces down, this one a young girl curled up in the arms of her father as if in search of warmth as much as comfort, and you tell them much the same. That they were almost to the front of the queue and he gives his words of thanks as his daughter shyly accepts the bowl you hand to her. Left with still two more to pass out, you work your way further back in the line while assuring the waiting adults that there was enough for everyone to be fed and to just be patient. 

Empty handed after finding a pair of brothers solemnly standing in line together, you start to retrace your path towards the table again. You’d spotted a few more kids and you wanted to make the burden of waiting a bit more bearable for them as much as for their parents, but a small scuffle up near the front pulls your gaze and demands your attention first. Your strides turn purposeful now as you make a beeline for the commotion. What you come upon gives you pause, though. 

The green eyed boy from before was picking himself up off the ground and trying very hard not to let the hiccuping sobs that shake his shoulders get the better of him. His bowl of porridge was spilled in the barren dirt and frozen mud. A gnarled looking man in a tattered coat was bending to retrieve the fallen dish, mumbling something unkind under his breath while the mother juggles the baby in her arms and frets over her fallen son. At first you think it an accident, the kind of misstep that could happen all too easily when there were so many people crammed together in a single place. But then, to your surprise, the surly man straightens up with the bowl, dips his fingers into what bit of porridge meal was still sticking to the interior and pops them into his mouth. 

You see an instant flash of red behind your eyes. 

“What is the meaning of this?” You demand, closing the distance at a rapid pace now. “Horrid scoundrel, do you truly intend to repay the Holy Mothers kindness and generosity by stealing from a child? Does that seem right to you?” 

The sallow faced man glances up at your approach, takes one look at the black veil covering your hair and scoffs before turning from you. It was clear he thought little of you and your opinions on the matter, and he disinterestedly begins to walk away with his spoils still in hand. Temper flaring just a pinch more, you lengthen the stride of your steps. You brush right past the mother and her children. Reach out with grasping fingers and snag the back of the man’s ratty coat. He aggressively spins around to snap at you, but you were ready with some choice words of your own. 

“How dare you! To think that anyone in our great motherland would behave like an uncivilized animal!” You practically spit up at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself for carrying on in this manner when there is plenty to go around for everyone. What have you got to say, huh?” 

“I don’t have nothing to say to you, crazy bitch. Let go! Before I get mad!” 

A chorus of horrified gasps erupts around you, but you only tighten your hold on him even when his coat is so grimy and unkempt it makes your skin itch. You’re distantly aware of the crowd shuffling behind you, no doubt considering the possible ramifications of stepping in or not, but there was a hesitation when so many of them were women with little to no able bodied men to help. It was only natural, and you didn’t blame them for it. You blamed this no good lout for causing such an unpleasant scene in the first place and you weren’t about to let him get off that easily for being such an inconvenient nuisance to everyone. 

“I will not let you go. You owe that boy and his mother an apology, sir. Come, I will even stand with you to lessen the embarrassment you have to face.” 

Becoming more aggressive by the second, he violently tries to yank out of your grip. You hold fast though, and only stumble a step before pulling back on his coat with everything you’ve got. He seemed annoyed more than anything else though, and he rounds on you again to loom over your much slighter frame in an obvious display of intimidation as he bellows, “I’m warning you, let me go! Now!” 

“And I am warning you, come apologize to them or you will not like how this is going to end.” 

His face growing red in anger, he tries once again to forcefully shrug you off. But when that doesn’t work he brings his hand up in a quick arc, clenching it into a tight fist. You barely have enough time to process it’s even happening and then it — harmlessly sails right over your head. 

Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you watch in mute disbelief as he’s roughly dragged back a handful of steps by an arm wrapped around his neck. The destitute man flails and kicks, grunting when he drops the bowl so he can reach up to claw at the limb cutting off his air supply. It’s useless though. Whoever was holding onto him had a grip as good as iron, evidently, and you catch a burst of coppery-brown hair behind him as he slowly starts to drain of energy and sag. One moment he’s wildly thrashing to get loose and the next he’s … going limp with a wet little gurgle. 

You catch your first glimpse of the young man — your heroic savior, as it were — when he bends to deposit the vagrant onto the cold ground without much concern for where or how he might land. His burden hitting the dirt with a bodily thump, he lifts his attention to you. You’re instantly struck by the intense blue of his eyes, and your breath catches in shock. 

Was he really human? 

“Are you alright, miss? Sorry I didn’t make it here sooner.” Straightening again, he wipes his gloved hands together as if ridding them of dirt after a messy job. Then he steps over the prone man on long, somewhat gangly legs so he can come closer. “When someone said there was a disturbance going on at the church’s food drive I came as fast as I could. I hope you’re not hurt?” 

Rousing from your initial disquiet, you take in the whole of him rather than just the strange eyes staring at you in question. You recognize the military uniform immediately, and bob a quick curtsy as was customary when dealing with someone of his station. “Worry not, good sir. I am unharmed and I have you to thank for that. I’d say you were just in time, in fact.” 

The young soldier gives you an abrupt, dazzling smile that is so filled to the brim with boyish charm it almost gives you pause. He was handsome, yes, but he also looked like a troublemaker of the highest order. Certainly not someone you would need or want to find yourself mixed up with no matter how good looking he was or how pleasantly symmetrical his features were. 

“It was my pleasure, of course, Sister …?” 

You lift your chin and tell him your name.

He slowly repeats your name, as if savoring the feel of it on his tongue and the way the syllables curl inside his mouth. “Well, Sister, although I was all too happy to offer my assistance, you still played an admirable part too. Thanks to you I didn’t have to go chasing this guy down. I owe you my thanks as well.” 

“Save it.” You sigh, giving your head a brief shake. “I was only doing what’s right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must tend to the boy he stole from and get him another bowl of food.”

Decisively turning on your heel, expecting that to be the end of it, you start to walk away. To your great surprise, though, he quickly falls into step beside you. 

“I’m Ajax, by the way.” 

“A lovely name.” You don’t miss a beat but, rather than discouraging him with your indifferent tone, it just makes his grin grow even wider.

“I can help you.” He says it so point blank and matter of fact that for a split second you’re not quite sure what he even wants to lend you a hand with. And that was to say nothing of the why. 

“Although I certainly appreciate the offer, I think you’ve helped plenty for one day.” Turning your head, you steal a quick glance back at the unconscious man still lying out on the ground. The boy with the green eyes was spitefully kicking dirt at him and, much like his mother, you willfully chose to ignore it. While it wasn’t exactly good or proper behavior, you figured he was entitled to a tiny bit of payback for what he’d endured. “Shouldn’t you be escorting that gentleman to the jailhouse right about now? Surely that is a much more pressing matter for you than feeding the sick and hungry.” 

“Don’t worry, he won’t be waking up anytime soon and I’m sure another officer will happen by any minute now to take care of it.” 

You send him a slow, curious look, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit put out. “That’s an odd thing to say, isn’t it? As a young man in her majesty the Tsaritsa’s army I would have thought you’d jump at the chance for recognition of such a good deed.” 

He casually waves that off with a chuckle. “Ah, who really cares about recognition anyway? I’m much more interested in doing what I enjoy than making decisions based on what will earn me merit.”

Something told you that was only a very small fraction of the bigger picture. He was still young and clearly impulsive, so you didn’t doubt that he truly was far more inclined to do only what he found worthy of his efforts to pursue. It wasn’t your place to comment on that though, nor did you want to humor how that applied to you in the here and now by giving it any deeper thought than that. 

Ignoring Sister Darya’s incensed glare, you pause at the corner of the church’s food drive table and turn to face your dogged shadow. This man, this soldier named Ajax, obediently halts just within arms reach and looks at you with an expectant, almost puppy-like eagerness as if waiting for the next command to fall from your lips. You may have found it cute otherwise, but you weren’t about to encourage him in any way. It wasn’t in your nature to knowingly lead people on and unlike some of the other Sister’s in the order you didn’t derive any such pleasure from doing so. You’d have to be blunt then. 

“I thank you again for your assistance,” You pointedly intone. “But I cannot allow you to waste your time taking on the church’s work. Her majesty has greater expectations of you than handing out bowls of porridge. You have your responsibilities and I have mine. We would both do well to remember that.” 

He doesn’t look half as dejected by that as you’d hoped he would, his boyish grin only taking on a frustratingly sly edge now. “Aww, don’t tell me this is your way of sending me off into the cold again.” 

“I’m afraid so. I don’t have time to entertain anyone, you understand.” 

Those odd eyes of his dance before you as he gives you a quick, appraising glance up and down to take in your shuddering cloak and the fluttering veil atop your head. But it strikes you once again as being strange, how his irises don’t seem to reflect the light at all. Rather they almost seem to swallow it up like a void. You’d initially thought it a mere trick of the senses brought about by the heavy charcoal clouds hanging overhead but … even now, even standing near the cackling flame over which the pot of porridge was simmering, there still was no reflection to be found in his eyes. It was a little unsettling, if you were being honest. 

Just what was he? 

“You break my heart, Sister. Is it not also the responsibility of a soldier to see that the needs of the people he serves are met? Lending the church a hand would be nothing short of a great honor for me.” 

You set your mouth in a firm, unamused line. “I’m afraid I’m not fool enough to believe that when you just told me you’re not interested in doing things simply for merit. You’ve got an ulterior motive in volunteering your services and I’m not interested in such games.” 

A quick laugh huffs out of him as he lifts a hand to place it emphatically over his heart. “You wound me, Sister! What do you take me for, huh?” 

“Someone who’s time would be much better spent escorting that vagabond away from the food drive before he wakes up and starts causing more trouble for us, that’s what.” 

“Fair enough.” Shoulders shaking with laughter, he pauses to give you another glance over from the top of your head down to the toes of your smart leather boots. You’re acutely aware of the other Sister’s watching on in rapt fascination and morbid curiosity, as well as the townsfolk standing close enough to the front of the line to eavesdrop, but you firmly stand your ground. There would be time to feel embarrassed by this scene later, in the privacy of your own dorm. 

At length, Ajax finally gives his head a shake. “I didn’t know they made Sisters like you.” 

“They don’t. I’m all of my own making.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He finally falls back a step with a brief nod of acknowledgment. Allowing himself one final look at you, Ajax turns away with one last word of parting. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sister. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again soon.” 

Standing there in the cold and the chaffing wind, and the flurry of snow, you watch him walk away. You think you could go your whole life without having another run in with him and it would still be too soon. It wasn’t that he was just a bit strange even for a young, headstrong soldier. There was something genuinely peculiar about him. Even putting aside the way he’d kept looking at you, there was still a sense of undesirability about the whole situation. From a nuns perspective he presented a multitude of problems, the least of which being temptation that did not fall in line with your vows. 

Turning your head to look at the others when he bends to retrieve the culprit from the ground and save him from the agitated rumblings of the antsy crowd, you spare Sister Darya a withering scowl. “I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

The way her eyes flash at you in mute disapproval seems to say ‘I told you so’ but you adamantly ignore it in favor of reaching for another bowl to fill. At the rate you were going it was starting to look like you’d never get that break. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Everything seems so normal that at first you almost don’t even realize it’s a dream. 

Some distant part of you knows you’d been so tired from the food drive that you’d fallen asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow after taking a nice, long bath to rid yourself of the permanent Snezhnayan chill. But you were glad for the normalcy of it, content to meander your way through whatever your resting subconscious decided to conjure up. The first scene is a field of wildflowers that does not exist in the ice and snow of your motherland. It’s peaceful there and quiet. A welcome haven of tranquility which you dreamed of with some frequency. 

You’re more than a little disappointed when it suddenly changes to the town square. One moment you’d been picking dandelions to weave into a wreath for your hair, and the next you were standing in the middle of a cold barren wasteland. The streets were empty around you, the houses dark and silent. The flowers wilt in your hands. Dropping them, you turn in a circle to survey your surroundings. Nothing looked out of place aside from the total lack of people, or even any dogs or cats roaming the area. No birds, either. 

Without a particular destination in mind, you start to walk. A part of you hoped the scenery would change again and morph into a more pleasing visage around you, but that’s not what happens. It feels like you spend many minutes just walking up and down the empty streets like a lost ghost, each step its own eternity. Every breath its own death rattle. A niggling thought in the back of your mind whispers of danger, warns of something being not quite right, and yet you don’t retrace your path back to the starting point in the square. Like there was an invisible string tugging you along, you follow its suggestive pull straight through town to the church. 

Despite finding this rather strange, even for a dream, you open the door and go inside without pause. 

The sanctuary is just as desolate and deserted as everywhere else had been. You hadn’t seen so much as a suggestion of another living being, human or otherwise, and still the string tugs. Trance-like and spellbound, you follow the exigent summons through the grounds; past altars and holy relics, and pews and the baptistery, out into the courtyard. You cross over bare frozen ground to the monastery. Up the long flight of stairs and down the empty hall until you reach the door to your own room. 

This is the first thing that gives you any real amount of hesitation but the string just pulls harder. Like a puppet under the guidance of a masterful biloquist, your hand comes up to grab the knob. You watch yourself turn it and then swing the door open. Your skin prickles with static electricity when you cross the threshold but this, too, is empty. Having half expected to walk in and find your own sleeping form huddled on top of the narrow bed, you’re strangely disappointed to find the sheets neatly made and smoothed out. They looked like they would never be disturbed again, as if the room itself had been plucked out of reality and then frozen in time and space. 

You feel the string slip away then, as you’re standing just inside the doorway looking over your bed, and a rattling breath puffs out of you at its loss. It leaves you trembling with newfound life, as if whatever force served to guide you here had sedated your mind and body alike to encourage compliance. Now, though, you were suddenly acutely aware of just how disconcerting the trek here had actually been. How heavy and oppressive the static charged air really is. 

Hands clenching and unclenching at your sides to restore feeling in them, you cautiously step around the room. It was not a large space and you were able to complete a full circuit in only ten steps. The bed took up a vast majority of the capacity. Your writing desk took up most of the rest. Suspiciously, you even bend to peer under the metal frame that holds the mattress, but there’s nothing there. It was just as void of life as everywhere else. 

When you straighten up again something in the single small window in the room catches your attention. You squint at it a moment but your eyes can’t quite make out what it is, so you step closer. There’s a thin layer of condensation coating the glass and, thinking perhaps that was what was obstructing your view, you reach up to wipe it away. The very real sensation of cold, wet moisture under your fingers startles you more than you’d like to admit. Your foggy mind reels and stumbles over the visceral thought. 

And then your eyes adjust. 

A dull, muted burst of copper. Red horns. It wasn’t outside amongst the trees and the buildings, and the dark overcast sky. It was behind you. 

Holding yourself achingly stiff, you slowly turn around. You’re not really sure how you maintain your cool when every inch of your skin was crawling with a violent eruption of goosebumps but you’re exceedingly glad for it as you set your sights on the monster in the doorway. It’s not just large, it’s huge. You think it must be over seven feet tall, perhaps even pushing eight, and it takes up the whole frame with its massive stature. It seems implausible for something of that size to move around as silent as any soft footed cat, but you’re positive you hadn’t heard a single sound. If this was just a figment of your imagination, you sorely hoped it would dissolve away into nothing very soon. 

What you think must be its eye just stares at you though, unblinking and unmoving. This tense stand-off lasts so long, in fact, that your frightened adrenaline eventually starts to wear off bit by bit, leaving you feeling somewhat disoriented in the aftermath. Was it even alive? Had your taxed mind and body really summoned the likeness of a horrible monster just to terrorize you in your dreams? And, perhaps most perplexing of all, why did it spark a distant note of familiarity in the dregs of your memory? Almost like you’d seen it or something like it recently, but that couldn’t be true. Certainly you never would have been able to forget such a creature as this … 

You just start to toy with the notion of slipping around it to get back out into the hall when it sedately lifts its arm. Frozen in place by a fresh surge of uncertainty and fear, you watch it push the door so that it swings shut with an almost casual motion. The click of the latch catching sounds like the heavy swing of an executioner's blade. 

“You came.” 

Its deep, raspy voice seems to reverberate in the very air itself and, finally unable to keep your nerves in check any longer, you take a stumbling step back to press into the wall. Your heart threatens to jackhammer straight out of your chest as you frantically try to process the situation. Not only was it very much alive and capable of interacting with the environment, it could also talk. You’re not sure why that disturbs you as much as it does but there’s no denying how your stomach painfully cramps with sinking dread now. Every fiber of your being thrums with the desire to run and flee, to hide from this monster, and yet you knew you were trapped in here with it. Even if you’d wanted to make an attempt at the now closed door the room was much too small. You’d never get around it. 

All you can do is quake when it takes a deliberately slow step forward before stopping again. Just looking at you. Gauging your reaction, perhaps? You didn’t really care about any of that. 

“What are you?” It’s little more than a frightened whisper. 

“Think of me as a god come to collect on what is rightfully mine.” 

Your spine snaps straight even as a disconcerted shudder races through you. “You are no god, foul beast. You’re a demon.” 

The thing laughs, low and hoarse. “Close, but not quite. You may call me Foul Legacy. Or, if you would prefer, ‘master’ will suffice just as well for your role.” 

“I will call you no such thing!” You hiss in indignant affront. 

“You will.” It assures you, taking another controlled step closer. “If I command it of you, your only choice will be to obey. If I tell you to get on your knees and worship me then that is what you will do. I told you, didn’t I? I’ve come to claim what’s mine.” 

You start to open your mouth to protest but your words fail you, and you slowly close it again. Frantically now, your wide eyed gaze scans the room looking for any sliver of hope for escape. You were cornered against the wall though. You’d never make it past this thing, and the window was much too small for you to crawl through even if it stopped long enough to let you get it open. The window …

Stealing a split second glance at the rectangle of glass just next to your head, you confirm your suspicions. The streaks left behind in the wake of your hand were still there. The cool condensation had felt undeniably real under your skin which meant, at least to some extent, this dream was a tangible one. Or maybe it would’ve been more accurate to call it a hallucination? It didn’t matter. 

If this was real enough to touch then that must have meant the monster was too. It was a slim chance but maybe you could fight your way past it and get away …

“Are you so unimpressed with this form that you allow your mind to wander?” The creature remarks, but it doesn’t sound surprised or even offended at this fact. More than anything, it almost sounds amused and that is what ultimately steels your resolve. It’s mistake would be underestimating you. 

“I was merely thinking how best to convey my lack of interest in you, oh great demon lord.” You volley back rather primly. “You don’t exactly look like a man, but you are shaped like one … I wonder if a good kick between the legs might get the message across.” 

The fiery haired thing throws its head back and laughs. You almost lose your nerve, but you valiantly cling to that tiny spark of courage you still had left. Cautiously, you start to edge your way down the wall. 

“Splendid! I would expect nothing less from my future bride! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” 

Stilling, you widen your eyes at it. “Your what?” 

You realize your mistake a moment too late. When you should have kept moving towards the desk for the most direct path to the door you’d instead allowed it to give you pause. Even though it lasts for but a single heartbeat that’s more than enough time for the monster to act. 

It’s on you in the blink of an eye. Grabbing under your arms, it hauls you straight up off your feet like you weighed nothing at all. The sudden rush of movement, the unexpected press of huge, clawed hands curling around your ribcage shocks a sharp gasp out of you. But before you have a chance to do anything else, it shoves you back into the wall with a bodily thud that makes the old rafters tremble. The impact doesn’t hurt, not really — not as much as it could have, given how strong the creature evidently is — and you just gape down at its horrid face in stunned disbelief. 

You'd barely even seen it move … 

“Oh, that look of surprise is quite charming on you.” It rasps, snickering low under its breath. “I knew I could rip that frigid mask away with enough time. I wonder how else you’re going to warm up for me …” 

“W - what are you —“ 

The words trail off into nothing when the lower half of its jaw hinges open, and a long, snake-like tongue slips out to waggle tauntingly in the thin space separating you from it. Bile rises in your throat as you bring your hands up to claw desperately at its forearms but it doesn’t even seem to notice. That dreadful appendage just keeps unfurling out of its mouth, dripping threads of saliva here or there that land on the floor with soft little plops that make your stomach roil. Trying very hard not to panic, you futilely turn your head away from it. 

“Do not fear what I offer you, little nun. I have every intention of making sure you enjoy this just as much as I do.” 

It licks you then, that slimy tongue swiping up the side of your face from chin to temple. The wet, quickly cooling stripe it leaves behind makes you choke in disgust. You think it’s reminiscent of a dog, almost, that was much too eager to show its affection to stop long enough and consider how the recipient might feel about it. In the same breath you have the niggling thought that this was not the first time you’ve been reminded of dogs today. Before you have a chance to connect the pieces, the monster speaks again. 

“You really will make the most lovely bride, you know. I’m eager to see you with my mark.”

“I rebuke it!” You snap, struggling anew against its hold. “I rebuke you, foul creature! My faith will protect me and - -“ 

“Hah! I’d like to see that, Sister.” 

You go stock still when it says your name, and your heart skips across your ribs like a rock skimming over the surface of a lake. It felt just as heavy too, in that moment. 

But the monster doesn’t give you a chance to recover and that heinous tongue flicks across your cheek to rudely slip inside your mouth. You shriek around the abrupt intrusion, eyes wide and unseeing, as the length of it just keeps coming. It squirms and wriggles its way towards the back of your throat almost too quickly for you to react. Running on instinct now, you viciously snap your teeth down but all the creature does is let out a shuddering groan of pleasure, as if it liked the pain. Your jaw loosens in surprise as much as confusion, and it takes quick advantage of that to shove its tongue straight down your gullet. 

You gag on it, heaving with a violent wrench as your throat is penetrated. Tears spring up in your eyes but you can’t even scream with it blocking your airway like this. Helpless to do anything else, you just hang there and try not to pass out while it reaches deeper and deeper into you, through your esophagus almost straight down to your guts. It pauses there, giving you a moment to fully process the sensation of your whole body writhing on its tongue, before gradually starting to withdraw back the way it had come. It’s a sick, claustrophobia inducing sensation that only seems to double down when you dry heave and choke around it but, at last, it slips free of your constricting throat, and you suck in a wretched mouthful of air. 

Ignoring the way you cough and spit up bubbling sheets of drool, the horned beast takes a moment to swirl its tongue around the interior of your mouth; feeling along the roof, over your tongue, tracing the outline of each individual tooth straight back to your molars. You shudder and heave, struggling to even comprehend exactly how violated you felt in the aftermath of that disgusting experience. You’d been right to call it a demon … 

“You taste good.” It says when it finally starts to retract its tongue a moment later, setting its sights on lapping up the drool that coats your chin instead. “Good enough to eat, in fact. I wonder how much you’ll squeal when I feast between your legs.” 

“Unhand me this instant,” You wheeze as more of your strength and will to fight slowly comes back to you with the oxygen you pull in. “You are vile and repulsive … I want nothing to do with it!” 

“Oh, now that sounds familiar.” 

Noising a tiny sound of confusion, you clutch its thick forearms in a death grip while it moves to set you down on your feet. You don’t trust it, not by a long shot, and your greatest fears are soon realized when its fingers curl into the fabric of your smock. The sound of straining thread reaches your ears long before it actually rips and you cry out when the first ragged strip is torn from you with a deafening tear. Piece by piece, it shreds your clothes to tatters no matter how wildly you try to twist away or cling to the quickly dwindling panels of black cotton. All too soon you find yourself naked save your stockings and the bloomers pulled over them, and your brassiere which it promptly shreds too. 

Evidently saving your bottoms for last, it reaches for your veil next. 

“No!” You shriek, hating the terror you can hear in your own voice as you make a useless, frantic attempt to shove the monster away. 

It actually pauses even though you didn’t so much as budge it one little bit though, and it tips its head to the side inquisitively almost like … almost like a dog. There was that association again but where was it coming from? You couldn’t quite seem to remember, either due to your suffocating fear making the memory slip away or because your sleeping subconscious couldn’t quite remember enough to supply it on demand. Either way, you were sure it held the answer to your current predicament and you just couldn’t seem to grasp it. 

Why did this thing seem so damn familiar to you? 

“You do not want me to see your hair.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it takes everything you have not to outright scoff. 

“Of course I don’t, you fiend! It is improper for a — a man, even one such as you, to look at the uncovered head of a nun who has sworn herself to the faith. You should be ashamed of yourself!” 

It seems to consider that for a moment, humming softly as if in thought. “It is my understanding that, should one of the Sister’s ever take on a husband, then he alone is permitted to look upon her uncovered hair. Fine. Then I will allow you to keep your modesty until we consummate our union.” 

You prickle defensively at the way it almost spits the word, as if with contempt and spite. “I will not be wed to you! I swore an oath to the church!”

“And now you will swear an oath to me.” 

Hissing, it reaches out to grab at your bloomers even when you desperately try to slap its hand away. It tears them off just like everything else with neither forethought or effort, and you seethe at your own helplessness as you make one last ditch effort to wrench yourself free. But it’s too strong, too big. Just one of its hands seems to dwarf your hip when it possessively curls around your waist to hold you still. Your chest heaves with quick, panicked breaths as you tip your face down to watch it bring a claw close to your cunt, expecting it to rip off your pantyhose the same way it had all the rest. But all it does is caress over you with a thick knuckle and your face grows even hotter with indignation at the nudge. You couldn’t stand the thought of this thing touching you like this and yet you couldn’t seem to look away from it either. 

“I don’t want this,” You whisper, barely even hearing your own voice over the blood that pounds in your ears. 

“You will.” It assures you. Unexpectedly gentle, tentative almost, it curls its thick forefinger further back to prod at your crease and you fitfully shudder at the implication.

Was it really going to take you to wife? You’d never heard of anything more ridiculous; a nun and a one eyed demon, horns and all. It was completely useless to try and keep your cool any longer, and you outright whimper when it carefully pokes its claw up to pierce the thin layer of nylon. Hyper aware of how much it would hurt to get nicked by that sharp talon in such a sensitive spot, you force your body to stay as still as you can manage while it rips your stockings open at the crotch. Cool air wafts against your exposed cunt, making you tremble, and it breathes out a sigh of great pleasure as it teases the patch of curls there with those monstrous fingertips. 

“Am I the first one to ever see you like this?” 

“O - of course you are, foolish beast … I take my vows seriously. This isn’t — it’s not right, do you hear me? I was saving myself …” 

Issuing a low, rasping laugh, it reaches up to palm your other hip with a muted squeeze, holding your waist in both hands now. “You were saving yourself for me. This whole time you were always fated to become my bride and you did so well maintaining the sanctity of your body but that’s all over now. You’re free to embrace your most depraved thoughts and urges. Free to languish in the licentious and erotic desires you’ve been suppressing for so long. I offer you no judgment for your human needs. Only pleasure.” 

Squirming against its hold when your pussy flutters in unmistakable interest, you bring your hands up to weakly clutch its huge wrists again. You couldn’t believe this was happening. How could your body betray you over a creature like this? “No. I won’t fall for it. I refuse!” 

“We shall see.” 

Its tongue slips out again, curling through the air like a pink, wet serpent. Down to your chest where it takes a moment to flick over your nipple until it's coated in a fine sheen of spit and achingly stiff. You didn’t want it touching you like that but you also didn’t want to touch it, so you stop yourself from smacking at it. Just keep reminding yourself that this is only a dream — a very realistic, disturbingly tangible one, but a dream nonetheless. Whatever happened here held no weight in the real world. 

And maybe … just maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to indulge in the carnal just once? 

The prodding tip of its tongue gives your teat one last wet nudge before tracing a path down your front. Past your ribs and its huge thumbs bracketing your waist, over your bellybutton and straight down to brush against your curls. You shudder at the sensation, at the very suggestion of what was to come, but you don’t fight it now. Rather, you hesitantly shift your weight from one foot to the other and then cant your hips forward with a shy little push. The monster hums a rumbling sound of approval before dipping its tongue between your thighs. 

Eyes widening at the feel of it on your cunt, you just stand there like a frozen statue while it traces along the seam of your body. You’d never experienced anything like it before, and you were horrified at how eagerly your loins curl in anticipation. You almost let your courage waver, almost second guess your impulsive decision to humor this at all, but until you woke up you were effectively trapped and fighting it clearly wasn’t going to do any good. 

Oh, why couldn’t you just wake up from this nightmare already? 

“Relax.” It breathes out, unconcerned by the glistening threads of drool that drip from its mouth. “I will not hurt you, little nun.” 

You wanted to believe that very badly. Almost as much as you wanted to believe that indulging like this wouldn’t have any impact on your waking conscience. 

That slimy tongue starts to push up then, pressing into your lips, and you suck in a harsh breath. It teases around your entrance for a brief moment before it starts to wriggle its way in deeper. The penetration is not unlike that of your throat — all fleshy and smooth, and damp with spit — but it still stretches you enough to toe the line of discomfort. Swaying in its hold, you let out a dizzy groan. 

“Oh … that’s - -“ 

“Only the tip.” The thing laughs. 

You try to calm your breathing as it moves around inside you to work your body open, but it’s a losing battle. The stretch of until now untested muscle makes you wince while the slimy sensation of its tongue eagerly moving along your inner sleeve just leaves you wanting to throw up. You don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this, surely. Even without any experience of your own to go off of you’d expected sexual encounters to be more intimate and less … invasive. Less like you were being probed far beyond what any human hands should have been able to reach. 

But if it sees any of the uncertainty flashing across your face it doesn’t show it. The demon only worms its tongue deeper and deeper as your passage reluctantly opens until the distant sensation of it bumping the end of you knocks a harried whimper loose. It’s an uncomfortable pressure but it doesn’t hurt. You’re exceedingly glad for that as you awkwardly shuffle your feet further apart to brace against the overload to your senses. It was like burning from the inside out, and the epicenter of it was concentrated squarely in your cunt. You felt certain you were going to combust any moment now. 

“Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined. And so tight, too. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock the same way.”

Your stomach clenches at the thought of how big a creature of this size must be. Fresh fear turns your veins to ice, and you weakly push against its hands. It doesn’t even seem to notice though, let alone take heed, and instead it just leisurely swirls that unnaturally long tongue around your guts. Back and forth, up and down. You’re dizzy with it and a little nauseous, but it also starts to feel good. Slowly but surely that initial discomfort fades to leave behind a thrumming vibration that makes you wheeze where you’re standing. And with it comes slick. So much slick that what you’d once thought only to be saliva quickly makes itself obvious as your cunt practically floods around the intrusion. It was impossible to comprehend the sheer extent of your arousal and yet it clearly didn’t matter. You’d toed the line a bit too close. Now there was no stopping it. 

“P - please … it’s too much!”

Giving your waist a careful squeeze, the demon alters the motion of its tongue from swirling to thrusting. Sedate at first, it withdraws to drag against your interior walls when they squeeze and cling to the appendage and then it pushes back in. Right up to the end of your passage where it can’t go any further and the intense pressure makes you go cross eyed. You can’t even fully process how stuffed your cunt actually is, your legs turning weak and jelly-filled as it slowly increases the pace. The force. You’re beyond ashamed at the sticky wet clicks it pulls from between your thighs, but all you can do is helplessly writhe in its hold. 

“Oh — oooh, wait … I - I can’t do this! I can’t!”

“It’s too late for that, Sister. You’re already doing it.” 

You mewl at its response and throw your head back to wheeze up at the ceiling. It wasn’t wrong. You’d already crossed the line, yes, but this … this strange, unfamiliar feeling low in your gut was far beyond anything you would have ever expected from this. It was like you had to relieve yourself but also different somehow. A complete unknown you had no idea how to make sense of, and you let out a choked off squeal when the thrumming tension rapidly starts to double and then triple. No amount of thrashing was getting you out of its hold so you squeeze your thighs together in a vain attempt to dissuade it from moving inside you like that but it’s no use. Even trying to curl your legs up doesn’t work. 

It just keeps fucking it’s tongue into your shuddering body without pause, and you start to feel truly dizzy as you dangle there between it’s massive hands. How could this be happening to you? And, more pressing, what was happening to you? 

“You’re getting close, I suspect.” It sounds quite proud of that, but you’re a little too preoccupied with the jittery, firecracker nerves making you tremble and shake to question it. The pressure was getting almost unbearable now. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. 

“Ahh — ahhghnn, ooohh please Holy Mother, please help me!” 

“Aww, don’t start making me jealous. I’m the only god you should be praying to right now.” 

Screwing your eyes shut, you turn your face from its horrible unblinking eye but it just laughs in response. Even if you’d wanted to snap at it for being so presumptuous as to think you would worship it in any capacity, you were finding your lungs constricting far too much to draw a proper breath. Your chest heaves with the blinding tension that races through your body and then — so suddenly you don’t get a chance to realize it’s even happening, it abruptly tips over. Spills out to wrack the whole of your body and devolve you into a shuddering mess of spasms. 

You shriek and yelp as your pussy almost violently squeezes down on its tongue which just keeps moving insistently inside you. In and out, in and out like a continuous piston that even your tightly clenching guts couldn’t seem to keep at bay. That slippery appendage keeps spearing through you unimpeded, forcing your roiling muscles to keep contracting with each plunge, and you very nearly pass out from how intensely the sensation hits you. It was simultaneously like drowning deep in the bottomless ocean and soaring high overhead at the same time. You couldn’t even begin to make heads or tails of it. 

But it starts to fade much too fast. The sharp jolts of undeniable pleasure only last what seems to you like a few seconds and then those cresting waves are rapidly receding, like the tide pulling back from the shoreline. You still can’t quite draw a full breath and yet you soon go slack as the tension drains completely to leave you twitching in the aftermath. An odd sense of elation quickly rushes in to replace it though, and you’re ashamed at how you innately warm to the monster’s presence. You couldn’t believe how good that had felt … and bless the Cryo Archon, did that make you a terrible person? 

All of a sudden you weren’t so sure you cared about that anymore, and that terrified you perhaps more than anything else that had happened here in this room. 

“You look so good creaming all over my tongue.” It murmurs, drawing your muddled attention away from those fuzzy headed thoughts. “And the way you taste? Burn everything, I could help myself to this pretty cunt all day. I'm eagerly looking forward to consummating our marriage on the next new moon.” 

Stirring out of your post-climax stupor, you frown at it in genuine confusion. “You aren’t going to do it now?” You weren't disappointed. Surely not. Just surprised, and very confused. 

The demon sighs forlornly — rather dramatically, if you were being honest — and shakes its head. “I’m afraid not. I’d like to, of course, but the mating ritual has its own rules that I can’t supersede. Oh, don’t give me that grumpy look, Sister. I’m not leaving you empty handed tonight, rest assured.” 

You draw a quick breath to berate the damned thing but then it starts to pull its long tongue out of your body and you tense up, seething through your teeth instead. The sharp sensitivity still racing through your nerves made you feel raw and tender. Overwrought in the most literal sense, and it finally slips out with a wet little slurp that makes you whimper at the loss as much as at the sound. You hadn’t thought yourself capable of, well … any of that. Any of this. 

How were you possibly supposed to rationalize any of it in the light of day? 

You’re still trying to work that out when it carries you to the bed where it sets you down, pulls back the sheets and then tucks you in with a truly shocking amount of care. You definitely hadn’t expected that. Not that you’d expected much of anything that had happened over the course of this implausible dream, but you decide not to fight it as the monster takes a moment to brush your veil over the pillow the same as it may have done with your hair. It was all much too strange to think about right now. You could pick it apart and analyze it tomorrow, when you’d had some time to actually process these bizarre happenings. 

Or maybe never, if your subconscious was kind enough to let you forget any of this had ever happened in the first place. 

“Rest now.” It tells you softly in that low, raspy voice. “I will be back to claim what’s rightfully mine soon enough.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You remember everything, of course. 

And somehow that doesn’t surprise you in the least as you lay there in your bed, staring up at the ceiling while warm rays of morning sunlight bounce off the stark, unadorned walls. In retrospect you’re a bit disappointed to think that you could ever be so naive. To believe you’d forget something like that … it had certainly left an impression, at least. 

What does strike you as odd though is the warm, continuous cramp in your lower belly. You readily want to write it off as menses related but … that doesn’t seem right. It should have been too soon for that just yet in your menstrual cycle. 

Unable to stay your gnawing curiosity any longer, you finally rip the sheets off and look down at yourself. Your plain white nightgown is a bit rumpled but given the dream you’d had that didn’t seem so strange. That’s what you try to tell the niggling voice in the back of your mind anyway as you gather it up around your waist but what you find underneath stops you cold. 

Etched into the skin just over the center of your pelvis as though with ink was a four pronged, hexagonal sigil. It was faintly purple in the light, and as clear as day. But that didn’t make any sense. Or rather, you couldn’t make any sense of it at all. You’d been asleep the whole night, here in your room, and this most assuredly had not been there when you’d taken a bath the previous evening … 

You bolt upright with a strangled gasp. Turning your head to look at the window sends a debilitating chill racing through your body. Through the morning condensation beading on the glass you could see the evidence of a hand smudge, right where you’d touched it in your dream. 

“No.” You whisper at the glass pane and then, with more conviction, “No. That’s not possible!” 

It feels like your skin is trying to crawl right off your bones as you shoot out of bed and make a beeline for the tiny closet next to the desk. You rip the door open so forcefully it rattles and groans in protest but you can’t be bothered to worry about that right now. Not when you were staring at your habits, the one you’d worn yesterday, hanging in shreds from the hanger. You couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it, but the proof of it was staring you right in the face. Even your brassiere and bloomers were torn to pieces in the little basket you kept them in on the floor of the closet. The only thing untouched was your veil. Just like in your dream … except, it wasn’t actually a dream, was it? 

Too numb to even wail over this revelation, you slowly sink down to the floor and just stare at your ruined clothes for what feels like a lifetime. There had to be some way out of this mess. There had to be. 

Right? 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The archbishop gives you an exceedingly strange look when you inquire about exorcisms, and it only continues to grow more and more pronounced the more you push the matter while also skirting around the subject at the same time. Not that you could really blame him, of course. You’d had to wait until after the morning service to corner him next to the dais before he could slip out through the side door so you’d had plenty of time to stew over everything, which meant you were coming in perhaps a little hot on the topic. That didn’t matter though. You were determined to get this resolved regardless of the cost, and if that meant having to shake some sense into him before he’d take you seriously then that was exactly what you were going to do. 

Luckily it doesn’t come to that, and he eventually relents after you doggedly refused to give up your line of questioning. Giving his head a hopeless shake, he takes on the tone of someone leveling with a crazy person. “I understand your concerns, Sister, but exorcisms aren’t something that we implement unless absolutely necessary. It is very much a last resort, you see, and there is a rigorous process to even get approval for one. I’m afraid there’s not much else I can tell you.”

You remind yourself to take a deep breath and count to five before speaking next. It wouldn’t do to snap at the one person who might actually be able to help you get out of this mess. “With all due respect, Father, I don’t think that answer will suffice. Even if it’s not a full on exorcism, surely there must be smaller measures in place to help … discourage a demonic presence from returning?” Something a bit more effective than prayer and baptism evidently were. 

His eyes narrowing in clear suspicion, the archbishop speculatively regards you for a moment. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Sister?” 

Of course it would finally get to this point. You’d expected as much, yes, but that doesn’t make the dread wrenching at your gut any less unbearable. How were you supposed to explain any of what had happened last night when you didn’t even understand it yourself? All you knew was that your clothes were in tatters up in your dorm, the window still showed evidence of your hand wiping across it and your lower stomach … 

“Ah, Sister! There you are! Just the lady I was hoping to see.” 

You spin around so fast your eyes feel like they’re going to pop right out of your skull. That feeling only increases when you find Ajax standing there at the end of the pew in his neatly pressed uniform and his smile blinding under the light that comes in through the stained glass murals. Your knees buckle and almost completely give out under you when your belly twists as if someone had shoved a red hot iron into it. Subconsciously you lift a hand to cradle the spot where the tattoo was but you couldn’t quite seem to tear your shocked gaze away from him. 

That was it, wasn’t it? The association. 

You think that has to be right. Had never been more sure of anything else in your life, and yet that doesn’t seem half as pressing as the thrumming arousal that grips you so suddenly and so tightly it actually pulls a quiet whimper out of you. Your cunt floods with it, so much slick producing at the drop of a coin that it makes you feel nauseous and disoriented in the same breath. But how could that be? And why was he just standing there inside the church as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing? 

This was hallowed ground … wasn’t it? 

“W - what are you doing here?” 

Grinning, Ajax tips his head to one side. Inquisitive. Eager. Puppy-like. Bless the Holy Mother, you really were going to be sick. 

“Aww, come on. Didn’t I tell you already?” He laughs softly, but those blue, blue eyes reflect none of that same humor. They reflect nothing at all, in fact. “I'd hoped we’d get to meet again after our little run in yesterday, so I just figured I’d take matters into my own hands and speed it up. I brought you flowers.” 

You just catch the sound of the archbishop scoffing beside you in obvious disapproval and you would have wholeheartedly agreed with him under better circumstances. But better circumstances would not have found you panting with the effort of keeping your wits about you. It was like you were suffocating under the weighty pressure of the mark branded into your skin, and it almost seems to throb as you numbly look down at the humble bouquet he holds out. You could tell it was handpicked at just a glance. Some frost growing ferns and puffy cats tails, and … purple ivy. 

Affection. 

Fidelity. 

Wedded love. 

He couldn’t be serious, could he? 

The sly edge that creeps into his otherwise boyish smile seems to suggest that he was, in fact, quite serious. You stumble back a step in your reeling disbelief and the archbishop hurries to grab you by the elbow so he can steady you, but you hardly even notice the presence of his hands. Your eyes, your mind, your entire being was for Ajax and Ajax alone. 

“I did not ask for flowers.”

“That’s true but I still wanted you to have them. You caught my eye yesterday, Sister. I hope you won’t turn me down.” 

Confusion and uncertainty grip you in equal measure, but it is the low pulse of the mark on your stomach that truly robs you of the ability to speak. It’s hot and uncomfortable, and the way it makes your pussy sympathetically flutter in time with your heartbeat very nearly overrides all of your higher functioning thoughts. Was he really the monster that had accosted you in your sleep or … could it have been a separate entity? One he wasn’t even aware of, if he thought you could really reject him when just the sight of him standing there made you desperate to be filled again. To be feasted upon by that beast. 

Slowly, you reach your hand out to accept the bouquet and the invisible string tightens its noose around you almost imperceptibly. Your fate was already sealed. You knew this to be true on an intrinsic, fundamental level. 

Foul Legacy had been right to say you’d been saving yourself for it. 

For him. 

For this. 

You would give him your sanctuary, may the Holy Mother save your soul.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[hp-hcs]

😜💖 friendship is magic 😌✨ (Chapter Four of The Doll) — slytherin boys x gn! ‘the boy’ (2016)! reader

❕new addition of Regulus Black❕

tws: dolls, obviously; reader referred to as ‘it’ (presumed inanimate); mentions of past child character death(s); mentions of a house fire—implied arson; violence; & murder

based entirely off of the 2016 film ‘the boy’. just slow plot shit this chapter, i’m afraid

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Determined to find the source of the leak, Blaise tromps back out to the hall to find wherever the L/Ns stashed their pole hook to open the attic. Tucked away in a dusty corner is where Blaise finds it, and he carries it back into Y/N’s room with a pleased expression.

This was going to be a piece of cake. If Blaise could find the leak and patch it up, maybe the L/Ns would put in a good word with the courts and shorten their sentences. Or his, anyway.

Slowly raising the pole hook up towards the ring handing from the attic ladder, Blaise missed multiple times, the ring bouncing off of the hook.

“Hey.”

“Holy fucking-” Blaise startles and drops the pole hook, taking a step back. The figure standing in the doorway of Y/N’s room waves awkwardly.

“Sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Regulus? Er- Regulus Black? I’m the grocery boy for the L/Ns.” He trails off, motioning to the milk crate he held against one hip that was practically overflowing with produce and wrapped butcher’s packages.

“Oh! Yes, yeah, sorry. Uh, house just has me on edge is all,” Blaise rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Do you need help with the groceries?”

Regulus’ eyebrows raise and he smiles. “That would be fantastic, actually,” he turns on his heel, already starting down the stairs.

Blaise has to jog to catch up, following the spry boy ahead of him down to the kitchen. Regulus is maybe a year younger than him, but has far too much energy for five in the morning.

“So why are you lot here? The L/Ns aren’t exactly known for their warmth and welcoming-ness. If you’ll excuse my bluntness, they don’t really have a propensity for entertaining guests.”

“They’re on vacation. Uh, we’re here as part of a…community service punishment,” he winces as he skates around the truth.

“Ah, nice,” Regulus seems unruffled as he puts away a carton of eggs. “What are they making you do? House-sitting?”

“Uh, babysitting.”

Regulus hums. “Ah, really? They didn’t take Y/N with them? That’s pretty surprising.”

Blaise startles. “Please tell me you don’t also think it’s…”

“Alive? ‘Course not. But it’s better to just humor them. Mrs. L/N gets awfully upset if you mention anything about it being inanimate, and this job pays too well for me to want to piss off my employers.”

Blaise laughs. “That’s fair. So…was there really an Y/N? Like, an actual one?”

Regulus nods, handing him a stack of cans and motioning towards the cabinet they belonged in. “Mhm. We were never allowed to play with them when we were kids. My older brother always called them freakish. And Mr. L/N only ever described them—the one time I asked, back when I very first started working for them—as odd.”

Blaise pauses halfway through stacking apples in the fruit bowl. “You knew them? Like, you were the same age?”

“They were a year or two older than me, but yeah,” Regulus accepts the mug of coffee Blaise offers with a quiet thanks, sitting down with him at the kitchen table.

“Anyway, story goes that they were playing out in the woods with Brahms—he was their only friend, that I know of—and they got in an argument or something… Mr. Heelshire—that’s Brahms’ dad—found ‘im by the river, skull all smashed up. The police chief wanted to question Y/N, you know, just to cover all the bases, but nobody could find ‘em and then-”

Regulus makes a fwoosh noise, setting down his mug to spread his hands out as if to imitate an dramatic explosion.

“Boom! The L/Ns’ house completely burned down. The only person inside? Y/N L/N.”

Regulus takes a sip of his coffee before speaking again. “Look, I’m not saying they’re connected, but…”

Blaise shivers, cracking his knuckles anxiously. “How long ago was this?”

“Oh, a while. Happened when I was real young. I think Y/N was…eight or nine. Should be just about a decade since then.”

“So why the doll?”

“Nobody knows,” Regulus shrugs. “They rebuilt the house after the fire, and then the doll just showed up one day. It’s creepy as fuck, I’m aware.”

“Just a bit,” Blaise drawls.

Regulus laughs. “You seem cool, man. D’you wanna come hang out with me sometime? I could take you to the good restaurants in town for like, lunch or something. Lord knows you gotta get outta this house.”

“Sounds great,” Blaise grins. “Would be nice to hang out with literally anyone other than those guys. I love ‘em, but y’know.”

“Well, if you’re not busy, how ‘bout today? There’s this awesome old-school diner that makes the best onion rings-”

Regulus chatters on, promising to pick Blaise up at noon for lunch. Blaise smiles, actually smiles, and tells him he can’t wait. After walking him out to his car, Regulus calls from the window, in a sing-song voice,

“See you soon, Blaisey-Waisey!”

Merlin, he’d get along great with Pansy, Blaise muses as he walks back towards the house.

[justletmereadmycomics]

Part Three

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

“Look, I keep being told I’m doing this hero thing wrong. But I got the key, didn’t I?! I get results. So now we’re doing it my way.” Leo stepped through, feelings of anger frothing together and mixing with doubt. What if they didn’t make it in time? What if Raph was gone before they could get there? What if- No, he couldn’t think about that right now. Just keep going forward, and they’ll follow. Don’t let them question you, because then you’ll question yourself. Just head on-

“What the hell…?” Leo mutters. Where… is everything? Where was the messed up New York? Where were the terrifying Kraang, the invasion, and most importantly, where was Raph? Was this some sick Kraang trick? If they could nearly disable their Ninpō, surely they had the power to make an empty white room. Wait, was this even a room? There didn’t seem to be any walls. Or a ceiling, for that matter. What was he even standing on? He sighs. He probably just fucked up the location again, same as everything else. Classic Leo, messing up every chance he gets. He moves to make another portal, the motion second nature at this point, and nearly screams in pain. Electricity shoots up his arms, his katanas clattering to the “floor” with a loud clang. …Let’s not try that again, shall we? 

Opening his communicator, he tried contacting Donatello.

 “Hey Donnie, I don’t know where I’m at, but-” Static. “Hello? Donnie? Donatello? Don Tron?” He grumbled, frustrated. “HEY DICKNIPS!” A bit inappropriate for the situation, but he was getting impatient. Might as well take it off, Leo thought, carelessly shoving the wristband into one of the pouches strapped to his belt. It’s not like he wouldn’t be able to hear it through some cloth anyways. 

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

Start - Prev - Next

For all my Undertale AU fans out there... guess who this story's based off of...

(no spoilers for the people who don’t know)

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BATMAN | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)

────────────────────

────────────────────

“Long Overdue” (Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on an ambush when they’re overwhelmed.

-Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action, cursing, past death of a child, Reader & Bruce are divorced, -angry!reader

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source: Batman - Three Jokers comic)

| 1k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven.

Bruce clears his throat for the third time in ten minutes.

In contrast you roll your eyes for the third time in just as long before bending over to switch on the A/C. The Batmobile got stale whenever Bruce started binging. The vehicle not smelling like old blood and sweat stopped being important once your ex husband neglected his duties as Bruce Wayne.

Once upon a time that negligence would have worried you. Still does even if you vehemently tamp it down.

Another clearing of his throat.

“Spit it out already.” You hold your arm tighter to your chest at a bump in the road as you watch him, bullet wound treated rudimentarily enough to hold you over until you get to the cave but still adding to the scent of blood.

Bruce isn't a meta-human; he still emoted even if he did it in such small increments that the untrained eye wouldn’t catch on. You were far from untrained though; you’ve been speaking Bruce almost as long as Alfred has and so you see the twist of fearangersorrow that flashes across his face.

The same damn twist of fearangersorrow from the last days of you and Bruce’s relationship. This time around your stomach doesn’t drop and your body doesn’t flare, mirroring those same emotions. You don’t answer Bruce's natural pull at all in fact, only sigh as you do your best to keep your arm from jarring.

“I didn’t come here to fight. Say what you want.”

Not that you expected to get much leeway on that front. Asking Bruce to communicate without a million half truths was like asking a baby to scrape the paint off thirty feet walls. It could be done technically, it would just take a lot of patience and outside assistance.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel, gloves creaking, before he works through the motions of forcing himself to relax.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Bruce, when's the last time I liked anything that came out your mouth?”

“You were on a video call with Dick and you laughed when I was complaining about that mite infestation in the cave.”

Of course he would remember that, living filing system that he was.

“Yeah, I was laughing at you,” you clarify with a tiny snort and Bruce gives you his faint smile.

“I know,” he says voice gone soft. You have to clench your eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions that tone elicits. How long has it been since you’ve heard it? “I'm…sorry.”

You don’t think he’s talking about the joke.

“Bruce-”

“I know,” he repeats before pausing. You recognize the active way he’s composing himself and something in you can’t help but to shrivel up. What could be so bad that he's acting nearly as off as when he had to explain how Joker killed your son to you?

Your heart pumps faster in your chest like it wants to run away from the impending news, and you have to open your mouth so that your breaths don’t begin to stutter. No more, not after Jason, you can’t take another death.

In an attempt to avoid the nearing collision of your anger and worry at Bruce gearing up to drop yet another bomb on you and straight up verbally expressing he’s sorry about it beforehand - which what the hell? - you run through what you know.

He could just be acting funny about a shared account you forgot to separate. That’s always a possibility. You focus on keeping your breathing level.

You’d seen Dick and heard from Babs tonight, talked to Dick on how to not burn down his house whilst cooking just three afternoons ago and he’d mentioned Alfred doing fine then. Hopefully that still rings true. The newest Robin that’d been dragged out of a collapsing building last week would still be recovering and no one had mentioned Timothy adding to his injuries so it likely wasn’t him that had Bruce like this, and you haven’t heard anything negative or otherwise about Batgirl.

Even this new Red Hood guy didn’t seem to be much of a problem outside of you not knowing who the hell he is and him being all up in your business earlier. You’d take a lot of shit over the dysfunctionality of you and Bruce’s relationship, but not from a stranger. Besides, you weren’t omniscient - that was more Alfred’s deal - so you weren’t exactly the best gauge on the greater intentions of the city’s newest crime boss. You made a habit of not looking too closely at Gotham’s vigilante scene if you could help it.

Joker did go by that once though, right before his metamorphic dip in a vat of acid green, but you knew it wasn’t the clown under that helmet. For one, Joker didn’t fight with Hood’s brute strength and honed finesse and secondly you knew for a fact the green haired bastard was in Arkham right now. Alive and well.

Your hands clench at the reminder.

“You let him live!”

“We are not executioners, Y/n!”

“Uh uh. Absolutely not, that’s where you’ve got me fucked up.” You take a deep breath before gesturing towards the expanse of Gotham. “When you choose over and over for this man to live you are explicitly signing everyone else’s death sentences, and how you don’t see that is beyond me.”

The way Bruce shakes his head is almost reflexive.

“We always stop him before he can do anything like that.”

“Oh really? Always? Because I got a son six feet under that says otherwise, and last time I checked so do you.”

Bruce twitches. “We don’t trade lives.”

You stare at him, your frustration a harsh nearly livable thing at that moment. The memory of him throwing you off the Joker, of the screaming match afterwards, makes your tongue taste like ash.

“Sure we do,” you murmur. “You just won’t see it that way.”

“We. Don’t. Stoop. To their level, Nightfall,” he accentuates gruffly and just as suddenly as it came your anger rushes away with the next gust of wind that lashes at your face.

An argument on methodology is not what you came here for. You're furious about The Joker, you have no doubt you always will be, but that fury isn’t what drove you to hunting Bruce down on a random rooftop. Joker isn’t what got you back in your suit on this night. Bruce is.

Bruce Batman who’s clearly getting ready to turn this into a thing again.

“Bruce. Bruce stop it.”

You look at him. Really look at him for the first time in weeks and something just…clicks. Bruce and you have been standing at a precipice this whole time. This was it. How Bruce handled Jay’s death was either going to make or break you. And if Dick going virtually no contact had been the trial run the continual state of your marriage wasn’t looking too good. No more kids to patch up the cracks. No more looking away from new cracks formed.

Your mask gets pulled off a second later.

“My baby is dead, Bruce. We had to bury our mangled son today and you want to go out and be Batman when Bruce Wayne is needed at home. I don’t want to argue philosophies, I want you to leave the cape at the door and be here for me as my husband.”

Problem was that Bruce hadn’t been able to do both, and by the end of that interaction you’d punched him for it. Punched him for your son too. One failed attempt and all of a sudden he couldn’t kill Jason’s killer or let you do it for the both of you. No, he’d cracked down instead. It would be inexcusable and he’d clash with you the whole way.

You can admit to yourself that you gave up because you didn’t want to be faced with the possibility of Bruce throwing you in jail over the Joker. He’d stopped you from wiping him from the earth three times at that point, who’s to say he wouldn’t have eventually caved and gotten you committed?

Bruce couldn’t balance being the husband to a grieving wife and being the grieving father of a murdered son. Couldn’t handle being Bruce Wayne when The Batman was so much simpler; easier to hide behind than confronting everything. So he retreated.

In a way you understood, the death of a child wasn’t something you walked away from at all in some cases and it certainly changed you in every situation, but you were supposed to have been able to deal with that blow together.

Bruce’s voice, tight and broad, less Bruce and more Bat once more, brings you out of your head.

“A few weeks ago the Red Hood made his presence known after an undisclosed amount of time hiding below the radar in Gotham with a duffel bag full of severed heads.”

You hum lightly having already known this. Dick got chatty when he was stressed.

“A few days after that Red Hood and I got in an altercation wherein he unmasked and gave me his blood and fingerprints. Both that I then tested…”

Behind your mask you squint, breath rushing out of you as another possibility you hadn’t dared to let yourself think comes to mind. Grief’s most dangerous wish. You start shaking your head. It's a useless attempt to not let the pieces come together.

“The results matched that of Jason Todd’s,” there’s a moment of brief wrenching stillness before he adds quieter, as if his veneer of control has suddenly been punched out of him. “Our Jason….”

…TBC

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! Comments would be appreciated if you wanted to leave one! I read all of them, I only don’t respond cause this is a side blog.

P.S.: It’s gonna come off like I hate Bruce in the later chapters (only sometimes irl) so yeah. Apparently I’m just getting out some general Bruce frustrations with this, so fair warning. This is not a happy ending for his ass.

[covetyou]

jester little bit more

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x plus sized contortionist f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: clowns, vaginal fisting, protected PIV, inappropriate use of grease paint, drug reference, slightly subby Dieter, the hand tattoo, reader is referred to as Sparkles and has a briefly mentioned latex allergy. word count: 4.4k summary: Dieter drives you to distraction all day, so you go to give him what for, only to get more than you bargained for in return.

A/N: A gift to my beloved @sp00kymulderr - a simple mention of it a month ago (to the day!) is quite literally all it took to convince me to write a clown fist-it-fic, you are my muse, my inspiration. happy holidays bb

not clowny in an intentionally scary/horror way, but if you really hate clowns probably do not read. this is a different reader, same clown!Dieter to send in the clown.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

ooh ahh, jester little bit, ooh ahh jester little bit more...

You notice it through your whole act - the burning hot stare of Bravo the Clown as you twist and turn your body into shapes for the awed masses. You never felt more beautiful, more alive, than when you were contorting yourself like this, soft rolls bunching at your sides, rippling fabric and making your sequinned costumes glitter under bright lights with each undulation.

It's when you see him start to adjust his red clown pants that you have to calm yourself, stop yourself from unrolling from your position, stomping over to him, knocking that stupid wig off his head and slamming him into the ground. You don't want to kick up a fuss, not in front of a crowd, and you just know the bastard would like it anyway. He usually did.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you move through the motions of your set. Contorting this way and that, bending a leg here, twisting there, until you're taking a bow and hurrying backstage to give that fucking clown a piece of your mind.

But Bravo the Clown is nowhere to be found.

Probably in that filthy fucking trailer of his already. He never did like sticking around for the finale, always taking off his own performances, sometimes forgetting he even had two and leaving straight after the first was finished. So, you wait it out, standing with your arms crossed, ignoring anyone's attempts to communicate with you. By now they know the score - once Bravo the Clown had pissed you off, there was only one thing that would solve it.

You rush through the final bows of the night, plastering a sickly sweet smile onto your face before all but running back to the dressing room. No one bothers you, letting you tug off your costume in peace, the tight lycra slinking from your body and landing in a heap on the floor. Throwing on your shorts and a sweater, you stomp from the tent - your make up can wait, you're going to go talk to that asshole before he gets too high to function.

Approaching his worn trailer, you slam the flat of your palm against the old door. "Bravo! Hey! Asshole! Open up." The light is on and you can hear movement but you slam again anyway, imagining his face right beneath your palm as you smack it against the door.

The door wiggles, bowing a little where it gets caught on the latch, before flying open to reveal Bravo the Clown, who almost comes flying with it.

"What do you want, Sparkles," he grumbles from around an unlit joint. You snatch it from his mouth just as he's about to light it, and watch was he feebly reaches for it with a pathetic grabby hands and a scowl on his face.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Bravo?" you say, pointing your finger into his chest, pushing him back into his trailer and following him in. "Do you know how distracting it is, you practically getting yourself off in public like that? I'd be just as much to blame as you if you were caught, and you are not ruining this for me."

You slam the joint down onto his vanity, the discarded grease paints rattling with the force of it.

He looks so sad and pathetic like this, though maybe it's his choice in make up. He usually opted for a classic, simple clown face, but lately he'd been mixing it up. Today he has sad eyebrows drawn above his own, making him look more like a sad puppy than a man.

"You took the outfit off," he mumbles, huffing out a sigh of disappointment.

"Yes, Bravo, I took my work outfit off, now that I have finished working. You can take yours off too y'know, you don't have to live in this shit." You gesture to his obscene get up, the red pants still strapped up and his striped shirt still buttoned to the top, collar securely in place. The only thing he was missing was his wig, which was thrown onto its shelf with the others.

He smirks at you, a ridiculous gesture beneath all the make up, and starts to unbutton his shirt.

"That is not what I meant, and you know it."

"Whaddaya mean?" he says, rubbing his hands down the front of his shirt to get to the last button.

You roll your eyes at him. You weren't in the mood for this, you tell yourself. Not for him, not for any of it. "Quit clowning around, Bravo. Just tell me you won't do it again. I can't risk this job."

"No can do, Sparkles. Y'know, your ass looks huge when you bend backward like that. Can't help what you do to me." He's adjusting his pants again, just as he was back in the big top, only this time you can see the tent in them easily through the thin fabric.

"You can help it, and you will help it," you say in a low tone, walking toward him to jab your finger into his chest once again. "Or so help me, I'll have your ass kicked out of here."

"Hey," he says raising his hands in surrender. "Can't help that I know what you look like all bent up like that under that tight costume. Bet the crowd would like it just as much as I would if you didn't wear it at all."

And there it was. You fuck a clown one time - okay fine two times...three times, it was only three times - and now he won't let you live it down, constantly chasing you whenever he couldn't get his dick wet by other means.

"I know you like to pretend you don't want a piece of Bravo the Clown, Sparkles, but we both know that ain't true. Who came to who first? I know I wasn't the one desperate to get my pussy pounded. And last time? You were wet before you even got here, you were practically humping my leg before I even got anything off you. Even now, don't think I don't know how this is going to end. You're not mad that I find you sexy, baby, you're mad that I turned you on in the middle of your set."

You're going to actually fucking kill him. It doesn't matter that he was right, it was the principle. You snarl at him, ready to snap, when he's pointing between the two of you, a question on his face.

"Are we gonna hate fuck?"

"You are unbelievable."

He's pulling his shirt off and sliding his suspenders over his shoulders already. With his discarded shirt, he swipes the sad expression from his face, exposing his golden skin. He definitely knows where this is going. "You didn't say no."

"We're not fucking, Bravo," you say, crossing your arms. If this is how he wanted to play it, you were going to play right back. "You owe me. Big time."

His eyes light up, this could be the best day ever for him for all you know. "Oh, hell yeah I do. I've been bad, let me make it up to you. Please?" He's on his knees hands clasped together, pleading, before he even finishes.

You roll your eyes at him again, biting the inside of your cheek. He knew you liked him pathetic, but this was new entirely, and you couldn't hide how much you were enjoying it, even if you were still angry. You nod down at him, giving him silent consent to do what you suspect he's been waiting to do all day.

Bravo the Clown, never one to disappoint a captive audience, dives right in. Head first. Straight for your crotch. He pulls your shorts to the side, exposing your pussy to him and starts licking at you with abandon, digging his tongue as far between your legs as he can, eager to taste you. You have to hold on to his hair, still sweaty from his wig, to stop yourself from falling over.

It had been a long time, you consider. At least a few weeks. It was the least you could do, and he did owe you. And if you ended up having sex, what did it matter, it would be because it was what you wanted and he owed you.

You spread your legs wider, and Bravo moans into your cunt, nodding along as you hear him mumble thank you straight into your pussy. That does something to you then, and you throw your head back with a moan of your own just as he sticks a finger straight into your slick hole.

Your legs can barely take it, already strained and exhausted from your set, and now desperately trying to hold yourself up as a clown eats you out on his knees. He sense it, sees how your legs start to quiver before you're even close, and within seconds he's pulling you to the messy floor of his trailer. He pushes you down onto your back, and you let your body go limp as he dives back into your pussy mouth first, tasting every inch of you. It's sweaty business, being a circus performer, but Bravo the Clown didn't seem to mind. Quite the contrary, he seemed to love it, the hotter and stickier you were the better.

Pent up aggression had already seemed to do half the job for him it seemed, and when he curls another finger into your core you're shaking again for a wholly different reason.

"Fuck, so close. Keep going."

Between your legs, Bravo the Clown groans loudly. The sound is muffled, but that doesn't stop it from rumbling straight through you as his tongue swipes rapidly over your swollen clit. You grab his hair, your belly bunching and curling on one side as you reach for him. His hair is a mess, and your fingers tugging at the strands do nothing to help, but seeing him such a mess, framed between the thickness of your thighs makes you tug his face into you harder, bucking into his face as you go.

His free hand comes up to hold you, tattoo'd forearm pinning you down whilst his fingers grip your belly, creating soft little divots in your flesh with the pressure. You grab his wrist, fisting a fluffy robe discard on the floor in your other hand, anything to anchor you down as you get closer and closer to release.

It's the third finger that does it, slipping into you so easily where he'd worked you open with two, dragging his fingers from side to side to pull your walls apart, pushing down when inside you to make you feel fuller than you were. You're coming with your head thrown back and eyes squeezed tight, fingers clawing at his hair as his tongue continues its dance over your throbbing clit. Your hips go from chasing his mouth, pushing into his tongue, to desperately trying to be free from the overstimulation.

When he pulls back, his whole face is wet - forehead with a sheen of sweat from his efforts, and his lower face glistening with saliva and the wetness of your own cunt. The remnants of white paint caught in the creases around his nose are gone, likely smeared into your own skin and the matching halo of white around his face is further smudged into his hairline, looking like a mad professor streaked with gray where you'd dragged your fingers through his hair.

If you weren't still so annoyed with him you'd be licking it all off, tasting yourself mixed with the sweat on his face, paint be damned.

"Fuck, you look so good when you come, Sparkles."

He looks drunk, or high, or a combination of the two. You laugh at how ridiculous it is. A clown drunk off your pussy, fingers still slowly working away inside of you, your flimsy shorts still yanked to the side.

"Consider yourself lucky, Bravo," is all you say as you let your body flop back onto his floor. He shuffles forward a second later. Probably adjusting his dick for the millionth time tonight, you think.

When you finally open your eyes again, he's sat on his ass, his fingers inside you feeling more like a massage than anything else. You could, should, tell him to stop, but you're too boneless and relaxed to care. He catches you looking, and not a moment later a sly smile is pulling at his cheeks.

"You're so bendy," he says, wiggling his fingers in you. "And stretchy," he splays his three fingers wide.

"Bet you're stretchy everywhere," he says, waggling his eyebrows - his actual eyebrows visible for once now that he's swiped off all the paint.

"Bravo," you say as a warning. You knew what he was getting at. You'd made the mistake of making that little confession whilst high with him one night. It intrigued you, sure, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't tried to fit your own hand in yourself just to see, of course. But you couldn't quite reach, the angle wasn't quite right, and as flexible as you were, more than four fingers by your own hand seemed too awkward to fit. When he offered you a hand that night, you'd both descended into giggles and you thought it was all forgotten. Well, obviously not.

"Please," he begs, eyes softening behind the dregs of his eye make up - blue and smudged and looking more like icy bruises than make up now. You doubt your own looked much better, your eyes already feeling gritty from screwing them closed whilst covered in glitter.

"I owe you, remember?"

"...Fine."

It's with a triumphant look that he pulls his fingers from you, dragging your shorts down your legs and leaving a wet trail of your juices in his wake. He throws them into the pile on his bench, no doubt you'll have fun looking for those later, and he bends down to kiss the swell of your lower belly, thanking you in the process, before sitting back on his haunches.

You think you're wet enough, relaxed enough, his hand already coated with your slick, to take him. Bravo the Clown thinks differently, and reaches over to his vanity for the first grease paint he can get his hands on.

"Don't you -"

But he's already doing it, smearing a thin layer of white paint over the broadest part of his hand, almost covering the small tattoo by his thumb in the process.

" - dare." You sigh and he simply shrugs as if to say what before plunging two fingers back into your slick pussy, curling them up into you and dragging along your walls, making you fall back with a moan yet again. This fucking clown.

A third finger slips inside you, quickly followed by a fourth, and you're sitting up on your elbows on the floor of his trailer, watching him as he's singularly focused on your hole stretching to accommodate his digits. The triangular tattoo on his wrist may as well be a neon open for business sign with how it's directing his, and your, eyes straight to his fingers being slowly engulfed by your pussy.

A quick look up at you and a small nod of your head is all he needs to push forward, applying pressure to his hand and slipping it further and further inside of you.

You gasp when you stretch over his knuckles, your brows knitting together. Even with your legs spread wide, there's a small burn, a stretch, as he pushes into you. But then he sinks in past the hard ridges of his knuckles and his hand gives a little more, leaving you feeling impossibly full. You made a living off of stretching and twisting your body into seemingly impossible positions. There wasn't a stretch you hadn't felt, but this was something new - the ache of a stretch you'd never felt before.

"Amazing," he mumbles, fucking his fingers into you past the knuckle then back out again. They start to slip in with ease after a few moments, and you reach down between your legs to feel him as he pushes in.

"More," you moan, knowing only half of his hand is in you. If he hadn't smeared grease over his hand to lube himself up, you'd still be able to see that tiny tattoo. You wanted it inside you.

A slow push of his hand again and his whole fist is breaching you. He submerges his hand into your heat, the slick pooling at your entrance from your earlier release and the grease on his hand making his hand suddenly slip all the way inside of your pussy. If you felt full before it was nothing compared to this.

You whimper, watching him watch you as you take his fist.

"Oh fuck."

You're going to come again already. You know there's no stopping it. Especially not when he brings his other hand up to hold you still, swiping his rough thumb back and forth over your clit as he twists his fist from side to side, getting a feel of you from the inside out. You grab at his wrist, holding it steady and rock your hips, shallowly fucking yourself on his fist.

You feel the first spasm without warning, clamping around his hand so hard you'd expel him from your body if you weren't holding him so tightly in place. Your whole body quivers, quakes, shaking like some haunted hand puppet controlled by Bravo's fist.

Seeing stars, or maybe it's the glitter caught in your eyes, you fall back as you shake, the pulsing between your thighs unrelenting as you feel yourself gush and soak his hand. Your moans and twitches die down, and your death grip on his wrist finally releases.

Now that he's free, Bravo the Clown takes this as a cue to start up again, pulling his hand out of you in one continuous movement.

"Oh - nnhg."

Your back arches off the trailer floor at the slow drag of his fist, and caves back in when he pushes back in. You let yourself curl back up to watch again, too curious by how his fist looks moving inside you to fully give in to the fullness overwhelming your body.

Punching in and out, the rim of your swollen pussy stretches across his fist, and you watch, mesmerized and crying out, as the paint smeared on his hand fades and the tattoo usually hidden by his gloves comes back into view, only to make a disappearing and reappearing act inside of you. Before now you'd licked every single one of his tattoos, and now more than ever you wanted to do it again.

"Oh, god yeah."

"That good?" he finally asks, his voice thick and heavy. Looking up at you for only a second before being drawn back to your cunt with wide eyes.

"Your body is amazing," he says enthusiastically, as if you're the first person to ever be fisted, and he dives back in again to lick around your spread pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth with a wet slurp.

"Dee!" You squeal, falling back with a thud. You want to watch, you really do, but you just can't. Not when it feels like this.

"So now you know my name," he mumbles from around your clit, trying to suck it back into his mouth a second later. Your pussy is squelching, wet and dripping all over his hand, down his wrist, onto the floor of his trailer and whatever unfortunate item of clothing it is you're laying on. It's going to be soaked and you don't care. All you care about in the moment is his fist, still moving, fucking you so full and leaving you so empty, and the flick of his tongue over your clit.

"Gonna come, gonna come, Dieter, - oh, g- fuck."

He moans, nodding into your clit, shoving his fist straight into you and rocking it back and forth inside of you, leaving you full as he flicks your clit to orgasm.

You clamp down on him, pussy tightening around his entire fist as you come, spasms shooting through your pussy until you're a writhing twitching mess, begging him to stop the movement of his tongue. He does, but can't resist kissing your clit one last time, tongue peeking out to swipe across it, grumbling laugh leaving his chest when your entire body twitches at the act before collapsing into a heap.

He's breathing as heavy as you are when you look up at him a second later.

"Please can I stick it in? Please?" his eyes do that infuriating puppy thing again. You look down at him, still panting as his fist rocks in you slowly.

"Fine," you whine, the only reluctance in your voice from him having to remove his hand to get his cock in you. "But you know the rules."

"Yeah, yeah, wrap it up," he mumbles, pulling his hand from you with an ease you would've been embarrassed by if he hadn't got you so worked up and if the subsequent orgasms hadn't turned you into a liquid human being. He reaches over with the same slick coated hand to grab at a tin under his trailer bench. Opening it, it looks to be his weed stash, or what's left of it, but he knocks aside some loose rolling papers to pull out a gold packet.

"Latex free, baby," he says, shaking the packet between two fingers. It was sweet, really, that he remembered your allergy.

Dieter is pushing his pants down his thighs a second later, pulling his cock free from their polyester prison. You almost ask if he needs a hand, if he's hard enough, but a quick glance and you know. His pants have a wet stain on the front of them, precum leaking from the tip of his cock whilst he fisted you. From the looks - length rock hard, tip swollen and angry, slit still dripping for you - he's painfully engorged, desperate to relieve the ache in his cock with your warm, wet, pussy.

Tearing the wrapper with his teeth, he rolls the condom down his cock. As much as he owed you for distracting you all evening, you couldn't deny there was something about this man when he was a desperate, needy mess for you. It was your body that did this to him - the soft rolls of your belly as you contorted yourself, the swell of your ass as you bent backward, the broadness in your hips, the strength in your arms.

He fists his cock, and you watch him nearly lose it there and then. Biting back a laugh, you reach out, pulling him over you until he's slotted between your legs. Any other day and you'd be trying something more adventurous than missionary with him, but right now you didn't trust your limbs to keep you up, or Dieter to last more than a few seconds.

He lines up with your slick hole, and pushes in with a shaky breath, stilling once he's seated inside you. You think for a second that he might be asleep, but then his hips start slowly moving.

"Why d'you always feel so good?" he asks, face close to yours you can see the paint caught in his wrinkles more easily now.

"Magic pussy."

He laughs, raspy and scratchy in your ear, tucking his face into your neck. "Sparkles and her magic pussy. That's a TV special I'd like to see. Could probably pull a rabbit out of- oof."

You hit him, and it only makes his hips pump faster, snapping his mouth shut to concentrate.

The sound of the wet slap of his skin against yours fills the trailer, his balls squelching against your dripping cunt with each thrust. He's moaning and grunting in your ear, whispering about how good you feel, how great you looked, about that fucking bodysuit and how much he loves how wide your legs can stretch. At that, you wrap them around him, pulling him in tight to you, forcing his thrusts deeper. For as much as he pissed you off, you still trusted him, had an affection for him you would never admit to, neither publicly or to yourself.

"Uh - oh, fuck, Sparkles. Lemme. Please let me..."

Feeling between your bodies, he tries to touch your clit again. You knock away his hand, threatening to ruin his orgasm if he so much as tries to touch you one more time. He whimpers in your ear, settling his hand on your breast instead, squeezing and relaxing his grip as a distraction from his own orgasm tingling through his bones. You know what a threat could do to him and from the feel of him alone you know he's holding back more than ever. If his balls were any tighter and his cock were any harder you'd think he'd burst.

So, you do something you said you would never do for any man, and you beg, just a little bit, whispering softly and sweetly into his ear as his cock fucks you full.

"Come, Dieter. Come in me. Please."

And he does, groaning deep and low, deafening you in one ear with it as he empties his balls into the condom inside of you. You grip him hard, hugging him tight to you as he shakes on top of you.

He looks totally fucked out and ridiculous when you next look to the side and see him, face smooshed into the plush robe you'd been laying on. One of your own eyelashes is stuck to his cheek, along with a streak of glitter. You can't even imagine the state of your own face, but he doesn't seem to mind it when he finally peels open his eyes.

"You wanna get food and smoke pot?"

The man was a joke. Infuriating. A total and utter clown in every sense of the word.

But you always knew what you were getting with Bravo the Clown. It's what drew you to him, it's what made you trust him. Everything he did was written as plain as day on his face, or tumbling from his mouth in a stream of consciousness. Most of all, it was nice to be soft and pliable, as much as you were strong, with someone who wouldn't use it as a weapon against you.

And you would never say a single word of it to his face, opting instead to suck a hickey into his shoulder, tasting the sweat from his skin as you draw a bruise to the surface.

"Fine, but you're buying. You still owe me."

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[porcelainseashore]

Teenage Headache Dreams (4)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: High School! College! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Fem! Reader

Summary: You’re a bored, but ambitious high school student who can’t wait to escape small town life and make it in the big city. You thought you had it all figured out, until you unwittingly befriend the resident golden boy, Leon. A series of events beginning from junior year to college until Resident Evil 2 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Ambiguous/Open Ending

Content: High School AU, College AU, Pre-Resident Evil 2, Fluff, Romance, Cliche, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Lack of Communication

Author's Note: Things get heated in both senses of the word… I toned it down here, but the final chapter will go further 😉 I have to say this chapter was a bit of an unruly beast, but I hope it worked out in the end. Expect some angst and as usual, fluff.

AO3 Link

Chapter 4: Different Dreams

Since that wintry night in February which left you reeling from having kissed your best friend, you never found the opportunity to speak with him on where you both stood. Things just kept getting in the way: preparing for junior year finals, college admission tests, then summer placements and so on. To be fair, you weren’t exactly keen on confronting the question either, since you still weren’t sure whether you and Leon would be in the same place after graduating from high school. You had long since crossed the river of denial and you liked him a lot, but you were selfish. If you had to choose between a relationship with him and Tisch School of the Arts, the one college you had always dreamed of going to since you were young, you knew you’d pick the latter in a heartbeat. And that fucked you up. You couldn’t help but feel guilty each time he tried to broach the subject of “that night”, and when you brushed him off, he didn’t get upset or push it. He just waited patiently as ever, with a hopeful look in his eyes, that someday you’d be ready to talk. 

Maybe it was just better to remain as friends. That said, you were there for him as one. You supported him, teasing through the countless college possibilities he had swimming around in his mind, after he returned from the school’s career counselor. When the local police force had come round to give one of their recruitment talks, he seemed to have taken an interest in their work. In particular, their speech about directly interacting with and helping civilians in times of need really resonated with him. Although you were wary about cops in general, questioning the punishment system and incidences of police brutality, you encouraged him to follow what felt right to him.

As you sat together with him on his bed, littered with a bunch of police academy brochures that were sprawled across the covers, he went through the reasons that led him to make this choice, and you began to connect the dots. “Remember when you said that I’m a good person?”

“Yeah?” You perked up.

“Well, I just wondered how I could be more of that,” he explained.

Did he feel like he needed to prove himself, just so he could believe in it? You were dying to tell him that he didn’t have to do all of this. That he was perfect the way he was. But sometimes people just needed to go through the motions themselves. This was his journey to make, so you bit back your tongue and listened.

“I want to help regular people, like you and me. Protecting the innocent, changing their lives for the better…” He stared into space for a while before continuing. “And what about all the unsolved cases? Those families deserve closure.”

You realized that closure from the past was something he never had.

“I mean, I just want to make a difference somehow,” he reiterated.

“Hm, that sounds stupid, doesn’t it?” He remarked sheepishly, constantly glancing at you for your opinion.

“No… no, not at all.” You shook your head, reassuring him sincerely. “Well, you know I don’t have the best impression of cops,” you laughed. “But that will change, with you.”

“You think so?” A slight smile formed at the corners of his mouth.

You leaned back against the mattress on your forearms and confirmed. “Hell, Leon. If there’s such a thing as a model police officer, I think you’re gonna be that.”

“There isn’t a single bad bone in your body.” You winked. “Not vouching for the lame ones though.”

“Gee, thanks.” He was blushing now as he twiddled his thumbs.

“I take it that you’re gonna enjoy helping old ladies cross the road?” You couldn’t resist teasing him when he looked like that.

“Sure, you know you can call on me anytime.” He smirked.

You forgot he had a knack for winding you up. “Fuck you, Leon!”

“Oh yeah?” He challenged, although you could tell from his expression that he was only half-kidding.

That stopped you in your tracks, as a mental image of you and Leon in various intimate positions formed in your mind. You swallowed hard, feeling a burning sensation of arousal surging within. Despite that, you shrugged off those thoughts and picked up one of the brochures lying in the pile to distract yourself. “So, you’re gonna visit the open house?”

You heard what sounded like a disheartened sigh before he replied, “Yeah I’d like to.” He turned to face you expectantly. “It’d be nice, if uh, you came along?”

“They’re all pretty nearby,” he added, trying to sweeten the deal. As if you needed convincing.

You rolled your eyes, exclaiming, “Even if it was a gazillion miles away, I’d still be there.”

Echoing his previous sentiment at the time he had supported you at your performance, you mentioned naively, “That’s what friends are for, right?”

When you caught him wincing and tightening up at the word “friends”, you realized the blunder you had made, but it was too late.

He stood up silently and made his way over to his desk, busying himself with a stack of papers.

That hand-wringing sensation of guilt started to swell in your chest again. You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Finally, you got up to leave. “Just let me know when, ok?”

He nodded his head in acknowledgement, without turning around to see you off. You walked out of his room with your eyes downcast, trying to console yourself that it was for the best. The police academies he had singled out weren’t even remotely near New York. There was no way it would work out. No way.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You accompanied Leon to the open houses that summer, as he got a good look around the various campuses, asking inquisitive questions and highlighting his athletic achievements, albeit rather humbly. After some nudging from you, he began to mention his academics too. You always held his intelligence in high regard, which you had noticed in class and during your study sessions, that were miraculously still going on despite his earlier reluctance. In your opinion, he would make a great detective, though he had tried to downplay it when you shared it with him.

In any case, you should’ve known that it never ends well when unresolved things are left to fester. So here you were, in your room this time, having the biggest argument you’ve ever encountered with Leon so far.

It all started when you were grabbing something quick from your shelf, before heading out with Leon for a walk along the surrounding forest trails, just so you could make the best use of the remaining summer days. He’d waited around the entrance to your room when something piqued his interest. Walking in, he pointed at a makeshift board lying by your bedside. “Jeez, what’s this? An evidence board or something?”

Whipping your head around, you laughed, “It’s to keep track of all the colleges I’m applying to, dumbass.”

Resting his fingers under his chin, he tilted his head and noted without hiding his disappointment, “They’re kinda far away.” 

“And this one.” He pointed to the red circle in the middle. “That’s your dream school, huh?” At least he remembered. Not like you hadn’t been going on about it for ages.

“Yeah, since I was little.” You nodded, taking a couple of steps closer, till you joined Leon at his side. A moment of doubt set in, as you shrugged and chewed your lip nervously. “I don’t know if I’m good enough.”

“You’re more than good enough,” he stated simply, in a tone deeper than usual. It reverberated across the room as he eyed you intently. 

“I’ve watched you-” He pulled you in close, wrapping an arm around your waist, which elicited a small gasp from your lips. “Perform.” His other hand trailed up to caress your cheek.

“Choreograph,” he continued, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Teach.” He smiled fondly at the memory of picking you up from class one day, as the little ballerinas you taught gathered around your legs quizzing, Miss, is that your boyfriend? 

Meanwhile, it felt like your brain was malfunctioning, as you stood frozen on the spot, losing yourself in the pool of his ocean blue eyes, while he issued you compliment after compliment, finally finishing with, “You’re incredibly talented.”

Stroking his thumb gently over your bottom lip, his gaze followed suit, transfixed by its outline. Checking for any signs of discomfort on your face but finding none, he leaned in, planting his mouth on yours, as an involuntary moan escaped from your throat. No matter how much you tried to fight it, your body would not lie. It craved his touch, and all at once, you threw out the barriers you had placed between yourself and Leon in the past few months.

Sliding your hands up his chest, you parted your lips slightly to allow his tongue to slip inside. The kisses grew hungrier and more urgent as you tasted each other, causing you to stumble backwards onto your bed with him laying on top of you. You were so glad your parents were out, as the door to your bedroom was wide open and both of you weren’t exactly keeping very quiet about things. He peppered kisses along your neck, as his hands roamed across your body. Then his lips traveled downwards to your chest and you tangled your hands tightly in his hair, cursing his name in pleasure under your breath.

There were countless thoughts running through your head, like how fast you and Leon were going, and how badly you wanted him, but something was screaming inside of you about how wrong all of this was. You were just friends, right? You shouldn’t be leading him on like this.

With whatever resolve you had left, you tore yourself away and pushed him off you, stammering, “I’m sorry, I can’t!” You were shaking uncontrollably as Leon regarded you with a mixture of worry and confusion, panting heavily through his swollen, red lips.

“Wha-? Are you ok? Did I hurt you?” The questions came out like rapid fire.

“I-I’m fine.” You looked down in embarrassment as you adjusted your clothes.

“Then, what’s wrong?” His brows were knitted in distress, wondering if he had unknowingly crossed your boundaries.

“I just don’t think this is such a good idea,” you offered hesitantly.

Running his hand through the mess you had made of his silky blonde hair, he sighed, “Why? What about that night?” There it was again.

You bit your lip apprehensively. “We never followed up on that.”

As his face contorted in anguish, you knew that your time of delaying the inevitable had run out, and he wasn’t going to let it go now. “It was like you never wanted me to bring it up.” He began to raise his voice, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I gave you months… Months!”

“It’s… complicated,” you whispered.

“How?” He asked, bristling with irritation.

“Well, for starters, we’re gonna be living miles apart by the time we finish high school.”

“You don’t know that,” he countered, crossing his arms firmly, as if shielding himself from being let down again.

“What do you mean?” You blurted out in bewilderment.

By now, he had gotten up and paced around your room restlessly. “You could… I don’t know, go to one of the bigger cities around here. I heard Chicago’s got a pretty good-”

You felt a flash of annoyance as you cut him off instantly. “You know I’ve wanted to go to Tisch my whole life!”

“I don’t understand you!” He choked, shaking his head furiously. “You’d travel miles with me to the academies, but you can’t even think of doing this long distance?” 

He was grasping at straws to keep you, but you didn’t want to hurt him. You didn’t know if you were right for each other. In your mind, Leon was a bit of a homebody, judging by the college choices he had made. He needed someone who could provide him with stability and the white picket fence American dream. You couldn’t do that. You wanted to travel the world and live out new experiences.

As you hugged yourself wordlessly, unable to look at him, he softened, once again trying to reason things out. “I just thought… we mattered too.”

Your heart broke as he said that. You wanted nothing more than warmth and intimacy with him on this lazy Sunday, cuddling and trading affectionate kisses. But you couldn’t. “You do matter to me, Leon.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me away?” There was no more anger in his voice, only sadness.

He deserved an answer, and you would give him one. You just didn’t expect to be so inept at choosing how to express yourself. “We both have our own dreams,” you tried to explain. “They’ve just turned out to be very different.” 

The next line came out a lot harsher than you intended. “I can’t have someone holding me back. I’m sorry.”

Before regret could even sink in, Leon had started to take his leave, his expression turning colder than ice. “No, I’m sorry for even trying,” he commented bitterly. “I’ll stop wasting your time.”

“Leon!” You called out after him, but he paid no attention and continued to walk off. “It came out wrong,” you pleaded. “That’s not what I meant!”

The last thing you heard was your front door slamming shut.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Over the next weeks when senior year started, you tried to reach out to Leon to no avail. He had become a distant shell of his former self. There was an air of aloofness each time you bumped into each other, as he pretended not to recognize you. All the notes you attempted to pass to him in class ended up crumpled and thrown into the bin without being read. You felt a stab to your gut every single time.

However, you were observant enough to make out the sting of hurt in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking. You knew he was keeping you at an arm’s length to protect himself, but also partly to give you a taste of your own medicine, just like when you had foolishly dragged things on, hoping they would resolve themself without giving him an answer. Until it was too late. You hated him for being so immature and childish, but you held yourself responsible for starting it first.

Then, the rumors came. You saw him with that girl, Val?, again. They were doing the things you used to do together before the fallout. It made you sick to your stomach, but you said nothing. Maybe you deserved all of this, you thought.

“Lattes after class?” Kayla’s chirpy voice snapped you out of your reverie.

“Hm?” You weren’t really in the mood, but you tried your best to smile through it.

“They brought in the pumpkin spice ones early this season! Can you believe it?” She giggled excitedly, throwing her arm around your shoulder as she proceeded to whisper into your ear, “Come on, you and I need some girl-to-girl talk.”

As you made your way towards the cafe, you caught sight of Leon with his arm around Val on the other side of the street. Kayla wrinkled her nose at them, as she quickened her pace, pulling you along. “Smooth, real smooth, Kennedy,” she muttered under breath.

Whilst it was comforting to know you had someone who supported you through this - something which you didn’t expect, not least from Kayla - you were flung into the center of drama and gossip again. 

Clink. Kayla placed both cups of coffee on the table as she sat down, adjusting her mini skirt before turning to face you attentively. “Spill it.”

You shrugged, glancing around awkwardly.

She tried prompting you at first, “Did he break up with you?” No answer.

“He did something stupid.” No answer.

“Oh my god, he cheated on you, didn’t he?” She accused melodramatically, such that a couple of customers in the cafe glowered over in displeasure at the noise.

You slapped a palm against your forehead and cringed. “Kayla, please.”

“Oops, sorry.”

You sighed, deciding that perhaps it would do some good to open up a little, instead of keeping things to yourself all the time. “It was me. I fucked up, ok?”

“Bullshit,” she scoffed. “It always takes two to tango.” She checked out her manicured nails for a second before continuing, “And even if he was the sweet angel as you claim he is, he sure is fucking it up spectacularly now.”

You raised an eyebrow. Strong choice of words. “Look, we were never really together. I mean, we did some things-” You paused, swallowing anxiously. “-friends don’t usually do.” 

She gave you a knowing smirk, gesturing at you to continue.

“I told him…” At this, your voice cracked, “I didn’t want him, Kayla.” Your mouth quivered, as stray tears welled up in the corners of your eyes.

“Oh, babe,” she cooed. “But you do, don’t you?” She placed her hand over yours understandingly.

You weren’t used to crying, especially not out in the open like this. You pulled away from Kayla, wiping the tears away roughly with the back of your hand, as you straightened up and put on the same facade you always do. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s with Val-”

Immediately, Kayla scowled. “That girl has some nerve! I knew it,” she spat. “Always waiting in the sidelines to bag your man.”

“It’s not her fault!” You protested. As far as you were concerned, you and Leon hadn’t made any promises to each other. He was free to go out with whoever he wanted.

Kayla rolled her eyes, “I’m sure she couldn’t wait one hot minute.”

“If that’s the case, then Leon should’ve waited too, right?” You argued. If you had to go along with this warped way of reasoning with her, then so be it. 

“Fair enough,” she conceded, though you could tell that she wasn’t exactly happy about the outcome, and you wanted to put a stop to whatever mean girl prank she had up her sleeve. 

“I’m serious. Don’t,” you warned.

She threw up her hands in mock surrender. “Ok, Miss Party Pooper… I won’t do anything to her. I swear!”

━━━━━━━━━━━

It took you a while to realize what Kayla’s actual plan of action was. In her typical fashion, it was loud, flashy and drew the attention of the whole school. It happened during lunch break in one of the weeks following your girl talk. You had seated yourself with the rest of the cheer team at the cafeteria, when you saw her slam her cutlery down on the table, snarling, “That’s it. I’ve had enough of this shit!”

The rest of the girls including you stared at her in shock, as she stormed up to where the other sports teams usually sat. She made a beeline for the blonde boy whom you’d been moping about for most of the term now, situating herself between him and his latest flame. You couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it made Val scurry off, before she and Leon entered into some sort of shouting match. You only managed to make out bits and pieces of it.

“What the fuck’s your problem?”

“Let me guess, the classy rebound-” Slow clap.

“Stay out of it-”

“You’re the one causing trouble!”

The next minute, she pointed at you, motioning to come over. Leon’s eyes grew dark, giving you a withering glare as you walked towards them with a mix of reluctance and unease. You despised being singled out like this, but you needed to put an end to running away from your problems.

Once you had made your way over, Kayla, who was seemingly pretty satisfied herself, barked out an order, “You two, just sort it out! It’s driving me insane.”

When she left the table and the curious onlookers - which meant literally everyone in the cafeteria - had decided to resume back to whatever they were doing, you uttered the first words to Leon in a long time, “Well, that was awkward.”

“You don’t say.”

“Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she would get like that,” you admitted.

He still held his guard up as he regarded you stoically. “So what did you want to talk about?”

You sighed, hoping you would do better this time. But there was just so much to say. Where to start? “I just wanted apologize for what I said that day,” you treaded cautiously. “I miss you, Leon.” You were getting glassy-eyed again, but you braved on. “And I still really care about you.”

His lips were pinched together as he considered your words. He had his reservations, but his hard gaze was slowly faltering. For a while, he didn’t respond. Just as you thought you had overstayed your welcome, he piped up almost inaudibly, “I care, too.”

You nodded in response and took your leave. You knew things would never be the same again, but this was enough for now.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The atmosphere between you and Leon remained tense, but at least it was amicable now. Apparently, Val was out of the picture. Nothing happened, they went on a date or two and Leon called it off. Well, that was what was going through the rumor mill anyway.

Still, it killed you inside, as it felt like you had lost a lover and a best friend. When you received your acceptance letter in December from Tisch, you didn’t even know whether to celebrate or not. Moreover, the one person you would have celebrated with was hardly in your life anymore. Kayla pushed you to tell Leon regardless, and you started to think maybe you had the wrong impression of some of your schoolmates after all. They did seem to look out for you, in their own weird way. It was like reading Pride and Prejudice all over again.

That’s what brought you in front of Leon’s front door, as you rang the doorbell in anticipation. You flinched as the door opened. The corridor was bathed in a warm, golden glow as the light filtered through the doorway, partly blocked by Leon, who peered out at you curiously. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you called out timidly. God, it was like you were strangers again. “Um, can I come in?”

“S-sure.” He held the door open for you, as you took in your surroundings. It had been months since you’d last visited, but nothing much had changed.

“So… what can I do for you?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You weren’t used to this formal way of addressing each other. It gave you goosebumps.

“I thought it was only right to let you know,” you started. Your hands were trembling as you held out a thick white envelope towards Leon. “I-I got in.”

He took the envelope in his hands, frowning as he opened it. As he glanced over the papers, a spark of recognition shone in his eyes. “Oh! Uh-” He looked like he was at a loss for words as a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. “Congratulations! I guess.”

“Thanks.” You nipped at your lip lightly, wondering if your next question would be appropriate. “Can I have a hug?”

For a fleeting instant, he looked like a deer in the headlights, but then he got a hold of himself. “Y-yeah.”

It took both of you a good minute to navigate your way into an embrace, so much so you nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. But once you were in each other’s arms, you relaxed, breathing in his familiar scent that you grew to love. “I missed this,” he sighed blissfully into your hair. You deepened the embrace, pulling him closer to you.

“I guess I should also tell you…” He pressed his lips to the side of your forehead as he spoke, “I’m heading to the police academy in Springfield.”

Your heart leapt out of joy and ached with melancholy at the same time. “That’s fantastic! I’m so proud of you, Leon.”

“Mm, you always know how to make me feel…” his words faded off as he broke away from your arms, but held your gaze, as if asking, “What now?”

Maybe this was your chance for the heart-to-heart that was long overdue. And you grabbed it with both hands.

“I was scared,” you started. “I didn’t know how it could work out with the distance, maybe even performing internationally…” After a brief pause, you revealed, “I thought you wanted the suburban dream.”

“When did I ever say that?” He blurted out, with a look of shock plastered across his face.

You flinched, realizing that he had a point. He never mentioned wanting that. These doubts you had appeared to stem from your own fears projected onto him. “I-I thought…” You trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

“You could’ve asked me,” he replied, seemingly perturbed from the misunderstanding that occurred between the two of you. “I really wished we talked about this.”

Your eyes dropped to the ground, as you felt a heavy weight in your chest. “I’m sorry, I just assumed it was the case.” At this, he grasped his forehead in his hands and sighed wearily.

This was all so stupid. But you needed to tell him exactly how you felt about him, especially after this wake-up call. “Leon, hear me out, please? When I lost you, I realized I was so caught up with running as far away as I could from this place, that I didn’t see how important being with you was to me.”

You forced down a lump in your throat as you continued, “You never held me back, I was wrong to say that.”

“I want you,” you confessed. “Always have.”

You felt completely exposed, as if every part of you was laid bare and open to scrutiny. “I just had to let you know, even if you don’t feel the same way about me anymore.”

As you folded your arms to brace yourself for what would come next, Leon reached out and caressed your hair comfortingly. “I-” he paused. “If this is about Val, I’m sorry I did that,” he apologized. “I was hurt, and it wasn’t fair to either of you.”

Placing his fingers under your chin, he lifted it to bring you within eye contact. “However, I need you to stop guessing what you think I might want,” he stated firmly. “I can make my own decisions, ok?”

As you nodded in agreement, his gaze softened, and he took you within his arms again, cradling your head against his chest. “And… you haven’t lost me, but I need some time.” He sighed. “This was all just-”

At that moment, you were interrupted by his mom, who’d made her way in from the living room. “Gosh, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

You and Leon let go of each other self-consciously, as she spontaneously invited you to dinner with the family that evening, which had just been freshly cooked and served out on the dining table. As you shared in the laughter and light-hearted conversations together, you couldn’t help but feel a sliver of hope about your future with the boy sitting beside you.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Prom night was coming up. At least that was what Kayla kept reminding you. You still had a few months to prepare, but for her it was the most important social event of high school. No one had asked you out yet, and Kayla felt that wouldn’t do. Secretly, you wished Leon would have made a move by now, but maybe things were still too raw.

As you emptied out your locker, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Spinning around, you brushed up against one of the footballers you had hardly spoken with during your school years. He must have noticed the bemusement on your face, as he spoke first, “Wanna go to the prom with me?”

From afar, you heard a distant giggle and narrowed your eyes at the source. Kayla’s sly grin gave it away. She set the whole thing up. Why?

You glanced between her and the beefy guy in front of you. Clearly not your type. At all. “Uh…” you tried to stall, wondering how you were going to maneuver your way out of this situation.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the side, snaking an arm around your waist, causing you to yelp in surprise. “She’s coming with me.” You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Hm, this was getting interesting. Talk about Mr Knight in Shining Armor to the rescue.

Leon turned to face you. “Am I right?”

“Y-yeah, I’d like-,” you paused to recollect yourself. “I’m going with you,” you confirmed with a hint of shyness.

The footballer backed off, raising his hands in the air as he excused himself clumsily. “Sorry man, my bad. I didn’t know she was taken.” Leon was giving him the stink eye all the way through.

“You trying to make me jealous, baby?”

Baby? You gulped. What the hell has gotten into him? You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. But his arm was still resting on your waist with no intention of letting go anytime soon.

You saw Kayla shrug and dust her hands, before sashaying away. You had to hand it to her though. Fucking mastermind genius.

“Well, you never asked.”

“I did now,” he retorted smugly.

Ok, so you were back to bantering. Guess you could deal. But it still didn’t answer the question on where you stood with him. Had he finalized his thoughts since that talk you had?

“Leon,” you sighed. “Is this your way of saying you’d like to make things official?”

“Sorry about that. I was kinda put on the spot,” he admitted bashfully, as if he had been caught doing something wrong and now had a tail between his legs. 

“But yeah, I want to,” he professed. “Do you?” He stared at you, swallowing nervously. “I mean, would you like to be my, uh- girlfriend?”

You gave him a coy smile, copying one of his previous lines in response. “Sure, I suck at it. So why not?”

“Never know till you try.” He beamed in return, unable to conceal the sheer look of happiness on his face any longer. “Guess we can figure out the rest along the way.”

“Uh huh.” You glanced around, all of a sudden painfully aware that you both were having this conversation in full public view. Although the other students were pretending not to pay attention, you knew they had seen and overheard everything. 

A hot flush rose to your face. It didn’t seem to deter Leon as he tugged you closer with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. You had an inkling of what was about to unfold, but you chose to embrace it.

“Let’s give them a show, shall we?” He smirked, and with that, his lips collided into yours, as you made out against the lockers, oblivious to the world around you.

[alovesongtheywrote]

hi i just binged nightmare academia and i’m deeply deeply obsessed with you and your writing. it’s 2 am in the morning. (worth it)

♥ Summary: dkfhskdfj big thank you, that's genuinely such an honour- i really hope you like this chapter!! im posting it at 4 am bc night owl solidarity <3 In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, a community recuperates and Spencer comes back to you. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings: gun violence, grief, hospitals, and mentions of alcohol

♥ A/N: fun fact: on the ao3 cross post, this chapter and the one after it are named after hozier lyrics. im a basic bitch, it's work song

♥ Word Count: 2297

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

There was a shooting near the community center.  

You weren’t there at the time.  You weren’t even close.  You were at home when it happened, and you were at home when you found out.  The little jingle for breaking news stories cut through the ambient sounds of a droning weather report, replacing it with something more intense than a report on the rain.

In an instant, images of the community center surrounded by police cars, wandering officers, and caution tape filled your screen.  You froze, blood turning to ice as you watched the police mill around your second place of work.  You could feel your extremities growing colder and colder as your mind slipped off into shock.  Someone had been shot.  Someone was hurt.  Part of your community was bleeding.

The rest of the broadcast sounded like static, but you got the gist.  Whoever was shot was in critical condition.  There was “no threat to the public.”  Police had already apprehended a suspect.

Before you could fully process what had happened, you were scrolling through the contacts on your phone.

Your first call was to the community center.  For once, it went straight to voicemail.  

Your second call went to Sheryl- the receptionist who shared a shift with you.  She was shaken, but alright, and she confirmed that all of the community center staff were in the same condition.  Scared, but okay.  Shocked, but alright.  They were going to be fine.  You thanked her, comforted her, and let her hang up first.

Your next call went to Missy.  She didn’t pick up.  You moved on, making a few other calls to a few other community center students, checking in on everyone you could.  

Frank did not pick up.  

Adam did not pick up.

Most of the others did.  Most of your students were freaked out, but fine.  Everyone seemed to be okay and alive, but you couldn’t get a hold of Missy, Frank, or Adam.  

You couldn’t fucking breathe.  You didn’t know if your friends were alive, or dead, or hurt, or arrested, or fine, and you were terrified.  The universe seemed to hold its breath as you gasped for air, spiralling as your horrible little brain dragged you through the worst possible scenarios.  

Funerals.  Hospitals.  Dead friends whose potential had been stolen from them far too fucking soon.  Courtrooms.  Cops.  Tunnel vision fallacies that got innocent people arrested.  Fuck.

Tears streamed down your cheeks.  You needed to call someone- not even for the wellbeing of your friends, but for the wellbeing of you.  You couldn’t tell if you were already having a panic attack, or if you were on the edge of one, and either way, you were not having a good time.  You needed help.  You needed someone to calm you down and get you to breathe like a functioning human person.

You thought about calling Reid.

Before you could scroll down to his contact, your screen lit up.  Missy was calling you.  You picked up.  Things only got worse from there.

Frank had been shot.  He’d been walking by the community center and someone had shot him.  A man in a dark jacket and a motorcycle helmet had shot him.  Missy didn’t see his face.

Frank was in the hospital.  In critical condition.  Maybe dying.

You got up and got ready to head to the hospital, floating through the motions as more information came to light.  You couldn’t feel your fingertips.

It wasn’t a random attack.  The assault was carried out with the precision of a hit.  

You didn’t know who would order a hit on Frank.  Neither did Missy.  True, he was a former inmate, true, he had once violated the law, but he hadn’t done anything that would make someone take a hit out on him.

The police thought Adam had done it.  Adam was near the community center.  He was in custody now.  He needed a lawyer.

“Do you think you can represent him, Doc?” you could hear the desperation in Missy’s voice.  You could feel it in your chest.  

“I uh-” you tried to clear your tear-filled voice.  You failed, “It’s a conflict of interest.  I was his teacher, recently, the prosecutor can use that against him if I try.  I can get help, though.  I have connections.”

“You’re gonna wanna hurry and send them out.  The cops were real rough with him, it’s not looking good.”

You cursed under your breath, shoving your shoes on and grabbing your keys, “I can sort it out from the hospital… I can- I can do that, right?” “If anyone can, it’s you.  Just get here soon.  Please,”  Missy’s voice got smaller and smaller as she spoke.

You broke traffic laws getting to the hospital.

-

Hospitals still fucking sucked.  They were often crowded, decently noisy, and overwhelmingly white.  You still hated hospitals, and if you could, you wouldn’t enter another one for the rest of your life.  

But that wasn’t an option.  Not for you.

You and Missy didn’t leave each other’s sides.  You couldn’t.  In the sterile environment of the hospital, you were each the other’s lifeline.  You both needed it.  You looked like the human embodiment of anxiety, and Missy the embodiment of grief.  Tears spilled down her cheeks, dragging tracks of mascara with them.  She curled into herself, into you, appearing small and fragile.  In the pull of a trigger, the strongest woman you knew became a precious breakable thing.  

She didn’t deserve this.  She didn’t deserve any of it.  And even though you also looked and felt like shit, you were glad you were there.  

The cops wouldn’t stop looking at the poor woman like she was another fucking suspect instead of a witness.  They looked away from her when she was with you.  She could focus on her grief when she was with you.  You were just happy to be there for her.

Over the phone, you arranged a legal defence for Adam.  You didn’t pull away from Missy to do it.  The two of you just sat in a blindingly white hallway, clinging to each other in a sea of sterility as you called in a couple of favours. 

Once situated, your lawyer friend called you to report that 1) the local police were really pissing them off, and 2) the case against Adam was weak, but not a guaranteed failure.  His history of incarceration and intrusive thoughts could be used against him- however, the nature of his past crimes, his friendship with Frank, and his work to improve his life could be used in his defence.

Overall, the case wouldn’t be too difficult to win.  Adam just needed character witnesses- ones that a jury would like and trust.  

You, a reputable university professor, could be one of them.  

You very quickly realized that Spencer, a notable FBI agent, could be another.

Missy urged you to call him.  She even gave you the decency of space.  She didn’t need to do either.  You were always going to call Spencer.

Of course, Spencer didn’t pick up the phone.  Pushing down the urge to just hurl your phone into the wall, you took a deep breath and left a message.  You hoped your voice wouldn’t betray how absolutely fucking shaken you were by the situation.  

It did.

“Hey, Reid.  I’m sorry, it’s been a while, I just… look, it doesn’t matter right now.  Something happened.  Things are bad, right now, and I uh.  I’m gonna need your help, if you can- if you want to help me,” you let out a shaky breath that sounded a little too much like a sob, “You know where I am.  I’ll see you.”

After you left your message, Missy looked at you with a shaky, watery smile.  You raised an eyebrow in question, and her smile just grew.

“You didn’t tell him what happened.”

“I know.  It’s uh, it’s a lot to tell someone over the phone.”

She let out a little laugh, “He’s gonna think you’re hurt or something.”

“Oh, shit-” you murmured, pulling out your phone to make another call.  

Missy put a hand on your arm, stopping you, “Don’t change it.  He might get here faster if he thinks that.”  

“You think so?”

“Oh, you are down bad.”

The two of you stood there in the hallway, and as you stared at each other’s tear-stained faces, you both started to laugh.  The sound morphed back and forward between pained sobs and wheezing laughter until the two of you were too tired to make another sound.

You stayed with Missy for another few hours.  Nobody would tell either of you a damn thing about Frank’s condition.  The two of you remained in place until a well-meaning nurse practically forced you to leave.  

You drove Missy home.  The car ride was silent.  You were both out of things to say.  For once, you were all cried out.  Missy was in a similar condition, dark mascara tracks still painted her cheeks.  She didn’t make a move to wipe them away.

It was in that silence that you pulled into a parking spot outside of Missy’s apartment- the one she shared with Frank.  

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’m… I’m gonna be something.”

“You can stay with me, if you want.  Just so you won’t be alone.”

She stared out at the building, at its golden lights glaring out into the velvety dark of the night, “I… I think I need to try being on my own.  Just for me.”

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, “Okay.  But please, call if you need anything.” She smiled over at you, “I just need you to get Adam out of this mess.  The sooner they stop looking at him, the better.”

“I know.  I’ll do everything I can, I promise.”

“I know you will.  Adam will be out in no time, eh?”

You offered her a little grin, “Do you want me to walk you in?”

“I’ll be alright-” she popped open her door, “But do you think you could give me a ride to the hospital tomorrow?  I just-”

“Of course.  Anything.” She gave your arm a pat and hopped out of the car, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc.”

You just waved goodbye.  The last time you promised to see someone later, he disappeared from your life.  Now, he wouldn’t even pick up his phone.

You had to try really hard to avoid crashing on the drive home.  Tears blurred your vision.  Your breath came in sparse gasps.  You really should’ve pulled over, but you just wanted to be home.

You got there safely and spent the night alone.

-

The next day, you woke up early, took Missy to the hospital, and made your way to the university.  And then you had to spend the rest of the day acting like everything was normal and nothing was wrong.

It was a weird sort of hell- an inferno of your own creation.  You had spent the past few months pretending that everything was okay, acting like everything was fine.  Now you found yourself lost in the performance, drowning on the stage beneath the bright lights.

You had to give your lectures as if one of your students wasn’t rotting in a police department- like another one wasn’t in the hospital, suffering from a gunshot wound after being attacked by a mysterious assailant.  You had to act like you were a-okay with the knowledge that there was nothing you could do.

In other words, you had a terrible fucking day, and at the end of it, standing alone in your office, you had one thought.

There was wine in the trunk of your car.

-

The moment Spencer got your call, he ran back to that university town faster than he’d ever run in his life.  He could hear the fear in your voice over the phone.  He could hear a hospital monitor beeping over the phone.  

So he ran.  He ran as fast as he could trying to get back to you.  The closer he got the more dread he felt.  The closer he got, the more news stations reported on a shooting near your community center. 

It was only after he got back to that town that Spencer realized that he did not know where you lived.  

He tried the hospital, but you weren’t there.  Spencer wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not.  The community center was closed, so you weren’t there either.  There was only one place left for you to go- and it didn’t make much sense after the message he’d gotten, but it was all he had left.

Your office was empty.  The lights were off and the door was locked.  Even the ghost wasn’t there.  Feeling dejected, Spencer wandered over to his office.  He was expecting to find it in the same condition as your office.  Abandoned.  Empty.  Untouched.

It was not that.  Someone had clearly been there recently.  The lights were on.  Someone was logged into the computer.  Even more damning, the bookshelves no longer contained the vast collection of books that he’d left behind.

They were full of smut.

Softcore smut.  Hardcore smut.  Monsterfucking smut.  Enemies to lovers smut.  That Fifty Shades parody that’s canon in the universe of Criminal Minds was notably absent, but that was about it exceptions wise.  

Spencer hadn’t done this.  He hadn’t filled the bookshelves with horny literature.  There was only one person who would.

“Spencer?”

Speak of the devil.  Reid turned, and there you were.  The world caught its breath, and the two of you suddenly felt less incomplete.  The black holes stopped eating your guts.  Spencer was right where he needed to be.

You were there, together, where you needed to be.

“Where the fuck did you come from?”

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife, @80katie, @ms-ks-world, if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know!!

[jades-typurriter]

Seamless Transition

A short POV story about getting gender euphoria from being a cat instead of a human, and being made of fabric instead of flesh.

CW: Needles (like, the sewing kind, but they still pierce the skin, so what difference does it make)

You take the needle out of its container. Sturdy plastic. It pops open with a thock, revealing the slender, shining piece of metal. You pry it free of the frame keeping it in place, plastic snapping out of the way as you move it. This is... impressive. This is a whole-ass sharps container. It was even wrapped in that heavy cellophane to keep it sterile. All this from one witch selling body mods out of her house? Your friend sure is something.

You’ve known her long enough that you watched her go from experimenting on herself--she didn’t seem to know what she was looking for, and even though she’s found some things that she liked, she still hasn’t ever settled--to getting asked for help doing the same, to making a living out of the whole process. You haven’t seen her turn a customer away yet. Even if she doesn’t know how to make something work, you can bet she’ll work her ass off to find out. That kind of passion for making the most of yourself has made her well-known, trusted to Hell and back. There’s a whole community supporting her, just people like her exploring what they can become and giving back what they can.

And now here you are, having bought from her.

You suppose that’s only fitting. You’ve looked up to her for so long... You only realized recently that maybe part of that was admiration of what she had for herself. Which brings you to, the needle.

You look at it, pinched between your fingers. Roll it between them. There’s a silvery sheen to the metal, but that’s the wrong magical substrate. It’s cold iron, instead--if it can interact with the fey, it can certainly restitch your little patch of fate’s tapestry. The eye is rather large, and the short length of thread tied through it rather unusual. It’s a Yarn. Not a piece of yarn, but a physical manifestation of a story. They’re normally the byproduct of the transfer of information, forming like stalagmites out of air charged with the excitement of a good adventure, tense with the hungry curiosity of an eager student. Often, they’re found in libraries, cluttering up the pages of books and the corners of shelves, mistaken for cobwebs.

Your friend, however, found a way to make them on purpose. A way to encode specific information straight into them. You compared them to magical instructions, at first, a sort of conceptual DNA, but she insisted that they were still very much stories. Addenda, she said. Revisions. Alternate twists, another flourish here or there. One of the people who volunteered to help her test them out said they were like headcanons. The possibilities were practically endless, she said, when you could take the narrative into your own hands. After a very, very long conversation--lots of questions, she wanted to get this right for someone so important to her, and eve more answers you didn’t think you had until they jumped from your lips all by themselves--she took what she knew of you, and what she had learned, and spun a Yarn just for you.

It’s in your hands, now.

You’ve given yourself injections before, and you were told it’d be just like that. You’ve never done it with this kind of needle, though, and after pulling your clothes out of the way, you aren’t sure how exactly to hold it. You try putting it between your first two fingers and bracing your thumb against the eye, but that... doesn’t feel right. You try holding it like a pencil, and...? No? You try a few more grips, and when none work, you huff, let go of your clothes, and pull out your phone. How... to... hold... a... sewiiiiiiing, needle. Fuck it, let’s try that. You hold your fingers like a hand puppet, a bla-bla-blah motion, and pinch the needle between them. Okay, that feels right, and waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait okay. Okay. Wait.

For a moment, there was total certainty about what to do. Like you could do it with your eyes closed. Like you could do it without even thinking about it. In the same breath, the weight of doing it crashed through that clarity like a brick through a glass. You take a deep breath. You raise the needle again. You pull your clothes out of the way again.

The metal seems to thrum in your fingers. The magic it was made with? Maybe it’s just your hands trembling. The anticipation of the poke, like before, or perhaps of the change. It feels heavier in your hand, but now you’re thinking about it so hard. It hurts less when you aren’t looking at the needle, right? Right. You close your eyes, take another breath to steady yourself, and hold the needle at an angle. You drive it gently toward yourself, forcing it along with your thumb. It breaks the skin. You don’t know what you expected--at this point, you normally squeeze out the medicine and pull the needle back out, but you’re this far and you just can’t fathom backing up now. Something deep--not instinct, you think--guides you, and you pinch the skin. You push the needle further, completing a stitch in your flesh, and pull the needle out through the other side. The Yarn unravels as it passes through you, weaving itself into you; it sheds wispy fibers of light as it enters, dissipating as your hand completes the motion. You blink, and after a moment process that you didn’t even feel the huge eye of this thing as you pulled it through your fucking skin. Your friend really is something.

The thought is interrupted by a warm sensation from the spot where you poked yourself. You touch it and find that the skin is softening. Not as in “smooth and supple”; you’re seeing “like touching velvet”. Dude, it’s happening. It’s fucking happening. It starts to spread from the spot, slowly radiating outwards, up your torso, down your arms and legs. The hair on your body thickens, starting from the same spot. It grows out thick, rapidly becoming a blanket of fuzz, growing as you watch like a timelapse of a seed sprouting from the soil. Its texture changes, too; not coarser, but becoming more like tiny, tiny threads. The hair--fur--catches up with your softening skin, and overtakes it, the wave crashing along the remainder of your body with a fwoomf. 

You feel it along your face, and reach up to find whiskers, stiff and plasticky. Your ears must’ve been carried along with the tide, because you miss them when you squish down the fur on your cheeks. You find them sitting on the top of your head instead, two cute and springy little triangles. They perk up involuntarily as you rustle your hair around them--you suppose you’ll learn to flick them around on purpose with time.

In some spots, your chest, along your arms and thighs, the fur is much thicker. A few inches long, deep enough to sink your hand into. As you relish the feel of it, wide-eyed, you feel a strange sort of tension in your hands. You clench them tightly, rolling your fingers as though you were stretching your knuckles, and as they curl, you watch them thicken. When you relax them, they’re huge--each easily the size of your face, the fingers rounded and covered with a pad each, just like your palms. You close them again, open them again. You take in the feeling of the fur between your fingers sliding past itself. They don’t curl quite like they did before, and they look like the gloves of a mascot suit, but they’re your hands. You feel something pop at each fingertip and watch as little, hard plastic claws, colorful and shiny, emerge.

You look down and find your feet much the same: replaced with paws that squish down under your weight, cushioning your steps as you pace around on them for the first time. Walking like this doesn’t feel quite right... You give your legs a stretch, straightening your ankles as far as they’ll go, and they just keep straightening and straightening until you find you can’t bend them back forward again. The joint now sits at about the height that your knees were just a moment before; you have to hold your weight in a slightly different spot, now, but the spring in your step is... wonderful. You take to your new gait in just a few seconds, but your balance still doesn’t feel quite riIGHT DID YOUR SPINE JUST SLIDE OUT OF YOUR BACK???

You twist around and see a tail hanging just above your hips, even fuzzier than the rest of you and coming to a rounded end. It’s a BIG one, too. You give it an experimental swish--another thing to practice, but it does seem to finally straighten out your posture! You try walking again, and it feels off every time you’re mid-stride. You try flicking your tail back and forth in time with your footfalls and BAM oh my GOD you feel like you’re walking down a runway. You’re fucking working it!!! Your hips are swaying and if you weren’t bouncing with excitement anyway you sure would be just on account of the way your legs are SHAPED now holy SHIT!!!

You press a paw into one of your thighs, just to see if they’re as soft as they look--and they look SOFT now. It sinks in further than you expect. Much further. You feel like you really should’ve reached the bone, at this point?? You pull away, and your leg holds a deep imprint of your paw. Slowly, it begins to return to its full bulk, and it occurs to you that you don’t just feel lighter because of the new way you hold your weight, but because you are literally lighter. Your insides feel airy; your limbs squish against themselves as you bend them. You wrap your arms around your chest and give yourself a squeeze, eyes shut tight and smile wide, marveling at how SOFT you are.

You feel a buzzing sensation at the nape of your neck, which quickly spreads in all directions. Up behind your ears, meeting at the crown of your head, and down and around your neck to either side; down the sides of your torso; along the backs of your arms over the elbows; along your legs on the inside and outside of your thighs. Each feels like a pull tab being dragged along your skin, joining some unseen zipper. You twist your arm around in front of you, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever’s causing it, and see threads working their way along your body, dipping under and poking back over your fur. When they reach the ends of your limbs, they form a cuff at each of your joints, circles of stitches holding together your wrists and ankles, your knees and elbows, your shoulders and hips. They don’t do much in the way of actually making you sturdier, and you were already in one piece without them, but looking at them... 

You run a paw pad--literally padded, it finally sinks in--along the stitch on your arm. The feeling under your fingertip evokes a fresh scab. Stretch marks. Old scars. The healing and the growing that have brought you to finally making the choice to be something, someone, you want to be. The marks left on you, chronicled on your very skin, of the changes that lead up to this. These stitches are the edge of an old couch, catching you as you collapse for your well-deserved rest, exhausted or sick or heartbroken. These stitches are the hem of a top that you had pinned your hopes on, hoping to make an impression on someone or trying to present as yourself for the first time. These stitches are the seams on a beloved doll, the creases on a loved one’s skin, comforting and familiar, even in spite of how new they are. 

Compared to everything else that's different now--better now--they're pretty small, but this wouldn't be complete without them. You wouldn't be complete without them. The way they stretch at your widest points, pinch at all the little turns, accentuates your new, pillowy nature. They're impossible to miss, and show everyone that you are a constructed thing; a you that you designed yourself, and with a little bit of help, made real yourself; a body purpose-built for the things that matter to you, built for closeness, and warmth, and being a source of comfort for the people you love. More than anything, they're an ever-present reminder that you were made with care. 

You realize that, despite the feeling of your eyes welling up with joy, the tightness in your foam-filled chest that comes from crying, the fur on your face isn’t actually getting wet. The oddness of the sensation brings you back to the present, and you rub your face to collect yourself (dwarfing it with your new paws). You look around for the needle and realize that you’re noticeably bigger than you were before. It might be a pain to squeeze out of them, but you’re suddenly thankful that your new body has more give than your clothes. Despite the haystack now being a bit harder to navigate, you make sure you don’t lose the damn thing. You plan on going back to your friend to see if she can set you up with a chain to run through the eye of the needle. You have a feeling she will; it’s like her to think that far ahead. It’s going to make a lovely memento, and it’s only practical for a brand new plushie like yourself to have a needle handy while they get used to things.

[tubbocio]

Command me to be Well

c!Drunz/ 1.3k / angst

Note: Hello @bubble-popping! I'm your dreblr secret santa @dreblrsecretsanta :D I hope you enjoy!

It was a quiet night. His footsteps echoed in the empty hallways, mirroring the beat of his own heart; pounding in simultaneous anticipation and anxiety. 

He had messaged Punz about his new living situation and the other had immediately replied announcing his imminent visit. Dream tried to convince him not to come, but the mercenary seemed set on this path. And now here he was, pacing halls and checking his communicator for any message that might signal his arrival.

Finally, his communicator pinged.

<Punz>: I went through the portal, tell me when I should go back through.

Dream jerked forward a bit and walked toward the lever rapidly. Once he flipped it, he pulled up his communicator again.

<Dream>: ok go now

It was only a few seconds later that a figure stepped through the portal and into the Prison’s lobby. Mindlessly, Dream flipped the lever back down, breaking the portal, before going around the main desk and toward his partner in crime.

He grinned at Punz, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Punz?”

Punz looked around the room silently, before turning to look at Dream, “The prison, Dream?”

Immediately, Dream's smile fell. He rolled his eyes, “Yes, Punz.”

Punz crossed his arms and regarded Dream silently. The silence felt almost oppressive, Punz's gaze laid heavily on him. After a few moments, he finally spoke.

“Why?”

Dream threw his arms up and motioned to the room that surrounded them. His grin was back, this time less genuine than before.

“Look around, Punz. It's the most secure place on the server! Of course I'll make it my base.”

Punz didn't look happy with this response. Dream let his arms fall, his smile falling alongside them. He crossed his arms, mirroring Punz's pose.

“It's also the last place anyone would check for me,” Dream continued, “The only person that knows this place more than me is Awesam.”

“This is dangerous, Dream,” Punz finally said. The way he spoke, Dream almost felt like he was about to be lectured. He clenched his jaw and turned to head to his ‘bedroom’. He could hear Punz's footsteps following him as he continued speaking, “This is begging for Sam to find you in here and lock you up again.”

Dream let out a sardonic laugh, “It's too late for that one, Punz. I found him here the other day. For a few days, actually.” 

“What?” Punz hissed out, speeding up to try to catch up with Dream, “We have to get the fuck out of here, then.”

Dream rolled his eyes, using books and levers to open up the way to his makeshift bedroom, “I know what I'm doing, Punz. It's fine. I'm perfectly safe and–”

Punz reached out and grabbed Dream's arm, “Dream stop!” He exclaimed, staring at Dream who looked at him with a glare, “I don't want you to stay here and just put yourself at risk in the same damn hellhole that hurt you for the past year!”

Dream jerked his arm out of Punz's grasp, “You–” his voice shook, dripping with poison, “You don't know anything.”

Punz opened his mouth to argue, but Dream continued before he could.

“You don't get to- to pick and choose for me. You don't get to tell me how I can handle my hurt. I'm not a fucking damsel in distress. I'm not stupid, Punz. I know the risks, I know what happened here. It happened to me! I KNOW!”

He stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, staring at Punz who staree back at Dream with an indecipherable expression.

“So don't–” He stopped himself and turned around, “Just… don't.” 

The rest of the walk to the bedroom was tense, quiet. Dream doing all the motions and protocols as he stepped into the bedroom

The silence felt almost suffocating as Dream settled on the bed. He didn’t look over when he felt the bed dip beside him and felt a warm body sit next to his. He felt Punz’s fingers reach out and brush over the back of his neck as he reached behind him for a blanket. The touch burned in a way the lava on his skin never had. The fire spread down his neck and into his lungs, where his breath got caught the moment he’d felt the gentle touch. He sat still, not stiff, as Punz draped the blankets over them both and turned to look at him.

“Dream?” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, despite the emptiness of the room.

Dream finally let himself turn to look at Punz, but the gentleness of his stare stole his breath out in one go and he couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath. Dream stared for what felt like hours, just looking, searching for answers in his gaze, before he finally dropped his gaze down to the white cotton shirt Punz had pulled on to sleep. It wasn’t stained, but it looked worn and thin. Dream considered getting him a new one before this train of thought was cut short by a hand laid over his. He immediately looked up once again at Punz’s stare, now filled with a sort of subdued sadness that he felt looked right into him.

Punz spoke up before he could look away again, voice just as quiet as before, “I’m-” A breath, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have doubted you, even if I was… worried. I just don't want you to be hurt.”

Dream didn’t look away, but he closed his eyes briefly, his instincts clawing and howling against this raw vulnerability he’d been presented with. Punz's voice was gentle, almost hesitant. He shook his head and looked down at their hands, now firmly tangled in each other’s. He took a deep breath, and squeezed Punz’s hand.

“Okay.” His voice was shaky and raw, something he almost cringed at. Something that almost made him let go and turn away from this. It was almost too much. Almost.

He felt a warm hand cup his face, and Punz pressed his forehead against his and rubbed his thumb over his cheek. Dream’s breath stuttered and he closed his eyes again. This is what playing with death felt like, he decided. It felt like gentle hands opening your chest and holding your seizing heart. Like loving words digging their way into your blood veins, infecting your heart and mind with an overwhelming sense of fear, love, and yearning. 

He breathed and opened his eyes. Punz was still looking at him with those eyes, holding gentleness you wouldn’t think possible. He reached up and placed his hand on the back of Punz’s neck, right where his blonde hair brushed over his fingertips. He had so much to say, so much to show, but if he moved, everything would change. Hands tangled in each other, hair brushing against his fingers, a warm hand on his cheek, and his forehead against his. A moment so special yet so dangerous, something he wished he could preserve and keep in his ender chest. Locked away and safe from prying eyes and ruthless words. From façades of hate and betrayal. 

Instead, he closed his eyes and relished in gentle, calloused, warm hands. In touch bringing comfort and not pain. In warmth that warmed his skin without melting it off. In words that were made just for him, not to hurt, but to love. 

He doesn’t know how long they stayed like this, but the moment was broken at the sound of a communicator ding. Dream tensed immediately, only then realizing how much he’d let himself settle down. Punz sighed and dropped his hand from his cheek.

“We should sleep, Dream.” 

They should. Dream didn’t reply.

“I need to get up early tomorrow so no one sees me come out of here.”

He did need to do that. Dream didn’t reply.

Punz looked at him, searched his face for an answer, “Dream?” 

Dream pulled his hand away from Punz’s neck and pulled back. He turned around and laid down in bed. He didn’t look back at Punz, but he could feel his stare searing the back of his head, “Goodnight, Punz.”

There was a pause, a sigh, and the rustling of sheets as Punz laid down beside him, “Goodnight, Dream.” 

Dream tried not to think about how resigned he sounded.

Bonus:

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 17 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Well we finally made it out alive, so far! Thank you to everyone who has been reading my story! I just want to say I love this community so much and that all of you are so kind and supportive. It's been amazing to meet all new people who share the same interests as me, and that I can just be authentically myself here without judgement. There is plenty more to come and I hope you all enjoy! So here is chapter 17!

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, no hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @next-autopsy, @panzershrike-pretz, @xxluckystrike

Don was right, it was easier. The guilt I felt still haunted me like a thick fog, but I was able to see through it. I didn’t even have time to think about it, we were moving out. We had hoped that since we had taken Foy we would be pulled back for a break, but it wasn’t to be. We needed to keep moving forward as ordered. We moved to Rachamps, the attack was successful. Minor casualties from the assault. We spent the night in the convent, the sister’s brought in their choir to sing for us. It was one of the few moments I felt calm. I looked around the room at the men who filled it. A small group. We had started with at least 100 plus soldiers, but looking around the church at the men, the loss was noticeable. I sat next to Don as we listened to the women sing. It was heavenly, their voices so ethereal echoing around the room.      

“Emily, a word.” Speirs appeared in front of me. I nodded standing from my seat and following the Captain. He walks us into a side room shutting the door, he motions for me to sit on one of the seats in the room, he does so too, sitting across from me. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.   

“I’m going to mention to Captain Winters what happened the other day during the assault.” He speaks first. I sigh with relief, I was worried about how my actions would affect my position in the company.

“But if I ever catch you using a weapon, not in self defence, I will have you back on a ship faster than you can blink you hear me.” He said sternly. I was being given a warning.  

“Yes, Sir.” I stated. He sighed, rubbing his face, his eyes softened.  

“Listen Emily I heard about what happened before Foy, I know you saw Muck and Penkala die.” He says in a more gentle tone. 

I stiffen. The flashes of their final moments play in my head.  

“I also understand that the men thought you were fine. But I have heard otherwise from some of the soldiers you are closer with, that you didn’t handle it very well. Is that correct?” He asked, I tried to hide the pain on my face. 

“I did the same thing I did when my mom died, I pushed everyone away.” I said quietly he nodded. 

“Does your family send you letters, Emily?” He queries.  

“No Sir, I don't have any family.” His brows furrow. 

“Friends.” He asks.  

I shake my head. A concerned look crosses his face. 

“You know you can go home if you want Emily.” He offers, I’m sure he thinks it’s what I want.  

“No, I would like to stay.” I blurt. He’s surprised by my answer, sitting up straighter in his chair. He regards me.  

“Emily, can I ask you what you were doing before you joined?” He implored.  

“Studying sir, to be a nurse. I hadn’t quite finished yet, I was in my last semester.” I tell him the truth.

“What are your plans for when the war is over?” He continues, watching me carefully.  

I’m stumped by the question. I have no clue. If the war finishes does another shimmer appear to take me home? Or do I stay here? If I stay here what the fuck am I going to do. I don’t exist. I have no house, no money. I’m technically not even an American citizen, I have no passport, no birth certificate, no identification. I didn’t think that far ahead, right now I am just trying to get through the days. The question throws me for a loop. Ron waits expecting an answer I can’t give him. 

“I’m-I’m not sure, sir.” He looks at me confused. 

“Will you not go and finish your degree?” Ron suggests.  

“I quit. I don’t have the money to go back and study.” I shift on my seat, I’m sure he doesn’t mean to but his questions are making me nervous. No one has asked this much about me, not about my future, or where I live or what I want to do. I don’t even know myself. If I was to stay here in this time, how would I even go about slotting back into reality, because it isn’t mine.    

“You have no savings?” He says shocked.  

“I spent everything to come here.” I lied.  

“Where are you living?” I freeze. I can’t answer him. I open and close my mouth. 

“I was living in the dorms when I was studying, but I guess now I’m homeless.” I say slowly.

“You have no one you can stay with?” I shake my head. 

“Emily, what about your possessions?” He seems frantic at this point, he sounds worried for me. 

“The only things I have sir is what I came here with and the clothes on my back, which technically aren't mine since I have to give the uniform back. I sold everything for a ticket to europe.” I wring my hands together, throughout the conversation growing more clammy.  

He looks shocked. “That’s why you don’t want to leave?” I nod, “I have nothing waiting for me back home, sir. I want to stay with the Easy men, I want to see it through till the end.” 

“Right, well, you’re staying, but I think we will discuss the other matter later.” He seems very concerned for me, he seems stressed. He rakes his fingers through his hair, taking a breath, he moves to stand.  

“Please don't tell the men. I don't want them to know about my situation.” I say quickly before he leaves. He turns to look at me. 

“Emily, I thought you would have more confidence in me. I would never.” He smiles gently. He stands and leaves the room, leaving the door open for me to follow after him. 

“Thank you, sir.” I mutter softly even though he has already left. 

I made my way back to my seat, “Em.” A voice called to me, my eyes searched the room wondering who had called me. Lieb raised his hand waving at me. I walked over standing in front of the pew he sat on.

“Hey Joe.” I smiled at the man, he sat next to Grant and Russo, Babe was perched behind them talking to the men he sat with. 

“You alright kid?” He leaned forward as he spoke, resting his arms on the front of the wall he sat behind. 

“I’m ok.” I smiled, he nodded looking up at me.

“Em, we don’t think of you any differently.” He starts, he reaches out his arm taking my hand from my side, holding it in his. “I should’ve noticed.” He shakes his head, his thumb tracing over the back of my hand. 

I shook my head. “Joe I made it so you didn’t. Even if you had, I wouldn't have accepted the help.” 

He sighed giving my hand another squeeze before letting it go. “Next time Emily you ask for help. Got it?” I chuckled, nodding. He gave me his signature grin. I said goodnight to the men. I sat down beside Don, who looked exhausted. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be inside but these goddamn seats are so uncomfortable.” He wriggled around on the seat trying to find a comfortable position. The pews were very uncomfortable, the seat part was so small you could barely lie down sideways without falling off and the back of the chair was so upright there was no way to slouch or lean. They were also wooden, hard and slippery. If you sat in one position for too long you could feel yourself slowly sliding down the seat. I laughed nodding. My butt hurt from sitting. 

“Well I think they’re made with the intention to keep you awake through mass.” We laughed together. 

“The old people find a way to do it though.” He said in a hushed voice as to not disturb the others. 

“Yeah but they’re old, they can fall asleep anywhere. Have you ever seen an old person sleeping in a comfortable position?” I asked, he looked baffled by my question. 

“I mean I don’t go sorting them out.” He chuckled. 

“Don think of your grandparents, where do they fall asleep?” I tried to get him to imagine it so I could get my point across.

“Sitting up in their arm chair.” I nodded, my point being proven. 

“One time when my Nana was getting older, she had taken out her hearing aids and fell asleep. I thought she was dead. I yelled at her for so long and she didn’t move. Then I went up to her and shook her, she almost booted me in the head.” I recounted the story to Don as we both laughed. 

“My Granddad fell asleep with his false teeth still in and they started whistling, so loudly in fact that the dog actually came.” Don and I covered our mouths trying to keep quiet while sharing our stories. 

“The dog jumped on his lap and then stole the teeth from his mouth cause they were hanging out.” I wiped the tears from my eyes as he continued. 

“What did the dog do with them?” I asked, trying to catch my breath. 

“He ate them.” I covered my open mouth, laughing at the thought. 

“You’re kidding?” He shook his head while he giggled.

“No, we had to wait till the dog shit them out again.” We were getting glances from the other men for being too loud, I pressed my face into his shoulder trying to muffle the noise.

“The best part is once the dog did shit them out he washed them and kept using them. He said he paid so much money for them he wasn’t going to throw them out.” I scrunched up my face in disgust as he laughed. 

“Oh ew!” I pretended to gag.

God I hadn’t laughed like this in a while. It was a normal occurrence with the four of us, but since Skip and Alex had passed I hadn’t laughed since. There wasn’t a time with them we weren’t laughing, they were so funny. Alex, Skip and Don together was pure entertainment. Then when I got closer to them it was absolute chaos. I always found myself in the foxhole with the three of them. We were either playing games, cards, making stupid bets, talking shit or telling the worst jokes. It was like we were in another world when we were all together, I could forget that I was having the worst day ever and was absolutely freezing. I missed them so much, but it felt so good to hear Don laugh again. I smiled at the man who had finally stopped laughing, he smiled back. 

My heart fluttered. I have never been in love, but I think this is what it feels like. His smile could pull me from the darkest depths. His touch soft and gentle made my whole body come alive. His laughter made me smile so hard my face felt like it could crack. He made me happy. I wanted to spend every day next to him, if I wasn’t with him his name would still be on my lips, his face would still linger in my mind. I couldn’t stop the pitter-patter of my heart everytime he said my name, smiled at me, laughed with me. Like I was floating, weightless. He lifted me up but somehow grounded me. He still made me nervous, my stomach flipped when he was near. The amount of times I had to hold back from just kissing him. I would forget that we weren’t a couple and have to stop myself from kissing him goodbye when I left, or saying I love you when he looked at me in a certain way.   

I was falling in love, or maybe I had already fallen. But one thing I was certain of, I was completely and utterly in love with Donald Malarkey.       

“Do you want to try and get some sleep?” I ask him, his eyes drooping. He nodded. 

“Here lie down, rest your head on my lap.” I didn’t need to convince him, he lay down immediately placing his head in my lap. He crossed his arms over his chest, whispering a goodnight. I ran my fingers through his hair in a soothing manner, his breaths quickly turning even.

I admired his sleeping face, lightly tracing my fingers over his features. I traced around his face, then his eyebrows, his eyes, his nose, his mouth and his chin. Painting a picture in my mind of the man I was in love with. I mulled over the thought of when to tell him. My brain quickly takes me to the worst case scenarios, what if he doesn’t love you back, only loves you platonically, what if he laughs in your face and tells everyone what you said.

I shook my head at the silly thoughts, Don would never. Even if he didn’t like me he would be gracious and kind in letting me down, it wasn’t in his nature to be cruel. If it turned out he only loved me platonically I could be happy, I just needed him in my life, and even though it would hurt to see him fall in love with someone else I would still be happy for him. His happiness is mine, and that’s all I wanted.

Then another nagging voice crept from the back of my mind, you’re an imposter, this isn’t your time, what happens when you need to leave? How would you explain this to him? He’s going to think you’re insane. You have nothing here, it won’t work. Those thoughts shook me to my core, am I going to have to leave this all behind, what would happen if I stay, would there be irrevocable damage done? Can I stay without everything falling apart? Then I will just have to make the most of the days I have left with him, and the rest of Easy company. I won’t take anything for granted. 

The thing that annoyed me the most is that I don’t have the answers to my questions. There are no books I can read, no one I can ask. It’s not as if someone asked me to come and then sent me through the shimmer. The shimmer just appeared there was no sign, no instructions. I didn’t even know if it was meant for me, was I the only one who could see it? If someone else had been there before I did would they be in this position I am in now, or would they go somewhere else.

I groaned internally, this was too much thinking, I could feel a headache starting. I pressed my fingers into my temple, rubbing small circles to relieve the pain. I could dwell on that another time. But for now I just needed to rest, we still weren’t out of the woods yet. The soft snores from Don lulled me to sleep.  

I sat next to Don in the back of the truck as we bounced along the road. We were enroute to Haguenau. We had all thought we were being pulled back but they needed us to hold the line, as per usual. Lip sat across from me looking pale, I had asked him earlier if he was ok and he told me he was fine, but I could see the exhaustion etched into his features. He looked ill. He tried to hide the wet cough from me but I heard him. Even when we were sleeping last night in the convent he coughed in his sleep. I needed to get him to rest but the man was so persistent it was hard to get him to stop. 

“Hey, look, it’s 1st battalion.” George said, pulling me from my thoughts about the sick Sergeant.

I looked to see the soldiers walking down the street. 

“Hey! Hey!” George turned around yelling at the men as they walked. I looked at him confused. 

“What do you want?” One called back. 

“Yeah, thanks for crapping in our foxholes, ya shitheads!” He shouted at them. I burst out laughing.  

“Hey, it’s our pleasure!” The man called back. 

“Enjoy the walk boys.” Bull called to them, popping his cigar back into his mouth. I shook my head as I chuckled. I leant into Don smiling at him. He gave me a smile, taking my hand in his. I scooted closer to share the warmth. Watching Lip and George smoke their cigarettes.

[naavispider]

I BEG OF YOU, PLEASE SHARE WITH THE CLASS QUARTICH'S POV FOR THE LAST FEW SCENES (When Quartich had a knife to kiri, when Spider saved his life, and when Spider contacted him with the communicator) PLEASE I AM ON MY KNEES, CRYING, BEGGING, SOBBING, PLEADING, GIVE IT TO MEEEEEE

I find Quaritch's pov more difficult for some reason! Anyway here is the section where Quaritch has Kiri under knifepoint, just for you 🥰🥰

His grip was firm, strong, unyielding. The girl stood stock still under his touch, any movement and she'd scrape her neck against his hunting knife. Finally, some fucking leverage.

His heart pounded as he rounded the corner, slowly bringing them into view of the one whom all this was about. The one who was costing him so damn much. Sully. Quaritch thought he would have more of a visceral reaction to finally seeing him in the flesh, stood only feet away. But instead he mostly just felt sorry for the man.

Jake Sully had an arm thrown out protectively behind him to shield his littlest - Quaritch would have hated himself even more if he had to hold that one to knifepoint instead. The ex-marine was the picture of desperate anger, glaring daggers at Quaritch, yet clearly afraid to become too violent in front of his girls. This was the perfect set of circumstances for Quaritch. He had the upper hand, after all these months.

"Don't move! Not a step!" He growled, weeks' worth of quiet anger bubbling to the surface of his voice.

Sully stilled, looking desperately between Quaritch and Kiri.

"Throw your weapons down! Now!" The girl under his grip struggled, begging Sully not to do as he said. Quaritch had to give it to her - she had some spunk.

Sully snarled furiously, before tossing his axe and knife to the floor. Not good enough.

"Kick em away!" Quaritch shouted, words cutting through the air like a knife through butter. "Do it!" He roared. The sooner he could let this damn kid go the better. Sully kicked the weapons across the deck.

"You son of a-" he started, only to be interrupted by Quaritch's next move.

The recom reached into his belt - thank fuck he still had one last pair of orange cuffs - and threw them across the deck to Sully. "Cuff yourself," he snarled.

This was it. He finally gonna get the bastard.

"No!" came a small voice from behind him.

Quaritch's heart had sunk before he'd even turned around to confirm with his eyes what his heart already knew. He could not believe Spider. The kid picked his timings impeccably. Half of him wanted to throw the kid overboard - the other half wanted to scoop him up, shield his eyes and whisper to him that he was just pretending.

He reacted with the half that he was most familiar with: anger.

“Stand there!” he had to restrain himself from screaming at his boy. Spider didn't need to be scared by him even further. But at the same time, he had to believe that Quaritch was serious.

Spider's breath caught, obviously scared, but he didn't seem deterred. "Please, don't hurt her..." he begged. The kid's eyes were searching out Quaritch's soul, God damn him. Quaritch knew if he allowed Spider to find his way beneath the shield, everything would be lost. He turned his attention back to Sully, using his voice to command the room.

"Cuffs on, now!"

Sully was shaking his head in utter desperation as he slapped one of the orange bands over his left wrist. Thank Jesus. As soon as he was bound, Quaritch could release the teenager under his knife and go and shoot Sully somewhere away from the three twerps.

"Ahh!"

Quaritch's head whipped around to follow the motion out of the corner of his eye - coming from where Spider was standing.

There was the she-devil. Damn. Sully's wife.

His eyes widened while his blood turned sour. She had her knife to Spider's throat.

What the fuck?

He thought these people were supposed to care about Spider? This didn't make any sense. The woman was more stupid than he'd realised if she thought he was going to fall for the bluff.

"Release," she hissed, "Or I cut."

Quaritch eyed her, speechless. Her face was a canvass of pain. He couldn't remember his old death, but even in the visuals Lyle had pulled from his AMP suit, Sully's wife had never looked this demonic. Her eyes were wide - larger than Sully's, larger than any of the recom squad - and her snarl looked like it could wring necks. Her face was covered in bloody splashback.

This was the face of a woman who had lost everything. A woman who would kill, mercilessly and without hesitation. This was his murderer.

His eyes fell to the blade pressed into Spider's throat. It was big - too big to be held against a small human. She gripped it in a vice. Spider's head was pulled back to better expose the skin there. Every breath he took was obvious.

"You think I care about some kid?" He tried. He had to bluff this. Even as he said it, he thought it came out weak. Godammit. "He's not mine," he continued, throwing a shrug in for added effect. "We're not even the same species..."

"Please, don't hurt her..."

"Mom, don't kill him..."

Jesus, these kids were worst hostages he'd ever seen. Made the for the best tactical bait though.

Sully's wife was still staring at him, waiting for a decision. He stood her down, silently calling her bluff. There was no way.

Before he could react, she'd slid her hand down to Spider's bare chest and sliced the knife across, letting out a horrific growl as she did so.

"Ahh!" Spider groaned, taking breaths through small hisses to steady himself. Just a flesh wound. Not serious. But then he raised his eyes to assess Sully's wife. Behind those terrifying eyes was true horror. Fury, rage, and insanity. The woman was batshit crazy, and it sent a chill all over Quaritch. His knife loosened minutely against his own hostage's throat.

"A son, for a son," she whispered, not needed to raise her voice. The whole area was silent, or so it seemed to Quaritch. He understood now. She was going to do it. And she'd have no remorse. She raised her hand high, screeching a terrible pitch, bringing the knife ready to plunge into Spider's chest...

"No!" he yelled, bringing his knife away from the girl's throat, holding it up in defeat.

Sully's wife paused just in time. He threw the girl away from him. His cover was completely blown, but he still hated the way his face had morphed into a plea towards the woman still holding his son. Fuck.

He took a breath he didn't know he was holding when she hurled Spider away from her - but not towards Quaritch. Damn her. Spider landed roughly, but got to his feet quickly, backing away from the situation - away from Quaritch. Kid was going to leave with them.

Spider was leaving... with them.

Fury raged and pulled and twisted at his insides. His squad was massacred, the operation had failed, Sully was getting away, and now he'd lost his son.

The family had started to back away into the water.

"You're not going are you Corporal?" he snarled, deadly. "Knowing that I'm out there? Knowing that... I'll never stop?" He had to get this guy. He wanted to rip his throat out with his bare hands. It was now more personal than ever. Quaritch was surprised his voice was still working when he uttered his next threat, knowing it would get the reaction he needed. "I'm coming for you and when I do I'll kill your whole family!"

The last thing he saw before Sully lunged was Spider's small, anxious face, watching on in disbelief, and he hoped that one day, Spider could forgive him.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Most holiest of holies, the first pick Aeon threw in the beginning of the Ritual (three or four songs in). It bounced right off my palm but my friend found it and gave it to me. I blew him so many kisses and he caught them and blew some back. Swoon.

Does anyone else who caught one have the urge to just. Hold the pick in their mouth. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never felt this way before. I have to eat it but I can't. Maybe....maybe just a lick?

Everything I can remember about last night under the cut. (No pictures, head too empty) I could not be any happier with my experience and it was worth everything for the memories alone. I can not stress how much this community means to me. You are all wonderful people.

Enough sentimentality! Ghoul shenanigans ahoy!

-Cirrus, respectfully, is caked up so much more in person. God damn. As a feminist I don't want to objectify women. However, as an average horny Ghost fan,

-Rain staring at Aeon doing the flamingo leg and Aeon missing it completely :( (This gave me a fic idea...)

-Rain "ptueying' his balaclava out multiple times. Stop wearing it so tight.

-Rain staring off into space touching his lips like he was just kissed. This actually made me go insane. He could have also been covering his mouth in an extremely delicate gasp but there was no reason to just keep. Tracing over his bottom lip like that.

-I blew him kisses as well and he blew some back, but in a slow way like he was copying me without knowing what it meant? Creature 🩵. (Also nearly got a pick from him but it didn't work out. Next time!)

-Rain cutting off Dew's solo whine bit and Dew listening??? Without throwing a fit??? Just standing there with his arms up while Rain presumably bitches about the noise hurting his head.

-Dew visibly smacking his lips together after papa insulted him, slow head turn in Papa's direction doing a "pahpahpah" under his balaclava. May have mouthed wow. I don't think he was saying Papa, it was too slow and I've done the exact same gesture a few times when someone says something dumb to me but I don't have the words to explain it!!!

- Aurora is JUST as horny as the boys and I need more cameras on her please. I beg. Cumulus was my first love but Aurora is a menace and I adore her.

-THE LIGHTS HITTING JUST RIGHT SO I COULD SEE AEON'S EYES THROUGH HIS MASK??? UNNERVING???? HE WINKED??? Nut. (Cannot emphasize it enough how fucked up it was to see his eyes. I could not stop staring, everything else didn't exist, it was love at first sight except really really weird.) (My hand is going to file a restraining order but can you blame me.)

-Swiss was vile. Arched his back real good when he laid down and kept rubbing the tip of his shaker. Tickling it, polishing it, whatever you want to call it. He full on groped himself at one point and did a nice slow couple pumps right at crotch level. When he collapsed on his stage, the people around me thought he was hurt. I knew better. I. KNEW. BETTER. Whore.

-Catching Mountain's drumstick (USED, SLIGHTLY SWEATY) but looking down and realizing the little girl (14) next to me had caught the bottom half with her dad. It was her first Ritual and I couldn't be so cruel. Aeon's pic was more than enough. (Besides, her dad looked like he could snap me in half.) (👀)

-Dew flashing the YouSuck sticker at us so we made blowjob motions. He turned around and skedaddled so fast I don't know if he actually saw it but the timing was hilarious.

-made heart hands and "raise the roof" motions for Cirrus which she copied. ALMOST caught a paper airplane setlist from her but it went right over my fingertips. She made heart hands and patted her chest like she was sorry. (Next time!!)

-Both Papa and Dew checking on a little boy (~8 if I had to guess) at barricade, making little "You good? You okay? Yeah? Having fun? Thumbs up?" Gestures at him.

Dew having a little sitty-sit off the end of the left..podium? Swinging his legs and throwing mummy dust. The spotlight was right in my eyes so I nearly went blind staring at him. (Worth it.)

-Papa Ciriceing in our general direction and scolding us for too many kisses being blown

-befriending someone with a dead phone and no way to contact her ride outside the venue. I ran to my car to grab my portable charger and we passed time yelling about Swiss. She made it back safe as well 🩵

-Everytime Aeon so much as twitched in my direction.