#I could’ve probably broke this down better but i hope it makes sense for the most part

[crippled-peeper]

it it okay to ask why your type of quadriplegia is terminal as opposed to other types where people can live a long time with adequate support?

It’s not the paralysis alone that makes my life shorter, that’s just a part of it and a contributing factor. Many quadriplegics do actually eventually die from complications of their conditions - the biggest causes of mortality being infection, pneumonia, and suicide in that order

My particular condition doesn’t have a name - or rather it’s a combination of MANY differently named conditions.

I have rods and pedicle screws fused to 10 of my vertebrae (19 screws - 2 rods) which have been in my body for 10 years now. This has caused 2 other complications in my spine -

1: adjacent disc degeneration

2: flatback syndrome

I have 5 herniated discs (yeah it gets worse) above and below my spinal fusion because of these two complications. 2 of these herniations, one above the fusion & one below, are moderate-severe and are compressing my spinal cord right now as I type this

I have an additional disc located C5-C6 that has been removed and replaced with an implant called the MOBI-C, which is made of a titanium alloy (like the rods & screws) but also a small piece of silicone in the center that unfortunately has a tendency to break and my surgeon believes mine is broken now. This arthroplasty is sitting below one of my worst (but surgically unaltered, for now) disc herniations.

“But Morg,” you might be wondering, “if the 10-level spinal fusion (which is huge!) caused so many complications and is causing your spine to degenerate and fail, why don’t they take it out or shorten it?”

the short version? they simply can’t. spinal fusions are designed to be life long. they can’t take out the implants without replacing them with something, and even that may be impossible because of the lack of remaining bone structure (my spine was severely deformed, and they removed a lot of the vertebral body)

the whole reason I’ve become a novelty to the neurosurgery department at my hospital is because they (with their experience and imagination) are looking into my future and seeing not good things for me. it has even been suggested that they consult with my other doctor(s) and refer me to the Mayo Clinic to see if there’s anyone there with experience working on people like me - or if there’s even anything at all they can do for me at this point.

all this being said…. It’s hard to picture myself dying of anything else at this point. you can generously estimate that patients like myself have a 30-year lifespan, and I will be singing high praise of the universe if I live that long, but I’m not optimistic about say, outliving my twin who has had no surgery before, or even my older sibling.

I try to be optimistic, right, but I am a man of science so I must also be realistic which means listening to my doctor’s genuine concerns about my quality of life and complicated pathologies.

#my mom died at 50 so if I live longer than that I’ll consider myself lucky #long post #I could’ve probably broke this down better but i hope it makes sense for the most part #when im talking about those 2 disc herniations those caused spinal cord compression and a lot of my symptoms #one of the symptoms was literally just the most unbearable 20/10 pain you’ve ever felt and i could barely breathe and had to be hospitalize #surgery #personal #terminal illness #terminal condition #suicide

[ravenromanova]

Bad girl

Parings: Wandanat x Female Avenger

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! Mommy kink, Daddy kink, Fingering, Edging, Bonadge, Orgasm denial, Oral, Nipple play, Mean Wanda, Overstimulation. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Summary: Wanda and Natasha need to give their neglected baby some attention

This fic came from this request!

Kinktober masterlist - Main masterlist - Send me requests!!!

~

You could feel the two sets of emerald eyes throwing daggers at you as you talked to their younger siblings. Your plan was working a little better than you had intended and you were just hoping they’d break soon. The plan was simple, flirt with pietro and yelena, get Wanda and Nat to give you attention like you’ve been wanting all week.

Your girlfriends had promptly been ignoring you for over a week now and it was killing you. Honestly you had no idea why they were being so cold towards you. So you did what you did best…scheme. And by the looks that both redheads were giving you it was definitely working.

The three of you were downing shots at the bar in between sharing your most embarrassing mission stories.

“No i swear i almost died that mission” You laugh at your own stupidity from your last mission as you down another shot. Pietro went on about how Clint “accidentally” shot him with an arrow during training and you lost it. You slyly put your hand on the blondes shoulder making his twin fume.

“I think you’ve had enough malysh” A thick sokovian accent flooded your ears as her hands came around your waist. Her hands squeezed your hips making you squeak a little as you turned to look at her.

“But im having fun” You try to protest earning a disappointed sigh from the redhead.

“I said you’ve had enough” She repeated herself lowly in your ear causing you to shiver. “Natty is already in the room waiting for us” Wanda took your hand and pulled you away from Yelena and Pietro despite your protests. Her cool rings her digging into the flesh of your arm causing you to struggle in her grasp.

“Heyyyyy!” You pout as she takes you away from your friends.

“Bad girls dont get to have fun” She pushed you into the room where Natasha was waiting on the bed. You opened your mouth to say something but she pushed you onto the bed before you could.

“Anything to say for yourself?” The russian asked kneeling behind you. Your senses were all kinds of fucked as you were surrounded by the two women.

The air in the room was thick with tension as you felt Natashas hands come underneath your shirt rubbing small circles on your stomach. Both of the women raised an eyebrow waiting for your response but you couldn’t find one that wouldn’t make them mad.

“I-I just wanted your attention” The words fly out of your mouth before you could stop them. “You two have been so distant and cold towards me lately” Both women look at each other as you speak and they truly felt bad for abandoning their princess.

“So instead of coming to us about it you decided to flirt with our siblings?” Wanda seethed feeling her guilt melt away and her anger take over.

You simply nod your head at her question feeling all kinds of stupid at your antics. You knew your girlfriends loved you and were probably just having a difficult time lately but you still missed them.

“You could’ve just asked detka” The russian husked in your ear kissing it softly. “But since you wanted to be a slut we now have to treat you like one” Her hands found their way to the hem on your panties making you shiver.

“I-I’m sorry daddy” You groan feeling her hand pull away from your core. “I’ll be a good girl” Natasha chuckled in your ear moving from behind you to lay you flat on the bed.

“Oh we know you will detka” She said softly giving you a sweet kiss before they ruin you. Wanda flicks her wrist and youre left naked on the bed. Both women kneel on either side of you slowly rubbing your soft skin making you burn with desire.

“Here’s how this is gonna go” Wandas voice broke you out of your thoughts. “We are going to play with you and you only get to cum when we say so and if you cum before we allow you to then you will be punished more than you already are okay?” She says gripping your chin.

“Yes mommy i understand” Wanda smiles at your submission and then uses her magic to tie your hands to the bed frame. The red tendrils buzzed against your skin and made you smile.

Wanda made her way down to your wet pussy and stopped right before she got to your clit. Your hips bucked against her hand when you felt her cool hands come into contact with your heated skin. She slowly licked a stripe against your pussy making you moan but ultimately she left you wanting more. She flicked her wrist again and started drawing circles against your clit.

“Oh fuck mommy” You mewl feeling the buzzing on your most sensitive area. Wanda smiled softly and you and gave Natasha a look that sealed your fate for the night. You felt the older woman move behind you and rest your body against her chest. Her slim fingers made their way down to your nipples and started tugging on them.

“Yes yes yes” You chanted relishing in the touch of your lovers. You felt the coil in your stomach about to burst at their touch. But it was soon cut off when Natasha stopped touching you and Wandas magic ceased on your clit.

“Did you really think we’d let you cum that easily? Bad girls dont get to have fun” Wanda repeated her words from earlier coming back up so your faces are inches apart.

“B-But mommy” You whine trying to pull her closer and she responded by smacking your mouth.

“Do not talk back” She reprimanded with a harsh tone making you sink back into Natashas hold.

“Oh come on dont be so mean to her Wands. Our little baby just wanted our attention” Natasha cooed rubbing your cheek softly to soothe the sting.

“Stop being so soft of the little slut Natalia” Wanda sneered giving the russian her signature death glare.

“No, she’s just our dumb little baby who didn’t know any better” The russian played with your hair making Wanda roll her yes.

“She’s still getting punished for being a slut” The younger of the two women flicked her wrist again and the your clit started buzzing again.

“Oh fuck” You throw your head back onto Natasha in pleasure. One of Natashas hand found home around your throat applying just the right amount of pleasure.

The coil in your stomach was about to snap again feeling Wandas magic on your clit. Wanda stopped the magic once more making you whine in protest.

“Please mommy please let me cum” You begged the witch making her shake her head.

“Now what’s the fun in that when you get so worked up by me not?” She asked and Natasha just shook her head at the younger woman. You felt a shifting behind you and then Natasha was the one between your legs.

Wanda shot the spy a look that read ‘what are you doing?’. Natasha simply shook her head and parted your thighs.

“Well if you aren’t going to fuck her then i will” She simply said shrugging her shoulders and started eating your pussy. Wanda groaned at her girlfriend and slightly outed that her fun was over. She always knew the spy had a soft spot for you and Wanda did too expect for when you fuck up.

“Always so soft on her” Her words sent a chill down your spine making you look up on her.

“That doesn’t mean you have to be” Your words made her tilt her head and raise an eyebrow at you. “I-I like it when youre rough with me mommy” You say trying to pull on the magical restraints but failing.

Wanda just smiled and wrapped her hand around your throat and her mouth came into contact with your nipple. “Yes mommy-fuck-“ You moan when you feel Wanda biting and tugging on your nipple.

“So sweet detka” Natasha praised sticking two fingers in you hitting your g-spot. You threw your head back feeling overwhelmed by the pleasure you’re enduring.

“Hurry up and make her cum” Wanda hurried Natasha as she stared at the spy making her speed up her actions.

“R-Right there-oh fuck- yes daddy yes!” The moan ripped itself from your throat and the coil in your stomach snapped as Natasha hit your g-spot just right.

“Good girl” She praised bringing you into a heated kiss. The two of you moaned as you tasted yourself on her lips. Wanda was quick to pull you two apart and settled herself in between your thighs again.

The witch wasted no time in shoving three fingers in you making you scream at the burn. She kept her eyes on you the whole time as Natasha started leaving marks on your chest and neck.

“Oh fuck mommy please can i cum?” You asked feeling your second orgasm build up. Wanda smirks and then rips her fingers out of you causing you so cry out.

“P-Please mommy” You beg pulling on your restraints. Wanda clutches your face in her hand again forcing you to look at her.

“Who do you belong to?” She asked giving you another smack on the cheek.

“You and Daddy i-i belong to you and Daddy” You responded to her question quickly which made her smile.

“You better start acting like it” She said and you nodded obediently as she made her way back down to your pussy. Natasha was still leaving marks on your neck when Wanda shoved her fingers back into you.

“Cum you little slut” Wanda urged fucking into you at a hard and rough pace. The coil in your stomach was building up at every stroke of your g-spot.

“R-Right there mommy fuck!” You screamed feeling your orgasm rip through you. Wanda continued to finger you not caring that you were pleading her to stop. Her fingers worked relentlessly against your core. It all became too much Natashas mouth of your nipple while Wanda fucked you hard had you reeling.

“Too much Mommy s-stop please!” Your attempt at pushing Wanda out with just your thighs failed you when she used her magic again to tie your thighs together.

“Fight me again and you wont get to cum for weeks” She muttered against your clit while her fingers were still in you.

At a certain point you lost how many orgasms your girlfriends had pulled out of you alternating between who fucked you. But after what felt like hours they finally stopped.

“I’m sorry for being a bad girl” You said in the midst of a fucked out haze. Both women laid next to you and Wanda tilted your chin to look at her.

“We’re sorry for ignoring you malysh. We’ll do better.. Just dont pull that again little one” She gave you a sweet kiss and then rubbed your cheek softly.

“We love you detka” Natasha whispered in your ear as her arms snaked around your waist.

“I love you guys too” You said with a dopey smile on your face. The three of you fell into a comfortable silence just enjoying the soft kisses and touches they gave you. That night they promised you no matter what that they’d never neglect their baby ever again.

~The end~

A/n: Sorry i kinda rushed this one i wanted to make sure i posted this one tonight since i have a few more kinktober fics coming out and i dont wanna keep not posting for days at a time!

I do not give permission for my work to be copied or translated on other cites

#ravenromanova #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #wanda x reader #wandanat x reader smut #wandanat x reader #wandanat #wanda x natasha #natasha romanoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff x female reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut #black widow #scarlet witch

[digitaldiarystuff]

False Hope

okay don’t kill me but the only reason this turned smuttish and not full on smut is because i don’t know if i can write it good so the story was supposed to be different but it’s okay right 🥺 let me know if you liked it pleaseee

————

pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Y/N

summary: you’re close friends with Pedri and pretty much in love with him, pretending you’re not you went to comfort him but he seeks the comfort in a different way than you would’ve expected

genre: suggestive but not quite, angst

————

“Hola, Pepi?” you asked walking in the house with the spare key after ringing the doorbell for 5 minutes, you were supposed to have a chill day at his place but he didn’t answer.

You figured he could’ve been resting giving the injury he’s had and maybe he forgot you were coming over. You and Pedri were good friends, you’ve met 2 years ago and were in a friend group together but soon enough your so-called friends dumped you which caused you to be depressed for a while but even though you were never the closest, Pedri was there for you.

He didn’t have to but still told all your ex friends off and even cut contact with most of them and you were grateful for his friendship. You may also have a slight crush on him since the day he argued on your behalf, you weren’t a weak person nor needed someone else to fight your battles but seeing him stand up for you was something not even your exes did and you couldn’t help but fall for him. He was just that sweet but you knew this was a stupid crush, boys like that belonged to supermodels and actresses not law students.

You slowly made your way into his home but there was nothing, you thought about going right back out but this would be an embarrassing story to tell him later. Oh yeah I broke into your home with a spare key and snooped around, lovely but as you were losing hope you heard the shower running.

Taking a deep breath you calmed yourself down and went into the kitchen, he’d probably not eaten anything since last night and you were mostly concerned about his mental state. Pedri had a tendency to blame himself for things he didn’t have control over and it honestly broke your heart. He was always trying his best at anything and going above and beyond but sometimes life’s just like this and you need to accept reality and stop putting pressure on yourself. You started to make some pancakes, that could make him feel better.

“Y/N?” a voice came behind you and you dropped the spoon in your hand from the shock.

“Oh my… You scared the shit out of me!” you exclaimed putting the spoon in the sink.

“I’m the one whose house is broken into and you’re angry at me.” he clipped back and you got a good look at him, his hair was wet and he wasn’t wearing a shirt just sweatpants but you couldn’t even care about his perfectly toned body because his eyes were bloodshot and he had bags under them showing you he’d been crying for a long while.

“I’m sorry Pepi.” you said and lunged at him throwing yourself at his arms and he was quick to catch you.

He didn’t say anything just held you close, he looked like he really needed this.

“How are you feeling?” you asked already knowing the answer and tried to pull back but he didn’t let you. Just then you realized the state you were in, his naked and moist chest against you and you couldn’t control your body’s reaction against him, slowly tracing his back with your fingers. You knew you shouldn’t think about him like that, especially not now but his hot breath on your neck was turning your legs into jelly and his breath was getting uneven every time you got to his neck slowly caressing the hair on it.

Meanwhile his hands weren’t still either, he was stroking your sides and hips absentmindedly but he was just doing it to calm himself, right? Just then he pressed a feather like kiss on the nape of your neck making your breathing stop. He could sense it and chuckled lowly but didn’t stop. Pedri kept placing innocent kisses all along your neck and behind your ear and your hands were still holding him tightly. When he found the spot that made your knees go weak you exhaled and made a small noise.

“Pedri”

“Shh” he said and kept going, his kisses were more sensual and open mouthed now and one of his hands found your hips pulling you harshly into him. Your body was quickly on fire, his touch burning your skin.

You felt all your logic go out the window as he started sucking on your neck possibly leaving a mark but at that moment he could do pretty much anything and you couldn’t stop him. He finally stopped his attack on your neck and leaned his forehead against yours eyes closed, you knew you could’ve stopped him right then and there but your judgement was too clouded with the feelings you had for him. You wanted him to kiss you but he was taking his time so you hastily leaned in kissing his lips like you wished all this time. He didn’t even lose a second and started devouring you. His lips were made for you and you’ve never felt this electricity with any boy you’ve kissed. You wanted Pedri, you wanted more. You’ve been patient, you’ve waited for a long time for him to give you this kind of attention but in the back of your mind you also knew he was at a low point and was worried this could be bad for both of you. Your friendship was on the line.

“Pedri, um”

He kept silencing you with his movements and even went as far as unbuttoning your jeans and inching his hand slowly inside. He was agonizingly slow and too fast at the same time, it felt like a movie. You held his forearm not sure whether to pull it back or push it where you need him the most but you just couldn’t.

“Pedro.” you said with a final will, you knew if he reached inside your pants there was no going back and you didn’t even want to go back but you were also afraid of being used just for once. Were you ready to be a bandaid only used at a crisis time?

When he heard you call his full name he suddenly stopped and leaned back, you’ve never seen him like this and it took everything in you to not lean in and close the distance letting him have his way with you however he pleased. His eyes were even darker and filled with lust in contrary to how they’ve been when you arrived, his lips were plump and he was breathing heavily. He’s never looked so sexy in your eyes but as soon as he came to realize what he’s been doing he panicked.

“Y/N I’m so so sorry I don’t know what happened I…”

“It’s okay. Um, really it’s fine I mean you’re feeling bad and I was near so I understand you don’t have to…” you trailed off but couldn’t even pretend it was really okay.

For a second you thought maybe this was real and he wasn’t just into you now that you’re here to heal him but that all went away as soon as he started to talk. You put a sad smile on your face and turned back.

“I should get back to the pancakes.”

“You don’t have to” he said awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“No it’s fine really, I need to head out after I finish these anyway.”

“What, why? Where are you going?” he asked panicking, you knew he was going to blame himself for this too but in the two years you’ve known him this was the first time he really was to blame. You blinked back a tear in your eye and answered him.

“I just have some errands to run, maybe I’ll see you next week.”

He didn’t say anything for a while, you even thought he left the room until spoke again.

“Oh okay.”

#football #football imagine #football x reader #football x y/n #football oneshot #football x you #football blurb #football one shot #fc barcelona #football angst #football fluff #pedri angst #pedri x y/n #pedri x you #pedri blurb #pedri one shot #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri #pedrito #pedri gonzalez #pedri smut #pedri fanfic

[skymagpie]

I was in the mood to discuss the most common criticisms for Below Zero today on Reddit because I feel like people do not give some of the writing of this game enough credit, it’s actually good, you just need to read a bit between the lines. Yes it could’ve been better, it was slightly underwritten, but the core line was great and with more polishing it would’ve been excellent. I can probably talk more about it (and I will make my full rant one day), but I just felt this at the moment.

[ ID: Reddit reply from user ‘SkyMagpie’ reading: I think it also comes down to taste and to each individual person, so I respect that some people will not like the plot. I have to just disagree on some of the points and comment on others because these discussions come up often (SPOILER WARNING for people reading this):

I think the current version of the story is less cliche and stereotypical than the original version (from the early access which was written by the same writer from the 1st Subnautica game). There Al-An was cold, uncaring and an asshole. Some aspects of that story were better (Robin working for Alterra and having a change of heart), but some were worse (Al-An being the stereotypical asshole alien and the villain guy being a clearly bad guy with malicious intent)

.Al-An is not an emotionless computer to whom Robin has to teach emotions, he knows emotions - he clearly realizes right away that Robin is angry that he invaded her mind and decides to give her space to process it, he talks how his people upon realizing their mortality found a shrine to think on what it means to die, he asks her about memories (so he is trying to process grief) and he correctly notes that she is upset about her sister's death and copes with food. He clearly understands Robin's emotions and his emotional changes come from within himself and not from Robin, he chooses to hide information from her and he is also scared she will be mad at him for it. The only thing Robin show's Al-An are human customs and cultural elements as well as human concepts such as music for the purpose of entertainment, having pets just out of pleasure of doing so and the meaning of poetry when referring to abstract concepts such as "hope".

To go off my last point, Al-An has knowledge, but he has a hard time grasping human concepts because he has not lived with humans. It's the same about not being able to understand jokes and comedy between IRL cultures because the difference in language and way of living means that a part of the joke is lost (for example not all people who don't speak English well or are familiar with British culture will find British humor funny). This is what Robin teaches him. Al-An knows what hope means in the semantic sense, but he doesn't know what hope means to humans. To Emily Dickinson, hope is the thing with feathers - even we as humans who know the poem can disagree on the meaning of hope and interpret the poem differently. I feel that Al-An's writing broke out of the common stereotypes for aliens in subtle ways which are not obvious straight away. A lot of his ignorance came off as charming curiosity rather than instant dismissal of emotion. The note he leaves Robin after she tells him the Emily Dickinson poem is really sweet and shows his willingness to learn and to understand.

Robin and Al-An mutually helped each other go through grief and came out changed. I'd argue that Robin's character is probably the weakest point of the story because it is not clear when she changes and she comes off as preachy, but she is still driving the story forward with enough space for us as players to insert our own emotions. The story with Sam was good, but I think it was pretty brave to take the less obvious route and not just have Alterra be evil and kill Sam, covering her murder as Robin believed, rather have Sam die because she wanted to do something good and she screwed up - she still did well, but not everyone walks out a hero, and in this she parallels Al-An who had a good idea and drove his race to extinction because he also screwed up. Not everyone walks out unscathed. But Al-An learned from Robin and Sam as much as Robin learned from his story and found peace with her sister's death. Robin finally met Sam after she died and learned that her sister was brave and willing to fight what she believed in, even if it ended in tragedy.

Thank you if you read this far, I just think that this story is very cute and it falls together nicely. Maybe the original premise is cliche, but the elements make it very interesting if people are willing to dive into them. That goes for most stories, strip any story down to it's summary and you will get the same stories over and over, but its the way the are told and the execution that people enjoy, that's where the charm is and for me personally this was a really nice story. However it's okay if some people don't like it. And we have to note that Subnautica games are PG10+ so these were written with a younger audience in mind and the plot lines are simpler for children to grasp. Older players and fans have enough things to dig through to still be entertained by the story. The original Subnautica had a pretty cliche story line too, but the way it was executed in combination with the world is what makes it so lovable. When it comes to story, both games are equally good in my opinion.” end ID ]

#subnautica #subnautica below zero #al-an subnautica #robin ayou

[nighttimeebony]

A collection of my thoughts, reactions, predictions and whatnot that I had and wrote down while I was reading The Sea of Monsters. So spoilers for that under the cut.

EDIT: part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5

Ah, I just now realized that Percy’s sword, Riptide, is another nod to his Poseidon heritage

Where the hell was this kind of school when I was Percy’s age? You don’t get grades, and you just get to blow shit up in science class?? I fucking wish

Tyson kind of reminds me of some of the special ed kids I knew in elementary school. Or kids with low-functioning autism. That’s probably what Percy figured, too, since he didn’t know that Tyson was a cyclops at first. Percy is such a sweetheart, and he does his best to treat Tyson kindly and to protect him from bullies. And he does it not to feel better about himself but because he wants Tyson to feel better. And he doesn’t just protect Tyson and leave him alone afterwards and hope he doesn’t talk to him. He genuinely considers Tyson to be one of his friends and he cares about him. I just. I love this kid.

Ah, yes. Tantalus. I remember you. Your son had sex with Percy’s dad.

I like that whenever Percy sees Grover in a wedding dress, he says nothing about the fact that Grover is a boy wearing a dress, he’s just like, “bro, that does not fit you at all, you need a size 9 at least before we can call it kosher”. I love these kids.

I like Silena Beauregard and Charles Beckendorf. I imagine that they're a couple, because it would be a cute reference to the fact that Aphrodite and Hephaestus are technically married. In a very crack shippy kind of way.

I just now realized that the name of Luke's sword (Backbiter) was foreshadowing for his inevitable betrayal. Backbiter is a term used to describe someone untrustworthy, or used to describe a traitor. It’s basically a synonym for “backstabber”. The trickster Norse god Loki is actually frequently referred to with the epithet Backbiter. It could also be a reference to the fact that Hermes is not only a trickster god, but also the god of liars and thieves, which would make sense considering that Luke is a son of Hermes.

Holy shit, Luke is trying to Voldemort this shit!

“‘Percy,’ Annabeth said, trying to keep her cool, ‘we’re going to Polyphemus’s island! Polyphemus is an S-i-k… a C-y-k…” She stamped her foot in frustration. As smart as she was, Annabeth was dyslexic, too. We could’ve been there all night while she tried to spell Cyclops.” I love this book.

Percy’s like, a donut shop in the middle of nowhere is a little weird, but donuts aren’t all that high on my list of threats to worry about. Percy, last book you were almost murdered by Medusa at a diner. I think you should know by now that free food is sketchy as hell when you’re you.

“‘I DON’T CARE WHAT IT SAID!’ Ares bellowed with such force that his image shimmered. ‘You will succeed. And if you don’t…’ He raised his fist. Even though he was only a figure in the steam, Clarisse flinched.” Oh, baby…

I think Clarisse should swear. She deserves it.

Annabeth talking about weaving and Athena’s skill with weaving specifically makes me wonder if we’re ever going to meet or get some other mention/reference to Arachne.

“‘But…’ Annabeth’s voice sounded hurt. ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’” Annabeth saying this broke my heart, but then I remembered that she’s going to be Black in that new live action series, and thinking about this scene with that context in mind hurt me even more considering how Black kids are often shamed and punished for their natural hair texture. I’m just imagining little Annabeth getting made fun of by other kids for her hair and teachers punishing her for being “dirty” or “ungroomed”, and then thinking about the way this cunt is manipulating Annabeth to feel like she’s lesser than because of it. That new live series Disney+ is making better not mess this up.

Holy shit, did C.C. also invent the concept of Instagram?? Why is she obliterating these thirteen-year-olds’ self-esteem???

Oh, because she’s a witch. Yup, Circe, that checks out

Amelia Earheart was a half-blood? I love that. Also, yes! Thank you for mentioning Atalanta, I adore her! She’s one of my favorite characters in Greek mytho-history.

Also, Blackbeard being a son of Ares makes way too much sense

Percy being good at sailing is amazing. Finding that one interest that’s very niche and obscure that’s almost useless in modern society and nailing the hell out of it is very neurodivergent of him and I’m so proud of him for that

“I looked over, expecting to see Annabeth, but the girl wasn’t Annabeth. She wore punk-style clothes with silver chains on her wrists. She had spiky black hair, dark eyeliner around her stormy blue eyes, and a spray of freckles across her nose. She looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure why.” Wait. Is that Thalia?

"'But… you're still getting married?' Grover sounded hurt." Grover, baby, he was going to kill you. This is not about you not being hot enough for him.

Annabeth calling herself Nobody to get Polyphemus's attention—I remember that myth; I read it in elementary school. I thought it was hysterical. It still is. Also Annabeth's burn game is on point.I didn’t know that that hero was Odysseus specifically, but now that I do, it makes a lot more sense.

By the way, isn’t Odysseus related to Poseidon? I can’t remember, but I could swear that Odysseus was a grandson of Poseidon… (two Google searches later). Nope, it was Hermes. He’s a grandson of Hermes, which, yeah, that makes more sense than Poseidon.

"'Not a traitor,' Tyson said. 'And you are not my kind.'" YES, BABY!!

Percabeth. Just Percabeth. I love these children and I love them together.

Percy is one of the best protagonists ever. When Polyphemus was crying and asking Percy not to kill him, Percy spared him. Not because Polyphemus didn't deserve to die, but because Percy didn't want to kill him and felt bad for him. He sympathizes with Clarisse when she's upset, even though she's insulting him and Annabeth is angry with her. He remembers the way Ares had treated her on the boat, and instead of yelling back at her, he treats her with kindness and patience. He lets her complete her quest and have the glory that comes with it, because Percy doesn’t care about getting recognized by the camp for what he did—he just wants the camp to be saved, and as long as the Fleece is delivered to do that, he doesn’t care how. I just. I love him so much. He's such a sweet kid.

I love that Annabeth is the bloodthirsty, petty one between her and Percy.

Holy shit, Tyson's watch thing!! Damn, Tyson!

Percy proudly calling Tyson his baby brother is everything to me.

I love that at this point in the story, Percy is only 13 and has canonically been wanted by the police on two separate occasions.

HOLY SHIT!!!!! THALIA'S ALIVE!!!!!!!!! I AM READY TO LOVE HER!!!!!!!!

#pjo #pjo spoilers #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson the sea of monsters #pjo tyson #percy jackson and the sea of monsters #the sea of monsters #annabeth chase #grover underwood #pjo polyphemus #pjo clarisse #pjo thalia

[landonkirbyappreciation]

Okay so since we will never know what happened to Landon in the prison world (and I will never be over it), I’m just gonna ramble about some of my own headcanons about it...

-Landon used the tunnels under the town to get around undetected, which is also where he was able to research prison worlds and monsters and practice using his weapons without being seen/heard. And the tunnels also allowed him to more easily access the school (which is maybe where he could’ve gotten some of his weapons or food) as well as the grill (maybe a better option for food since at least part of the school had been on fire) since there’s an entrance to the tunnels there too. But Landon obviously would’ve struggled with being in the tunnels because of his claustrophobia, giving him even more reason to learn to fight monsters and create his hunter disguise so he could be above ground, in addition to him already needing to in order to find a way out of the prison world.

-He would grab hold of Hope’s necklaces around his neck throughout his time in the prison world, especially in moments he struggled to keep going.

-In quieter moments Landon had, he would sometimes write in his journal. Maybe documenting some of his time in the prison world, as well as writing letters to Hope and Raf to help himself cope.

-Elena’s clinic in the town square is where Landon went to get supplies to stitch himself up for the first time.

-I’m not good at thinking up monsters Landon might have fought, but one I did think of is a hydra, which I think could be fitting because of how that could parallel the Hercules reference in 2x11. I also headcanon that the monster that made Landon hallucinate he was being rescued over and over again was a wraith (insp. by @winnie-the-monster).

-This headcanon is maybe a bit out there, but comes from a brief theory I’d had back in 3x11. In that scene when they showed the Necromancer’s body in pieces in the crypt in the prison world, I’d actually wondered at the time if Landon had done that. And I guess we’re supposed to believe that one creature did it idk, but my headcanon is still that Landon did that. That the Necromancer had been there because Malivore had spat him out into the prison world to use him to find a way back to the real world. And got him to help by using the threat that if he failed, Malivore would make him human/Ted again, like he had before. Which would explain why the Necromancer became Ted again, because he had failed in helping Malivore escape the prison world. And he failed because Landon had stopped him, because Landon had seen that he was trying to find a way out (with the grimoire and writing on the wall in the crypt) so Landon killed him so he couldn’t, to protect everyone in the real world. And he didn’t come back to life as the Necromancer after because he came back as Ted instead because of Malivore’s punishment, which is why the Necromancer’s remains were still in the crypt by 3x11. (Though why Ted had amnesia idk, maybe Malivore somehow did that to him at some point as well. Maybe if Ted had gone through the rift after him, and Malivore wanted to punish him further and wiped his memories so he couldn’t become the Necromancer again? Who knows, but this is the only sense I can make of that whole situation since we got no explanation, while also fitting it in with my own headcanon.)

-Landon having to kill the Necromancer to keep everyone else safe would’ve pushed him to his limit. Because he would’ve known that the Necromancer was likely his only chance of escaping the prison world as well. Especially after having had no success finding any way back on his own and realizing that someone who could do magic was really the only way. So him having to give up what he felt was probably his only hope would’ve caused him to break down. (Which I imagine being similar to how Bonnie broke down in the prison world, when she was so close to escaping only to still be trapped.)

-Also similar to Bonnie, I imagine with Landon feeling so hopeless after having to give up his chance of escaping and feeling like he would never get back home and never be free, he would’ve gotten to a point where he felt like giving up. Where he would’ve gone to the dock with the intention of jumping into the lake for the last time. But, especially after thinking of Hope and his promise to always find her again, he decided not to go through with it and keep fighting. (And also the way this could kinda parallel the end of 3x05 as well? With both Hope and Landon feeling hopeless on the dock, Hope feeling that Landon was gone and Landon feeling like he could never get back. And Hope dropping the artifact into the lake and Landon almost jumping in, Hope feeling heartbroken and like she’d never see Landon again, then Landon deciding to keep fighting and find his way back to her. Plus Hope later deciding to keep fighting for Landon as well.)

-Shortly after Landon almost gave up is when Hope astral projected to the prison world and then tried to get there and opened the rift. And Landon happened to see the rift opening up, and he was running to it when Malivore got a hold of him and possessed him right before he went through.

#text #my posts #s3 #headcanons #i may end up adding to this at some point #also if anyone else has any ideas #feel free to add

[eristic-kaleidoscope]

Laplace's Angel | AIRika | Trial 2.5 | Re: END, KOKONE, Arakiel | Attn: Hosts, Just Erika, Eri

“Yeah, I’ll say it. It’s relevant now. I voted Eri for Aiding and Abetting. 

I literally only did it because I wasn’t sure if there was a consequence for voting at the start, and it was a Hail Mary. Literally. I just did it for no reason. When I saw Byrne or I got it right, I was pretty shocked. It makes sense, though. Eri has definitely commit identity fraud, which means they’re at least somewhere in the remaining crimes. Of those crimes, there’s only five options.

This makes the options left espionage, attempted murder, regular murder, criminal sabotage, and serial murder. Serial murder and sabotage we never got to vote on, because of the stupid motive… but…”

They turn to look and An and Calluna.

“When will we get our rewards for the crimes that weren’t revealed? If we get them now, we might be able to settle a few things.”

They don’t expect much, but it’s worth a shot. If they suddenly earn points for one of their guesses that was never revealed, they can put more together.

“Also? Erika? Someone could’ve just done your makeup for you. Didn’t I literally offer to give you a makeover a few days ago? I haven’t had time for it yet, but it made me think. You wouldn’t need to know much if someone did it for you. If that person really thought ahead, they could’ve made the errors just to fit the deal better… can someone close to her get a better look at the makeup, or try to feel if there’s any bumps?”

They look to Ae-ra, the only person there that wasn’t a suspect, hoping she’ll follow through— but then, they realize something.

“Hey, wait. The hosts also said that they put us with people that they think we’d get along best with. I was probably out with Lapis and Arakiel since we’re all athletes, KOKONE and Kenshin are together because they got along before here, and we have the science corner over there. Ae-ra and Erika are both sweet, so I get that. Not all the line ups can be perfect, but...

Why the hell are Eri and Erika next to each other? Maybe circumstantial, but there's been too many goddamn circumstances today.“

They cross their arms, looking between the two and sighing. They won't dwell on that point for much longer. They don't exactly have evidence that it's because of some relation.

“One or two gummies will kill, right? A prescription bottle of thirty is enough to kill fifteen to twenty people, which has to be enough to count as a serial murder. If someone for some ungodly reason really needed those for themselves, two would be more than enough. It makes absolutely no sense that someone is prescribed fucking thirty.

You wanna help? Be honest. Don’t deflect. Answer us. Did you feed Cosette those gummies, Erika?”

And that’s when they deliver their final blow.

“One last thing?

I don't think Erika could've set off the trap. The shelf was a tight squeeze and would’ve been too difficult for her to get in with her condition— but also, she doesn’t wear black shoes that could’ve left a scuff mark.

And you know what I noticed? Eri wears black boots.

So help me God, if you’re somehow not in this mess, you can beat the shit out of me after this and we can call it even. But I saw how unstable you were getting. I saw how you easily you broke down. As long as someone says the right thing and validates you, you’ll go with anything.

There's no denying the level of talent you have. I understand more than anyone else in this room does how serious your work is, right? You just want to be someone memorable. Someone who will leave a mark on this world. You want everyone to remember your name, to sing your praises, and to never let your memory die out."

Their voice drops a little, and they speak smoothly. As much as it is still an accusation, there's an undeniable level of charm to their voice. It's almost soothing. Since when could they speak like that?

"And I'll give you all that and more if you prove to me, right now, that you're not involved in this mess."

#AIRika #chapter2 #trial2 #submission

[sexyvampkitty]

RP Mini-Solo 15: 'Broken 2.0

I’m sitting on the edge of a bed...in a crappy hotel room...in the only hotel in Mystic Falls. Not crappy as in ‘cheap’...crappy as in...crappy. Horrible. Run down. I’m holding a blood bag in one hand...weird for me...since I literally despise the taste of blood in plastic...plus it’s not vampire blood...which I crave constantly...thanks to the damn ‘ripper’ virus...but I’m in no mood to go out hunting at the moment...and my cell phone in the other...scrolling through old photos. I miss both of my ex’s...even though I’m not supposed to. If my humanity is still off...then how can this hurt so damn much? My emotions must be seeping back in again. Perfect. I never deleted the pictures of my ex boyfriend...for obvious reasons...him being my first love and all. I could've sworn that I’d deleted every last picture of my bastard of an ex husband...but...for some unconscious reason...I’d actually kept a few...though I’d gotten rid of the dreaded vacation pictures months ago. I couldn't stand to look at those anymore. As my eyes begin to mist over...my mind reliving happier times...desperately trying to grasp at fleeting memories perhaps best left forgotten...I wonder why anyone else would ever want me in my current condition. My ex boyfriend ruined me by constantly disappearing into thin air...without so much as a single word...my ex husband ruined me by basically ripping my heart out...I’m damaged goods. Pure and simple. I doubt that I’m even capable of love...ever again. Even the vampire that I used to live with...who was also my boss...only saw me as his own personal blood bag...nothing more...and I was okay with that. It’s kind of what I’d signed up for. Still...even back then...I’d wanted something...more...but it was never meant to be. Josef had a strict rule of never getting too close to any of his ‘girls’...a rule that he eventually broke...but not with me. Figures. Maybe I’m meant to be like this. Alone. Forever. It’s moments like this when I wonder if I ever should have become a vampire in the first place. Maybe I would've been better off if I had stayed human. No...wait...with my track record...I probably would've been dead ‘long’ before I was ever turned...not like it really matters. Anything is better than existing like this. Maybe I should finally go and find Klaus and get him to compel my memories away...something I've thought about doing quite a few times lately...make a fresh start...but then I wouldn't remember that I currently have a ‘special’ friend with benefits...or another Damon twin who wants me. Funny…Impulsive has also tried to kill me on numerous occasions...and...what? Now he suddenly wants me to be his...girlfriend? The whole situation makes no freaking sense. With a growl of frustration, I hurl my phone across the room...wincing as it bounces off of the far wall...clattering to the floor. I let out an audible groan as I see the pieces of plastic scattered everywhere. Great. Just skippy. Now I’m going to have to go out and buy myself a new phone...but...since I don’t have any money....I guess I’ll just have to ‘compel’ myself another one. That’s easy enough. It’s not like I haven’t done that before. I've already lost more phones than I can count...most of them at the bottom of the Mystic Falls river. ‘Long’ story...don’t ask. Well...at least the pictures are now gone...since I never bothered to save them in the ‘cloud’. Maybe now I can start over. Oh...who am I kidding? This giant hole in my heart will never heal. A few erased pictures from my past won’t change that. I avert my eyes away from the mess on the floor, glancing down at the untouched blood bag in my other hand...suddenly no longer feeling hungry. Releasing a long...drawn out sigh...I place it down onto the little table by the bed...lie back...and begin to sob. Unable to hold the tears back any longer...I let them flow...spilling over as I cry myself to sleep...burying my face into the pillow...clutching it tightly...hoping that tomorrow will be better… (END)

#tvd #roleplay

[leiakenobi]

Dead-Red

Fandom: Triple Frontier (Baseball AU) Pairing: Santiago Garcia/Frankie Morales/F!Reader (established Santi/Frankie) Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10.7k Summary: Sitting dead-red (verb): When a hitter is waiting for a fastball, receives it, and takes advantage of it in the hopes of a home run. Warnings: SMUT (18+): slight dom Santi vibes; fingering (f receiving), hand job, oral (m receiving), protected piv

A/N: This AU has been percolating in my brain for the better part of a year, and I cannot be happier to be able to share it with folks at last. A few things worth noting: there are a few baseball jokes that might not make sense to readers unfamiliar with the sport, but you should be able to pick up on most of it through context clues (tl;dr: the jokes are low-hanging fruit and all 3 of them are goofy dorks). I also make a few references to the film Bull Durham (1988). I’m not going to share a link to a summary because tumblr’s fussy about external links, but if you’re confused, google for a lil synopsis and that should be all you need to know.

Cross-posted to AO3 here!

——

It’d be putting things lightly, to say that the season’s gotten off to a rough start.

That might be why Frankie can’t help furrowing his brow over his beer when Santiago reflects on the day’s loss by saying, “That probably could’ve gone better.”

“Yeah? What gave it away?” Frankie leans his elbow on the bar, settling his chin in his hand. “The fact that we let the worst offense in the league score on us, or the fact that they also have the world’s worst defense and we still couldn’t manage to get up on the board?”

Santiago hesitates, taking a sip of beer and blinking at Frankie as though he’s actually having to think about it. “Both, I guess.”

“Right.” Frankie sighs, casting his gaze around the bar. Several of their teammates also came out for the night, but certainly not all of them; they’ve been playing for a week and have yet to win a game, and the extent of this loss in particular has really dampened their spirits. “I’d say your optimism is annoying, but I don’t really think optimism is the right word. It’s more that you’re just…”

“Resilient?” Santiago offers.

Frankie’s eyes have been lingering on a woman who’s trying her luck with one of the rookies, and more to himself than to Santiago, he mutters, “He’s gay, sweetheart,” before looking back to Santiago and raising his voice. “I was going to say ‘pig-headed,’ but sure.”

Santiago shrugs vaguely and murmurs, “Fair enough,” but his investment in the conversation has faded fast. It doesn’t take long for Frankie to understand why; he glances in the direction of the door and sees you, directly in Santiago’s line of sight. You’ve just strode in from your break, and as Frankie and Santiago watch, you discard your jacket and roll up your sleeves before stepping behind the bar, where you’re immediately flagged down by a thirsty customer.

“How many times do I have to tell you, man? That’s a pipe dream.”

“Yeah it is,” Santiago agrees, turning his attention back to Frankie so that he can grin in earnest.

Frankie can’t help it—his lips quirk up, even though he scoffs and shakes his head. “She shut you down hard, and you know it.”

In that respect, Santiago is perhaps a tad more realistic than he is about their losing streak. Because yes, he remembers. He remembers that you started tending bar here a third of the way into his second season for the River Cats, and the two of you had flirted plenty—enough that he broke one of his few rules and hit on you while you were working, a few weeks after you first met.

You’d smiled, told him he was hot, but-- “I don’t fuck ballplayers.”

But the two of you still flirt. He still comes on to you, occasionally, in the sort of way that he intends as a joke unless you’re maybe actually game.

(You’re never game.)

Yeah. You shut him down hard.

“A guy can still hope, Francisco.”

Santiago knocks back the rest of his drink in one long, drawn-out gulp, the bottle clattering on the bar as he sets it down and peers past the other customers until he catches your eye.

“You’re deluded,” Frankie mutters.

The slightly irritating thing is that Frankie sees it—not just what Santiago sees in you, with your shining eyes and your snarky mouth and a body that… Well. He gets it. But he sees, too, the way you look at Santiago when Santiago isn’t looking at you.

Let’s just say there’s fair reason for Santiago’s resilience, pig-headed as it may be.

Your hand slaps the counter on the other side of the bar as you reach Frankie and Santiago. “What can I get you, shortcake?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Santiago groans, even while Frankie lets out a laugh. “I told you, that’s locker room only.”

“Then you shouldn’t’ve let sheetcake here use it in my bar.” You purse your lips as though deep in thought, pointedly ignoring the way that Frankie’s expression slackens at the use of his own nickname. “Well. The bar that I run every home game. I know, I know, that one’s locker room only too, I’ll never say it again, yada yada yada.”

In fact, you find a way to slip it into conversation nearly every night, and they know it. They don’t make much of a point of actually arguing with you, either, beyond this whole song-and-dance.

At least you don’t know the origin of the nicknames, as far as they can tell. It’s been the source of more than one playful argument between them—which one would be more embarrassed if you were to learn the truth.

“Everyone knows you’re short, there’s nothing embarrassing about that.”

“Please, I’ve always been teased mercilessly by teammates for my height and you know it. At least no one cares that you have a flat ass.”

(They never have reached an agreement about where the greater embarrassment lies.)

As part of the whole routine to which you are privy, Santiago smiles graciously and says, “Thank you. I think I’ll just have another beer.”

You nod. “Got it. You too, Frankie?”

He raises his own bottle in confirmation; he didn’t drain his on purpose like Santiago did, but it’ll be empty soon enough. “Sounds great, thank you.”

And indeed, Frankie’s ready for a new drink by the time you’re back. “So I gotta ask,” you begin, focus on the counter as you fluidly pop the caps off each bottle. “You two find the lucky girl or boy you’re gonna reverse-Bull Durham this year?”

“Bull Durham?” Santiago echoes, at the same moment Frankie exclaims, “Hang on, that’s not exactly--”

They both falter when you slide their drinks across the bar and give them a look.

Because you’re not wrong, strictly speaking.

It didn’t start out that way. It started out with Frankie and Santiago fooling around, and maybe bringing in someone else for a bit of added fun—so why not a fan of the team? And if a fun time was had by all, why not see them again, later that week? Or even throughout the season?

Maybe it wasn’t on purpose, but by now, yeah—you know the way it goes.

“Are we Susan Sarandon or Kevin Costner in this scenario?” Santiago asks at last.

You consider the question. “I guess technically a little bit of both? You guys know I don’t mean it as a bad thing. I think it’s kind of funny. So go on, tell me. I saw the woman you picked up the other night, she seemed nice. A total airhead, maybe, but nice.”

“Sure, she was nice,” Frankie mumbles.

“Mm, but not a season’s worth of nice,” you say, extrapolating from his ambivalent tone. You make a show of leaning forward, elbows on the bar in front of them while you scan the room. “Any other good prospects, then?”

And Santiago, perpetually shooting his shot, says, “Besides you, you mean.”

Your focus shifts to him in an instant, making both of you abruptly aware of how close you’re standing. But you hold your ground as your smirk spreads across your face. “Me? Alright, make your pitch.” Standing up a bit straighter, you point between them. “That’s a little ballpark humor for you.”

“Thanks, I nearly didn’t catch it,” Frankie replies. He manages to keep his poker face for only a few seconds.

Santiago groans and leans his forehead against Frankie’s shoulder for a lingering moment. “What the fuck am I doing here talking to either of you?”

Trying to get laid is the obvious answer, but Frankie is kind enough not to point it out.

By the time Santiago looks back up, you’re watching him with some skepticism. “Are you not going to pitch, then?”

He’s on the brink of making some joke – probably by joining in on the low-hanging fruit and saying that he might be on the roster as a shortstop, but he’s always open to trying new positions – but you can see it in his eyes when he realizes there’s something different about your tone. Like you actually kind of sort of are thinking about meaning it.

Santiago sits up taller on his stool. He glances over at Frankie, then back at you, before clearing his throat.

“Have you thought about it?” he asks softly.

You stare at him, absolutely expecting there to be more. When there isn’t, you, too, glance at Frankie, as though he’ll be able to explain Santiago’s game, but unfortunately for you, Frankie’s lost too. So you just echo, “Have I thought about it?”

“Mhm. You’ve known us for nearly five years. You’ve seen us pick up plenty of strangers in this bar. Has it ever made you wonder what a night with us would be like? Because if the answer is no, it’s not worth discussing.”

The commotion in the bar is suddenly deafening, but through the noise, you realize that someone further down the bar is trying to get your attention. “I should go take care of this,” you say, before leaving.

Fleeing, maybe.

“What the fuck was that?” Frankie whispers the instant you are gone.

“A calculated risk.”

“Sure, like swinging on that obvious ball tonight was a calculated risk?”

Santiago laughs and tilts his head at Frankie. “It was the right play.”

Even while you supply new drinks to what feels like every damn patron in the bar, Santiago feels quite certain of that—it was the right play. Frankie’s more skeptical. There comes a point where a guy’s gotta wonder whether he’s being avoided.

But then you come back, and lean your hips against the counter, and ask, “So what’s the pitch?”

There’s normally a moment in the evening, when Frankie and Santiago are chatting someone up. They’ll look at each other, and if it’s right – the right person on the right night – there’s a face they’ll make. Just a hint of raised eyebrows and a tug of the lips.

You ask for a pitch, and they’re too busy staring at you to look anywhere else.

“Why now?” Santiago asks.

And after leaving them alone for several minutes, you keep them waiting again, just for a brief spell. You glance around the bar – your side of the bar, this time, the alcohol and tumblers and your whole layout of garnishes – before meeting his gaze. “I’m starting grad school in the fall.”

You’ll be gone in the fall, you mean. You’ll be gone for good, you mean.

Let’s have some fun first, you mean, too. And that’s what Santiago and Frankie really hear.

 &&&

 It’s something of a joke among those familiar with the team—that Santiago and Frankie share an apartment. About three years ago, when the River Cats were on a good winning streak, there was even a decently-sized write-up about it in some regional publication (Santiago doesn’t bother to remember which one, and he definitely didn’t get it framed so that it could hang in their hallway). Teammates that live together win together, sort of shtick.

You cross the threshold and immediately blurt, “I assumed you were kidding about the jerseys,” because right there, on opposite walls in the vestibule, are framed displays of jerseys from every single team they’ve ever played on, all the way back to Little League. Neatly folded with their River Cats jerseys right on top, names and numbers on full display.

Santiago smirks, nudging Frankie in the side. “And she said she never read our profile.”

“I might’ve skimmed,” you allow. And fine—maybe there’s a little smile tugging at your lips.

While Santiago takes your jacket so that he can hang it up, Frankie glances between you and the jerseys bashfully. “It wasn’t our idea, we just made the mistake of putting our moms in the same room.”

“Two pack rats realize they both kept all of their baby boys’ gear from before they made it big… Well. There was our housewarming gift,” Santiago adds.

It’s sweet, really. You know that it’s sweet. But you can’t resist: “Oh, have you made it big?”

“Mhm, okay, laugh it up,” Santiago replies, his own smile spreading across his face as he leads you and Frankie deeper into the apartment. “Let’s have a drink, yeah?”

You look him up and down. Maybe take the opportunity while he’s in front of you to take a lingering look at his ass. “Don’t tell me you need to calm your nerves.”

Santiago turns to look at you, walking backward so he can hold your gaze. “Please. I’d just like a chance to make you a drink for once.”

But after he turns back around, you look up at Frankie to see him purse his lips and hold up a hand, his index finger and thumb close together as though to say a little bit.

God, you’re fucking endeared.

As they guide you to the dining room, with its frankly massive liquor display, you’re also struck by just how lived in the place feels. What you told Santiago all those years ago is true—you’ve made a point of not fucking ballplayers. But you know how transient their lives are, just out of necessity. You know plenty of players don’t feel comfortable building a real home, especially not when many of the River Cats are hoping to be bumped up to the Majors someday.

You remember about two years ago, when a slew of injuries and some very bad playing on the Giants’ infield led to Frankie being pulled up for about a month and a half. His stats were decent, and there was a fair amount of buzz in your bar, for that month and a half, over whether he might end up there more long-term.

But he sat back down with Santiago for the first time after the Giants no longer needed him, and when you asked how he felt, he’d said, “The pay was nice, but I’m glad to be back with Sacramento.”

At the time, you’d assumed he was bluffing; you certainly wouldn’t have blamed him for being disappointed, and for wanting to pretend that he didn’t care about eventually moving to the Major League.

Frankie peers through the cabinet for something nice to drink while Santiago busies himself pulling out glasses, mixers, and a cocktail shaker, and it’s hard to ignore the fact that it seems like both of them are exactly where they want to be.

“So I have a question,” Frankie says as Santiago begins to pour. He leans his forearms on one of the dining chairs, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “Was this a premeditated change of heart?”

“Oh, I like that question.” Santiago begins to shake the cocktail shaker, gaze shifting between you and Frankie with a delighted sort of anticipation.

You groan and roll your eyes, but even as you try to play it cool by crossing your arms and leaning against the door frame, you can’t conceal your smile. “It might have occurred to me that it would come up. Because Santiago always finds a way to bring it up. And I guess I did say to myself that maybe, if I felt like it in the moment, I’d say yes. Does that count as premeditated?”

“It counts,” Frankie says, as Santiago agrees, “Definitely premeditated.”

And then, setting down the shaker and looking at you with shining eyes, Santiago points out, “And technically, I’d say you brought it up. That Bull Durham thing was a leading question.”

You don’t agree, but you don’t argue, either.

They lead you to the living room next. On the way, Santiago proudly brings your attention to a bookshelf so that he can say, “Frankie made that just because he got bored one day.”

“Santi helped,” Frankie retorts at once.

“You two need to stop being so sickeningly sweet,” you murmur. Not remotely meaning it, except in the sense that… “It’s making me wonder why I put you off for so long.”

There’s an ease to it, when the three of you settle down together—you on one side of the couch, Santiago on the other, and Frankie in a chair nearby. You tuck your feet up underneath you and cradle your drink between your hands, leaning a little closer to Santiago while you ask, “So tell me, boys, how was work today?”

At no point is there any sort of performance about why you’re there, but nor is there a sense that you need to get on with it immediately. The fact of the matter is… you like these guys. You’ve liked them since you first met them.

So you sit in the low light of their living room, share a drink, and laugh together about just how miserably they played.

Eventually, though, Frankie groans and rises to his feet. “Lemme take care of our glasses. Unless you two want another?”

“Nah, I’m okay,” you reply.

“Santi?”

He just shakes his head. So Frankie collects your empty tumblers, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.

Stretching out your legs before you, you lean over enough that you can kick at Santiago’s shin. “If ‘cupcake’ is locker room only, how come I’ve heard him say that over drinks but this is the first time I’ve ever heard him call you ‘Santi’?”

“Oh, is it?” Santiago leans his elbow on the back of the couch, rubbing at the back of his head, and he knows that any efforts to truly play it cool would be futile, so he doesn’t, really. He clears his throat and says, “I guess there’s gotta be some things that you really hold close to the vest, right?”

“And here I thought you were so forthcoming.”

He laughs at that, quite earnestly. “I’m forthcoming where it counts. Like about the fact that I like you very much.”

“Fuck, you think you’re so smooth,” you say, leaning back and letting out a laugh of your own.

“No, no, not so fast.” Santiago scoots in closer; there’s still a respectful amount of distance between you, but from the way that your eyes flit over each other’s faces, there’s no question that your proximity is very much on both his mind and yours. “That’s not a line, it’s just true.”

You purse your lips in a futile effort to conceal your smirk. “Even if it’s true, it can still be a line.”

“Fair enough.” He points over his shoulder to the other side of the couch. “Should I go back to the plate and take another swing at it?”

Rather than answer him, you ask, “Will there be many more baseball jokes over the course of the evening?”

“Hey, hey, no. You started it with that stupid pitching pun. First the Bull Durham thing, now this… Don’t think you can pin everything onto me--”

Evidently, you have no such intentions, because you cut him off when you grab the neck of his shirt and pull him into a kiss.

Santiago lets out a low groan as he opens his mouth to your tongue, eagerly pressing past his lips. He fumbles for you immediately, hands settling near your waist so he can pull you closer until you’re pressed up against him. Your mouths taste too much of the very strong cocktails that Santiago mixed, and it only amplifies the frenzy that’s overtaken you now that you’ve nudged a toe across that very firm line.

I don’t fuck ballplayers.

But you’re clutching Santiago’s neck so tight that your nails are probably making little half-crescents in his skin. His hand is on your thigh, his breathing is heavy through his nose, and your heart pounds in anticipation as you faintly register the sound of Frankie’s footsteps as he returns. And so, with each second, that statement becomes less true.

Santiago never would have imagined that he’d be the one putting a stop to a kiss between you – not least of which because he could swear that you’re seconds from climbing into his lap and he would like very much to see where that’s going – but when he hears Frankie, he pulls away. Albeit, perhaps, a little slow—savoring the way you actually chase his mouth.

Frankie’s leaning against the door jamb, watching with an amused smile, but it’s impossible to miss the hint of darkness in his eyes as he teases, “Nothing gets a threesome started like one person leaving.”

He earnestly doesn’t mean anything by it—there have been times, after they brought someone back, when either Frankie or Santiago would bow out because it had evolved into more of a twosome sort of situation. If they ever used to take it personally, they certainly don’t anymore.

Instead, his smile widens when you release your hold on Santiago so that you can rise to your feet. “I thought maybe it’d calm his nerves.”

“You read my mind,” Frankie tells you with no small amount of glee. “I was thinking my bedroom, if that’s alright, Santi? Pretty sure my bathroom has more clean towels.”

Santiago is a bit slower to get up, his exasperation apparent on his face. This time he at least has the good sense to not deny that yeah, fine. Maybe he’s a little nervous. Because there’s something different to all of this when it’s with someone he’s been a little bit into for almost as long as he’s been in this… thing with Frankie. So he’s well within his rights to be feeling some nerves.

No, he doesn’t argue. Instead, his quibble is simply with the fact that… “I can’t believe you two are ganging up on me.”

You and Frankie share a smile. “And I’d really like to keep kissing you, so why don’t you bring your disbelief to Frankie’s room? Unless you want us to keep going without you.” As you speak, you inch closer to Frankie, looking over your shoulder so that you can hold eye contact with Santiago.

He groans and rushes to reach your side. His fingers settle near your elbow as Frankie leads you down the hall, trailing down your forearm with a feather-light touch that gives you goosebumps. When Santiago reaches your wrist, then just barely dances the tips of his fingers over your palm, you almost think he’s going to take hold of your hand, and you’re excited for it like you’re a schoolgirl with a crush.

But then he grazes over and past your fingers, grazes over your ass to settle his hand on your hip, and oh.

It’s suddenly quite difficult to think about anything but the idea of him touching you everywhere.

Frankie glances back at you with a lopsided smile as he nudges his door open, and you could absolutely burst from the anticipation.

The room is dimly lit by the hallway light, which disappears as soon as Santiago kicked the door closed behind him. Suddenly, everything is cast into darkness, the shimmering lights outside the window from the city down below creating a gradation of shadow, and little more than the vaguest sense of Frankie crossing the floor and Santiago’s free hand settling on your other hip. He presses in close, his chest against your back and head tucking in against your neck so he can kiss your skin, slow and tender. In the dark like this, you find yourself hyper-aware of his slight musk, his stubble a little coarse against you, and the way his fingers are digging hard into the fabric of your jeans. And then there are his teeth, nipping playfully at your pulse point at the same moment that Frankie clicks on the small lamp on his bedside table.

In the soft light, Frankie turns to you, and he’s momentarily rendered speechless as he takes in the sight of you and Santiago together—you with your lips parted just so, letting out a soft sigh when Santiago sucks at your neck experimentally. And Santi…

Frankie doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of seeing Santi take what he wants. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of the fact that he can take it too.

And he does, striding closer and savoring your dark gaze, full of desire. “I’m going to kiss you,” Frankie murmurs.

You nod weakly, any words cut off when Santiago nibbles your skin again and makes you whimper. “Mhm.”

You tilt your head to give Frankie a better angle from which you kiss you, his mouth slotting against yours with an ease that makes you sigh once more. He kisses you more patiently than Santiago, his tongue slow and pliant against yours and one hand cupping your cheek tenderly while the other settles over Santiago’s at your hip.

But there’s a shift – you feel it – when you slide your hands down his sides before toying with the hem of his shirt. The tips of your fingers collide with his bare skin, and he groans, pressing closer – pressing you closer to Santiago, too – until you are all too aware of their arousal—Santiago’s erection against your ass and Frankie’s, insistent against your pelvis.

“Fuck,” you whimper into his mouth, your breathing shaky.

Santiago can’t help himself—he lets out a low chuckle, trailing his lips up along your neck to whisper in your ear. “Francisco can be a needy boy once you get him going,” he whispers. “But we can do something about that, yeah?”

You hum your agreement, although you find yourself regretting it for a split instant when Santiago’s mouth, hands, body are abruptly gone. But then his hands have joined yours at the hem of Frankie’s shirt, and he leans in to nuzzle Frankie’s neck. “Can we see some skin, babe?”

“Yes,” he breathes, before capturing your lower lip between his teeth for one last sweet taste.

He joins you, then, a tangle of hands wrenching his t-shirt up and off and tossing it onto the floor somewhere behind you. Santiago lets out a low hum of approval, making Frankie roll his eyes. “You see this every day.”

“Sure, but she doesn’t.” Santiago nods his head toward you as his hands migrate to Frankie’s belt buckle, which he unfastens in short order.

Frankie can’t help the way he falters slightly when he glances over at your face again and sees the way you’re quite shamelessly looking him up and down. Because he’d known you meant it, when you said you wanted to fuck them both. But there’s no other way to put it--

You’re wearing that same expression that he thought was reserved for Santi until now.

Santiago playfully slaps Frankie’s ass and murmurs, “Pants off, babe, c’mon,” and Frankie shimmies out of his jeans with no argument.

At the same time, though, he gazes at you with dark eyes and says, “I think we should get you caught up, sweetheart, yeah?”

You let out an earnest giggle as you allow him to tug at the fabric of your shirt. You think he’s about to go for your jeans, too, until he groans abruptly and settles his forehead on your shoulder. “Fuck, Santi.”

Because Santiago’s hand is in Frankie’s underwear, now, giving him a few slow and steady strokes while he presses wet kisses to Frankie’s shoulder. “Thank you for listening,” Santiago whispers, before leaning in and giving Frankie a long, lingering kiss on the mouth. Beneath the fabric, he twists his wrist and draws a sweet whine from the back of Frankie’s throat.

When Santi pulls out of the kiss, pulls his hand out of Frankie’s underwear, he squeezes Frankie’s hip and says, “Get those off and sit down, babe.”

Frankie does it in a heartbeat, and you can’t quite tell what’s sexier—Santiago’s pleasant yet commanding tone, or Frankie’s wide, eager gaze once his ass is on the mattress. Santiago smooths his hand through Frankie’s hair as he turns to look at you, and you nearly sit yourself on the bed before he even says anything.

“I am nervous, with you here,” Santiago admits, pulling his shirt off and what was that you’d said about nerves, again? You can barely remember when you take in the sight of him and Frankie side by side, bare and so fucking toned. He goes to remove his pants next, and you knew it was coming – of course you knew it – but your mouth goes dry when you realize he’s pulling his underwear off too, leaving him bare. “Not because I don’t think you’ll have fun. We’ll make sure you have fun.” He glances at Frankie and they share a stupid sort of grin as he kicks his jeans away.

Then comes the part that might end you, because Santiago settles his hands on your hips again, so fucking gentle compared to just a few minutes ago.

“But I kinda feel like you are Bull Durham-ing us, a little bit. Like Frankie and I’ll be different after this.”

You swallow sharply. There’s an earnest look in his eyes that you’re quite unfamiliar with – again, the man is not exactly forthcoming – and it feels unfair, now, that you and Frankie were teasing him for that.

Perhaps you’re surprised, when you shift your gaze to Frankie and he’s blinking up at you, rather than Santiago. But he can’t help looking up at you as though seeing what Santi feels about you for the first time, and seeing what Santi feels about him for the first time, too.

So, slowly, he nods, murmuring, “I think he might be right.”

Looking from Frankie to Santiago, you whisper, “Different in a good way?”

For all his nerves, Santiago hardly hesitates. “Yeah, I think so.”

You’ve barely had a chance to nod when he leans in to kiss you again, shifting to unzip your pants at the same moment that he sweeps his tongue into your mouth. You clutch his bicep – perhaps a little unnecessarily tight – as he slips your jeans and panties down your hips, and it makes him grin.

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” he asks teasingly; his nose nudges yours, and something about the gesture makes your stomach flip.

You push him away, though, equally playful. “Shut up,” you instruct, not even bothering to conceal the smile tugging at your lips. Stepping out of your jeans, you look Frankie’s way and tell him conspiratorially, “Now I’m remembering why I kept telling him no. Look at that smug face.”

Frankie does—he looks over at Santiago, who’s grinning to himself while he bends down to rummage through the bedside table and retrieve some condoms and some folded hand towels. “While he absolutely deserved it…” Frankie says carefully. His eyes meet yours again, both of you smiling amused smiles when he holds out his hand—you take it at once, allowing him to pull you close until your legs settle between his against the mattress. “Can you blame him for looking like he just won the World Series?”

You don’t answer at first, instead murmuring, “Scooch,” and nudging at Frankie’s shoulder. He raises his eyebrows but obeys immediately, releasing his grip on your hand and hoisting himself further onto the bed. You’re not separated for long, though; you crawl after him at once and linger there, poised with his thigh inches from your crotch where you’re straddling him.

His skin is radiating warmth and incredibly tempting – you clench once, automatic, at the thought of grinding against his leg – but you manage to maintain your resolve, for at least the moment.

“I think the home team actually needs to score before it counts as a win.”

“Speaking of which…” The mattress shifts as Santiago joins you on the bed. It sends goosebumps over your skin when he touches you again, fingers grazing your neck and settling there while he ducks down and kisses your shoulder. “I’d really like to see you and Frankie touch each other. Would you like that, sweetheart?”

There’s a hint of coarseness to his voice that only amplifies everything else you’re feeling for him and Frankie both, and you can’t help but lick your lips at the very thought of Frankie reaching between your thighs and--

“Yes please,” you breathe.

“Good girl,” Santiago says approvingly. He settles back on his heels, combing his fingers through Frankie’s hair as he gives him a once-over. When Santiago jerked him off a few minutes before, Frankie was only half-hard, but now he’s fully erect and staring at you dumbly, hand spread across your thigh and hesitating there as though reluctant to make the first move. “Go on, cariño. She said ‘please.’”

With those words, Frankie snaps into action abruptly—fingers trailing up your inner thigh at the same moment that he thrusts up into your hand, reaching to stroke him.

“Fuck,” he exhales, for any number of reasons.

The wet heat of your folds as he strokes through them; the soft sigh you let out at his touch; the gentle caress of your thumb, tracing over the head of his cock while your hand moves slow and steady, almost absent-minded. He leans closer to you, and you move almost in sync, your forehead settling against his as your eyelids flutter closed.

He shudders when Santi’s fingers trace their way from his hair down his neck and further, following the outline of his spine and touching his bare skin feather light. “Tell me, Francisco,” he instructs softly.

Tell me what you’re feeling, he means.

Frankie swallows hard, momentarily stupefied when you breathe hot and heavy across his cheek and rock against his fingers just so—because he just settled against your clit, fingers damp with your arousal as he begins to tenderly circle the bundle of nerves. “She’s so wet for us already, Santi,” he says. His voice sounds unexpectedly husky to his own ears. “We haven’t even touched her and she’s turned on.”

“That true, sweetheart?”

Santiago ducks his head down, cheek against Frankie’s shoulder, so that he can peer up at your face through his eyelashes. You blink open your eyes to meet his gaze, and your breath falters when you see how dark his eyes are, his pupils blown wide.

“Looks like I’m not the only one,” you retort, scanning pointedly from his face down to his own burgeoning hard-on. You have to work very hard to maintain your composure when Frankie drags his index finger through your folds again, teasing your entrance before returning to your clit. But yes, you stay calm. “D’you want me to take care of you too, Garcia? I have two hands.”

Your offer makes Frankie chuckle.

(A chuckle that catches in his throat because there’s your hand, delicately pulling his foreskin from his head so your thumb can stroke the tender skin underneath.)

“Santi likes to take a minute.”

“Take a minute,” you echo. Your voice catches on the last word as you grind against Frankie’s hand just right.

“Mhm.” Frankie tucks his head down to nuzzle your neck. His beard his scratchy against your skin, but his mouth is gentle and warm when he kisses you once, then twice, before-- “Just until he can see what makes you tick.”

You raise your eyebrows at Santiago. “That only takes a minute?”

“Give or take,” he replies, a devilish smile on his face. You’re on the verge of a retort when Santiago clears his throat. “What do you think, babe?” His hand has migrated to Frankie’s hair again, stroking it softly. “How do you think she would feel around your fingers?”

Frankie hums against your throat. “What an excellent question.”

And then he presses two fingers inside of you.

Your whimper goes straight to Frankie’s groin, urging him on—or perhaps it’s the way you rock against him and roll your hips to welcome him deeper, just as you stroke him with a firmer, more decisive touch.

“Fuck,” you whisper, making him giggle.

Making both of them giggle—there’s Santiago’s mouth on your other shoulder, inching closer to your neck, and as silly as it feels, you think you’d be done in pretty damn fast, just from riding Frankie’s hand while they both kiss and nibble and suck your skin.

“Can-- can I ask you something, Frankie?” you gasp.

He hums his agreement while knuckles-deep in your pussy, immediately before pressing against your walls just so and it takes everything in you to get your next words out.

“You like it when Santiago tells you what to do.”

Frankie’s fingers still deep inside of you as he and Santiago both lean back as one to blink at you. There’s an almost-comedic contrast in their expressions, Frankie’s sudden anxiety juxtaposed with an amused sort of smirk pulling at Santiago’s mouth.

“Is there a--” Frankie falters abruptly; he may have paused his ministrations, but you have not, your hand persistent with its patient strokes and it makes him choke on his words, for just a moment. “Is there a question there?”

You lick your lips, relishing the way Frankie’s eyes drop to look as if of their own accord. “Could you tell me about why?” You clench around his fingers and rock forward, the heel of his hand providing exquisite stimulation to your clit, and you seeking it out makes him swallow visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’d like to know what gets you off.”

“Mm,” Santiago hums. He shifts on the bed, settling in behind Frankie. His hands rest on Frankie’s shoulders, fingers colliding with yours where you’re clutching Frankie with your own free hand, and your pulse quickens from the way he stares into you after giving Frankie’s neck a glancing kiss. “Tell her, babe.”

Frankie hesitates, lips parted as if to speak, but no words come out for a few long moments.

But then he seems to come back into himself, fingers pulling out of you and pressing back in deep.

“I like that he knows what’ll make me feel good,” Frankie breathes. He thrusts into your hand when you tighten your grip slightly around his cock, and the sensation makes him sigh across your cheek. “I like that he knows what I want. It’s like he’s in my head.” His fingers crook just right inside of you, drawing another soft whimper from the back of your throat. “I don’t think I’ll ever trust anyone like I trust Santi. And I like when he does anything to remind me he deserves it.”

“Stop, I’m blushing,” Santiago replies. And his tone is teasing, his grip on Frankie’s shoulders tightening for a few moments as a gentle thank you.

You look at his face, though, and he is blushing, a little bit.

“Could I ask something else, then?” Gaze fixed on Santiago this time, even as you grind against Frankie’s hand.

Almost as one, they say, “Yes.”

“What does Santiago think you want right now?”

Santiago’s eyes are dark, exhilarating in how deeply they’re cutting into you when he answers. “He wants me to know how damn perfect your pussy feels.”

Your breath catches.

And then Frankie chuckles and leans in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. “He’s not wrong,” and the wind is truly knocked out of you.

Oh, would you like that too.

“Go on, then.”

Just as Frankie has obeyed Santiago promptly – immediately – Santiago now moves at once, positioning himself beside Frankie so that he can reach you more easily. Slowly, he settles his hand at your thigh and nudges your legs further apart, the words, “That’s a good girl,” falling from his lips like a prayer.

Frankie’s own movements have slowed, the position of his hand shifted. It makes you newly aware of how desperate you are to be filled, how Frankie’s two fingers are no longer anywhere near enough.

But that doesn’t mean you’re unaffected when Frankie drags his fingers from your pussy, long and slow – agonizingly slow – and lingers like that, for an instant, before easing back inside with Santiago’s fingers nestled against his.

You let out a fractured moan, clutching Frankie’s shoulder tight. Every ounce of your lingering focus is going into Frankie’s cock, into drawing more sighs from him as he fucks your hand just as you eagerly press against their fingers, encouraging them deeper.

“Such a good girl,” Santiago whispers. He can’t resist the urge to reach up and stroke the back of your neck, reveling in the way your eyelids flutter closed at his touch. He and Frankie pause for a moment deep inside of you, allowing you a chance to familiarize yourself with the feeling, but then Santiago begins to pull out, Frankie only a fraction of a second behind. “Stretching for us so well.”

You whimper softly, caught in a sweet sort of agony when Santiago flexes his fingers at your entrance before he and Frankie slowly press inside you once more.

“Would you like to fuck yourself on our fingers?” Frankie’s own voice sounds a little strained, his attention fading fast. (Maybe you’d consider letting up, but it’s something else, seeing his dazed look while you ride his hand and jerk him off at the same time.)

“Let us see your pretty face when you come around us both,” Santiago adds.

“Fuck, please.” You don’t even realize you’re saying the words until you’ve already blurted them out, rocking against their hands. You dig your nails deep into Frankie’s shoulder and tighten your grip on his cock at the same moment he thrusts up once more; the sensation draws out a groan from deep within his throat.

So it’s Santiago that has to urge you on, looking between your and Frankie’s desperate faces with glee. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Take whatever pace you need.”

You do—you go fast. Rolling your hips and taking their fingers deep over, and over, while your hands tremble and your breathing grows ragged. Your eyes fall closed, head tilting forward, and you are trying, desperately, to match your own pace as you jerk Frankie off. But you can feel your movements growing increasingly haphazard as your walls begin to clench around their fingers, desperate and automatic.

Then Frankie’s breath catches, and a moment later, a hand wraps over yours.

You open your eyes, inhaling sharply at the sight before you: Frankie practically wrecked, his eyes glassy and cock throbbing and dripping with precum while Santiago helps you to stroke him off. You’re on the verge of stammering through words – you couldn’t begin to guess what you’re trying to say, your thoughts already foggy from the hints of a climax tugging at your gut – but Santiago whispers, “Just keep going.”

Letting out a whimper, you lick your lips and nod.

Frankie and Santiago fell mostly quiet when you did, but now, as you both inch closer and closer to an orgasm, Frankie starts to babble, the words going straight to your core.

“Feel so good.”

“Little faster please.”

“Listen to those moans, Santi.” Oh is that one breathtaking; almost on cue, you whimper again. “Just for us.”

“Just for you,” you agree.

“Hold yourself together, babe,” Santiago says softly. He leans in close, his lips grazing Frankie’s ear. “Shouldn’t we let the pretty lady come first?”

But you realize suddenly that Santiago’s coaxing you toward a faster pace with your hand – coaxing Frankie toward an orgasm – and suddenly, you have to laugh breathlessly.

“You’re such an asshole,” you tell him, moments before Frankie thrusts into your fist and groans hard. His cum spills out against his chest and streams sticky and warm between your and Santiago’s fingers, and Santiago, too, is giggling, his laughter earnest even as he presses a kiss to Frankie’s cheek and breathes sweet words of encouragement.

There’s something about that laugh, maybe, or Frankie’s desperate moans, that has you crying out shortly after as your own orgasm overtakes you, rendering you a trembling mess right there in Frankie’s lap. You rock forward desperately, gasping when one of their thumbs presses more firmly against your clit—though you couldn’t begin to guess which one of them it is.

You continue to clench around their fingers as you come down from your high, pulling off at last as you remove your hand from Frankie’s crotch so you can wrap your arms loosely around his neck. The gesture makes him sigh softly.

“He do that often?” you ask.

Frankie seems surprised by the question, but now he, too, laughs. “When he can.” Lowering voice, he tells you, “He’s just jealous because my refractory period is better.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Santiago retorts at once, throwing something directly at Frankie’s face. You realize it’s one of the towels he retrieved from the bedside table earlier. “Now get yourself cleaned up.”

While Frankie wipes down his chest and groin, Santiago leans in and catches your wrist in his hand to clean you up, too. And maybe his fingers were just inside you – his fingers still dripping with your arousal, you can’t help but notice, while his other hand is already cleared of any remnants of Frankie’s cum – but there’s a different sort of intimacy to the way he handles you so gently.

And then he leans in close and concedes, “Maybe the jerk does have a better refractory period,” and you kind of hate how much you like him in that moment.

Frankie tosses his towel toward the laundry hamper in one corner of the room, not bothering to see whether it meets its target before groaning and lying back in the sheets. “You’re the jerk,” he retorts. Absently, he brings his hand up to his mouth, and you don’t realize what he’s doing until he traces his tongue over the tips of his fingers and groans, “Fuck, you taste so perfect.”

Evidently he didn’t bother to wipe away your slick, either.

You bite your lip and climb off of Frankie’s thigh, but only so that you can lie down next to him, also settling in on your back. “Is that so?”

“Mhm.” He hums around his fingers, turning his head to look at you at the same moment you turn to look his way. There are crinkles pulling at the corners of his eyes, as though he knows what you’re about to say next.

“Lemme have a taste, then.”

Frankie shifts over onto his side and perches up on his elbow, holding your gaze all the while. “You wanna suck on my fingers, baby?”

And Frankie watches as your gaze shifts, drifting from his face up to Santi’s. Again, he knows what’s coming.

The two of them might have just been fingering you together, but his throat goes dry as you say, “And Santiago’s, if he’ll let me.”

Santiago, too, has been tasting his fingers, perched over you and Frankie and watching with some interest.

(More than some interest—he’s the only one who’s yet to get off, and his cock is standing at full attention, though he seems in no particular hurry to get on with it.)

He raises his eyebrows and, with his free hand, points to himself. “Mine too?”

You nod.

“Are you saying,” Santiago says, crawling closer and mirroring Frankie on your other side even as he mildly protests. “That you’d like to deprive me of the opportunity to really savor how perfect your pussy tastes?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment while you pretend to consider it. “I think you’ll have plenty of opportunities for that.”

Santiago blinks at you, then looks to Frankie, for just a moment, as these words sink in. Because regardless of the way you joked back at the bar – an eternity ago – this is the first time any of you have said aloud that this doesn’t just have to be tonight. Not if you decide otherwise.

So Santiago, bursting with glee, says, “Alright, pretty girl.”

And they fill you once more, your lips wrapping around their fingers as they slowly press inside your mouth. You feel arousal pooling in your gut once more, in what you know already will be a gradual, pleasant sort of build. As you smooth your tongue between their fingers, they each let out an eager sigh, and yes—it won’t be too long, you think, until this interlude eases back into something more handsy.

For now, though, they’re content to look at you, watching your mouth in delight and glancing at one another sporadically.

“While we’re waiting for Frankie’s dick to rejoin the party…” Santiago says carefully. Then, as something else occurs to him, his lips quirk up. “And while you can’t yell at me for asking--”

You narrow your eyes at him, but you don’t try to free up your mouth.

“--when you’ve thought about this, us…” He gestures between him and Frankie, suddenly feeling strangely anxious. “What have you thought about doing?”

Alright, you can understand why he expected you to yell at him. But you suck on their fingers and take in the look of them, leaning over you with wide, attentive eyes, and it’s hard to feel bashful about the fact that you’ve been thinking about this for… a while. So long that you were a little angry with yourself for wanting it, at first, because maybe you’d known them, but you hadn’t… known them, yet. You hadn’t had quite so many long nights spent serving them drinks while they tried to score, but just as often while they just sat and chatted with their teammates, or with you.

Everything about the present moment makes your ambivalence feel foolish. It makes you feel like these two are precisely what you need.

Santiago’s question simmers at the back of your mind until you let their fingers go with a long, drawn-out pop, your tongue trailing against their fingertips.

“A few things,” you allow after a moment.

They both seem a bit taken aback that you’re giving a straight answer, if the way they perch up higher on their elbows is any indication. “A few things,” Frankie echoes, his lips pulling into a smile.

“One or two,” and maybe it’s stupid that you’re still paying a little coy, but it’s difficult to resist when they both like it so much. “But honestly I’ve mostly just wondered…”

“She’s really keeping us in suspense.” Santiago’s voice is teasing, perhaps, but his eyes are warm and kind.

You need it, you think—that warmth. Because it takes everything in you not to hide your face behind your hands purely to say, “What it would be like for Frankie to fuck me while I suck you off.”

“Really,” Santiago exclaims, sitting up in earnest, now, with a pleasant grin on his face. “I think we can help out with that. Francisco, do you think we can…”

“I think we can manage,” Frankie agrees, his tone absurdly noble.

It’s stupid, all of it, enough that it makes you giggle. “Thank you for your sacrifice.”

“Oh, look at that, I guess we know for sure that Frankie likes the idea too.”

You look Frankie over, and yes—he may not have a hard-on quite yet, but he’s undoubtedly getting aroused once more. So you lean in to kiss him long and slow, hand cupping his cheek while your tongue explores his mouth with an increasing amount of vigor. When you finally pull away, you ask, “That true, Frankie?”

Santiago chimes in again. “It looks like he likes the idea even more, now.”

While you giggle, Frankie scoffs and says, “Shut it and toss me one of those.”

He’s pointing to the foil-wrapped condoms, collected on Santiago’s side of the bed. Santiago, though, barely looks at them before picking one up, the packet crinkling in his hand as he climbs over your legs and scoots in close to Frankie. “And make you put on your own condom? Don’t be stupid.”

There’s this moment while Santiago’s unwrapping the condom, peering close for holes before pinching the tip and sliding it on slow. It’s something about the face that Frankie makes while he leans back on his hands and watches everything unfold.

You’ve seen them look at one another like that plenty, their features overflowing with affection. But it makes you deeply, profoundly happy to see it now.

Even in bed.

Even while they’re giving each other shit in bed.

“And you…” Santiago says slowly, looking your way as he gives Frankie’s cock a slow stroke now that the condom is on. “It’s been a million years since I kissed you, so I’d really like to steal another before we wreck you.”

“Wreck me?” You’re on the verge of making fun of him – even if he isn’t exaggerating, he better put his money where his mouth is – but his mouth is already against yours, making you whimper again.

And here’s the thing—you get on your hands and knees for them, Frankie’s hands slotting comfortably at your hips while Santiago tenderly runs his fingers along your neck once more… And yeah. You think that they very well might wreck you.

First from Frankie’s fingers inching inside of you once more, refamiliarizing himself with the heat and stretch of your pussy. You whimper and roll your neck at the feeling, too much and not enough all at once.

Then Santiago, who holds your gaze as you give him a few agonizingly slow strokes – and an agonizingly slow lick along the underside of his cock – before taking him into your mouth.

At the same moment his nails dig hard into your neck, Frankie clutches your hip firmly with one hand and guides himself inside of you with the other, and you moan so loudly you might be embarrassed if you thought too hard about it. You buck back against him instinctively, but the low vibrations of your moan have an effect on Santiago, too, and he thrusts forward abruptly, blurting, “Fuck.”

You nearly gag from the surprise of his cock slotting against the back of your throat, and while you hold yourself together, you have to clutch the sheets hard to keep your eyes from watering.

“Hang on,” Santiago says at once, prompting Frankie to still inside you.

Santiago nudges at your chin just slightly, encouraging you to lift your gaze and meet his eye, which you do. He could practically burst over the desire he sees all over your face, but even so, he asks, “Okay?”

His voice is soft and low and doing as much as he can manage, with one word, to tell you that it’s fine if the answer is no.

But you nod, humming your agreement, so Santiago murmurs, “Okay.”

They go slow at first—Frankie’s hands splay out over your soft skin, holding you firmly while he and Santi find a steady pace. Fingering you couldn’t have possibly prepared him for how rich, how spectacular it would feel to bury his cock inside of you. Feeling your tongue, licking away the traces of your arousal, couldn’t have prepared Santiago for the way your tongue flattens against his cock or the tension of your teeth giving almost too much pressure.

Yes, they go slow at first.

But you start trembling, too, because, well. Frankie’s filling you just right, hitting the tender spot inside you over and over. It makes you want to die, or cry, but you settle for more moans instead. And with each moan, you find that you’re leaving Santiago desperate and breathless, fucking your mouth just a little harder, a little rougher.

It’s only so long that they can stand to go slow, and it’s only so long that you want them to.

You realize something is shifting when Frankie’s grip tightens at your hips, and as he starts babbling once again.

“Taking me so well,” he mutters, smoothing his hand over your ass and lingering with his thumb just gently grazing your folds. “Taking us both so well.”

When you hum your agreement, Santiago bucks forward again, but you’re ready for it this time. In tandem with Frankie’s own strokes, it only makes you moan harder.

As Frankie and Santiago endeared themselves to you, this was it—the thing that has made you increasingly curious about what it might be like to fall into bed with them. Because you couldn’t shake the feeling that, at all moments, you would feel… remarkably safe.

Santiago’s eyes linger on your face as he takes a labored deep breath, and his hand may be gripping the back of your head and neck tight, but as you meet his tender gaze, you feel his touch, and his eager thrusts, as oh so soft and sweet.

And safe, too?

Undoubtedly.

It hits you just as you feel your walls clenching sporadically and a hint of ecstasy tugging at your groin and your lungs and your heart all at once—Santiago, like you, is teetering precariously close to a climax. He stammers through a warning and apology all in one, and he’s about to pull out when you reach up and grab his thigh, just long enough to say stop.

Frankie, too, may be inching close to release, but he doesn’t miss the way you grab Santi, and it makes him chuckle. “I think she wants you to come down her throat, baby. Can you do that for her?” And then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Can you do that for me?”

It’s not immediate, but it’s quick after that—Santiago buries himself in your mouth and climaxes with a guttural groan, his cum spilling into your mouth and down your throat while you swallow eagerly. Frankie’s own pace doesn’t let up for an instant, even as Santiago has stilled, and you’re surprised when another moan abruptly becomes loud as Santiago pulls out.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, and oh: you realize he’s moving down to you, settling his face in close. “Such a good girl. Now scream for Frankie, yeah?”

You nod, a little delirious and more than a little desperate. “Please, Frankie,” you whine. “’m so close, please.”

Santiago’s lips glance across your cheekbone as he whispers, “Tell him what you need, sweetheart.”

His gentle tone makes you whimper. Scrunching your eyes shut, you sink into crackling spark of desire that’s tugging at you—compelling you to let go. “Fu--” you blurt, faltering over the expletive before managing to get out, “Touch me please, Frankie.”

Frankie’s hands are there between your legs in an instant, stroking your clit while he bottoms out inside of you over and over. The sensations are magnificent and too much and as you feel a fractured sob bubbling up in your throat, you need--

“Kiss me, Santi.”

He swallows the cry you let out moments later as your orgasm hits, a torrent of euphoria washing over you. Waves of pleasure leave you barely able to think about anything, save for Santiago’s tongue and the exquisite way that Frankie fills you as he chases his own release. You’re still whimpering into Santiago’s mouth when Frankie’s hips buck forward hard.

The moan he lets out is music to your ears.

Santiago breaks your kiss first, and he can’t help but smile at your involuntary noise of disapproval before he smooths his hand over your cheek. “Just wanna help Frankie clean you up.”

As if on cue, Frankie pulls out of you at last, both of you letting out a sigh over the abrupt loss of no longer being joined. You feel your body softening as he traces his hand over your ass before settling on your thigh.

“You were so good for us,” he tells you softly.

The words make you feel warm and pliant as Santiago murmurs to you to, “Lie down, sweetheart,” which you do, your head finding its home on one of Frankie’s pillows while Santiago settles between your legs, wiping away the wetness pooled at your core and slick against your inner thighs. You watch between him and Frankie, who ties off his condom and tosses it in the trash can nestled against the side of the bed, and you’re struck once again by how natural this feels. The two of them move so fluidly, easily, and when Frankie settles back in and presses a kiss to Santiago’s shoulder, you are… insurmountably happy to be a part of it.

“I think I could go for another round in a little while, if you want,” you tell them.

“Really,” Frankie asks.

Santiago furrows his brow thoughtfully as he tosses the towel toward the hamper. “Spent so long resisting our charms that now she can’t get enough.”

“Shut up,” you retort, laughing and kicking his thigh lightly with your heel. “I said if you want.”

Frankie lips his lips, not even bothering to look at Santiago before he answers. “I think it’s safe to say we do want.”

You nod, pursing your lips into a smirk. “Could I get some water first, though?”

They look at one another abruptly, frowning as though they’ve made some sort of grave error by not having a glass ready and waiting on the bedside table. “Yeah, of course,” Santiago rushes to say. “I’ll just--”

“No, no, that’s okay.” Santiago already has one foot off the bed, but Frankie grabs at his arm to stop him in his tracks. “I can do it. I think I’m ready for a snack and you never bring back the right thing.”

“Because you always change your mind by the time I get back!”

But they’re both chuckling as Frankie retreats toward the kitchen.

Santiago watches him go, turning back to look down at you with a grin. “That man really does not have an ass, does he?”

You roll your eyes, giggling at both the comment and how affectionate he sounds. “No. Now get over here, Garcia.”

His eyes light up, and he obeys at once. As he crawls over you and settles his hands in the sheets at your sides, you lick your lips, relishing the way his eyes immediately home in on your mouth. But then his gaze drifts, trailing down your throat to your sternum.

“D’you know why we have to do this again?” Santiago asks softly.

He sees it all over your face, as you realize that he’s posing the question with the utmost earnestness, and he can’t help but smile when you simply hum to beckon him onward.

“Because.” He lowers his head and presses a kiss right below your clavicle, over your bra strap. “We haven’t spent any time on your tits. We haven’t even seen them yet.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, swatting at his cheek lightly. And Santiago is game, playfully turning his head along with the hit. “I thought you were gonna say something nice.”

Santiago grins stupidly. “Is it… not nice to say that I’d like to spend a good couple of hours worshiping your tits?”

Irritatingly, it kind of is.

But you roll your eyes and turn your head as he tries to lean in to kiss you, so he only catches the corner of your mouth.

“Okay,” he concedes. “So there might be one other reason.”

You burrow your head a little deeper into the pillow, blinking up at him with as neutral of an expression as you can muster. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” Santiago leans in again, but not to kiss your mouth this time—instead, there are his lips against your cheek again, pressing a glancing kiss to one, then the other. “Because I think this is even better than I expected, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the same goes for you, too.”

Perhaps he’s still smiling, but that—that’s vulnerable.

So you say, “Yeah, I guess I’d call it a grand slam.”

He groans. “No, never mind, I know we said you should stay the night but I think it’s about time for you to leave.”

But he’s laughing as you clasp your hand at the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

You only mean to kiss until Frankie comes back, but unbeknownst to you, that’ll be a while—when he reaches the kitchen, he loiters there, leaning against the counter and eating some chips straight from the bag.

It’s been five years. He’ll give Santiago an opportunity to savor this.

——

interested in my other fics or my taglist form? you can find them on my masterlist here

#santiago garcia x reader #santi garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x you #santiago garcia x frankie morales #frankie morales x santiago garcia #santiago garcia x frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #created

[bonky-n-steeb]

𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘃𝗲

𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || Steve’s life takes a quantum leap when he finds you unconscious on the beach.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || ANGST (with a happy ending)

This is the second part of six feet under.

I know I broke your hearts, so here comes the second part to mend it! I hope you love this!

“You are my mission.”

Steve felt as if the walls of his heart were pricked by a thousand needles. It ached too much for him to bear. Unable to look in your eyes, he cried in his own palms.

The Asset wasn’t built to show emotions, but you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at the picture in front of you; your mission had just dropped down on his knees and was pathetically sobbing.

Why wasn’t your target fighting. You were informed that he was great at hand combat but not really outstanding with guns. So why wasn’t he attacking you as expected. Why was he showing you his back in surrender?

You were told what to do if the mission fought. But you weren’t informed what to do if he just... surrendered.

Walking close to your mission where he was crouching down, you stared at him for a moment. You weren’t wearing your combat gear, and neither was he. You both were instead dressed in far from modest clothes.

You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t bring yourself to harm him in any way. With the way he was trusting you, you could’ve killed him within seconds. But yet your heart somehow ached at his situation.

When he didn’t even look up, you nudged his thigh with your left foot. When your mission finally looked up, his eyes were bloodshot and he was incessantly crying.

“Fight me.” You said as he just stared at you. Your blank gaze terrified Steve more than any alien or villain ever had. You didn’t know why, but you wanted him to fight you. You weren’t able to attack him if he just gave up.

Steve blinked his eyes as he took in your words. Why weren’t you killing him? He had surrendered to you and yet you were just looking back at him instead of fighting. Why did you want him to fight you?

“No.” Steve had never thought love would be his weakness. Or maybe he had never truly realised it. Steve loved Bucky as a friend and had rained hell when his friend was in danger.

And here he had signed off his soul in your name. He would literally bring you the moon and stars if you asked to. And he would bare his throat for you to slash through. But he couldn’t possibly ever hurt you.

“I said fight me.” Steve Rogers, your mission was supposed to fight you. Not just sit down and take whatever you gave him. You didn’t know why you were angry at his lack of self preservation.

What happened next was within the blink of an eye. Steve’s arm shot up and curled around your wrist. And with a quick pull, he pulled your entire body down.

His agility took you by shock and before you could react, you were down on the ground pressed against the floor with him straddling you. Taking both of your hands in his, he pinned them above your head, making sure you were immobile.

You were royally fucked. Your handlers wouldn’t take it lightly if you messed up. And that was if you reached them in one piece. Chances were you were gonna die here, right under Steve Rogers.

You opened your mouth to bite and hiss and Steve took the opportunity and dove right in. You stilled with surprise when you felt the captain’s plump lips right against yours. This man was super insane.

You mercilessly but his lower lip and ended up drawing blood. But as soon as he started licking in your mouth with his tongue, you melted right on the spot.

The warmth of his mouth slowly brought back the warmth of your memories. Steve felt you go pliant under him for some moments before you started fiercely kissing him back.

You entwined your fingers with his and gently pressed your tongue against the bite mark on his lips. You didn’t notice the tears that slipped through your eyes and how they mixed with Steve’s own tears falling against your face.

“Steve.” You called his name just like you always did. With love and belonging. He opened his eyes to see you staring right back at him with your lively eyes.

Steve had never been happier before. Pressing his forehead against yours, he just breathed you in for a moment. “Steve.” Your hand was now caressing his face.

Your eyes peering into each other were enough to convey the million thoughts you had and the thousand things you wanted to say. Pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, he got up and you followed him.

You both sat on the floor with your legs crossed, you kept some space between you two. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Steve repeated as he broke down once again.

You hushed him and held him in your arms until he calmed down. “I shouldn’t have done that, but… but I wanted to know.” Steve couldn’t ever forget how your face had morphed into that of betrayal as he recited the words.

“But I want to know one thing. Do you love me? Or… or is it some tactic of hydra to ruin me?” You wanted to slap Steve for asking this stupid ass question. Of course you loved him!

But then you realised where he was emotionally. If you were in his position then maybe even you would fear the same. “It’s real Steve. It’s definitely real.”

You framed his face with your hands and caressed your thumb over his cheeks. “Steve, I love you. And by ‘I’, I mean Y/N and Soldat. My soul belongs to you, no matter it’s name.

How can you doubt our love when it was the only thing that brought me back?” It was true, you wouldn’t have remembered anything if Steve hadn’t kissed you.

You could see the colour fill in Steve’s face. He pulled you in a bear hug and held you tight. “I love you. I love you.” Steve chanted in your ear just like before.

Once you were both calm enough to think straight, you decided to go out on the beach. You sat in the sand with your head tilted on Steve’s shoulder as the sea breeze kissed your wet cheeks.

“I barely remember who I was before all this Steve. I can only remember glimpses of the shield and the avengers. I’m no more the Y/N you once saw.”

Steve was silent as he listened to each and every word of yours. He wanted to say so many things back, but he knew he had to listen to you first.

“But I remember how they took me Steve. It was probably my third official shield mission and we had all thought that base was not active. But when we broke in, the operatives were waiting just for us.

It was trap and we fell willingly into it. The others managed to escape, but… but I couldn’t. And they took me Steve. I… I waited for you people.

I still remember shivering in that cold cell all alone, praying for you to find me. But you never came. And with time I just kept forgetting until I couldn’t remember anymore.” Your voice cracked yet you kept going.

“Even after you retired, you still were hydra’s number one target. It’s almost personal now. It took them some time, but they finally traced you and they knew you were alone.

I was supposed to use a boat as long as I was out of visibility and then swim till the shore so that you wouldn’t notice me. But I miscalculated the current and the rocks on the shore.

After I abandoned my boat, I jumped into the water and got caught in the water currents. It was a terrifying experience, just spinning wildly underwater as the water took you.

But I was oddly at peace as I thought finally I would be free. But then I hit my head on the rocks and got washed up. And I woke up remembering absolutely nothing in your warm bed.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve couldn’t ever forgive himself for all that had happened to you. He was sure shield must have tried their best, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sure they must’ve tried.” You both sat quietly staring at the calm ocean which reflected the night sky.

“Do you still love me?” You asked with a dejected sigh. “I’ll always love you.” Steve replied pulling you closer. “Even after knowing who I am and what I was here for?”

“You could’ve easily completed your mission. I know you are capable enough of doing that. But, you did not. You couldn’t harm me even when I openly surrendered to you.

So yes, I still very much love you and I’ll stay by your side forever.” The last word pierced through your heart like a knife. You couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Steve, I… I have to go.” Steve looked at you quizzically. “Where?” You gulped audibly before meekly replying, “Hydra.” You could feel his body tense.

“You aren’t going back there, no matter what.” You wanted to believe Steve’s words, but you knew that couldn’t happen.

“I’ve tried to run away. So many times. But they always find me. They’ll find me this time too. And if they find me, they’ll find you too and I can’t let that happen.

I won’t be able to live if something happened to you. I’ll never forgive myself. And that’s why I need to go.” If this sacrifice was going to keep Steve safe, then so be it.

“Nothing will happen to me. And if they come, we will fight them. Together. And nothing and no one can stop us if we are with each other. Stay with me, please!”

You kissed his cheek to stop him from pleading anymore. You couldn’t tolerate the man you loved begging you. “I’ll… I’ll stay with you. I promise.”

Steve hugged you so tight, you wondered if you broke some bones. But being in the arms of the man who loved you, felt better than heaven itself. It was a different kind of a feeling, one that no words could ever describe.

“Steve, what do you think about Paris? I’ve always wanted to go there.” You asked as you both sat silently on the beach, basking in each other’s presence.

“I’ve always thought about visiting Louvre too. But I never really got the chance.” Even as a sickly kid, Steve wanted to get mesmerised by the art in the famous museum.

“And what about Sydney? Or Amsterdam? Or Barcelona?” Your eyes lit up like an excited kid. “What about all of them?” Steve jested.

Steve wanted to travel the world too. In a sense he already had, but it was always for some mission and never for the sake of relaxation. “Yeah, we could do that!” You exclaimed as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you.

It would be a new beginning for both of you. A new life away from your tainted past. A fresh canvas to paint with the colours of your own choice. A much needed restart that both you and Steve needed.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s pack our bags!”

#did you like it? #marvel #steve rogers #mcu #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #steve rogers x y/n #chris evans x reader #steve rogers smut #chris evans smut #steve rogers one shot #nomad steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction

[mc-lukanette]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

—————

Luka took a breath as he hit the last emotion-filled note on his guitar. His body vibrated just as his strings did, though he realized soon enough that there weren't enough high notes to lift him from feeling so low.

Marinette was Ladybug. He was still absorbing it, even though a part of him insisted that it should've been obvious; not just because there could only be one girl in Paris who was so brave, kindhearted, and suited for the job, but... well—

There was also only one girl in Paris who could be so unlucky. Luka was upset - angry, really - at all the things he couldn't have known that just proved to put more pressure on her. People idolized and adored Ladybug, but he never once thought that he wanted to be her. She didn't get anything from being a superhero outside of wasted time and the guilt of having to lie to everyone. He'd felt bad enough keeping Viperion a secret from his family, and he was only a temporary hero.

He sighed, setting his guitar down and raking his fingers through his hair. Marinette being Ladybug would've been enough of a shock on its own, but Adrien being Chat Noir made everything both worse and more complicated. In the midst of all the realizations he'd been having at the time, he felt lucky that he was able to get Ladybug - Marinette - to believe that his mind had just drifted for a moment. She'd still looked worried, but there was nothing he could've told her at the time, his mind too scrambled to be certain what the right steps were.

He'd always imagined that past snakes had learned of other's identities before as well, and thus had wondered before what he'd do if such a thing ever happened. Chat wasn't the one "in charge," so Luka wasn't worried about him (at least not in terms of talking about identities), but Ladybug was a different story.

Previously, he would've said that he'd tell her without hesitation, but the problem was that she was Marinette and the way he found out made things messy. If he told her that he knew, she'd blame herself and demand to know what happened for him to know so she could try to "fix" it, except there was nothing to fix and a conversation about his abilities would inevitably lead to talking about Adrien being Chat Noir.

In essence, he was at a roadblock. There was probably no "right" solution either, as he figured Sass might tell him; that even seemed to be the message Sass wordlessly sent him as Ladybug took his miraculous back. He’d probably known, and maybe had intentionally given him the power to see red strings on heroes in the first place. He didn’t know for sure because he couldn’t ask, aware that it would make Ladybug even more suspicious after he’d already tried to assure her.

What he did know was that Chat was something else to think about now. Chat was tied to her, and he knew - everyone knew, really - that there was drama going on in their relationship. He'd done only a little digging and Face to Face was all the evidence he'd needed, as if seeing the two interact in person wasn't already enough.

There was a pressure there, for Ladybug and Chat Noir to be a couple. Chat Noir was a habitual flirt, and most people ate up any drama or “juicy details” about their relationship. Everyone went wild for the hand kisses that Chat gave Ladybug, whether or not she pulled away from it. Add on the red string of fate, and it just made everything worse, making him wonder what the ties meant; did Adrien's string being tied around his ring mean that he became the cat through fate, specifically so—

It made Luka feel gross just thinking about it, and knowing what he knew made it even worse; people were shipping his friend with someone she wasn't interested in, even if it was "one side" specifically that she wasn't interested in.

He shook his head, feeling vaguely possessive. It wasn't about Marinette being his friend; it was about her deserving better than something deciding her fate for her.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a familiar jingle, pulling out his phone to see a message from Marinette.

Are we still on for tonight?

FOR THE FIRE I MEAN.

I just don't want you to get in trouble! You're sure???

He chuckled, his shoulders easing at Marinette's usual enthusiasm. It was adorable that she was worried about him and not what they were planning to do.

He typed back immediately, I'm sure, Marinette. Don't worry.

He glanced at the drawer under his bed, where all the Adrien pictures were. He imagined Adrien's face plastered all over Paris, flashing back and forth between Adrien himself and Chat Noir.

He felt like he shouldn’t be shocked by the revelation, though he wouldn't be able to quite explain why.

—————

Luka looked over his work once more, checking to make sure the fire would start properly. It'd been a while, but he at least hadn't gotten rusty and even got a congratulatory pat on the back from his mother when she'd seen him carrying the supplies. Had she known that it was Marinette's decision to do this, she would've married them on the spot herself.

As he eyed the box of Adrien pictures set out, he had to bury another slew of thoughts. He knew it was right to try and get rid of Marinette's string, but and he felt guilty knowing that he’d be satisfied at seeing the pictures burn for reasons outside of Marinette.

Speaking of whom, he looked up as he heard a familiar set of footsteps to see Marinette herself heading towards the Liberty, having just made her way down the stairs. She was dressed fairly lightly for nighttime, but wore a fluffy pink shawl around her shoulders to make up for it. Considering what they were doing, it made sense that she wasn't concerned about the cold.

The gangplank had already been put up for her, so she walked across with a smile that warmed him more than the eventual fire would. "Hey."

He smiled back, plopping down comfortably on the seat behind him. "Hey."

She gripped her shawl closer to herself as she glanced at the setup for the fire, the moonlight briefly shining off of her earrings. Luka attempted to avert his gaze from them, but only ended up staring at the red string around her neck. He gave up looking at her entirely at that point, checking the setup again as if it was extremely important to do so.

"You can sit anywhere," he offered, gesturing vaguely to all of the mismatched seats he'd placed around the future fire. He'd wanted to make sure she'd have options, though he hoped the designer side of her didn't mind the chaos of it all. He'd just grabbed whatever spare seating they'd had.

Marinette's eyes scanned over the various choices. Giggling, she replied, "Thank you."

He nodded in acknowledgment. He wasn't in any hurry to get the pictures burned, even if burning them was their goal that day. He'd intentionally had her go slowly so as to test the red string as little as possible, and he planned on doing the same here.

"I brought one for you too," she suddenly said off to his side.

He looked over in curiosity and noticed her open purse, a large piece of blue fabric nearly bursting out of it. It took a bit of effort from her - he imagined that she'd wanted it to be a surprise - but she managed to pull it out, presenting him with a shawl that matched hers exactly outside of its color. He smiled in appreciation of her thoughtfulness, then reached for it before realizing with a start, "Wait. Marinette, did you make these?"

Before she could answer, he took the shawl in his hands, turning it every possible way. Without a doubt, it was her handiwork, and along the back was where the design broke with a Marinette.

"Yeah," she confirmed, and he could practically hear her shy blush. "It's just—you're doing this for me, but even if you weren't, I don't want you to get cold, so..."

"It's great," he cut in firmly, leaving no room for doubt on her end. "Soft. Comfortable. I wish I was better with fashion to say more."

"No, you said more than enough," she assured, taking a seat next to him. That fact looked both silly and intimate given the multiple other seats she could've chosen instead, but he tried not to think about it.

Instead, he gave a curious glance at her pink shawl, silently comparing it to the one she'd given him. "...You didn't have to make it blue," he commented, and clarified before she could think anything bad, "I would've happily worn your colors."

She gave him a look, though didn't seem weirded out by the idea. "But... it's pink."

"What's wrong with pink?" he asked, genuinely confused. "It's your color."

She blushed, her shoulders hunching forward shyly. He didn't even bother taking back what he said, because he meant it; he might've favored blue when he picked out an outfit, but pink made him think of her.

It was much better than red at the very least.

Marinette pursed her lips in response, idly tugging at her shawl and seeming to be in an internal debate with herself. Apparently making a decision, she closed her eyes and breathed up, letting out a soft, "Okay."

He blinked and gave a tilt of his head to show his confusion. "Okay?"

She turned to him, resolutely pulling the fabric off of her shoulders. "T-then you can wear mine?"

He couldn't get another word out, too distracted by Marinette leaning towards him and carefully settling the shawl around his shoulders. Despite the bold move, she couldn't keep eye contact with him, awkwardly hanging onto the front of the shawl as she stared at his lap. She wasn't exactly warm or exuded any particular body heat - in fact, he was sure that her hands would be cold if he held them - but there was a comfort there that couldn't be matched by anyone else.

It took him a moment to make a move, at which point he remembered the fabric underneath his fingers. In a motion equally as careful as hers, he raised the blue shawl and settled it around her shoulders. She finally met his gaze, surprised, but smiled gratefully and released her grip on the pink shawl.

"You can keep it," she said quietly, with less shyness than before.

"Really?" he asked, placing a hand on the fabric to make sure it was what she meant.

She nodded, gripping her own as she replied, "A-as long as I can keep this one in exchange?"

He snorted, even covering his mouth to stifle a chuckle. "You made them, Marinette. Of course you can." He gave an obvious glance at the shawl to admire it. "I'd be happy to match with you."

She beamed at him. "Me too."

That topic officially concluded, his mind went blank for anything more and both of their gazes drifted to the unlit fire. He didn't have to look to know that she was shifting in anxiety in her seat, either wanting to back out or just get it over with.

"Are you ready?" he asked experimentally.

"Yes," she responded, perhaps a little stiffly but the resolve was there. She wanted this.

Luka stood briefly, and within the next few moments, the fire had been lit. The flames started out faint at first, then grew until it was something respectable, easily illuminating the small area around them. The slight chill from the wind dissipated as the fire warmed their skin, Luka hearing Marinette sigh in content harmony with him.

Neither of them took their shawls off despite the increased warmth.

The additional light from the fire made the box of pictures more obvious, with it sitting on a table not too far away. Luka took a step towards it, but Marinette was faster, grabbing up the box and turning to him with a determined expression.

"I have to do it," she insisted.

He didn't exactly disagree - this wasn't his battle - but it didn't stop him from looking nervously at the red string, the dangling part of it laying across her hand and dipping itself in the box, taunting him.

"How many do you want to do at a time?" He was careful in his wording, not wanting his tone to imply anything.

She furrowed her brows, staring down at the box in deep thought. Her fingers flexed against the cardboard, a small gust of wind blowing by and causing the fire behind her to whip around in protest.

"...All of them," she muttered, then met his gaze cautiously. "Will that be okay?"

Luka glanced at the fire, but it wasn't that he was worried about. The string would try to fight her, he was sure of it, and the only thing he wasn't sure of was if it would be better or not to let her go with her wishes. He half expected the string to physically drag her off the Liberty, and the mere thought caused his neck to sting.

But, he also believed in her. She was fighting fate herself without having used the snake even once, and he wasn't going to deny her if she thought this was best.

"Yeah," he assured. "Just don't get too close. I don't want you to get hurt."

She nodded, obviously not catching onto what he really meant.

Luka sat down on his chair, toying with the rips in his pants to keep his hands occupied as he watched her. Her posture was straight and confident as she faced the flames, despite the shake in her hands, and he was sure the fire in her eyes wasn't just a reflection.

He didn't see Ladybug in her place. There was only Marinette and everything that he already knew about her. Knowing what he did now wasn't surprising, but heartbreaking, and he couldn't be prouder of her for doing what she was trying to do.

To go against what everyone - even fate itself - expected of her. He couldn't relate on her level, but looking as he did and having the mother he did, he understood.

Finally, Marinette stepped forward, and the string was already tightening around her neck. She froze, shutting her eyes and clutching the box tighter as she mentally fought the sensation.

He barely managed to keep himself still.

She swallowed, taking another step and managing to open her eyes again. She squinted at the fire, either from the light or from her own resolve.

Then, all at once, she thrust the box forward, the pictures flying out and mingling with the flames. The fire flared up in response, practically roaring, and the string tightened further in protest. Marinette even let out a cry as she tossed the box aside.

Luka barely had time to react when she suddenly rushed towards him. He outstretched his arms and she filled up his lap, her heart seeking him out as she clutched his jacket. He wrapped his arms around her, hoping his comfort came through without words.

Her breathing was ragged, and he couldn't tell whether it was from the string or her emotions running high. He brought one of his hands higher up on her back, knowing that he could do nothing more for her but wishing he could.

He took solace in the fact that the worst of it was over.

Staring over her head, he watched as the pictures burned, blond turning black as the flames singed the pictures and reduced them to ashes. Marinette, meanwhile, remained against him, desperately clutching his fabric for wordless support. He honestly would've been okay being the only spectator to what she'd done, but she then shifted in his lap to glance behind her.

They watched the sight together, the fire whipping about with the wind like it was making sure the job was done as they'd wanted. In no time at all, there was no evidence of the pictures left outside of what was allowing the fire to burn brighter.

Marinette let out sigh of relief, collapsing against him again and nuzzling his chest. "What's wrong with me...?"

"Nothing," he replied, clutching her tighter. "You were amazing."

She looked up at him, possibly searching his expression to ensure he meant it, then offered a tired smile. She shifted again, but this time without any urgency or need. Luka sucked in a breath as she nestled her head against his shoulder, making herself comfortable on his lap while still being in a position where they could watch the fire together. Slowly, he relaxed, and they ended up not needing those other chairs after all, neither moving from their comfortable positions.

And, maybe it was just him, but the string seemed looser around her neck than it ever had before.

#au: Dread String of Fate #Dread String of Fate: writing #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

[the-bau-quinjet]

heyyy. I know you’ve been doing marvel a lot, but if you could do one with morgan and the reader? Based on amplification and it’s the reader who gets sick instead. thanks!

Finally

Warnings: some mentions of being sick (cause... you know... anthrax), angst and fluff :)

Word Count: 2735

a/n: My first Morgan fic!! I love him so much! This one took me a while because 1) I feel like I'm not that good at rewriting episodes, and 2) I wanted to get Derek's character right. Hopefully it's not too terrible! I hope you enjoy!! :)

Masterlist

"Rossi, Prentiss head to his office. Morgan, get Reid and L/N from the hospital and check out his house." Hotch instructed as soon as Dr. Nichols was deemed a reasonable suspect.

It wasn't long before you, Reid, and Morgan were pulling up outside of Dr. Nichols house.

"It's clear so far. I'll let you know when we're done checking." One of the CDC techs said through a walkie.

"We should look around a bit." Reid started down the driveway, gesturing for you and Morgan to follow.

"Ow!" You flinched away from the rose bush, shaking your hand in an attempt to lessen the pain.

"You good?" Morgan eyed you, overly concerned about a small scrape.

"I'm fine. Promise." You winked, walking past him and Reid to check for anything out of the ordinary in the backyard.

"I don't understand why you haven't asked her out yet." Reid looked between you and Morgan. Unfortunately, Morgan was saved from answering by the sound of his phone ringing.

"Hey, princess what do you have?" Morgan greeted Garcia, glaring at Reid.

You continued to explore while Derek and Reid talked to Garcia. It wasn't until after you entered the shed-like building that you thought maybe the CDC should check for anthrax out here too.

By then it was too late.

"L/N?" You could hear Morgan calling you. "Y/N!" It was clear him and Reid were approaching the door you just walked through.

You ran back to the sliding glass door, slamming it shut and locking it before either of them could stop you.

"What's wrong?" He frantically ran up to the door.

"Get back! No, don't come any closer." Your eyes flitted between the two agents, landing solely on Derek when you muttered, "I'm sorry."

"Y/N, open the door..." Derek's typically powerful voice nearly broke as he watched you shake your head.

"I can't. I- I'm already exposed." You shook your head resolutely, convincing yourself this was the right move. "I'll look for anything that could help in here. It's the best move."

"Y/N, you need to go to the hospital." Derek put more power behind his words with hopes of convincing you.

"The hospital won't do anything for me. Nichols could've made a cure, and if he did it's probably in here." You tore your eyes from Derek, hoping Spencer would help you convince him. "Reid, tell him I'm right."

He looked conflicted, eyes flitting between you and Derek.

"She's right. The cipro isn't working on anyone infected. Her best chance is to stay in there and find something useful." Reid looked reluctantly at Derek.

"Then you better find a cure in there." Derek whispered, eyes lingering on you before he finally turned away to call Hotch.

-

"Morgan, Reid. How's L/N?" Hotch questioned immediately, forgoing any greeting.

"White powder all over the room and the air was blasting." Morgan responded quickly. He made brief eye contact with Hotch before turning to walk back to the door.

The general barked out instructions for a decontamination team and cordoning off the area.

"Get her in the ambulance." Hotch directed Morgan and Reid.

"She won't." Morgan felt his heart rate increase at the thought of you staying in there any longer. "Said she's more helpful inside than in the hospital."

"Nichols is dead, looks to be about 2-3 days." Reid added on.

Just then Hotch's phone rang.

"L/N?" He answered on speaker.

"I really messed up this time." You let out a dry laugh.

"You need to get to the hospital." Hotch tried to argue.

"I know Morgan and Reid already told you I won't go. There could be answers in here." Your stubbornness was showing. "I need to figure out who killed Nichols."

"Y/N-" You cut Morgan off before he could try to convince you to leave.

"I think he had a partner." You decided to refocus the conversation on the case rather than yourself.

"I'll get Rossi and Prentiss to ask at his office." Hotch sighed in resignation.

"Good, I'll keep looking at everything in here."

You hung up before anyone could argue further. You shoved your phone into your pocket, immediately going back to look through papers and lab equipment around the room.

As you worked inside, you could hear the CDC team setting up outside.

Watching through the windows as people in full hazmat suits prepared to enter the room you were in made everything feel more real.

You pulled your phone swiftly out of your pocket dialling the number you knew by heart.

"Hi." Garcia's voice was quiet when she answered the phone.

"No funky greeting? I'm feeling a little jipped." You tried to joke with her, but it fell flat.

"I can't be my normal, bubbly self when you are where you are." Again, her voice was quiet.

"Garcia, can you do something for me?" Your voice was steady, masking the emotion about to pour out of you.

"What? Tell me what to do and I'll do it." She frantically moved around her desk, ready to do anything you requested.

"You know how a few weeks ago, you were joking about my crush on Morgan?" You asked slowly.

"The one you swore didn't exist? I remember." Her voice was laced with confusion at your topic change.

"Well, um, do you think you could record a message for him?" Your breaths were unsteady as you thought about saying goodbye.

"But you're gonna be fine." She spoke with authority, as if saying it made it true.

"I know, but, um... just in case. I want him to hear it at least once." Your voice broke.

"Okay. Um, whenever you're ready." She listened as you spoke to Derek.

"Hi Derek. Um, I kind of have a secret to tell you, but first I want you to know this isn't your fault. I'm the idiot who walked into the lab. It's on me. I guess I just want to make sure you hear this from me at least once." You cleared your throat, thick from emotion.

"I, uh, I think I'm maybe, just a little bit, um... in love with you." You felt the tears fall from your cheeks. "You're my best friend. You've always been there for me when cases hit a little too close to home or even if I'm just having a bad day. You never fail to make me smile, no matter how hard I'm trying not to."

You wiped at your cheeks roughly, trying to focus on the message.

"I've wanted to tell you for a while, but I never knew how. I guess I'm glad I walked in here for one reason. It finally pushed me to tell you how I feel."

You chuckled again, but there was no humor in it.

"I'm, ah, I'm really sorry if this is goodbye." You paused, unsure if you had anything left to say.

"Y/N?" Garcia questioned if you were still on the line.

"Prep the victim for transfer." You could hear Dr. Kimura entering the room, preparing to begin treating you.

"I've got to go." You hung up without another word, trying to rid your face of any evidence of the tears before facing the doctor.

"How are you feeling?" She questioned once you were in view.

"I'm actually feeling okay." You nodded, trying to convince yourself it was true. She eyed you like she didn't believe you, but nodded with you anyway.

"Alright, how can I help?"

You spent the next few minutes explaining Dr. Nichols profile. Dr. Kimura set off to look for the cure while you continued trying to figure out who killed Nichols.

-

"L/N, stick with me." Morgan's voice sounded through your phone, drawing your attention away from the stack of papers in your hand. "Prentiss and Rossi don't think the partner is from work."

"Okay, um..." You went back to the bigger desk. "He's got course syllabi and outlines dating back to the 80s." You glanced around the room, eyes catching on the other desk.

"A student..." You trailed off, mind moving a mile a minute.

"Talk to me." Morgan drew your attention again.

"Derek, I think it's a student. There's two desks, different organization on both. The smaller one has what looks like a dissertation that Nichols could've been grading. He wouldn't open his lab to a scientist, but he might for educational purposes." You prattled on, more and more information fitting the theory.

"I'll get Garcia to look at science students." Morgan gestured for Hotch to call Garcia. He was about to hang up when you corrected him.

"Wait! The paper, it's more about social policies surrounding an anthrax attack, not the actual science of it." You spoke quickly, trying to hold in an impending cough.

"Okay, political science and social studies majors then." Morgan trailed off, waiting for your response.

"Good. That's good." You coughed slightly, listening to the sound of his breathing.

"Garcia's got a match." Hotch nodded to Morgan before heading toward the SUVs.

"Y/N, you got everything you could in there. Now get the hell out." He practically begged.

"Sure thing, Derek. Bye." You hung up right as Dr. Kimura walked back toward you.

"His inhaler! It could have the cure, right?" She looked to you for approval.

-

"They're checking out Brown's house." Derek watched as they hosed you down.

"Go help them." You coughed slightly, wincing at the cool water.

"They've got plenty of help. I'm staying with you." His eyes never left yours.

"Please." You looked him in the eye. "They're about to strip me naked and hose me down. As much as I know that's something you want to see, I don't think I look my best right now." You joked, watching the way he averted his eyes slightly.

"Y/N, I-" You cut him off again.

"I know." You smiled softly, gesturing for him to go. "Now go help catch him." You kept your eyes on him until he was out of sight.

Turning back to the conversation happening in front of you, you watched as Dr. Kimura instructed another hazmat team member to get the inhaler tested for the cure.

"It makes sense for the inhaler to have the cure." Your mind felt fuzzy as you thought it over. You moved to grab your head, something catching the attention of the doctor.

"Agent L/N, did you cut your hand?" You glanced at your hand, remembering the rose bush outside. You nodded, eyes widening ever so slightly at the now blistering cut on your hand.

"Let's move." You were quickly cleaned of any lingering traces of anthrax before she directed you into the waiting ambulance. "Are you still feeling fine?" She questioned while taking your vitals.

"I'm doing great. I flea foon. I fill fon." You muttered, eyes rolling back in your head.

"Driver, faster!" She called to the front of the ambulance as you started coughing blood.

-

"Are you eating my jello?" You cleared your throat as you eyed Derek sitting next to your bed.

"Yes I am." He stared directly into your eyes as he ate another spoonful.

"Well, is there more?" You pouted, eyes still lingering on the cup in Derek's hands. He laughed in response.

"What happened?" You slowly moved to sit up, eyes flitting around the various machines in your room.

"The cure was in the inhaler. The other patients are in recovery, and you are going to be just fine." The way he smiled when he said 'just fine' had your heart aching. He just looked so relieved.

"Brown?" You continued your line of questioning.

"We got him. It's over." Derek's soft smile remained, eyes flitting around your body as if he were making sure you were actually okay.

"Well, that's a relief." You took a deep breath. "There's actually something I want to tell you."

He raised a brow, a small smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

"Oh, yeah? Does Garcia know anything about this?"

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks, eyes widening in horror that he had already heard the message. "Oh, um, I mean, technically yes. I didn't- I wouldn't have told her before you if I didn't think I might die!" Your voice was rising in pitch, panic surging through your body.

"Woah, babygirl, slow down." His previous smirk shifted into another look of concern, although he still let out a small chuckle. "She just told me to ask you about a message. That's all."

"Oh." Your mouth stayed in the 'o' shape for longer than necessary, your body's way of stalling what you were about to say. "You haven't heard the message?"

"Nope." He said with a pop. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Well, I guess I have to since you brought it up." You rolled your eyes, messing with him.

"Hey, now! You started it." He clearly had you beat, so you just blurted it out.

"I think I love you!" You threw your hands over your mouth, eyes wide now that you'd confessed to your best friend that you're in love with him.

"That's what the message said. I thought- I mean there was a strong possibility that I was going to die. I didn't want that to happen without me having told you how I actually feel."

Your eyes were focused on the edges of the hospital blanket where your fingers were twisting a loose thread.

"Can I hear it?" His question confused you, causing you to look at him with a furrowed brow. "The message I mean?"

You nodded slowly, texting Garcia to see if she could send it to you. The chime of a text coming in happened almost instantly. You didn't hesitate to hit play on the recording.

"Hi Derek. Um, I kind of have a secret to tell you, but first I want you to know this isn't your fault. I'm the idiot who walked into the lab. It's on me. I guess I just want to make sure you hear this from me at least once.

I, uh, I think I'm maybe, just a little bit, um... in love with you. You're my best friend. You've always been there for me when cases hit a little too close to home or even if I'm just having a bad day. You never fail to make me smile, no matter how hard I'm trying not to.

I've wanted to tell you for a while, but I never knew how. I guess I'm glad I walked in here for one reason. It finally pushed me to tell you how I feel.

I'm, ah, I'm really sorry if this is goodbye."

The message cut off abruptly at that point.

You could feel your heart pounding as if it were trying to escape your chest.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it sounded so sad." You smiled, though your eyes were watery. "I mean, I guess it makes sense since I thought you would only hear it if I died." You continued rambling, eyes looking anywhere but at Derek.

"Y/N?" He prevented you from muttering any other embarrassing words.

"Yeah?" You winced, trying to prepare yourself for his rejection.

"I love you too."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any-" You abruptly stopped, the words you heard finally catching up with your brain.

"You- you love me too?" You whispered, eyes finally meeting his.

"I do." His smile was wider than you've ever seen, and so, so pure.

"Oh." Your mind was having a hard time comprehending the gravity of what just happened. Luckily for you, Derek knew exactly what was going on when he leaned in to kiss you.

It took a second for your body to respond, but as soon as it did you could feel the butterflies swarming in your stomach.

Despite how new it was, everything felt right in the world when you were kissing Derek Morgan.

He only pulled back when you gently pushed him away, a wide smile on your face as you sucked in deep breaths of air. The two of you stared at each other lovingly, just enjoying the presence of one another.

The sound of a throat clearing coming from the doorway shocked you out of your trance. Reid stood leaning against the doorframe, a smirk on his face. He uttered one word, perfectly encapsulating your own feelings on the situation.

"Finally."

permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan @sebastnstn

Criminal Minds tag list:

@mac99martin @goldeng1rl8 @measure-in-pain

#derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x you #derek morgan x y/n #derek morgan #derek morgan fic #criminal minds fic #derek morgan fluff #derek morgan one shot #derek morgan angst

[takamishinko]

could I pls request the bakusquad with a close FTM friend . their friend is pretty insecure about his chest . he’s also insecure about what people would think of him being trans . how would the bakusquad react if someone Mineta said something nasty to him ? if you’re uncomfortable w/ this request , feel free to ignore it , I don’t want to make you uncomfortable

have a wonderful day / noon / night 💞

sure u can! hope u have a wonderful day/noon/night too :)

perfect

a/n: this is my writing content for ftm readers i hope i don't offend anyone!

pronouns: he/him, ftm!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of pre-transition, transphobic phrases, sexual harassment, and mineta

_____

you were pretty close friends with the whole bakusquad, close enough to the point where they would not hesitate to throw hands if someone messed with you. they know about your situation and they completely accept you for it. 

they all took the news better than you expected. mina was super excited when you first came out to her and even though she had a big mouth she kept yours a secret because she knew how important this was to you, plus you might have not been comfortable about others knowing about it yet. sero was super chill about it and kirishima called you manly right after you came out to him. kaminari on the other hand was having an internal war with himself since he thought you were both pretty and handsome before and after. last but not least, bakugou hit you with a "ha? i don’t care as long as you’re still strong." after you told him.

all the reassuring comments your friends gave you made you feel a lot better about yourself. you had also told some of your other friends in the class like midoriya, uraraka, iida, and asui. they all supported you and since class 1A is pretty open about subjects like this you had nothing to worry about. 

however, just because most people have reassured it didn’t mean that you’d just suddenly  feel better right away. in a way you still felt different. you were still insecure about what other people around you would think about you, especially your chest area since your hero costume made them very obvious that they've gone through transition before. harsh comments from insensitive bastards still scar your mind deeply. their hurtful words pierced through your heart and mind.

"you'll never be a real boy."

"you're not normal." 

words like this break you down bit by bit and destroy your self esteem until you're left feeling worthless and defeated. people like this played a big role in why you never confided anyone in your secret. you feared that they would repeat these words, especially your dear classmates.

after school,  sero, kaminari, kirishima, and bakugou had left to do some training while you, mina, and some other people had stayed behind to help clean up and chill in the classroom. it was a nice way to ease yourself. mina was cheerful and funny teasing uraraka about deku, while you and tsuyu were chattering about the test that you took and guessing what mark you both received. 

you decided to stay behind a little in class after everyone returned to the dorms. you hummed while watching the sunset. it was a good environment to do some studying in, quiet and peaceful, seeing as there was an important test coming up.

you were just about to start packing up after finishing the last question on the review page until you saw a short purple figure pop up next to the door. it was mineta, the class pervert that everyone tried to stay away from. you didn't like mineta obviously, no one did. you didn’t exactly want to talk to him but you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and assumed he wasn’t here to be grotesque.

why was he just standing there eyeing you up and down? an uncomfortable pricking sensation washed over you so while packing up, you decided to speak to break the awkward silence. "hello mineta, can i help you?" 

mineta wore a smug look before the corner of his lips lifted into a snide grin.

"hey~ d/nnn." he mocked, holding the last letter of your previous name.

what..?

your heart fell into your stomach at his words. why the hell was he bringing up your deadname? you balled your shaking fists and tried to calm down before you mauled the smug grape with your quirk.

"it's y/n, and if you don't have anything to say i wanna go back to the dorms." you speak with feigned courtesy as you finished backing up, scooting out of your chair.

"alright alright y/n whatever. say~ what are you doing by yourself all alone in the classroom at this time. perhaps you were waiting for someone?" mineta sing-songed while walking closer to you.

"i was just trying to get some homework finished,” you grit out. “do you mind moving? i would like to leave-" 

before you could even finish your sentence you see drool coming out of minetas mouth and his hands doing the signature grabby grabby while his eyes practically drowned in your chest area.

"you’ve probably got a nice pair of boobs huh? even if they’re flat." 

mineta mentioning that certain body part broke you. the tears immediately started to accumulate under your eyes, on the edge of spilling. you could've easily pushed mineta away due to how much smaller he was than you, but you didn't have the strength to. you felt even weaker than him and didn't have the will to fight back, your limbs being reduced to jelly. you felt helpless.

mineta on the other hand felt powerful, someone like you with a strong quirk being reduced to something akin to a quivering rabbit gave him a sick sense of pleasure. just when mineta was about to place his hands on you a certain spiky haired blonde rushed into the room and lifted mineta away from you.

"OI SMALL FRY! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOUR HANDS GOING HUH??" bakugou snarled at the midget followed with a strong blast.

kirishima, kaminari, and sero quickly ran into the room. mr. aizawa followed up upon hearing the commotion. his eyes scanned over your distressed form before looking over at a shaken mineta. he assessed the situation and let out a sigh, hands pinching the bridge of his nose.

"mineta, my office, right now." he spoke, voice lacking any sort of amusement.

"b-but" mineta stuttered out.

"now."

mineta froze at the tone of mr. aizawa's voice and left the room with him, his head down. before aizawa left he gave you an apologetic look and told you he'd come back later to talk to you. kaminari followed them out to listen in.

kirishima grabbed your arm gently and sat you down on the chair. "y/n you okay man? he didn't touch you anywhere right?" he questioned worriedly.

"i’m gonna turn that guy into a cocoon, i swear." sero followed up.

you were incredibly surprised at what just almost happened. you almost got harassed by a midget grape but thank goodness your friends were there to save you from him.

"thanks guys." you muttered out while wiping away stray tears.

"of course man! we're always here for you, bakugou heard mineta all the way from across the hall when we came back to grab our stuff and immediately rushed over! you should've seen him, it was like he was running for his life!" kirishima said, chuckling. 

bakugou rolled his eyes. "shut up shitty hair, he's in need, of course i’m gonna sprint over. if he ever says that shit to you again, i’ll beat that little fucker up again. 

"well you won't have to worry about that anymore because i went to eavesdrop and mr. aizawa said he’s under house arrest for a long time for attempting to sexually harass a classmate." denki’s cheery voice rings out as he walks into the classroom while pointing finger guns at all of you. 

your eyes lit up from hearing the good news.

"hey y/n if anyone messes with you be sure to let us know ok?" sero smiles as he puts a hand on your shoulder.

"you're like a brother to us and we won't hesitate to fight anyone who dares to do something like what mineta just did." kirishima spoke, grinning.

"you're perfect just the way you are y/n, and we love you for that! who the hell cares about what others think of you. just be yourself and everyone else will love ya." denki followed up with a smirk.

"dunce face is right, don't worry ‘bout anyone else, not even us if you don't want to. if you're still feeling down i can blast dunce face if you want." bakugou said while chuckling evilly. 

the room filled with laughter at kaminari’s protests.  thanked your friends for being there for you. you couldn't have asked for a better friend group than them. after a while, the five of you walk back to the dorms. you smile to yourself while the other four bicker and laugh, you wished to live in this moment forever.

#bnha #bnha headcanons #:bnha comfort #bnha x trans reader #bnha x reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x m!reader #bnha x ftm reader #boku no hero comfort #boku no hero x trans reader #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero headcanons #boku no hero x male reader #boku no hero x m!reader #boku no hero acadamia #baku squad #baku squad comfort #baku squad x reader

[doctenwho]

Man (and TARDIS)’s Best Friend

Hey! Thanks so much for the request, I had a lot of fun with this one! Most of the dogs in this fic are either dogs I had when I was little (and currently) and a few are my friend’s dogs. 

The TARDIS being a troublemaker is my new favorite thing, so hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,700

Summary: Check out the prompt above :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to the rightful creator!)

In your defense, things had probably gotten out of hand. You really hadn’t meant for it to happen, for one to turn into two, two into three and... well, three into seven.  

It really had started with one.  

Just a few weeks ago. You were on earth, which, for it being your home planet, you didn’t tend to spend much time around anymore. You and the Doctor hadn’t exactly split up, but he’d left you to your own devices while he went off doing whatever it was he was doing on earth. The man had an agenda, and earth was the only place you didn’t mind being by yourself on.  

It was later in the evening, street lights illuminating the darkness around you as you strolled. It was nice to just be back on earth for a while, where you knew the terrain, and the people. Where things weren’t completely surprising, or shocking.

You’d been so caught up in your own head as you wondered around, you’d barely noticed the creature cowering on the sidewalk that you tripped over. The creature whimpered, and winced down, and it instantly broke your heart.  

You’d always been an animal person, sympathizing with those neglected, or abandoned, or abused. You couldn’t imagine ever intentionally hurting, or leaving a pet alone, so this was hard to see.  

The dog, you realized, stared at you fearfully. Cowering down like you were going to hit it. It was an older dog, dirty and scruffy, some kind of shih-tzu mutt if you were to guess. Its fur was matted, clearly left to on his own for a while at this point.  

You didn’t even want to think about what this dog had been through, just from his attitude towards humans, as well as it’s neglected state. He’d obviously been abandoned—maybe grown too old and lost that cute ‘puppy’ image that some people craved. The thought disgusted you.

The poor little guy was skin and bones, shivering where he was tucked in on himself despite his coat of matted fur that was probably too warm for even the late-night chill.  

You knew you couldn’t leave him. Not in good conscious. He obviously needed someone—he needed a person to care for him, and do the right thing for him, which is... well, it’s how you found yourself sneaking into the TARDIS with the poor little dog swaddled in your sweater.  

The Doctor wasn’t much of an animal person. He’d never outright said it, but you’d never really seen him interacting with creatures. Not like how a human would love and care for a stray dog, or cat. He never seemed the type.  

You weren’t sure how he was going to react to the dog.  

You moved swiftly through the TARDIS, your little companion wiggling in your grip as you snuck through the TARDIS halls. You weren’t even sure if the Doctor was in, or out.

“(Y/N)?” His voice called from behind you. The bundle in your arms froze, as did you as you debated your options. You were a ways away from your bedroom—the safety of it where you could clean up the little dog and think of a better plan than to be caught in the hallway with a stowaway in the Doctor’s space and time machine.

The Doctor’s steps were approaching, following behind you. He was so close. You turned to look behind you, afraid he’d catch up and you’d have to explain the dog so soon. You squeezed your eyes shut, thinking about making a break for it as you turned forwards again--

And there before you, was a doorway. Which didn’t make sense, because you’d been in the hallway, at least twenty steps away from your bedroom door, if not more. You knew for a fact there wasn’t any doorways for a while, because this corridor often felt endless. You looked around in confusion, frowning to yourself as you let your hand settle on the doorknob.  

“(Y/N)?” The Doctor called again, confused, and so much closer than before. You barely had a second thought as you pulled the door open, tumbling in as your feet moved before your brain could process the action.  

The door shut behind you, which you had absolutely no part in as you tried to finally catch your footings, arms securing around the bundled dog. It was only when you looked up to see where you ended up that you realized you were in you room.  

It didn’t make a lick of sense, but you were quick to settle the dog into your closet as you heard steps approaching, managing to jump onto the bed and pretend to be reading a book that was on your bedside table just as the door opened.

The Doctor furrowed his brows at you, gaze looking from the book in your hands, up to your face in confusion, “I could’ve sworn I just saw you returning to the TARDIS,” the Doctor commented, voice almost distasteful as he eyed you.

“Nope,” you forced out, hoping you didn’t sound as much like you were hiding something as you did to your own ears, “been here a while, Doctor.”

The man casted his eyes around the room again, looking for anything out of the ordinary, before he settled on you again, clearly coming up short.  

“Uh huh, well, we’ll be leaving shortly if you’re good to go?” he blinked, leaning just the slightest bit against the doorframe, and giving the room another thoughtful onceover.

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered out, cursing your anxious nerves internally before flashing the man a grin to hide you panic.

“Alright, well,” The Doctor frowned as he moved to pull the door shut behind him. He paused before it shut, standing for a second before he spoke again, “I was unaware humans could read upside down.”

The door clicked shut, and it was only then you let out a breath, eyes snapping down to the book you were indeed holding upside down. You groaned to yourself as you righted the book before dropping it back on the bedside table annoyed at that tiny detail that could’ve ruined it all.  

You pushed yourself off the bed, moving swiftly to the closet where you pulled the door open and smiled down at the nervous little dog. He was still mostly wrapped in your sweater, but his head and shoulder were exposed.  

“C’mon,” you offered your arms, “let’s get you clean up, huh?”

The dog only hesitated for a second before moving close enough for you to pick up. You cradled him in your arms, pressing your cheek against his head as you stared up at the ceiling for a second.  

You weren’t entirely sure what had happened just then, but you know one thing. You definitely hadn’t done it alone.  

“Thank you,” you smiled up to the ceiling, knowing exactly who’d helped you protect the little dog.

----

You’d given the little dog the name Teddy. He’d been a nervous wreck when you’d been snipping away at his matted fur with the scissors in your bathroom, but he’d warmed up to you a lot while you bathed him warm water with a sweet-smelling dog shampoo that was, confusingly enough, hidden away in the bathroom cabinet.

The name had only really come to be when bedtime rolled around, and you found yourself with a cuddly, snuggly little dog tucked in your arms. It was like snuggling with a teddy bear, and you couldn’t imagine naming him anything else as you stroked his ears as he slept.  

You really had just meant to leave it at Teddy, and see how long you could get away with hiding him away in your room. You snuck him food from the kitchen, set down a bowl of water in the bathroom, as well as a bowl of kibble that you had absolutely no idea where it had come from. You suspected the TARDIS helping you out where she could, and the thought made you smile.  

It was almost a game at this point, and it was a funny thought that it appeared to be you and the TARDIS against the Doctor. Finally, the odds seemed a bit more well-rounded.

Hunny and Saidy had come into your life unexpectedly.  

You knew the two German Shepherd Rottweiler mixes well. You’d gotten the call from your friend, the one who owned the two, that she could no longer keep them. She was being evicted, and it was quite hard to find a flat that would allow someone to have two medium-big sized dogs.

You knew you really shouldn’t take them—but you knew the girls, and they loved you, and the thought of them being rehomed, or given to the pound or something else just because no one wanted to take them made a weight settle in your stomach. The thought of them being separated tore at your heart.  

You weren’t sure where you were going to keep them, as you walked into the TARDIS holding both a pink and purple lead as you led them into the time and space machine. The girls were quiet, silent besides their paws tapping on the floor, as well as their panting as you led them along.  

You bit your bottom lip as you opened your door, stepping in quickly as you ushered them in, before closing the door and leaning your back against it. When you looked up, your jaw dropped.  

Your room was double the size it had been before. Three food bowls, and three dog beds—one small, and two big enough for Hunny and Saidy to sprawl out on. It warmed your heart to see, the effort the TARDIS was going through to make room for the dogs was honestly adorable.  

There’d been that inkling of worry that you wouldn’t have enough room to house these dogs and that you’d need to start rehoming them.  

You grinned up at the ceiling, “you go, TARDIS,” you laughed out as you kneeled to scratch at both Hunny and Saidy, then, to the dogs, you continued, “welcome home, girls.”

Teddy wagged his tail happily from the bed, hopping down to greet the new dogs, and you were overjoyed to see them all getting along.  

----

Gizmo was not a dog. Well, he wasn’t an earth dog, at least. You and the Doctor had been on a planet in a universe you hadn’t even known existed when the two of you stumbled upon a pack of little creatures.  

They were babies, you could see.  

You’d never seen anything quite like them. They were tiny—like teacup chihuahuas, fluffy like them too. They were a bit bigger than palm sized, and you were sure they didn’t weigh much more than half a pound, if that. They almost... well, they kind of resembled dragons too. It was like an earth dog and a dragon procreated.  

Their colours were vibrant, an orange one with purple markings, a green one with red patches. One tri-coloured one, which was two different shades of blue with patches of white.  

They were rainbow chihuahua-dragon hybrids.

The babies flocked around you and the Doctor, attempting to crawl up your shins. They made little sounds of excitement, not quite a bark, but close enough, and you instantly fell in love with them.  

“Awh!” You swooned, kneeling down so the small creatures could finally make their way up you. You’d learned early on to only be afraid of things if the Doctor appeared to be afraid of it—or if it was threatening you with weaponry, or violence. The Doctor never really seemed afraid of that. “What are they?”

“Tricos,” the Doctor huffed, crouching down so he was lower, but not quite at an angle for the little creatures to crawl on him. “They’re easily domesticated creatures, but are more-so viewed as nuisances by the locals.”

You frowned, looking down at all the little faces. They didn’t act much different than puppies on earth would. “Why do the locals not like them? They’re like little dragon-dogs—look at how cute!” You grabbed the blue and white one under the arms and hoisted him up for the Doctor to see his face.

“Well,” the Doctor clicked his tongue, crinkling his nose at the little Trico, “They’re scavengers. Like earth raccoons and rodents. Besides, they don’t quite have the intelligence for violence, so they’re pretty low on the food chain. Some locals have domesticated them, but lots don’t want to put in the effort.”

“Well,” you stuck your bottom lip out in a pout, “I like them.”

“I know,” the Doctor’s smile was small, his hand reaching out to stoke one of the Trico’s backs, before he was standing up again, “well, c’mon then. We can stay here all day. There’s things to be done.”

You pouted, taking the Trico’s off your lap one by one, petting them before settling them on the ground before you were standing as well, ducting yourself off. You looked back at them, frowning as you waved before you followed after the Doctor.  

It was only when you were tucked away in your room that evening, surrounded by Teddy, Saidy and Hunny that you noticed the sweater you’d shrugged off and tossed onto your bed shift as if something was in it. You froze, watching the sweater move, as the dogs around you growled—Teddy being the only one confident enough to draw closer.  

Your heart stopped for just a second as Teddy sniffed the sweater, only to cry out in surprise as the little blue and white Trico’s head peeked out from under the folds of the sweater, tiny tail wagging against the weight of the sweater.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you laughed away the fear, sliding off the bed to kneel beside the sweater. The Trico’s nose pushed into your cheek, before it gave you a lick like earth dogs did when they liked someone. “Have you been hanging on all day?” You asked, knowing the creature wouldn’t respond now that his attention was locked onto Teddy, who was reversing cautiously towards the girls.  

“It’s alright,” you hushed the dogs, offering your palm to the Trico; the little creature didn’t hesitate for a second before pulling himself up, tail whipping back and forth happily as he did so—and you could see a bit of the lack of intelligent the Doctor had mention, but it just warmed your heart. “It’s okay.”

The dogs took the evening to get used to the little Trico who you named Gizmo. You’s fallen asleep boxed in by German Rotties, with Teddy tucked against your side, and the tiny little Trico snuggled up on your chest.  

That following morning, you found a book on Trico knowledge and care instructions on your bedside table and whispered a hushed thank you to the TARDIS as you propped it open and read about the newest addition to your dog pack.  

----

After the Trico, you weren’t entirely sure how you’d managed to find Chloe, Bella and Cohen. They were a package deal, Chloe, an older Pitbull, who’d trailed behind you, hesitant but trusting all the same as if you gave off some kind of calming pheromone that attracted dogs in need. She walked slow with Bella and Cohen following behind her like ducklings.  

Bella was a French bulldog, and you weren’t entirely sure why someone would abandon such an expensive dog so young, but you’d taken her in easily. Cohen was the smallest of the three, a chihuahua mix that pressed in tight against the Pitbull.  

They were all strays down on earth, and you’d just happened to stumble upon them while the Doctor was chasing some alien criminal around for the safety of earth. You almost felt bad sneaking away to lead the trio of dogs into the TARDIS where she welcomed them with open arms, and three additional dog bowls, and a huge cushion that the three of them could curl up on.

“I knew you were up to something,” You spun quickly, mouth dropped in a hurried attempt to get something out as the Doctor stood with his arms crossed in the doorway, scowl on his face.  

Before you could say anything, your bedroom door slammed shut, much to your own surprise, and the Doctor’s as well, who you could hear jumping back in shock.

“TARDIS,” you gasped, attention shooting up to the ceiling.  

“(Y/N),” The Doctor’s voice travelled through the door, as the knob turned but wouldn’t open. “What in the world?”

You almost would’ve laughed if you weren’t busy ushering all the dogs into your adjoining bathroom and closing them in. You tried to make yourself look natural, standing awkwardly in front of your bathroom door, and it was only then that your bedroom door finally open, the Doctor stumbling in like it had pushed open as he’d been leaning on it.

“What,” he gasped out as he tried to regain his footings, “is going on here?”

“Nothing,” you squeaked out.  

You’d known that at some point you wouldn’t be able to hide the dogs anymore. You knew the Doctor was clever, and you were actually a bit surprised it had taken him this long to figure you out. But that didn’t mean you weren’t afraid that it was happening now—you'd been holding on the idea that it would happen eventually.

The Doctor stepped more into the room so he couldn’t be locked out again, where he eyed everything in your room, his gaze settled on the dog beds and food bowls. His gaze raised from the beds and dishes to your face, where his features were unreadable.  

He was a smart man, so he obviously knew what he was looking at when he asked: “what’s all this?”

You couldn’t seem to come up with a logical explanation besides the truth. But you still stuttered over your words.

“What’s in the bathroom?” the Doctor asked calmly, stepping closer to you, as you stepped back, blocking the bathroom door more urgently.

“W-what bathroom?” You asked dumbly, but to your surprise, the Doctor’s eyebrows shot up as he angled his head to look around you. You turned to look back at the door, stumbling away as you blinked at the now vacant bathroom entry. You gaped, glancing towards the ceiling before focusing back on where the bathroom should be.  

The TARDIS never ceased to amaze you.

The Doctor’s face was pressed into a look of uncertainty as he stared at where the bathroom door should be. It was the most shocked you’d seen the Doctor in all the time you’d known him. His gaze fluttered in your direction, where his eyes narrowed on your shoulder, “that’s a Trico on your shoulder.”

It wasn’t a question. You hand flew up, where it indeed settled on the tiny little creature. You groaned aloud as Gizmo made a similar noise. You should’ve known he was going to cling to your clothes as you tried to get them all into the bathroom—that was how he found himself a home here.  

“I knew I heard barking,” the Doctor’s eyes blinked rapidly like he was trying to understand, “and it certainly wasn’t him—” the Doctor’s gaze settled on the Trico, “what else do you have in here?”

You let out a long sigh, moving towards where the bathroom door should be. “The jig is up,” you called loudly, and almost immediately; the bathroom door was back. You ignored the mystified look on the Doctor’s face as you pulled the door open and the dogs all trotted out, barely batting an eye at the Doctor’s shock.  

“You’ve brought dogs into my TARDIS,” the Doctor had a distant look in his eyes, “my TARDIS helped you hide these dogs from me. How did you turn my TARDIS against me?”

“I didn’t turn her against you,” you huffed, voice bordering on annoyed, “she just has a soft spot for dogs, I guess.”

You instantly felt bad, swallowing before you mended your words, “it really did start with just one, and then... well, how can you say no to them? Look at their little faces. And... I think the TARDIS really likes them too, because she’s been helping me out.”

“You stole a Trico--”

“Hey!” You frowned, “technically, the Trico stole himself. I didn’t know he was clinging to my sweater when we returned, he was just there. Look... I’m sorry.”

The dogs had all mad their way up to the bed, laying and watching the exchange. The little Trico though, refused to move from your shoulder. “They all just needed a place to be, like... like I did too when you found me. Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not,” the Doctor’s voice was low, “frankly, I’m just a bit confused about why the TARDIS is so keen on these pets.”

“She’s a dog person—err, uhm, a dog time and space machine?”

The Doctor let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I suppose she is. She’s always had a soft spot for misfits.”

The Doctor doesn’t look unhappy, or upset. He looks thoughtful as his gaze sweeps over the dogs, lingering on both you and the Trico before he’d looking back to the earth dogs, “quite the collection.”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “so, uh, can we... can we keep them?”

“How long have they been here?”

“Teddy- the uh, the little white one- has been here about a month. Since that earth visit.”

“A month,” the Doctor’s face scrunched up, almost in disbelief, “I don’t see why not then. I doubt I have to tell you they’re your responsibility, which I’m sure isn’t a problem considering they already have been for an upwards of a month, right?”

“The TARDIS has been helping too,” you remind, smile slowly crawling onto your face.  

“I’m only allowing this because the TARDIS is so keen,” the Doctor informs, but you can see through his words. He always has a hard time saying no to you, the TARDIS just sealed the deal for him. “You’re lucky I love you,” his gaze casts upwards and his smile appears a little crooked, “the both of you.”  

<><><><>

Trico is the name of the Last Guardian, who wasn’t quite the inspiration behind the hybrid alien dogs, but I was picturing them looking a bit like Trico as I was writing. Body wise, at least, and I’m awful at naming things, and thought Trico would be a cool species name :). I thought an alien dog would be fun, since they travel space lol

As always, if this wasn’t what you were looking for, feel free to prompt again! I hope you enjoyed, because I really enjoyed writing this one :D Thanks for taking the time to prompt, and to read my writing, it means a lot!

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #ten #10 #doctor who 2005 #doctor who #TARDIS #fanfiction #fanfic #writing prompt #writing requests #dw

[byulsgrease]

I'm thinking about...

(wheein x fem reader, ~1.2k words, gif cred)

cw: smut (minors dni)

a/n: I didn't have the guts to write the smut ending on the very first Wheein fic I wrote a few weeks ago so I hard pivoted it into fluff… but then that first Byul smut came out of my brain and broke the ice so I circled back to rewrite the ending 😳bodyworshipwheeinmakesmesoft goodBYE

Certain that Wheein felt the heat radiating from your face, she pressed her forehead to yours and breathed, “Did you want me to show you?”

"M...mm..hmm," you managed to sound out, flustered as all hell.

"I'm thinking about... a lot of things," she stated cutely. "Like your lips, and how I could probably kiss them forever," sweetly pressing them to yours.

She murmured through the kiss, "Thinking about your hands, how they fit in mine - and how they’re always in all the right places," the pads of her fingers trailing up your forearms to lace her fingers in with yours, gently pressing the backs of your hands down into the bed.

Breaking contact with your lips, she followed up with quick pecks on your cheek. "So. soft," she stated between each one. One of her hands left yours to trace a finger around your earlobe. “You have cute ears.”

“Is that even possible? How can one’s ears be cute?” You inquired.

With a little hmph, she proclaimed, “Don’t know, don’t care. They just are.” She leaned down to position her mouth next to your ear and breathily uttered “And I’ve been thinking about all the things I want to do to make you fall apart for me.” Your flushed heat from earlier deepened, certain now that she could feel it, her words stirring straight to your core. She never needed much to get you wrapped around her finger, but geez. Why did it work so well? The quietest sigh accidentally escaped your lips that you hoped she didn’t hear, but of course she did. “So you’re thinking about it too, good,” her tone a bit more serious.

She moved herself to sit up, still kneeling on the bed while straddling your thighs. Her thumbs hooked under the hem of your shirt and her hands slid up the sides of your body, taking your shirt with them. Leaning down to your stomach and holding your hips in her hands, she planted soft kisses in a straight line from your bellybutton to the middle of your chest, each one more sensitive than the last. You hoped the anticipatory thumping in your chest wasn’t audible - she really did have you reeling at this point. “I’m thinking about your curves - hips, back, stomach,” she listed. “How easily we fit together.”

She bit her lip, her expression barely visible in the darkness, as she trailed her hands up to cup your breasts and gave them a gentle squeeze. Whether your nipples were hard from the cool bedroom air on your skin or her grazing her nails over them, who could say. “Beautiful,” she remarked. “Honestly, your body here and now is infinitely better than anything I could’ve ever imagined,” she concluded.

She scooted down off of your legs to sit on the bed between them. “I’m thinking about how wet you must be for me,” staring directly at your underwear. Her index finger quickly skimmed the surface, hips twitching and a whine leaving you just as quick as her finger had. With some snide yet bubbly satisfaction, she cooed, “I’ve thought a lot about all the lovely sounds you could make for me,” suddenly pressing two fingers into the outside of your underwear, a notably louder and desperate cry leaving you while your body shuddered at the contact. “Like that.”

“Wheein, I nee—“

She cut off your plea with her mouth on yours, the kiss deep and urgent. “Be patient, let me finish telling you everything I’ve been thinking about,” she assured.

Your underwear finally freed from your body thanks to her hands, residual wetness trailed on your inner thighs. Moving her face between your legs, she planted more kisses on your inner thighs, much like the ones before, tongue occasionally sweeping out to taste the mess left by your panties. She hooked her arms underneath your thighs to bring them in close. “I’m thinking about how sweet you taste even though I haven’t even gotten to try it from the source,” she muttered between kisses.

You wriggled under her touch, arousal at a nearly excruciating level - part of you just wanted her to shut up and fuck you already, but it was probably for the best that you let her finish whatever she had planned or else you might not ever get to that point.

Sitting up now, she slid a hand behind your neck to sit you up. Your face just in front of hers, noses barely touching each other, you realized, her breathing... is for sure fast. She’s trying not to give in either.

"I'm thinking about how you heat up when you're flustered,” hovering the back of her hand near your cheek, her eyes filled with nothing but simultaneous lust and adoration. She really did love everything about you - and the feeling was mutual, how could you not love Jung Wheein?

Faces still close enough to witness each other's unsteady breathing, she finally trailed a hand down your front and pressed a finger to your clit, an audible rush of air escaping your nose trying to keep it together as you wrenched your eyes shut and tilted your head back. She lightened up the pressure considerably, merely grazing as she curled her singular finger to draw feather-light strokes across it. "Didn't I say I thought about the sounds you could make for me? Why so quiet?"

Good god. You responded through gritted teeth, "Maybe I would be louder, if you'd just..." trailing off in a near hiss.

"Just what?" she prodded innocently. Ughh, I have to ask?

"If you just fucked me, now," you eked out, resigned, begrudgingly tacking on a small "please" to the end of your request.

It earned you another lip bite and a smile. She wasted no time getting to work on your plea, her finger dipping lower to spread your wetness around. A tiny gasp of surprise from her turned to a grunt of satisfaction when an undeniable squelch resulted from her movements. She took her other hand and inserted a couple fingers with absolute ease, pumping vigorously while her finger continually brushed over your clit. An anguished cry emanated from your lips at the overwhelmingly sudden ramp-up in contact. Her barely audible "ah, yes" whispered into your ear further encouraged the fervent grinding of your hips into her hands, surely soaking them now.

The increased urgency and frequency of the sounds leaving your lips had her absolutely hypnotized as she pressed in another finger and upped her pace. Absolutely overtaken with euphoria, there was barely time to vocalize how close you were before she sensed your core strongly pulse once, immediately followed by a whole-body tense and relaxation, finally letting go from how wound up she had made you.

She slipped her fingers out of you just as easily as they went in and wiped them on the hem of her shirt. Meanwhile you fell back and hit the bed again, a mild warmth pushing through the entirety your body. Wheein flopped down beside you and snuggled her head into your neck to rest on your shoulder, her favorite place to be, as you slowly wrapped your arms around her.

Absolutely spent, you murmured through your come-down haze, "Sorry, don't think I have it in me to pay it forward."

"Mm, isokay," she sleepily slurred. "Just another thing to think about when you're on my mind again," tilting her head up let her lips barely graze your skin before her shallow breaths gave way to sleep.

[next]

#will I ever not be at least mildly embarrassed about writing smut #who knows #wheein smut #wheein imagines #mamamoo smut #mamamoo imagines #wheein x reader #mamamoo x reader #mamamoo wheein #jung wheein #kpop smut #gg smut #girl group smut #kpop imagines #gg imagines #girl group imagines #kpop fic #girl group scenarios #kpop #kpop gg

[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

Could you do carol x fem!reader but like so angsty that I can cry myself to sleep even tho I’m on antidepressants and can’t feel anything but plz let there b a happy ending thank u so much love u

I'm not sure if this qualifies as angst but here's a draft I had that I edited a little to fit the request. I hope it does the trick :)

It Wasn't For You

Summary: A mission gone horribly wrong drives a wedge between you and Carol. Is the bond fixable, or are the things you both said unforgivable?

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,998

You weren't sure what that emotion was that was boiling in your blood as you stormed back to your apartment. Was it worry? Were you just upset? You let it sit with you a moment as you unlocked the door. It wasn't either one of those things. It was rage. It was hot, unbridled rage. The cause of it was a certain Avenger who you had thought loved you enough to not do what she'd done. Clearly, she hadn't.

She was right behind you, stepping through the doorway before you could slam it behind you. You growled under your breath as she invited herself into your home, closing the door only once she was in. You didn't even bother turning to face her. You went straight to the bar and poured yourself a drink, not offering her one and not planning to let her touch a single drop of your alcohol. You took a sip of the hard liquor.

"Would you listen to me for one goddamn second?" She huffed out.

"I listened to you for multiple seconds, Carol. It doesn't change any facts."

"I did it for you!"

"I don't give a fuck."

Truly and honestly, you didn't. What she'd done was immoral, infuriating, and wholly unforgivable. She could get down on her knees right there in front of the bar and you wouldn't have batted an eyelash. It wouldn't be enough. In fact, you were convinced that nothing would be enough for you to forgive her. It didn't matter how much you had loved her yesterday or the day before. It didn't how much you loved her today.

"I'd do it again," she assured.

"Then I would do this again," you turned to finally face her, eyes locking with the brown ones that could usually instill a sense of peace in your chest, but today seemed to have no effect. "We're done, Carol. I think it'd be best if you left, please."

You could practically hear her heart dropping into her stomach. There was a part of you that ached to bring her into your arms and soothe that hurt look off her face. You knew better. That piece of you would fade eventually. You'd learn not to love her anymore. In fact, you could probably learn how to hate her. The boiling rage that was flowing through your very veins could assist you with learning that.

"Please-"

"I'm asking you to go," you said, firmer this time. "Please, get out."

If she'd had a tail to tuck between her legs, she absolutely would have. She didn't even bother to protest again. The expression you'd plastered on your face made it clear it wouldn't have done anything anyway. She slowly made toward the door. Her hand touched the doorknob and she cast her gaze back to you once more. You didn't dare let your features soften. You could've sworn there were tears in her eyes as she turned the doorknob and left.

You breathed out as the door closed behind her, finally daring to let tears streak down your cheeks.

*

You stared down the super soldier, neither of you wanting to speak first. He was the team leader though, and basically your boss. You knew even if he was the first one to speak, you were going to be the one spilling everything. You didn't want to, not one bit, but you knew you were going to have to anyway. You wondered if you had the strength to talk about it. You wondered if he had the strength to listen to your recollection of events.

"I just need to know what happened so when they ask-"

"Fuck, Steve! Natasha fucking died and we're sitting here having this stupid conversation," you shouted, rising to your feet, tossing the papers in front of you off the table, and moving to the window. "I have a goddamn funeral to plan!"

"Look, neither of us wants to talk about this, but we have to!"

You sighed, clasping your hands behind your back as you looked out at the compound grounds. There were agents training, running laps around the building. Sam was the one guiding them, seeming to enjoy barking orders at them. You tore your gaze away from a sight that seemed to have lost its beauty now that Natasha wasn't there alongside the Falcon, chuckling with him as they watched the new recruits huff and puff.

"It was me or her and Carol chose me," you finally gave. "I was what would have been fatally outnumbered and Natasha was down. She was in the jet. Carol could have either gone and stopped the jet from crashing, or she could pull me out and neutralize the enemy. She chose the latter. That's what happened. Happy?"

"I need your report."

"I need to plan Natasha's funeral!"

You stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you. You let out the breath that had been stuck in your chest, leaning your head against the wall and shutting your eyes. It hadn't been an easy couple of days. You'd have been surprised if you'd gotten more than three hours of sleep in the last three nights combined. Somehow, though, you still didn't feel tired. You felt a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.

As if losing Natasha wasn't hard enough, you were also grappling with crippling amounts of anger and guilt. Natasha should have been the one that was saved. She was the obvious choice, and yet here you stood, and Natasha was gone. The anger, though? That was all for Carol. She had promised you that her relationship with you wouldn't have affected her at work, but it had. She'd saved you when she should have saved Natasha and all of those people in the impact zone.

"Can we talk?"

Speak of the devil.

You opened your eyes, using your shoulder blades to push yourself away from the wall. Immediately your entire stance got defensive. You crossed your arms over your chest. You watched as she searched your eyes in hopes of being able to read them like she usually did, but knew it would be to no avail. You didn't want her to know anything about what you were feeling. She didn't deserve to know what you were feeling. All she deserved was to be on the receiving end of your rage.

"No. I told you we're done, Danvers. We don't need to talk anymore."

"I'm not letting you go that easy."

"You don't have a damn choice!" You laughed humourlessly. "You can't stop me. You don't own me, and you definitely don't own my heart."

With that, you stepped around her, walking toward the doors of the compound. You could hear her footsteps trailing behind you. You didn't bother to turn around and glance at her, or even open your mouth to tell her to go away. You just let her follow you as if she were going to get something out of you. She wasn't going to. The last thing you wanted to do was hear some sort of failed explanation as to why she'd decided to save you. You knew why. It was because she couldn't separate home and work. You never should have trusted her to be able to.

You stepped out into the sunlight, cursing the sky for being so bright and sunny when it felt like it should be dark and gloomy. A storm cloud and roaring thunder might appropriately match the way you felt inside. Instead, you were forced to pull your sunglasses down over your eyes as you headed back toward your car, feeling you could use the walk toward it instead of making it come to you- a feature Tony has insisted you needed. As you arrived though, Carol finally reacted.

"Jesus Christ, would you hear me out?" She said, anger in her voice as she grabbed your wrist.

"Let go of me."

"Talk to me."

"I already said no. Let go of me," you demanded.

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, glaring at her as she retracted her arm. You unlocked your car, getting into the front seat. You didn't even glance at Carol as you started the engine, put the car into drive, and pulled out of your spot, leaving her behind.

*

It was early when you woke up the next morning, and immediately your day went different than normal. Your eyebrows furrowed when you stepped out of your bedroom and found an envelope slipped under your apartment door. It was completely unmarked. You knew the danger of anything unmarked. You were an Avenger. You couldn't find it in you to care, though. Without Carol's arms around you, you tossed and turned. Losing Natasha hurt so much more without Carol there to hold you through it. But it was her fault.

You reached down and picked up the envelope. You sliced it open with the knife that was resting on the table beside the front door. What you pulled out was a single piece of lined paper. It had clearly been ripped out of someone's notebook, the torn rings hanging off the left side. You unfolded the paper and immediately recognized Carol's handwriting inside. You crumpled it up and prepared to throw it, but then you hesitated.

She wasn't there. You didn't have to talk to her. You didn't want to talk to her one bit, but you were dying to hear her side of the story. This way, you didn't have to risk breaking and losing yourself to emotion in front of her. You uncrumpled the paper and held it out in front of you. You took a deep breath and let your gaze drift over Carol's familiar handwriting once before you moved your eyes to the top of the page.

Y/N,

I really hope you didn't throw this out. I suppose if you're reading this, you didn't.

I know you don't want to talk to me. If I were you, I might not want to talk to me either. Your best friend died and it is entirely and completely my fault. I know that. It is my fault. I could have saved her, and I didn't. I just need you to know why.

I know you think that I broke my promise. I promised you, Steve, and every Avenger, including Natasha, that I would never let our relationship affect our work. It must seem like I failed to do that. I didn't break that promise. I love you. I do. But I wouldn't do that.

I knew that saving Natasha was more likely to be successful than saving you. Saving her would have meant saving those three civilians too. Not saving you, though, meant that they would have gotten away, and it meant they would have killed dozens of our agents on their way out. There were so many of them. They outgunned our men by too much. I didn't do it for you. I did it for them.

It breaks my heart that I couldn't save her. If I could have given my life for hers, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. If choosing her over you had been the right choice, I'd have done it. I promise you that.

I love you, even if you can't love me back.

- C

*

Tears spilled from your eyes as the empty casket was lowered into the ground. When a hand brushed ever so lightly against yours, you stiffened. You glanced for a moment over at the woman beside you. Those brown eyes were locked on you as well, for a moment, before turning back to the burial. You took a deep breath before moving, threading your fingers between hers. You pulled a little closer to her.

Maybe you should have listened to her. That letter you'd received yesterday had been a lot to think about. You'd been so angry with Carol because she'd closed you over Natasha and you'd been selfish enough to think it was because she couldn't separate her feelings for you from work. When you'd found out that wasn't the case, it had taken away all your reason to be angry at her. What happened to Natasha wasn't her fault.

Once the red had faded, you'd realized how stupid you'd been being. Carol had obviously been hurting and you'd been gatekeeping pain because you'd been blaming yours on her. The guilt stewing in her gut was probably millions of times worse than yours. She'd had to make that choice out in the field. It was the right choice, you saw now, but that would never matter. You knew how that felt, and you'd pushed her away and left her to deal with it alone. You wouldn't blame her if she couldn't forgive you for that.

When the funeral ended and people started heading toward the reception, you stayed glued to the spot. You could tell Carol wasn't sure what to do. Her hand had tried to pull away to give you space, but this time it was you that didn't let her leave you. The hand that was in hers tightened enough that she got the message. You had to wonder if she'd stay to hear it. As always, though, she was better than you. Her efforts to move away stopped.

You stayed silent for a moment, standing in that position and wondering what to say. There might not have been words enough to express just how sorry you were. There might not have been anything you could say that would make her forgive you. You deserved that, though. You broke up with her. There was no obligation for her to take you back and you hadn't given her any reason to want to. You were the one who had pushed.

"I'm sorry, Carol," you muttered, knowing full well that wasn't enough. "I'm sorry for everything. I was selfish."

"I get it," she admitted. "It's okay."

She was better than you.

But it wasn't okay. What you'd done to her was far from okay. You'd taken one look at the guilty relief in her eyes after that mission and decided that she'd sacrificed Natasha for you. She was allowed to be relieved. You would have been, if the roles had been reversed. Just because you lost Natasha, didn't mean Carol wasn't allowed to be a little relieved that the love of her life survived. Now, you didn't get to be that.

"Baby... Carol, I just wanted you to know that I read what you wrote and I'm sorry for how I'd reacted. I'm sorry I didn't stop to hear you out before that and I'm sorry I pushed you away when you were obviously hurting."

She dared to pull you a little closer. "You can still call me Baby."

You had to let out a light chuckle at that, despite the tears on your face. You wondered if you were mourning Natasha or your relationship with Carol. Whatever the case, she reached out and brushed the pad of her thumb across your cheek. You couldn't resist leaning a little harder into her hand. She got the message, opening her hand and cupping your cheek, her palm pressing delicately against your skin and her thumb continued to trace your cheekbone.

"You were hurting too," she assured quietly. "You reacted that way because you were grieving. You needed someone to blame."

"It shouldn't have been you."

"I was easy," she said, hands sliding down so they were both in yours. "I could have saved her and I didn't. Whatever reasoning I might have had, that was the truth."

"I'm supposed to love you."

"You don't love me?" She questioned.

"I do! Of course I love you, Carol. But I haven't been great at doing that recently. I should have-"

"You love me and you were grieving your friend. That's it. And I love you too," she said, squeezing your hands. "Can we stop being broken up now?"

She was standing in front of you, a tiny smile on her lips, and forgiving you. She was asking you to take her back, like it wasn't supposed to be you on your knees begging for her forgiveness. You stepped forward, taking your hands out of hers so you could instead put them on her cheeks, and pulled her toward you until your lips had met. She kissed you back immediately, her hands finding your hips. She pulled away from you.

"So yes?" She said, a hint of teasing in her voice. "Because Natasha got us together and breaking up for good over her casket would not be honouring her memory very well."

"No, it wouldn't," you said, leaning your head onto her shoulder. You looked down at the wooden casket. "I miss her so much already, Carol."

"I know. Me too, Honey."

Your heart felt the slightest bit lighter now. You would've given anything for Natasha to be okay. The fact that she was gone still felt like a knife through the chest. At least now, though, you had Carol to hold you at night and kiss the tears off your cheeks. She had you to do the same for her. That was all either of you could do. Now, only time could lessen the pain. Carol put her arms around you and held you closer.

Just as you went to tell her once again that you loved her, her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, frowning at the number that was coming from outside the country. She showed it to you and you took the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Did it work? Do they think I'm dead?" Said the so familiar voice.

You glanced up at Carol, sure the shock on her face matched yours.

"Natasha, what the hell-"

"We've got a new mission. Are you and your lovebird up for it?"

Carol kissed your cheek and then spoke to the woman on the phone. "Absolutely."

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