#trains or enclosed spaces

[technically-human]

Hi i'm absolutely in love with the reverse au!!

I want to know, in this verse does edwin still confesses to charles? if so how is it different? i feel if he did he would end it by apologizing, you know, religious guilt and all

There’s a train that goes through Hell.

Its journey starts in Wrath, and it departs already full of souls. It took Charles far too many years to realize that there were separate, more spacious wagons that demons could board. Not that he could understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t.

Actually, Charles couldn’t recall ever boarding the train. As far as he could tell, he just appeared there one day, and had spent the next tortuous decades trying to get out. It was part of the torture. Getting out was entirely possible. More than that, it was necessary.

The train had no regular schedule that he could discern (not at first, though he had always been good at finding patterns, and was eventually able to crack it) but it would make quite a few stops before finally returning to the Wrath ring. Souls inside the train were already angry and far too close to each other (close, so close not even air could squeeze in) but when they got really violent was when the train made a stop.

Getting out didn’t mean you were free, no matter where you managed it, be it Sloth or Gluttony, Pride or Lust. No, as soon as the train finished its journey, you would appear back inside, in Wrath where you belonged, suffocating once again, getting ready to claw your way out for the millionth time.

Because if you didn’t get out, The Conductor would get you.

If he thought about it calmly, Charles could probably say that he got out of the train more times than not. Still, being caught by The Conductor once was bad enough, as there was no coal in Hell, and something had to serve as combustible. Souls could not burn to death, and the whole journey always felt longer than eternity when he was caught. Once it was over, he would be inside again, and fight with more desperation than before, not caring who stayed inside so long as it wasn’t him.

He couldn’t understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t. But as the souls pushed and bit and clawed and punched their way out, Edwin boarded the train. And that wasn’t even the most groundbreaking revelation Charles had that day.

ko-fi

[jewishdainix]

I hate some smokers so much

[baneofboredom]

You're not right though. Vaping can in fact be dangerous for the people around you if they happen to be allergic to the primary ingredient of vape juice, like my mother and I both are. Propylene Glycol is USUALLY fine for people, but there's a small portion of the population that's horribly allergic to it and it gives us difficulty breathing.

But you're absolutely right about them being entirely sexless. I've seen some of the hottest guys look like dog shit because they hit a vape and suddenly this masculine mystique is ruined by a cloud of blue razz ice.

Cigarettes = bad for you and everyone near you but unfortunately the energies and visuals are extremely sexy and erotic. The scent of charred tar alone.

Vapes = bad for you and nobody else but the energies and visuals are extremely asexual and repelling. Even the idea of someone addicted to strawberry vape juice immediately makes anyone dry as the sahara desert. Free birth control

[teaboot]

SON MISTAKE: In teaching my cat son boy the command "out"- intended to mean, "emerge from the enclosed space"- I have unwittingly trained him to understand that if I open a box, cupboard, cabinet, or fridge in his presence, he need only rush inside and stay there, firmly planted with his wide wet baby eyes, and he will surely be granted the opportunity to earn a delightful little treat

[lilascribbles]

Dear people who smoke on the train despite the numerous clear signs and announcements that that action is illegal:

Fuck you. I want to do violence to you. Get off the fucking enclosed train to do that shit.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

How to impolitely tell these fuckwads on the subway that they're not the main characters of everyone's life??

[2006aquamarine]

one of my problematic opinions is that i don’t care about ppl in public playing their music outside

[rizzcom]

trapped

pairing: robin (dick grayson) x catwoman apprentice! reader

tags: mdni, fem reader, reader is a year older than dick, enemies to lovers¿?, dick calls reader “cat”, reader calls dick “birdie”/“baby”, very hormonal teens, dry humping, enclosed space, forced proximity, making out, groping, sub dick, thigh riding, praise, handjob, p in v, cowgirl, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is more “experienced” (lmk if i missed any)

You had never known stability. Not in the traditional sense.

Your earliest memories were of cold nights and empty pockets, of learning that in Gotham, you had to take what you wanted because no one was going to give it to you. And maybe that was why Selina Kyle took you in—because she saw something of herself in you.

From the moment Selina took you under her wing, normalcy became a foreign concept. She never pretended to be a mother, never showered you in words of affection, but she provided. She gave you food, a place to sleep, and most importantly—a purpose.

Life with her was exhilarating. Nights spent darting across Gotham’s rooftops, breaking into places you had no business being in, taking what you wanted simply because you could. Selina taught you everything—how to move unseen, how to pick locks with delicate precision, how to manipulate, how to charm.

And, of course, how to run.

But no matter how good you were, they were better.

Batman and Robin.

They were always there, always a step behind, always chasing.

Selina handled Batman, slipping through his grasp time and time again, leaving only whispered promises and stolen kisses in her wake.

And you? You were left to deal with Robin.

The first time you saw him, you nearly laughed.

A kid. Shorter than you, all bright colors and attitude, wearing a mask that barely hid the smugness in his expression.

Not like you were a kid yourself, right?

“You’re kidding,” You had said, eyeing the small figure in bright red, green, and yellow. “You’re Robin?”

From the way Selina warned you about Robin, you expected… something else.

Not this short, flamboyant boy in pixie boots and wearing that shit-eating grin.

Robin bristled at your tone, crossing his arms. “Yeah, and?”

“You just seem… smaller than I expected.”

He scoffed. “You’re, like, barely taller than me.”

You hummed, amused. “Still taller.”

It should’ve been easy. You’d spent months training under Selina, learning how to evade, how to slip through fingers like water. He was just a kid—a kid in bright colors, a cape to slow him down, and all energy and attitude.

But Robin was fast.

And relentless.

No matter how quick you were, how well you knew Gotham’s rooftops, he kept up. Every twist, every jump, he was right there, like a shadow that refused to be shaken.

He grinned through it all, like the chase itself was the fun part.

By the time you finally lost him—ducking into a hidden alley, heart pounding, breath sharp—you realized something.

You weren’t annoyed.

You were excited.

For the first time in your life, you were looking forward to something.

And it became a game.

Every time Selina clashed with Batman, you and Robin danced around each other, locked in your own little battle. He was all quips and acrobatics, relentless determination wrapped in bright colors, and you matched him move for move.

And then, somewhere along the way, over the years, the game changed.

It was subtle at first.

The way his hands lingered just a second too long when he grabbed you. The way his breath hitched when you leaned in, voice low and teasing.

And then, one night, after a particularly close chase—

“You’re slowing down, Birdie,” you teased, perched on the edge of a rooftop, looking down at him. “Getting tired of chasing me?”

Robin huffed, rolling his shoulders, the movement fluid yet tense, like he was shaking off exhaustion—or frustration. He was older now, no longer the scrawny kid you used to outrun on Gotham’s rooftops. He’d grown into himself, his frame broader, his stance more grounded, more sure. The suit, once bright and almost ridiculous in its vibrancy, seemed different now. The red looked richer, darker under the moonlight, the shadows clinging to the fabric, emphasizing the sharp angles of his body. His cape, now black and lined with gold, draped over his shoulders with an ease that made him seem more intimidating, more like a real threat than just Batman’s sidekick.

And then there was his voice—lower, rougher, with an edge that hadn’t been there before.

An edge that reminded you of Gotham’s Dark Knight.

Gone was the high-energy bravado of a kid playing hero. Now, when he spoke, there was weight behind his words, something firm, something undeniably commanding. It sent a strange thrill through you, though you’d never admit it.

“Who says I’m not letting you get away on purpose?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Awfully generous of you.”

“Maybe I like the chase,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze sharp. “Maybe I like you.”

The air shifted.

Your smirk didn’t waver, but your heart did.

For the first time, you didn’t have a quip ready.

And then, just as quickly as it came, the moment passed.

He grinned again, all mischief and ease, like he hadn’t just thrown a wrench into your entire world.

You rolled your eyes, shoving down whatever had just coiled in your chest. “You really should work on your flirting, Robin.”

“Is that a challenge?”

You leapt off the rooftop, and this time—

You let him catch you.

You were nineteen now.

It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful to Selina—she’d taken you in when you had nothing, taught you everything you knew. But you weren’t a stray kitten anymore. You had your own ambitions, your own scores to settle, and it was time you made a name for yourself.

Tonight was supposed to be the first step.

A simple break-in. A massive corporation with deep pockets and even deeper corruption. You weren’t just stealing from them—you were stealing leverage. Blackmail, blueprints, the kind of information that could buy you power.

Everything had been going smoothly—until he showed up.

“Still breaking into places you don’t belong?”

You didn’t need to turn around. You knew that voice—low, smug, and just the right amount of irritating.

Robin.

Or, as you liked to think of him now, Gotham’s Most Persistent Pain in the Ass.

You smirked, still focused on the files flickering across the computer screen. “You know me, Birdie. I just love a good challenge.”

“You’re getting sloppy,” he countered, stepping closer.

You caught his reflection in the screen—older now, taller. The bright colors of his suit had been traded for something darker, more tactical. His stance was solid, muscles tense, ready to spring.

You sighed dramatically. “You gonna fight me, or just lecture me to death?”

“I was thinking both.”

And then he moved.

You barely had time to react before he was on you, reaching for the drive in your hand. You twisted away, knocking over a chair in your retreat, and bolted.

The chase was on.

You darted through the office space, leaping over desks, twisting through narrow hallways, all while Robin stayed infuriatingly close. You could feel him at your heels, relentless as ever, and for the first time in a long time, you wondered if you might not shake him this time.

Then you saw it—a maintenance door left slightly ajar.

You shoved through, sprinting inside just as Robin reached for you. His fingers just barely caught the back of your jacket, and in his effort to stop you, he yanked.

Hard.

The force sent you both crashing through the doorway, tumbling down a short flight of metal stairs in a mess of limbs and curses.

You landed first, sprawled on your back against the cold floor. Robin landed on top of you, knocking the breath from your lungs as the door behind you slammed shut with an ominous clunk.

A silence settled.

“…Did you just tackle me down a flight of stairs?”

Dick groaned, pushing himself up slightly, bracing himself on his arms—his body still pressed against yours. His breath was warm against your cheek when he muttered, “You fell.”

“You pulled me.”

“You ran.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting slightly beneath him—only to realise just how close you were.

The space around you was tiny.

Metal shelves lined the walls, stacked with old equipment and cleaning supplies. The air was thick with dust and stale air, and the dim, flickering light overhead barely illuminated anything.

You and Dick were practically pressed against each other.

And worse?

The door wasn’t budging.

It’s like it automatically locked you both in the moment you entered.

Dick must’ve come to the same conclusion because he exhaled sharply, muttering a quiet, “Fantastic.”

You turned to face him, looking him up and down. “Aww. Trapped in a tiny, enclosed space with me? Try not to look so excited, Birdie.”

Dick clenched his jaw, shifting his weight, and—

Oh.

That was… interesting.

For the first time since you met him, he was the one who faltered. His breath hitched, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against your waist.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, voice dropping to a whisper. “Never been this close to a girl before?”

His gaze flickered to your lips before he caught himself, schooling his expression into something unimpressed. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh,” you hummed, tilting your head. “That’s why you’re still on top of me?”

Dick tensed. Then, with a sharp inhale, he pushed off you, moving to sit up—only to immediately hit his head against one of the low shelves with a dull thud.

You laughed.

Dick glared, rubbing the spot where he’d smacked his skull. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, of course.”

You pushed yourself up, stretching out your legs as much as the tiny space allowed. Dick was sitting against the opposite wall now, knees bent, arms resting over them. The space was too small for either of you to fully move without touching the other.

A slow smirk curled at your lips as an idea took root.

You shifted, closing the distance, swinging a leg over his to straddle his lap.

His whole body stiffened.

“W—What are you doing?” he asked, voice suddenly very unsteady.

“Getting comfortable,” you murmured, leaning in just slightly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

His breath shuddered.

This was new.

You’d spent years teasing him, pushing his buttons, testing his patience. But this—the way he was looking at you now, wide-eyed, breathless, trapped beneath you with nowhere to go—this was different.

You could feel the way his heart was racing.

You dragged your fingers down his chest, slow and deliberate. “Still think I’m getting sloppy?”

Dick exhaled shakily. “I—”

He stares unabashedly at the way your plush thighs brush against his sides when you shift to make yourself comfortable, he feels the way heavier breasts push against his chest as you leaned closer.

Dick wasn’t an idiot.

He knew you were doing this on purpose.

You can feel Dick’s eyes, despite it being hidden behind that damn domino mask of his. It was all over your face, and for a moment—you saw the way his breath hitch when his eyes landed on your lips.

That only fueled you more.

And without a second thought, you kissed him.

The second your lips met his, the tension snapped.

Dick made a quiet, desperate noise against your lips, his hands grasping at your waist, unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away. You made the decision for him.

His hesitation lasted seconds before he gave in, melting beneath you, responding with an eagerness that sent a thrill down your spine.

You nipped at his lower lip, earning a shuddered gasp, and God, you’d never seen him like this—needy, breathless, completely at your mercy.

“Is this what you wanted?” you murmured against his lips, your hips shifting just enough to make him choke on a breath.

His fingers dug into your sides as he struggles to maintain control.

He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “Fuck—Cat… no—” Despite the words, his body betrays his desire, hips twitching up to meet yours, his hands sliding up your back.

Dick kisses you again, soft and deep, pouring his desperation and desire into the embrace. And you didn’t waste a second to kiss him back, your hips slowly moving against his thigh, seeking out any sort of relief while also trying to provide Dick some.

And Dick—

He whimpered, soft and pathetic, adorable coming from him.

Your hand moved to cup his face, your thumb stroking along the soft skin of his cheek, leaning down to deepen the kiss.

"You're so pretty." You murmur softly, pulling away slightly to stare at him, your hand making its way to remove his mask. But Dick’s hand immediately caught your wrist, stopping you.

“N-no, wait, mask stays on, Cat. We can’t—“ He didn’t finish the sentence as you rolled your hips against him instead, body jerking in his hold. Somehow the gravity of the situation just stills in his head for a moment. “Shit, shit, wait—we should talk about this, right?”

“What’s there to talk about?” You mutter out, as you press kisses along his jawline. “You want this—I want this. We both want this, don’t you agree?”

You could feel his breath, ragged and shallow.

There was no escaping the sheer intensity of it. Every inch of his body was pushing into yours, and his movements—though tentative—were driven by an undeniable need. His hips, for all his effort to hold back, shifted instinctively, and for a brief second, you felt the unmistakable press of his body against yours. And in one swift motion, you removed his domino mask, tossing it aside as your eyes met his baby blue ones.

He looked at you with wide eyes, clearly torn between wanting to pull away and wanting more. You could practically hear his heart racing in the thick silence.

He swallowed hard. “I—” His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw it. The boyish cockiness was gone, replaced by something more raw, more real. He was trembling slightly, unsure but wanting, and it made something stir in your chest.

You slid your hands up his chest, fingers brushing over the outline of his suit, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the fabric. His reaction was immediate—he let out a quiet, shaky breath as his hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer.

He kissed you again, this time with more force, his lips hungry, as if he couldn’t get enough. His hands roamed, brushing against your sides, your waist, his fingers lightly pressing against the curves of your body. You could feel him struggling to stay in control, his movements growing more erratic, more desperate, but still so careful, as if he was afraid of pushing you too far.

“Damn it,” he muttered between kisses, his voice tight with frustration. “I hate that you’re making me lose control.”

You smiled against his lips, pulling back just slightly. “You don’t have to hate it, you know.”

His eyes met yours again, and there it was—vulnerable, unsure, but undeniably drawn to you. “I—” He paused, exhaling slowly, as if gathering his thoughts. “I want this. But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t have to know everything,” you said softly, running your hand down his chest once more. “Just go with it.”

Dick’s body reacted immediately, the way his hands moved to your back, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough. You could feel the desperation in him, the way his movements grew more fervent, more insistent, as if the moment had finally overtaken him.

There was something so intoxicating about it—the way he kissed you with such intensity, like every second he spent with you in this confined space only heightened the tension between you. You could feel his body pressing against yours, his every movement a silent invitation, a challenge. His hands, once hesitant, were now roaming freely, touching you with a fervor that made your heart race.

Dick reaches up with one hand to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple through the fabric of your suit, and you let out a guttural moan.

“That’s it, baby, don’t hold back.” You mumbled, your hand grabbing a fistful of his hair, tilting his head up to meet his lips once more.

And don’t hold back he did. His hand fondled with your clothed breast, while the other made its way to the zip on your back.

Dick's gaze lazily makes its way up your form, greedily taking in every inch. He gently bites down on his lower lip, face starting to look flushed as he lets his guard down. Bending forward, you close the distance between your mouths, nipping gently and taking that plush lower lip for yourself. He gasps, but gives as good as he gets, tonguing into you with a little groan. When he tries to take control and deepen the kiss, you smirk and pull back, drawing a pouty little sigh from him.

"Ah ah, birdie—let me do all the work, yeah?" You scold him. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his warm breath mixing with yours.

“I’m sorry, I just—” You placed a finger on his lips, clicking your tongue.

“Don’t apologise.” You murmur, lifting his head up as you start to press kisses all over his jawline once again, trailing down to his neck. Dick whines softly at the sudden shift, mewling your name.

He grinds against your clothed cunt, the fabric of your suits making it easier to hurriedly slide against each other.

Dick wishes he could feel how tightly you’d wrap around him instead of this but he needed release now, and this was the quickest way to get it.

But you notice his neediness.

You noticed how much he was aching to be inside of you.

He was bucking into you desperately, moving his hands to grope your tits and roll your nipples between his fingers.

“There you go… Good boy, keep going.” You whisper, your hand trailing down to the hem of his pants, tugging at it.

Dick inhales sharply as he feels your fingers brushing against the waistband of his pants, his hips twitching in anticipation. He's breathing heavily now, chest rising and falling rapidly against yours.

“Ah fuck…” His voice is strained, torn between wanting to give in completely and the lingering hesitation. “I want to... but we should... shit.. but we should be careful.”

You tilt your head at that, your hand resting against his growing arousal, rubbing against it painstakingly slow. “And where’s the fun in that?”

Fuck.

Despite his words, his hips lift slightly, seeking more of your touch. “Please, just... let me...” He swallows hard, hands gripping your waist as he looks up at you with hazy, desire-filled eyes. “...let me make you feel good.” His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your bottom, brushing against the bare skin of your stomach, leaving tingles in their wake.

“Tell me what you want. I'll do anything... anything you want.” His voice is a needy whisper, one you knew you couldn’t resist now.

Your eyes darken with lust as you take in the sight of Dick beneath you, seeing the desperation etched into every line of his body. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his heart is pounding against your chest, the tremble of his fingers as they dig into the fabric of your suit.

Slowly, teasingly, you slide your hand lower, palming the growing bulge in his pants. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining against the confines of his costume.

Dick lets out a strangled groan, his hips bucking up into your touch, seeking more friction.

Boldly, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants and slowly, torturously, begin to tug them down. The fabric resistive at first, but with a final, sharp tug, you yank them down, exposing his bare skin to the cool air of the room.

Dick's cock springs free, long and cute and perfect, the tip already glistening with precum. It twitches as the air hits it, and you can't help but lick your lips at the sight. You wrap your hand around his shaft, feeling the weight of him, the heat, the way he pulses in your grip.

Dick is panting now, his eyes glazed over with lust as he stares up at you, taking in the sight of you looming over him, his cock in your hand. He looks wrecked, destroyed, completely at your mercy, and it sends a thrill through you, a rush of power and desire.

You stroke him slowly, teasingly, watching as he writhes beneath you, his body arching into your touch. You can feel him leaking more, his cock throbbing in your hand, and you know he won't last much longer at this rate.

So you lean down, your breasts brushing against his chest as you murmur in his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “That's it, baby... just like that. You feel so good... I can't wait to taste you.”

You take your time, stroking him with long, deliberate movements from base to tip. Your hand is soft and warm, encircling his thick shaft completely as you work him over. You can feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbs and twitches in your grip.

Dick's breath comes in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he struggles to maintain control. His eyes flutter shut, brows furrowed in concentration, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Soft, breathless moans spill from his lips with every upward stroke, the sounds growing louder, more desperate as you continue your ministrations.

As you pick up the pace, pumping him faster, his reactions become more intense. His hips start to lift, meeting your strokes, fucking up into your fist with a desperate hunger. Quiet, strangled moans spill from his lips, each one making your own desire peak in response.

“Fuck... Dickie, you like that, huh? Like how you’re fucking my fist, don’t you? Such a good boy..”

You watch, as Dick’s face contorts with pleasure. His brows furrow, teeth sinking into his lower lip hard enough to leave indentations. The tendons in his neck strain as his head tips back, throat bared to you in a silent offering. His eyes, when they meet yours, are hazy and dark, the blue of his irises nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils.

The wet sounds of your hand moving over his cock fill the small space, obscenely loud in the charged silence. You can feel him leaking more, his precum making your strokes slicker, easier. His cock is red and angry, the head an almost painful shade of pink, the slit weeping with his desire.

You lean down, your breasts brushing against his heaving chest as you bring your mouth to his ear. Your lips brush the shell of it as you whisper, your voice low and heavy with lust. “That's it, baby... doesn't it feel good? Doesn't it feel amazing to have my hand wrapped around this big and needy cock of yours? I can feel how much you want it... how much you want me...”

Dick shudders, his body wracking with sensation as he listens to your words. A broken whimper escapes him, his voice hoarse and wrecked as he manages to gasp out, “F-Fuck… please, (Name)… I need you so bad…”

You never knew how much you needed him begging for you until now. And god did it feel good.

You can feel his desperation, his absolute need for release. And you're going to make him work for it. Slowly, torturously, you increase the speed of your strokes, squeezing just a bit tighter, twisting your wrist on the upstroke.

Dick is panting now, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. His face is flushed, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched tight as he tries to hold back. But you can see the way his body is tensing, the way his cock is throbbing harder, leaking more steadily against your palm.

“(Name)... I can't... I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna...” His words dissolve into a guttural moan, his entire body going rigid.

You feel his cock throb and twitch in your grip, and then with a hoarse cry of your name, he's coming undone. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupt from his cock, painting your hand and his stomach with his release. His body shudders and jerks through each wave of pleasure, his hand gripping yours like a vice.

You work him through it, stroking him through each aftershock, feeling his cock pulse and twitch against your fingers until finally, he collapses back against the wall, chest heaving, skin sheened with sweat. He looks utterly debauched, hair disheveled, lips kiss-swollen and parted around shallow breaths. His eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, struggling to regain some semblance of coherence.

Slowly, you bring your hand up to your mouth, making a show of licking his spend from your fingers, my tongue swirling around each digit, ensuring he can see every last bit of him disappearing between your lips. Dick watches closely, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, a fresh wave of desire washing over his eyes as he takes in the sight of you licking his cum off your hand.

“Mmm, you taste good, Dick,” You purr, wrapping your hand around his re-hardening shaft, giving him a slow, teasing stroke. “I could get used to this view—you, all wrecked and wanting, cock throbbing and ready to go again already.” You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, “You really are an overachiever, aren't you?”

You can feel him shiver against you, his hips lifting slightly into your touch. You grin, pulling back to look at him with a wicked gleam in your eyes. Then, slowly, you reach back and unzip the rest of your suit, peeling the tight material down your body until you’re just left in your panties.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband and tug them down, baring your dripping cunt to his hungry gaze.

Dick's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you, his tongue licking his lips as he stares at your glistening folds. You grab his hand, guiding it between your legs, pressing his fingers against your aching clit. He inhales sharply at the contact, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coating his digits.

“Fuck, (Name).…you're so wet.” He breathes, his fingers starting to move on their own, stroking along your slit, feeling how ready you are for him. “Is this...is this because of me?”

You moan softly, rolling your hips against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. “Yes, birdie...it's all for you,” You gasp, your head falling back as his fingers find a particularly sensitive spot. “I'm so fucking turned on right now, and it's all because of you.”

You reach down and grab his wrist, guiding his hand to move faster, to press harder against your clit. You grind against him, coating his fingers in your slick arousal, your body trembling with need. You can feel how hard he is, his cock throbbing and leaking against your ass, and you know he wants you just as badly.

Without warning, you shift your hips, positioning yourself so that the head of his cock brushes against your entrance. You feel him gasp, his fingers pausing in their movements as he realizes what you’re about to do. You look down at him, your expression one of pure, unadulterated lust, and then you sink down.

You take him in inch by delicious inch, your walls stretching around his thick length, wrapping him in your tight, wet heat. You both moan at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces, made to be joined like this. You don't stop until you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside your clit, pressing against his pelvis.

“Oh fuck, Dick...” You whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to move, rolling your hips in a slow, sensual grind. “You feel so fucking good inside me.”

Your words seem to spur him on, and he starts to thrust up to meet you, his hips lifting off the ground to drive his cock deeper into your needy cunt. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, your moans and cries of pleasure echoing off the metal walls. You can feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, and you know he won't last much longer.

“Come on, baby,” You pant, your voice high and breathless as you ride him harder, faster, chasing your own release. “Come inside me. I want to feel you come inside me, Dick. Please...please come for me.”

With a final, harsh thrust, you grind down against Dick. His eyes widen as he feels your walls clench around him, your words pushing him over the edge.

He pistons his hips up harder, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each punishing thrust. He leans in, burying his face between your breasts, his mask brushing against your skin as he suckles and nips at the soft mounds, leaving marks of possession in his wake.

“Fuck, (Name)...you feel too good,” he pants against your skin, his voice a low, guttural rasp. “So good...”

His words dissolve into a strangled moan as his thrusts become erratic, losing their rhythm as he teeters on the brink of climax. He's so close, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside your clenching walls, your arousal dripping down his shaft with each thrust.

“Ngh— fuck..” he hisses out, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he holds you down, making sure you take every last drop of his seed. You can feel the hot, thick ropes of his release painting your insides, dripping down onto his lap and the floor below, filling you up just as you'd begged him to do.

You're both panting hard, chests heaving as you come down from your highs. You slump against his chest, completely spent, your body still twitching with the aftershocks. Dick's arms wrap around you, holding you close, his face buried in your hair as he tries to catch his breath.

You can't help but smile, cupping his face in your hands and pulling him in for a slow, deep kiss. You pour all of your satisfaction, all of your desire, all of your growing feelings for him into that kiss. When you finally pull away, you're both smiling, both looking at each other like you can't quite believe this is real.

But then, Dick's eyes widen in realization as the final pulses of his release subside, his softening cock still buried deep inside your fluttering heat. A look of panic flashes across his face beneath the mask as the gravity of what just happened sinks in.

“I...fuck, I'm so sorry,” he starts, voice shaking with remorse. “I didn't mean to... shit, I shouldn't have...”

But you silence him with a searing kiss, your lips crashing against his in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of apologies. You pour every ounce of passion and hunger into the kiss, your tongue delving into his mouth, tangling with his own. For a moment, Dick is stunned, his body stilling beneath you as he allows you to plunder his mouth.

When you finally pull back, your chests heaving, you fix him with a stern look. “Didn't I tell you not to apologise?” you demand, voice low and firm. “I know exactly what I wanted, and I wanted this. I wanted to feel you come inside me, Dick.”

Dick swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “But I didn't use a condom,” he argues weakly. “I could have...we could have...”

You place a finger against his lips, silencing him once more. “Shh. I know the risks. But where’s the fun in not taking them?”

Dick's eyes search yours, a war raging behind those hidden depths. Slowly, hesitantly, he nods, your finger falling away from his lips. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Fine, you win, Cat.”

A slow, shy smile curves your lips as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his jaw, your body still nestled against his, his release cooling inside you. “Good,” you whisper against his skin. “Because I think we're going to be stuck in here for a while,” you say with a grin, glancing around at the small, enclosed space. “You’re going to have to deal with me a little longer, Robin.”

Dick laughs, a real, genuine sound that makes your heart flutter in your chest, his hands sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. “You're insatiable,” he accuses, but there's no bite to his words, only a grudging sort of awe.

“But I think I can handle that,” he says, pulling you down for another kiss. “Especially if it means more of this.”

You nipped at his earlobe before soothing it with your tongue.

“You're just now figuring that out?”

—

Safe to say, Batman found you both a few hours later, and him and Selina lectured you both about the need for protection. (At least you were on the pill.)

All Rights Reserved © Works are exclusive to this Tumblr

[angelsforthenight]

take care of me…

ellie williams x fem! reader

cw: mdni, modern AU, sub! ellie, dom! reader, loser!ellie, established relationship, use of vibrator, cunnilingus, slight degrading, overstimulation, bush! ellie 🤑, begging, crying, cursing, sub-space, aftercare + some fluff at the end :3

WHAT IS SUB-SPACE? sub-space is an altered state of consciousness that can happen during BDSM play. typically it’s when the bottom gets all high and floaty. subs in subspace may have a higher pain tolerance, have difficulty speaking, and lose all sense of time.

“nn—nnhhh… i can’t— i can’t, y/n, please.” ellie gasps out, on the cusp of release. she feels too much, too overwhelmed by the plethora of different sensations. grabbing your hair for some sort of anchor, her jaw falls slack: pathetic whines and pleasured sobs tumbling from her lips as they melt against the loud humming of the vibrator nudged against her clit. and your mouth only keeps moving.

hold on, run that back. wanna know how you got here?

“babe, i’m not even kidding, i think i ripped out a tastebud.” ellie’s been complaining about this for the entire day, but doing nothing about it. to be frank, it’s been pissing you off a little. ellie could just as well get up and take a look in the mirror for herself, but for some reason she insists on you checking it out.

this isn’t the first time you’ve had to play doctor. don’t get it twisted, it’s cute! having to take care of your girlfriend is a gift you want to keep safe in an enclosed haven. but only when something has actually happened.

when false alarms happen one too many times, it’s only natural you get at least a little annoyed, and you’re very positive that this moment is another one of that case, yet you never seem to get enough. you set the book you were reading down, sitting up on your bed.

“let me see.” you sigh, placing your fingers on her chin, tilting her head up. ellie sticks her tongue out and to no surprise at all, there’s nothing.

“you’re kidding me, right?”

“what? no! i just hurt my tongue so bad trying to shred the guitar!” ellie says defensively.

“well then you’re stupid.” you laugh, “who the hell does that?”

“jimi hendrix does…” she mumbles sullenly, hanging her head low and so very clearly trying to make you pity her and give in. and alas, it’s working.

“stop pouting and come here.” you roll your eyes, even if there’s a hint of a smile on your lips. ellie lights up too, shuffling closer and opening her mouth again.

you scrutinise your stare. it’s a little red, yes, but that’s the entire tip of her tongue. if ellie ripped out a tastebud like she claims she did, she would have at least been bleeding a little bit.

meanwhile, ellie keeps her eyes trained on you. it’s so quiet in the room apart from the whirring fan noises and the sounds of cars driving past every now and then. she likes seeing you all focused, with your attention on nothing else but her. secretly, that’s why she’s always pestering you about meaningless injuries.

“you didn’t tell me where…” you murmur, but you leave no space for her to respond when you clamp her tongue down with your thumb and forefinger; pulling her tongue down a little further so you can get a closer look. the pad of your thumb drags across it to feel something, even if you don’t know what it is you’re really looking for. ellie’s caught off guard by this move. in fact, it projects her into this sudden state of being very aware of what you two are doing, the feel of your fingers in her mouth, on her tongue. she can’t help but fidget, getting distracted.

“don’t move.” you mutter, oblivious to the way ellie’s feeling. that firm command stirs her up even more, her breathing uncontrollably growing heavier. she tries to lock in, but with the way she’s suddenly conscious? horny? fuuuck, it’s difficult. you feel her hot breath fan against your knuckles.

“if you ripped out a tastebud then you would’ve been bleed—“ you trail off in the middle of your sentence when you glance up at ellie. her cheeks are a light shade of pink, prominent even under the warm amber glow of your bedroom lamp lights. her eyebrows are arched upwards, staring at you with this helpless look on her face. she looks so, undeniably pathetic. surprised, you let go of her tongue.

ellie looks away, wiping her mouth with her fist. you realise she’s very faintly trembling.

“ellie…” you murmur softly.

“what are we gonna have for dinner, by the way? you cooked yesterday but i’m very shit at cooking so we could order door-dash but at the same time we did door-dash the day before yesterday and the day before-before so..” she begins to ramble, clearly flustered and embarrassed. you smile.

“ellie.” you say again, taking her hands in yours. she pauses, staring at you. her chest heaves, eyes all big and yielding.

“let’s do this again, ‘kay? wanna tell me what you really want?” you say slowly, and the way your tone is soft makes ellie’s head feel foggy. she takes a deep breath, which almost sounds like a whine.

“i… um…” ellie’s always had trouble communicating what she wants. she avoids your gaze, trying to find the right words to say. she feels like a glop of slime, slowly melting. you give her an encouraging smile, brushing your thumb against the back of her palm in repeated back and forth motions.

“i want you… to, um— i need you to take care of me.” her voice crackles with neediness, urgency laced in her tone. her lips are quivering. you can tell how bad she wants this, but you can’t help but prod her some more.

“take care of you how? lots of ways i can do that.” your voice is consistently soft, almost cooing. ellie’s mind keeps on slipping into this hazy state, lips quivering and eyes half-slits.

“y-you know. i don’t have to tell you…”

“damn right you do.” you tut. “you’re gonna use your words and tell me what you want. i’m not inside your brain now, am i?” the slight change in tone makes ellie flinch, as she’d quite frankly die before disappointing you. you can literally see the cogs in her head moving, calculating what to say so that you’re able to give her what she wants and simultaneously not being bad.

her eyebrows arch again, subtly scooting even closer to you so that her knees are pressed directly against yours.

“can we… uh… like, have sex? like you touching me and stuff?” she whispers, as if somebody else could hear. you initially try to stifle in your laughter, but it slips out.

“oh yeah? how do you want it?” you giggle, amused by the way ellie’s fumbling over her words and constructing her sentences in this weird, adorable way. ellie scowls, not finding this the least bit funny.

“stop laughing at me.”

“how do you want it?” you repeat, grinning.

“i don’t know, you can do anything you want… just… please. i need to cum.” ellie groans, but it sounds more like a helpless mewl. you stare at her whilst ellie fidgets in her seat, eyes repeatedly flicking between your eyes, your lips and your lap. you can’t help but ‘awww’ in pity.

“anything, yeah? don’t hold your word against me, okay?” you raise your brows, expecting a response. ellie shudders in excitement.

“okay.”

so next thing you know, you two are kissing whilst ellie’s propped up on your lap. you’re aware of how she's grinding on you; trying to give herself flickers of stimulation. you let it happen, occasionally teasing her by bucking your own hips up. whenever you do so, ellie has a hard time kissing you back, losing composure and moaning in your mouth. it’s the hottest thing.

you pull away so you can marvel at the look on ellie’s face; quietly panting for breath whilst she stares at you with the most pliant look. so malleable it’s as if you could bend her into anything you wanted with just a command.

you smush your lips against hers again, only you’re more greedy this time: pushing forwards so you both drop onto the bed. you intertwine your fingers with hers, peppering wet kisses on her neck. the way your lips tug on her skin compiles ellie into mush, with no thoughts running through her head. she whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as her back arches, chest against chest. you continue to administer neck-kisses, leaving a few selfish marks whilst your free hand slowly inches it’s way towards ellie’s pants, tugging it down. ellie’s in her own world: wriggling free from the confines of her sweatpants as her head lolls against the pillow. next, your hand quietly reaches for the drawer. ellie’s eyes are closed, so she doesn’t realise when you pull out a vibrator with the head of a cute bear. you bite your lip, stifling in your amused excitement when you press the machine against ellie’s clothed cunt. ellie harshly gasps, eyes flying open before groaning.

“oh, i fucking hate you…” she laughs, head plopping back down, “you just had… to go for the— stupid bear one…” her words keep on getting broken up by moans slipping out.

“do you like this?” you grin. a wet spot slowly fades in the centre of ellie’s underwear. ellie whines when you heighten the setting. “yes or no?”

“yes….” ellie squeaks. “can we… t-take… aaah…” ellie’s having a hard time speaking with the vibrator flush against her. her underwear is growing wetter and wetter, outlining her vulva clearly. her stomach tightens.

“hmmmm?” ellie’s thighs twitch in delight at the sensation, back arching as she seeks out for more.

“my underwear… take it off, please.” she gasps out, her entire body buzzing. you turn the vibrator off so she has time to breathe, deciding to be nice for now: serving as a prior make-up for how much you’re going to ruin the poor girl. that’s why you do what she’s asked of you, slowly pulling off her undies. ellie shivers at the way it rolls down her legs, twitching at the air fanning her now bare cunt. your place your hand at the top of her mound, fingers spreading through her pubes as your thumb grazes against her folds, slightly opening it and watching as the juices eagerly flow out. you unconsciously lick your lips, pupils darkening. ellie watches you and blushes.

“you’re this needy? just ‘cuz of the tongue thing?” you taunt whilst ellie whines in response. you dip your head in between her legs, tongue flicking out to get a taste. “ohhhh my god, yesyesyesyes…” ellie whispers. you’re hungry, munching on her pussy like you’ve been starving for damn near weeks. ellie’s back flies off the bed, her hands desperately gripping the sheets.

“pathetic…” you mumble, and ellie moans at the way the word thrums against her pussy, sending vibrations in her entire body. her moans unabashedly rip out of her lips at the way you kiss and suck her heat. the frenzy consumes her, as her body jerks uncontrollably. to induce the cruelty, you suddenly pause: an idea flicking through your head like a light bulb.

“i’m really gonna mess you up. sorry, baby…” you murmur but ellie couldn’t care any less, so goddamn needy for release she’ll accept anything you give her. you grab the discarded bear-head and press down against her clit, the setting even higher than last time. it elicits loud reactions from ellie, helpless whimpers tumbling from her lips as she receives thrum after thrums of pleasure.

to make matters (better) worse, you resume your pussy-licking, so ellie can feel both the vibrator and your lips on her mound. ellie cries out, thighs instinctively trying to close themselves up. your hand firmly presses down on her thigh, keeping them open.

“nn—nnhhh… i can’t— i can’t, y/n, please.” ellie gasps out, on the cusp of release. she feels too much, too overwhelmed by the plethora of different sensations. grabbing your hair for some sort of anchor, her jaw falls slack: pathetic whines and pleasured sobs tumbling from her lips as they melt against the loud humming of the vibrator nudged against her clit. and your mouth only keeps moving.

you’re putting the work in, going to town on her and really fucking her up. thick tears stream down her face from how insanely good it all feels, her entire body twitching and jolting. your tongue laps strongly, whilst the vibrator is on the highest setting it can be. ellie’s bordering on becoming animalistic, letting out grunts and loud moans.

“g-gonna cum.. —cumming, i’m cumming..” ellie babbles pathetically, seldom coherent. jolting sharply, she grips your hair tightly, in which you groan from the slight pain, as you feel her warm juices flowing in your mouth. ellie pants as you turn the bear-head off, lifting your head up to glance at ellie.

you did succeed in breaking the hell out of her. there’s a heavy, dazed look written across her face; eyes glazed-over and as if she’s not really here. she looks boneless yet plush. you lift yourself up, gazing at her softly. it’s understandable she’s entered into sub-space after what they’ve just done.

“oh, baby…” you whisper, lifting her up so you two are sitting. ellie complies silently, weakly wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face in the crook of your neck. there is no train of thought running through her head, and it’s almost as if she’s unconscious whilst fully awake. you run your fingers through her hair, kissing her head.

“my sweet girl… you did so good. so proud of you.” you whisper in her ear. ellie hums in response, burying her face even more. she’s all blissed out, liking the way the tip of your nails dance across her scalp. it makes her feel safe, but most of all loved.

hours later, when you two do end up ordering door-dash for the third time this week, ellie ends up flatly denying the state she had been in earlier.

“nope. no idea what you’re talking about.” she says, yet unable to hide her sheepish smile.

a/n: my singular contribution to kinktober 🧎‍♀️also i am a suuuuucker for sub! ellie like i was so giggly writing this!!! lmk if u were too (˶˃ᆺ˂˶)!!

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEMERGENCY CONTACT * SPENCER REID

SUMMARY　::　Where Y/N is between life and death during a case, and the team needs to call her emergency contact, but she doesn't have one. Not until now.

FEATURING　Spencer Reid x reader　　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　Use of gun, blood, getting shot, pain, usual CM violence (but nothing too violent).

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The evening was heavy with anticipation as Y/N and Morgan made their way through the dilapidated house. The floorboards creaked under their weight, and the air was thick with dust and tension. They moved cautiously, guns drawn, every sense on high alert.

The house, an old Victorian relic on the outskirts of town, was supposed to be abandoned, but they knew better. The unsub they were hunting had been using it as his hideout, his lair.

It was dark. Only the faint glow from a few broken windows offered any light. Shadows clung to the corners, making the already narrow hallways feel like tunnels into oblivion.

Morgan's eyes flicked over to Y/N as they moved silently down the hall. Her jaw was set in a hard line, her eyes scanning every inch of the space before them. They’d been partners long enough that he could read the tension in her posture, the way her fingers gripped her gun just a little tighter than usual. He gave her a slight nod, a silent assurance that they were in this together. Y/N returned the nod, her lips pressed into a thin line. They both knew what was at stake.

As they approached the doorway, leading to what looked like a kitchen, Morgan gestured for Y/N to take the lead, deciding to look into the hallway. She nodded and moved forward, peeking around the corner. Her heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Everything was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that screamed trouble. She took a cautious step into the room, her gun leading the way, eyes darting to every possible hiding spot.

The silence was broken by the faintest creak behind her. Before she could react, a figure lunged from the shadows, catching her off guard. Y/N whipped around, finger already on the trigger. In her haste, she fired a shot into the darkness, the bullet embedding itself harmlessly into a corner.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space, and in that split second of chaos, the unsub took advantage. He moved like a snake, slithering out of the shadows, his hand shooting out to grab Y/N’s gun. His grip was iron-clad, and he twisted her arm, forcing her to drop her weapon.

"Y/N!" Morgan's voice came loudly from a closer room, the sound of his steps heavy and quick approached where the one from her gun came.

Y/N barely had time to register what was happening before she felt the cold, unforgiving metal of her own gun pressed against her temple. Her breath hitched, her heart racing as she looked into the eyes of the unsub. They were wild, manic, and pupils dilated with a dangerous mix of adrenaline and rage. His face was contorted into a sneer, lips pulled back to reveal yellowing teeth.

"Morgan!" Y/N called out, her voice steady but with a layer of fear and frustration. She knew he was right behind her, and sure enough, within seconds, Morgan burst into the room, his gun trained on the unsub. His dark eyes were fierce, anger simmering just beneath the surface as he took in the scene before him.

"Put the gun down and let her go. Now." Morgan commanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He took a step forward, his gun unwavering, trained directly on the unsub’s head.

The unsub’s grip on Y/N tightened, his fingers digging into her skin. He pressed the barrel of the gun harder against her temple, causing her to wince.

"Back off, or I’ll blow her brains out!" He screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. His eyes darted around the room, wild and erratic, as if searching for an escape. But there was none. He was cornered, and he knew it. "You petty agents have destroyed all my plans, and now one of you will have to pay for it."

Morgan’s heart pounded, his mind racing. He could see Y/N’s fear, her eyes wide, her breathing shallow. He needed to calm the unsub down to de-escalate the situation.

"Hey, hey." He said, his tone softening just a fraction, trying to project calm. "You don’t want to do this. Just let her go, and we can talk about this. We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to hurt anyone else."

The unsub laughed, a harsh, bitter sound.

"You think I’m stupid?" He spat, his voice dripping with venom. "I let her go, you’ll just shoot me! I’m not going to jail! I’m not going back there!" His hand trembled, and Y/N felt the gun shake against her temple, pressing her lips in a thin line.

Morgan clenched his jaw, his eyes flicking between the unsub and Y/N. He could see the terror in her eyes, the way she was trying to stay calm, to not make any sudden movements.

"Nobody has to go to jail." Morgan said, trying to keep his voice steady, soothing. "We can figure something out. Just let her go, okay? Let’s talk about this."

The unsub was breathing hard, his chest heaving. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something that he could do or use. Morgan could see the panic setting in, the way his grip on Y/N tightened. This was a man on the edge, teetering on the brink of madness.

"Don’t come any closer!" The unsub yelled, his voice cracking. "I swear to God, I’ll shoot her!" His hand twitched, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"Okay, okay." Morgan said quickly, taking a small step back, raising his hands slightly to show he wasn’t a threat. "I’m not moving. Just... take it easy, alright? We don’t want anyone to get hurt."

Y/N’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. She could feel the unsub’s breath on her neck, hot and fast. She knew she had to do something, anything, to distract him, to give Morgan a chance.

"You don’t have to do this." She said softly, trying to keep her voice calm. "Please. Just let me go. We can help you. Whatever it is, I can help."

The unsub’s eyes snapped to hers, his face twisting into a snarl.

"Shut up!" He screamed, his voice breaking. "Just shut up, you bitch!" His hand shook, and Y/N could feel the gun pressing harder against her skin, her eyes closing tightly with the feeling.

Morgan saw the movement, saw the unsub’s finger twitching on the trigger, and his heart lurched.

"Don’t!" He shouted, taking a step forward. "Don’t do it!"

The unsub’s eyes were wild, his grip on Y/N tightening as he shouted back.

"Stay back! I’ll do it! I’ll shoot her!"

It all happened so fast. One moment, they were yelling, voices overlapping in a desperate cacophony, and the next, there was a deafening bang. Y/N felt a searing pain in her right shoulder, too close to her neck, the force of the bullet knocking her off balance.

A scream tore from her throat as she crumpled to the ground, her vision blurring with tears. The pain was excruciating, a white-hot agony that radiated through her entire body.

She had forgotten how much a gunshot hurt.

In that split second, Morgan’s instincts kicked in. He raised his gun and fired three times. The bullets hit its marks, striking the unsub in the head. The force of the shot sent him reeling backward, his grip on the gun slackening. He hit the ground with a dull thud, blood pooling beneath his head, his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

The unsub’s lower body fell against Y/N, pressing her more to the ground. She let out a choked sob, her hands clutching at her bleeding shoulder. Morgan was at her side in an instant, shoving the unsub’s body away and pressing his hands to her wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

"Y/N, stay with me." Morgan said, his voice shaking, his hands slick with her blood. “Come on, mama, stay with me. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here." His heart was pounding, fear clawing at his chest as he looked down at her pale face, her eyes fluttering closed.

His hands were slick with Y/N's blood, his mind racing as he tried to maintain pressure on her wound. Her skin was pale, her breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Each second felt like an eternity, stretching out in a nightmarish haze. He could feel her slipping away, and the thought clawed at his heart, sending a chill of dread through him. He needed help, and he needed it now.

He reached up with one hand, pressing the button on his earpiece, his voice urgent and strained.

"This is Agent Derek Morgan! We have an agent down! Y/N’s been shot, I repeat, Y/N’s been shot! I need paramedics at our location, now!" His voice cracked, the fear breaking through his usually calm, composed demeanor.

There was a crackle of static in his ear, then Hotch’s voice came through, sharp and controlled.

"Morgan, what’s her status?"

Morgan looked down at Y/N, her eyes fluttering as she fought to stay conscious.

"It’s bad, Hotch. She’s been shot in the shoulder, too close to her neck, and she’s losing a lot of blood. We need those paramedics." His voice broke on the last word, the helplessness clawing at him. "The unsub is dead..."

"Hold on, Morgan, they’re on their way." Hotch said, his voice a calming presence even over the comms. "Keep her conscious if you can."

Morgan nodded, even though Hotch couldn’t see him.

"You hear that, Y/N? You stay with me, okay? Don’t you close your eyes. Help is coming." He squeezed her hand, willing her to hold on.

Y/N’s eyes flickered open, pain clouding her vision.

"Morgan... it hurts... like a bitch." She whispered, her voice weak, barely more than a breath.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." Morgan said, his heart breaking at the pain in her voice. "Just hang on a little longer. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you out of here." He kept his hands pressed against her wound, feeling the warmth of her blood seeping through his fingers, his own heart beating wildly in his chest.

Minutes stretched on like hours, but finally, the distant wail of sirens reached Morgan’s ears. He breathed a sigh of relief as the sound grew louder, closer.

The paramedics burst into the room before the cops - who ran directly to the unsub's dead body -, their faces a mix of professionalism and urgency. They moved quickly, efficiently, setting up a gurney and pushing Morgan aside to assess Y/N’s condition.

"She’s been shot in the shoulder." Morgan said, his voice tight with anxiety. "She’s lost a lot of blood."

One of the paramedics nodded, already working to stem the bleeding.

"We’ll take it from here, Agent. You did good."

Morgan stepped back, his hands stained red, watching as they worked. His heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat of fear. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Hotch, his expression grim but steady.

"The rest of the team is on their way." Hotch said quietly. "You did everything you could, Morgan."

Morgan nodded, his throat tight. He wanted to believe Hotch, but the sight of Y/N lying on the floor, her life seeping out of her with every passing second, was almost too much to bear.

The sound of hurried footsteps filled the air as the rest of the team arrived. Emily, Rossi, and Reid rushed into the room, their faces masks of shock and concern. Reid’s eyes locked onto Y/N, and in an instant, his expression changed from one of worry to one of anger.

"What the hell happened?" Reid demanded, his voice a harsh, angry whisper. His eyes were blazing, fists clenched at his sides. He looked from Y/N to Morgan, fury and fear mingling in his gaze. "How could you let this happen?"

Morgan’s jaw tightened, guilt and frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"Reid, it was-"

"You were supposed to protect her!" Reid shouted, taking a step toward Morgan, his face a mask of barely contained rage. "How could you let her get hurt?"

Morgan’s eyes flashed with his own anger, his voice rising to meet Reid’s.

"You think I wanted this? You think I’m not tearing myself apart over what happened? I was right here, Reid! I did everything I could!"

"Enough!" Emily’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. She stepped between them, her eyes darting between Reid and Morgan. "This isn’t helping anyone. We need to focus on Y/N right now. Fighting like teenagers isn’t going to change what happened."

Reid’s chest heaved, his fists still clenched. He looked from Morgan to Y/N, his anger melting into something softer, more vulnerable. The pain in his eyes was palpable, his hands shaking as he fought to control his emotions.

"Hotch, we need to call her emergency contact. They need to know and be here for whatever they will have to do to keep her alive." Rossi's voice echoed for the first time, his eyes focused entirely on Y/N's form.

Hotch’s brows furrowed, a distant look crossing his face as he tried to recall the information. He shook his head slowly, his voice heavy.

"Y/N doesn’t have an emergency contact listed in her files."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Reid’s face fell, the anger replaced by a deep, aching sadness. He knew what it was like to not have an emergency contact, to not have anyone close enough that you could count on when, well, an emergency happens.

"No..." He whispered, almost to himself. "No, that can’t be..."

He looked at Y/N, her face pale and still, and something inside him snapped. Without thinking, he spoke again, his voice firm, resolute.

"I’ll be her emergency contact." He turned to Hotch, his eyes burning with determination. "Isn’t that possible? I can do that, right?"

Hotch hesitated, knowing the protocols, the paperwork, and the formalities that were required. But as he looked into Reid’s eyes, he knew there was no question. The team was family, and in moments like this, family came first. He nodded slowly, his voice quiet but firm.

"Yes, Reid. You can be her emergency contact. For now."

Relief washed over Reid, his shoulders sagging. He turned back to Y/N, moving to her side as the paramedics lifted her onto the gurney. He reached out, taking her hand, squeezing it gently.

"I’m right here, Y/N." He whispered, his voice trembling. "I’m not going anywhere."

The paramedics nodded to Reid, indicating he could ride with them. Reid climbed into the back of the ambulance, never letting go of Y/N’s hand, his heart breaking at the sight of her so fragile, so still. The ambulance doors closed, and within seconds, they were speeding toward the hospital, sirens blaring.

As the ambulance sped away, Morgan stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the disappearing vehicle, his hands still stained with Y/N’s blood. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Hotch, his expression somber.

"We’ll meet them at the hospital." Hotch said quietly. "She’s going to need all of us."

Morgan nodded, his heart heavy with guilt and fear.

"I should have made more." He said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Hotch squeezed his shoulder, a rare show of comfort.

"You did everything you could, Morgan. Now we have to hope she pulls through."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound that filled the room, a constant reminder that Y/N was alive, stable, and recovering. The sterile scent of the hospital lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

Spencer sat on the small couch beside Y/N’s bed, his lanky form folded into the uncomfortable seat, eyes fixed on her pale face. He hadn’t moved in hours, not since they’d brought her out of surgery and told him she would be okay.

His heart had been in his throat then, relief flooding his system, washing over him in waves so strong he’d almost collapsed. But now, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving him exhausted, drained, his mind a whirl of thoughts and emotions. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, hadn’t even gotten up to go to the bathroom. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her side, not even for a second. His hands rested on his knees, fingers interlaced, his knuckles white with the tension he held.

He watched her, every shallow breath she took a lifeline for him. The rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eyelids; each small movement was a sign that she was still there, still fighting. He’d replayed the events of the day over and over in his mind, guilt gnawing at him for not being there, for not protecting her, even though he knew, logically, that there was nothing he could have done. But logic didn’t soothe the ache in his heart, the fear that had wrapped itself around his soul, squeezing tight.

A soft murmur broke through his thoughts, a faint sound that made his heart leap into his throat. His eyes snapped to Y/N’s face, and he saw her eyelids fluttering, her fingers twitching against the white sheets. He was on his feet in an instant, moving to her side, his hand reaching out to take hers gently.

"Y/N?" he whispered, his voice soft, trembling with the weight of his emotions. "Hey, can you hear me?"

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, the bright light of the hospital room making her squint. She blinked slowly, her vision blurry, disoriented, but as her eyes focused, they found Reid’s face, his wide puppy eyes filled with worry and relief. A small, tired smile tugged at her lips, her voice hoarse as she spoke.

"Spence..."

Relief washed over Reid, his chest aching with it. He squeezed her hand gently, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Yeah, I’m here." He said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

Y/N swallowed, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the stitches in her shoulder.

"A little." She admitted, her voice weak but steady. "But it’s manageable. I’m okay, Spencer. I’m alive."

Spencer nodded, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"You scared me, Y/N." He said, his voice thick with emotion. "When I heard you’d been shot... I thought..." He trailed off, his throat closing up at the memory, the fear that had gripped him so tightly.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around his, her thumb brushing against his skin in a comforting gesture.

"I’m sorry." She whispered. "I didn’t mean to scare you. It just... happened so fast... The unsub, is he-"

Reid nodded, confirming her unfinished question - yes, he's dead -, his brow furrowing as he observed her, concern etching lines into his face.

"And mentally? How are you holding up?" He asked, his voice gentle, but with the unmistakable edge of a profiler. "I mean, after everything you went through today..."

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes closing for a moment as she processed his question.

"I’m okay." She said slowly, her voice soft but firm. "It was terrifying, but... I'm alright."

"Are you sure?" He asked again, his eyes focused on hers, as if he was reading into her mind. "You know, it’s normal to experience symptoms of PTSD after a traumatic event like this." He continued after noticing how she hesitated to answer his question, his voice taking on that familiar tone of reciting facts. "Victims can often experience flashbacks, anxiety, depression... Did you know that the amygdala can become hyperactive, causing an exaggerated response to stressors? It’s important to talk about what happened to process it. Avoidance can actually worsen symptoms, so facing the trauma head-on is usually the best course of action..."

Y/N listened quietly, her eyes softening as she watched him talk. His words were a comfort, his knowledge a balm to her frayed nerves. She knew this side of Spencer, the need to rationalize, to explain, to wrap his mind around every detail until it made sense. It was one of the things she loved most about him. She didn’t interrupt - she never did -, letting him talk, his voice soothing her more than anything else could.

When he finally paused, taking a breath, she smiled at him, squeezing his hand.

"Spence..." She said softly, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. He blinked, focusing on her, his expression anxious. "I’m really okay. I promise that if I go through any of these things you listed, I will let you know. Okay?" She assured him, her smile warm despite the pain in her side. "Thank you for being here."

Reid’s eyes softened, his grip on her hand tightening slightly.

"I wouldn’t be anywhere else." He said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty before he continued. "I, um... I told Hotch I’d be your emergency contact." He said, his voice tentative, as if he was afraid of her reaction. "I know it’s not official. There’s paperwork and procedures, but... I just... I couldn’t let you be alone."

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, her brows drawing together as she looked at him.

"You... did that for me?" She asked, her voice soft, touched.

Reid nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"I... I didn’t want you to be alone." He repeated, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I care about you, Y/N. A lot. More than I probably should. And when I thought I might lose you today... I realized that I can’t... I can’t hide it anymore-"

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening as she looked at him.

"Spencer..." She whispered, interrupting him, her voice filled with surprise.

Reid swallowed, his eyes dropping to their joined hands, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin.

"I’m in love with you, you know?" He said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I was too scared to tell you. But seeing you lying there, thinking I might never get the chance to say it... I had to tell you."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart swelling with emotion. She could see the fear in his eyes, the vulnerability, the raw honesty of his confession.

"And it's... it's totally okay if you don't feel the same, I would totally understand it-" He started rumbling desperately after a long minute of silence.

Without a word, she reached up with her hand from her unharmed arm, her fingers curling into the fabric of his dark tie. She tugged him down, her movements slow and careful, mindful of the pain in her other shoulder.

Spencer’s eyes widened, his breath hitching as he let himself lean down, shutting up instantly, his face inches from hers. Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes shining with life.

"I love you too, Spence." She whispered, her voice filled with sincerity.

Before he could respond, she pulled him closer, her lips pressing against his in a gentle, tender kiss. It was soft, hesitant, but filled with all the emotions they had kept hidden for so long. Spencer’s heart raced, his eyes fluttering closed as he kissed her back, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin.

The kiss was everything he had ever dreamed of. Her lips were so soft and plump against his own, moving slowly in a perfect dance, her uncontrollable breathing hitting his face as a gentle and warm welcome.

As they pulled away, their foreheads resting together, Spencer’s heart felt lighter than it had in years. He had almost lost her, but now, as he looked into her eyes, he knew he would never let her go.

"I think you owe me a date now." Y/N whispered, a small smile stretching across her lips.

"Of... of course! As soon as we get out of here, I'll take you on as many dates as you want." Spencer nodded frantically, the tip of his nose hitting hers with his movements while his eyes traveled around her face, memorizing all the details he could finally see up close before lowering his head, meeting her lips with his own again.

© vanteguccir

[ofbatsandballads]

Yay! I’m so glad you take requests. Feel free to decide if you want to write this or not, it’s fine either way :)

So, I was thinking about Jason dating civilian!reader, and her coming home all disheveled and horrified. Since she knows about him being Red Hood, she can confide in him. She had just killed someone for the first time, whether it was an accident, self defense or whatever, you decide.

I was just wondering how Jason would handle this situation since usually he’s the one doing the killing.

Thank you <3

oh, this is amazing food for thought. I actually think he’d be the very best person to come to in such a situation because he has experience with killing. who’s gonna understand you better than him? literally nobody. had something similar to this in my drafts but now my mind is whirling in a whole host of directions. excellent prompt, nonnie!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include graphic depictions of violence and killing (in self defense), attempted and failed sexual assault, the aftermath of both events (reader’s in shock), hurt/comfort. this one’s got heavier subject matter so please do mind the warnings, folks. i did way too much research of the Gotham Knights map for this, but it’s my favorite depiction of the city so so be it. also reader and Jason live in the Belfry bc i said so (personal hc that i may or may not elaborate on some time). and one last thing! the romanized Arabic at the end is “حياتي ” which translates to “my life”. I love the idea that Jason picked up Arabic terms of endearment from Talia calling Bruce just about every one she could.

Jason wakes up to soft afternoon sunlight shining on his face. He grumbles out a gravelly hum and scrunches up his face in protest against being awakened when he was sleeping so nicely. He reaches out to find the comforting warmth of his beloved beside him, to pull you in and bury his face into your hair so he can hide from the morning for a bit longer.

All he finds are cold sheets and an empty pillow.

He bolts upright. Something’s wrong. You never, never wake up before him. He doesn’t even register the way that the sudden abundance of light stings his eyes. He takes stock of his surroundings, his training executing on autopilot. The open layout of the Belfry lets him get his bearings in seconds. He doesn’t see you anywhere from the bird’s eye view of your loft bedroom. There’s no smell of food in the kitchen nor any mess that would indicate you’d been working in there. The living room space, fully visible below, is empty too. The only enclosed space in your home, the bathroom that’s just around the corner from your bedroom, is dead quiet. No running water, no sweet singing, no familiar coughing from swallowed toothpaste. And without so much as leaving your bed, Jason’s already come to a conclusion that sends his heart pounding and dries his throat. You’re not here.

He’s up and grabbing the 9mm taped under your bedside table in the span of a few breaths. He moves through your home methodically, like he’s clearing one of Gotham’s criminal hideouts. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing’s been disturbed. He’s not surprised by this—barring Wayne Manor, the Belfry is the most secure building in Gotham. That’s precisely why Jason had moved you both here once you decided to live together. He checks the coffee table and sees that your phone and wallet are gone. A different type of fear takes over now. One that makes his heart ache. What if you’ve finally had enough, finally seen that he’s not good enough for you, not worth sticking around for? It makes him sick. He swallows hard and tries to clear the blistering thought from his head. No, that’s not you. You’re not cruel. You’re kind and gentle and loving. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. And you wouldn’t hurt him.

The sight of gears turning in his periphery catches his attention. He sees the cables pulling and the security panel go green, and he’s running to the elevator doors damn near ready to pry them open. He hastily tucks the 9mm into the waistband of his pajama pants, easily within reach if he needs it. Relief floods him when the huge metal doors grind open and he sees your pretty face on the other side. Then his heart drops when he realizes that that pretty face is scraped and splattered with blood.

Your hair is tangled and wet, dripping dirty water down your neck and staining the bright red of his your favorite hoodie. Your hands, which shake as they reach blindly towards him, are stained crimson and battered too. But it’s your eyes that haunt him. You look broken.

“Jay,” you croak out, unable to summon anything but a plea for the one person who can keep you safe.

The tears fall from your eyes at the same time that you collapse into Jason’s arms. He drags you inside and locks down the Belfry. Jason wants to panic but feels a strange sense of calm about himself. As loathe as he’d be to admit it, he finds himself falling into Bruce’s habit of assessment and action.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, voice steady and assured.

You don’t even hear him. You’re digging your hands into his shirt, clinging on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. He may very well be. He feels you going rigid and cold and he knows he has to get you stable before you descend further into shock.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, adding on and enunciating your name for emphasis.

That sparks some semblance of lucidity. Jason hasn’t called you by your name in months, much preferring you be his baby or his sweetheart or his doll, or simply his. If it jars you back to reality, so be it.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” he demands gently.

It all pours out of you like a flood.

You’d woken up early by chance this afternoon. Normally you’d just close your eyes and snuggle closer to Jason to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but you wanted to do something nice for him. So you’d gotten up and gone to Lemay’s Flower Emporium in Gotham Heights. You’d bought him the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, so big that you had to hold on to it with both arms. The taxi ride from the Heights back to Coventry Station went fine. You were almost home. So close that you could see the clock tower where your heart was sleeping peacefully.

Then you stopped at Commerce Avenue Station. You just wanted to get him some pastries from the little bakery tucked away on 3rd Street that you both love. It was a decent walk; you knew that. You also knew that Jason wouldn’t want you to go out of your way by yourself. But it was morning and you were a grown woman and you could handle yourself, right? Well, that’s what you thought until a pair of hands clamped down on your shoulders and yanked you violently into a side alley.

Jason had prepared you for something like this. You’d spent countless evenings with him teaching you self defense techniques in the training area of your home. None of it mattered because the man that had you by the shoulders slammed you so hard into the brick wall that all your thoughts went hazy. Before you could regain your footing, you were shoved to the ground. The bitter sting of your palms scraping open pierced through the fog, as did the crushing weight of the vile man on top of you. Fear shot through you as the man started tugging at his belt and you realized that this wasn’t intended to be a mugging. You tried to scream but a grimy hand clamped over your mouth, hitting your head against the ground and soaking your hair in dirty rain water and blood.

Your eyes darted around in search of someone—anyone. But no one was coming. You felt fingernails scratch against your stomach as clammy hands curled into the waistband of your sweatpants and suddenly you saw your savior. A brick from the damaged alleyway laid within reach. You didn’t even think when you grabbed it, when you swung it as hard as you could into the side of the man’s head. The corner hit his temple and he crumbled to the side. You rose to your knees and hit the man again. And again. All you could remember were Jason’s firm instructions: if someone makes it a choice of you or them, you make sure that it’s you no matter what it takes.

“I don’t r-remember anything else,” you sob into his chest. “There was so much blood, Jason. And his head—oh, God.”

Jason shushes you gently. He holds you tight in his arms like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even slightly, you’ll fade away on him.

“Don’t think about it, baby. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

“I killed someone, Jason. I killed someone.”

You look at him wide eyed—afraid, horrified, guilty. No. Jason won’t have that. You will not feel guilty over some lowlife scumbag who wanted to hurt you, who probably would have killed you. Jason can’t even stomach the thought. He wants to put a bullet into whatever’s left of that predator’s head. No, the only shame in you killing that man is that you got to him before Jason could.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, repeats your name again for emphasis. “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.”

“Someone’s dead because of me, Jay,” you argue, gripping him tighter as your panic rises.

“Baby, do you know how many people are dead because of me?” he asks. “Far, far more than I’d ever want you to know. Do you think I’m a monster, honey? That I did something wrong?”

He knows it’s an apples to oranges comparison. But you’ve used this same tactic on him so many times that he also knows it’s effective. Every time he demeans himself for something, you ask if he’d treat you the way he treats himself for the same thing. The answer is always no.

“No!” you reply emphatically. “You protect people. You do it to keep people safe.”

“You did it to keep yourself safe.”

“But—”

“No buts. Or ifs. No ands, either, just in case you get any ideas,” he says lightly, brushing a speck of blood off your cheekbone.

You smile at his stupid little comment and he feels the tension in his body release just slightly. As long as there’s light back in your eyes for even a moment, he knows that you’ll be okay. He picks you up, lets you cling your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest as he carries you to the bathroom upstairs. He runs you a bath and, after asking repeatedly if you were okay with it, undresses you and washes the blood and grime from your body. He wraps you in a big fluffy towel, dries and brushes your hair, and tends to your injuries before he bundles you up in his comfiest hoodie and pajama pants. He soothes you when your tears make their return and never leaves your line of sight because he knows he makes you feel safe.

The thought gnaws at him throughout the day. It outright scalds him as he lies in bed with you after deciding to skip patrol. He’s failed you. Failed to protect you, failed to ensure nothing harms a hair on your head. He’s failed at taking care of you, the one thing that matters more to him than anything else. He’s seconds away from spiraling into self hatred when your sweet voice comes calling, soft and pleading.

“Jay…please stay with me,” you say softly.

Your eyes are clear and focused again. You squeeze his waist tight where your arms are wrapped around him, like you’re physically trying to anchor him in place in your bed. The look on your face says that you know exactly where his mind was headed. You see right through him. It makes him feel more vulnerable than anything else, and it surprises him how much he loves the feeling. And Jason, as always and for eternity, can’t bring himself to deny you. So he pulls himself together and shoves all his self loathing down. He can deal with it later—you need him more right now.

“I’m right here, hayati. Not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”

He kisses you gently and feels some of that self hatred wash away when you chase after him for more goodnight kisses. He feels it dissipate even more when you fall asleep in his arms with a soft smile on your face. It’s all but forgotten as he drifts off too, safe in the knowledge that you’re here with him, that he can feel your heart beating pressed tight against his own.

[revasserium]

to win and to lose

kenma, tsukki, hinata, kageyama; 3,200 words; fluff, lapslock, no "y/n", kissing, slightly!suggestive content, but mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, post!timeskip characters, pro-streamer!kenma, olympics athlete!hinata, pouty!tsukki, and needy!kageyama

summary: you win some, you lose some, right?

a/n: truly just a few drabbles that came to my mind when i was sitting in a bath the other day; so pls enjoy some hq-flavored domesticity

kenma

“— alright chat, that’s it for today — i’ve got uh —” kenma glances over at the top of his collection of monitors at where you’re standing, holding two beers, a sly grin twisting the corner of your mouth. even in the strange blue light of his monitors, you can see his cheeks darken.

“— some stuff to do. see ya!” he ends the stream just as you round the massive table to set a beer down in front of him. he chuckles and reaches out to pull you into his lap, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh.

“hey there, mr. ceo.” you smirk, twisting round to run your fingers through his hair, tugging out the loosening hair tie and cocking your head. kenma huffs, crinkling his nose, shaking his head as you continue to comb through his hair with your fingers.

“i hate it when you call me that.”

“mm, then… what would you prefer? mr… streamer boy? mr. stock trader? oh — i’ve got it! mr. simp-man.”

kenma scoffs, jerking forward so that you’re trapped against the hard edge of his gaming desk, his arms locking you to him. he’s grown since high school, but even so, his lithe build betrays the strength still hidden within his limbs from the endless hours of training, of playing.

“there’s no winning against you, is there?” he asks, his voice muffled by your skin, and you bite back a groan at the way he’s trailing his lips along the hard ridge of your collarbones. he peers up at you, a sharp, feline glint to his eyes, a hand reaching out to set your half-drunk beer on his table before hoisting you up with one arm. you squeak, the gesture taking you by surprise even as he carries you to the futon set up in strategically in the corner of the game room, put there for the nights when you’d lie there and watch him stream, when you’d close your eyes and let the rgb lights flicker across the backs of your eyelids like the northern lights, like so many midnight rainbows.

“well… seeing as you’re winning in so many other aspects in life,” you say, your voice nothing more than a sigh as he lays you down, fingers already tugging at the thin straps of your dress, “a little losing here and there might do you good, hm?”

“mm…” kenma hums, contemplative, even as he leans back and runs an appraising eye down the length of your body, “i mean… i did let kuroo talk me into joining the volleyball club back in highschool so… i guess you can say… in my own way… i’m sort of a sucker for punishment.”

tsukki.

“ah… that looked like a brutal practice,” you say, peering around the bathroom door. the sound of water splattering down skin echoes wetly through the enclosed space.

“aren’t they all?” tsukishima drawls, setting down the large wooden bath ladle to squint at you through the hazy mist. his glasses lie fogged and forgotten, set to the side.

you smile, slipping into the room with a fresh towel.

“i’ve got miso soup being warmed on the stove and an icepack in the freezer. take your time though — o-oh!”

a pair of arms reaches out to pull you down, and you barely catch yourself on the edge of the large wooden bath.

“t-tsukki! what —”

“it was a brutal practice.”

you barely hear the smirk in his voice as he sighs and props his chin on your thigh, the water from the bath staining you thin dress in seconds. you fight the urge the roll your eyes, reaching down to run your fingers through his damp hair, absently massaging at his scalp.

its rare to see him like this — rarer, even, to see him so openly vulnerable, even if there’s still the barest hint of a tease lurking beneath the tired rhythm of his voice, his breathing. like this, his long lashes are daggered into points by the steam, his normally pale skin made even more so by the bright bathroom lights.

through the water, you can see the new bruises blossoming along his thin legs, the old ones barely fading. thoughtlessly, you lean in and dip your hand in the water to trace a finger along one particularly large one at his right knee.

“what happened?” you ask, though you basically already know the answer — practice for a v2 league team happened. still, tsukishima glances down at the bruise with an oddly disembodied gaze and shrugs.

“dunno. dove to save a ball a few times.”

you laugh, tilting your head to one side as he leans back to press his cheek to your now damp thigh.

“wow, in practice? other team must’ve really pissed you off.”

at this, tsukishima crinkles his nose and scoffs. you hike an expectant eyebrow and wait.

“the jackals were over for a practice match.” his voice is clipped, but you feel your own laughter bubbling up in seconds. of course.

you bite back a giggle, “and… did you guys win?”

he glares up at you, eyes narrowed, “they’re a division one team. what do you think?”

“hm… but i thought hinata’s been off with a rolled ankle so…”

again, he scoffs, “that team’s plenty of other players who are just as annoying.”

you clamp down on your bottom lip, “wow. high praise.”

he whacks at the surface of the bath, splattering your dress even as you break into a bright peal of laughter. you reach down to flick him with a bit of water as well but he catches you wrist in his, fingers wrapping around your arm, the warm bath water slicking down your skin in thin rivulets, dripping off your elbow. you gasp, heart suddenly thrumming behind your eardrums.

the lopsided, slightly sadistic smile that slits his lips is stomach-twistingly familiar.

“tsukki… there’s miso soup —”

“mm. think i want something else for dinner instead.”

the low murmur of words is the only warning you get before you’re pulled bodily into the warm bath, the water soaking your dress, making the material cling to your skin in seconds. you squeak against his lips, rough and insistent and just a little pleading. you know it’s futile to struggle, so you let him kiss you, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you groan, your fingers finally finding purchase along the slick skin of his shoulder.

“you — you’ve ruined my — my favorite dress…”

“hn.”

tsukishima doesn’t look at all bothered by your admonishment, shrugging, “it’ll dry.”

water sloshes over the side of the bathtub, now dangerously full with the both of you soaking in it’s steaming depths.

“was it really that bad?” you ask, affecting your voice into a soft coo, trailing wet fingers over the soft of his cheeks.

“if i say yes,” he asks, peering down at you as a lepidopterist might study a new specimen of rare, and newly captured butterfly, “would you try to make me feel better?”

you lick your lips, feeling your mouth go dry, despite being literally submerged in water.

“depends,” you say, “on if you’ll let me go turn off the stove first — wouldn’t want the miso soup to burn.”

tsukishima rolls his eyes, fingers tightening around your wrists, pulling you closer. there’s a dangerous light flickering behind his eyes; a dull ache pulses at the base of your stomach, singeing up your spine as you tip forward for another long kiss.

“thought i said already… i don’t think i really want miso soup for dinner anymore.”

hinata.

there’s a certain magic in watching him play — the way he treats every win like his first, or his last. the way the world seems brighter right around his edges, as if his own shimmer and shine might infect the universe if it would only let him.

he is incandescent with joy after the olympic qualifier games — scoring a ticket is no mean feat, and it’s not every day that you see bokuto cry.

“congrats, shouyou!” you’re one of the first to greet him after the press stint (and a shower), but you can still see the brilliant, glazed look to his eyes that tells you he’s still riding his high. his smile is wide enough to split the sky as he spots you, jogging over to hoist you up into his arms, spinning you round with almost comical ease.

“haha — thanks!”

he leans up for a kiss, one that’s sweet as it is heady. when you pull apart, you are still weightless, and his smile shines like a smile on pause — it makes you want to unpause it, and watch it unfurl.

you trace the pads of your thumbs along the tiny freckles dotting his cheekbones — souvenirs from his time in brazil.

“so! are you gonna come watch us?” he asks, making to walk down the decidedly not deserted hallway with you still in his arms. you blush at the thought, giving his shoulders a slight squeeze.

“shouyou… you can put me down now — and of course i’ll come! it’s not everyday that your boyfriend makes it to the olympics.”

several people chuckle as they watch him parade passed, you still firmly held aloft, your elbows propped on his shoulders to give you some semblance of balance. your cheeks burn as hinata hums, waving at a fellow teammate, reaching out for a fist bump.

“shou…” you fight the urge to bury your face in his shoulder as he finally rounds a corner into a much more private hallway. he grins, completely unabashed, as he pushes through an unmarked door to a what seems to be an empty locker room. it’s sparse, but well-lit and quiet.

“hm?”

he sets you down on one of the benches and drops a quick kiss onto your shoulder.

“i could’ve walked…”

“didn’t feel like putting you down,” he says, his voice dropping in register and taking on that darker, baser veneer — you hear the frayed edges, the sandstone texture, a tell-tale sign of a deep-seated hunger. a very specific brand of shouyou-flavored want.

“n-ngh —” you make a soft noise as he dips down to nuzzle into the dip of your collarbone, a tiny groan festering up the back of his throat as he sighs.

“been thinking about this…” his fingers dance up your sides, light enough to tease, but solid enough to remind you of just how close you both are to a ruthless press and the oogling public.

“sh-shou let’s wait —”

hinata whines, shaking his head, his hair tickling at the skin of your neck, “don’t wanna.”

and you sigh, weighing the option of pushing back or giving in. each has dangers and merits, but you know better than most that when hinata gets like this, indulgence is usually the only answer that will satisfy.

“plus… i just won a ticket to the olympics! don’t you think that deserves some kind of —” he casts around for a good enough word, pulling back with a smile that, in the right kind of slanted, locker room light, might just look like a smirk, “reward?”

you cock your head and blink up at him, letting your fingers tangle in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, “what? the olympics ticket wasn’t enough of a reward for you?”

at this, hinata pouts, pushing his bottom lip out far enough for you to lean forward and bite it. the movement makes him groan, his whole body tipping forward to cage you back against the row of cool, metal lockers.

“you shouldn’t do that if you don’t think you can finish the job,” he says, pulling back just far enough for the heat of his breath to fan across your spit-slick lips. you lave your tongue across them, shifting beneath him as he cocks his head to stare down at you, his eyes wide and dark and misty.

“and… what job might that be?” you ask, breathless even as he dips down again to catch your lips in his, reaching down to tug you bodily up the length of the lockers before pinning you in place. once upon a time, it was easy to forget how strong he is — but now, it’s even easier to spot the stretch and flex of muscle beneath his sun-kissed skin, feel the strength of them as he holds you still with a single hand, the other tugging down the neckline of your top.

“mm… the job —” he skims his teeth across your skin; you gasp, eliciting a small, satisfied chuckle from him, “of being an olympic athlete’s girlfriend, of course!”

kageyama.

it is never the losing, and always the aftermath, and by now, you know the shades and slivers of all his specific kinds of silences so intimately that you know without him having to say how the practice match had gone.

“hey.”

you greet him by the door with a soft, placatory kiss. he grunts, toeing off his shoes before dipping down to wrap both his arms around you and pull you close. you let out a breathy laugh as you feel his nose digging into the curve of your shoulder.

“want some dinner?” you ask, reaching up to stroke his sweat-soaked hair even though you already know the answer.

“later,” he says, making no sign of wanting to let you go. instead, when you try to pull away, he leans down and scoops you up to place you on top of the kitchen island, slotting himself between your knees, and re-burying his face in your shoulder.

“then…” you let your voice trail off, feeling the exhaustion pour off him in waves. you dig your fingers into the tense line of his shoulders and feel them tighten up before they fall slack again. for a few minutes, he contents himself with letting you massage the worst of the knots from his shoulders.

“hn.” he lifts his head only to lean forward and find your lips with his. the kiss is slow and just a bit tired — as sweet as it is thorough. in the beginning, you’d worried that dating someone like kageyama would end up being the kind of short-lived thing that all the tabloids and magazines had warned you about — that he might grow bored after a week, a month, maybe half a year. after all, someone like him, with that insatiable need for more wouldn’t be suited for the kind of so-called ‘domestic bliss’ as it’s prescribed of most long-term relationships. but he’d surprised you, in more ways than one. he’d not only not grown bored, but had seemingly become ever more… entranced.

the pair of you had grown into each other, each day steadily getting closer. until the space the two of you shared became so inextricably linked there’s no telling who’s breath was caught in each of your lungs, of who’s scent it was that lingered in the fine linen lining of all your pillows and sheets. it’s become your’s. in the most cliche way possible.

kageyama contents himself with kissing you, breaking for small breath, and then kissing you some more. one kiss falling into another, and another, and another. till you’re breathless in just way he likes, till he’s breathless, in the way that he gets sometimes during a particularly intense rally. he knows he’s sweat-sticky and probably stinks of the gym, but the way you smile up at him when he pulls away makes his whole body go soft.

“let’s take a shower before dinner,” you say, tracing a finger along the shell of his ear. he bites back a frown.

“not a bath?”

you laugh, shrugging, “we could — but the food’ll go cold.”

“we’ve got a microwave.”

you smile, a smile that inspires — no, demands — another kiss. and so he does. you make a tiny, exasperated noise but don’t make to pull away. kageyama reaches down to pick you up, settling your thighs on either side of his hips as he maneuvers the pair of you towards the bathroom.

“food’ll be there when we’re done,” he mutters, gently placing you down on the side of the bathtub and reaching over to turn on the hot water. the steam rises in thick sheets from the surface of the water, and already, kageyama can feel his limbs loosening at the thought of a nice, long soak. he catches you watching as he strips off his practice clothes.

“see something interesting?” his voice is so measured you’d never know he’s teasing, save for the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes. you blush and look away, tugging off your own clothes in an attempt to distract yourself. the water sloshes around his ankles as he steps into the bath, and you join him a second later, curling up against his chest as he winds his arms around you, the pair of you settling against each other like nesting spoons, cut perfectly for each other’s every bend and curve. or perhaps like russian dolls, one encasing the other — wholly and completely.

“when’s practice tomorrow?” you ask, turning to watch him lean back, his eyes falling shut to the soft trickle of water over skin. you know the answer, and so does he. but he shifts and answers you anyway.

“not till noon.”

“good,” you say, turning back to rest your head on his shoulder, “we can have a proper breakfast.”

“we always have a proper breakfast.”

you laugh, absently walking your fingers up the length of his bent leg, drawing tiny circles on his exposed knee, poking out of the water like a pale island amidst the green-tinted water.

“i can grill mackerel tomorrow — i’ll have the time.”

outside, the moon is white and full with love, the sky bloated with countless shimmering stars. inside the gentle quiet of your home, kageyama leans forward to trail a kiss to the bend of your bare shoulder; you reach back to cup his cheek. when he turns your face for yet another kiss, it is sleepy and happy, long and lazy. full, weighted, soaked through with the kind of surrender only known to those who love and are in love.

“the food’ll really be cold —” you gasp, twisting away from kageyama’s growingly insistent lips, “if we keep going like this.”

he makes a slightly irked noise before caging you back against him with a deep frown, “you said so yourself — we’ve got time tomorrow. so —” he leans in to bump his nose against yours, waiting for permission. you chew on your lips for a second longer before conceding. and he’s right — isn’t that what microwaves are for?

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Dumb Viking Thor

Thor x maid!Reader, Steve x maid!Reader

Summary: Deep grunts filled the bathroom. Cleaning supplies strewn all over the floor. Your life flashed before your eyes when the stall door jerked open, on your knees scrubbing the toilet is how he found you. “Mr. Odinson.” You say, jumping up.

Warnings: PLEASE CONSUME AT YOUR OWN RISK! Explicit ‼️ 18+ Material, Noncon, Rough Sex, Rape themes, Female receiving pen, Anal, subtle cream pie.

Word Count: 2,039 Masterlist

You meticulously mixed chemicals, being sure not to create mustard gas. Your first week working as a cleaner for Stark Industries left you with zero training. The lead janitor was too occupied with her own doings to teach you how to properly clean certain things. It took you double to time to clean the bathrooms, your coworkers knew it, so when you’d disappear for hours, they never questioned it.

You’d been in the men’s bathroom for almost an hour already. The bristles of the brush scrubbed the tile around the toilet, the sound being the only thing heard in the enclosed space. That and your deep breathing, exhaustion filling you after a long day of work, coupled with the ever growing redness on your sore knees. Your shoulders burned from scrubbing, and you were so focused on just finishing so you could clock out; finally go home.

You never heard anyone enter the bathroom, you were too focused. You only noticed you were no longer alone when the door to the stall gets pushed open. You jump up, not out of fear but by being startled. When you eject yourself from your kneeled position, you spin in place, turning to face whoever stumbled upon you. You’re relieved to see Thor Odinson, standing there with a calculating look.

“Mr. Odinson, forgive me, I will be finished in a second.” You say, assuming he wouldn’t want a woman in the men’s restroom while he uses it. Offering a smile out of curtesy, you hold it for a second too long, even after you don’t see any amusement appear on his face. You clear your throat, quickly returning to scrubbing the stall. One hand held the disinfectant while your other held the brush. You tried rushing, feeling his growing presence behind you.

“Just gotta wipe it down now, sir.” You give him reassurance that you’d be gone in a second. But that second never comes. You move to step around him, reaching for your cleaning cart that held the microfiber cleaning cloths. You’re too focused on hurrying and getting out that you don’t take note of how silent the gods being. How observant he is, watching every move you make.

Your hands were full, you couldn’t defend yourself. In an instant they were empty, the brush clattering to the floor. The spray bottle cracking upon impact, bleach spilling all over the floor in a growing puddle. Your hands were now pressed to the mirror of the sink vanity. Your cheek pressed there too, your eyes searched behind you for Thor, seeing the look on his face finally told you what you needed to know. He wasn’t even here, this is primal, instinctual, animalistic.

“Mr. Odinson, you know this isn’t allowed.” You try to calmly remind him. You were no fool, you knew the strength he held, you knew he was a god. You knew your position, you were nobody, a maid at best. You should be thinking of every reason to be grateful for this, instead you’re gasping for air as he presses it out of you, his body weight leaning on your from behind.

Thor doesn’t respond, he knows what he’s doing, whether or not it’s wrong is up for debate. What else was he supposed to do? He saw a woman on her knees and felt like he needed to do something about it. You’re just a maid, no one would even know, he is the god of thunder and a king, any woman is his if he wishes. He couldn’t even recall how many maids and ladies in waiting on Asgard who carried his bastard children.

To Thor, he was doing the right thing. Using the resources provided to him. And how rude would he be if he disregarded Starks resources. That’s why he doesn’t rip your uniform, he pushes it up around your hips, being sure to pull your tights down in one swift movement.

Your hands stayed planted on the mirror you had shined less than an hour ago. You don’t know why, but you knew better than to fight back, you knew better than to move. In any other position maybe you’d be flattered he’d took an interest in you; but this was…less than personal, it was just him getting his rocks off. You don’t doubt if it had been Rose or Serenity; the same sequence of events would’ve occurred.

You hear the sound of leather and metal clasps rustling behind you, and you close your eyes, numbing yourself for what’s about to happen. You thought you could do it, go limp, deaf, blind to what’s happening to you; the second the thick tip of his cock slid past the barrier your thighs created, you were dropping your hands from the mirror, reaching behind you to brace yourself.

You don’t understand that it’s an impossible feat. You could never brace for the searing pain that blossoms between your legs. You couldn’t even breathe, you were dry, but he didn’t seem to care, pushing past that barrier too. You felt your sensitive skin stretch around him, but when the relentlessness of him trying to shove himself to the hilt comes, you feel yourself tearing.

When you feel the tuft of hair at the base of his cock brush against your ass you know he’s bottomed out. You can’t feel it, after the first tear; your lower body clocked out. Only when his big hands wrap around your love handles, you can feel how gentle his hands are. No matter the pain he was inflicting, it was like he knew his hands would break your bones, bruise your skin.

He’s even has the curtesy to let you have some semblance of adjusting to him. You wanna laugh, but you can’t, the timeline of events only happening in less than two minutes. Your brain isn’t processing and comprehending what’s happening. Your brain was turning into complete mush, you were trying to convince yourself of two things; you didn’t want this, and you desperately wanted it. You were confused.

The confusion only intensifying when he leans down and brushed the hair from your shoulder, whispering behind your ear. “Good little maid.”. That shouldn’t have had the effect that it did, but here you were, pushing your body back slightly at the praise. Like you were doing something right by not protesting. You were good for not fighting back. Deserving because of your meekness.

He groaned when he felt you push back against him, knowing it meant you wanted it, even if you didn’t say it. But in the end, he didn’t really care what you thought, you were doing your job. Your duty.

He doesn’t notice the fog on the mirror from your shallow breaths, or the fact that you’re wet has mixed with blood from being torn. He just starts pumping in and out of you at a rhythmic pace. You wish you could feel it, but your body is still fighting to some degree, refusing to let you or him relish in this moment.

His pace picks up, causing you to raise yourself on your tiptoes, giving him as much access as he needs, making it easier for him to slam back into you every time he torturously pulls out to admire how you swallow him, the pink folds wrapping around him perfectly, like a set of lips, sucking him in.

He had been relatively silent, little grunts and that tiny comment of praise earlier, so it shocks you when he lets out a high pitched whine. “Fuck, stay just like that.” He exclaims, feeling the building tension in his balls come to an eruption. He mercilessly claps his stomach into your ass cheeks, the slapping sound echoing off the walls, and that’s it for you, finally giving up whatever you were holding onto.

Your pussy gushes over him, and you let out a strangled wail, “Please.” You beg, you knew your hole was obliterated, ruined, stretched and full, the only thing that could benefit you now was if you got to cum too. You heard him chuckle behind you. Actually laugh at your plea. As if you had no room to even speak and this was all his doing, for his pleasure.

Tears finally fill your eyes, but not for your situation, it’s over cumming. Your desperation becoming too much, you start rocking on your tiptoes, finding a friction that pleasured you so you could make yourself cum. Thor doesn’t seem to mind, glad you’re finally participating. He’s too close to care truly, the new found tightness of your walls desperately clenching down on him, was rushing him towards his undoing.

You’re no where near close when you hear the bathroom door swing open, cutting through the thick air and letting a cold wind sweep through the tiled room, the tears and sweat on your face drying instantly. You can’t even look who it is, the shame of being caught not finding you.

Thor of course carries no shame for what he’s doing, he does register the person, and their bewildered look, laughing again but not stopping his movement. “What the fuck are you doing?” You hear an angry Brooklyn accent. Your vision wasn’t completely there as you roll your head to face the door, your eyes finding Steve Rogers standing there, his shoulders rising and falling as his breath picks up.

You could just make out the confusion, the disgust, the shame on the Captains face as he looks at the cleaning supplies strewn around the floor, lifting his boot to see that he’d stepped in the spilled bleach. He places it back down and lets out a scoff or a huff, you were too delirious to tell.

“I am taking advantage of what’s been provided. You’re the one being disrespectful.” Thor says with no humor in his voice. He had slowed his movement, standing behind you pressed fully into you. With the captains invasion, your senses are slowly coming back, the feeling returning to your lower body. A burning sensation is slowly building, the tiny rips in your skin drawing attention from your pain receptors.

“Please…” You mutter again, but for a different reason, it was for mercy, mercy that maybe you’d be saved from this by Steve. But as your eyes watch his hand find the door handle, pushing it closed behind him, any ounce of hope you had in Steve was gone. He was slowly turning into that silent shark Thor was when he found you cleaning.

“Move.” Is the only command you hear from Steve before Thors slipping out of you. You could’ve crumbled to the floor the second he released you, but a new set on hands found your hips, raising you back up on your tiptoes. “Shhh, you’re doing such a good job.” Steve praises and you can’t comprehend what he’s doing till he’s pushing into your other hole, filling your ass up. He was much smaller than the inhuman god, but it didn’t take away from the soul wrenching feeling of him ass fucking you.

You were screaming, the pain Steve was inflicting completely different than what Thor had done. He didn’t take long to spill inside of you, if you weren’t in such a vulnerable position, you could’ve laughed at him for how short he lasted, you expected more from him. But he’s probably never done anything like this before, the taboo of it causing him to lose control, the explosion coming from how dirty it made him feel.

When he slid out of you with a grotesque wet sound you almost let out a sigh of relief. Your body meeting the sink as he lets your hips down. The almost sigh is caught in your throat when you hear him say the words “Now you can finish.” to Thor. He buckles up his jeans and leaves the bathroom, not coming to your rescue at all, he didn’t even give you a second glance. You can only hear Thor’s amused hum as he comes back behind you, not relenting on you. If only you cleaned faster, then maybe Rose or Serenity would’ve noticed how long you’ve been cleaning the men’s restroom, maybe they would’ve come to your aid.

[gabriel-seths-pr-assistant]

Do space marines wear any normal clothes, like something a baseline human in Imperium would wear but made for their size? I'm new to warhammer and in most art of them I have seen they are either in armor or naked in underwear.

Yes, Space Marines do have "normal" clothes for everyday use.

They will often use their power armour for formal occasions since it's more impressive and intimidating — one of my favourite Gabriel Seth moments is in the short story Know Thyself by Andy Smillie when an Inquisitor pays the Flesh Tearers a surprise visit and Seth is literally not wearing pants:

Seth knelt in the Reclusiam’s centre, naked save for an ashen tunic that draped his broad frame.

Seth has to send two battle-brothers to distract the Inquisitor while he scrambles into his power armour to make a good first impression. 😂

However, as I have mentioned earlier, wearing power armour for extended periods of time creates an ungodly body odour. So when they're not in a combat AO, Astartes wear various types of formal, military, or casual clothes.

In general, Astartes are warrior-monks and will often wear monastic robes and habits (which can be quickly shed for a duel or close combat like Jedi in Star Wars:)

However, some Chapters also follow the fashions of their homeworld.

Here are some descriptions of Astartes clothes from the canon:

Ultramarines

Ultramarines are culturally inspired by Ancient Rome and often wear tunics or togas when performing administrative duties among mortals:

— Marneus Calgar.

Messinius was garbed in simple clothes: loose trousers, boots and a tunic that left his massive arms bare. He enjoyed the freedom of movement they gave him. So much of his life was spent enclosed in ceramite, he enjoyed being free of it.

— The Avenging Son.

They spoke in Guilliman’s library, his most sacred sanctum. Guilliman had removed the Armour of Fate, though it physically pained him to do so. Like Maxim, he wore a tunic and trousers. The primarch’s clothes were ultra­marine blue to Maxim’s forest green, and unlike Maxim’s heavily embroidered garb, Guilliman wore no decoration besides the buckle stamped with the ultima that fastened his belt. As usual, he sat at his desk, working while he talked.

— Godblight.

However, Ultramarines also have more formal wear:

Sicarius left his former quarters a short while later. He had donned a gilt-edged red cloak and light carapace breastplate over his training fatigues.

Prabian wore fatigues and light training armour like Sicarius, but he also had a small combat shield strapped to his left arm and wore a sheathed gladius at his left hip. A soft blue cloak with a silver trim swished in his wake.

— Knights of Macragge.

War Hounds

We also get descriptions of formal wear from the Great Crusade era, specifically the War Hounds (early World Eaters):

He looked at Dreagher again. Like Khârn, the man was dressed in white, bands of blue glittering across the high-collared tunic, boots and gauntlets a dark ceremonial blue rather than functional shipboard grey. The Emperor's lightning-bolt emblem gleamed at his collar and shoulder. His dress matched Khârn's own: the formal garments with which the War Hounds symbolised they were about their most solemn business.

— After Desh'ea.

Dark Angels

Dark Angels embrace the ascetic warrior-monk aesthetic to a very high degree:

— Will of Iron.

Space Wolves

Like most Fenrisians, Space Wolves wear furs and deerskin leather clothes:

Arjac moved to the other side of the throne to Fenrir so that he could see the vid-feed from the frigate approaching the space hulk. Like the Lord of Fenris, he was not in his armour, but dressed in a hide tunic and leggings, his arms banded with leather totem cords hung with fangs and bones, his thick belt riveted with iron honour badges. His freshly shaved scalp shone with the speckled starlight from the display. He dragged his fingers through his thick, newly trimmed beard.

‘It’s your pack, you choose the marking,’ growled Ullr. He was out of his armour too, but unlike the grey robes of Gaius and his companions he wore hide breeches tied with thongs from ankle to knee and a fur-lined jerkin that left arms and chest exposed.

— The Wolftime.

Blood Angels

In Dante, Dante himself dresses casually in red and gold day robes while doing office work. In Devastation of Baal, Dante also asks the assembled representatives of the Blood Angels Successor Chapters to attend a meeting in their day robes:

Erwin looked around, his curiosity piqued by the diversity of men who staffed his brother Chapters. As a last symbol of peace (although Erwin thought it more to save space) Dante had ordered that they attend in their day robes. These were almost as varied as their wearers.

— Devastation of Baal.

Blood Drinkers

The Blood Drinkers' homeworld, San Guisiga, is described as a hot, volcanic planet criss-crossed with lava rivers. In addition, a mutation of the mucranoid geneseed organ causes the Blood Drinkers' skin glands to atrophy, giving them very dry, itchy skin. As a result of the hot climate and skin irritation, the Blood Drinkers wear loose trousers and tend to go shirtless:

Chapter Master Caedis worked in his chambers. He was stripped to the waist; baggy, blood-red trousers on his lower half, soft black boots on his feet and a black tabard hanging between his legs – the manner of dress all Blood Drinkers affected when out of their battle-plate. The battle-barge was warm, the way the Blood Drinkers preferred; warm as the volcanic halls of San Guisiga, warm as blood.

— Death of Integrity.

Novamarines

The Novamarines, an Ultramarines Successor Chapter, lean more towards the battle-monks aesthetics:

Like him, he wore a bone-coloured habit, a deep-blue tabard hanging down the front displaying the Chapter badge: a skull surrounded by a stylised starburst. A silver sash embroidered with many campaign markings, the honours of a Deathwatch kill-team veteran, crossed the brother’s chest.

— Death of Integrity.

Entertainingly, in Death of Integrity, the Novamarines invite the Blood Drinkers to a formal dinner before embarking on a joint campaign and then fret among themselves about what to wear when welcoming the other Chapter, discussing the symbolic value of different attires. They finally decide on wearing their armour because they want to show the Blood Drinkers that the Novamarines are ready to follow the other Chapter into battle.

Iron Snakes

The Iron Snakes are heavily inspired by Ancient Greece, which also shows in their clothing:

Barefoot and dressed in a loose white chiton, Priad stood on the marble deck of the observation platform at the summit of the Chapter House's fortress.

— Brothers of the Snake.

Raven Guard

Agapito was dressed in black trousers and a sleeveless tunic. His arms bulged with muscles studded with the silvery wink of nerve shunt ports. His pale skin was shadowed by subcutaneous black carapace.

— Lord of Shadows.

Unnumbered Sons

His wargear was held in a makeshift armoury Daelus had set up at one side of the room. He left his armour on its stand and dressed himself in a loose tunic and trousers, pulled on his boots, and belted his bolt pistol around his waist. It was freezing in the station, but he didn’t feel it, and besides, nowhere was as cold as those millennia on board Cawl’s vessel. It was good to be out of his armour for a while. He had a loathing of confinement.

— The Great Work.

Areios had a few inches on the Firstborn Messinius. Neither of them wore their armour. Messinius was dressed in simple robes, Areios the off-duty uniform of short-sleeved tunic and trousers common to all the Unnumbered Sons.

— Throne of Light.

Knights Errant (early Grey Knights)

Clad in a long chiton of unadorned grey over a tan bodyglove with plastek-seals over his armour interface sockets, he was armed only with a few gardening tools hanging from a leather work belt.

— Luna Mendex.

Night Lords

In the Night Lords omnibus by ADB, the Night Lords are described as wearing robes or traditional Legion tunics (those of them that can still remove their armour, that is).

I hope this gave you a fair idea of how Space Marines might dress when they're not wearing armour. 😊

If others have more examples, feel free to add them!

[cosmoszyn]

a decade | caleb.

synopsis: two years apart and a decade of loving him, caleb returns to your life again through a spontaneous roadtrip and shared bottles of alcohol that leads to unearthing the uncertainty of your feelings.

content: caleb x nonmc! reader, little hurt/comfort, light angst, feelings are hard and confusing! third and final part of the seven years series. a LOT of drinking and alcohol involved.

part one / part two

word count: 7k

cross posted in my ao3

It is an unusually chilly night, the scent of spring permeating in the air. You wrap your arms around your slightly shivering body, shifting your weight to your other foot. You exhale, glancing at your wristwatch. The bus is fifteen minutes late, again. Since the news about the train undergoing maintenance, you have never gone home before 10 pm. Before you can even release a sigh, a navy blue sports car slows its acceleration and stops across you. With furrowed brows, you take a step back from the curb, senses heightening. The window rolls down.

“What are you doin’ here?”

Oh.

You catch a glimpse of his curled lips and the shine glazing in his eyes. Then you cock your head to the side, looking at him like he grew three heads. 

“I work here, dummy.”

There was a pause.

“...Right. I knew that.”

His reply remains in the howl of the wind as you merely stare back at him as if to say “Of course you do, dumbass,” but his eyes avoid yours and instead fixate on the leather of his steering wheel. He bites the inside of his cheek as you refuse to reply. 

He whips his head back to your direction and with a beat of silence, he speaks again, “You got a ride home?”

You blink at him slowly and turn your head to the huge blue sign beside you with a bus printed across it, “What do you think, Caleb?” You reply, turning back to him. In the shadow of the night, you make out the faint tinting of his ears and cheeks.

With a sheepish grin and a hand rubbing the back of his head, he says, “Just get in. I’ll get you home.”

You hesitate.

A thousand options run through your head. A myriad of scenarios flashing before your eyes. And the memory of him lying supine in the cold tiles of your kitchen floor two years ago surfaces again. Getting in that car seems like a bad idea. No–the worst idea you’ve concocted ever since you got drunk and confessed to him three years ago. But you’ve been waiting for the bus for fifteen minutes now. It seems it won’t even arrive at this point. 

And so, with a sigh, your trembling hands reach to the passenger door and climb in.

You could feel him staring at you. You ignore it as you drop your bag to your feet and pull the seat belt beside you, locking it in place.

“Get driving, then,” you demand jokingly, looking at the emptying street across you. He gives you a chuckle, “So bossy.”

He shifts the gear and picks up the acceleration. The sound of the engine and heater enclosing the small space. 

It was silent. 

Suffocatingly silent. 

The streetlamps guide the way of the dim road. And yet it feels too dark. 

While Caleb maintains the speed of the vehicle, you could barely contain the hastening beat of your heart against your ribcage. You want to clutch your chest and breathe heavily to rid of the smothering air between you two.

This is a mistake. 

It hasn’t even been a minute but you already rack your brain of excuses to get out of the car. 

You forgot something at the office? No, he’ll just wait outside for you.

You want to grab a meal instead? It’s certain he’ll just come with.

You need to pick something up at a friend’s home? He’ll definitely drive you there,

There is nothing.

And you can even barely get a word out before you hear the sound of windows rolling down. You glance at your side, welcoming the fresh air, calming your pacing heart.

“You seem restless,” he speaks.

Of course he knows.

Of fucking course.

How could he not? When he spent most of his college and early adulthood reading you. He consumed eight years of his life studying you. 

Like you were a test he wants to pass with flying colors.

Like there was nothing else in the world that mattered aside from learning you.

And yet, two years ago, in his intoxicated state on your kitchen floor, he ruined everything you two built around.

Well. You ruined everything you two built around, three years ago. 

Or maybe it was him, confessing his stupid, non-existent feelings towards you?

Whatever, semantics. It’s just the same either way. Both decisions end up where you are today.

You don’t reply back to him, just a small nod.

Despite the wail of the wind and the steady hum of the vehicle, you could still feel the strangling silence. 

With a click of a tongue, you reach his radio. Your fingertips hover over the screen of his car while Caleb steals glimpses of you from his peripheral.

“Whatever song that plays on this will answer my fate on my lovelife,” Caleb suddenly says before you can tap on the radio, eliciting a snicker from you.

“Oh so you want to play that game huh?” You say, “Alright then. What song will describe Caleb’s fate in his lovelife?” You press the button.

Now shut up and drive (drive, drive, drive)

Shut up and drive (drive, drive, drive)

Caleb chokes on his spit and you cackle, hands clutching to your sides. 

“Sucks to be you,” you say in between fits of giggles and Caleb just alternates his gaze between you and the road with an amused smile tilting on his lips. “Well, how about you?” He says, reaching for the button. You swat his hand away and he just grins. 

“Oh please no thanks!” You protest.

“Oh no, no. We need to hear yours too.” He reaches for the radio, “What is her fate in her lovelife?” He says, turning the station randomly.

So I’ll wait for you, love

And I’ll burn

Will I ever see your sweet return?

Oh, will I ever learn?

Oh-oh, lover, you should’ve come over

‘Cause it’s not too late.

The laughter dies in your throat. The reverberating sound of the riffs of the guitar, hard beating of the drums, and the raw longing from the vocalist catches you two off guard. You squirm in your seat uncomfortably as the air between you thickens.

Caleb clears his throat, “Want to just connect your phone to the bluetooth?”

“Yeah. Sure,” you murmur, taking your phone from your bag.

He removes the radio and taps on the bluetooth option of his car as you connect to it successfully while scrolling through thousands of playlists. He glances at your brightly lit phone and your squinted eyes as you try and settle for a mood for the evening.

“How about that playlist we made in college?” Caleb says.

You purse your lips and hesitantly, you reply, “...I deleted it.”

“Oh. Right.”

There was a brief pause.

“But how come I can still listen to it?” He replies with a raised brow. “I dunno,” you respond blankly. “Must be an error.”

He hums, ignoring the dull ache in his heart.

You deleted the playlist.

Something you two cherished while tolerating the agony of four years in college. He tries to ignore it. He wills himself to. He tells himself, he deserved it.

“When?” He asked, listening to the random playlist you played.

“Huh?”

“Did you delete it.”

“Oh. Two years ago.”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “Okay.” You notice the tight grip he has on the steering wheel and his shoulders tensing.

You two neither exchanged words after that. And you knew everything had been a mistake the moment he pulled up from the curb and greeted you with that warm smile you were oh so familiar with. 

He could still tug at your heartstrings the same way he did the first time in your freshman year, when you asked him if the class he was in was Calculus 1. He gave you a nod and a polite grin, “Yeah! You can sit beside me,” he said. With hesitation, you sit beside him. And for some odd reason, he hands you his registration card with ease and precision, like you knew each other for years.

“Check if we have the same classes together,” he says casually. You could only nod obediently, perplexed at the situation as you pulled out your registration card squeezed between your binder. He leans over to your space as you compare your schedules.

“It seems we have the same schedule,” you say under your breath. And it appeared like he cheered.

Since then, you two would do everything together–despite begrudgingly avoiding his company initially. He was a strange man, you thought. But in the end, he came into your life, rather forcibly. And for some reason, even in the most mundane of things, you find yourself in his presence. Enroll in classes, join the same organizations, study the same subject, assist your juniors, even become officers of the organization you were in. It went as far as juniors calling you the “couple” of your organization. You two deny the claim profusely, settling on the term “twins,” instead. 

Four years of college and eight years of him. And you never saw him remotely look at you romantically.

With bated breath, Caleb speaks, pulling you out of your trance, “Wanna go to Whitesand bay?”

You stare at him incredulously, “At this hour?” 

He shrugs, “It’s only 8 PM.”

“At this hour?” You parrot.

“What? It’s a Friday.”

You continue to stare at him skeptically.

“We can grab a few drinks too on the way there,” he persuades.

“By drinks, you mean alcohol?” 

He bites the inside of his lips, “Yeah, why not?”

“And then you will drive back home?” 

“Huh? I mean yeah but I won’t drive while I’m drunk! I’ll get some sleep before we head home.”

You narrowed his eyes on him, “There are no hotels near Whitesand bay.”

“My car has plenty of space,” he says confidently with a smirk.

You roll his eyes at him. “Call yourself Caleb the gloater with your boastfulness,” you scoff, followed by a series of sounds imitating the noises a goat makes. 

Caleb only laughs at your teasing, 

“So? What do ‘ya say?” He asks.

You look at the passing buildings by your side, the gush of wind sweeping the hair across your face. You tuck a chunk of strands behind your ear and with a sigh, you turn to him.

“You know what? Fuck it.”

Minutes later, you find yourself under the buzzing overhead lights of a convenience store, across the fridge of alcohol with a wide array of bottles displayed. 

“What should we get?” Caleb asks, his hand against the glass door and arm outstretched. You ignore the flex of his biceps that is inches away from you. “Beer?” Caleb asks, “Not in the mood for that,” you say. 

“Surely not tequila.”

“Do you want to die?”

“As if that wasn’t your go-to drink in college.”

“College.”

He only chuckles then glances at the bottommost shelf. “How about this? We used to drink this a lot together when we’d hang at your apartment,” Caleb says, opening the door, and grabbing a bottle.

You stare at the vodka-based drink with lime and ginger beer, waves of memories flooding over your senses immediately. Especially tracing back to that one, freezing winter night at your apartment in your last year of college, sitting across Caleb on the floor. There was a pink tint on his cheeks and ears, something unusual from him since he never flushes this red when you drink. 

“Come on, cheers,” you said, clinking the bottle against his. He sent you a half-hearted smile before you noticed his downcast gaze. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You ask him, throwing him a quizzical look and your fingertips ghosting over his shoulders. Caleb shakes his head, “It’s nothin’, pips.” 

You frown at him, “It’s not nothing when there’s clearly something, Caleb.”

He just chuckles with obvious hesitation and his fingers draw imaginary apples on your floor. He gulps, “It’s really nothin’,” he says but he exhales when you remain quiet, “But…” His eyes flitted across yours which makes your heart increase in speed. Under the dim glow of your warm light and the scattered papers on the couch, you have learned the past four years that being with him just felt right. When he would get sick and had to skip class, being alone felt nauseatingly wrong. And everytime you would spend your nights with him, it would always feel like a missing puzzle piece that you didn’t even know you needed made its way to your incomplete life. You admire the freckles on his cheeks, his chapped lips slightly parting and curving into a smile and his hair slightly disheveled from the amount of times he ran his fingers through it. 

You were deeply, completely enamored by this man. 

And you’d like to think that the universe was built around you two.

“She’s just back, pips.”

The beating of your heart paused. The snow on the outside seemed to momentarily freeze your world altogether. Caleb sensed your confusion, which he misconstrued with forgetfulness rather than a heartbreak.

“The childhood friend I was always talking to you about. She’s back.”

Your world split in half.

You clear your throat as you hear the buzzing lights of the convenience store again with Caleb looking at you expectantly, a bottle still in his hand. 

“Yeah, sure. Let’s just have that.”

With a nod, Caleb returns the lone bottle and effortlessly grabs the 6-pack from the lowest shelf with one hand. You ignore the heat forming in your cheeks as he walks over across the aisles of the store, one hand holding the pack of alcohol and the other grabbing chips you two enjoyed in college. You trail behind him like a lost puppy, unsure of what to do in this unexpected situation.

Half an hour ago you were just complaining about the transportation system and now you’re back with the man you’ve longed for in years.

And your infatuation towards him is still the same as ever. Noting how in all of his 6’2” glory, the shadows of his muscles behind his white tee still manages to show and the veins in his hands protruding at the amount of items he is holding, all the while he refuses to let you hold anything.

“Hey,” he calls, slightly looking to his side to catch your attention, “Sorry but can you get us a bottle of water? We’ll need it for sure.” 

You don’t even need to be told twice. You nod and hurriedly escape from the grasp of his insanely good looks. 

Minutes later, you two find yourself back in his car.

“I’ll send you my half of the bill,” you insist.

“And I’ll return it back to you. As I said, it’s fine. I’ll cover it,” Caleb argues, locking in his seatbelt in place.

“Who is this man talking to me? In college he would force me to pay the fifty cents I owe him,” you joke, leaning against his polished seats. 

“That was in college, pips. I earn good money now. Let me treat you,” he gloats.

“Oh right, treat me with what? Alcohol and junk food?”

“And water. Duh.”

You laugh. And for a second, everything felt like it was back to where it was. How it all used to be. Music echoing across the small enclosure of his vehicle, wind gushing in the open windows, and his hands aching to reach in your warmth.

The night continues on as Caleb skillfully drives through the empty streets. The faint sound of the forgotten playlist plays in the background and the howl of the wind accompanying you two. For a moment, you blatantly watch Caleb yawn beside you, his hand covering his stretched lips. You turn away when his mouth closes. 

Half an hour passes by and you find yourself drifting to sleep, your head cocked to Caleb’s side. He catches a glimpse of your peaceful state, his lips slightly curving upward. He fights the urge to brush the stray hair away from your cheek.

It has always been like this.

Caleb beside you. 

Whether in loud and colorful spaces or in tranquil and intimate positions. Despite being apart from you for the past two years, he somehow, in some way, found his way back into your already busy life. As if to tell you that he refuses to be a fleeting moment.

That he was there to stay.

No matter what.

And it doesn’t matter if you think of his presence as a blessing or rather a pest that you couldn’t get rid of, he frankly doesn’t care.

He is there to stay. He knew that the moment you entered the doors in the classroom in college.

He drives to Whitesand bay at a steady pace, often finding himself avoiding the potholes and slowing the acceleration at the speed humps. Despite that, he always finds a way to glance over your sleeping figure.

Another half an hour later, the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore filled your ears, stirring you in your sleep. Caleb gradually applied the brakes in his car, until it came to a complete stop, cutting the engine. He turned his gaze to you, curled up in the passenger seat. He presses his lips together, eyes softening at your state, contemplating whether to disrupt your peaceful sleep. He releases a soft exhale as his hands reach over to you, pausing for a moment in sheer hesitation. 

“Hey, pips,” he whispers, his breath fanning your cheeks as he slightly nudges your shoulder. “We’re here.” Your eyes fluttered open from the movement, slightly stretching your body away from him.

Through the windshield, a thin slice of the dock is visible, along with the stretch of the ocean. You sit up straight, blinking to get a hold of your surroundings, darting your gaze to Caleb who is looking at you expectantly–with the most doe eyes you have ever seen on him.

You shake your head to get rid of the drowsiness and thoughts away, exiting the vehicle with a light slam of the car door beside you while the brunet follows suit.

You wrap your arms beside you as you lean beside his car, the wooden planks of the dock beneath you creaking with every step you take. 

You marvel at the glistening dark blue waters in front of you, the moonlight rippling against the waves crashing against the shore beneath the dock. You hear the sound of the trunk being slammed closed behind you as you rub your eyes blearily, a yawn escaping your lips. 

“Hey pips.” You turn your head to Caleb. He pats the hood of his car, a blanket hovered over it. He props himself up to the hood, leaving some space beside you. You slide next to him as he hands you an already opened bottle of alcohol.

“Cheers,” Caleb says, clinking your bottles together.

Your lips meet the opening of the glass, chugging the alcohol, feeling the cold liquid slither down your throat. Caleb lets out an exaggerated exhale of satisfaction. 

For a moment, everything felt right.

“So, how are you doin’?” He opens, eliciting a chuckle from you that sounded more like just an exhale.

“You should’ve started with that hours ago, Caleb,” you reply, side-eyeing him.

“Better late than never, right?” He replies with the same boyish chuckle he had in college. Your heart skips a beat.

You turn your gaze to the ocean. “Just fine, I guess.”

“Just fine?” He parrots.

“Hmm. Yeah. I’m doing fine.”

He scoffs, “Come on you’re sellin’ yourself short.”

You turn to him, cocking your head to the side in confusion but before you could express it verbally, he speaks as he stares at you with owlish eyes, “You’re on literal magazines and billboards across the whole damn city of Linkon. It’s a surprise the cashier from the convenience store didn’t recognize you.”

It was your turn to scoff, “Oh please. That little thing? I’m just doing my usual nerd shit at work.”

“I never thought doing nerd shit would warrant you in huge billboards on highways, pips,” he says teasingly with a grin.

“Oh please! Don’t tell me that when you’re what, one of the highest ranking pilots at the Deepspace Aviation Administration at the age of 25?!” You exclaim exaggeratingly, waving the bottle in the air. He laughs, “It’s nothin’, I swear.”

He tries to hide the disbelief written all over his face with laughter, surprised that you know that he’s a high ranking pilot at the DAA despite having no connection. He tries. But the curl of his lips in amusement is betraying him.

“It’s nothin’, I swear!” You mock him and you two laugh together, the sound resonating in the quiet air. As the laughter dies down, you take another swig of the alcohol, already downing it to its half. The tangy taste sits in your tongue and the icy cold liquid crawls in your throat with a stinging sensation. You remember the first time you drank alcohol with Caleb.

It was the evening after midterms season, or as you two like to call it–hell week. The grades were just announced in your campus portal and as two eager, overachieving students that you both are, you decided to check it together in a shared space in your apartment. Upon loading into the website, you quickly skim through the courses and its corresponding marks. As your eyes file through the last subject, you let out a sigh in relief. Passed. But just as soon as you realize your passing grade, Caleb speaks, “Want to get drunk?”

Caleb almost dropped out of the Dean’s List.

Just .1 shy away from being dropped from the roll.

And within ten minutes, Caleb has already set up the first ever drinking session between you two.

“No, but seriously, how have you been?” A voice pulls you out of your reminiscence. You watch him warily, his eyes refusing to meet yours while he chugs down his drink, “It’s been two years without contact,” he continued, followed by a shaky laugh. He wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand and places it back in the space between you two, just mere inches away from yours.

You let out a sound of contemplation, “Well,” you begin, ignoring the desperation laced in his tone, “I got promoted to two positions higher than what I used to be.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And I got in magazines because of work, as you already know.”

“Yep.”

You trace your fingers over the print of the alcohol bottle, ignoring his watchful gaze at you, “And I finally travelled somewhere outside of Linkon City for once.”

“Hm? Where have you been?” Caleb asks with his head tilting to the side, propping his left knee up and resting his elbow. “Chansia City?” He continued.

You shake your head. “No.”

You press your lips together in a thin line and with a heavy breath, you say, “Skyhaven.”

Caleb feels like he’s been dumped with ice cold water.

“Skyhaven?” He repeats.

“Yeah.”

He swallows, “When?”

You down your alcohol, emptying the bottle, “Hm. A little over two years ago? Probably some time in October.”

“October? You mean two months after we…”

Ignored each other deliberately?

Fought?

…Broke up?

“Yeah,” you just reply. Caleb continues to stare at you, but this time, with wide, owlish eyes and mouth slightly agape. You refuse to look at him and instead stare at the thick clouds obstructing the full moon. 

“Why were you in–”

“Can you get me another beer?” You say, shoving him your empty bottle. “And get some chips too. I’m famished!” You joke. 

Caleb observes you for a second before giving you a slight nod and sliding off the hood of the car. 

You never meant to slip that you went to Skyhaven, you just thought he wouldn’t ask further questions. But you must’ve forgotten how relentless Caleb could be when learning things about you. After all, this was the man that asked you about your schedule the moment you sat your ass down beside him on the first day of meeting him.

When he returns, your arms wrap around your legs and your chin settles atop of your knees with your eyes looking at somewhere distant over the horizon. 

“Here,” he says, handing you a cold bottle. You murmur a thanks and as soon as you take the drink, both of you guzzle down almost half of the alcohol in sync. He opens the bag of chips effortlessly and places it between you.

Before you can even change the topic, he says, “Why were you in Skyhaven?”

You catch a glimpse of him. 

Which was a mistake.

You see regret lingering in his eyes, his flushed cheeks, and quivering lips. Like he was on the verge of demanding all answers from you and the universe for your falling out.

You turn away from his stare. You nestle deeper in your knees, “Nothing. It was for vacation,” you say.

Caleb waits. 

He knows there’s still something in your words.

“Well, initially it was for vacation,” you continue, “But… I think deep inside, I was looking for something familiar,” you murmur.

“Something?” He asks in clarification.

“Someone,” you correct. Caleb had to physically tear his eyes from you, gravitating instead to the rusting freighters floating in the distance. “In hopes that maybe I would… bump into him,” you muttered, as if the person you were talking about isn’t getting drunk beside you.

He remains silent, counting the buoys he could spot. You take a sip of your alcohol.

“And… Get him back? I don’t know. He was never mine, anyway.” You whisper the last sentence under your breath, hoping he didn’t catch it.

Of course he did.

Caleb feels like his heart is clawing its way across his throat. Ignoring it, he takes a sip of his beer.

You chuckle uneasily, “God, I’m already tipsy. I’m still a lightweight even after being trained by you.”

Caleb’s first mistake of the night, he notes, was looking at you the moment you said those words. Your eyes are glassy, your cheeks red, lips slightly parted and curled up in an intoxicated smile, and your composure is already driven by the alcohol. 

“I didn’t know you were in Skyhaven back then,” he said.

“Of course you don’t, dummy! I never told anyone. Just our HR,” you reply, slapping his shoulder playfully.

“But you could’ve told me. We could’ve–”

“What? Fix things?” You cut him off with a frown. “Impossible. We could’ve never fixed it. Not then, not now, and not later.”

It was his turn to scowl. “What do you mean not now and not later?”

“What? I’m just telling the truth, Caleb.”

“Then don’t say that,” he says, begging. “If that’s the truth then I don’t want any of it. I don’t care if college has been dead for six years now or if we lost ourselves along the way. I hated being away from you.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have shown up to my doorstep, drunk out your mind, and almost cried on my stupid kitchen floor two years ago,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. 

Caleb groans, rubbing his temples with his fingers before drinking another shot. “I was stupid, okay?” 

“Was?”

“...I am stupid.” 

“I know.”

Silence engulfs the two of you again, only the sounds of the waves from the sea filling the empty space.

“Look–” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair, “Even before I got drunk at your doorstep, I was already regretting things between us.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “What do you mean regret? Which one?”

“Letting you handle all the burden of being alone,” he murmurs.

And you recall the month leading up to his drunken confession. After realizing how much he waited for his childhood friend to come back and how you saw the yearning stares he gave to her, whether through a screen or in person when he introduced you to her, when he was certain no one else was looking, you knew you had to save yourself.

You thought drunkenly confessing your feelings a year ago would set you free from the iron grip he has on your heart. You were certain you had been okay since that intoxicated revelation of how you have loved him since college. But every single time you see him longing for someone that wasn’t you–it tears you apart. And so, you decided that you’ll take a month-long venture in moving on. It was just a short journey, just enough so you’ll get rid of any romance in your system. It started with short texts to nothing at all, too fixated in your career and always on do not disturb. Then, it was bailing on dates that involved only you two. If Gideon was there, you’d come–god forbid you’re left alone with Caleb.

But unfortunately, Caleb didn’t take it well. He thought you were ending everything. He thought you were throwing away seven years of your friendship.

Hence, the intoxicated, faux confession of him loving you.

After he was rejected by his childhood friend.

Leading up to complete and absolute falling out. 

Which was not in your initial plans.

“Burden?” The word nearly sounds like a laugh and you shake your head, “Caleb, please. I was just in love with you, I wasn’t dying.”

“But you left.”

“So?”

“It’s the same thing.”

You look at him with furrowed brows, “You are so dramatic,” you laugh and he follows suit, emptying the alcohol bottle.

“Sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly, “I just miss moments like this more than anything.”

You ignore the dull ache in your chest, “I’m sure you do.”

He sighs for the umpteenth time tonight. “I think of you in the most mundane things I do,” he confesses.

“Like what? Getting drunk? You make me look like an alcoholic,” you joke.

He shakes his head with a laugh, “No,” he says as your lips reach the rim of the bottle, “Like when I make instant noodles and I instinctively reach for two packets because you don’t like the way you make them,” he says. Your eyes slightly widen. 

“Or when I read reports, I reach for a pen that’s your favorite color to comment on it.”

He takes a big swig of his drink.

“Sometimes when I see a new cafe in Skyhaven, I would think about asking you to come with me, only to find out I don’t even have your number saved anymore.”

You blink, feeling the gush of the salt air tangle in your hair. The crease between your brows deepens.

“Caleb…” You drawl, turning to him with a frown, “Why are you telling me this?” 

He turns to you.

“If you’re telling this to make you feel better about not loving me back after eight years, I will be the first person to tell you that it’s not your fault that you didn’t love me back.”

“No, I–”

“You don’t have to apologize for not loving me back either. It’s just the way it is, Caleb!” You almost exclaim, “We’re just friends and I have long accepted that,” you continue, inching closer to him with tears welling up in your eyes, “It’s time you do too.”

The sound of waves sloshing around the dock envelops the situation. The light from the streetlamp illuminates your skin as you forcibly try to restrain yourself from reaching out to him.

With a shake of your head, you exhale a deep breath and look away. “Sorry,” you begin, “That was a bit dramatic.”

“No, don’t be,” he replies.

“Yeah.”

Caleb chews on his bottom lip. “You want to finish another bottle or you’d rather sleep inside?” He asks.

You fiddle with the neck of the bottle, “I think I’d sleep this off. The alcohol is getting to me,” you say. 

Moments later, you find yourself in a situation that the you two years ago would find baffling. Laying inside your college friend’s car, with the seats on recline and him being inches away from you. You could feel the waves of the ocean lulling you to sleep despite the hammering beat of your heart against your ribcage, and with closed eyes, you try to.

You ignore the cramped space you are in.

You deny the subtle confessions Caleb was declaring to you.

You ignore the stares you could feel on your side.

Ignore. Deny. Ignore.

“We could get arrested for this,” Caleb whispers behind you.

“For sleeping in a car?” You reply, eyes still shut.

“For parking in a no park zone.”

“Just bribe them with your big pilot money. I’m sleeping here.”

“I didn’t expect those words to come out of your mouth,” he replies.

“And you won’t expect the next one either.”

“What?” He says, watching you turn to your side and face him, nuzzling your cheek on your hand and eyes screwed shut. “Shut the fuck up,” you whisper back, “Emphasis on the fuck and shut,” eliciting a chuckle from him.

“Alright.” 

But shutting the fuck up is something Caleb somehow can’t do when he’s lightheaded from the alcohol.

“I missed you.”

You hum.

“I missed the silence between us.”

“Then I beg of you to shut up. I miss the silence too,” you grumble.

He ignores your protest. 

“Won’t you ask why I’m in Linkon?” He asks

“To torment me, probably. I don’t fucking know.”

“That’s one thing.”

You don’t reply, relishing on the couple of seconds that Caleb has his mouth zipped.

“But I wasn’t in Skyhaven in October two years ago.”

Your heart could leap out of your throat.

“Pips, I was in Linkon the moment you were in Skyhaven.”

Like he couldn’t make it any more clear.

“I waited outside your office every day. All the restaurants you enjoyed. The cafe shops. Everywhere.”

Caleb’s second mistake of the night was when he saw how you slowly opened your eyes when his words fell from his mouth. He could see the way your lips fall into the deepest frown and your brows creased together with a fury of ten years of loving him. 

“Again, Caleb, why are you telling me this?” You ask, seething.

“What?” He asks, dumbfounded.

“You don’t have to tell me all of this, Caleb. Everything has happened already. Everything,” you begin, sitting up straight. He follows suit.

“I drunkenly declared to you my love and you outright rejected it. A year later, you visit me, intoxicated and you declare the same shit, right after you got rejected?” You scoff, “Come on, Caleb. I’m not stupid. Please.”

He looks at you, bewildered.

You feel the rush of heat in your cheeks and ears. Your fingernails clawing against the fabric of your jeans.

With a sigh, you shake your head, feeling the impending headache loom over you. “I know you missed me, Caleb. And I understand, trust me. ‘Cause I missed you too, I missed us,” you begin, slumping your back against his leather seat, refusing to look at him any further. “But nostalgia is a liar. You keep visiting the past but no one’s there anymore, Caleb. I’m here and you’re here. And we chose different things and that’s fine. We have to move on eventually.” 

“No but I just hated how I said all those terrible things to you–”

“Me too! I hated having to let you go,” you confess, your voice cracking but no tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “But let’s face the truth, Caleb. It’s what we needed.”

The man across you remains silent while you heave a deep breath, alcohol coursing through your veins, and you know what he’s doing.

He’s studying you intently. Again.

With a click of a tongue, you shake your head, plopping your body back to the reclined seat, laying on your side facing him. 

“I’m getting dramatic again. Goodnight, Caleb. And I expect you to shut up for real.”

The moon hangs bright in the sky, with sparse clouds littering around it, and a handful of stars accompanied the satellite with their soft light. A couple of rusting freighters and dimly lit buoys are still floating in the distance, with the soft sounds of waves continuously lapping against the pier. The tick tick tick from the hazard signal of Caleb’s vehicle is akin to a metronome.

He still sits upright, studying your steady breathing and eyelashes fluttering across your cheeks. Swallowing thickly, he leans back into the seat. He instinctively curls into the radiating warmth lying beside him, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to doze off. But the pacing beat of his heart deemed it fruitless. Fluttering his eyes open and rubbing the intoxication off, his breath hitches at the sight of you.

With your hands tucked under your head as a makeshift pillow and your chapped lips caused by the harsh weather slightly parted, he finds himself staring at your serenity.

Caleb inches closer to your face, clamping his mouth shut to avoid his breath fanning you awake. His vision is still dazed from the alcohol and his mind is almost short-circuiting from exhaustion. The cold air from the slightly ajar windows whizzes through the two of you, causing you to twitch. He flinches at your sudden movement, eyes widening at the possibility that you would rouse from your sleep. But instead, you snuggle deeper in your arms, sighing blissfully.

Caleb contemplates, slowly blinking. And with the courage of ten years of being with you, he reaches over your sleeping figure, tucking the stray strands of hair behind your ear.

He softly calls your name.

Once. 

Twice.

“What?” You grumble.

“I’ll shut up for real,” he says.

“Then do it. Don’t say it.”

“But I need your help in doing it.” 

You peek at him with one eye open. “Help you shut up? It’s like telling me to hang the stars in the sky,” you say.

“Kiss me.”

“What?” Both your eyes fly open, startled by his words.

“Do me a favor and kiss me,” he casually says. You grimace, shaking your head. “You’re just drunk, Caleb. Jeez don’t say things you will regret–”

“You think two bottles of that beer will get me drunk?” He raises a brow at you and tilts his head knowingly.

Touche. 

“You say nostalgia is a liar,” he continues, “Then help me move on from it then. Make me realize it’s not real.”

He sits up once again and you follow suit.

You chew your bottom lip in contemplation, darting your stare from the steering wheel, to the shift, and back to your lap. 

“Just a kiss?”

He nods slowly. 

You gulp. 

Another mistake is about to be made, you mentally note. And you swear this is going to fuck up your friendship and you’re just inebriated, this is just the alcohol talking nonsense, and you’re certain you’re demolishing all the stability you’ve built in your life but–

“Fuck it.” 

Caleb didn’t have to be told twice.

Within seconds, Caleb slowly leans into you, “Here I go,” he mutters. You nod at him, your breaths shallow and fanning his face as his hand reaches to your cheek. With his trembling fingers over your skin, he presses your lips together–the feeling of his chapped lips against yours, slowly moving along the rhythm of the waters. Despite the tenderness of it all, you were caught off guard with the sensation, but eventually, you relax under his touch. He feels the rapid beating of his heart against his chest as you carefully slip his actions in sync.

Your heart both sinks and swells at the feeling of his warmth radiating against you, your hands grip onto his shoulder as the two of you continue to glide your lips against each other. He trails his fingers from your cheeks to your chin, gripping it tight before slightly pushing it downward, urging you to part your mouth further. He slides his tongue against yours as his other hand reaches for the back of your head, pulling you closer to him. You let out a small whimper, your hands shaking as you try to hold ground yourself back into reality.

Your nails claw through the fabric of his shirt, earning a groan from Caleb between your mouths.

Unable to keep the wild thumping of your chest at bay, you pull away from him before he can push himself further into your space, avoiding his gleaming irises. You pant heavily, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“There. That ought to shut you up.”

Caleb almost laughs in between his heavy breathing.

But you lean back into the seat, turning your back against him. 

He feels his heart sink to his stomach.

“I don’t want to hear another word from your big mouth, Caleb,” you say jokingly. “You better keep your promise.”

And for the first time in the long night, he was quiet. Of course, he kept his promise. Not until the words slip from his tongue, “I think you’re still wrong. Everything I’ve felt about us has always been real.”

But you no longer heard it with the soft snores coming from your slightly parted lips.

Hours later, after a pathetic convenience store breakfast, and the heat of the morning seeping through the car windows, you two find yourself threading through the highways and avenues of the city again.

Laughs were shared in the small enclosure of his vehicle, complaints about a splitting headache were echoed, random catching up were made, and even sob stories about how life treated you two during the years you’ve been apart were declared.

For some reason, the air still hangs thick–but this time, with more uncertainty than ever. But it’s okay, you tell yourself, with your head leaned back onto the seat of his car and his hand sometimes ghosting over yours, you tell yourself that it’s fine. 

Because once this is all over, when you’re back in the comforts of your apartment, you’re certain that whatever Caleb feels about you will come to fruition the following days. Whether he’d come to your doorstep with flowers in hand or just through random texts like a friend, it won’t hurt you.

By the end of the day, he was still the Caleb that you cherished in college. And you were content with either outcome fate decides to give you. 

a/n: hope you guys liked this :") tbh i didn't want caleb taking the route of blatantly confessing his love because i could never wrap my head around the concept of loving someone after yearning after a different person for years.

reblogs, comments, and likes are highly appreciated! pls share some love <3