#i will come back to this... maybe.... hopefully

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

watered down cough syrup. the water was dirty, Indian, with potential to murder you. the cough syrup was vaguely sweet but it was barely there, imparting a mildly medicinal flavour to an indescribable beverage.

it was for communion. we were desperately trying to keep our minds on higher things while looking at one another's speaking countenances. none of us got sick, but we feared death in that moment. yet we all drank it.

close second comes the medicine, also in India, given for raging diarrhea. it was an orange powder, flavoured with false orange and floor sweepings, probably. it also contained yeast. what else it contained, I do not know. it was, I think, the only time my mother braved the doctor's, for only long enough to get enough of this medicine for the entire family. (thankfully, we all had it at slightly different times; we had no more than two people entirely toilet-trapped at one time, though there were six of us.) we children had no leeway, no 'actually I'm okay now'; we all had a dose each every morning for a week. my brother involuntarily threw up one time and we were all fighting for our lives not to follow his example, every day of that week.

third comes the jelly mother purchased... also in India. it was the same orange flavour. the worst thing was that it set at room temperature, which made us side-eye it anyway (hindsight suggests it was a different setting agent, maybe agar agar? that's one I've never tried using though), and then when refrigerated (to hopefully remove the vile chemical flavours permeating the whole - hindsight also suggests it was sugar free and sweetener'd), it promptly separated into a cursed, thin, pale liquid with chunks of dark orange matter that somehow managed to be self-contained and very slimy, so that it was almost impossible to eat. like all the setting agent and flavour had abruptly concentrated into individual pieces, thus leaving a diluted liquid behind. in texture, the solid bits were like soap, the sort very softened by water but not really a liquid yet. we did not finish it. but we tried.

every so often, when I eat false orange flavoured things, if I get the slightest whiff of yeast, that's good-bye, because it takes me back to a toilet I have never really forgotten....

what is THE worst thing you've ever drank. all liquids acceptable. please tell me what it was, bonus points for why

[elixara]

hold me tight — how do hsr men hug you?

content: just fluff, maybe a lil angst? but not really

characters: dan heng, jing yuan, dr. ratio, phainon

dan heng has you in his arms, so gentle yet so firm, hands trembling as if afraid that he might lose you. you, who became the sun in his life and the moon of his dark and closed world, his dearly beloved he’s afraid to vanish once the people in his past begin to haunt him for his sins. you normally don’t mind your dearest lover hugging you but after what happened in the xianzhou, you just let him be. you’d be just patting his back repeatedly and muffle against his chest to let him know you’re out of breath. don’t worry, he’ll lessen his hold on you, hopefully. on normal days, he won’t be embracing you. don’t get me wrong, this guy is incredibly touch starved. he’d be just slowly warming up to the idea he has someone to hold but when he’s feeling vulnerable, he’d probably have you on his lap, doing whatever as you just observe him and make a conversation here and there.

perhaps in the lazy days of the general jing yuan, he’d never let you past your bedroom. he’d be behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder. you’re relaxed in his embrace. you know you’re safest in his arms and he’s so gentle about it too. he’d probably caress your hand and throw in a gentle kiss on your palm or at the back of your hand. just lazing around because today is just another day but it’s with each other. but in the event that something big happened in the xianzhou and you almost died, please expect a clingy jing yuan at your end because he won’t be letting you go. he lost a lot of his comrades, he’s afraid if he lets go of your hand you’d vanish as well. he’d have you immediately in his arms, his one hand on the back of your head and the other on your torso, just relishing the fact that he can feel you again.

there might be some hesitation on veritas’ part. he loves you, adores you even, but he’s trying his best, okay? he’d hug you i’m sure. it’s just that he’d be hesitant about it. he’d assess the situation first then here comes the subtle touches before he just full on hugs you. but it’s just a side hug though. there’s improvement! he’d have his hand around your waist and then the other will be on a book he’s reading. if there’s a situation and you’re in need of his comfort, don’t worry, he’d be comforting you. if it’s a heavy feeling, no words are needed. just the intensity of his actions are loud enough to say, “it’s okay. i’m here. cry if you need to.” he’s such a softie i swear.

phainon would hug you in the tightest and warmest hug you have ever gotten. no hesitations. despite everything that happened, he’d still be giving you that warm and bright love he has for you and of course one of the ways of showing this is through his hugs. he’s so full of love that you might drown from it. his hugs are so warm that it always, for some reason, makes you cry. maybe it’s because they radiate his feelings he has for you? and because of that, even in his actions you feel their intensity.

divider by @saradika-graphics

© elixara

[emilys-bangs]

you come back with gravity | e.p

Tags: unit chief!emily, assistant!reader, brief mentions of blood, small injury, emily resisting reader (but not for long), reader's a rambler and just trying to let emily let them do their goddamn job, one bribery attempt in the form of coffee (it doesn't work)

Summary: Your boss isn’t your biggest fan. You spend precious company time trying to get into her good graces.

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: I've been so excited to write this dynamic and I know I advertised this as flirty reader but that will happen!! They just needed to get into emily's good graces first heh :p anyway, I'm pretty sure half the wc is just reader yapping, I've grown quite fond of them and they do remind me of myself....so if you hate them don't let me knowww. Anyway! More of this reader coming hopefully soon <3 (gosh we know where they got the yapping from)

Your boss thinks you’re entirely useless. Dark haired, sharp eyed, and beautiful, she keeps you ten feet away and flashes you tight-lipped, diplomatic smiles each time you try to get close to doing your job. From your first day you’ve been met with cool surprise at your arrival, then polite but ruthless dismissals of any and all attempts to help. Can you get her a coffee? No, she can get it herself. Can you help her organize her files? You sure as fuck can’t. Can she break down her schedule for you so you can take over the ropes? Yeah, keep dreaming.

You’re hardly what they call a profiler, but it’s clear as day to anyone: she doesn’t want you here. 

It’s only been a week and the rejection is grating down on your bones. You hadn’t been aware that she didn’t know of—or approve—your recruitment, but two minutes into your first visit to her office and it had been made all too clear. It didn’t take long before the fog lifted, her jaw setting in a hard angle, lips pressed thin into a carefully neutral line. She had looked you dead in the eye, ignoring the five boxes of neglected case files sitting neatly on a forklift in the corner of her office, and very cooly dismissed any notion of wanting you.

It stung—it still does—to be so easily dismissed, swatted away like a bothersome fly. And it’s not like you’ve been dying your whole life for the opportunity to be some higher up’s assistant, but damn it, it’s in your hand now and you’re not going to let go.

You aren’t here by her approval, but by god are you going to stay.

“She hates me.” You moan to Penelope through a bite of flaky pastry, crumbs floating down to your sensible, neatly pressed slacks. “She hates me, and she’s gonna keep pushing me away until I’m useless enough that she has enough reason to fire me.”

“Sweets, she’s not gonna do that.” Penelope laughs as she types on her keyboard. Too late, you realize that maybe you shouldn’t be huffing and puffing about your boss to possibly one of her closest friends, but Garcia loosens your tongue like that. “Em just needs time to get used to you. She’s totally convinced she can do this on her own—and not that she can’t, obviously, she’s a super boss if I’ve ever seen one, but,” she spins her chair to face you, “it gets too much, even for the super bosses. You’re exactly what she needs, she just doesn’t know it yet.” 

You sullenly wipe the crumbs from your thighs. “How do I make her know it?”

Penelope’s eyes gleam. Apart from your stingy, avoidant boss, everyone else in the BAU has welcomed you with open arms, apparently also glad that you’re there to lighten their unit chief’s load. JJ helped you situate yourself in what she told you was her old office and Reid welcomed you to his stash of sugar in the kitchenette, having heard your ramble to Tara about the painfully bitter kitchenette coffee you’d sworn off after a few mouthfuls. They’ve all been lovely, considering you’ve only known them for a few days; you’ve warmed up to Garcia the most, having known her for a few weeks longer while everyone else was on leave.

“Now we’re talking.” She nods approvingly. “To start with—”

The phone rings. She clicks on speaker as you chew through another mouthful of your croissant.

“Garcia, any hits on our unsub’s accomplice?”

You pause at the sound of Emily’s voice, sharp even as it buzzes with static.

“Facial recognition is still running, my sweet, I haven’t gotten anything yet.”

A low sigh blows through the phone. “Alright, well, try searching through the unsub’s friends and family in the meantime. Past school friends, colleagues—everyone.”

“Already on it.” Garcia says promptly. “I’ll hit you back.” She ends the call and turns to you again. Her brown eyes shimmer behind her glasses. You subconsciously lean in close, anticipating some wild secret to earning the way to your boss’ heart.

“You’re gonna need a vanilla latte.” She announces.

____

It takes four days before you come face to face with her again. Four days you’ve spent mostly in idleness, picking up the odd job here and there and helping Garcia behind the scenes, not quite brave enough to encroach onto your boss’ business while her claws are still out. The jet lands from Florida late at night, rather conveniently setting up your fresh attempt at sweetening her up.

You’re in early the next morning, a brimming cup of vanilla latte heating your palm as you head up the stairs. The bullpen is still fairly empty, its usual buzz tuned down low and sluggish. You absently tug your collar above your sweater vest, smoothing it down flat against your throat before knocking on your unit chief’s door. 

She answers quickly. You shove one deep breath into your lungs before swinging the door open and walking in.

“Good morning.” You say cheerfully, smiling as you cross the floor to her desk. It doesn’t escape your notice how unfairly good she looks, dark hair blending into her navy blazer, bangs soft and shiny above eyes that track your approach.

“Morning.” She intones. You hand her the coffee and her expression softens, the corner of her mouth pulling just slightly. “Aw, thank you. What do I owe you?”

Four twenty five.

“Oh, nothing.” You wave your hand dismissively. She frowns, brows furrowing. “Uh, well, how about your calendar? Or a planner, if I can have a look at that?” You channel your brightest smile.

Emily tilts her head, idly tracing her finger over the plastic lid. “Calendar? Why do you need that?”

“Well, I’m a little…” out of my depth, “...lost concerning your schedule. There’s a few things I’ve written down that need to get done, but I can’t fit them into a time slot without knowing—”

“It’s fine.” There’s that tight smile again. It’s miles away from the easy grin she gives to her colleagues. “My schedule doesn’t need arranging. I’ve got it handled.”

Stupid, stubborn FBI agents.

“I’m not trying to imply that you don’t!” You blurt out. “Really, Chief Prentiss, I’m just here to make your life easier.” You force out a nervous laugh, swallowing the sour taste in your mouth. “Scout’s honor.”

Her hum is thick with something you can’t place as she looks away, her hand dipping into her bag. She hands you a crisp ten dollar bill and a look that says get out. “Thank you, Y/N. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it. Really.”

You want to argue that she doesn’t seem too appreciative, but the sharp tilt of her eyes makes you tuck your tongue under your teeth. 

She’s your boss. Totally capable of firing you, with or without reasonable justification.

You bite down on a huff, take the money, and try not to shrink beneath her eyes as you see yourself out.

____

Admittedly, this does feel a touch illicit. But it’s her work calendar—or so you’ve been informed—so it’s not like you’re snooping through her underwear drawer.

You’re just doing your job. 

You look down at your notepad, pursing your lips at the list of meetings and tasks your boss needs to get done by the end of—yep, this month. No biggie, except that less than half of them are actually written on the calendar. It’s blank, for the most part, excepting a few days with all-caps tasks filling up their boxes.

“This won’t work here,” you mutter to yourself, glancing at the full slot for Tuesday. You’ve already got three bullet points written down for it. 

As you’re shifting it, a new icon comes to life on the screen, a glaring bold EP blinking next to your initials on the top corner of the page. The bubble crawls down until it’s in the Tuesday box, side by side with yours where you’re halfway through deleting the task Emily had already written down.

Shit.

You pause, twisting one of your rings around your finger as you wait for her to do something. Blue light burns itself into your retinas. 

The bubble stays still for a few seconds. You watch as it moves, springing back the words you’d erased. 

Well, fine. You’ll have to make do with Wednesday. 

You start typing down the other assignments, one eye on your notepad and the other on the EP bubble. It stays still, so you continue.

“What are you doing?”

You startle, shoulders jumping at the sound of Emily’s voice. She doesn’t wait at the door, walking in and rounding your desk like she owns it. 

You flash her a smile like your heart isn’t pounding. “Trying to organize your schedule.”

Disapproval carves itself in the space between her brows. “How did you even access it?”

“Penelope got me in.” You say brightly. “Don’t—I mean, I don’t know your password or anything, it’s just that I was kind of flying blind like I told you, so she helped me out a little.”

Way to throw her under the bus. 

But she’s her best friend. You’re decidedly not.

“And,” you continue hastily, grabbing your notepad before she flicks you away like you’re a bothersome crumb on her suit, “this is what I’ve got so far. Cruz’s report is due by the end of the week, and you’ve also got a budget justification meeting—plus Penelope mentioned two PD’s that need your help with consults while you were away in Florida.” 

You’ve had time to work things through while she was away. But unfortunately not much to do without her sign off.

Emily’s tongue drags over her lip. One of her brows arches—an irritated tick, you’ve realized.

“Fine. This has to stay on Tuesday. I’ll get someone on the consults tomorrow, if we don’t get a case, and the meeting…” her lips purse just slightly as she presses two fingers between her brows, massaging the wrinkle. In the low, dim lights of your office, she seems much less stiff. A lot more exhausted. “Do with that what you will, just don’t make it Friday.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And don’t call me Ma’am.”

A grin tickles your lips. She’s already walking away, unaware of your teeth biting down on your triumph.

“You got it, g—Chief.”

____

There’s an undeniable pep in your step when you walk through the dim BAU halls the next day. Part of your brain realizes that you’re being entirely ridiculous, but the larger, louder part can’t really care. Cracking through the hard shell of Emily Prentiss’ exterior is possibly harder than cracking ancient hieroglyphics. Maybe it wasn’t a clean crack, sure—and okay, you weren’t able to reach in too deep—but now you can feel faint warmth rather than rough-hewn stone under your fingertips.

You’re lightly chatting with Luke and Tara over a box of pastries you’d gotten when she calls you into her office, her voice low yet still carrying throughout the bullpen. 

“Trouble?” Luke raises his eyebrows, his smile partially hidden behind a Danish.

Your stomach turns at the thought. You dust powdered sugar off of your fingertips, failing to muster a smile when Tara scolds him for it, a thud sounding beneath the desks which could mean her boot connected with his ankle. 

All of your surety suddenly dissolves, your good mood churning in your gut as you climb up the stairs and hesitantly approach Emily’s office, as if she rigged the floor with land mines.

God, you hadn’t done anything, had you? All you did was fix up her schedule. Could you have fucked it up that horrendously? Made her miss a hugely important meeting with the director of the goddamn—

“Are these yours?”

She points to a pair of earbuds on her desk.

You blink. “What?” You say stupidly.

Emily picks up the earbuds. They’re marked with a swipe of nail polish at the base, glossy red and definitely yours. You needlessly pat your pockets, silently wondering when you’d misplaced them.

“Oh. Yeah, they are.” You can feel your face flame hot as you take them from her and stuff them in your pocket. 

You wait. She doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. Well, not for a few beats. 

“Is that…is that all?” 

Emily nods. “That’s all.”

Your eyes drop to the multitude of files on her desk. “You don’t need me to do anything?”

“Not as of right now.” 

You can feel the walls rising up, blocking you out. Your desperation rises similarly, bubbling up and spilling out when your eyes drop from hers and fall to the orchid pot on her windowsill. The droopy leaves catch your attention, wilting on top of each other and curving downward.

“These orchids are overwatered.” You blurt out, walking over to them and touching one of the yellowing leaves. You also note the way its white petals are turning golden, wrinkled at the edges. They catch the full force of the sunlight streaming in through the window. 

“You shouldn’t keep them in direct sunlight, they get sunburned. Orchids are quite delicate. How often are you watering them?” You turn to your boss in time to see her brows tick up, bemused.

“Uh, every day.” She taps her pen against the desk, chewing on her lip. “The leaves have been turning yellow.”

“That’s because of overwatering. It can often look like underwatering. Orchids are difficult to care for, but they don’t need that much water—you were drowning them.”

The corner of her mouth twitches.

You clear your throat, neck ablaze, “I can fix them up for you. If you’d like. Uh, I do know a bit about plants.”

Emily tilts her head in a nod. “Okay.” She agrees.

“Yep. Great, I’ll just—” You point to the door and quickly follow your finger, an orchid pot tucked to your side like you’re smuggling contraband. “I’ll take care of them!” You throw over your shoulder, internally cringing as you go down the stairs, hugging your boss’ rotting plant.

____

“Nothing’s been deleted, the folders have just shifted. You can find them here.” You run the mouse down the bottom edge of the screen, prompting the taskbar to slide up. “See, just there.” You click on a partially hidden icon, and Reid’s files bloom on the screen. 

He nods slowly, a little pinch between his brows. “I see. I just don’t get why they’re so elusive.” He mutters, “Or why they don’t attach user guides on how to operate the updates.” 

You shrug, lips twisting against the smile trying to break free. It’s truly endearing how so thoroughly a certified genius gets stumped by technology. But it’s not like you can blame him in this case; the update really is ridiculous—and wildly unnecessary.

“Do you have any idea why they keep doing these?” He runs his fingers through unruly, golden brown curls.

“Well, tech’s gotta have something to do, right? I think they try to hide them more with each update so they can confuse the hell out of anyone trying to break in.” You laugh. It prompts a smile from him, a little bashful, soft as his cardigan. Idly, you think maybe he should meet one of your girlfriends.

He takes a sip from his coffee. “You should help Emily out with that too, she’s been complaining about it.”

You tilt your head. “Has she?”

“Have I been complaining about what?” Emily’s voice curls around the back of your chair, spiking your heart rate as you spin to see her. 

“The new update.” Reid pipes up. “Y/N just helped me figure out where my files and emails went.”

Her eyes slide to you. It’s a slow drag that leaves heat in its wake, your blood simmering with the full force of her attention. 

You fidget with your ring, offering her a smile. “I can show you how it works.”

Her fingers flex around her coffee mug. “It’s your lunch break.” She hedges.

“I don’t mind.” You’re strangely breathless. “It won’t take long. Unless you’re busy.”

She considers you for a beat, then shakes her head. You jump up from Reid’s chair, trying not to look like an overeager puppy following at her heels. 

“Thanks, Y/N!” Reid calls out.

You do something with your hand, half dazed. “Sure thing, doc.”

The rush of air that Emily leaves behind smells like coffee and sugar and something like caramel. The scent tickles your nose as you follow her across the bullpen. You’re not quite sure if you should lengthen your stride, walk next to her, but she outpaces you anyway, nimbly climbing the stairs and offering you her chair as you walk through the door.

“Have a seat.”

You decide not to protest. Spinning to her desktop, you wiggle the mouse and bring the screen to life, then walk her through the steps you’d shown Reid. She hovers over your shoulder as you ramble, the smooth scent you’ve now discovered is her perfume clouding your lungs. It’s that caramel; something warm, silky and sweet, almost entirely cutting off the airflow to your brain.

The distinct weight of her hand presses down on the back of your—her—chair as she grips it, giving the occasional hum in response to your instructions. You jiggle the mouse, double clicking more than necessary in an attempt to hide the gravel in your voice. You almost lose your train of thought more than once, but you manage to hold it together.

“That’s it.” You end lamely, letting go of the mouse. The rich brown of her eyes is only a few inches from yours when you look up. 

Jesus. 

“You could’ve told me, you know. I’m”—just here to help—“pretty good with computers. I took a few coding classes back in college—and Garcia’s been showing me the ropes, too! So I think I’m proficient enough. If you, um, ever need anything. Computer related or otherwise.” 

You realize that you should stand. You do, hands automatically smoothing over your blazer. “Anything else I can help with?” You ask hopefully.

Emily shakes her head. “That’s all, thank you. Enjoy your lunch break.” She softens the words with a smile, a hint of a dimple rendering you unable to push back. 

You walk out as dazed as you were when you walked in.

____

You’re wincing as you shoulder your way through the bathroom door, one hand cupped under the other to catch the drip of blood from your palm. It’s not a deep cut, you don’t think, but it stings like hell. At least you can’t see any shard of ceramic lodged beneath the blood.

Well, not yet.

The door swings shut behind you, but you’re not alone. 

Drying her hands at the sinks is none other than your boss. She immediately notices your hand, her brows drawing together in sharp lines.

“What happened?”

“Chief Prentiss!” Your voice echoes loudly against the tiles. You bite down on another wince and shove your hands under the tap. “It’s nothing. Just a small cut, it hardly hurts—”

“That’s not what I asked.” Her heels click against the floor. Suddenly she’s there, right at your elbow, her fingers closing around your wet wrist. The blood washes clean under the water, but it still forms up against the flow, rushing to escape your veins. You barely notice the sting as Emily tilts your hand, observing the thin line running from your middle finger to the base of your thumb.

Her eyes flick up to yours, obsidian dark. Her brows raise expectantly.

“Uh. Reid dropped his mug. I was just helping him clean up, but,” your shoulder touches your ear, “I was a little clumsy with it. It’s fine, really, doesn’t even hurt!”

A displeased hum cuts through your ramble. “Cleaning up after Spencer isn’t part of your job description.”

“What is?” You ask, tired from her hot and cold, your tongue loose from the press of her fingers on your wrist. You snap your mouth shut too late, internally cursing.

Emily is quiet as she tilts your hand under the water. “Rounding up last week’s reports.” She says eventually. Your head snaps up. “Spencer hasn’t turned his in yet and Luke’s backlog is at least three cases behind.” She glances at your hand. “If you can, that is.”

“Yeah!” Jesus, dial it down. You clear your throat, nodding, “Yes, definitely can do, Chief.” You would salute, if your hand wasn’t held in hers beneath the water (why is she still holding it?).

A sharp dip of her chin is all the reply you get back. “A bandaid won’t hold.” She murmurs, dropping your hand and grabbing the first aid kit hanging on the wall. “You’ll need to bandage it.”

“That seems excessive.” Directly disagreeing. “Ma’am.” She told you not to call her Ma’am. “It’s already stopped bleeding—”

“No one will appreciate it if your blood’s all over the paperwork.” She says wryly, placing the kit on the counter.

“Right.” You snap your mouth shut. “Of course not.”

“And don’t call me Ma’am again.”

“Does gorgeous work?”

She blinks.

“Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what—” you clamp your hand over your mouth. “I’ll just leave now.” You mumble, mortification weakening your knees.

Emily shakes her head, the corner of her mouth tilting as she walks past you and out of the bathroom. Her perfume washes over you, lingering with your stinging hand and the boiling heat of shame crawling all over your body.

____

You’re heading to the elevators, coat slung over your arm, when you glimpse the light on in Emily’s office. It’s not terribly late, but there’s no one else on the floor, either. You make a detour to the glass doors of the bullpen, swinging them open and walking in.

Even before you reach her office your breath is catching, a dampness in your palms that you hastily wipe away on your clothes. She’s past the point of tossing you to someone else, you try to tell yourself, but the voice in your head is weak. You’ve been getting her to bend more, widening the crack and worming yourself through the gap, but she still makes your insides flutter nervously. 

Maybe Emily Prentiss has resigned herself to your help. You don’t think she’s reached the point of liking you yet.

Still, you knock on her open door and poke your head in. The orchids sit pretty on her desk, warmed to a faint yellow beneath the lamplight.

You’re usually a confident person. But the second her eyes lock with yours, your knees just about turn to jelly.

“Hi.” Your voice is soft. “It’s, uh—it’s late.”

She sets her pen down. “Didn’t know you set a curfew for me.”

“Oh! No, of course not, that’s not what I—”

Her low laugh makes you freeze in place. It doesn’t last long, but it washes over you like a faint glow, warmth kissing the surface of your skin. Too late, you realize the teasing in her voice—silk soft and pliant, the way it is when she’s talking to Reid or Garcia.

“I’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know what you’re apologizing for. You venture deeper into her office, feeling her eyes track your steps. “What I mean to say is you shouldn’t have to be here longer than anyone else.” 

Emily’s lips press together into a pitiful smile. 

You fiddle with your coat, shrugging a little. “Sure, you’re the boss, but…I can help.” 

If you’d gotten a dollar for every time you’ve spoken that phrase over the past two weeks, you’d be swimming in money. Still, you clear your throat.

“I can go through the paperwork with you, and I can help organize your schedule to make room for it when you’re not on cases, and I can help you prioritize everything so you don’t fall behind. It’s not much, and I know you can do it all on your own,” your hand flaps at your side, “but you don’t have to. That’s what I’m here for.”

The remnants of your voice echo around her office as Emily laces her fingers together and sets her chin on top of her fists. Your heart skips as she looks you over, the sharpness of her gaze softened by the warm light of the lamp at her elbow.

“You’d be in for a late night.” She says eventually.

Your eyes widen. “That’s fine! I mean—not too late, obviously, but”—you shrug, fiddling with a loose string on your coat and forcing nonchalance in your voice—“it is my job.”

It’s an electric zap up your spine when you glimpse both her dimples. “Tomorrow.” Emily says. It holds a shade of promise, not as airy as her other dismissals. “Go home for now.”

“I will if you will.”

She softly clucks her tongue. “Don’t push it.”

Your body flushes with heat.

“Y-Yes, Ma—yes, Chief. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco @jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz @rustnroll @slutforabbyanderson @maximoffcarter @cns-mari @daddy-heather-dunbar @lcvessapphic

[pittrabbit]

warnings: smut, kind of pwp, sexual harassment (from some guy, not pope), afab reader, age gap implied (everyone act shocked), p in v sex, soft dom reader and sub andrew, reader and andrew want each other bad, physical altercation, dry humping, prolonged foreplay, etc etc etc.

summary: you weren't sure how you ended up at this random party by the beach, but you started to regret it when some idiot wouldn't leave you alone. thank god the guy you'd been making eyes at all night decides to come to the rescue.

word count: 5.9k

note: not really happy with this one but here it is i guess!!

➽──────────────────❥

attending a party at some unknown's house by the beach hadn't really been part of tonight's plans. but when your best friend had shown up after work with a pout on her face and an annoying insistence you tag along, you sighed in compliance, slipping on a tiny dress and some kitten heels before trailing behind her.

there was some guy that had invited her, she'd said. you weren't really sure about it, never having heard of the guy or of the people hosting it. she'd stay with you all night, she'd claimed, and apparently parties went down there quite often without any trouble.

you were mostly past your partying days, but being a good friend, you still agreed, knowing it was better to go as a group rather than let her go to a strange place alone.

too bad she hadn't been as good a friend to you at said party.

almost within minutes of your arrival, you'd lost her in the crowd of bodies. as soon as she'd locked eyes with whatever guy she attended the party for, she decided to leave you on your own in favor of going with him. she promised she'd be back, that she'd just hang with him for a while before coming back to you.

and for some stupid reason, you stayed. instead of calling up an uber and drafting some angry text to her, you decided to stay and make the most of it. you wanted to be a good friend, wait around for her so she wouldn't have to go home alone — if she even went back home tonight.

it was a nice house, they had enough drinks to go around, and hell, you looked amazing. it would've been stupid to make the trek back home and waste the twenty minutes it'd taken you to get here (and the hour to get ready) just to turn right back around.

unlike your friend, you weren't really planning to hook up with anyone tonight. you were past your partying era, as you'd told your friend before being dragged here. however, enjoying the atmosphere and maybe dancing a little wouldn't hurt you. you'd keep things casual, just enjoy yourself for an hour or two before searching around for your friend in order to check in (and hopefully leave).

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you grew bored of the party within an hour.

it had quickly turned into rowdy men fucking around in the pool and far too many people spilling their drinks carelessly into the water. after dancing and mingling for a while, you decided to stick to a wall, take the role of a loner and just watch the idiots wrestling one another in the pool.

there was still no sign of your friend (other than a lone text letting you know she'd get back to you soon, she promised!!), and you were in a low social battery mode, so you were really just killing time by holding up the wall.

and you would've been okay with that for another hour or two if it wasn't for the guy that had started harassing you one hour into the party.

it started with a look from across the pool. a very suggestive look, might you add. you were used to those, usually being able to shrug them off and keep it moving. this guy, however, was one of the unlucky insistent ones.

immediately looking away after making eye contact had not been enough of a hint, apparently. no, this man had actually taken that as a sign for him to make his way across the room and join you in holding up the wall.

finding his way to your side, he left about a foot of distance between you as he leaned against that same wall, drink in hand to occupy his hands as he did a terrible job at shooting you subtle looks from the side.

not wanting to be straight up rude, you didn't walk away — a mistake, in retrospect. instead, you became interested in your shoes, the guys fucking around in the pool, the couple making out to your left, just anything but him.

it didnt take long for him to get bored, though. within five minutes or so, that foot of distance became just a few inches, the man now standing shoulder to shoulder with you, leaning down a bit to share his first words with you over the music.

"hey. never seen you around here before. you a friend of the cody's? what's your name?"

god. way too much all at once. not to mention that his breath was too heavy against your ear.

whatever happened to personal space.

"uhm, nope. i'm just here with a friend. actually, i should go look for-"

he stepped closer then, taking your response — however non-receptive as it was — as a welcome to keep talking.

"yeah? i don't see any friend. i've been watching you, actually." he chuckled. "you looked kinda bored. thought id keep you some company."

he smelled like tequila. reeked of it, actually. that was never a good sign. he was clearly drunk, or at least well on his way there.

you took a step back, wanting to revive the space between you. your eyes didnt meet his, knowing he'd also take eye contact as a welcoming sign.

instead, you looked past him. you looked past him in hopes of finding someone else to latch on to, some excuse to walk away.

and past this man's shoulder, you found another pair of eyes watching you, a face you hadn't taken notice of until now.

you kept looking at him, now meeting his eyes. the effect was immediate. the intensity in his gaze had you captivated within mere seconds of focusing your eyes on his own.

he didn't seem to be too tall, but his build made up for it. his arms remained crossed over his chest, a serious look in his eyes. some fresh cuts and bruises adorned his arms, you could tell as much from the small distance between you. there was one on his eyebrow that called your attention. you instinctively wanted to reach out and run your thumb through it, ask if it hurt, how he got it.

usually when meeting someone's eyes in the middle of a crowd like this, someone will look away (usually you), but the two of you stayed focused on one another. you pushed aside any of your surroundings and kept staring, eyebrows furrowing at the sudden feeling his gaze gave you.

he was a little further from the two of you, though still close enough to be able to observe your interaction with precision if he so wished. and it seemed like he was very focused on it. his eyes only left you to stare a hole into the back of the man that had been cornering you. with his eyebrows twisted together, his face showed a expression of slight annoyance at what he was seeing.

you were about to signal him with your eyes, having somehow forgotten the other man in your vicinity, but you were once again rudely interrupted.

"don't be rude, i'm talking to you." he huffed, face tilting to meet your eye line so he could force some eye contact with you.

your eyes finally left the stranger's, refocusing on the unknown man in front of you. you couldn't help but feel even more annoyed now, wanting to continue the silent conversation you were having with the mysterious man, but now being unable to even see him due to your view being blocked by some idiot.

you decided to try again, clearing your throat before responding to him.

"i told you. i'm here with a friend. i should really go look for her-" you made move to walk away, but were interrupted once more, though this time physically.

one of his hands found your arm, grasping it loosely enough to not raise any alarms to anyone nearby, but hard enough to send you a silent message.

"stop lying to me, you cunt. if you're not interested, just fucking say so. have some respect." he practically barked, not caring for the remnants of saliva that slipped out of his mouth.

your fight or flight mode activated as soon as he raised his voice — as soon as he put his hand on you, really. as unfortunate as missing out on more intense eye contact from the cute guy you'd missed sight of felt, you needed to get out of there as soon as possible. before this guy escalated things.

without thinking, you put your unoccupied hand on his chest in order to create some distance between you. that's when you lost your balance and spilled some of the overflow of your drink on him, simultaneously pushing him away with more force than you'd intended.

your eyes were focused on his white shirt, now covered in a burgundy mixture of drinks you'd found in some punch by the kitchen.

before you could react, the man practically growled at you, shaking his head with an angry scoff and throwing his own drink on the floor, making sure it splashed all over your legs before crowding you even more against the wall.

"you fucking bitch. i swear to god, i'm going to-"

you ducked, scared he might hit you or retaliate in some worse way, eyes closed shut and hands covering your face.

but nothing ever came after that.

just a voice. a very neutral one.

"step away." said the voice.

when you opened your eyes, you found the scary man with his hands behind his back, behind him the man with the intense eyes clearly holding him against his will, mouth almost attached to his ear as he directed the threat towards him. his eyes landed on yours when you opened them.

the man tried to get away, failing as he was not as strong as the man who'd stepped in to defend you. "this doesnt concern-"

"either you get the fuck out of my house, or i'll take care of you myself." he tightened his grip, twisting the man's arms and getting a yelp out of him.

he didnt wait for a response, pushing him towards the wall next to you, causing you to jump back at the sudden commotion. a few other partygoers were now watching the scene, but with one threatening look from the man, most of them drew their attention away.

"fucking freak. not worth the trouble anyway." were the last words from that other man, muttered under his breath as he got up and walked away.

the nameless man looked back to you, still looking a little threatening but with a newfound understanding look in his eyes. stretching his hand, he spoke to you.

"come with me."

and you followed, a little shocked and a little shaken up by the other man's actions, but numb enough to not question this guy.

the two of you walked away from the scene, with him leading you without another word.

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within moments, you made it to what you could only assume to be his room. you hadn't asked. you hadn't really said anything in the past five minutes you'd been behind closed doors with your savior.

he'd just led you in here without much information, only telling you "it's empty in here." before taking a seat next to you at the edge of his bed.

he was quiet, serious, a brooding presence. but you still felt safe around him. he'd stepped in and helped you without you so much as asking. any other partygoer near you just ignored what was clearly a threatening presence looming over you while he stepped in and took care of matters within seconds, not a single sign of cockiness or need for praise at his actions.

you'd been attracted to him from the moment you met his eyes. even as you had some other guy showing clear interest in you (far too much, to be honest), your eyes had been glued to his, captivated by the way he looked back at you. you didn't believe in the love at first sight bullshit, but you could at least admit that this was infatuation at first sight. hopefully a mutual one.

"are you okay?"

he finally broke the silence, eyes still ahead of him rather than on you. his posture was relaxed, his avoidance of facing you clearly a result of social awkwardness rather than nerves.

you turned your body to face him, inadvertently causing your knees to touch the side of his thigh.

"yeah, i- thank you for helping me back there, that guy was-"

"yeah. it's no problem." he interrupted, rough, cutting without really meaning to.

silence washed over you again, slightly awkward, slightly comfortable, a weird mixture that left you not knowing what to do.

"uhm, is this your room?" you asked, getting up with some hesitation as you attempted to make some conversation.

"yeah." was all he responded with, though you could now feel his eyes on you, following you as you took slow steps and looked around his room.

you were about to brave a look at some of the stuff around his room before his voice broke out again, making you fully turn your body towards him in question.

"your legs." he began, hand pointing at them as if you needed confirmation as to where they were. "they- his drink spilled all over you. let me help you clean up" he spoke, getting up before even letting you respond.

he exited the room after that, closing it behind him and leaving you there confused.

it only took him a few moments to come back, opening the door and closing it back up as he held rags and a water bottle with him. with the objects in his hands, he gestured at you to sit back down on the bed, to which you obeyed without objection.

now sitting, you gaped at him when he knelt in front of you, nearing your legs far too much for someone you had only exchanged a handful of words with.

"is this okay?" he asked though he'd already uncapped the water bottle, pouring some of its contents on the rag.

"oh, uh, yeah. thanks."

you weren't usually this socially inept, but his blunt yet awkward behavior made you unsure of how to act. you feared that you'd be off-putting to him if you were too forward, but maybe if you kept to yourself too much he'd think you were scared of him. so you opted to just sit there, facing your body towards him and letting him press the damp rag to your calves, which had already gone sticky from letting the punch dry on your skin.

"what's your name?" you asked after a few moments of silence.

he appeared so innocent as he looked up to you. even with the threatening aura he'd displayed outside, he was completely calm in here with you. his wide eyes gave you the opposite effect the man outside had caused in you. you didn't know this man, yet you felt comfortable with him. he was taking care of you. it made you want to return the favor.

him on his knees also caused an entirely different effect on you, but you shoved it aside. it was clear this poor guy had no interest in anything like that. he had you all alone in his room, tiny dress riding up while he had you heavy-breathing at his through a damp rag, yet he remained entirely disinterested.

"andrew."

"andrew." you repeated. "i like it. thank you for all your help, andrew. i'm sorry i caused a scene at your party, i didn't-"

"don't apologize." he interrupted, letting silence invade the room once again.

you couldn't really think of anything else to say, but you didn't want your time with him to end so quickly. maybe he just wasn't interested at all. he kept his answers short, kept all his focus on helping you, getting you cleaned up, didn't engage in any sort of back and forth, nothing that expressed any sort of emotion toward you. those looks earlier at the party must've just been coincidental. he was probably lost in thought and you just so happened to be in his line of sight. there was clearly nothing going on between you.

then he mumbled something. under his breath, not loud or intelligible enough for you to make out.

"sorry?"

you leaned your body down a bit, causing him to look up at you. he stiffened a little when he noticed the closed proximity between you, hand stilling on your calf.

"your name."

you gave it to him, smiling at yourself for getting a few more words out of him.

"i, uh, i like it." he looked back down as he said it, rag now tending to your strappy heels — he was being quite thorough, slow in his movements and gentle as he removed the sticky remnants of alcohol from your skin.

"thank you."

without thinking, your hand went to his hair, fingers running lightly through the curls at the top. they were soft under your touch, long enough for you to pull at if you so wished — and you did wish, only holding back for the sake of decorum.

"i- uh."

you drew your hand away at his discomfort, nose scrunching awkwardly at having crossed a line without meaning to.

"shit, sorry, i-"

"no. it's okay. keep- you can do it again." he looked up at you again, using one hand to draw yours back to his hair, immediately going back to pouring fresh water onto the almost-dry rag and continuing his work.

but you interrupted him, hand leaving his hair in favor of removing the rag from his hand, putting it on the floor next to him.

you had to take advantage of the first time of the night in which he'd been receptive to you. he liked it when you touched him? you could do way better than that.

"why don't you sit up here with me, andrew? i think you've cleaned me up enough."

it was true. by now you were sure he'd even cleaned you off the moisturizer you'd applied on your legs before leaving your apartment. he seemed very adamant in getting you free of any remnant of the party outside, but who were you to complain?

with some hesitation, he let your hand go to his bicep, leading him to sit far too close to you despite his half-hearted attempt to sit a little further. and even as he sat, you didn't let go of his arm, now using your thumb to caress its skin softly, far too softly for someone you'd just met.

"i'm all clean now. see?" your other hand went to his chin, tilting it so he would look down at your legs, but strategically so that his eyes would land on your thighs rather than your calves which he'd been wiping at.

he continued to say nothing, eyes staring straight at your legs before turning back to your eyes, hands firm and resting on his own thighs. you decided to remedy that by taking his hand in yours, resting it atop your legs, fingers intertwined.

"thank you for taking care of me tonight, andrew." you thanked him again, voice sweet, sickly so.

"yeah." he mumbled. he looked down at your interlocked hands before looking back at you, eyes unreadable. but the rising of his chest told you enough.

scooting even closer, legs now completely pressed to his own, you let go of his hand, softly thumbing at the fresh cut on his eyebrow, the same one you wanted to take care of earlier in the day. now you could see it up close, pout at the thought of him hurting even if you didn't know the injury's origin.

"can i return the favor?"

he took a breath, air releasing from his nose, recalibrating almost.

"how?"

"just trust me." you smiled at him. "the same way i trust you."

he seemed to like those words, mouth opening and closing before his hands went down to your waist, aiding you in taking the final step so you could straddle him.

under you, he was sturdy, full of reliable muscle. you could feel the hardness hiding under his skin as your hands gripped at his shoulders. but you didn't need to hold on to him, not when his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you safely pressed against him.

slowly, as if you couldn't risk any sudden movements, you leaned down, eyes resting heavily on his lips. andrew leaned into you, nose bumping softly into yours, lips gracing over your own. it was tense, breaths mixing together before you finally lost your patience and closed the distance, diving in for an open-mouthed kiss.

maybe it was too needy a kiss to give a guy who seemed to keep to himself, but you were surprised to find that he matched your energy with no complaint. his hands gripped at your hips, his mouth open just like yours, tongue being chased and trapped by yours. your hands traveled from his shoulders to his hair, running your hands through it and pulling lightly at the dark amber strands. this drew a muffled groan from him, wordlessly urging you to do it more.

"andrew." you sighed against him, hips beginning to ground into his own, slowly at first, creating an intimate rhythm between you.

a pained groan left him when you began your movements, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress bunching at your hips. his legs opened further, causing yours to do so too, which made it so you could grind even deeper into him. it took him a few moments to match your movements, but when he did, he had you dizzy, moaning into his mouth and enticing him to lick into it.

"are you sure about this?" he asked, though he didn't falter, unlike his eyes that began fluttering in pleasure.

"so sure."

you said it in between pants. you were already affected by him, enough to have your head dropping on his shoulder. taking advantage of the angle, your lips trailed the sharp line of his jaw, finding a sensitive point at the end of it and latching your teeth lightly on the skin.

"fuck."

that was enough encouragement for you to keep going. if you left marks, that was andrew's problem for tomorrow. his skin was already decorated in scars of all kinds, what was a few love bites among them?

"that feels- that feels good."

"i can make you feel even better." you offered with a teasing smile against his skin.

"yeah?"

you nodded with a giggle. you were already lightheaded at the situation — in a good way. in an amazing way. biting your lip as you looked down at him, you lifted your hand, tracing the side of his face lightly, thumb landing on his chin and lifting his face towards yours. below you, you found the prettiest pairs of eyes staring directly into yours. and he seemed just as affected as you. he appeared pained, the sound of his panting filling the room as you delayed the pleasure you'd promised him. your hips had stilled by now, which seemed to be much to his dismay.

"yeah." was all your whispered back before closing the distance once more, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth and sucking at it before kissing him again.

this time your hands went down to his shirt, beginning to unbutton it before his hands took over, rushing the process and practically throwing his shirt off. when his hands finally became disoccupied, you dragged yours up and down his chest, appreciating every ridge created by the strong muscle adorning his abdomen. you moaned in satisfaction at the feeling of his warm, muscled skin, making him hum in appreciation.

"god, andrew, look at you."

he had you dizzy with desire. he was so docile, so sweet for you despite his hardened exterior. his skin was so perfect under yours. and his every reaction to your touches had you losing your mind. he was yours in this moment. it was an unspoken agreement. his body sought your touch, a service you were more than willing to provide.

reaching behind you, you guided his hands from your back to the hem of your dress, silently guiding him into lifting it up and throwing it off.

his eyes widened slightly at the sight of bare skin, only covered by a bra and panties. gaze finding you, he opened his mouth as if to ask for something but giving up before the words left him. you answered anyways, pulling his head towards your chest and sighing when his mouth immediately went to kiss and suck at the nude skin.

the barrier your bra caused drove you mad within seconds, so you remedied it by practically ripping it off and letting it fall aside. this earned you another gratuitous groan from the man whose lips were attached to your chest.

softly, his kisses made their way to your breasts, face nuzzling into your skin as he dampened your skin with his saliva. his lips wrapped around your nipple, licking at it with a sigh of relief, reserving his more depraved sounds for when your fingers would dig a little harder into his hair.

"a-andrew ... that feels so nice." you sighed in an almost-whisper. "love your mouth, angel. shit."

and, god, did he like your words.

the groan he let out at that was grueling. it only intensified his kisses, which now morphed into suckles and bites of your nipples. his hands were now digging into your skin, holding you against him as if it were urgent. your hips began moving away, making your eyes roll back at the friction and the feeling of his mouth combined.

"let me make you feel good, handsome." you bit your lip, looking down at him as you pulled his head away from your tits, using herculean effort to not lose your mind at the needy look on his eyes.

the poor guy was so starved of touch, so pliant and willing to do anything you wanted. it was a fucking dream come true. he was barely doing anything, yet he was doing an excellent job at breaking your resolve.

you softly pushed at his chest to lay him down on the bed, his honeyed eyes never leaving yours. before sitting on him again, you dragged off your panties and threw off your heels. that's when you found his hands gripping at the sheets as he looked up at you. he reeked of silent desperation. there was no way this man would take what he wanted from you on his own. you'd have to give it to him, and just imagining how much effort his self-control must've taken him made you lose your own.

you sat back on him, wet cunt likely ruining his pants. your hands undid his belt, haphazardly pulling his pants down while you remained on top. after the fact, you were now straddling him, with his boxers remaining the final layer between you.

biting your lip, your hands dragged up and down his body, appreciating how perfectly laid it was for your taking. he practically whimpered at your teasing touches, swallowing back groans when your fingers trailed up to his nipples and circled around them, not touching but coming near enough for the desired effect of your touch.

"you want this, baby?"

"please."

he was so polite, such a pent-up pretty little thing under you.

you leaned down, body splayed over his own as your lips wrapped around the shell of his ear, nibbling at it lightly.

"tell me how much you want me."

he inhaled, a shaky breath leaving him in return.

"i want you. please-"

"yeah?" you smiled, hands trailing their way down to his middle, fingers teasingly trailing the outline of his cock trapped within his boxers.

it practically wept under you. twitching at your initial touch, you reached under the fabric and wrapped your hand around it, lowering the fabric with your other hand for better access. his breath was heavy when you began working him, head lowering to your shoulder and mouthing at the skin there. his noises were quiet and mostly controlled, but every so often you'd get a broken moan out of him that had you tightening around nothing.

not too long after, you lifted yourself up by your knees, dick on one hand while you balanced yourself with the other by gripping his shoulder. grabbing onto him, you ran the tip up and down the length of your cunt, circling it on your swollen clit for a few moments. this drew moans out of the two of you, which you silenced by pulling him into a deep kiss.

"got a condom, baby?" you interrupted between kisses.

this made him grip you tighter in realization, slowly halting his kisses.

"maybe on my nightstand?"

you reached behind him, removing most of your weight from him. his hands gripped your hips even tighter. he didn't want to let go, risk ending this before it even started. you instinctively pouted at the act, stopping for a second to give him a reassuring kiss on his lips before you attempted to retrieve the condom once more.

once it was in your hand, you did the usual song and dance of ripping it open, pinching the tip and lowering it on his hardness. he hissed at this, mumbling a curse as he looked down at the space between you. when you finally lined him up, lowering yourself on him, you released a sigh of relief.

andrew filled you up to completion. he was so warm and perfect inside you, curving deliciously. it hadn't been in your plans to end the night like this, but the feeling of andrew inside you was all you needed to turn your mind around.

"is that good, baby?" you whispered into his ear.

with the muffled music outside, it felt like the two of you were in a world of your own. you felt as if andrew was your secret, like you could keep him all to yourself as long as no one invaded your bubble.

"feels good. yeah, you feel ... fuck."

"i'm gonna move now, okay? wanna make you cum, andrew."

he gave you yet another pained look, but nodded lightly before settling his hands on your waist. his fingers found purchase on your skin, helping guide your bounces on his lap. it started slow and mellow, passionate almost.

andrew was a quiet man, unnervingly so, but the small sounds of pleasure he released had you in incomparable state of ecstasy. knowing that your swollen walls had him losing his composure, trying but failing to keep down his groans of pleasure, it made your eyes roll back, it made your nails dig into his back, leaving marks you hoped would keep a memory of you instilled in his brain for days to come.

he nosed at your neck, burying his head in the hollow and breathing you in deep. one muscled hand went up to your head, digging his fingers in your hair to ensure you couldn't go anywhere. he seemed to have some unspoken fear that you'd abandon him, not realizing just how good he'd made you feel from the moment your eyes found his.

there was nothing you wanted more than to make him feel good, to break him, ruin him, keep yourself buried in his mind and make him think of you every night he laid on this bed.

"you feel so amazing, andrew. so perfect for me." your hips sped up, creating that erotic sound of slapping skin.

you pressed your hands flat on his chest, softly pushing him to fully lay down on the bed. his eyes, though silent, told you that he did not want any space between you, so you remedied his fear before he could voice it by pressing yourself flat against him, dragging your hips up and down.

your clit dragged perfectly against his pelvis. his hands perched themselves on your ass, aiding your movements. he groaned at the sensation, legs settling flat on the bed to begin driving his hips up into yours. that's when it all became a filthy exchange between you. up until then, it'd all been soft, intimate, but now it was a passionate mess.

"i need you to come." andrew huffed, head throwing back when you tightened at his voice. "need to get you there for me."

"i'm almost there, baby, just- fuck, keep fucking me."

every whine, every scratch of skin, he was receptive to it all. you could feel the physical effect you had on him. without much words, he made you feel wanted, as if he couldn't breathe if he didn't make you feel good. his hands could not get their fill of you, being dragged up and down every inch, fingers tracing every ridge they could hang on to.

"you're so good, andrew- so fucking good." you praised when he brought his hand down to your clit. he knew just how to touch you to get you melting for him, not needing even a nudge in the right direction.

"come for me." he practically pleaded. "i want it. need it." he groaned in a whisper.

and then you came, nails dragging down his chest, surely leaving your mark on his skin, just as you'd wanted. if it hurt, he expressed no pain, only faltering the hammering of his hips when his orgasm finally caught onto him. he buried himself in you as deep as he could, face deep in the crook of you neck as he kissed and sucked a last few love bites into your skin.

when he finished, he didn't let go, instead flipping you off him so you'd lay side by side. he only pulled out when it became uncomfortable, throwing the condom to the side and reaching out to you immediately after. he wanted you close, which you appreciated.

his hands ran up and down your body, latching onto your leg and pulling it to wrap around his waist, removing any possible separation between you. it was like he wanted to melt into your skin, as his hands refused to stop rubbing at every curve they could get to. with his head buried in your neck, he nosed at your skin, breathing it in deep and pressing the occasional chaste kiss there.

"don't leave yet." he broke the silence. "you can leave if you want, just ... just stay like this for a while."

the defeated tone of his voice made you frown. it made you want him closer, want to become his comfort. you wanted him inside you again, but not in a sexual way. in that moment, you'd do anything to make him feel as safe as he'd made you.

you wrapped your hands around him, hands running through his curls as you held him against your chest, cradling him like a baby in your arms.

"i'll stay as long as you'll let me." you pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "just wanna be here with you."

he shuddered, kissing your chest again and again.

"thank you."

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note: wouldnt be me if it didnt turn domestic at the end

[sunspotpony]

Then I’d apologize that it was stuck with such a poor model, welcome it to the family, and try to figure out how to help it have a place in the world.

I’ve “adopted” a number of folks who felt lost before. What’s one more?

Mind you, I’d probably still be a bit terrified it was going to eat me in my sleep, but, assuming it didn’t do that, I’d probably shave my head to make it easy initially to differentiate between the two — I wouldn’t force them to shave their head on account of convenience; that’s my burden to bear.

Now if they shaved their head after we’d had that conversation, I’d become a bit more concerned about the eating part, but, hey.

The biggest concern would be food and lodging and documentation— it’d become legally sticky if we had to share government ID, if it ended up having my same health problems and needing my meds, for example.

I’d probably get some sort of paternity testing kit — some cheap gel electrophoresis or something — to see if we matched genetically.

That might make it easier in some ways, more difficult in others. It’d make getting documentation probably slightly easier, maybe? Spin up a story that they’re my twin and through some chicanery, were shipped off elsewhere and ended up back here on account of someone thinking they’re me, and now they have no ID. I’ve white privilege and both my parents were citizens so I’d have less of a struggle there than were I another ethnicity—I don’t know. I’d have to research it more. I just know it’d come up at some point.

Now, if they were some sort of weirdly different genetic thing, at least then they’d hopefully be spared my health problems. Hopefully.

That side of thing opens up another weird can of worms — what would a fantastical entity that is identical to me, but not biologically? What would they eat? They’d probably need hidden from the government at all costs.

That’d becomes tricky, fast.

In terms of money, well, I’m sure we could leverage the identicalness for profit somehow.

It’d be hard to trust, but it’s hard to trust anything or anyone these days. And all you can do is be kind.

Tbh though the very VERY first thing I’d do is call my spouse, say only half the special code phrase we have, and that they are to now only trust me if I use the other half of that phrase, and to discard the first half, and then inform them that I’ve picked up a doppleganger— they seem friendly, but to please be very careful, ask them to always ask “me” for the second half of the code phrase, and always pretend the code phrase is maybe right, maybe wrong, no matter what I say, because by a matter of luck, the doppleganger is probably smarter and more observant than I am. But I’d also forewarn that if the doppleganger was at least as smart as I am and knew anything of what I knew, it’d have already reached out to announce that I’m a doppleganger and that I need to be cautiously protected, and so I’d tell my spouse to assume every me is a doppleganger. Assuming it hadn’t already shaved its head to prevent me from having to shave mine and also to therefore prove its authenticity. I’d still probably say that anyway, as my spouse would probably consider that a reasonable suggestion.

It’d be touch and go. I’d probably for a while need to figure out where they’d sleep, in a way that doesn’t TRAP my doppleganger, but also makes it blatantly apparent to everyone in the vicinity if it tried leaving the room it was given the sleep in so that if it did have ill intent I’d at least have a fair warning.

It’d all be very tough initially. Very very scary. Rules of reality suddenly being broken means literally anything could be true. Next thing I know I’d have a Fairy Riding a Walrus knocking on my front door.

Ultimately, as a matter of pure luck, my hope that its wish for love and to be a person were genuine, and acting according to that, would likely to me being killed and replaced. I’d probably attempt to beforehand convince my spouse that if EITHER of “me” ended up disappearing or dying in mysterious circumstances, they need to divorce me immediately and can use my piles of weird porn as justification, and then RUN.

But I’d still probably end up dead. Kindness changes the world, but individual kindness puts one at a great great personal risk.

But, depending on how close it studied me, what of me it copied, or if it was just a thing that looked like me, if it WAS on my side, we might just be able to collaborate to affect real change. Maybe. Who knows.

This was an amusing little speculation. I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Hopefully I wake up in the morning as opposed to the suggestion of the panic attack I’m having is would propose— that I’m not waking up at all. This little exercise ultimately is procrastination at what as far as my psyche and body are telling me, is a one way trip to meet the reaper. So, hopefully that ain’t it.

@sistertenebrae — you might enjoy this weird little paranoid exhausted ramble I’ve written. Tbh By the time you’ve read it I’ve probably already woken up and therefore didn’t die in my sleep, but on the odd chance I did — much love to you.

And, in fact, to everybody. I hope you all stay safe out there. World be spooky, and we’re all in this shit together. 💪✨ Even probably doppelgängers.

what if your doppelgänger wasn’t evil it was just a person. what if your doppelgänger wasn’t trying to replace you it was just trying to learn to be a person and you were the best model it had. what if your doppelgänger looked at you with your eyes and said with your voice that it just wanted to be loved. what then.

[noxemma]

@colorlessjay thank you so much for the awesome story idea and the inspiration for the title, I really dig the idea of a romance in reverse (I'm not a phenomenal artist but this came to me in a vision, so I had to give it a go 😂). Hopefully you enjoy this next installment (Cas POV this time) as much as the last ones

---

Steering through the Rearview: A Romance in Reverse

First comes love a kid(napping), then comes a marriage ... Yeah, they're definitely doing things in the wrong order, but maybe, if they're lucky, they can figure out how to reverse their way into love.

---

Castiel takes the hint when Dean turns up the music. Not that he minds; he's not sure what had possessed him to say those words to Dean.

That's not entirely true, Castiel mentally chastises himself. Dean's words may have been gruff and stained with anger, but his eyes. His eyes had been sad and full of ... Caged hope? No, that doesn't sound quite right. It's not caged exactly, more like ... Castiel looks at Dean, searching for the right words to describe the beautiful and complicated man beside him.

Dean must feel him staring because he darts a quick, nervous smile his way. Hobbled, maybe. Unable to run free, but still wild and wanting inside.

"What? Do I have somethin' on my face?" Dean asks, turning the music down and letting out a chuckle that sounds forced.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare, I just got ... lost in thought," Castiel rushes to explain, trying to will the heat back down that he feels rushing to his cheeks. "Sam's written several stories about traveling. Lovely pieces full of nostalgia and wonder. I assume those were trips taken in this car, with you and your father?" "Uh," Dean starts, one hand coming off the wheel to rub at the back of his neck. A nervous habit, Castiel is quickly learning. "Yeah. I guess they must be. This was the most stable home we had for a good chunk of our childhood." Dean shoots a glance at Castiel, magnificent green eyes wide, like he's confessed something he shouldn't have, or didn't mean to. "That would make sense, then," Castiel responds with a warm smile that he hopes is reassuring.

He understands not wanting to talk about rocky childhoods. Or fathers, for that matter. So, while Dean's admission only stokes his already blazing curiosity about the man, he forces himself to let it go and let whatever band Dean has playing take over the conversation. To his surprise, Dean doesn't take the out, choosing instead to continue talking.

"Uh, Sam told me he, um, well, whenever I agreed to this, he told me that he wrote a lot about our childhood for your class. He also said you were ridiculously smart, so you'd probably be able to put some stuff together." Dean's not looking at him, but Castiel can see his hands tighten on the wheel and his shoulders tense. "He did," Castiel admits. "Although it is a creative writing class so I can't be sure how much is real and how much is fictional. But, well, we tend to write what we know. I try not to read too much into them, unless of course I'm worried a student might harm themselves or someone else. However, one story of his in particular does stand out."

"Yeah?" Dean's answer is breathless and high, compressed fear dampening the sound.

"It was about a boy and his brother and their father. They lived on the road, chasing down supernatural entities, trying to get revenge for their dead mother," Castiel tells him slowly, verbally approaching with his hands raised to show he means no harm. "It was really wonderful, best in the entire class, though I'm sure it was written with a heavy dose of creative license. Or did you really hunt monsters across the United States?"

Dean lets out a whoosh of air, relaxing back into the seat and letting color come back into his knuckles. "No. And, yes, kind of. Man, Sam has one hell of an imagination," Dean lets out a relieved laugh before continuing. "Mom died just a few months after Sam was born. House fire, or well, arson. The guy they think did it was a criminal who skipped out on his bail, but the police could never track him down. I think that's part of the reason why Sam is going into criminal law. Anyway, Dad took it hard and became a bounty hunter. It gave him a sense of purpose and resources to work on Mom's case in his spare time, for a little while anyway. But, as the years went by, and the leads went cold, he started taking comfort in a bottle. He was drunk when he totaled Baby. Nearly killed Sam and I." "You were in the car with him? How old were you?" Castiel manages to bite his tongue after the second question escapes his lips. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry." "Nah, it's okay. It's practically ancient history now. I was seventeen, Sam was thirteen. Dad kept insisting he was fine to drive, and I tried to argue. And I know I should have tried harder, or hidden his keys or something but, but there was just no getting through to him when he got that way ..." Dean's eyes go far away and Castiel is pretty sure he's seeing something other than the road. His jaw clenches and he gulps before he blinks, eyes refocusing. "Anyway, can't change the past. Sam was in the backseat, so he was the least hurt, which was a fucking miracle." "And you?" Castiel breathes, riveted and horrified as more pieces of Sam's writing slot into place; the pretty paint facade of fiction washing away from the story, revealing the uglier truth behind it. Dean rubs his neck again, hesitating before admitting, "I was in the hospital for over a week. Bobby and his wife Karen fostered us until I turned eighteen. Gave me a job at his junkyard and taught me how to be a mechanic. Helped me get my GED and paid for me to go to trade school and get my ASE certification. Not to mention he helped me petition the state for custody of Sam once I had full-time employment and an apartment in my name." Before he realizes what he's doing, Castiel's hand is on Dean's knee, squeezing reassuringly as he says, "I'm so sorry, Dean. No child should have to go through that. I'm glad you had someone like Bobby to help you." "Thanks, Cas. Me too. But, like I said, it's all ancient history now." They both know he's lying but Cas doesn't call him on it because he's too busy trying to remain calm when Dean lowers his hand to cover his own.

"Cas?" Castiel asks, cursing how breathy his voice sounds and pulling his hand slowly back into his own space before he does something irrational like skipping the wedding and just driving around for the next few days. "You've called me that a few times now."

"Yeah. Cas. You know, the shortened version of your name or, as it's more commonly known: a nickname," Dean rolls his eyes, laughing like Cas has made some great joke. He stops when Cas just stares at him in confusion. "Hang on, has no one really ever called you that before?" "Um. No?" Dean's mouth drops open, and he stares at Cas in the passenger seat for long enough that Cas is worried they might start to drift off the road if he doesn't snap him out of it. "My parents were, um, very formal and ... strict," Cas explains quickly, pitching his voice high in a poor imitation of Naomi, "'Castiel, if I wanted you to be called something else, I would have put it on your birth certificate.'" Dean let's out a snort and the cold dread, which had begun squeezing its icy fist around Cas' chest at the memory of the woman who gave birth to him, recedes at the sound. "Seriously? Man, I can't imagine if I had to run around calling Sam 'Samuel' for the rest of his life. What kind of name is Castiel anyway? European?"

"Biblical. My parents were also extremely religious. They named all of us after angels. Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer." "Damn, and here I was feeling bad about myself for being named after my grandmother, Deanna. Although at least you aren't Lucifer. Does he really go by that?"

"He went by Nick until he died few years ago. Or at least that's what Gabriel told me," Cas admits.

Dean shoots him another look but doesn't press. Instead, he mimics Cas' action from earlier, right hand coming off the wheel to squeeze his leg. He knows the action is supposed to be comforting, but knowing doesn't stop the heat sizzling up his veins.

Cas closes his eyes to fight against the feeling. It doesn't help; green eyes and freckles emblazon against the back of his eyelids.

How long has it been since someone, besides Charlie or my students or Jack, touched me, intentionally? Months? Years?

Cas stifles a groan. Because it doesn't matter. It's clearly been long enough that his body is responding disproportionately, and he has to stop it. Now. So, he starts talking about the one thing he knows for sure will kill any errant desire he's feeling.

"My parents disowned me when I came out to them. Gabriel is the only one who still speaks to me. He would have probably been disowned too if he hadn't kept the family name and become so successful so quickly. This wedding is actually the first time I'll be seeing any of them beside him in well over a decade now." "Shit, sorry, Cas," Dean blurts before chewing his lip and darting more glances his way, clearly debating something. "You can ask whatever it is you're wondering," Cas encourages, welcoming the distraction. "Uh, why are you going to this wedding then? I mean, I get that they're family, but well, to quote Bobby, 'family don't end in blood. And it don't start there either.'"

The voice Dean puts on when quoting his surrogate father wrings a laugh out of Cas and the dangerous heat of attraction is replaced with an equally dangerous, though less embarrassing, warmth centered father up his body.

"I'm getting the idea that Bobby was a very wise man. But, to answer your question: I'm going because Jack is actually my biological nephew. I was friends with Kelly, his mother, and I raised him like my own when she died from complications shortly after giving birth. She never put Lucifer on his birth certificate and her parents never contested her choice to name me his as his godfather and legal guardian. But, somehow, Naomi and Chuck have found out about him, and they are threatening to petition for custody of him if I don't show up."

"Why? On what grounds?" Dean explodes, barely contained fury adding a growl to the words that sends a tingle up his spine and forces him to shift in his seat. "I'm a single father and a man who wouldn't be able to afford the house I'm living in if it wasn't paid for by my more successful brother, and gay on top of that," Cas ticks off, "Plus a few others, I'm sure."

Dean stays silent, but rage radiates off him in heavy waves. Cas is just about to try and call off the whole ridiculous idea, sure Dean will agree now that he knows what he'll be up against, when Dean's face brightens and he pins Cas with a wild stare, stealing the breath he was about to use to speak.

"Hey, Cas. How do you feel about being fiancés?"

Cas, ever a pillar of grace and decorum, chokes on his own spit.

"Shit, sorry. You're Sam's favorite professor and I'm pretty sure he can kill me without leaving a trace, so please don't die!"

"Why-" Cas starts, coughing and gasping a few more times before managing to get the rest of the question out, "Why would you want to be my fiancé?" "Well, you're gorgeous and kind for one, so who wouldn't want to be your fiancé," Dean says with a wink at him and Cas is grateful that his face is already red from nearly choking to death on his own saliva. "But I was thinking, we were already going to pretend to be boyfriends, right? So why not go for gold? We can knock off at least two of those reasons you mentioned. I practically raised Sam so I'm no stranger to the whole parent thing. We become fiancés and suddenly you're a two parent, dual income household. I mean, I'm not rolling in wealth by any means, but I do okay enough, though most of the money I make doing restorations goes to helping Sam out with tuition, but they don't need to know that."

"But we don't know anything about each other, how would we be able to convince my parents that we're planning on getting married?" Cas challenges, not quite daring to hope that they might have a chance at pulling this off. "Well, we've got approximately five hours to figure it out. Plenty of time, plus we already know a lot about each other." Cas tilts his head and opens his mouth, but Dean answers his question before it can escape.

"You know that I have a younger brother who I raised, that I work as a mechanic and a car restoration expert, not to mention you apparently already described me to 'Uncle Gabe,'" Dean takes a breath and hurries on before Cas can interrupt, not that he would, "I know that your parents are mega douchebags who don't appreciate what an amazing son they have. I know that you're an English professor at Stanford and that you're an amazing dad, aside from a slight oversight in the stranger danger department. But most importantly, I know that Jack belongs with you and I'm willing to do whatever I can to help make that happen."

Cas' heart thuds in his chest at Dean's vehement declaration. "I- Thank you, Dean," Cas manages before his throat closes up entirely and he's blinking rapidly to keep the moisture forming in his eyes from falling onto his cheeks. "Great!" Dean chirps, flicking on his turn signal and changing lanes to speed around a slow-moving truck. "So, babe. How did we meet? Because, somehow, I feel like telling your folks that I accidentally kidnapped your son will be counterproductive."

[mywritersmind]

I WANT TO BE BETTER - KA12

summary : you’re done with kimi not committing to you. breaking up your situationship should be left clean with only words to hurt. unfortunately, goodbye kisses never have always been plural for you two.

listen up : angst! smut! p in v! a lovely request for angsty or smut so i gave u both!! hopefully you enjoy !

words : 1285

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Sometimes… after a kiss, or when he leaves your apartment after bringing you flowers, or after seeing those sweet messages he’s so prone to send- you hate him.

Just a little bit.

This, is one of those times. Except he’s standing in front of you, his arms crossed and leaning against the hotel dresser.

He’s in all black, for a moment you think it’s a bit poetic. Maybe it is.

“I can’t do this, Kimi.” You flew out for this. Flew out for him. Now you’re sitting on the edge of an unfamiliar bed with your heart ripped out in front of you. “I want all of you.”

“Or none of me?” He shoots back, his eyes trained on the floor. His voice gets softer, “I want you too, Y/n.”

“Not enough.” You reiterate for what feels like the thousandth time, “You’ll kiss me and fly me out and hold me in your arms- but you won’t commit. I know this year is big for you and I want to cheer you on without looking back but I really thought we could be casual. I just… I can’t.”

“You’re giving up?” He meets your eyes. He looks tired- like your words are hurting him. He has no idea how much he’s hurt you.

“I’m giving in.” You say, “This is the best for both of us. You’ve said it yourself, I'm a distraction!

He shakes his head, his voice breaking, “I’ll- I can…”

“No, Kimi.” You sigh, looking up at him and trying not to cry, “You can’t. And that’s okay… I want you to be good.”

He is good. So good. When you’re alone. In public, you seem like the tag along friend who Kimi never touches because he doesn’t want anyone to think anything. But then he’ll pull you into his driver's room and make you forget why anger was ever an emotion you knew.

He’s everything and absolutely nothing at the same time. Breaking you down with every rushed kiss or rumor. It’s not his intention, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

“I am good.” His hands rush to his hair, “I’m good with you.”

“I’m not, though. Nothing is going to change the fact that I hate seeing you asked about your love life! Or that I know you don’t like me in the garage. Or that you like flirting with girls at events!”

“Fuck those girls- they’re not you!”

“Then why do you act like they are!?” You’re angry now, shaking your head and dropping it into your hands. You’re not exclusive- you’ve seen other guys, gone on other dates… but that’s why you need to break it off. Him doing the same things you are is torture. You know those dates mean nothing to you.

To him, they’re just another way to get out of the bubble he lives in. He doesn’t feel guilty after making another girl cum but you cried the last time someone other than Kimi kissed you.

“I’ll stop inviting you to races! I’ll see you at home- I'll come to you!”

“For what? One day every other month?” He looks defeated because you both know that’s what will end up happening. “We’re done, Kimi.”

His eyes widen, stepping forward, “I'll be better!” he’s on his knees in a second, his hands on your legs, “I’ll do better!” they drag over your skin in a touch far too familiar. He looks up at you with heartbreak in his eyes, “I’ll do it for you.”

You shake your head, your mouth shut tight to not say anything you’ll regret. Tears escape when the words you want to say won’t.

He wipes a tear off your cheek. “Baby…” You turn your head, not wanting to look at his face. “I can’t lose you.”

You take a shaky breath, “It’s too late, Kimi.” You’re a placeholder. Something stable. You’re eighteen.

A part of you wonders if you’ll meet again when you’re older, wiser. Then again, if it relates to Kimi, you doubt you’ll ever be wise.

The brunette rests his forehead against yours. He’s crying now too. “I really wish it wasn’t like this.” The hatred in you pops out again, but it’s immediately suffocated by the broken love in his soft eyes.

“I know…” You breathe, running a hand onto his cheek which he leans into like it’s muscle memory. He turns, his lips meeting your hand.

“I’m sorry.” He stands, leaning in and kissing you. The ghost of what you two were float above, feeling heavier than ever. “I’m so sorry.”

You kiss him back harder than you should, slipping your hand to his neck while he holds your waist. It’s messy and rough and falling apart all at the same time.

But he only kisses back with more force, climbing over you as you crawl backwards on the bed.

You’re not wearing a bra. He loves it, something clear from the small noise he makes when you start to squirm under his touch.

“We shouldn’t.” You bite out, not stopping him from kissing down your neck.

His curls brush your jaw as he whispers, “I’ll stop.” It’s up to you. He gives that choice, at least.

But every logical thought rushes out of your head the second he slips his calloused hand under your shirt.

His own top is gone quickly, his body hard and prominent as usual. Yours is next to go, then your shorts.

He used to smirk when he saw what underwear you decided on, today he only kissed down your stomach when he notices it’s what he bought you.

His lips are stuck on yours again as you use your hands to unzip his pants, his dick hard already. When your fingers brush over it, he shivers.

Pushing you harder into the perfectly made bed, he kisses your lips, then your jaw, his free hand slipping below your panties.

Your back arches at his touch, a feeling you’d never get sick of. “Need you-” you whimper out.

It’s everything he wants to hear, something he takes seriously, especially if it’s the last time you might say it.

He’s already leaking, lining himself up and wasting no time before pushing into you. Your head falls deeper into the pillow, Kimi’s eyes on your face.

He loves knowing that he makes you like this, loves knowing that you do the same to him. He groans when he picks up the pace, his hand next to your head and gripping the pillow.

“Fuck…” He whines, kissing you in the heat of the moment. “You’re fucking intoxicating.”

“So good.” You bite your lip, grabbing his shoulder. “Miss you.” It makes no sense. He’s in you- but somehow it feels different, even if the way you moan his name is the exact same.

He holds your hips when you start to slow down, controlling you so well. He manipulates every noise you make, every thrust hitting right where you like it.

His head drops between your boobs, crying out when you tighten around him, “I fucking love you.” It’s everything you’ve ever wanted him to say, and the worst possible thing to hear.

He watches you when your legs start to shake, your vision going blurry as his pace grows rougher. You’re both immune to tears, now seeing the hurt manifest in white heat that shocks both of you.

He cums on your thigh after you finish around him. He falls onto the bed next to you, both quiet except for the heavy breathing that fills the room. His hand is brushing yours still.

Despite how many times he’s touched you, it feels unfamiliar.

It feels like a goodbye.

[lampridius]

May i request some domestic fluff (waking up next to reader/ eating together/ doing chores/ etc) with Anaxa? :) Thank you!

𝙃𝙎𝙍 𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝘿𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙄𝘾 𝙁𝙇𝙐𝙁𝙁 ᯓ★ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀: anaxa ᯓ★ rules | masterlist | 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 ᯓ★ 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ᯓ★ 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: idk why it's taken me so long so post all of these i've written all of them but didn't have the brain capacity to post them lmao

i'll be editing and posting all my requests now hopefully (if i don't get bored or distracted)

#𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗫𝗔

mornings start quiet. there’s no alarm, no rush - just the golden kind of silence that comes when the world hasn’t quite woken up yet. anaxa stirs when you do, usually because you’re pressed close, breathing slow against his shoulder or tangled around his arm. he doesn’t move right away. he never does. he likes the warmth of you there, the weight of you still half-asleep, the quiet hum of your breathing syncing with his own.

if you mumble a sleepy good morning or tuck your face into his chest, he always gives you a low, fond sound in return. a gruff little chuckle, maybe, or just a hand brushing over your back with slow intention. he’s not overly talkative, but his affection shows in presence, in touch, in the way he doesn’t leave the bed until you’re ready to.

breakfast is usually something simple, something filling. he’s practical like that. he cooks quietly, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy from sleep. he always makes extra without asking, always sets out your favorite drink on the side like it’s just second nature. and if you’re still drowsy and wrapped in a blanket, watching him from a stool while nibbling on something he handed you mid-cooking, he won’t say much - just shoot you the softest look over his shoulder.

you do the dishes together sometimes. you try to sneak your way out of it, teasing, “i cooked emotionally, so technically i don’t have to clean,” and he just rolls his eyes - but he’s already reaching for the sponge with his metal hand and sliding the warm rinse water your way. even chores feel easy with him. there’s no need for roles or arguments. it’s just give and take, steady and simple.

during the day, if he’s working outside with the dromas or fixing gear, you’ll often keep him company. you bring snacks. you chat a little. sometimes you nap nearby while he works, your presence grounding him without distraction. other times, he’ll hand you tools or ask you to hold something steady—not because he needs help, but because he likes doing things with you. he’s quiet about it, but you feel it. every motion says i want you here.

you fall into each other’s rhythms in a way that doesn’t need planning.

he doesn’t hover. he doesn’t smother. but if you’re tired, he lifts things before you can reach. if you’re overwhelmed, he finds something to keep your hands busy without pressure. if you’re quiet, he matches it. if you’re affectionate, he meets you there - slow, grounding touches, a hand on your back, a kiss pressed to your temple without words.

nights end the same way mornings begin: side by side, wrapped up in something soft and simple. you share a blanket. sometimes a book. he’ll let you read aloud to him, or play with his hair, or fall asleep mid-conversation. he never complains. he just shifts to make more room for you and lets the day fade away with you tucked into his side.

and even if the world is unpredictable, even if tomorrow might bring something loud or dangerous or hard - these little things, these shared moments, are his anchor.

and you are home.

©𝗖𝗢𝗣𝗬𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 ● @lampridius 2025

[avaaawritesss]

tailfishing • chapter one

boy next door | neighbor!anakin x fem!reader

chapter description • anakin moves in across from you. his emo look and his annoying muscle car leaves an impression on you. when your nissan doesn’t start, he’s surprisingly eager to rescue you.

chapter warnings • classism, foul language, police, smoking

table of contents | chapter 2 coming soon

“Sorry about my son’s car.” Mr. Sheev, your new neighbor apologizes. His embarrassment bleeds through his smile.

Your father’s eye twitches, a very clear sign of anger, but he smiles a toothy grin. “Hopefully he can adjust to life on our little street.”

Shmi, Sheev’s new wife—they shared that they had just gotten married a month ago—replies, “Anakin grew up in a very different neighborhood. I’ll have a talk with him to tone it down.”

You gaze across the street to the house nearly identical to yours, the conversation between the Palpatines and your parents fading into the background. The boy—you assume is Anakin—is hosing off his black sports car. You know absolutely nothing about cars except that it looks fast and your dad hates muscle cars. They’re loud. He likes peace and quiet. He’s retired so maybe that’s normal for someone his age.

“I’d never buy my teenage son a Mustang.”

You roll your eyes at your dad’s comment. Not his place to say that.

Sheev laughs surprisingly, like he’s not at all offended. “Oh, I agree it’s not wise.” He looks at his wife for a moment and then says, “Anakin is eighteen. He works and bought that car himself. Didn’t ask me though.”

Your mother’s eyes widen. “That’s good though. Not many kids have the dedication to save up for their own car. Where does he work?”

“At some junkyard,” Sheev replies with a grimace.

You look down at your phone and ignore the conversation as you sit in the chair beside your mother. Your sister shares some pictures of her kids in the family group chat. They’re growing up so fast!

“Anakin!” Shmi shouts, waving him to come over.

You glance up again. His car is covered in white soap suds. You watch him sigh, place the rug in the bucket, and jog over to their front porch. He’s panting a little when he stops. He stands by his mom. He’s taller than he looked from afar and is even taller than Sheev. His black combat boots are nearly falling apart. You’ve never seen a baggier pair of jeans nor ones with so many holes. His shirt is probably too sizes too big for him and advertises for some metal band you’d likely hate.

“Hi,” he says, shaking the hand of your father and your mother. His eyes lock onto you, and you stare into his eyes until it becomes too awkward for you to maintain.

You really hadn’t meant to do that. He’s really cute, but those piercings... the ring on the side of his lip and his eyebrow. You’re not too sure about them.

“What are you studying in school, Anakin?” your mom asks him.

Anakin glances at his mom for a second. “Well, I’m out for the summer. Just graduated. I think I’m going to take a gap year and work.”

The look on Sheev’s face makes even you nervous. Somehow, you can tell this topic is rather contentious for Anakin and his parents.

“Your father was telling me about your job at the junkyard. Do you enjoy it?” your mother continues the conversation you were hoping would just die. It is obvious he’d rather be washing his car.

“Stepfather,” he corrected, “and I love it. I get to tear things apart and help people make use of old things to build something new.” There is a sparkle in his eyes when he says that.

Anakin reaches into his pocket and holds his phone to his ear. He turns his back to them. “Hey, Rex.” He pauses to listen. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll be right there.” He hangs up and starts walking to the house. “Gotta go. I’ll be back at some point tonight.”

Sheev runs after him. “Thought you said you were coming out to dinner with your mom and me.”

“Can’t,” Anakin says.

In the middle of the street, Sheev stops, and Anakin continues. He rinses off his car and drives away. All within the minute. You cover her ears as he speeds down the street.

Shmi’s face is red. “I’m sorry about them. It was lovely meeting you all.” She runs down their driveway to catch up with her husband. She’s quicker in her pumps than you had expected. Her husband storms inside, and she chases after him.

Your father scowls and gets up from the couch. “I hope they move out soon.”

“Ruwee!” your mom scolds. “They seem like good people.”

You follow your parents inside. You stand around in the kitchen as your father starts the Keurig.

“Their kid is a freak,” he snorts.

You roll her eyes. You bite her tongue. Your father doesn’t understand self-expression in the least bit. He wears white new balance sneakers and a polo shirt.

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, leaving them in the kitchen. Your parents are probably going to complain about the new neighbors for the next two hours. You trek up the stairs.

Your nighttime routine begins with a bath.

Blue and red flash in his rearview mirror. Anakin hits the turning signal and shoulders it. The cop pulls in behind him. He rolls out the SUV. Hand on his gun, he strides to Anakin’s window. Anakin turns his hat forwards and sits up a little in his seat. He quickly extinguishes his cigarette on the dash and tosses it in the cup holder.

Anakin rolls his window down a quarter.

“License and registration.”

Anakin already had the items in his hand. The officer checks over them for a few minutes before returning them.

“You do realize you were going one hundred and twenty on the interstate.”

Anakin says nothing at first, knowing better than to admit to it. “Is that right?”

“I could take you to jail right now.”

Anakin taps his phone. He’s going to be late. “I guess. Do what you have to do.”

“What was your thought process?” The cop seems really perplexed about the whole thing.

“I just got this car last week. I guess—I wasn’t really paying attention. My bad,” he answers coolly. “You gonna arrest me?”

The cop relaxes his arms. “Look, I am going to give you a warning. My son drives a car like this. Just try to keep it under eighty-five, alright.”

“Yes, sir,” Anakin says politely before rolling up the window.

He leans back against the headrest and breaths for a moment. Sheev would lose his mind if he had gotten arrested. The cop drives away, and Anakin lights another cigarette to calm his nerves.

He answers Rex’s call, and his thick voice booms through the speakers. “Where ya at?”

“Got pulled over.”

“You fuckin’ with me?”

“Nope.”

Anakin revs the engine a couple times before taking off. He fishtails as his tires burn and smoke. He hits sixty miles per hour in four seconds, and eventually stops at a hundred.

“You coming or what? Obi-Wan and Cody are already here.”

“Fuck ‘em. They can wait.” He takes the next exit and slams on the breaks to avoid flying off the road on the turn. “And guess what.”

Rex sighs. “What now?”

“There’s a girl I like.”

“Who?” Rex nearly shouts.

Anakin chuckles. He hasn’t dated anyone in over a year. His job has kept him busy, that and modding his vehicles and bikes. Dating is so mind numbingly boring most of the time. While Rex would rather be under someone, Anakin would rather be under a car. But this girl was different somehow.

“My neighbor. Don’t know her name. She’s... well, super hot.”

“Are you actually going to do something about it?”

“Probably. But Sheev had to embarrass me in front of her. I have a feeling I’m not her type. She really fits in where I’m living now. That uppity-ass subdivision. God, I hate it there. But she’s literally perfect looking, and I-I think I should talk to her at least.”

“You think?” Rex sighs. “I need you to get a girlfriend so that I can spend more time with Snips instead of you.”

“Very funny. You know you’re not her type.”

“Whatever. Where are you now?”

“Literally five minutes away.” Anakin accelerates through a red light.

The rusting fence around the old truck stop has been opened already. Anakin goes through. He sees a group of vehicles parked side by side. Rex’s is the newest.

And Anakin was envious.

There were very few things that Anakin ever wanted that belonged to someone else. But Rex’s 2018 Shelby in lightning blue is something to envy. Anakin never actually believed Rex’s story about winning it in at a repo auction for 20 k. He still thinks Rex stole it.

This week the meet is at the abandoned truck stop in town. It’s just Anakin and his friends from home. They race, drift, and do other stupid things that only wear out their tires even more. It’s nothing serious. He’s not into street racing yet. None of them have the money to compete. They’re all kids from the trailer park he grew up in save for Obi-Wan and Cody. They’re the only outsiders. They just fit in.

Anakin parks beside Rex and turns off his car.

“It looks better than I thought it would,” Rex teases, referring to Anakin’s 2007 Mustang. Sure, it had a hundred-and-twenty-thousand miles on it, but it’s a GT premium and was garage-kept. “I see you blacked it out.”

Anakin shrugs, sliding out the vehicle. “Yeah, it’s temporary. I’m about to paint it yellow. Our new house has a garage which is cool. I can help you with touchups too. Just bring it over.”

Rex grimaces. “I don’t think I’d fit in at the hills.”

“How do you think I feel? Sheev bought my mom a brand new BMW X2. I-I hate that car. I can’t really afford to get parts for it if it breaks down. My mom’s Accord was just fine.” Anakin presses his lips together. He’s rambling again. “He offered to get me a Supra.”

Rex’s jaw falls. “So where is it?”

Anakin shakes his head. “I don’t want his money. He’s not my fuckin’ dad.” He pats the roof of his car. “My mom said my dad would’ve loved this car. Sheev tried to sell my—my dad’s—F-150 because it,” Anakin makes air quotes, “doesn’t fit in the hills.”

“Skyguy!”

Anakin is nearly knocked to the ground when Ahsoka throws herself on him for a hug.

“It’s been months!”

Anakin pats down his clothes. She’s covered in dirt, as usual. “Yeah, a lot’s happened.”

She sniffs him. “Are you smoking again?”

“No,” he smiles at her, “that kills people.”

“As if that would stop you,” she adds.

Rex waves at her. “Snips, nice to see you.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you race.” She moves past Anakin to get closer to Rex.

To conceal his huge smile, Anakin covers his mouth. Rex has to be sweating. He’s had a crush on Ahsoka for forever.

“Cody’s been making a lot of adjustments since the last one.”

“I’m not worried,” Rex manages to say. His face is nearly red.

“Neither is he,” Ahsoka laughs. She turns back to Anakin. “Lana says hi. She’s also pissed at you for not answering her calls.”

He gives her a glare, but she doesn’t back down. “She’s hurting.”

“She’s not my problem,” Anakin snaps. “I’m tired of you and everyone else making me feel that it is.”

“Sorry,” she huffs. “Let’s just forget I said anything.”

The three of them walk down the line of cars to where Obi-Wan and Cody wait. Obi-Wan is still in his blue mechanic uniform and is tinkering with his Camaro. Anakin taps his shoe with his boot.

Obi-Wan finally looks up. “Hey, Ani. So good to see you.”

“The red is sick,” Anakin says, referring to Obi-Wan’s new paintjob.

“Did it myself last weekend. I was worried it might be too flashy.”

They laugh.

“I mean... that’s kinda the point of a car like that.”

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes and tries to look serious. “Now, this is a perfectly reasonable vehicle. It gets ten on the highway.”

“Shit!” he exclaims. He ducks around Obi-Wan to get a better look under the hood. “I’d think you should at least be getting fifteen.”

“Not the way I drive it.”

You rifle through your belt bag for the house key when you remember you left your water on the table. Nearly tripping on your own shoes, you sprint through the living room and into the kitchen to grab your ice blue Stanley 40 oz. You prefer the filtered water from home instead of the hospital tap because it has a chlorine taste. That can’t be healthy.

The feeling that you’re forgetting something important finally passes, and you can breathe again. You step down the porch stairs and unlock the door to your Nissan. You sit down in the seat and set your cup in the holder. Lifting your arms, you stretch and then scroll through Spotify to pick your playlist for the drive.

You jump, hearing an engine roar behind you. Through the rearview mirror, you see Anakin and his car. He gets out of the vehicle and checks the tires. You catch yourself smiling like an idiot, and instantly, you slap your cheeks. He’s eighteen.

You press the brake and turns the key. The car shutters, and the engine comes on but within moments it stalls and dies. You cry a little inside because you’re already running ten minutes late. The first thing you do is text the supervising doctor that you are likely to be late because of car trouble.

You exit your vehicle. Realistically, your only choice is to wake up your dad.

“Hey!”

You turn on your heel. The neighbor boy is sprinting across the street to get to you.

“Hi, Anakin,” you say, standing still.

He stops a few feet away. His hesitance to be close to you is noticeable. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I just heard your car wouldn’t start.”

You stare at the cement driveway. “My dad can just jump start it.” Clearly, he came all this way to help you. You should let him. There is just something in the way he looks at you that leaves you uneasy.

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. You wonder if he’ll walk away. “Or... I could check it.” His smile is suspicious. Maybe he knows you can’t tell him no.

“Okay,” you agree. “Just don’t tell my dad.” You laugh.

“I have the feeling he probably doesn’t like me,” Anakin says. He holds his hand out. There are already several tattoos along his arm for someone his age. “Keys.” He says that like it’s an order. But coming from those lips its almost attractive.

You toss the keys, too nervous to get closer to him. He catches them, and for some reason his lip curls up into a smirk.

The first thing Anakin tries is to start the car up. You watch him listen closely to the sounds it makes. Then he pops the hood.

“I’m gonna get my multimeter.” He starts walking down the driveway. “I think you were right about the battery.”

When he returns, he holds a strange device in his hands, and you assume this is the multimeter. You know nothing about cars or car batteries except that the last time this happened to your mom’s car, it was the battery. He attaches the device to the two battery posts.

“Your battery is really low. When was the last time you had it replaced?”

Your eyes widen. This is embarrassing. “Honestly, I have no idea. My dad takes care of all the vehicles.”

You expect Anakin to make fun of you because you’re a fully grown woman whose dad still takes care of her.

But Anakin doesn’t.

“I would look into getting it replaced,” he says, clearly trying not to laugh. “For today so you can get to—wherever—I’ll jump it.” He gestures at the car.

“Work. And are you sure? I don’t wanna inconvenience you,” you say crossing your arms. He’s being too nice.

“You can inconvenience me any time,” he says. He sounds completely serious.

In less than five minutes, he brings his Mustang around and jump starts your car.

“You know that thing is really loud.” It’s the first time you’ve seen a car like this up close.

“I know.”

You walk around the vehicle, and you notice that he’s absolutely fixated on you the entire time. It’s weird, but you’re not going to comment. “It’s nice. I bet it goes like two-hundred miles an hour.”

He laughs. “I wish. On a good day, maybe one fifty.”

You gasp. “That must be dangerous.”

He tilts his head and looks down at you. “Do you want me to say no?”

“It just seems... unnecessary.” You’re not really sure why you’re concerned for his life.

“I’m careful.” His eyes descend, and he’s not shy about checking you out. He looks back up to your face as if to check if you’re okay with that.

But you act like you don’t notice. “My dad hates your car. He’s been complaining about you nonstop.”

Anakin noticeably steps closer. “Sheev hates it more, and he has to live with me.”

“You’re terrible,” you say and slap the side of his arm playfully. Your fingertips touch his skin. And he’s warmer than expected.

He nearly flinches. “Sometimes.”

You hadn’t thought about the action, and you realize the touch was a huge mistake. So, you panic and say the first thing that comes to your mind. “I—I noticed you didn’t get home until four last night.”

“So, you’re stalking me?” He’s trying not to smile. And you don’t want to give him any inclination that you’re interested because... you’re not.

You roll your eyes. “No. Your car is so loud you can hear it a mile away.”

He clears his throat. He probably didn’t expect you to tease him back. Anakin blinks and nods. “Yeah. But that’s kinda the point.”

“I’ll never understand boys and their cars.”

Anakin turns his head away. You can still see the pink on his cheeks.

Suddenly, you remember the time. Now you’re definitely going to be late for work. “I have to head to the hospital. Thank you so, so much, Anakin.”

“What do you do?”

You duck your head to fit into the driver’s seat. “I’m a nurse practitioner. I just graduated from grad school last fall.”

His eyes go wide. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I’m old.”

“No. That’s impressive.” He still stands in the same spot, like he doesn’t want to leave.

“You probably should go before my dad wakes up and sees us talking.”

With that, you roll up your window and back out of the driveway. He watches you intently as you pull away.

original au by @avaaawritesss feel free to use my work as inspiration (no direct plagiarism please :/) and tag me!! id love to read ur works too

this idea was originally written for anidala. click here if you are interested in the original version!!

comment 🖤 ⛓️ down below if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this fic

dividers

[holylulusworld]

Devil’s spawn (2)

Summary: Your husband takes one step too far.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife!Reader, Possible Biker!Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Warnings: biker au, heavy angst, unrequited love, bad parenting/absent father/awful father, favoring a child (that’s not his), angry reader, mentions of divorce/cheating, Lydia being the devil’s spawn, a hint of fluff

Catch up here: Devil’s spawn (1)

“I should’ve killed him,“ Bucky grunts on your way back to Steve’s home. “How can he abandon his wife and Bug over that vile child? I could see it in her eyes; she’s evil.”

“I never thought I’d ever say this about a kid, but you’re right, Buck,” Steve slams his hands onto the steering wheel. “I cried looking at Bug for the first time, and he just abandoned this sweet, little girl.”

“Can I,” you sniffle and wipe a few tears off your cheeks, “meet my lawyer at your place? I don’t want to be seen at his office. One of his associates is a friend of Tony.”

“Any ally of yours is welcome at my house, Y/N. Don’t you worry about a thing.” Steve would have loved to punch Tony’s face. “You and Bug can stay at my house as long as you want to. There’s no rush. I know you need to sort out a lot of things first.”

“Matt will come tomorrow,” you say, but your mind is miles away. If not for your daughter, you’d regret ever meeting Tony.

Y/D/N is the only good thing coming out of your marriage with Tony. She’s the first thing he ever gifted to you that mattered. Not flowers or jewelry—only your daughter.

After a night of passionate lovemaking and no protection, you found yourself pregnant with Bug.

“I wish we didn’t have that fight back then,” Steve says more to himself than you. “You ran off and bumped into that asshole.”

“Steve,” Bucky hisses, giving his friend an angry look. “If she never met Stark, Bug wouldn’t be here.”

“Shit…fuck,” Steve curses himself for hurting you. “I didn’t mean it that way, doll. You know I love Bug. She’s our ray of sunshine.”

“She loves you too,” you reply with a smile. “Sometimes I feel she’s more like you than Tony.” You laugh, but Steve’s heart flutters for a moment. He often wished he had given you Bug, not your husband.

“We all love our Bug and will bring despair over Stark,” Bucky states without hesitation. “Remember my words. I’ll punch the stupidity out of him.”

“I think he showed his true colors since Lydia moved in with us. If he loved me and Bug as much as he pretended in the past, he would have never done anything like that to us. That kid is a stranger to him. He hasn’t heard of Brooke in over twelve years; still, he threw away our marriage and our beloved child for her.”

“I should do something.” Steve angrily replies. He heard the hurt in your voice and felt helpless because he couldn’t do a thing about it. If he attacks Tony, it will lower your chances of getting sole custody of Bug. Surrounding yourself with violent people would make you look like a bad mom.

“You already did so much within only a few hours.” You place your hand on his thigh and squeeze it. “You let me move in, helped me get all of my things, and called our friends for help.”

Steve isn’t convinced that he did all in his power to help you. Maybe he’ll find more ways to help you tomorrow. For now, he needs to help you and Bug settle in.

“…and then, the mysterious and handsome hero walked into the bookshop and found them!” Bucky ends his story, making your daughter squeal and cry happy tears.

He called a friend on your way back to Steve’s house, the owner of an antiquarian bookshop, and asked him to find every book your daughter lost through Lydia’s hands.

Bucky also asked if there was a chance to restore the irreplaceable ones. Especially the books your mother gifted to Y/D/N.

“I will bring the books he couldn’t find to him tomorrow. Hopefully, he can restore them. He will do his very best.” Your daughter looks at Bucky like he told her magic is real.

After playtime with Chester and helping Steve prepare dessert for everyone, she’s now seated next to Bucky to listen to him tell her about her books.

“You are the best, Uncle Bucky!” She grins from ear to ear. “And Uncle Stevie because he said Chester can sleep in my room! He gave me a new book too.”

“She only loves my dog,” Steve whispers, but hopes Bug likes him a little more than Bucky. Even if he loves his friend like a brother.

“I like you a lot, Uncle Stevie!” Y/D/N gasps. She grabs his right hand and squeezes it. “You are my favorite uncle. You give the best hugs, and you have Chester and your bike, and I like your hair!”

“Whoa, slow down, young lady.” You tickle her sides. “No flirting with men until you are thirty!”

While your daughter giggles at your comment, you feel your heart saddened. If only Tony could see what he lost. Though, you’re not sure if he cares about his daughter at all after everything happening lately.

“I’m one call away,” Bucky says as Steve tries to shove him out of the door. You already said your goodbyes and carried your daughter into her, for now, new bedroom—one of Steve’s guestrooms. “If he turns up here for trouble, we will rip him a new one.”

“Buck, I don’t think this will be necessary. I think he gives a shit on Y/N and Bug. I know this is crazy, but he didn’t look like himself around that girl.”

Bucky frowns at Steve’s words, “Maybe this is a case of body snatchers. You know, Stark fell asleep and woke as a different person one day.”

Natasha snorts, Clint grins, and Thor chuckles. Steve doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t find it funny. Nothing about the situation is funny.

“Sorry, that was…stupid of me to say,” Bucky back paddles, seeing Steve’s expression. “I tried to find a way to explain his change of heart.”

“I know. We all try to fathom how he could so easily abandon his child and wife.” Steve’s features soften, remembering how Bug clung to him before bedtime. “We will support Y/N. Nothing else matters.”

“Mommy!” Bug screams in her sleep. Steve is quick to run into the room, watching you wrap your daughter in a hug. “Why does Daddy hate me?” She cries as you slowly rock her in your arms.

“No, baby,” you coo to calm her. There’s not much you can do. You cannot tell a six-year-old that her father lost his mind. “He’s just… I don’t know, Bug.”

“No one could ever hate our Bug.” Steve can’t stop himself from walking into the room to kneel next to the bed. “Okay. Your dad is being an idiot at the moment, but he doesn’t hate you.”

You give Steve a cracked smile, wishing it was true… but you know it isn’t…

[singularattitudeofasafetypin]

Convalescence

Chapter One

Masterlist | Chapter Two

Summary: On a dark and stormy night, reader comes face to face with a man she never thought she’d see again.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: description of serious injury, fear, anxiety, ptsd

A/N: I miss the era of Winter Soldier recovery fics and I’m back on the Bucky Barnes train again so I thought I’d write one. This happens maybe a day or so after CA:TWS and the helicarriers debacle. Hopefully gonna be a bit of a series. Hope you enjoy!

Please don't copy my work

Thunder boomed behind the blackened sky as rain battered the pavement. Wind howled and groped at your coat. You desperately pulled it close about your figure. The street barely visible from under the hood. It must be almost midnight.

“Alpine!” Your voice fell mute against the gale. “Alpine!”

You clucked your tongue, praying the small scruffy cat would hear and come to her mama. No soggy feline appeared. Defeat was beginning to seep through your shoes with the rain. After one final “Pss pss pss!” You yielded to the weather and made to turn back.

A scuffle in the alleyway stopped you.

It was pitch black down there. The shaded outline of a few dumpsters and nothing more to be seen. A sensible place for a young woman to venture? Not usually, but beneath your unassuming facade, this particular woman could more than handle a few inebriated thugs. Still, you didn’t feel like dealing with that tonight.

Another clunk in the shadows at the end, then a shuffle… then a grunt of pain.

You hesitated.

“Hello?”

No one answered. You tried again but nothing except the rain replied.

Curiosity made you step closer and immediately freeze when you looked down at your feet.

Fast dissolving in the torrential stream of water was a dark, spreading substance. It blossomed over the wet tarmac in a sickening familiar pattern and in the dim light of a distant streetlamp, it gleamed red.

Wary and ready to defend yourself, you crept into the darkness.

The wind dropped instantly.

Laboured breathing, rasping and shallow became audible under the downpour. Movement had ceased. Whatever… whoever it was, was too weak to fight anymore.

You reached the end and peered around a dumpster and gasped.

A man, the outline of one at least. Slumped against the wall amongst the rubbish as though he’d been discarded too. He was motionless and didn’t seem to see the woman standing over him. You fell to your knees and tried to feel for his wounds to stem the blood flow. He groaned unintelligibly but you didn’t stop until your fingers found the cold, hard surface of metal where his left arm should have been.

Your heart stopped.

It couldn’t be!

Revived with frantic urgency, you felt for his right arm and threw it over your shoulder. Sounds of protest, pain, or fear escaped him, you couldn’t tell which.

“Stay with me soldier!” You murmured, “Stay with me sweetheart!”

*

Making it up the stairs to your apartment was a damned miracle. The Winter Soldier was little more than a deadweight, fading in and out of consciousness and growing paler by the minute. You jammed the door closed with your elbow and all but carried him over to your ratty old couch.

You flicked on a lamp in the living room, then the big light as well before running to grab the first aid kit.

Well, there was a little more than first aid in there.

His jacket was punctured and slashed to bits, you had to cut part of it away, but beneath was a sight worse than you could’ve imagined. Bullet wounds, deep knife gashes you’d anticipated, but bits of glass and shrapnel! Some still sticking out of his skin!

You swallowed back bile and forced yourself to focus. You tried to ignore the whimpers of pain that passed his lips, the way his face contorted and his body flinched even while passed out. Blinking away tears that blurred your vision, you kept working.

Hours slipped by as you eased debris from his flesh and stitched the broken wounds as best you could. What little skin had been spared was already mapped in white webs of scarring. And then there was that awful seam between flesh and iron.

Your hands dripped with crimson by four in the morning. The floor littered with blood sodden cloths and half unravelled bandages. You pressed the back of your hand against his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief.

No fever.

But he was shivering so you collected an armful of blankets and angled his neck carefully to place a pillow beneath it. You imagined his face softening, just a bit.

Even though there was no sign of infection, you dug through the cupboard, crushed up some antibiotics and helped him swallow them in a glass of water before clearing away the mess you’d made. Your stomach turned when she looked down at the bloodied bowl of metal and glass and you threw it away fast. The bowl too.

Dragging yourself back to the sofa, you collapsed next to it. The smell of metal still lingered on your hands and stained her fingernails. That wouldn’t be going away any time soon. And you were so tired.

Your eyelids drooped lower and lower and your head tilted to rest on the cushions just next to the sleeping soldier’s feet.

*

Fighting. Then Falling. Then Drowning. Then Running. Hiding. Bleeding. Dying.

His eyes flew open, stinging in the bright yellow light. His chest felt hollow, empty and ached. Oh, it ached!

He gasped for breath, scrambling to sit up, to free himself from the heavy sheets that bound him like a dog in a burlap sack.

“Bucky?”

The sound of a person, completely unfamiliar to him, frightened him even more. He half tripped over himself to curl against the wall, eyes wide and floundering.

He had to run, but where?

The person stood, their arms outstretched, right between him and the only exit.

“You don’t know me?”

It could have been a question? A statement? A threat?

He couldn’t tell.

He was trapped.

A rat in a cage.

“You’re okay!”

His heart was hammering in his chest. Ramming against bruised ribs and tugging skin. Strange, he didn’t remember stitching himself up. Nobody else would have done it.

Still, what did he remember anymore?

“You’re okay,” the person said again. A woman. Still with her arms outstretched but they didn’t seem to be blocking the doorway.

He scanned her body again and again. Grounded weight distribution, she wouldn’t move easily, obviously trained in at least two forms of martial arts, but somehow she didn’t seem outwardly threatening.

She just stood there. In place. Watching him. And saying the same thing.

“You’re alright,” she sank to her knees, coming to rest at his eye-level but keeping the distance between them. “I found you in the alley. You were injured.” She spoke methodically, one small piece of information at a time. She explained what she had done and told him he probably needed to have a drink soon to get his fluids back up.

The soldier didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

He just stared.

She stood up slowly and his haunted eyes followed her to the small kitchenette, the cupboard, then the sink, then back to him again. She knelt down, still at the same distance as before, and leaned forward, pushing a glass of water halfway toward him.

He looked at it for a second then snapped back to look at the woman again.

“For you,” she said, shuffling back to her original position.

When he didn’t do anything, she tried again. And again. A touch of desperation entered her voice the fourth time. “Please drink it. It won’t hurt you, I swear!”

She looked away then. Down at the ground and her hair fell over her face. When she met his gaze again, her eyes looked glassy. She sniffed quickly and stood.

“I’ll be right back.”

You stumbled to your bedroom, pulled the door to and clutched a hand to your heart. Silent tears streamed down your face. A chasm had opened inside you and for just a moment, you let yourself fall.

The moment elapsed, pulling yourself back into composure, you stepped outside again. The soldier was still in the same place, eyeing you with guilt and a kind of fearful anticipation. Curled against the wall.

The glass stood in exactly the same spot, not a fraction off centre.

But it was empty.

You picked it up and looked back at the soldier whose eyes filled with dread. At the corner of his mouth slid a tiny, transparent droplet. He stared at you like a child caught by an easily violent parent. Like he was awaiting a blow.

But all you did was offer a small smile.

***

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought, I will love you forever! See you in the next part! 🫶🏻

[euon111a]

SmokeStack Blues: An Alphabet

summary: just a nsfw alphabet

warnings: obvious NSFW themes, nothing too crazy

notes: again this is in second pov, and afab. the title is both elias and elijah’s nicknames, so maybe smoke’s version will come out soon. ik the writing isn’t the best, this isn’t proofread, I just wanted something new to be out before the end of the week. I kinda went overboard, but I was in too deep doing this. i got inspiration from someone’s smoke nsfw alphabet, but I can’t find it anywhere anymore sooo… i’m just gonna pretend i got this credit from the most recent one i saw. hopefully smoke’s nsfw alphabet is shorter.

A is for Aftercare:

He’s all for aftercare. There hasn’t be a moment where he hasn’t taken extra good care of you after sex. Pretty much anything you can think of he’s already got done. Of course, he actually was the worse at aftercare when you initially got together, but thankfully he’s picked up a thing or two from you. (‘Specially cause you’ve been insistent on the whole thing.)

He’s always been real handsy. Before, during, and after sex. He’s made a big habit of keeping his hands on you, but he’s extra gentle. His hands wouldn’t leave your body, it’s like it’s physically impossible for him to keep his hands off you. He’s always extra gentle when he’s touching you, rubbing the sides of your hips, gently sliding his hands up and down your waist. He’s gotten into the habit of just letting his hands touch you, your stomach, your back, your neck, his hands would be subconsciously searching for any tension in your body just so he could massage it away.

Just as quick as he is to keep his hands on you, he’s equally as quick to get his lips on you. Soft kisses along your neck, your shoulder, the base of your head, your forehead, anywhere he could reach. Now, he wouldn’t call himself a cuddler, but he’s damn near close to one even if he’s in some sort of denial ‘bout it. He makes sure he’s real close to you, running a finger through your hair and ignoring your protests to clean up with a “just wanna feel on you a lil’ longer.” It’d take you about ten minutes to finally get him off of you and finally wash up, but even then he’s the one scrubbing you clean.

B is for Body part:

Man’s a huge ass guy, always has been and probably always will be. He’s a looker, and he’s not really ashamed about it. He likes it when you walk, especially loves it when you’re walking in front of him or walking away from him. Always gives him a good view to let his gaze linger just for a second longer before looking up to you if he’d look for a second too long. You can’t really blame him though. Ass— your ass specifically, holds a special place in his heart.

And he especially likes randomly giving your ass a little pat when he walks by. Said it’s something ‘bout the way it feels in his hand, though he might be a bit biased, he claims it’s the second nicest thing he’s ever felt in his life. Saving the feel of inside you as number one.

He loves the way your ass jiggles when he smacks it, loves the look of his hand print on your right ass cheek when he’s rough enough to hear the smack. Sometimes he’ll insist on fucking you from the back just so he can grab on your ass and watch the way it bounces with each thrust.

Now maybe it’s a little cocky for him to say, but he’s very cocksure. Can’t really blame him for being confident. He would never go as far as saying he takes pride in it, but he’s definitely thought it a few times. He loves watching his cock slide so easily in out of you, loves seeing that little look on your face and that hitch in your voice when you’re ‘bout to cum, and absolutely loves when you become a babbling mess if he’s thrusted too deeply and too quickly.

C is for Cum:

Stack has a thing for cumming on your face. Actually, a huge thing for cumming on your face. Thought you’d always looked so pretty when you were all teary eyed with that little pink blush to your cheeks. You were damn near ethereal.

He didn’t even realize how much he liked cumming down your throat until the first time you’ve given him head. At first, he was a little concerned he was being too rough with the sounds you’d make whenever he fucked into your throat a bit too deep or that dazed look you’d get when you were too busy choking on his dick. But fuck you were so good, took him so well, looked so damn pretty doing it.

The first time was an accident, or he claimed it was an accident. He was fucking your face, one hand behind your hand, and his dick just happened to slip out, but he was already so fucking close. As soon as you grabbed the base of his dick to guide it back between your lips, he couldn’t help himself. At first, he was worried he’d offended you or gotten some too close to your eye, but the sight of his cum on your lips had him hard again. Watching you lick your lips and sucking his tip clean had him groaning a little “oh fuck” under his breath. He felt bad after, apologized three times for being too rough, and promised to make it up to you if you’d sit on his face after.

He also discovered that night that he really liked eating you out.

D is for Dirty secret:

Now it ain’t a heavily guarded secret, it’s also not something he’s openly admitted, but he absolutely loves seeing you on top of him. Doesn’t have to be during sex, could be just when the two of you are alone at night and talking, or when you’ve fallen asleep with your head on his chest. But he always favors seeing you on top. He loves that shit.

Sometimes he’ll be so caught up in the sight of you guiding himself into you that he’ll forget to breathe. Have his bottom lip between his teeth and his hand firmly on your hips to keep himself from bucking up into you, guiding you with a soft “just like that baby”. You being on top is probably the only time he’d willingly let you set the pace and go as slow as you want.

Plus it gives him the chance to watch the way your hips roll down against him, the way your tits bounced with every move and that gorgeous look on your face as you chased your climax.

He’s a lot more vocal when you’re riding him. Praising you for how well you’re doing, telling you how gorgeous you look, whispering little encouragements: “That’s it, just like that ma,” “God you’re so pretty,” “Don’t go getting all tired on me now, you’re doing so good.”

E is for Experience:

He’s confident where and when he needs to be. Knows just what to do to make you feel real good, where to kiss, and touch and hold. Makes sure to be extra slow with his touches and press extra hard to get you going.

He knows his way around a female body, but he’s gotten real good at knowing his way around yours. Knows just where to flatten his tongue and just where to suck when he’s busy eating you off. Knows just how deep to fuck you and is quick to listen to you whenever you’re mumbling for him to go harder and faster. Knows when to scissor his fingers apart and curl them up against you when he’s gently easing himself knuckle deep into you.

He’s a quick learner. Learned just what to do to help you come, knows what you like the most, what gives you that tight knot in your tummy, and what’s got your toes curling.

F is for Favorite Position:

He’s got a few favored positions; likes missionary with your legs resting against his shoulders, just cause it gives him a better angle to thrust deeper into you, loves doggy style, for its own reasons. But he’ll never get tired of cowgirl.

He’s a sucker for watching you ride him, though he doesn’t really let you do all the work. Thinks it’s probably morally wrong. His hands are glued to your body, grabbing at your boobs, smacking your ass, gently guiding your hips as you move. And if you get tired, all he gotta do is adjust himself ever so slightly so he can fuck up into you and guide your pretty self down on his dick.

G is for Goofy:

Elias excels at balancing the seriousness and humor where it’s needed. You two are good at keeping each other on your toes, and he’s made sure to not let things get too serious in certain moments.

He gets all serious and focused when you two are together late at night. Channels all his attention onto you and you only. He’s laser focused, making sure to be extra aware of every shift in your breathing and any tension in your body.

But after, it’s a different story. Still talks you up, teasing you for certain noises you’ve made, kissing up on you when you get annoyed at him for mocking you. “C’mon now, you looked real pretty moaning like that.”

Plus, not like he couldn’t handle every witty comment you’ve thrown at him. He likes that about you, he’s glad you can keep up with him, though sometimes you do got a quicker mouth than him. You know how to put it to use.

H is for Hair:

Both twins strive on cleanliness, like to be nest, and presentable. Elias is a well groomed man, doesn’t like getting too hairy and untamed. He makes sure he’s all good down there, both for his sake and yours.

Now, he doesn’t necessarily like going smooth and bald, but he’s always making sure he’s trimmed and groomed. Sometimes he lets his happy trail grow just a little, but not too long.

I is for Intimacy:

Now, his intimacy is solely based on his mood. When he’s feeling real good, and real loving, he’ll be so sweet and passionate. Attending to your needs, paying attention to all your responses and reactions just to see if you feel good.

He takes his time exploring your body, savoring every curve and contour even though he knows it better than the back of his hand. He kisses you long and slow, taking the time to feel the way your body moves against his and adjusting himself ensure you’re always satisfied. Likes to savor the feel of your heavy breathing against his skin, likes to feel the way your pussy clenches around him, sometimes he’ll deliberately go slower just to prolong the moment. He’ll whisper against your ear, planting light kisses against your earlobe, being extra careful when he’s biting at your neck. “Doing so well, baby”. “Mmm, keep making that face”. “Y’like that? ‘Boutta moan my ear off”.

J is for Jack off:

He’s never been one for jacking off, especially ducking somewhere just to get himself off, but he’s impatient. Doesn’t really like to wait. Finds it torture to be looking the way you look, smelling the way you smell, watching you walk away from him and not even giving him a glance.

He likes it better when you touch him. It just feels better, you’re gentler and slower. He’d been missing the hell outta you that weekend, trying to occupy himself and keep his mind off of the fact that you wasn’t there with him. But he’d already had his hand around his dick, jerking fast and rough, fucking up into his fist with muffled groans and with an extra long string of “fuck fuck fuck”.

K is for Kink:

When he’s actually worked up, he loves that freaky shit. He’d never put a hand on you to harm you, can’t even fathom that thought, doesn’t like the thought of hurting you. But he loves spanking you.

Of course, he’s apologizing over and over, kissing on your ass after he’s finished, massaging the tender flesh if he’s smacked it too hard.

Face fucking: Elias loves seeing you on your knees, loves seeing you on your back scooted towards the edge just enough to let your head dangle back so he can slip his dick into your mouth. Likes the feel of your lips around him, likes the way those tears will prickle down your face and that tight feeling whenever he’d thrust down into your throat.

Loud sex: He loves when you’re loud. He’s always loved listening to you, liked how whiny you’d get when you were cumming, liked how you’d gasp and squirm when he kept thrusting into you even after you’ve cum.

Spitting: He’s huge with spitting. Likes spitting into your mouth before making out with you, likes when you spit into his mouth when you’re riding him, and especially likes spitting against your pussy just to see how wet you’d get.

Exhibitionism: He’s all for groping your ass under the table when you’re out, running his hands awfully too close to your hips in public. Likes pinning you against a wall in a dimly lit alleyway, likes kissing all up on you when the two of you are in the bathroom.

L is for Location:

Wherever you want, you’ll get it.

You guys have done it almost everywhere. Almost. Done it in the back room of a juke joint with his hand resting on the back of your head to keep your hair from getting all messy as he fucked you up against the wall. Done it against your gramma’s kitchen counter, being extra careful with each thrust because Lord knows how damn creaky those floorboards are.

But he loved doing it in the car, parked it somewhere off the road but just close enough to see the stars, even when all his attention was put on kissing you slow and gentle. Liked how it felt like the car was guiding his strokes deeper and deeper into you. Liked how angelic you looked with the glow of the moonlight casting some soft light on you, just enough so he could see the way your lips parted and the furrow of your eyebrows.

M is for Motivation:

Confidence is key baby.

He’s big on smells and the way you hold yourself. Likes that floral perfume you use that lingers just enough when you walk by him. Likes when you’re all sweet on him, rubbing up on him, kissing his neck and whispering against his ear ‘bout how much you want him. He likes the little back and forth you two do, that little sharp tongue teasing. Likes that little challenge and the way you claim up and down that he can’t handle you. “Come on now, ma, I know what this pussy likes better than you do.”

N is for No:

If there’s no verbal agreement, he’s not doing it.

It’s as easy as that. He’s big on respecting your boundaries, big on making sure he’s got your yes on things. Doesn’t like ignoring your boundaries, or making you feel uncomfortable in any way. He hates disrespecting you in any way, even if it wasn’t intentional, doesn’t like objectifying you or making you feel like he’s putting you down. And he especially doesn’t like prioritizing himself over you in bed, always makes sure you’re the one cumming first and that he’s doing whatever he can to make you feel good.

O is for Oral:

He always always prefers giving than receiving.

He’s gentle with it. Kissing your inner thighs, kissing you through your panties, rubbing at the sides of your thighs to coax you to spread your legs apart just a little more. Kissing everywhere, against the slit, top to bottom, bottom to top. He’s got all his attention on your clit, sucking, kissing, and running the tip of his tongue against it in slow circles. Keeping his eyes glued to your face, drinking in those gasps and whimpers as he’s running his hands along your thighs and belly. He’d be talking you through it, taking his time, adjusting his tongue solely based on your reactions. “Taste so good”, “Look at how pretty she is”.

P is for Pace:

He prefers slow, and sensual over fast and rough sex. Thinks it’s more intimate and romantic that way.

Prefers the time between you two to be drawn out, taking his sweet time to really savor it and to savor the feel of your body. Takes his time during foreplay, not only cause it gives him more time to hold and kiss you, but also because he likes getting you all worked up.

Prefers a soft, steady touch over quick and aggressive. Likes guiding your hands down to the print in his pants, likes keeping an eye on you when he’s busy rubbing the tension of your muscles.

Q is for Quickie:

He’s not big on quickies, but he’s not against it. He likes some variety or something to break the routine, plus they give him the opportunity to be a little rough and a little impatient.

He’s particularly into quickies when he’s feeling extra frisky and you’re looking extra good.

He’d be the first to say something after an argument, because Lord knows if he’s not, you’d stay quiet for weeks. He wasn’t even sure what he even did that time, but he was already all on you, grabbing at your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he rested his head against your shoulder. He’s quick to talk all kinds of nasty, especially right before a quickie. Talking up and down about how he’ll be nice, make sure to hold you right and promise to make up for it if he was too rough for you. “C’mon now baby, I’m sorry,” “Lemme make it up to you.” Before you know it, he'd have you pressed up against a wall, his pants undone, one hand gripping your hip as the other held the side of your neck. “I’ll be real nice to her this time, fuck this pretty pussy ‘til she’s leaking.”

He'd fuck you hard and fast, making sure your face wouldn’t get too close to the wall. Said he didn’t want to dirty you up even as he was fucking you up against it.

R is for Risk:

Elias isn’t too much of a risk taker, sure he’d do a little public stuff with you at night and if he was absolutely certain you two were alone, but he also doesn’t want to feel like a sore thumb and have eyes on him.

He’d talk to you first, ask you how you’d feel about exploring. Granted he probably should’ve used a different word cause not even two minutes later you was freaking out thinking he was talking about exploring relationships with other people. But he meant something more restraining.

He was awkward as hell that night. Tried tying you up but set his tie too loose around your wrists, and then made them a little too tight. He got it right the third time, made sure to be careful when he was fucking you, but you seemed to enjoy yourself, so he started exploring a little more.

Got better at the whole restraint thing, knew where to start, where to stop, knew what was good for you specifically, cause he could get off on the sight of you alone.

S is for Stamina:

He prioritizes quality over quantity. Doesn’t really focus too much on a high number of orgasms, but he’s more than happy with it. He’s more focused on making sure you’ve got that blurry vision-toe curling kinda orgasm.

You’re looking at 2-3 rounds with enough time to get your breathing calmed down and for him to check in on you. He’ll always make sure you’re cumming once or twice before he’s actually fucking you, whether it’s from his fingers, his tongue, or from you riding his thigh.

He won’t go over 5, never has. He’s never needed to.

On average, you’re looking at a good 25 minute session, sometimes the first rounds will be a little shorter, just so he can focus on the aspect of rebuilding your arousal.

He would not and does not prioritize endurance over your pleasure. He wants to make sure you’re satisfied every round, because the goal is to have you squirting enough to soak his dick and slide right in again.

T is for Toys:

Now he says he ain’t too big on toys, but he’s definitely all for them. He likes toys that specifically give him all the control, and he swears it’s cause he likes the way you look when you get annoyed at him for teasing you, but you’re pretty sure he only likes it cause he likes to see you beg.

He’s only particularly fond of items or toys that subtly force some kind of power dynamic there. Toys with dual sided tips or vibrations aren’t really something he’d be into, but he wouldn’t mind trying it out if you’d ask. Wand vibrators and restraints are his favorites to use. Likes using them to make sure he’s the one with the power, to watch the way you’d squirm under the vibrator and try to reach out to him when you were tied up.

U is for Unfair:

He fucking loves to tease you, teases you constantly, even public, just as a way to keep you engaged. For him, teasing is his way of flirting, of getting under your skin before you get under him. He always uses humor, and witty flirting on you, sure he’ll get handsy here and there, but the flirting is more for him. Helps him gauge your limits and see how far he can go.

He'd start slow, barely touching you, telling you all the things he’d planned to do to you once you're both good and worked up. He'd take his sweet time undressing you, savoring every inch of skin he reveals, placing soft, teasing kisses along your collarbone and down your neck. Tracing little circles against your collarbones, but never enough pressure to actually feel the heat of his tongue. He'd play with your tits, grabbing and kissing and biting just hard enough to feel the hardness of your nipples against his palm.

He’d be in between your legs, gently nudging himself closer to you, letting you feel the tent in his pants, but not giving either of you the satisfaction of actually fucking you. He'd slip a hand between your legs, his fingers dancing along your slick folds, teasing your clit with light, maddening circles, only to pull away when you're about to climax just so he can get his way. He'd apologize for not letting you cum, though you doubted that he’d actually cared, nudging the tip of his finger against your entrance to catch the slick there. “I know, I know, I’m sorry mama, but feel how wet you are,” he’d finally slip his finger into you, kissing the base of your temple but not moving his finger any more. He just let himself soak in the warmth of you. “Shh, it’s alright, go ahead and beg, I won’t tease you anymore.”

‘Course he was lying, probably tease you for another ten minutes before actually finger fucking you, but he praised you real good for being so patient.

V is for Volume:

He’s a groaner. He’s got no problem expressing how good you feel and how tight you are. He’s not overly vocal, but he makes sure all his noises of pleasure are directly against your ear. Likes it that way.

When he’s deep in you, he’s grunting and groaning against your ear. He isn’t focused too much on how loud or quiet he’s being, he’s already focused on the sounds you’re making. Depending on how close he is to cumming would be how vocal he actually is. When he’s slipping his dick in you, he’d be sucking in sharp breaths, mumbling a little “mmm fuck”.

When he’s getting closer to his climax, he’s sloppy. Breathing heavily, biting down on his bottom lip to try to hear your moans clearly. His breath growing shorter and more frequent, letting out quick pants. He’d tease you a little, make fun of your moaning like he ain’t spend the past twenty minutes groaning at how tight you are. “If only you could—mm fuck—listen to you, sounding like a kitten in heat.” “Taking this dick so good, jus’ listen to yourself baby.”

W is for Wild card:

He runs really hot, he’d wake up sweating cause he’s too damn hot. Would need the window cracked open a peek, or stripped of his clothes just so he wouldn’t overheat late at night. You run cold. Gotta sleep deep under the covers, even if you keep the room cold, and then complain ‘bout it being too cold in the morning.

It was a ritual since the two of you got together. He’d keep you warm enough to not be hidden under the blankets, and you’d keep him cool enough to not go bare every time he was getting ready for bed. Though you didn’t mind him going shirtless to bed, gave you a better chance for some skin on skin, and to soak in his warmth quicker. For Elias, it helped him sleep easier, kept him asleep on nights where it was difficult to fall asleep.

X is for X-ray:

Elias isn’t as built as his brother is. He’s got some muscles to him, though he’s a little more on the lean side. Whenever it’s brought up, he’s not really offended by it. Truths the truth, right?

He’s broad where he needs to be. Has muscles where it matters. Tan and thick skin from his time away. Smooth, and taut in the way that screamed soldier. He had a pretty dick, tip’s a pretty warm brown, got a vein on the underside that gets more prominent when he’s hard. He’s packing a thick uncut six, eight when he’s hard, curving a little to the right. He’s a shower.

Y is for Yearning:

Elias. Is. A. Yearner. He may not want to admit it, but his actions are very clear to how he is. He yearns for any contact, doesn’t have to be intimate, could just be something as simple as you looking over at him or rubbing his shoulder. He lives for that.

He seems to constantly crave your touch, your taste, the feeling of your body. Its the same type of craving that a drunk man gets for something real sweet. His desire for you isn’t just something that’s physical, it’s beyond that. He needs that connection, the vulnerability, and the intimacy that happens from making love with the person. It’s this intense, feeling that underscores some powerful drive in him. His yearning is the kind of feeling that is always there but gets more intense when you’re with someone. Like butterflies in your stomach, but he’d never admit to that. But it shows.

Z is for Zzz:

He’ll do this thing where he rolls over onto his side to regain his breath, and closes his eyes like he’s actually fallen asleep, but never does. He can’t, he physically has to check in on you, he won’t allow himself to fall asleep before you.

He likes kissing, and caressing you after, likes that emotional connection of coming down from the high. He doesn’t like talking much, but he’ll do it if you want to, he’ll just let you talk for however long you want, looking at you the entire time.

He’ll keep an arm around your waist, gently pushing your hair out of your face and participating in a conversation with you once you’ve had your share in talking. He’ll clean you up if things were overly messy, and most times they are. He’d never fall asleep first, and even once you’ve fallen asleep, he’ll wait an extra thirty minutes to make sure you’re deep asleep before falling asleep too.

[ghosteywiththemostey]

Platonic yandere!cowboy x reader, part two

Part 1

I have names for all my other OCs stored in notes/my head, but I don’t have one for this guy yet. If you have any suggestions, I’d love to hear them!

You’d arrived at the camp about an hour ago and had since been left in a tent. It was tall enough to stand up in but there wasn’t exactly room to walk about, just enough for you to be on the bed and another to sit next to it. 

After some deliberation, you’d decided it was best to stay put. The men outside had guns and no matter what that man had said about “taking care of you”, you didn’t trust it one bit. These sorts were dangerous and cruel. You weren’t about to take your chances with him and especially not the men who he commanded.

He’d told you that he would come round to talk soon, but he had a few things to deal with first. It didn’t sound like anything was being dealt with though. What it sounded like was a bunch of men celebrating and drinking around a fire. Hopefully he’d pass out drunk before he had a chance to come back, you thought.

You were wrong though, and when he entered your tent he only smelt faintly of whiskey, likely only from a couple drinks and mingling with those hitting the bottle heavier. He sat on the dry, dusty ground across from you on a roll mat and a few blankets. Nothing was said for a moment, until he cleared his throat.

“Sorry I took so long. Just had to talk to a few of my men…,” there’s a pause, like he’s not sure what to say next. “Now I know you must be scared, pumpkin. But you don’t need to be.”

You opened your mouth, but a response didn’t come, you were too overwhelmed by the whole situation. 

He watches for your reaction but as none comes and he takes it as an opportunity to explain himself. “I saw you a few months back when you were coming from east ways. Been trackin’ you since. You bumped into me and you were so sweet ‘bout it. Apologisin’ far more than needed. Looked terrified though, like you didn’t know how to talk to anyone or what to do with yourself.”

Taking in a breath, he looks down and stops for a beat before continuing. “I tried to find out more ‘bout you, namely where you were headed and what you were called. But some other things too. Found out you didn’t have much in the way of parents, or any family for that matter, and thought maybe… maybe you could do with someone lookin’ out for you.”

He stops again to gauge your reaction, and you’ve finally found the ability to form words, although you know they’re ones he doesn’t want to hear. “You need to let me go. I won’t tell anyone anything but this is-”

“Pumpkin, no.” His voice is strict when he cuts you off. It’s not like the voice he used when talking in front of his men, but there’s still a level of warning in it, telling you to cut it out before you push it too far. You want to object, to beg to please be let go, but the underlying threat is enough to silence you. 

“You ain’t going anywhere and you’re gonna have to accept that real quick, cause I don’t want to get mean. But I will if it means keeping you safe. Now, I won’t ever hurt you, but I ain’t above making sure you can’t run. Understood?”

You look at him like a madman because, well he is. But with his men out there and all those guns… It would be nice if you could believe that he wouldn’t hurt you, but from the look of him, it seems an unlikely promise. So for now, you nod. When they pack up and head to the next town, you can try to find the sheriff.

He looks you over and gives what you can only assume must be an attempt at a kind smile, but years of cruelty have warped his face and personality in such a way that it comes across as more of a sneer. You suppose you can appreciate that he’s trying to be gentle though.

“You hungry at all? We’ve got plenty left over, something could be cooked up for ya.”

After hesitating, considering if this could be seen as already giving in to this idea of his that you somehow need to be looked after, you decide it doesn’t matter right now. You are hungry, tired too. Any fighting can be left for later when you’ve recouped all the energy that’s ebbed from your body due to the stress of tonight. 

You nod and after you do, he stands and holds open the tent doors, inviting you to follow him out. When you exit, the men out there steal glances and occasionally throw you a smile, but otherwise keep to themselves. It’s clear they’ve been told to mind their own business, but it doesn’t stop some from sitting behind tents and gossiping about the kid their boss has brought along.

The food is surprisingly good and it does make you feel better, but it only seems to have decreased your energy further. Soon you’re back in your tent and falling asleep, reminding yourself as you fall in and out of consciousness that when you wake up, you have to start fighting this.

[neptunesbeloved]

Yellow Carnation

wc: 2,384

Synopsis: How lovely, he planned a surprise just to cheer you up

tw: she pronouns / female reader / married couple / random!malecharacter x reader

Author's note: Honestly not writing for a specific character is kinda pissing me off, I can't be specific in my descriptions.

Check this

Material list

This needs to stop, it has happened for so long. He noticed how her eyes deliberately avoided his. He whitenessed her voice quieting down as the days passed by. But about all, seeing her warm smile fading with time was hurting him the most. He felt powerless in the moment, he didn't know what was happening.

They got married a few years ago, moved in a beautiful house nearby the sea and regularly went on vacation. He showered her with all of his love, dripping her with the finest silks and shiniest gemstones. He also planed the most original and romantic dates for her. Everything he did was for her. He wanted to give her the whole universe.

This afternoon, she texted him that she will be getting home later than usual to go on a walk by herself. She did not gave him any more indications but he knew it was because she was feeling down lately. At the announce, he hurried to plan a surprise romantic night at home to cheer her up. He called their chef in a hurry and politely asked her to cook homemade italian meal for tonight since she loved Italian cuisine. While the chef was cooking their dinner he rushed to her favorite florist and bought a beautiful bouquet of luscious ranunculus.

Once he finally got home he carefully set the table not forgetting to lay the tip of the newly bought bouquet of flowers in a glass filled with water to prevent the beautiful petals from tarnishing. Because she would be home in an hour or less he decided to prepare the bedroom for the upcoming massage he would give her. He covered the bed with a soft towels as he lit up the vanilla scented candles positioned in the corners of the room.

He truly wished what he had planned for her will make her feel better. In addition to this lovely night coming ahead he aimed at making her open up about her hidden struggles. He knew she was the type of person to keep everything inside, he wanted to create a safe environment for her to hopefully share her struggles with him.

It was 7:15pm when she got home, her face had a peaceful yet slightly sad expression. While slowly inhaling the comforting smell of her home, she closed her eyes before removing her bag and shoes.

–“I'm home.” She gently said, her voice resonating through the hallway.

At the sound of her voice, the gentleman grabbed the bouquet of Ranunculus and left their bedroom to head towards the hallway.

–“Good evening, how are you doing?” He gently asked, hiding the bouquet behind him.

–“I'm all right, thanks.” She answered while tenderly looking at him. “What are you hiding behind your back ?”

–“I have something planned for you this evening and this" He pulled out the flowers. "is the first thing on the list.”

Her eyes brightened as her lips former a smile of happiness. Her dainty fingers wrapped around the thoughtful present.

–“I love ranunculus, thank you so much.”

He tenderly grabbed her free hand before placing a loving kiss on her knuckles. He positioned himself behind her and placed his hands on her eyes.

–“You are now going to discover they next surprise. Do you have any idea of what it might be ?” He mischievously teased. He knew she loved enigmas so it was a great way to introduce the dinner. With a confident gesture, he guided her to their destination.

–“Because you are covering my eyes, I think that the next surprise is bigger than a flower bouquet and that you cannot move it around.” She guessed, leaving him speechless. "With the lack response from you, I think I am right. Maybe it is something that is set somewhere in the house like a themed decoration or a new furniture... We both already love the arrangements of the house so I don't think it is a new piece of furniture.” She add, still thinking about what it might be.

–“Almost there...” He gently chuckled before placing a little kiss on her head.

Her smile grew even bigger.

–“Thanks, I know. Anyways let's continue...” she took another moment to think. “Because we haven't eaten yet, you might have decorated the dinning room and thanks to the ranunculus I can confidently say that you've set up a romantic dinner. I think you decorated the dinning room with romantic arrangements!” She confidently declared.

He was in awe—In addition of being drop dead gorgeous she was also really smart.

–“What a brilliant mind you have, I am definitely lucky to be your husband!” He said, his words resonating through her.

–“Don't say this, I'm more than honored to have you . We are both lucky to have each other.”

–“My feelings doesn't take away from yours. Infact, I am just appreciating you darling.” He added as his hands left her closed lids before sliding down her arms to intertwined their fingers. "Let's get in, shall we?”

His thumb gently brushed her fingers, providing her with love but also comfort. He wanted to sooth her, to reassure her. Though he was a hurt by the secret she kept, he still wanted to make her happy.

–“Are you ready?” He said as an excited smiled formed on his lips before opening the door.

The dim lighting casted a yellow glow in the room as the candles laid on the table created a cozy feeling. A beautiful vase filled with water was set on the side of the round table besides a fancy bottle of water.

He gently took her bouquet off of her hands before removing its paper wrap.

–“Let's put those beauties in the vase, we don't want them to wilt.” He said as he delicately placed the flowers in the water.

Her hands reach for the chair in front of her but he politely stopped her.

–“It has been five years since we first got together and yet you still don't understand that I want to do those cliché it for you..." He gently chuckled as he pulled out the chair for her. “The chef will serve us the food in a few minutes. I can't wait to see your reaction.”

–“Since this is a surprise I won't try to guess what we are going to eat.” She chuckled.

After a few minutes spent talking about the latest news, the chef finally arrived with two delicious plates of homemade fresh lasagnas. She disposed the two plates in front of the couple before leaving the room.

–“I haven't eaten Italian food in a while.” She said while admiring the dish in front of her.

The chef regained the kitchen and left the two spouses alone. She reached for the fork in front of her to taste the meal. As she withdrew the cold silver fork from her mouth the ingredients laid on her sensitive tongue, their taste slowly diffusing through her mouth. She closed her eyes in delight as a whimper of delight escaped from her.

A gentle smile formed on his lips. He truly loved to see her appreciate the meal. His hand brushed for the stray strend of hair in front of her face. He then grabbed his fork to appreciate the dinner too, savouring his lasagnas.

–“Tell me, how was your day?” he asked as he poured her glass with water. Her flickering eyes didn't went unnoticed by him but he didn't pushed it any further.

–“It was refreshing... After work I went for a walk in a park nearby my workplace.” She puts her fork down to talk. "There was even yellow carnations. I've never saw yellow carnations this close and their smell was so delicate... Very lovely.” She picks up her fork. “How about yours?”

–“I woke up earlier today to work on a new thesis. The lab I'm collaborating with funds my researches and they let me borrow their high end tools.” He explained, looking in her eyes. “After you texted me that you were coming home later, I rushed to plan this surprise.”

–“Such a loving partner...” She chuckled. “Very thoughtful of you, thank you again.”

They talked about everything and anything, enjoying the homemade Italian meals as they exchange laughter, loving stares and warming smiles. The love between them couldn't just be felt—it could be seen and heard. They way they talked with so much respect to one another could melt the heart of the coldest person. His hand frequently resting on top of hers paired with her dainty foot lovingly caressing his legs spoke volume about the depth of their bound. Everything felt thoughtful yet natural between them.

–“Enjoyed this dinner?” He asked with a mischievous smile on his face.

–“I sure did ! I love Italian food, it's my favorite with indian food too.” She said before taking a sip of water.

–“I did too...” His flickered to his watch. “I think it is time for the third and last surprise.” He got up and handed her his hand. “Allow me to guide you.” As her hand took its place in his, he guided her from the dinning room to the door of their bedroom.

–“Can you guess what will happen next?“ He said with his low voice.

She raised her eyebrow, looking in emptiness as she gathered her thoughts.

–“Like for the dinner, the bedroom might be decorated... While we were eating you didn't make any allusion about intimacy and the ambiance wasn't steamy between us... It was more romantic.” She said as her eyes flickered between the doors and him. “But because the next surprise is in the bedroom it still includes some kind of physical proximity between us. You are the kind of person to primary show your love through actions too...” She took a significant pause. “I think I got it! Are you planning some kind of massage?” She said, her face taking a malicious expression.

A little laughter came out of his mouth as he affectionately looked at her.

–“Your sharp mind never disappoints, darling. You never fail to impress me, I am enamored with you.” He said before placing a loving kiss on her forehead. “Let's get in, shall we?” His hand latched onto the door handle.

The door opened, unleashing a delicate fragrance of vanilla as the candlelights animated the bedroom with life. She entered the room followed by her loyal husband before standing in front of the large bed.

She looked at the soft pillows, her lips slowly opened as if she tried to say something before suddenly closing. He looked at her with a confuse expression.

–“What's wrong, sweetie?” He murmured, taking her delicate hand in his.

–“...” She hesitated. “Nothing...” she answered, barely above a whisper.

He gulped down as a sharp feeling in his heart struck him. His jaw and eyebrows tensed while his tongue brushed across his lips. As her gentle eyes laid on his face he relaxed a bit.

–“Anything wrong?” She asked, her silky voice soothed his fragile heart.

–“It's fine... I'm alright.” He said as a sly feeling of guilt took over him.

–“Since you are offering me a massage I guess I should remove my dress. Can you unzip it for me please?“

He executed her orders, carefully unzipping her dress as his fingers lingered on the soft skin of her back. Her black dress fell all the way down to her ankles. She slowly laid down on her stomach before gently closing her eyes. The sight of her, so vulnerable yet unaccessible made his heart flutter. He took a deep breath before grabbing the bottle of almond oil.

–“You once told me that you loved the smell of almond oil so I decided to use it as an oil massage...” He said as he poured a good amount on the valley of her back.

With his bare warm hands he lather the oil from her shoulders to the small of her back in a linear motion. Gliding his palms on the bare surface before firmly yet gently gripping her tight shoulders before carefully massaging them.

–“You are really tense up here. Relax, I've got you...“ He said as he liberated the tension nestled in her shoulders.

–“Keep going please...“ She satisfactly whined before humming the sweet perfum of the vanilla scented candles.

While his hands went from her shoulders to the middle of his back she slowly opened here eyes, looking at the wall in front of her. She felt like the burden she was carrying within herself was consuming her from the inside out. It needed to be shared. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes again.

–“It feels so good... You hands work wonders on my back...” She muttered.

He faintly chuckled before pressing an affectionate kiss on the back to her neck

–“Its good to know. I like to make you feel good.” He whispered as his warm breath caressed the back of her neck.

–“You are such an angel, I'm so grateful to have you in my life.”

With his skilled hands, he applied more pressure on a tight knot nestled on her left shoulder blade.

–“Is your work stressing you out like that?” He asked, slightly worried for her. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Her heart tightened as small tears formed in her eyes. She gently shut her lids before biting her lips. She knew she shouldn't keep secrets like this one for herself. She took a deep breath before talking.

–“No, it's not...” He noticed the sudden change in her demeanor.

–“Would you like to tell me what it is?” His hands massaged her back more delicatly as he could feel the slight feeling of fear rushing throw his body.

–“I don't know how to bring this up...” She said before hiding her face from him.

He placed a tender kiss on her head before caressing the slop of her arm.

–“I'm here for you... Don't worry, I will always stick by your side.”

She bit her lips as she restrained her tears from flooding the white cotton sheets.

–“Well... Last week I went on my yearly medical check up. I talked about my health and my lifestyle habits with me doctor and I told her that during this past month I've felt very fatigued. So we did a blood test...” She took a pause as she felt a tear streaming down her eye.

He started to caressed her head in a soothing manner.

–“It's okay, take your time...“ He calmly whispered despite his worry growing more intense.

–“While waiting for the results she talked more in details about the blood test. It was suppose to measure my hormon level because she suspected that I just had a hormonal imbalance. I didn't thought much of it and... When she came back with the results... She told me that I was pregnant...”

His heart skipped a beat.

–“I am pregnant...” She said as she crumble in tears.

He stopped caressing her head for a few seconds before firmly embracing her. Neither of them knew what to do. He then proceeded to gently rub her back as he closed his eyes.

–“No matter what you decide, I will support you... We are in this together.“

–“I don't know if I want this baby...“ She mumbled as she wiped her tears.

–“That's fine, love...” He continued his gentle caresses as his vibrating voice soothed her. “Do you know of how many weeks you are pregnant?“

–“Right now... I am six weeks pregnant.” She said before crying again. “I have to hurry up to decide what I want to do...”

His hands instinctively caressed her hair.

–“You don't have to decide right now we still have a month... I just want you to know that we are in this together, you are not alone. No matter what you do, I promise and swear to accept and support decisions. It is your body, so nobody else should decide what is best for you, not even me. You are strong, clever but most importantly you are loved.”

[avaredava]

Hi! Can I request a Nanami imagine? I’d love something with angst at the beginning, showing the reader struggling with baby blues right after the baby is born. Maybe she feels overwhelmed, distant, or even like she’s not being a good mom. It would be beautiful to see how Nanami, with his calm and understanding nature, slowly notices it and tries to gently reach out until they finally share a soft, comforting moment full of love and reassurance.If you could include some tender dialogue or little intimate gestures from him, I’d really love that! Also, your writing is amazing — you always capture emotions in such a touching way. Thank you so much in advance!

Wait stop i love thattttt np anon

And im so glad you like my writing! Thank you so much, I appreciate you saying i really have a touch on emotions in my writings, it means a lot <3

-

Bang!

You jolt up you eyes blinking open. You turn around and realize how late it is. You were supposed to take the baby today so Nanami can go golfing with his buddies and maybe grab a couple of drinks. But its already 3 pm.

Why would he let you sleep this late? You run down stairs to maybe just take the baby so Nanami can go for the short amount of time left for his plans. And maybe investigate what the hell that bang was.

You run down the stairs dizzy, from bolting up right after sleeping. You see Nanami cleaning up a broken glass pan, the metal lid probably made the bang for it. You felt horrible, maybe he dropped it trying to make food for the baby. God you were lazy.

You were supposed to be providing a bit but Nanami has been cooking and cleaning a ton. It makes you sick to your stomach on how much he's doing and your doing nothing. Not grossed out by him, but from yourself.

He smiled at you and you smiled back, hopefully that he didn't notice the quick swipe of tears off your face. But of course, he realized. He is the perfect man.

He went up to you, holding your hands looking deep in your eyes, wondering what was wrong. "What's wrong baby?" And that was your trigger. You started bawling. You were a baby. Because babies are useless and can't take care of other babies.

He grabbed your face while wiping your tears, of course his eyes flick up and down your body wondering what the hell is wrong. You push him off and go away to find the baby in her crib.

You take her and hold her to your stomach. You were so tired, tired physically and mentally since you had her. But you shouldn't. You can't be a lazy ass anymore. So many other women are stronger than you.

A few minutes later he knocks on the nursery door. You know if you said go away, he would come in anyway. He's just trying to be polite. He ran into after a moment, seeing those tired eyes ringed with red from crying.

It made his heart shatter that he didn't know what the fuck was wrong. He sat quietly beside you on the little bench in the nursery not even looking at you because he's worried it would make you uncomfortable.

You felt bad, seeing his eyes flick everywhere but you. Wondering what to say to him, just like he was wondering what to say to you. He broke the silence with a small, "What was that about?"

It wasn't mean like people usually use that sentence it was concerned and worried. Like he did something wrong. Did he hurt you by accident, maybe your feelings? Accidentally saying something insensitive? Did his arm fly at you in his sleep and trigger you? Did you dream about him cheating?

You could tell his mind was rapid firing things that he could've done, different scenarios. None good. You had to stop his over thinking with a little, "I fucking suck. Not you, that's the problem you're too good. God, you're too good for me."

He looked at you like you just murdered his whole family, and broke his heart into pieces. He adored you, treated you like a Greek Goddess. To him? You're too good. Too pretty, too smart, for a man like him to ever have a special girl like you must've been gift.

He holds you tight, pulling you in his lap after he puts the baby back in her crib. "You need to relax. You're always shopping for food, making sure the baby has the healthiest stuff, already going on missions to get more money for our baby to have a good childhood. And you carried the baby for nine months, you're more than enough."

You smiled, tears in your eyes, while he hugged you tight, kissing your forehead. Then he said something that made you feel so much better.

"Your the best mom and wife in the world."

And you knew he meant that.

Master list's

[bwobgames]

It’s 5 am

At last, she sleeps soundly.

But as draining as that emotionally filled talk was, it was necessary.

Sadly, the night is still young.

Out she goes in her new adventure, retrieving Vivi’s photo.

Hopefully the kids won’t be too disappointed if she ends up sleeping all of tomorrow in the hotel…

She enters and looks through the different little places a small piece of paper could’ve slipped into.

At some point she hears some steps behind her.

But is too tired and busy to care, moving on.

She gets in the dinner wagon and looks around. Things look clean.

Seems like the detective messed with the evidence, how ironic.

She finds a flashlight on the floor, must be Vivi’s

It’s not broken thankfully, seems like whatever happened with her made it fall and open the battery case.

She puts them back in a tries it. It works fine. Way too fine, in fact. It’s almost blinding. Must be her getting too used to the dark train. Maybe it’s better to leave it turned off.

She looks at the wall of the small kitchen area.

Two knives are missing.

Which could mean nothing, really. If it wasn’t because she knows her friends.

If it was Oliver in his attempt to fix up his cat’s mess, he would never leave a gap like that. He loves categorizing and organizing, this simply would not be done by his hand.

But it could remain unorganized if he wanted to leave evidence untouched.

And of course, there’s also Vivi’s cryptic claims about this train.

She realizes she doesn’t know where the emergency brake is.

After a quick look around for the missing picture, Marigold decides to go as far as the train goes, in the direction she hasn’t explored. The division of classes.

Ironic, really.

She’s about to reach the last wagon available to cross when she hears something.

It’s Ángel. He’s talking… to himself?

Did he somehow find signal? Is he on the phone? Maybe recording something for that internet content of his?

Before she can go on and ask, she sees something on the window to the other wagon.

She recognizes that blue-hair shadow.

Ignoring whatever Tiktok Ángel is probably making, she goes back to the dinner saloon.

There’re still two knives missing.

And now three.

Marigold knows about ghosts; she’s been haunted by one for so long.

The ghost of herself.

A strange apparition at first, slowly taking form before her, taking strength. Until it finally took over the husk that was her body.

She knows ghosts are real, she knows hauntings are real.

And she knows that people are far more dangerous than any of that.

There are times when she wishes to buy flowers and cry for days at the grave of her lost youth. Sometimes she does.

But if there’s something she’s glad her parents taught her, albeit not consciously, is to be resilient.

A spirit can easily dissipate in the wind of responsibilities and masked faces, but it never stopped haunting.

Marigold refuses to let time go pass her anymore.

She is going to cherish what she has; she will keep her eyes wide open, and live.

No paranormal activity is going to stop that.

She has a mission.

Something that she hasn't let go of is her ability to see other people's potential. For good purposes this time.

She knows exatly who she needs.

She goes back to her bedroom and wakes up Nina.

“Wh…What? Is it 7 already…?”

 “No, but I need you now.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“Wanna go on an adventure?”

“What…?”

“I’ll be right back, put on something warmer”

“I…. Okay?”

As she leaves the room, she sees the figure of none other than Mr. Beebo walking across the wagons.

Seems like he’s heading there as well.

She enters Vivi’s room.

Softly, as to not wake up Nadia, she shakes Vivi around.

“Whaa noo I’m not a wobbly sheet of metal ehehe...”

“Wake up”

“Awhuwe… Mari! Did you find the picture?”

“No, sorry, but I got you this”

“Oh! it’s not broken, is it? I actually paid a lot for it…”

“No, no, it works perfectly, but I need you to take it and come with me and Nina.”

“…For girls’ night?”

“You could call it that”

“I need something from you, actually. Your strange breaking and entering skills.”

“No one ever wants me for my ballon animal’s skills but go on?”

“How can you get to the normal seats wagon?”

It’s 6 am

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

Something feels…

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