#So he is going to react as you might expect and square up!

[taryn40k]

“SCAPEGRACES.” A heavily synthesized voice hisses down the hall from the Catachan and his hidden patter companion, followed by a sharp trill of the lingua technica. The source was a tall being, on mechanical, digitgrade legs, crimson, shining alloy battle armor, and flowing robes. A domed helmet with peering, cyan lenses fixated on them, lenses focusing and unfocusing, the faintest buzz of static in the air around it as it stalks towards them like a predator. A Sicarian Infiltrator.

The Skitarii thankfully was far less flesh then Sam, or the throngs of guards attending the sermon just beyond the doors, so it is far less…overwhelming for the payment, despite its imposing figure with a power sword dangling from a frog around its hip, along with a las and stub pistol. Its gear was meticulously maintained, and held with care as its horrid voice barks into the air again.

“EFFECTIVE USE OF THIS GANGWAY IS HALTED BY YOUR LOITERING. YOU WILL ENTER THE HALLS OF WORSHIP, OR CONTINUE WITH YOUR QUEUED ORDERS. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN FORMAL REQUESTS FOR REPRIMAND AND/OR SERVITORISATION.”

Some things never change, even in the Warp!

[luveline]

Hi Jade! Can I request Spencer and Nurse!reader? Maybe they meet when he’s wounded/she’s patching him up?

(Yes I’m a nursing student I promise we aren’t all mean girls 😔)

ty for requesting!! ik ur not all mean of course!!<3 —you meet the cutest FBI agent ever and tend his wounds. fem, 1.5k

One of the small pleasures of your job is when the patients are cute. Not many people come through as handsome as this one. You’re professional nonetheless. 

“What am I seeing you for today?” you ask, holding your hands behind your back. 

Your patient, charted as a Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, twenty nine years old, gives you a tentative smile. “Someone hit me really hard.” 

You can see the bruise forming against his temple. “Yes, I’d say so. Did you know the assailant?” 

“No, but it’s handled.” His smile turns to a grimace. “Uh, I get these, like, debilitating migraines, and I feel like I have one coming on.”

“A head injury could trigger that,” you agree, holding your hands out in front of you, little torch in hand. “Can I have a look?” you ask softly. 

When you’ve been a nurse for some time, you start to categorise people into boxes. All kinds of boxes for different things, but Spencer Reid gets a tick for a few things straight away: shy, pretty, and sensitive to touch. He must not get touched much, or he’s had a bad experience with strangers. He did just get hit in the head, you allow, brushing a sweet, mousy curl away from his head and holding it out of the way as you shine a light into each of his eyes. He flinches hard, but his pupils react as expected. 

Whoever hit him managed to break the skin, upon closer infection of the injury. The skin has turned purple at the edges of his cut. It’ll be a big bruise in just a few hours. 

“Spencer, please tell me if I hurt you, honey,” you say, voice still soft. If he’s got a migraine coming, he won’t want your usual overloud distinction. 

“It’s okay. It hurts, but not more or less when you poke it.” 

“You have a laceration, yeah? It’s about three centimetres long, but deep. I can close it with a butterfly stitch, if you’re okay with that.” 

“Yeah, please. Um, about the migraine–”

“Do you want a tramadol, honey? I think you deserve one.” 

“I can’t have narcotics.” 

You pull back and straighten the hair you’d displaced. “That’s okay, it just means you can’t have the strongest stuff. Most people try to avoid them anyhow. How about tylenol, would that be alright? Or do you avoid painkillers in general?” 

“Tylenol is fine as long as it doesn’t have the codeine with it.” 

You give him a gentle nod. “I’ll make sure it’s the right one. You can even see the bottle, if you like. Would you want them before or after the stitch?” He probably knows, but you add, “It’s not a real stitch. But it might feel tender when I’m poking around.” 

“Anything. Whatever you want to do first.” 

His eyes squeeze closed. You give him a frown he can’t see, and rest your hand on his arm. “Is there someone here with you?” you ask him.

“My friend is coming, I think. There was a lot going on.” 

“That’s okay. I’m not sending you home until I’ve fixed you, Dr. Reid.” 

He smiles, even with his eyes closed, but doesn’t say anything more. You wash your hands and find your bandages. A butterfly bandage, a sterile wipe, and a square piece of gauze to cover it cleanly. His eyes are opening again when you return, ushering him gently down the bed so you can sit on his right side near the injury. 

“What do you do for work?” you ask him. 

“I work for the FBI.” 

“You do?” You tear open the sterile wipe and again pull the curls from his forehead. “This might sting. Please tell me if it hurts too much.” 

“It’s not the cut that hurts.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sympathetically. Migraines are a tricky business. If he’s already having one, you probably can’t do much to get rid of it, but that doesn’t mean pain relief won’t help. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can.” 

He’s quiet. You wipe around the laceration with careful, concise movements. The cut looks clean enough when you’re done, and it’s so small you won’t irrigate it. 

“Are you an agent?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Special supervisory with the BAU. The, uh, behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you say, putting the wrapping and the dirtied wipe into your cardboard bowl. “I think I’ve seen it on TV sometimes, you guys can track the serial killers and stuff?” 

“Mostly that, yeah. Uh, sometimes we find trafficking rings or missing kids. Sometimes we manage hostage situations. It depends on the level of the crisis.” 

“So you’re the big gun.” 

“I guess so. I’m not actually good with a gun.” 

“No one has to be good with a gun to change the world.” You pull the butterfly stitch from the packaging and pick at a finicky end. “I hate guns.” 

He sighs. “I do, too.” 

“They make my job hard. It’s not nice, seeing what they can do to people. It’s awful, really. Spencer, I’m so sorry, honey, I’m just gonna put this on here, it might feel uncomfortable as I pull the sides together.” 

“It’s okay.” 

You pull the plastic of the butterfly stitch on both sides, cinching his cut together promptly. It looks better now you can’t see the inside. 

“I’m gonna cover this with the dressing now. You don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to, it’s a pretty small cut, it was just deep. I’d recommend you try to keep it dry for two days, really, you should keep it covered, but it’s up to you. And if anything happens, if it gets infected, you can always come see me again.” 

You’re mildly flirting, then. Just because he’s nice and shy. It might be a little cruel of you to proposition a man when he’s roughed up, though. 

Spencer, luckily, understands that you’re not trying to harass him. “Thank you.” 

You stand, peeling the plastic from the bandaid and exposing the sticky backing. Slowly, you stroke his hair back from the wound and line the bandaid up. He shivers under your nails. 

“So sorry,” you say, laughing under your breath, “it’s my nails, huh?” 

“It’s okay.” 

“You’re a great patient, Spencer. I’d give you a sticker if I could, I’m not kidding.” 

“You’re a great nurse.” 

“Thank you.” You smooth the edges of the bandaid down for good measure and step away from him to assess him. “How’s that migraine?” 

“Getting worse.” 

“You have them often, you said? Treated or untreated?” 

“Psychosomatic, apparently.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Has your doctor talked to you about CBT?” 

“Some. I don’t really… want it,” he says awkwardly. 

“That’s okay. If it’s psychosomatic as they believe, it might get better with time. How’s the stress in your life?”

“Stressful.” 

“It must be hard, the FBI, everything. Life is hard enough. Stopping serial killers must weigh on your heart.” You smile carefully. “Was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention? Any other injury, anything that needs urgent care?” 

“I was mostly worried I had a concussion.” 

“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re not nauseous, are you?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

He gets this awful, sad look on his face, it really isn’t nice to see. People come in by themselves all the time but it never gets easier to handle. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, taking his arm into your hand. 

“I’m fine.” 

He had the look of someone who’s always fine. Luckily for him, it’s your job to take care of people, to make sure they’re more than fine. “Okay. I’m gonna get you something warm to drink. Do you like donuts?” 

“Uh–”

“I’m getting a feeling about you. Chocolate frosting, I bet.” 

He smiles, startled and pleased at once. “Yeah.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna get those for you. A drink, a donut, and some much needed Tylenol. You can lay down if you like.” 

He nods but doesn’t move. 

As you’re leaving the room, you cross paths with a handsome man with dark skin and a bright smile. Must be something in the air today, you think. 

“Reid, you okay?” you hear him say. 

“Fine.” 

“You’re pink.” 

“What?” 

“You’re blushing. Oh, you had the pretty nurse, didn’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Spencer whispers sharply. 

“You can ask for her number.” 

“No I can’t, she’s working.” 

“But you want to,” his friend surmises. 

You bite down a smile, giving your head a shake as you go. You need to get a move on. Spencer needs a hot drink, a donut, Tylenol, and a pen. It should be okay if you’re both feeling up to it, right?

[redcali]

“Wanna have ramyeon back at my place?”

SYNOPSIS You ask them the infamous question and how they react ⋆˚꩜｡

PAIRINGS Sieun | Suho | Hyun-Tak | Humin x reader

TAGS/ WARNINGS fluff, slight suggestive content

୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧ ୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧ ୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧ ୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧

Sieun

His eyes widen as he looks up from his work, his fingers tightening slightly around his pen.

“What?” He’s not sure if he heard right. Teasingly, you lean in closer to him.

“I said, wanna have ramyeon together back at my place? You need to take a break anyways, you’ve been studying for the whole day.” You complain, looking at him with sad puppy eyes. He’s trying so hard to not show his fluster, but the tip of his ears are turning pink and his pen is digging so hard into his textbook that it might poke a hole.

“I…I’m not…” You grab his hand and try to lead him out of the empty classroom, but he grips your hand hard and yanks you right back. You turn, staggering as you meet his wide eyes, and you can’t help but notice how his ears are turning an even deeper shade of red at record pace.

“Are you trying to start something?” His tone is quiet but dangerous.

“Start what?” You simply blink up at him, feigning innocence.

He makes a small disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. “You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?”

“I just want some ramyeon…” you say, tilting your head, tone deliberately casual. “What else could I possibly mean?”

Sieun’s eyes grow lidded as his grip on you tightens.

“Fine,” he finally says, tossing his textbook back into his bag. “Let’s do as you say. But I hope you like it hot, because I don’t do mild.”

୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧

Suho

Suho nearly falls out of his chair. To be fair, he was rocking it back and forth, so it’s totally his fault that he’s struggling to stabilize himself whilst he looks at you with the most scandalising expression.

“What are you trying to do?” he chokes out. Then he grabs his textbook and smacks it on your head. You let out a yelp of protest as he begins chasing you around with his textbook.

“Come here,” he demands. “Let me hit you one more time for what you just said.”

“I just wanna have ramyeon! What’s wrong with that?” You complain, as you dodge a whack. Suho tries to chase you around a desk, and you both go in circles, until he jumps over the desk and wraps his arms around you.

“Hey! Get off of me!” You’re shrieking and trying to stifle your giggles as he straddles you.

“You can’t just say this to any boy, you hear?” Suho wags a finger at you.

“Any boy?”

“Only me. Only say it to me.” He flashes you a grin. “Let’s go, we’ll make them my way.”

୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧

Humin (Baku)

You nudge him playfully as you both linger outside your door.

“Wanna have ramyeon back at my place?”

He freezes mid-step as he turns to look at you. “Wait, what? Are we talking noodles or…you know…‘ramyeon’?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Pink slowly creeps into his cheeks as you continue to look him square in the eyes.

“YAH! Don’t say stuff like that so casually! Are you feeling unwell or something? Huh?” His hand reaches out to press against your forehead.

You grin in response as you gently brush his hand away. “So… is that a yes?”

He grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course it’s a yes…but only if there’s actual ramyeon too… unbelievable… I was just trying to walk you home.”

୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧

Hyun-Tak (Gotak)

Hyun-Tak just laughs, his gaze momentarily flicking to the side before they return to you.

“Depends…are we eating first or later?” He leans in closer, his gaze so steady and unrelenting that your composure begins to waver.

“Uhm…I…” What the hell did he just say? You’re supposed to be the slick, flirty one right now. So why is your face burning and your heart beating out of your chest right now?

Hyun-Tak grins. “You okay? You were talking a big game just a minute ago.”

You force a laugh as you try to collect yourself. “Well… I just wasn’t expecting you to actually flirt back.”

“Why not?” he says softly. “You think I’ve been coming all this way just for the small talk?”

“So,” he says, voice low and eyes teasing, “is it ramyeon, or something else?”

୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧

[puptrefied]

thinking about cait or vi edging you… :(

you’re sat on her lap, her fingers just teasingly swirling her fingers around your clit, ignoring your squirming as the subtle clicking sounds emitting from you get louder and louder TT

cw - fingering ⋆ dom!vi ⋆ fem!reader ⋆ kinda mean vi ⋆ edging ⋆ no dialogue from reader ⋆ reader cries just a little | 600 words .ᐟ

　sweaty, trembling, soaked through your underwear and you still haven't even come once. yeah, not a single time. vi made sure of that.

she’s leaned back in the couch like she’s lounging, legs spread, one arm around your waist keeping you pressed against her, the other buried between your thighs. that same lazy, practiced movement on your clit, nothing more than slow circles, perfectly measured.

and she's having so much fun with it.

wish I could say the same about you, though.

you’ve begged, squirmed, whimpered like some toy with a broken voice box for the last god knows how long, and she’s still got that same smirk on her lips. like she’s bored. like she’s just stretching her hand out, killing time.

"still not done," she mutters, fingers dragging slick through your folds, not even slipping inside this time—just enough pressure to make you twitch. your thighs clench and she sighs like you're the one being difficult.

“fuckin’ needy, huh.”

you nod even if it wasn't really a question, more like an observation from her. vi grabs your jaw and makes you look at her as her calloused thumb drags across your bottom lip like she’s thinking about what to do with you. ( because apparently, contrary to what most might think, letting you have an orgasm is not an option )

“you wanna cum that bad?”

another broken whimper and you hate how fast your body reacts—how obvious it is. how hot your skin feels under her hand, how your thighs won’t stop shaking.

“yeah, no.” she says it flatly, with no hesitation. fingers still moving against you.

“you think you get to ask?” her voice drops an octave—low, deliberate. her mouth is right at your ear, breath warm, words slow. pretty sure that if she spoke normally you wouldn't even register the words. “you sit here, on my lap, soaking my jeans, and you think I owe you something?”

the heel of her palm grinds up hard against your clit and your whole body jolts, instinct trying to push against her hand, hips rising to get her to thrust her fingers in the same way she did ten minutes ago—but she immediately shuts it down.

"nope, sit the fuck down."

a firm arm across your stomach, holding you in place. your back to her chest.

you go still, breath caught in your throat. you can feel it. it’s right there. you’re so close you’re shaking. your muscles tense. your vision even blurs.

then she stops.

just like that.

pulls her hand away completely and wipes your slick off on your inner thigh like it’s nothing. as if she can't hear you breathlessly whining.

“god, you’re a mess,” she’s laughing now. actually laughing at you. ( how cruel can a woman, your goddamn girlfriend, be? sigh. ) “you feel how fuckin’ wet you are? and for what?”

you can’t even speak. your mouth opens and closes like you forgot how to use it. tears prick your eyes and she catches that too.

“seriously?” vi’s voice is flat, unimpressed. “you’re crying over this?” she doesn’t sound mad. doesn’t even sound surprised. like this is exactly how she expected you to act.

she's as wet as you are, completely untouched and she can feel the wet fabric of her underwear sticking to her own needy cunt, her inner thighs also uncomfortable, but where's the fun in admitting it when she can make fun of you instead?

her fingers come back to your clit—light, almost lazy again. back to square one.

you whine. worn out.

and how could you not be? she goes from fast, rough and so so good and then stops out of nowhere just when you want—need her to keep going.

“come on,” she says quietly, steady as ever. she exhales through her nose, presses her mouth to your shoulder. “not yet.”

a soft kiss on your skin, her own hips lightly bucking up against your ass, and it's so surprisingly sweet that it's actually kinda distracting from the fact she's gonna keep going with little to no compassion in less than ten seconds.

masterlist.

[viktateapot]

HELLO! IF YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN, CAN YOU DO A FIC W DAMIAN OR JASON OR ALL THE BATBOYS WHERE THEY LIKE TRY TO JUMPSCARE US BUT WE JUST PUNCH THEM IN THE FACE OR W KICK IN THE BALLS (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

NO JUMPSCARES, JUST JUSTICE

DICK GRAYSON X READER

Dick Grayson, ever the prankster, had a new mission: to successfully jumpscare you. He’d seen your reactions to the other Batboys’ attempts, and he was determined to be the one to finally break your unflappable exterior. He studied your routines, learned your triggers, and planned his assault with all the stealth and precision of Nightwing himself.

His first attempt took place in the Batcave, a place you thought was safe from such shenanigans. You were engrossed in calibrating a new piece of WayneTech, headphones on, completely oblivious to your surroundings. Dick, hidden in the shadows, crept closer and closer, his signature grin widening with anticipation.

He timed his move perfectly, leaping out from behind a stack of crates with a loud "RAWR!" It was a classic Dick Grayson move – theatrical, a little cheesy, but usually effective.

But you weren't most people. Years of living in Gotham had turned you into a finely tuned weapon, always alert, always prepared. And your reflexes, as the Batboys had already learned, were lightning fast.

Without even thinking, you reacted. You spat. The saliva, charged with the force of your lungs and the precise aim cultivated in your youth, flew straight for Dick’s unprotected face, and he made no effort to evade.

The spray struck him squarely in the eyes.

Dick gasped, his hands flying to his face. "What the -?!" he sputtered, his grin replaced with a look of utter shock and disgust.

"You tried to jumpscare me!" you retorted, ripping off your headphones.

"I just - I wasn't expecting THAT!" Dick wiped his eyes furiously.

Dick sputtered, trying to clear the foul mixture from his eyes. “What even was that?! Did you…did you spit on me?”

You merely shrugged. “You tried to scare me. Fair’s fair.” You turned back to the equipment you were working on, a little annoyed that this new game of theirs had interrupted the important work you were in the middle of.

He tried again the next night, and the next, determined to find a way past your…unconventional defense mechanism. He tried a mirror scare, leaping out from behind a hallway mirror at the Manor. You blew right into his face.

He tried hiding in your closet, jumping out at you when you went to pick out your patrol gear. Another lungful of spit.

Each attempt was met with the same, disgusting results. Dick, to his credit, tried not to take it personally, but it was hard not to feel a little offended by the sheer ferocity of your response.

He finally confessed his failures to the other Batboys, who were equal parts amused and horrified.

“You’re spitting on him?” Tim shuddered. “That’s… intense, even for you.”

Damian snorted. “Grayson deserves it. He should have known better than to provoke you.”

Jason, meanwhile, was doubled over with laughter. “I wish I’d seen it!” he choked out. “That’s even better than punching him in the balls!”

The discussion about the best way to not get spat on was interrupted by your presence.

You strode into the Batcave. “What’s so funny?”

The other Batboys scattered, suddenly finding important things to do elsewhere.

You stared intensely at Dick. “Are you going to try again?”

He took a step back, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I give up! You win! No more jumpscares, I promise!”

You narrowed your eyes, assessing his sincerity. “Good,” you said, turning and walking away. “Because if you try it again, I have other, even more disgusting things planned.”

Dick watched you go, shuddering slightly. He wasn't sure what those "other things" might be, but he definitely didn't want to find out.

From that day on, Dick Grayson never attempted to jumpscare you again. He learned that some people are simply not meant to be startled, and that sometimes, the most unexpected weapon is also the most effective.

And you, meanwhile, continued to live your life in Gotham, ever vigilant, ever prepared, always ready to unleash your…unique brand of justice on anyone who dared to cross you. After all, a little spit can go a long way.

[a-hound-will-die-for-you]

A Bath for the Hound

Masterlist | img source

Summary: Sandor Clegane is injured. And dirty. Some healers try to help him, but he's a gruff man who won't let anyone touch him. That is, until you show up at his door. Word count: 3200 Notes: Well! It ended up taking me more than a month to write this fic!! But here it is, and with an ending I didn't expect myself. Warning: Highborn f!reader x sandor clegane; Cocky reader; Grumpy Sandor; Beauty and beast vibes and reference; Nakedness and descriptions of underwear; Nothing explicit; Suggestive; Banter; Almost a kiss; Confessions of love; Sandor calls reader little dove. English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes I might make. Constructive feedback is welcomed, I am here to share and learn <3

You barely lifted your eyes from your book. Four burly men shuffled into the room, three rubbing their sides and the last running a hand over a bruise on his jaw.

"How is he?" you asked, turning the page calmly.

"I-I… don't know, my lady…"

You lifted your gaze and set the book on the silver tray beside you.

“You don't know?"

"No, my lady," the leader of the group answered. "He is… he's a…"

"A complicated man," Tyrion finished for him.

You knew that would happen. Not even a group of strong, experienced men was enough to deal with him.

"I'll go," you sighed, rising from your seat. Your two ladies-in-waiting stood up too, but you gestured for them to stay.

“Are you sure, my lady?” Tyrion’s small hand gently grasped yours. “I don’t think it is the most appropriate.”

“Tyrion,” you smiled at your friend, "I'm good with dogs, I know how to handle them," you added looking into his almond-shaped eyes.

The Hand of the King studied you for a moment. You were a stubborn woman. Nothing he could say or do would make you change your mind, and besides, he knew that you carried the weight of what had happened.

"Very well," he finally said, his smile tight as he released your hand.

You dipped your head briefly. Then, beneath the wary stares of your ladies-in-waiting, slipped out into the dim corridors of the Red Keep.

*******************

The king’s sword had his quarters in the same wing as the royal chambers. Close enough to reach the king in an instant should danger arise. But unlike the luxurious, sunlit chambers of the nobility, his were in the dark corridor reserved for guards and hired steel. 

You stopped before a heavy, dark door, flanked by two unlit torches. Almost instinctively, you smoothed down your crimson dress, adjusting its square neckline before tapping lightly on the wood with your knuckles.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OFF!!” a rough voice barked from inside.

You smiled to yourself. Exactly the answer you expected.

“Sandor…” you said, keeping your voice calm.

After a moment of silence, heavy footsteps approached the door, stumbling over something metallic that rolled across the floor.

“Fucking seven hells…”  he cursed, and you smiled again.

One, two, three locks clicked open, and the large door moved just enough to reveal a nearly seven-foot tall man scowling down at you. His face was stained with dried blood and dirt.

“Gods, you look awful,” you said. 

The Hound pushed the door open further so his body loomed over yours.

“The little dove shouldn't be here,” he rasped. His gaze roamed unabashedly over your neck and collarbone, just as he always did.

“I know,” you lifted your chin at him, unbothered, “but you kicked out the healers, and someone has to take care of you.” 

His dark eyes darted between yours with a special shine, but his mouth twisted reluctantly. 

“I don't need help.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed the door and tried to slam it shut in your face, but as he did his bulky body staggered to one side. You reacted quickly and caught him by the shoulder. He was a giant of a man, you could not carry him, but at least you gave him some support until he found his balance.

"Let's go inside," you whispered. To your surprise, he bowed his head in a silent nod, letting his black hair fall over his eyes to hide his shame.

Sandor Clegane could afford better as the king’s sworn sword, but he was no man of luxury. In his room, there was little more than a simple wooden chair, a table cluttered with bloody bandages, and a fireplace that looked like it had never been used. You stepped around his battered armor scattered across the floor and helped him sit on the chair.

"Let me see the wound," you said as you lightly tugged at his linen tunic. It was the same he usually wore under his chainmail.

With a grunt, he pulled it off and threw it aside. Before you, a broad chest came into view, strong and covered in dark hair. But it was the blood-soaked bandage around his abdomen that caught your eye. You peeled it back and had to force yourself to stay composed. Jagged cuts tore through swollen, reddened flesh, the crude stitches binding the torn skin in a hasty, careless job. He had lost a great deal of blood, which explained his weakness.

"It’s not infected, but we need to clean it,” you said, so focused on examining the wound that you barely realized you were alone with a man in nothing but his breeches. What would your father say?

The man just grunted, staring straight ahead while you bent down to take a closer look at the wound.

"I’m going to bathe you," you added with all the seriousness the moment allowed.

He shot you a glacial glare. 

"No bloody chance you’re bathing me.” 

"You stink like a dead horse, Sandor. I’m going to bathe you whether you like it or not."

He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could you had already stepped into the hall in search of a servant.

"Hot water, towels, and soap," you instructed.

Several men and women dragged in a wooden bathtub and hurried to fill it with hot water. The tub was large, made for someone of his height, and it took several trips for the servants to finish preparing it. As they worked, you helped Sandor remove the rest of the bandage, stuck to the dried blood. He did nothing but grumble and curse the entire time. Once the steam and the pleasant scent of lavender soap filled the room, you were left alone again.

"I’ll help you get in," you offered him your arm.

"This is nonsense," he stared at the bathtub like a dog refusing to go into the river. "I can fucking wash myself."

"You could if you could stay on your feet," you retorted.

You thought he’d grumble again but instead, he let out a loud huff and pulled his breeches down. You quickly averted your gaze, keeping your arm steady to support him. The fabric crumpled around his ankles, and you felt the weight shift as he stepped into the tub with a soft splash. Yet, for some reason, he didn’t lower himself.

“Sit down, please,” you said, still politely looking away.

“Water’s bloody hot,” he rasped.

“It’s warm,” you said.

“It’s too damned h-”

“JUST SIT IN THE BLOODY BATH, CLEGANE,” you snapped. Your neck was turned so far away it might snap, and you couldn’t take this ridiculous standoff another second.

A brief silence followed your order until, with a reluctant grunt, the towering man relented and lowered himself into the wooden tub. Once the water was up to his waist and the foam concealed his nakedness, you knelt next to him. Moisture clung to your neck, so you gathered your hair into a high knot before taking the cloth and soap left at the tub’s edge. Then, you lathered the fabric thoroughly, dipped it into the warm water, and pressed it lightly against his wound.

“Seven hells, woman, warn a man before you start poking at his guts!” The man cursed and flinched, sending water sloshing over the sides.

You frowned.  "If you held still, it wouldn't hurt so much."

He leaned toward you, teeth bared. 

“If the little dove hadn’t run off, this never would’ve happened.”

“Well,” you squeezed the cloth, “if you hadn’t scared the little dove, she wouldn’t have run!”

Your eyes met his, and his scowl deepened, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking away. As you held his gaze, you took a small bottle of ointment and applied it to his wound, more carefully this time. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head forward, jaw so clenched it might break.

"How many were there?" you asked, trying to distract him from the pain.

“Six,” he muttered.

“And where are they now?” 

“Dead.”

You clicked your tongue in silent reproach.

“Seriously?” He turned to you. “They were going to rape you bloody. Would the little dove have preferred I brought them back for supper?”

A chuckle left you, but you didn't answer. You just got up, walked behind him and knelt at his back while he stared ahead, more sullen than ever.

"Here," you curled your fingers around his unshaven chin, gently guiding his head upward. He allowed it, but the moment you poured clean water over his head, he jerked back dramatically.

“Sandor, it’s just a bit of water," you laughed, "I doubt it’ll drown you." 

He was ready to strike with something sharp again, but the words died in his throat as your fingers sank into his hair, tracing slow and soft circles over his scalp.  

His dreadful scars became even more visible beneath his soaked hair, and the man hunched forward, embarrassed. But you had long since lost your fear of his ruined skin. Your fingers ran through his hair, raking through his locks and gently untangling each knot they found. An almost imperceptible, shaky breath left him, and you could almost say he was enjoying it. But when your hands pressed too close to his scarred flesh, he stiffened and pulled his head away.

"It's alright," you reassured him, carefully guiding his head back.

He remained still like a rock while your fingertips slowly wiped away the dried blood from his burned cheek, treating the folds around his deformed ear with the utmost care. Then, you brushed his hair aside and pushed his shoulders forward. The gesture made his muscles tense under your touch, accustomed only to blows and punches. His back was painted with bruises, stiff with countless knots. You pressed your thumbs where he needed it most, kneading until the tension in his shoulders slowly loosened. Unconsciously, he leaned forward to grant you better access. When you traced his spine from top to bottom, a low moan escaped him. He quickly cleared his throat in an attempt to cover it up. The effort only made you smile. 

There he was, one of the most dangerous men in the Seven Kingdoms, crumbling beneath your touch.

"All done here," you said as you moved around him. 

His eyes followed you as you knelt beside him again and reached out to wipe his chest. But he was so broad that you had to bend over, wetting your sleeve and the front of your dress.

"Sandor, turn toward me as much as you can," you asked.

He didn't. 

His mouth twisted into a grin as he shot you a defiant look that you recognized instantly. It was the same one he wore when a man tested him in the training yard. He was trying to regain some control after his previous moment of vulnerability, and you knew he wouldn't give in this time.

"Fine," you huffed, standing up. You weren’t going to waste more time. 

Your fingers reached for the front laces of your dress and tugged furiously until the gown slipped from your shoulders and fell at your feet. Sandor's eyes widened, but you paid him no mind. You clutched your undershirt in your fists, tore it over your head, and let it fall carelessly to the floor too.

The man was now fully turned toward you, watching with keen interest how your delicate corset cinched enticingly around your waist. His piercing stare didn't stop you. You yanked down your underskirts, lifting one leg to step into the bath. Only white thigh-high stockings with silken ribbon garters covered your thighs. A foolish choice, perhaps, for that day.

"Gods, woman…” the man leaned forward, thick fingers tugging at your garters as if unwrapping a present. “…a true little dove…."

"Sandor!" You slapped his hands away. But he ignored you. As you shifted your appetizing thighs in front of him to get into the water, his large hands cupped them.

“No! Hey!” You seized his wrists and pushed him back. “No touching, alright? Behave.”

"Must be fucking kidding me…," he gave a sharp, annoyed huff, eyes still glued to your thighs as he let his back fall against the bath.

You lowered yourself onto the opposite side, trying not to be intimidated by the sight of the sturdy, soaked chest before you. The steam pressed against your skin, and you ran a hand over the back of your neck, dampening a few stray strands that fell down your back.

You retrieved the cloth and dipped it back into the foamy water. Your hands found his calves, hard as rocks, and you started to scrub them. You kept your gaze down, perhaps because you felt a little vulnerable as he drank in the curve of your neck and down your cleavage. You continued rubbing his knees and began to slide it up his thighs. Higher and higher. Until you stopped abruptly halfway.

“Scared of what you might find?” he taunted, voice rough as sandpaper.

“Oh, Sandor, I know exactly what I’ll find,” you said, pulling the cloth from the water to repeat the process on his other leg.

His chest shook with a deep, throaty laugh that you were sure could be heard from the hall. You rolled your eyes and sat on your ankles, steadying yourself with one hand on the tub’s rim. As you leaned in to scrub his chest, the soapy water slid slowly down his ribs. He leaned back in the tub, arms resting on the sides. You could feel his pupils fixed on you, hungrily.

"Stop looking at me like that," you grabbed his chin and turned his face away.

“Ah, no," his deep voice rasped. "You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Let this beaten dog enjoy a bit.”

You clicked your tongue at his words but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. Gods, who would have thought The Hound’s flattery could make you blush?

“Sandor…” You said, running the cloth over his neck, thick with dark hair that climbed up to his beard.  “Yesterday, when you were chasing me through the woods… why?”

“Following orders,” he said, voice flat. 

You hummed, your touch drifting over his collarbone without thought. He exhaled, long and slow. 

“You were meant to go meet your future lord husband. No one told you?” His eyes sought yours, but you kept them downcast.

“Is that what you want?” You asked, fingers idly toying with the soap. ”For me to meet him?” 

“That’s what highborn ladies do, ain’t it? Marry fine, proper lords.” The scorn in his gruff voice made you look at him but something in your gaze made his own soften. “No, little dove… I don’t want you to meet him,” he sighed.

“Why not?” you asked with round, innocent eyes.

He stared right into you. 

“You fucking know why…”

Silence followed his words, so heavy that you feared he might hear the wild hammering of your heart. 

What a foolish thing to ask.

You tore your eyes away from his, gripping the cloth so tightly that the soapy water ran down your wrists and forearms. His fingers brushed against your wet skin, trying to wipe it away. You shuddered. 

No touching, you had said

"You’re not mine to have, are you?" He continued, his hoarse voice weighed down with the same sadness that darkened his eyes. "Damn foolish of me to have even thought of it."

Your hand clasped his and pressed it against your flushed cheek.

No touching. 

To hell with that. 

Water spilled over the edges of the tub as you rose onto your knees. Your trembling hands found support on his shoulders. His own wandered roughly over your back, sliding up your neck until his fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it in fistfuls. His heavy-lidded eyes flickered down to your mouth. Your parted lips throbbed with want. You weren’t sure if you had leaned down or if he had pulled you in, but there was nothing between you except unsteady breaths and heat. A rough hand glided through the back of your neck. His dripping beard hovered close, almost grazing your chin.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“My lady?” 

You both jolted as a voice called from the other side of the door. You turned your head toward the sound, while Sandor dropped his own forward in defeat.

“Yes?” You raised your voice so the servant could hear.

“Lord Tyrion sends word, asking if all is well.”

You swore you’d strangle Tyrion the next time you saw him.

“E-everything is perfectly fine, thank you!”

“He also asks that you come to the Great Hall with all due haste. Your betrothed has arrived and is eager to meet you.”

You closed your eyes and drew in a deep breath before answering.

“Very well, thank you.”

When you opened your eyes again, Sandor’s mask of indifference was barely holding together.

"I should leave," you said, quickly brushing your hand over his wet beard. He nodded briefly without looking at you.

Stepping out of the bathtub, your eyes lingered on the discarded clothes on the floor. Your silks tangled with his rough garments felt strangely complementary. You gathered your gown and pulled it over your moist skin.

"Can you finish on your own?" you asked, fingers quickly tying the laces.

"Aye," he muttered, still not turning to face you.

You swallowed hard and moved toward the door, leaving him to brood in silence. But just as your fingers brushed the handle, his voice stopped you.

“Little dove.”

You turned. His gaze was fixed on the water.

“I'm going to kill him. I'll rip out his guts in his sleep and strangle him with them.”

Your lips twitched. 

"Tyrion?"

"No..." He lifted his eyes to yours. "The fool who thinks he deserves you."

You left the room before he could see your smile fade. Leaning your back against the wood, you placed one trembling hand on your chest. Your heart raced frantically. You needed a moment. A moment to breathe and calm that wildness that gripped you inside. But they were waiting for you. As much as you wanted to go back to that room, you couldn't. You had to do what you were supposed to do. In that, even a highborn lady was no different from a hound. So you squared your shoulders and pushed yourself away from the door.

Beneath your dress, your soaked stockings stuck uncomfortably to your thighs as you made your way to the Great Hall.

...............

Thanks for reading! <3

What do you think? A comment would give me life, and encourage me to write more :)

[scottiexmariee]

Hiii 💜 can I request LAD short for the boys with a reader who gets arrested (for something stupid) and calls the boy to bail her out? Please and thank you!!

How the boys would react to you getting arrested <3

Characters: Xavier x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Sylus x Reader |

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist

Warnings: Slight violence mention

“This is a free call from Linkon City Corrections Facility from inmate: (Y/N). To accept this call, please press 1.” 

☆Xav would definitely come get you ASAP

☆This man trusts your judgement and knows you wouldn't end up in jail without a good reason, so he wouldn't even question you until you're safely in his arms

☆ He'd get there in record time so you didn't have to sit too long

When Xavier answered his phone at 2am, he hadn’t even looked at the screen to see who was calling. He knew you were out with your friends tonight, so he was already by the phone waiting for you to let him know you’d made it home safe. However, he expected your voice on the other end of the line, not a robot telling him that you were currently calling from Linkon City jail. 

Xavier blinked rapidly, trying to make sure he’d heard the automated message correctly. The message repeated itself when no button was pushed, confirming that he had definitely not been mistaken.

Xavier immediately pressed 1, listening to another spiel from the robot before the call finally connected. His shoes were on before he even heard your voice.

“(Y/N)?” 

“Xavier,” You began, “I promise I’ll explain everything but I need you to come pick me up. Please.” 

He’d already been planning on it, but the pleading tone in your voice would have had him folding regardless. 

“I’m coming,” He assured you, already halfway out the door.

On the other end of the call, you breathed out a sigh of relief. “I owe you my life,”

The second you get released from custody, he's giving you a hug and telling you to discuss it when you're ready.

When he found out that the reason you were arrested was for clocking a man square in the jaw for being unable to keep his hands to himself, he almost took a turn in a jail cell for the night.

"Xavier, it's okay," You insisted, cupping his face with your hands. "I already took care of it. Can we please just go home?"

"I can assure you it will be handled twice if I see him anywhere,"

❅Zayne definitely comes to get you, but he’s not even gonna pretend that he isn’t a little irritated 

❅Imagine working a grueling 16 hour shift as a surgeon, and when you finally sink down into your couch, ready to relax, your phone rings and it’s a a call from jail

❅because that is zayne’s reality and he is STRESSED 

❅#ringring #helpiminjail 

❅He’d cool off on the drive there, but you’re definitely still getting scolded (absolutely a ‘make better choices’ talk)

❅definitely shows up with heavy ‘disappointed but not surprised’ vibes

You'd gotten arrested for the dumbest thing on the planet.

While out on a walk, your Hunter's Watch notified you of a nearby metaflux fluctation, so you sprang into action without second thought.

You located the Wanderer pretty quickly and gave a good chase, even hopping a fence to put and end to it before it caused any severe damage. Unfortunately for you, the fence you'd hopped just so happened to belong to a private government building. You were very swiftly apprehended and loaded into the police car. The officers refused to hear any of your excuses, charging you with Criminal Trespassing.

You were not going to spend the night in jail over this, so you called the only person you thought might still be awake.

Zayne.

Zayne who, unfortunately, had just gotten home from a horrendously long shift not even an hour before your call came. When the Caller ID popped up for Linkon City Jail, his stomach twisted uncomfortably, already having a pretty good idea of who could potentially be calling him of all people. Initially, he was a whirlwind of frustration and annoyance. Not to mention stressed. His lovely partner, currently sitting in jail like a criminal. He'd leave right away, and most of his frustration would dissipate on the drive to come collect you.

Zayne greeted you with crossed arms and a deadpan expression, waiting until the pair of you got in the car before demanding an explanation. After you explained, his frustration was no longer directed at you, but more so at the absurdity of the situation.

Once you two were parked at his house, Zayne cupped the side of your face in one hand, gently resting his forehead against yours in a much needed gesture of affection.

"Please just try to be a little more careful," He said, his tone surprisingly soft. "I'm going to get grey hairs by the time I'm 30 if I have to keep collecting you from jail,"

❀ let’s be honest Rafayel is probably the reason you’re in jail anyway 

❀ probably trespassing to get a material for rare paint or something 

❀ he’d be mad at you because how are you supposed to protect him (miss bodyguard) if you’re getting arrested?

You felt your jaw tick as your name was finally called for your one free phone call. Of course, you were going to call Rafayel and make bailing you out his problem, since it was his fault you were here anyway. "If you aren't doing anything, I have a quest for you, Miss Bodyguard,"

"I'm out of a custom color for this painting. It's in a suuuper easy spot. You can do it, right?"

Unfortunately for you, Rafayel had failed to mention that his stupid 'custom paint color' was located in an area that was restricted to the public. Maybe he didn't even know. It was hard to tell with him. Either way, you'd gotten busted trespassing and whisked away in a police car.

When Rafayel's voice connected on the other end of the line, he was already running his mouth before you could say anything.

"'Getting materials for my paint' doesn't exactly sound similar to 'end up in jail.' How did you get them confused?"

"You're not a very good bodyguard. How are you supposed to protect me if you can't even dodge the police?"

"Wait. Why are you even in jail? Don't tell me you like...punched a baby or something,"

When he finally shut up for long enough for you to explain yourself, he laughed the second you finished talking.

"Really? That's it?"

"It's not funny, Rafayel. Come get me out of here!"

"Oh, relaaax. I'll be there in 20," Turns out, that plot of land actually belonged to Rafayel. He'd bought it when he realized he could get specific (rare) paint colors from the resources. The police, however, weren't aware that he'd send anyone other than himself to get anything from there, so when they just so happened to see you as they passed by, you really didn't stand a chance.

Rafayel was absolutely not going to let you live it down, either.

Now, in addition to your 'Miss Bodyguard' nickname, you had a less appealing one.

'Miss Criminal.'

⟡ Sylus is genuinely amused when he gets the call

⟡ "You don't typically hear of kittens allowing themselves to be caught,"

⟡ He knows you had a damn good reason for whatever you did

⟡ He'd come get you and lowkey bully you about it on the way home

⟡ any trace of you being in jail mysteriously disappears from the system less than 24 hours later 

Sylus almost didn't answer the phone call.

When the unsaved number popped up on his screen, he instinctively reached to dismiss it. He didn't give his personal cell number out often, so he was well aware of who had this number. There wasn't a single person worth his time that would realistically be calling from an unsaved number.

However, a split second later he realized that he hadn't heard from you for a bit longer than usual.

He cracked a grin the second the robot started speaking, informing him that he was receiving a call from his incarcerated lover.

When the line connected, he spoke first.

"Having a good time, sweetie?"

You could hear the smirk in his voice through the phone, which only added to your annoyance. "Sylus. Please come pick me up,"

"Of course,"

When he arrived to retrieve you, he learned that it was an assault charge. You'd beat up a man nearly twice your size, apparently, and a witness had described you as a menace.

As the two of you exited the building, he looped an arm around your shoulders, asking the only question he cared to ask: "Did he deserve it?"

"Absolutely," You responded. "I'd do it again, actually,"

He chuckled, shaking his head with a fondness reserved for only you. He knew that you were the type to stand on business, and he loved that about you. He was honestly a little proud, even.

"Let's not make this a habit, though." He said, gently tugging your motorcycle helmet over your head. "Stick with me more. You wouldn't have gotten caught,"

[voxslays]

4 MORANT — POPPY PLAYTIME

SUMMARY: How the Poppy Playtime characters would react if the player somehow died in the factory after gaining their affections. PAIRINGS: The Doctor x Reader, Doey x Reader (platonic), Poppy x Reader (platonic), Kissy x Reader (platonic), Dogday x reader, Mommy Longlegs x reader.

THE DOCTOR

ꨄ When Harley hears the news of your death, he can’t help but feel the anger rise within his metallic body. He was ‘friends’ with the prototype—and Harley was one of the most powerful toys in the factory! How could this have happened so easily?

ꨄ Harley pushes himself back into his experiments, more motivated than ever. What experiments, you may ask? A solution to bring you back from the dead.

DOEY

ꨄ Angry. Kevin starts to come out as the other two wallow in frustration and self-regret. It doesn’t help that in Doey’s eyes, it’s all Poppy’s fault. She’s just ruined everything, hasn’t she? First safe haven and everyone inside, and now you?

ꨄ After you’re gone Doey more than likely turns into his rabid, monstrous form, consuming anyone (or toy) in his way. He Will avenge your death, with the others help or not.

POPPY

ꨄ Absolutely shocked. You had made it this far and she hadn’t expected you to die so easily, although she no doubt blames herself. Poppy would feel guilty about it. Maybe if she hadn’t pushed you so hard, you wouldn’t have lost focus and met your brutal end.

ꨄ But Poppy is a survivor, and to be a survivor in Playtime co. you have to push your emotions down—which is exactly what she does. She’ll never forget you though, no matter how hard she tries.

KISSY

ꨄ Absolutely heartbroken. To kissy, you were her best friend, and biggest supporter. She might not have been able to talk, but it was like you could just see what was going on behind those big, beady black eyes of hers. You truly saw her.

ꨄ Kissy constantly looks at one of the framed photos she has with you (kind of like what she did with that child in chapter three), never really allowing herself time to heal…

DOGDAY

ꨄ You were one of the strongest people he knew. You found him when he was chained up in the prison, stitched him up, and carried him away from the smiling critters. So when he hears the news of your death, he is more than a little surprised.

ꨄ I’d like to think Dogday grieves quietly. He seems mature enough to realize that crying won’t get him anywhere, but at the same time, he’s doing it alone in safe heaven when nobody is listening.

MOMMY LONGLEGS

ꨄ Incandescently enraged. After the hour of joy, you were one of the only people who didn’t fear her. Actually, she felt valued. You beat her challenges fair and square—which made her admittedly angry, but once you showed her kindness? She vowed to protect you.

ꨄ Once you’re gone, all the ‘beautiful emerald,’ as you had once called it, was gone from her eyes—leaving them charcoal black. Like Doey, she will feast on anyone in her way.

[reallyromealone]

Rome you know I'm gonna need a part 2 to that zoro x reader x sanji right cause I can't let that slide😊

Title: goodbye love

Fandom: one piece

Characters: Zoro, Sanji

Fic type: angst

Pairings: Zoro x sanji

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, angst, aggressive conversation, sad reader

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(name) hummed as he stocked bread in a small bakery, it had been five months since he left and he felt lighter and happier since the breakup. He was far from the island they docked from, getting a job easily at a bakery in a small coastal town.

Occasionally he wondered how his now ex boyfriends were, how they reacted to the letter... Were they sad? Angry? Did they even care? (Name) Didn't know and slowly stopped caring. He was starting fresh, leaving the pirate life to have something more domestic and stable though getting used to land was a bit tough.

"(Name), you work too much, go home early" the elderly bakery owner said softly, her cane tapping against the old wood with each step "are you sure? I don't mind being here" (name) asked her, (bakery owner) chuckled as she led him out "the rush is over, not many people will come today"

"Alright, but just get one of the kids to get me if it gets busy"

"Yes yes, now go!"

(Name) Chuckled as he was kicked out of the store, she was old but strong.

'with this extra time, might as well grab some stuff from the market' he thought as he went back to his place to grab some bags and coin, the walk calm and the gulls squawked as they flew overhead, the town was on the side of a huge hill, winding and full of turns, small but popular. It was perfect.

His apartment was small, he was surprised to have a one bedroom, a fireplace for cooking and even a bit of space for seating. His bed was the most expensive thing he owned, he saw it at the market and immediately got it. It was a futon, comfiest thing he ever slept on and he even got pillows. It was pricy but thankfully he had a fair amount of coin from his previous employment.

He only slept on wood or a hammock.

It was a nice adjustment.

The market was the biggest thing beside the town square, many vendors and travellers in and out selling everything and anything one could need.

(Name) Loved getting fruits from other places, one a trip as a treat for himself, today he got something called an apple, typically he's used to mango and jackfruit on this island so it was a nice change.

(Name) Made a few purchases, important house things and a few little trinkets for himself.

A book from a far away land.

An apple.

Some sewing needles and thread as he wished to learn to sew better.

And finally, a little music box.

It was nothing fancy but the sound it played reminded him of childhood, his mother would hum a tune quite similar to it.

What he didn't expect to see was a familiar boat.

"Shit" (name) immediately rushed home, he wasn't ready to face anything at the moment and definitely not with how he left.

(Name) Was shaking as he got inside, glancing out the window of his apartment to see if they are close to his home, irrational be knew but he had to check. Thankfully the street just had a few passersby and no strawhats. He would have to avoid anywhere that sold alcohol for a while, most restaurants and thankfully he was off for the next few days so he didn't have to go to the bakery. (Name) Looked at his collection of books and the sewing supplies and sighed happily.

Guess he has to stay inside and do the things he enjoy.

What a shame.

(Name) Spent the day doing his hobbies as a tiny radio played music in the corner, thankfully this small town had a radio station so he could enjoy some sound.

Knock knock knock.

(Name) Was engrossed in his quilt as he looked up curiously, setting his project down to go down to answer the door, a staircase down to the front door "hello (name), I thought you would enjoy some bread" his boss said kindly and handed him a basket of breads and a few muffins "ah thanks boss, that's real kind of you" the two made small talk casually, the elderly woman happy he's starting a new project "I have some sewing supplies at my home, I'm to old to use them but you can have them" the woman ushered him to follow and (name) realized he would have to leave his house.

Shit.

Silently begrudgingly he followed her, the woman excited to have someone take the supplies.

Then he smelt it half way to the bakery, cigarettes and fresh made food.

"(Name)?" He didn't turn around as his boss looked back curious, Sanji staring at his ex in awe.

(Name) Looked different.

Glowing, lighter and most of all; happier.

(Name) Turned to see his ex and sighed "hello Sanji" this is why he didn't want to go outside, his ex boyfriend looking hurt at the lack of sweet names for him, stopping closer he saw the uncomfortable expression wash over him "Luffy is gone to go get some food, have you.... (Name)" Zoro halted, staring at (name) like salvation.

(Name) Was startled at how awful the two looked, like they barely slept and sanji looked almost dead inside "can we talk?" His voice gravelly with exhaustion and (name) looked to his boss who smiled "we can talk later, you do what you need to do"

And that's how (name) ended up with the two in his apartment "So what do you guys want" (name) said less of a question and more of a demand, clearly uncomfortable "seems you settled down nice" Zoro commented as he looked at the homey space "I have" (name) stared at them unimpressed "why did you leave?" Sanji finally spoke up and the room grew more tense.

"I couldn't stay any longer, not with you two"

"Why?!" Zoro snapped and (name) had enough "because you two didn't care!" (Name) Fired back angrily "you two acted like I didn't exist! Flirting with women and ignoring me to do anything else! Who in their right mind WOULD WANT THAT! DID YOU EVEN LOVE ME?!"

It was silent as (name) heaved out a dog "I gave you two everything! And I get cheating and neglect!"

The two pirates barely had time to react as (name) lost his shit on them "why didn't you love me?" (Name) Finally asked, shaking and angry "why was it never me? You two showed more love to women and fucking swords than me!"

"I-im sorry..." Sanji whispered and (name) looked him in the eye "then why did you look at Nami in a way that you could never look at me?"

Zoro fidgeted, knowing he was next and in a rare moment... He was nervous.

"And why was I not worth spending time with?" There it was "you come here demanding to speak with me yet the time we dated you couldn't even be bothered to do the most basic of things with me"

"(Name)--"" I think you two should leave" (name) finally said "I have no interest in this conversation anymore... Goodbye "

"(Name) Come on-"" leave now, I'm begging you"

The two sorrowfully walk down the stairs, unable to get a word in as the door slammed behind them.

And at that moment they truly realized.

They lost (name).

[diaryofawhoretbh]

Hello. I saw you had your requests opened and wondered if you could please write some Nam gyu x reader who likes to call him cute after she saw him take his picture. I was just thinking about how ofter we see koreans say kiowo. thx

i really hope this is what you asked for, if not, please let me know, but enjoy!!!

kiyowo | nam-gyu (player 124)

the air felt thick with anxiety as you stood in line, your heart hammering against your chest. the players ahead of you moved forward one by one, the sound of the camera's flash echoing in the cold, yet colourful room. every step you took felt like it weighed a ton, and your palms were slick with sweat. yet, you couldn’t afford to show it. no one here could afford to show weakness.

you were just about to step up when you saw him. player 124. nam gyu. he was standing a few steps ahead, his expression as calm as ever, his posture straight, shoulders squared. he was... composed. maybe even too composed for a place like this. you didn’t know him, but there was something about the way he stood—so perfectly still and unwavering—that made you admire him.

the sound of a guard’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you realized it was your turn. you quickly stepped forward, keeping your gaze fixed on the camera ahead, trying not to let the overwhelming feeling of dread consume you. the guards were watching closely, their masked faces impossible to read. the flash of the camera was bright and sudden, blinding you for a split second, but you stayed still. just get through it, you told yourself.

as you walked away from the camera, trying to act like this was just another moment in your life, you noticed nam gyu stepping up for his photo. again, his posture was impeccable, as if he had been through this countless times before. you couldn’t help but think about how... cute he looked. the way his serious expression remained even in such an intense moment made him seem almost otherworldly. he was standing so still, like he was in control of everything around him, and for some reason, that made your heart flutter.

without thinking, the word slipped from your lips. “kiyowo,” you muttered softly, the word almost a reflex at this point, but it felt genuine. you weren’t expecting anyone to hear you—certainly not him. yet, the moment you said it, you saw his eyes flicker toward you, sharp and knowing.

“did you just call me... cute?” his voice was low, and the curiosity in it made your stomach flip. you froze, your heart skipping a beat. you hadn’t meant for him to hear that. your mind raced, unsure of how to react. should you apologize? ignore it? say something else?

he tilted his head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though it wasn’t a full smile. it was just enough to make your heart beat faster. he didn’t seem mad or surprised—just... intrigued.

“uh... yeah,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks warm. “i mean, you looked cute, standing there all serious. i wasn’t expecting that.”

his eyes narrowed slightly, but the way he looked at you wasn’t cold. in fact, it seemed almost... amused. he considered your words for a moment, and the brief silence between you felt heavier than it probably should have.

“serious, huh?” he said, almost like he was thinking out loud. then he glanced around, as if checking that no one else was listening, before speaking again, his tone more playful. “you’re not so bad yourself. i didn’t expect anyone to notice... but you do stand out a little.”

you blinked in surprise. what was he saying? was he complimenting you? you weren’t sure, but it made you feel strange in the best way.

“well, i’ve got to stand out somehow,” you replied, trying to keep the conversation going. “i mean, this place is terrifying. if you don’t show a little confidence, you might as well give up already.”

he looked at you for a long moment, his gaze never leaving yours. something in his eyes softened, just slightly. “confidence, huh? i guess i can see that. most people here would be shaking in their boots by now.”

you laughed nervously, trying not to let the tension of the moment weigh too heavily on you. “well, i don’t know about you, but i’m not planning to be the one who goes out first.”

his expression shifted again, just for a moment. there was something else behind his eyes now, something more genuine. “you’re not bad,” he said, almost as if he was acknowledging you as someone worth remembering. “we’ll see how long that confidence lasts.”

the guard behind him motioned for him to step forward, and nam gyu gave you one last look before moving on. you could have sworn you saw a small, knowing smile before he turned away.

as he disappeared into the next line of players, you felt a strange sense of warmth in your chest. the conversation had been brief, barely more than a few exchanged words, but something about it made you feel... seen. not bad, he’d said. for some reason, those words lingered in your mind as you moved forward, preparing for whatever came next.

despite everything—despite the terrifying reality of what was about to happen—you felt a little more confident than before. maybe you weren’t just another player in the game. maybe you could make it through this. and, just maybe, nam gyu would be someone you wouldn’t forget anytime soon, because little did you know, that one word, kiyowo, would become the foundation of your relationship with him.

[cheol-e-kat]

for the bingo could i request lingerie + praise kink? with mingyu please! and i was thinking it would be fun if they were playing a "strip" game (like strip poker or strip never have i ever or strip truth or dare etc) what a super creative challenge, btw!

dear anon, heehe i hope you don't mind that i took liberties with what you asked for - like the game they're playing isn't stated exactly

♡ kat

bingo squares: lingerie + praise kink

word count: 1.2k

pairing: mingyu x reader (established relationship)

warnings: nudity, low key exhibitionism, teasing, phone sex-ish

your boyfriend is maybe an impulse shopper - if he likes it, he buys it, which probably explains why you’re staring down at some very intricate, tiny lingerie. you had no idea what was in the matte-black box when you accepted the box from the delivery guy, but seeing it, you know what mingyu is expecting. and you have to admit the set is pretty - black silk, gossamer mesh, and lace that you knew he had already imagined you wearing. you like the idea of him staring at some website and thinking just how little of you this would actually cover. 

you grin because you have no plans for going out that night. you are literally staying in, preferably to bed rot. and he is definitely aware of your plan because you’ve been going on about it all week. you hum to yourself, taking the lingerie with you to try on, wondering about his understanding of ‘bed rotting.’

after a small fight with the bra clasp, you’re surprised by how good you look in your floor-length mirror. you almost laugh because how does he know your sizes so well, you wonder, turning to check out your ass. not a bad view, you decide, bending over just a bit to see the angles. 

seeing yourself, gives you your own evil little ideas, so you snap a few pictures, because why not send them to him while he’s still stuck at work? you would just be helping him get through the day, right? such a good girlfriend, by the way, you think, smirking at the idea of him being hard for you when he can’t do anything about it. 

you hit ‘send’ not totally knowing how he will react. 

the response time is so fast.

[mingoo 4:59pm]

fuck u look amazing

[y/n 4:59pm]

just amazing?

you were lying across the bed, guessing more photos might be needed. you watch his little dots come and go and smile because you love the things he says - he’s so sweet but with an uncanny ability to be completely filthy. 

[mingoo 5:00pm]

bby what r u trying to do to me ?????

you laugh - you both know what you’re trying to do. and you are not finished. 

you check yourself in the camera view - you’re lying back, your fingers caught under the thin strap of fabric going across your hip, pulling the side of the panties down just enough to see your smooth, waxed skin. but not quite low enough to see your pussy - you decide it’s exactly what he needs as you snap a new photo and hit send.

[y/n 5:02pm]

*photo*

you wait for dots but don’t see them. you roll onto your stomach worrying he might be mad, but hoping you just broke his brain a bit. your eyes go wide at the sudden appearance of the video call screen because what the fuck is he doing. you giggle, feeling flushed and a little afraid of what he will say.

you swipe to answer, trying to seem very cool about everything, even though your stomach is fluttering way too much. 

“hi,” you whisper.

you can see him biting his lip, “hi, kitten,” his voice is calm.

fuck, not ‘kitten’ - the way he says it, his voice, it’s enough to make you wet. you watch him for just a moment, wanting to ask if he ran to his car. 

“i thought you maybe wanted to see how they look,” you pout, watching him. 

he’s quiet for a second - you can only guess he’s thinking of exactly what he wants right now. you can see him glance up for a moment before looking back at you. 

“so show me,” he says, looking so fond you blush even more. there’s something about when he’s sincere that makes you ache everywhere.

you move onto your knees and use a pillow to hold the camera so he can see everything. 

“you’re so sexy,” he whispers as he gazes at you - the compliment goes straight to your pussy. 

you turn to the side, wanting him to see more. you glance back, trying to figure out what he’s feeling from his facial expression, but he just has the same calm expression as he watches you. 

“perfect, kitten.” you see him lick his lips, “show me more?” he asks.

you nod, shifting around so he can see your ass - you reach back and give yourself a small smack as you look back at him, “good, daddy?” you ask softly.

his face is still placid, he nods, his gaze focused on the screen, “the best, baby, always surprising me,” he finally smiles, and you melt. 

“do i?”

he nods slowly, watching as you turn back to face the camera, “yes - i mean i send you a gift and look what i get in return.” you watch the way he focuses on you - the way he barely bites his lip as he watches. 

“is everyone heading to their cars?”

he glances up and back, nodding, “yeah, why?”

you shrug, “just curious,” you whisper, reaching back to unhook the bra. 

you smile when you hear the soft way he exhales when he sees the fabric fall away from your breasts, “fuck, baby,” his lips just forming a smile.

“are you hard?”

he blinks at the question, laughing softly, “what do you think?”

you shrug, “i don’t know,” you tease with a straight face as you trace your hands over your breasts - you want to see his very practiced calm expression break.

“hmm, so you don’t know what you do to me?” he asks, voice low.

you shake your head gently, “tell me,” you say gently, as you squeeze your nipples and sigh softly from the feeling, watching him from beneath half-closed eyes.

you’re surprised when his hand goes to his mouth, his fingers brushing roughly over his lips. you laugh softly, loving that little habit of his and that he’s staring at the screen so intently. 

“i mean there’s no way i’m getting out of my car right now,” you watch him glance down at his crotch, “it would take emergency services.” you see his soft smile, “you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, still watching you intently through the screen. 

you nod, letting your hands trace lower, “say more nice things.” 

you watch the way his forefinger catches in his mouth, “i want to be with you right now, fucking into your perfect pussy, making you a wet mess for me,” he was talking faster now.

you watch him as you slide your fingers under the fabric of your underwear, your fingers tracing against your pussy lips, “mmmh, i’m already wet for you, daddy.”

you hear his soft whine, “fuck, please let me come home,” he’s whispering again, and looking a bit desperate. 

you can’t help that everything he says makes you a needy monster, but you can’t resist when he whines for you.

you finally laugh, breaking character and leaning down to the phone, “oh, poor baby, come home, and you know, fuck me,” you whisper, staring into the camera, wanting him, “fill me up with your monster cock,” you say in your normal voice, staring at him lovingly, knowing just how perfect he really is. 

a/n: okay, as always i hope this was a fun read <3

soooo i'm actually going to be adding a new bingo card later because we are using UP the nsfw squares ^^ we need more

bingo card master list

bingo v. 1 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 2 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 3 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 4 ⋆.˚ 333 followers bingo ⋆.˚

seungcheol: knotting + marking | professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) | monster | spanking (neighbor seungcheol) | big dick + hate sex | forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) | voyeurism + punishment | coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (untitled alpha!!cheol pt. 1) |

mingyu: lingerie + praise kink | bed sharing + big dick | praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | drunk pda + no underwear | enemies to lovers + tentacles |

seungcheol & mingyu threesome: oral |

xx kat

♡ if you want to be tagged, go [here] & my [master list] if you want to read more

𝜗𝜚 tag list: @syluslittlecrows | @gyuguys | @haik-chu

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Online Meeting 🖥 pt.3

Alexia Putellas x Reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

pt.1; pt.2

summary :

While running errands, you’re recognized in public as Alexia girlfriend by some sweet fans. However, things take a turn when a creepy man begins harassing you, making inappropriate comments. Feeling unsafe, you call Alexia for help.

It had been a few weeks since the paparazzi photos of you and Alexia kissing in the park were released. Life had changed more than you’d expected. While most fans were sweet and excited about the two of you being together, there was now a subtle shift in how people reacted when they saw you in public. Alexia had warned you that being recognized might become part of your life, but it didn’t really sink in until today.

You were running errands on your own—a quick trip to the grocery store in the middle of the afternoon. As you made your way down one of the aisles, searching for pasta, a group of young women spotted you. At first, you didn’t notice their lingering glances, but then one of them cautiously approached, a huge smile on her face.

“Hi! Sorry to bother you, but… aren’t you Alexia’s girlfriend?”

Surprised, you blinked before nodding slowly. “Yeah, that’s me.”

The girls’ excitement was immediate. “Oh my God, I knew it! Can we take a picture with you? We love Alexia so much, and we’ve been following all the news about you two.”

You smiled at their enthusiasm, feeling a little overwhelmed but touched by their kindness. “Of course,” you said, trying to sound as relaxed as possible.

After snapping a couple of selfies with them, they thanked you profusely and headed off, still buzzing with excitement. You breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like you’d managed the situation well enough. But as you turned to continue shopping, another voice called out from behind you.

“Hey! You’re Alexia’s girl, right?”

This time, it wasn’t a friendly tone. The voice was low, almost mocking. You glanced over your shoulder to see a man standing there, his posture too casual, his eyes scanning you in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Uh… yeah,” you said cautiously, keeping your distance.

“Damn, I didn’t think she’d be into someone like you,” he said with a sleazy grin. “You must be real lucky, huh?”

You tried to ignore him, your heart beating faster as you moved to the next aisle. But he followed, his voice growing louder and more invasive.

“Come on, don’t be shy. What’s she like, huh? Is she as good in bed as she is on the field?”

Your stomach twisted, a mix of fear and disgust rising inside you. The store wasn’t as crowded as you would’ve liked, and it seemed like no one else was noticing the man’s behavior. You quickly pulled out your phone, your hands trembling slightly as you dialed Alexia’s number.

She picked up on the second ring. “Cariño? Everything okay?”

“Alexia,” you whispered, trying to keep calm. “There’s a guy here… he’s following me, saying disgusting things. I—I’m at the grocery store near our place.”

You heard the sudden shift in Alexia’s voice, her tone going from casual to protective in an instant. “Stay right where you are. I’m coming, okay?”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, feeling a bit more secure just hearing her voice. But the man wasn’t done. He stepped closer, now invading your personal space, and you could feel the panic rising in your chest.

“You ignoring me now? Come on, don’t be such a prude.”

Just as you were about to tell him to back off, Alexia arrived. She must have sprinted from the car, her face flushed with anger as she stormed into the aisle. Without hesitation, she stepped between you and the man, her eyes blazing with fury.

“Back off,” Alexia growled, her voice low and dangerous.

The man blinked, clearly surprised to see her in person. “Whoa, relax, I was just talking to her.”

“No, you were harassing her,” Alexia shot back, squaring her shoulders. “Leave. Now.”

He smirked, trying to act like the tough guy. “What, you think just ‘cause you’re some football star you can boss me around?”

Without missing a beat, Alexia took a step forward, getting in his face. “I don’t care who you are. You don’t talk to her like that. If you don’t walk away, I’ll make sure security does it for you.”

A crowd had started to gather, and someone had already pulled out their phone, recording the entire exchange. The man, now realizing he was outnumbered, took one last look at Alexia and then scoffed before backing away, muttering under his breath.

Alexia didn’t move until he was completely out of sight. Then, she turned to you, her expression immediately softening as she cupped your face gently.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes scanning you for any sign of distress.

You nodded, still shaken but grateful. “I am now, thanks to you.”

She pulled you into a tight hug, kissing the top of your head as she held you close. “I’m sorry that happened. I’m so sorry.”

The crowd around you began murmuring, some people still filming, others whispering about what had just happened. You could hear a few of them praising Alexia for stepping in.

By the time you made it home, you thought that would be the end of it, but later that night, you received a message from one of your friends. Attached was a viral video clip of the incident in the grocery store. The video showed Alexia confronting the man, standing up for you without hesitation. The comments underneath were a mix of support and awe.

*Alexia is a queen. Look at her protecting her girl!*

*We love a protective girlfriend. She handled that perfectly.*

*Respect to Alexia for not letting that creep get away with it.*

The video was being shared everywhere. People were calling Alexia a hero, praising her for defending you in such a public way. While part of you was still unsettled by the whole ordeal, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for how fiercely Alexia had protected you.

Sitting beside her on the couch, you glanced at the video, then up at her. She noticed you watching and smiled softly, pulling you into her arms again.

“No one messes with you,” she said quietly, her voice full of quiet determination.

You smiled, resting your head against her chest. “I know. And I love you for it.”

She kissed your forehead gently, her grip around you tightening as the world outside faded away, leaving only the comfort of her warmth and the knowledge that, no matter what, she’d always be there to protect you.

[yanderedbdimagines]

I came to your blog and I already love it !!! ^^. So I wanted to ask if you could maybe do another Yandere Legion with each one of them. As a breakup scenario (where the reader wants to break up but they don't allow it to say so). I just didn't find any ^^

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

Thank you kindly for liking my blog! :D That makes me very happy to hear. I have the feeling each member of the Legion can react very differently in a situation as this one, and each using a different tactic to try and force you to change your mind. On the long term perspective too as I did with Frank. 

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

Warning!: NSFW elements are present!

Frank Morrison

Frank squares his jaw, his eyes reflecting anything but an emotion that could be considered understanding.

“Why?”

His voice is sharp and clipped. Like a blade poised at your throat. There’s no confusion in his tone, no real effort to understand. Just challenge.

You swallow hard, already bracing for the tantrum that’s most likely about to come.

“Because you’re a killer.”

For a moment, there’s silence. A flicker of something unreadable crosses his gaze, but then, an exhale. A slow, measured breath before his lips curl into a smirk. He shakes his head, amusement flashing in his expression, like you just said something ridiculous.

Like you just said the dumbest thing in the universe.

Then, Frank scoffs. A dry, humorless laugh follows as he tilts his head, sizing you up with that same cocky smirk that always comes right before things spiral.

“Well, no shit.” His tone is casual, but there’s tension coiling beneath it, tight and unreadable. His fingers flex, and then... “Didn’t hear you complaining about that when I fucked you just over a little while ago.”

Your stomach tightens. And he sees it.

Oh, he sees it.

His gaze sharpens, watching for the flicker of hesitation, the telltale signs of doubt. He expected you to get angry, to lash out. To give him something he can work with. Because anger? He can handle. Anger is something that he can twist.

Because if you fight, he might as well have won.

If you fight, you both fall into the same rhythm, the same cycle. Where the arguments blur into something heated- sexual. Something he can use to remind you exactly why you need him. How much he needs you. Where he can strip away all your reasons with the weight of his body, the press of his hands, the way he whispers between gritted teeth that you’re fucking his and always will be.

And after that?

He always finds a way to make you see things his way again.

So, he pushes.

“You knew what I was from the start,” he murmurs, stepping forward. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you, to pull you back in. To remind you how easily he can make you forget.

“You’re really gonna pull the morality card now? After everything?” His voice dips lower, rougher. “No one else is gonna love you the way I do, babe. No one’s gonna understand you the way I do. And you damn well know it.”

That’s the hook.

He’s said it before, but this time, it doesn't sink in like it used to.

Because this time, you see it.

How many times have you been here before? How many times has he dangled his love like a chain around your throat, tugging it tight whenever you start pulling away?

You exhale shakily, shaking your head. His fingers twitch again, his control fraying at the edges, but he holds back. Barely.

“That’s not love, Frank.”

A crack. Just for a second. A flicker of something beneath the smirk, something vulnerable, something raw. Then it’s gone.

His lips curl tighter, his jaw flexing before he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before readjusting his hoodie.

“Fuck. You’re fucking serious.”

You don’t answer.

His jaw clenches. His whole body seems to go rigid, and you feel the weight of his gaze, the way it pins you in place.

This is the moment. The moment where he could snap. Where the mask could slip and he’d decide, right here and now, that if you won’t stay willingly, he’ll make you.

You brace yourself for it. For the anger. For his possessive touch.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, he takes a step back. He's letting you go.

Not because he’s given up.

It’s because he knows... He knows that you’ll come crawling back to him. That you’ll realize, sooner or later, that there’s no one else in this realm who can hold you like he does. That the realms outside of him are cold, cruel and unbearable.

That you need him.

“Fine.” He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, but his eyes stay locked on you, dark and keenly aware. “Go ahead. Walk away.”

He tilts his head slightly away from you, watching you closely.

“But you’ll be back by my side soon enough.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.

And if he has to chase you to the ends of the Entity’s realms to make it so…

So be it. Because in his mind, it’s far from over.

Joey

Joey's fingers clamp down on your arm, stopping you mid-step as you try to turn away. His grip is firm. There’s no room for escape. Not with the strength he's possessed ever since he was taken by the Fog.

“You can’t do this,” he growls, his voice sharp with a raw intensity you haven’t heard before. “Not now. Not after everything we’ve been through to make this work.”

His chest rises and falls with sharp breaths, his eyes wide, wild and frantic. There’s an edge to his voice now, which slashes through the air like a jagged knife, something that makes your stomach twist in warning. His pulse quickens, his heartbeat thundering in his chest.

You try to pull away, but his hand doesn’t loosen, doesn’t budge. “You think you can just walk away from me? From us? After everything?” His voice cracks, a mixture of frustration and something else that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Joey steps forward, closing the space between you. The Entity’s realms are vast and endless, yet right now, it feels suffocating.

“You think this is just some game?” His words are laced with venom now, his tone harsh. He chuckles bitterly when you don’t respond to his question, but there’s no humor in it. “We made this work. You know we did. You felt it, too.” His eyes lock onto yours, burning. Too intense. His gaze flickers between your face and your lips before snapping back up, like he’s daring you to deny it.

Another step forward, and you can feel his breath on your skin. There’s a visible madness in his gaze now. Familiar, but more intense and dangerous than you can remember. You know that look. It’s the same look he gets before he’s about to push everything too far. That dark, feral hunger that seeps in when his obsession drowns out reason.

“We’re perfect together. You know we are. No one else gets you the way I do. No one else can love you like I can,” he insists, his voice low, almost pleading.

The words are like a punch to your gut, and you flinch, pulling your arm as best you can. But Joey’s hand tightens with bruising pressure, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go for even a second.

“No one else understands you. No one else will fight for you like I will.” He hisses, his teeth gritted, his chest rising and falling with each breath. “You’re mine. You belong to me. You’re mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” He's crumbling apart. You see the desperation, the panic. He’s not just angry. He’s terrified. Terrified that if you leave, you won’t come back. Terrified that the worlds outside the Entity will pull you away from him forever.

“You can’t leave me, not like this.” His tone is low, almost a growl. “I won’t let you.”

The grip on your arm is crushing now. His hand feels like a vice, his nails pressing into your skin, almost drawing blood. But he doesn’t care. He just wants to keep you close. He doesn’t care about your freedom, doesn’t care about your space. He only cares about you.

His voice softens for a moment, almost tender, but it’s still laced with that possessive, obsessive need. “You’re the only thing that matters. You know I can’t be without you. Please. Don’t do this to me.” His gaze flickers, the rage fighting with the desperation. He’s losing control, and he knows it.

You take a step back. A weak attempt at distancing yourself from him.

He easily follows, closing the gap in a single, bigger stride, his body pressing close enough that you feel the heat of him seeping through his clothes. His breath is hot against your ear, uneven now, like he’s barely keeping himself together.

“I’m not letting you go. You’re not leaving me.” His voice is sharp and final, the edge of a command woven into it. “You think you can get away from me? In this place? With nowhere to go?”

Your heart races, and for a second, you feel suffocated. There’s no way out. Not from him, not from the pull he has over you.

He smiles, but it’s not kind. It’s a dark, knowing smile, full of self-satisfaction. “I won’t let you go. You’ll come back if you manage to leave me. You always come back. You need me.” It’s the truth, as far as he’s concerned.

His eyes gleam with a delusional light, as if he’s certain of your return. And in the pit of your stomach, you feel the unease settle in.

“You can’t escape this,” His lips move, just barely, brushing against your jaw as he whispers, “I’ll make sure of it.”

You try to jerk your arm back again, but it’s like being cuffed to concrete at this point. “You’re mine.” he repeats. “No survivor is ever going to love you the way I do. None of them will ever understand you.” And then, before you can react, his lips are on yours.

Brief. Unrelenting. Not a kiss. Not really. It’s more like a claim. A reassurance.

When he pulls back, his breath is still warm against your skin, his grip still locked around you like a promise he’ll never let break.

“I’m the only one who does, and always will.”

And with that final, chilling declaration, you know; he’s not letting go. Not now. Not ever.

Julie

Julie presses the back of her hand against her nose, as if that alone could smother the frustration flickering across her features. Her breath comes in slow, deep and controlled. When she finally meets your gaze again, her expression is calm and her voice steady.

"We made this work for so long. Why are you trying to throw it away now?"

There’s no anger in her tone. Only quiet disappointment, something that tugs at the edges of your chest despite everything.

You hesitate.

She notices.

She tilts her head slightly, waiting, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you second-guess yourself.

"Because the other survivors are starting to suspect me," you finally say, voice lower than you intended. "Think about it. If you were one of us, wouldn’t it seem at least a little strange? A certain survivor slipping away at odd times, more often than the rest, despite killers lurking beyond the campfire’s light?"

You shake your head. "How long before they start asking real questions? Before they may turn on me?"

Julie exhales through her nose, her fingers flexing for just a second before she releases them, smoothing her palms over her jeans.

"Me and the rest can protect you from them," she says. There’s certainty in her voice, a confidence that makes it sound almost silly to be worried. "You know that, right?"

Your frown deepens.

"That’s not the point. I don’t-"

"Maybe there’s an even better solution," she interrupts smoothly.

You narrow your eyes. "And what’s that?"

Julie’s lips part in a small, knowing smile. It’s soft, reassuring. But there’s something behind it. Calculated, which makes the air feel just a bit heavier.

"Stop being a survivor."

Your stomach drops.

"But-“

"You don’t have to become a killer," she continues, as if she hadn’t just shattered your reality in a single breath. "Not if you don’t want to. But there are other ways you can help. You could stay at the resort with me. Live with me there, away from all the trials and all the danger."

She inches closer, voice quieter now, persuasive, patient. "It’ll be like you never even left the survivor camp. I’ll make sure the others accept you. I’ll talk to Frank. I’ll talk to Susie and Joey. You know they trust me. That we are one."

You feel like you should argue, should push back, but her words are flowing around you like sweet milk, smoothing over the sharp edges of your doubt.

Because she sounds so reasonable.

Because she always knows exactly what to say to make you reconsider.

"Julie." You take a slow breath. "That’s not normal. You know that, right?"

She laughs under her breath, shaking her head slightly. "Not normal?" Her lips part into something almost amused. "You’re saying that like anything about these realms has ever been normal."

She reaches out, her fingers grazing your wrist. Not gripping. Just a gentle touch.

"Think about it, babe," she murmurs, voice dipping into something softer, dangerously close to affection. "What do you really have left with them?"

Her fingers trace lightly up your forearm, her touch feather light, almost absentminded, like she isn’t trying to persuade you, like she isn’t watching every reaction on your face with laser focus.

"They’re already suspicious of you. You know that. It’s only a matter of time before they push you out, before they stop trusting you completely."

She shifts slightly, her thumb smoothing over your pulse.

"But me?" Her smile widens. "I’ll never turn on you. Not like they will."

There’s a promise in her words, one that sounds so sweet, so tempting. A future with her, safe, far from the trials, far from the fear of being hunted every single moment.

But your gut twists.

"You want me to leave everything behind? For you?"

Julie blinks at you, then lets out a soft, almost pitying scrape of her voice. "I’m not making you do anything. I’m giving you a choice. The smartest choice you’ll ever make."

Her eyes darken slightly, her fingers pressing just a little bit firmer against your skin. But not too firm, as it’s her attempt to an act of comfort.

"One that’s going to save you from any more harm."

Susie

She’s trembling.

You can’t tell if it’s from anger, shock, or some toxic mixture of both. Her wide eyes bore into you. Unblinking and unreadable. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths, like she’s struggling just to keep herself grounded.

Her hands twitch at her sides. Like she can’t decide whether to grab you or brace herself before she completely falls apart.

Then, a giggle. Soft. Breathless. Almost… wrong.

"You're joking."

The words slip out in a whisper, followed by another quiet laugh- fragile, forced, like she’s trying to convince herself this is all just some stupid joke.

The dim light catches the metallic glint of her braces when she grins, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

You don’t answer.

Her smile twitches. The trembling gets worse.

"You are joking, right?"

There’s something off in her voice now, cracking at the seams. You hear it in the way her breath hitches, in the way her fingers curl into the fabric of her hoodie, gripping it so tight you can practically hear the material strain under the pressure.

You swallow hard.

"Susie… I-"

She lunges.

Her hands grasp your shirt, twisting the fabric in her fists as she presses herself closer. Her breath is coming out in quick, frantic puffs. Her wide, dilated eyes bore into yours, wavering somewhere between devastation and blind, desperate hope.

"You don’t mean that."

Her voice is higher now, almost childlike in its insistence.

"You love me. You said you love me. You wouldn’t leave me."

Your pulse jumps. You take a step back, but she clings to you, her fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes. Her knuckles go pale from how tightly she’s holding on.

"You’re just confused," she whispers, voice thinning. "That’s all. You’re saying things you don’t mean. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe those stupid Survivors put weird ideas in your head." She laughs again. Short and hiccupy. It’s not right.

"It’s okay! It’s okay! I can fix it. You just have to tell me what I need to change."

Her fingers trail up, shaking hands cupping your face. Her touch is almost gentle, except for the tremor in her fingertips, the erratic way her breathing stutters in her throat. Her expression shifts. Unstable laughter fading into a sickly sweet lilt of the voice.

"I won’t let you forget how much I actually love you."

Her thumbs brush over your cheeks in slow, feather light strokes- affectionate, even. But her body is still trembling, her breath still uneven.

Then, her grip tightens. Her nails almost bite into your skin, enough to send a prickle of discomfort through you. Her pupils narrow.

A sharp edge slices through whatever fragile calm she had been trying to hold onto.

"You can’t leave me until I have." The words are flat.

The shift is instant. One moment, she’s pleading. The next, she’s something else entirely. She’s swinging in a way you’ve never seen her do before.

"No, no, no, no, no," she mutters under her breath like a broken record, her entire frame vibrating with unchecked emotion. "You cannot leave me."

Then, she shoves you. Hard. An easy feat due to the Entity’s gift. One given to every killer.

Your back collides with the nearest surface, knocking the air from your lungs. You barely have a second to recover before she’s on you again, staring at you.

Her eyes are too wide, pupils swallowing what little color remains. Her pink-dyed strands of hair are messy, sticking to her damp forehead, clinging to the edges of her hoodie like static. The sleeves hang loose around her wrists, but her fingers twitch at the cuffs; grasping, flexing, restless.

"Why are you doing this to me?!"

Her voice cracks, raw and piercing.

Her nails scrape against your shoulders. Digging in just enough to make you flinch.

"You don’t get it, do you?!" she chokes out, breath hitching, face twisting. "You don’t get how much I love you! How much I need you!"

She’s unraveling, falling deeper into something dangerous, something you can’t pull her out of anymore.

"I gave you everything! And there’s still so much left to give!" Her voice wavers, a tremor shaking through her frame. She’s not making any sense…

Then, suddenly, her hands rip away from you. Instead, she tangles them into her pink hair, clutching at the strands, her body trembling as she sucks in sharp, stuttering breaths.

Like she’s physically trying to hold herself together.

Her chest rises and falls too quickly, her hoodie slipping slightly from her shoulder, revealing a faint hickey, old and fading, one of many. Her fingers tighten in her hair.

Then, slowly. Too slowly. She lifts her head.

And she smiles.

Not her usual shy, uncertain smile.

This one is different.

"You’re funny."

Her voice is sweet again. Sing-song and all. It makes your skin crawl.

She takes a slow step forward. Calculated. Amused.

"You really think you can break up with me?"

A giggle bubbles up, soft and giddy.

"That’s cute, babe. Really cute."

Her fingers ghost up your arm. Barely a touch, featherlight.

But the finality in her voice makes your stomach twist.

"We are a couple. I won’t let you break us apart."

She’s still trembling from the emotional whiplash, but her grip is steady when she reaches for your wrist, fingers curling around it with deceptive gentleness.

"We belong together."

A hum, followed by the tilt of her head.

"And I’ll make sure you never forget that again."

She presses closer.

Her breath ghosts over your skin.

"Because if you do?"

Her lips barely brush against yours as she breathes out the next words, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I’ll make sure to remind you why you fell for me in the first place."

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Double The Trouble

Pairing: Eventual Bartender!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff

Summary: Everyone knows why Bucky broke up with Sharon, except for you. Steve encourages Bucky to make a move, but that all goes downhill when you meet not one but two people who want your attention. Juggling two men is something you never thought you’d be able to do, and tension rises when things start spiraling out of control.

One in a Million Series

Square Filled: “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.” (2021) for @thorandlokibingo (previously @lokibingo)

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Things have shifted since Bucky has come back to the loft. You’re not sure how he ended things with Sharon or how she reacted, but he seems to be in a good mood despite it. He hasn’t talked about it with anyone, and you can tell he doesn’t want to. No matter. You’re glad to have him back where he belongs.

That just leaves you and your feelings. Feelings you were forced to confront on that mountain. No, you haven’t spoken to Bucky about them because you’re not sure how to do it. You can’t just come out and say, “Yes, I like you a lot. Please date me.” No. You also don’t want to come across as desperate. He just got out of a relationship with Sharon, and he might not be looking for another one. He might just want to experience the single life, and you get it. You want him to be able to feel free.

It just sucks when you know he’s right across the hall from you, and there is nothing you can do about it. Natasha wants you to confess everything you’re feeling to him, but she only says that because she’s in a successful relationship with your roommate. Steve knows you need time to figure out how you’re feeling and how to put it into words, and he knows Buckly isn’t ready to hear them.

Bucky has been stuck in this limbo state, not knowing how to move on. He had a thing for Sharon at one point, but she broke his heart. She left him to pick up the pieces, and he had to put himself back together without her. She saw he was stronger than ever and wanted him back, but he knew he never really wanted her. She’s not the woman plaguing his dreams every night. He doesn’t know how to talk to you now. Something has shifted in the air, and everyone feels it.

You don’t want to embarrass yourself, and he doesn’t want to ruin what you two have now. What if you confess how you feel, and he’s not ready to be with you? You’re stuck living in an apartment next to someone who might not want you back. What if Bucky decides to give you a shot and you end up not working out? He can’t fathom ruining your friendship over a possibility. He has to be one hundred and ten percent sure that this is something you both want.

Right now, he’s at a fifty.

On top of all this Bucky drama, you’re getting stressed with your job. Being a teacher is something you’ve always dreamed of being, but it’s been kicking you in the ass lately. Three teachers quit, so they brought in new ones from across the state, and they’re not like you expected them to be. They’re so… high school. They formed their own clique and singled out any other teacher who tried to be different.

They’re bullies in adult bodies. You just want to create fun lesson plans for your kids and enjoy a day with them. Instead, you’re worried about what these new teachers are trying to implement. One of them is close to the principal, which is why she got the job, so she’s been feeding the principal ideas on what to add to the curriculum. Thankfully, she can’t add too much without going to the board, but it’s still putting a strain on your work relationships.

You should be home right now focusing on lesson plans. Instead, you’re at Bucky’s bar having a drink at eleven in the morning. He got you out of the house and is now trying to get you drunk, which you’re not complaining about. He has some of the best pink wine you’ve ever tasted. Two glasses later, and you’re already starting to feel a bit lighter.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you so much,” you grin at Bucky.

Bucky blushes but turns his head so you don’t see the effect you have on him. The back door opens, and two guys come in carrying kegs. They come in every week to resupply the bar, but you’ve never seen them before. Either you’re not here to witness them come in, or these are new guys.

“Hey, Buck, want these behind the bar?”

“Yeah. I’ll get your check.”

The one that has caught your eye is the taller one of the duo. He’d have a baby face if it weren't for the facial hair adorning his skin. He’s muscular but doesn't have as much as Bucky does. Steve might be the only one who comes close to being as muscular as Bucky is. He walks behind the bar with his shorter friend and smiles when he sees you.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you smile back.

“I’ve never seen you here before. Are you new?”

“No, I just normally never drink this early in the day. Work. You know how it goes.”

“Oh, yeah. Hauling around beer all day is hard work.”

Your giggles reach Bucky’s ear, and he pops his head out of his office. His eyes narrow when he sees you flirting with the keg deliveryman. He can’t blame you, Andy is a good guy. That still won’t stop him from imagining him punching the shit out of him. No, he can’t be reacting this way. He hasn’t told you how he feels about you. It’s his fault. He’s a coward. He broke up with Sharon because of you, and now he might not be able to if this thing with Andy goes too far. Is he ready to hand over all his bullshit on a platter to you? All of his baggage? It’s enough to fill an entire room with.

“So, have you been doing this for a while?” you ask.

“No, I was going to business school to be a lawyer, but that fizzled out.”

“Not what you wanted to do?”

“Nah, I lost the passion. After my dad died, I didn’t see a reason to continue. I did it for him.” He sees the look on your face. “No, it’s okay. I’m happy where I’m at.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise,” you grin. “I’m Y/N.”

“Andy.”

“I’m Greg,” his shorter friend jumps in. “If we’re exchanging names…”

“Hi, Greg and Andy. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Okay, here’s your check,” Bucky says when he returns. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“See you around, Y/N,” Andy smiles.

Bucky looks at you after Andy and Greg leave, and he sees the flushed look on your face. It’s probably the wine. He tells himself that lie to make himself feel better, but he knows Andy’s the one who has your cheeks hot.

“How haven’t I seen him before?” you ask.

“You’re usually not here at this time.”

“Would it be terrible if I asked you to give Andy my phone number?”

“Your phone number?” he echoes.

The look on his face suggests he doesn’t like that idea at all. You shake your head and wave him off before taking another gulp of your wine.

“Never mind. It’s crass. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You like him?”

“Well, I mean… He’s nice, and I think it’d be fun to see where it could go. Unless…”

You let the end of that sentence hang in the air for Bucky to finish. You want to see his reaction to it because it’ll give you an idea of where he’s at. Bucky takes two seconds to think about it before he nods.

“Yeah, I’ll give him your number.”

Looks like he’s not on the same page as you. “Great, thanks.”

Bucky goes back to making drinks for people, and you silently sip your pink wine. It’s hard not to stare at him. He’s gorgeous. Speaking of gorgeous, a tall man dressed in a dark, tailored suit approaches you from the side. He’s tall, has slicked back black hair, a clean-shaven face, and bright blue eyes.

“Hi, are you Katie?” He even has an accent. “I’m Loki, from Tinder.”

“Um…” You’re at a loss for words. He’s devastatingly handsome. “Hi.”

“You are Katie, right?”

This is where you should come clean. You’re not Katie. At least, not his Katie. Still, the words out of your mouth shock you.

“Yes. I’m Katie.”

“Great. I’m sorry we’re meeting this late. My brother needed me, and it’s not like I can say no.”

“I get it,” you nod.

Every word coming out of his mouth is important because it’ll give you clues as to who Katie is and what they’ve talked about. What does Katie do? Does she live alone? Does she have a family? Where does she live? So many things can go wrong, but what do you have to lose? You’ve never seen him before, so it’s unlikely you’ll see him again if this goes wrong. Sure, you’ll ruin his relationship with the real Katie, but you can overlook that.

“Do you want to move to a booth?”

“Sure.”

You grab your drink and follow Loki to an empty booth in direct line of the bar. Loki slides in first, only going about halfway, leaving not much room for you to sit. You don’t seem to mind since he smells delicious.

“How is the promotion going? Do you like your new position?”

“Oh, um, yeah. It’s more work, but I can handle it. How is your job?”

“Being a magician doesn’t really pay all the bills, but my brother and I are working on putting together my next tour.”

“You’re a magician? I love magic,” you say truthfully.

“Oh, yeah?” He smirks and reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls out a deck of cards, and you smile at his quirkiness. “Allow me to show you a trick?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

Loki starts the trick off simple, having you pick a card from the deck before shuffling it. You’re not even paying attention to what he’s saying or doing. All you can stare at are his blue eyes. They’re so captivating. He has a true passion for magic, and it shows in the way his eyes light up while he does his trick. Guilt seeps into your body for lying to him about who you are, but that guilt is replaced by lust when you see how close he’s sitting to you. He’s somehow managed to scoot closer to you without you noticing.

He holds up a card. “Is this your card?”

“No,” you giggle.

“Damn. Let me try again.”

Another giggle rises to the surface at him being flustered. You’re sure it’s an act, and he’s going to show you your card from some place the card should not be.

“I could have sworn your card was the seven of diamonds. You’re sure it wasn’t that one?”

“I’m sure,” you smile.

“Hmm… Okay. Oh, wait, you got something in your shirt, there.”

You look down to see something sticking out of your bra. No way. There’s just no fucking way. Loki reaches for the card, careful not to touch your skin with his fingers. That doesn’t stop you from feeling the heat from them. He pulls the object from your bra and opens it, revealing your true card, the ten of hearts.

“Stop,” you gasp in disbelief.

“Is this your card?”

“How the fuck did you get that in there?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets, I’m afraid.” Loki leans a few inches closer to you and raises his hand. “Wait, you got a little something under your eye.” With delicate and slim fingers, he plucks something from your skin. “An eyelash. Make a wish.”

Without breaking eye contact, you lean closer to his hand and blow on the eyelash, already having your wish in your head. Loki takes the leap and leans in to kiss you, a soft one at first to test the waters. Once you start to kiss him back, it gets more intense. The bar is crowded, so no one is really paying attention to you. Not that you’d stop if every since pair of eyes were on you right now. His lips feel too good to stop. He’s very skilled, and you wonder what else that mouth of his can do.

He traces his lips down your neck, and you try hiding your face from the eyes of the patrons. You really should bring this party behind closed doors. You don’t want to get arrested for public indecency, but his lips feel too damn good on your skin. He starts lightly sucking on your pulse point, and you resist the urge to strip him bare right here. You push him away slightly, only putting a few inches between you two.

“Wait, how did you do that trick?”

“What, no mystery?”

“Come on, you’re telling me you can do that trick with every single card in there?”

“Fifty-two different ways,” he smirks.

“Can you do fifty-two different tricks on me?”

“If you come back to my place, I’ll be more than happy to show you.”

“Let’s go to mine. It’s closer.”

You and Loki put down some money before heading out, and you don’t think anyone notices you two have left.

Except for one person.

Always just one person.

Bucky watches you go with a clenched jaw, having seen your little makeout session. He’s pissed that you’re getting away from him once again. Why can’t things ever be simple for him? Thankfully, Bucky doesn’t see or hear you that night, but he can’t sleep knowing you’re with a man in your bedroom. The man who should be him. There’s something wrong with him. He should have told you how he felt, even if he doesn’t truly understand it himself.

Steve and Sam, on the other hand, are less than thrilled when they find out what you’ve been up to. Natasha’s sleeping in his room, so he has to be quiet so as not to wake her up.

“How could you just give her number out like that?” Steve scolds Bucky.

“I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”

“You always have a choice, Buck.” Bucky shrugs and takes a bite of his cereal. “You broke up with Sharon for her. Shouldn’t she know?”

Bucky is about to answer when your bedroom door opens. You walk out with a smile on your faces. All of his words die on the tip of his tongue. You rush over to the kitchen, and Bucky, Steve, and Sam pull away from each other quickly, like they were gossiping and didn’t want you to hear it.

“Okay, listen. I kind of had the best sex of my life last night.” Bucky’s jaw ticks, and Steve looks at him. “The only thing is, he thinks my name is Katie, and that I’m a chef at some restaurant near here. Play along, okay?”

“Katie?”

You jump away from the table and turn to Loki with a smile. “Hey, Loki. These are my roommates, Bucky, Steve, and Sam.”

“Yeah, we were just going over what kind of breakfast she’s going to cook. She really doesn’t like anyone in this kitchen,” Steve comes up with something on the spot.

“Right. Well, I gotta go. My brother needs me. Come here.”

You run into his arms, and he catches you when you jump into his arms. Bucky looks away from you and Loki, unable to see him touch and kiss you. Loki sets you down and smirks at the flushed look on your face.

“I gotta go. I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.”

Once Loki leaves, you turn to your roommates with a large grin on your face. “I love being Katie!” Yes, Bucky broke up with Sharon for you, but the last thing he’s going to do is tell you about it. He can’t say anything now. “Katie has a job, y’all.”

“You have a job,” Bucky points out.

“Yeah, but I’ve never been a chef. I can barely cook as it is. I hope he doesn’t ask me to make him something. I don’t know. I might want to stay being Katie.”

“Maybe you should watch a cautionary tale that I’d like to call The Nutty Professor,” Sam says.

“What should I do, Bucky?” you ask, ignoring Sam.

Bucky wants to scream at the top of his lungs that he’s right here, but he resists the urge. “I don’t know, but whatever you do, know that you might not come back from, “Just kidding. My name is actually Y/N.’”

Your phone rings and you see a text from an unknown person. “Hi, I got your number from Bucky. Want to hang? Bucky, what is this?”

“I gave your number to the guy at the bar like you asked me to.”

“I forgot!” You gasp. “What am I going to do? I’ve never had two guys who were into me before. I can’t juggle men like this.”

“You’re telling me. You don’t have the skill,” Sam laughs. “You wear a cardigan on top of another cardigan.”

“We all know you’re not the best with doorknobs,” Steve says.

“You can barely hold one thing in each hand,” Bucky adds. “You tripped the other day just standing there.”

Okay, they may have a point. “Fine, you have a point, but Katie can.” You look at your phone and see another message from Andy. “Ooh, he wants to cook for me.”

“You’re playing with fire,” Steve warns.

“I’ll be fine.”

Bucky can’t be here as you get ready for a date with Andy, so he decides to pick up an extra shift at the bar. Steve and Sam go with him to comfort their friend, so it’s only you and Natasha left in the apartment. After hours of getting ready, you two are in the kitchen just chatting.

“Andy and I have been sending each other some pretty dirty texts,” you say, and show Natasha your phone.

“As your best friend, I am not over the line when I ask what the hell you are doing. This isn’t you.”

“What if it can be?”

“What about Bucky?”

“Stop with the Bucky shit. There is no Bucky. It really doesn’t matter how I feel, okay? He doesn’t like me like that.”

“He broke up with Sharon for you.”

“You don’t know that. You have no way of knowing that. I can’t just sit around and wait for him to make a move, whether he wants to or not. There’s no way in hell I will ever confess how I’m feeling if he doesn’t do it, either. I can’t ruin what I have with him. I’d rather have him as a friend than as nothing at all. You need to accept that.”

“Fine.���

Natasha leaves before Andy can show, and he shows up on time. He’s cute, but now that you’ve had Loki, he’s kind of… boring. Loki is so passionate and spontaneous. He makes your entire body tingle, and there is nothing with Andy. Still, you’re not going to bail out on the date now, not that you’ve already committed and said yes.

Andy even makes something safe: salad with some garlic bread. It’s just not doing it for you. Instead of texting Natasha to call you with an emergency, you get a text. It’s a sign that you’re meant to be with him. No offense to Andy, but you’d rather be in someone else’s arms.

“Hey, sorry to cut this short, but I have to go. My friend, Natasha, is in a crisis,” you lie.

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, I just have to go. You don’t mind, right?”

“No, of course not. Go. Maybe we can do this again.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you smile tightly.

Loki wants to meet up at Bucky’s bar, and you hope that Bucky isn’t working tonight. Luck is not on your side because he’s at the bar right now making drinks for customers with Steve and Sam sitting across from him. You quietly slip through the crowd without alerting the guys that you’re here. Loki is already in the men’s bathroom waiting for you, and he pulls you into the largest stall before slamming the door shut.

Immediately, his lips are on yours, and his hand is around your neck. His lips still feel so good on yours, and the time away actually made you more desperate to feel it again. What the hell are you doing? This isn’t you, but Loki makes you feel like you can be this girl. The truth is going to come out sooner or later, but you can’t care about that when his lips are on your skin.

Loki pushes your head to the side with his hand still around your neck, and he trails kisses down your neck. His cock is hard and pressing right into your lower stomach, and all rational thought flies out the window. He lowers the strap of your shirt down to kiss your exposed skin.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“We’ll get to that, I promise,” Loki smirks.

He grabs the front of your shirt with both hands and yanks it down to expose your breasts in a lace-clad bra. It leaves little to the imagination. Loki pulls the bra down, allowing your breasts to spill out of the top of it. His mouth latches onto your right nipple while his hand tweaks your left one. You slam the back of your head against the stall wall as pleasure courses through your body.

He sucks on the skin aroound your breasts, leaving behind his marks. “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.”

The door to the bathroom opens, and two people walk in, deep in conversation. Loki’s hand covers your mouth as his mouth continues to suck on your nipple.

“We had a good time tonight. Sucks it was cut short, but she needed to help her friend.”

Your eyes widen when you hear Andy’s voice. This can’t be happening. How did you ever think you could juggle two men when you can barely focus on one? Loki doesn’t seem to mind that there are other people in here. In fact, it makes him harder knowing you two could get caught at any time.

“You thinking of taking her to The Garden?”

“I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

“If you really like her, yeah. It’s pretty romantic.”

Loki’s hand slips underneath your skirt and presses against your clit, and you yelp out unexpectedly.

“Who is in there? Are you hurt?” Greg asks.

“No, we’re fine,” Loki replies smoothly.

“I don’t believe it. Stand back. I was trained for this.”

Suddenly, the door is kicked in by Greg, and you scream in surprise. You turn to Loki to hide your exposed breasts, and Loki wraps an arm around your waist.

“Y/N? What is going on? I thought you were helping Natasha.”

The door bangs open and Bucky walks in after hearing you scream.

“What the hell is going…” He looks at you and sees your lowered shirt and bare back. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you and Loki were doing. “Y/N?” He looks at Loki.”I mean, Katie?”

“Katie? What is going on here?” Andy asks.

Loki closes the door so that you can get yourself decent, and you both come out to face the news. You have to come clean now. You can’t do this anymore now that it’s blown up in your face.

“Look, I’m sorry. Andy, okay?” You look at Loki. “I’m sorry I stole real Katie from you, but look at you. You’re so handsome.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and looks away.

“I don’t want any part of whatever this is,” Andy shakes his head.

“Did I tell a lie? Yes. Yes, I did. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt,” you sigh. You can barely look at Andy or Loki. “I gotta go.”

“Y/N, wait,” Bucky calls out after you.

You don’t stop at Go and collect two hundred dollars. You just go home and wallow in self-pity. Steve and Natasha arrive and head straight to his room, Sam doesn’t come home, and Bucky is the last to arrive. He finds you in the kitchen drinking a hot cup of tea.

“How are you doing?”

“Better than I should be. I don’t know what I was thinking, juggling two men like that. I think I’ll just stick to being Y/N.”

“Good. I like her better,” he chuckles.

He starts to gather ingredients for a drink, something he’s very good at.

“Why are you making a drink? You never bring work home with you.”

“Okay, this is going to sound really weird, but in the future, I might do something really bad to you.” He continues mixing the drink. “I hope you’ll forgive me.” He finishes the drink and slides it over to you. “Do you want an Old Fashion?”

“How did you know? I’ve always wanted to try one.” He shrugs. “Are you okay? What happened to you today?”

“Nothing.”

Someone knocks on the door, and you stand up from the kitchen island. You pause before you can get far and look at him.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“I don’t know, but it might be bad.”

“Well, I’d forgive you. There’s not a lot you can do to me that I wouldn’t forgive,” you smile. You head to the door and are pleasantly surprised to see Loki standing there. “Loki…”

“Katie,” he smirks.

“Not Katie. I’m Y/N. What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to show up unannounced, but I really don’t care if you lied to me. I’m not a saint myself. Honestly, I lied about half of my profile. I use that so I don’t sleep with people I work with. I don’t open up the more you get to know me. All I care about is tearing your clothes off your body. What do you think?”

Your face heats from his words and from the memory of what you two were doing last night. The only reason why you’re hesitating is because of Bucky. However, if he wanted to, then he would. If you wanted to, you would. You tell your inner slut to shut up before smiling at Loki.

“You know what? I’m gonna say yes.” You bite your lower lip. “So… Do we start now or later or…” Loki pulls you into him and leans his face closer to yours. “Or now…”

Without breaking the kiss, Loki gathers you into his arms and walks to your room. Bucky comes around the corner and sees your legs wrapped around Loki’s waist. He doesn’t say a word because he knows this is partially his fault. He broke up with Sharon for you, but he’s been too much of a chicken to do anything about it.

He’d rather have you as a friend than nothing at all.

Even if it kills him when he sees Loki’s hands and lips on your body. He turns back to the kitchen and picks up the drink he made for you, and takes a sip.

x

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[enigmatist17]

Part 1 of 2 of Raoul/Tracks in the Mecha Pilot Jazz AU by @keferon that I think about all the tiiiiiiiime <3

My list/own mini-universe of the AU :)

I wish I could draw the idea for Raoul's mecha, but alas, I can only wield the written word, so I hope I did alright in describing it <:)

---

When you ask Raoul Ortiz what he did before the invasions began, he'll tell you he was a thief. A run-of-the-mill carjacker who hated being that at his (frankly too young) age, but did what he had to in order to support his family and himself.

It stopped mattering when New York was almost entirely destroyed, leaving him an angry young teenager with nothing and no one to lose. He spent his last few teenage years using his skills to help those he could, fighting back against the invaders when they had attempted to attack his city again, only to watch a massive robot absolutely filet the aliens without breaking a sweat. As Raoul watched the mecha slowly leave the city once the fight was over, he knew then and there that that was his future, to go down in a blaze of glory fighting these bastards on their turf.

So sure, he hears that becoming a pilot shortens your life expectancy, it doesn't really matter. Sure, the testing is arduous, and more than once, Raoul wants to walk away from it all, but something in his heart urges him to keep going, to keep pushing despite many of his fellow recruits quitting or dying out.

The first time he's in his mecha, punching an invader clear across the city with a deafening crack makes all the pain and suffering worth it.

His mecha is powered by all the rage and loss from the first invasion, every punch and slice of a sword he'd stolen from an invader, making Raoul a fierce soldier on the battlefield, despite his mecha being of a smaller build. There began to be some improvement when he was back on base, smiling and cracking jokes while working on personalizing his mecha, figuring if he was going to die in it, he might as well die in style done by his own hands. The number 1982 on his chest was painted a blood red on top of a navy blue coating of the entire mecha, graffiti of his own, and some done by the few friends that had survived the initial attack on New York littering almost every square inch of metal. Digitigrade legs were great at giving him a great jump boost whenever he was in combat, so Raoul spent some extra time with NYU Tandon students to make sure the extra plating he was required to have was as stylish as it was functional. His narrowed hip plating was emblazoned with NEW YORK STRONG, the city skyline interlaced around the wording that usually got some cheers whenever Raoul was sent out for morale boosting, and even mimicked headphones over his audio scanners that were dialed up beyond most mecha for the times he was sent to lie in wait for an ambush. The massive visor that allowed Raoul 180° vision built with a scanner that helped with rescue as much as battle was carefully covered with several dozen clear decals, and despite some clear disapproval from the upper command, no one was going to tell a man short on time no.

So when Raoul is eventually flanked by three invaders before he can react, he knows he's going to die. They had appeared outside of Detroit, and Raoul had drawn the enemy forces away from the city, knowing at the very least he was going to save as many lives as he could at the cost of his own. Five aliens become three as he dodges and slashes in retaliation, taking down a second one by jumping on them and stabbing his alien sword into their arm, failing to notice a portal forming behind him. The last two aliens rush Raoul, and a forested area being uprooted by their fighting turns into a metal metropolis with a purple sky, the three colliding onto an alien surface with a loud thud. The mecha pilot doesn't have the time to react, letting out a yell as he jerks to his side to punch the alien to his left, getting up onto his feet just enough to jump up and away from the two, magnetizing his hands to latch onto a half-crumbled building.

"LET'S GO FUCKERS!" Ejecting his backup sword set inside one of his arms, Raoul pushes himself off the building directly toward the stunned alien, the creature letting out a high pitched scream as he slices it in half with a single jerk of his blade. The other alien had been fumbling with its gun as Raoul turned as quick as he could, only to stop when he saw a white dot on the aliens head, its body going limp and falling to the ground with a thud when the unmistakable sound of a sniper shot rang out through the unfamiliar landscape.

Raoul turns to his right to see the portal he'd been pushed into, his heart stopping when it closed with a loud buzz.

F u c k

The sight is pushed to the back of his mind as Raoul dives for cover behind some large chunks of metallic rubble, heart racing a mile a minute as he holds his blade tight. Maybe the sniper was aiming for the alien, maybe they were gunning for him next, all that mattered was surviving long enough to make it home....whenever or wherever that was. For a few minutes it was silent, but just when the pilot started to move, he could hear a few sets of...mechas approaching? Daring a peek above the rubble, Raoul's eyes widened at the grouping of five mechas heading his way, a grin crossing his face as he scrambled his mecha up and onto his feet, sheathing his sword when the group stilled at his movement.

"Holy shit, I thought I was the only one here!" Raoul laughs as he fully steps into view, though the noise peters out when he takes in their...really weird appearances. "Whoa, you guys look sick as hell!"

The electronic noise that greets his ears when the tallest mecha opens its mouth makes Raoul cover his ears with a yelp, the noise making his entire skeleton vibrate as his mind screamed danger danger danger. He steps back when another mecha (which at this point he severely doubted they were) moved forward with its hands raised, its expression unfazed when Raoul jumped up, clinging to the side of the building beside him to create a little bit of distance.

"I don't know what you are, but stay back!"

Yea, definitely not any mecha he was ever familiar with.

The mecha that had stepped forward tilted its head for a moment, clearly looking at his chassis as opposed to the visored helm he had, which it shouldn't be as it opened its mouth.

Did it know?

"'M sorry for mah friend there." It...did not make the noise from before, Raoul remaining in place as a...what the hell, a Southern sounding voice escaped the red mecha. "Forgot you human's don't understand us."

"....the hell?" (Oh my god first contact with another alien species and that's what I go with???) "You, why do you sound like you come from the South? Better question, how the hell you know English??"

"Was taught by a friend, he comes from Earth too. Wanna come on down an' talk? We've got about five klicks before we've got ta evac, an' I promise I'll explain everythin' if you come with us."

"You can get me back?" Despite still not understand who these new aliens were, Raoul figured it wouldn't be all bad to trust the aliens that knew freaking English, hopping down and landing with a quiet thud.

"Sorta, but this is enemy territory, so no dice here." The other mechas that had been with the red one were quickly hurrying past Raoul with various alien guns raised, clearly wary. "Let's go."

"Alright man, I'm followin' you guys."

---

Raoul had been on a spaceship.

A spaceship.

A

Fuckin'

S p a c e s h i p

If it wasn't for the fact he was stranded on an alien planet who knows how far from Earth, Raoul probably would have gone full nerd mode for at least an hour. As it stood, he just followed the red mecha named Ironhide (which is so cool??? Holy shit??) as they land inside a full on city packed with more mechas than he'd ever seen in his entire life, glowing eyes honing in on him when he exits the spaceship. It wasn't hard to see why, even though he was smaller than most mecha back home, he was a good head or two above most of these non-mecha aliens.

"Another one?" A white and red mecha had been talking to someone when they arrived, the insignia on his shoulders registering to the human as some sort of medical marking when it (He? She? Oh god this was going to get confusing soon) hurries over to one of the injured mechas that he'd traveled with.

"To be fair, this one was kidnapped too." Ironhide rolled his eyes, clapping a hand on Raoul's shoulder. "Or, tackled I guess."

"I'd say it counts as kidnappin' man." Raoul wants to facepalm when everyone stares at him, settling for grimacing as he watches Ironhide let out some sort of electronic laugh. "I don't normally get blindsided by three putos gilipollas."

"Don't know what that means, but you humans are pretty resilient when it comes ta fightin' Quintessons, gotta give you that."

"Fighting what?" Raoul is led off the landing pad and down among the passing mechas, glad no one could see his face as the stares never seemed to end. "What's a Quintesauce?"

"Quintesson, an' it's the guys trying to take over yer planet."

"Oh..." Quintesson, the name felt wrong in his mouth as he travels through a massive military base, so distracted by the sights he doesn't see the mecha he runs into, jumping back at the offended spine rattling noise that escaped the other. "Shit!"

"Sorry fella, I forgot to send word ahead." Ironhide steadied Raoul with a shake of his head, the other alien looking lost as he motioned to Raoul. "Got us another human, this one can't seem to stand our native tongue."

"How unfortunate." The new mecha scoffed after a moment, arms crossing over its (rather shiny) chest. "Perhaps it should watch where it's going then, hm?"

"Excuse me for bein' distracted by a whole new planet, don't need to be a dick about it." Raoul challenged once he could move again, eyeing the red-faced mecha.

"I do not know what a "dick" is, but I can tell when someone is being offensive." The shorter huffed, two wings (jet wings? What??) twitching as they give the humans frame a once-over with a sneer. "Why is your frame a clash of so many designs? It is displeasing to the optics."

"It's called art, shame you can't pull your head out of your ass to see it."

"Art is meant to be beautiful and inspiring, that seems better suited to blinding the enemy."

"Just makes it even more functional then, blinding them with human creativity before I kill them."

"That is not what-"

"Femmes femmes you're both pretty, can we pack it up?" Both Raoul and the other turned to look at Ironhide, who looked both amused and annoyed. "C'mon human, I'd like ta get off-duty eventually, you two can go bother each other some other time."

"After you, big guy." Raoul shrugged, giving the stunned bot a two-finger salute as he hurries after Ironhide.

Neither mech nor human think to ask about each other's name until they're both far from sight.

Ironhide leads Raoul to some sort of command center, the various mechas inside turning and reacting in surprise at the sight of Raoul, save for the only true mecha in the room.

"Oh my god...SOMEONE FROM EARTH?!" The black and white mecha vaulted across the massive holographic table between them before anyone else could react, practically vibrating in place as he grabbed Raoul's shoulders. "You have no idea how happy I am to see someone from terra firma right now."

"I can guess." Raoul chuckled, looking the taller mecha over. "You're the guy who went missing in orbit, right? Jazz?"

"That I am, name's Jazz, and let me assure ya you're among good mechs, er, people." Jazz let go to motion to the curious group behind him, clearly at ease. "Got a name?"

"Raoul, it's nice to meet you man." Raoul gave a small wave, not sure what else to really say. "Where are we? One minute I'm fighting outside of Detroit, the next I'm...well, wherever here is."

"Cybertron, our home planet." The only mech (mech? He'd need to ask what they were called, mecha was not right) that had some height on both him and Jazz stepped forward, his deep voice washing off some lingering anxiety from his earlier battle the New Yorker hadn't even noticed. "I welcome you Raoul, and I apologize for your...unexpected trip from your home planet."

"Not your guys' fault, just a hazard of the job...apparently?" Raoul shrugged, looking around the room. "What happens now, Mr...?"

"My name is Optimus Prime. As for what happens next, I'd like Ratchet to look over your frame for any potential damage before I have Jazz give you a tour. Do you require any rest or food?"

"I probably have a few hours in me before the adrenaline crash hits, I'll survive."

"Very well."

---

Raoul crashed a few hours after his arrival, in fact falling asleep in his piloting chair while Ratchet ran more than a few tests. The medic shook his helm in amusement when he noticed before rapping on the plating above where Raoul should be located, stepping back when his mecha jerked up, ready to fight if needed.

"No sleeping in my medbay unless you're injured." Despite the lack of a face plate, Ratchet could see the confusion turn to understanding once Raoul was up and on his feet through his body language. "I also went ahead and dialed down your audial sensitivity, don't want your processor melting out of your audials."

"Oh...is there a way I can reset it, if I need it?" Raoul raised a hand to touch the side of his mecha, not really feeling anything out of place, but the lack of spin-rattling ambient noise was a relief.

"Of course, I introduced some programming to allow you full control, should be in your processor under audial control. Now out, Jazz should be waiting for you." The medic made a shooing motion toward the doors.

"Right on, Doc." Raoul made a two-fingered salute before hurrying out, having annoyed his own medics enough to want to avoid doing the same to a guy fifty times his height. Jazz was indeed waiting outside, chatting up a mecha (no, Cybertronian) in the strange language he'd heard before, something he was going to have questions about later as he made his way over.

"You survived the ol' Hatchet, congrats!" Jazz straightened as the other studied Raoul with an intense expression, the pilot not hearing his fellow human as he studied the expressive face in pure curiosity. He had no idea metal could be so expressive, and it's not until a hand waves in front of his face that Raoul forgets he isn't alone, glad no one could see his embarrassment. "Earth to Raoul."

"Oh, shit, sorry, what were you saying?"

"I know Prowler is pretty, but he's spoken for." Jazz chuckled, putting himself between the alien and Raoul while slinging an arm around the shorter mecha's shoulders. "C'mon, I've got show and tell duty, and this place is pretty big. Prowler, catch ya later?"

"It is still Prowl, but of course." The alien (bot? mech? Mech is easy enough) raised an eyebrow, the doors (??) on his back giving a small flick when Jazz tilted his head slightly. "Try not to take our new arrival anywhere..."fun"."

"Aw, but those are the best places!" Jazz whined as Prowl shook his head, moving past the two to continue down the hall. "Yer no fun!"

"Goodbye Jazz." The bot waved a hand as he continued walking, the pilot chuckling as Raoul watched in quiet amusement.

"Sooooo....how does the sex work?"

"Oh no, you don't get that until we're drinking the last of my whiskey."

"Well, good thing I happen to always have a store of tequila in my mecha, then."

"Raoul, my man, we are goin' to get along great!"

Four hours and a tour of the biggest military base Raoul had ever seen in his life later, found Jazz and the New Yorker halfway to drunkenness. They had set up in some sort of rec room/cafeteria (Raoul still wasn't sure, but he'd learn), and Raoul watched with how...at ease Jazz was disengaging from his mecha in a less than secure setting. He hadn't personally known Jazz before his disappearance over two years prior, but the man didn't look too different from the remembrance posters Raoul had seen around, save for longer hair and some nasty scarring along his side when he pulled down his outer flight suit to cool off. Jazz was just fascinated with Raoul's mecha suit, what started out as a plain blue flight suit now covered in patches and custom leatherwork fans had sent in through his career, even his helmet painted to the last inch.

"Man, I am so jealous, you look so cool." Jazz sighed, grabbing Raoul's helmet to examine while the other grabbed the mentioned alcohol from his mecha. "How come you got to personalize?"

"I punched a general when he started bitching about my first set of graffiti, said if I was bein' sent out to die, might as well go out in style y'know? The mayor of New York even wrote in about it, and I guess PR loved it or somethin', 'cause no one bothered me about it again after that." Raoul fishes out the first bottle he can grab, waving it in the air in victory as he carefully steps back onto his mecha's arm. "I get kids to help me change it up after every battle, keeps it fresh and excitin'."

"And here I got yelled at for adding literal black and white coloring, that is incredibly lame." The smell of tequila nearly made Jazz's mouth water, the two taking a seat as the bottle began to be shared back and forth. "Please tell me you've got a decent food synthesizer, I don't think I can last much longer on my basic diet."

"I got one of the newer ones recently, I've had a lot of downtime in stealth mode." Raoul shrugged, letting Jazz have the majority of the drink. "The Quinetseans started gettin' decent at ambushing smaller towns with some stealth bullshit, so we got better at finding them first."

"Quintessons, and damn, that sucks." Jazz frowned, head spinning as he took another swig. "I miss Earth, you have no idea how happy I am to see another human being."

"I can only imagine, we all thought you were dead." Raoul shook his head with a low whistle. "Seems like you've been with a good group, though, and Prowl? How did you manage that?"

"A whole lotta patience." Jazz hummed, sipping the tequila once more as he lay on his side, grinning at his new friend. "To be honest, I fell for him before I even knew these guys weren't mecha, so it didn't really change any of those feelin's much."

"Good for you, take every day you can, y'know? Not like we have many of those."

"How's the turnover rate?"

"Worse, we're losin' 'em faster than we can keep replacements. Part of that is because there's a haunted mecha, but that's a whole story."

"Tell it, now. Mecha ghosts are a thing???" Jazz's eyes widened as Raoul launched into a tale of a (suspected) pilot turning spirit haunting his mecha, and how some random medic or something had been the only one to survive so far. For some reason, Jazz finds that little fact hilarious, and the two are in hysterics before long, their laughter garnering the attention of off-duty bots who entered to get energon. One of them was the bot Raoul had accidentally run into earlier, eyeing the two giggling humans as he grabbed his ration before grabbing a table, leaning over to the bot closest to him.

"Blaster, who is the new human?" The communications specialist shot him a weird look at how softly Tracks spoke, but he had seen more bizarre things over the years.

"Raoul Ortiz, Jazz scanned his mecha files, or whatever the humans do for that sort of thing, and sent me what he found. He is a pilot as well, and is classified as something called a calvary scout, has been for just shy of seven jours." Blaster scanned the data pad he fished from his subspace with a shrug, looking up at the other mech. "Seems nice enough, haven't seen Jazz smile so much."

"I suppose that's not too surprising, he's not seen a human in a long time." Tracks watched Jazz sit up, pointing at something that made Raoul howl with laughter, falling back onto the tabletop with a face plate that was taking on a red hue as he grinned.

"Want a human of your own too?"

"No!" Blaster gives him an amused look, but says nothing else as he's drawn into another conversation, leaving Tracks alone to watch Jazz and the new human (Raoul, what an odd designation) get overcharged with their single bottle until Prowl finally swooped in and carefully tugged the small high grade (no, alcohol?) bottle from Jazz's hands. He didn't realize the room had mostly emptied until the superior officer looked right at him, doorwings twitching in exasperation as he motioned to the unfamiliar frame.

"I require your assistance in helping Raoul to his quarters, he and Jazz have become quite overcharged." Tracks fought back the urge to cycle his optics as he stood, setting his empty ration cube to be cleaned before sauntering over, observing the new human start the climb to his cockpit from the table.

"Does it need anything?"

"Time, and a steady arm." Prowl flicked over the location of Raoul's newly assigned quarters before returning his attention to Jazz, who had gotten back in control of his frame to drape it across the Praxian with a coo.

"Aw I love ya Prowler, even if ya stop my fun." Tracks couldn't help the vent that escaped him as Prowl shook his helm in exasperation, guiding his wayward partner across the room as Tracks waited for Raoul to do...whatever it was they needed to do in the frame. He'd never seen Jazz entering his mecha, eyeing the small piloting chair within what would be their spark chamber light up when Raoul sat down, the human tugging down a thick cable and plugging it into the back of his helm covering, his frame's arms and legs twitching as organic and machine became one.

"Like what ya see?" Raoul was not as overcharged to the extent Jazz was, but clearly had had a sip or two himself, standing with a stretch and low hum as his chassis covering slipped closed.

"I was merely curious." Tracks began to head toward the location Prowl had given him, the human following without a word.

"You can ask questions, I don't really care about answerin' them, I'm gonna have a bunch myself after I hit the sack."

"What does hitting something have to do with questions?" Tracks asked, the human laughing when they turned down a corridor. "What?"

"I'm not actually hitting anything, it's just an expression, just means me goin' to sleep." Raoul paused when he caught sight of a training room, his faceless helm moving as he took in the sight. "Whoa, this is so cool."

"Why?" Tracks paused as he watched the other. "Do you not have training rooms?"

"Not really, well, not mecha sized anyways. Lot of our trainin' is done in training pods that simulate the field, I only get to properly mess around when I'm in the field." The human entered the room, poking at some sort of training dummy with a finger. "So yea, this is cool to see training gear this size."

"That is...strange, but when you are all so small, I suppose having the space is not a luxury you can afford."

"Nope! When we get back though, I should show you the place a few of us pilots like to sneak off to, we throw parts of mountains at each other and it's so fun." Raoul laughed, stumbling slightly as he left the room with a shake of his helm. "Man...that's even if we get back."

"I am sure Wheeljack and the others will find a way, I know they have been for Jazz for some time." Tracks led Raoul down another corridor; the lighting dimmed down this one due to it being personal quarters. "It is not so bad, however, he's found good company."

"Like you?" Raoul glanced over, noting how the other bot tensed in a way that was far too familiar.

"No, I have only dealt with him in passing."

"Uh huh..." They finally came to a stop outside of a door, Tracks pressing a panel on the right side to open the door, revealing a room that held a bed, desk with a chair, a lamp and some floating crystals on one wall unit. A small bed that was his actual size had been placed on the desk beside what looked like a water cooler and some alien fruits in a small bowl, and Raoul sent out a silent thanks to whoever did that. "This is a pretty nice place."

"If you need anything, Prowl informed me that your mecha's internal comm system has been linked into our own, and that Jazz's line has been made your primary." Tracks watched Raoul sit his mecha down, the frame powering down as he unhooked himself (still weird to watch if he was honest) after opening his chassis, grinning up at Tracks before using an arm he positioned as a bridge.

"You've been a lot of help, thanks!" The human waved up at him, and Tracks gave a short bow, turning to leave. "Before you go, can I get yer name?"

"I am known as Tracks." The human looked to the side as he mouthed his designation, and his spark fluttered when a smile was sent his way.

"Nice ta meet ya Tracks, I think I'm just gonna have to make myself some good company for ya." The mech looked taken aback by the declaration, his eyes blinking(????) before a small smile crossed his face, glowing eyes focusing on Raoul as his engine rumbled quietly.

"Perhaps you will, we shall have to see."

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

May 01 - Truth | word count: 839 | @wolfstarmicrofic

“Why did you do it?”

The words ring out in the near empty corridor before he can trap them behind his teeth. He isn’t even supposed to be here—he vowed himself he would stay away for both their sakes. He still feels the fury of the wolf ready to burst out of his skin any moment regardless that the full moon is long gone. And Siri—he still thinks they can mend… whatever was growing so delicately between them as though he didn’t smash it into irreparable pieces that night.

The older boy turns around, his somber face lighting up for a moment before crumbling. “Remus.” He croaks out.

“Why did you do it?” He repeats. He needs to know. Though, if he lied before, he is unlikely to tell the truth now. He is so desperate to be back in Remus’ orbit he might just say whatever he thinks Remus wants to hear. He won’t let that happen.

“Do what?”

“Don’t play stupid, Black. It doesn’t suit you.”

He flinches back from the name. More violently than he normally would. Perhaps it’s the distance Remus is putting between them with the name. Or maybe because he knows just how much he acted like his family that night. No—don’t give him the benefit of the doubt. He made a promise, and he broke it.

“I—I don’t know.” The other boy says, wringing his hands with his head hanging. The sight is so unlike him, that for a slit second, Remus wants to fight whoever did it to him. But he did it to himself, because it isn’t real. The Sirius Remus thought he knew isn’t real. He should have listened to his father and stayed far away from Black. Instead, he went and got himself irreversibly entangled with him.

“You don’t know what?” He spits out. Come on, fight back. Show your true colors. Stop hiding. Just show me the true you for once. Tell me the truth!

“I don’t know why I did it!”

“That isn’t a good enough answer! People don’t go around ruining people’s lives on a whim!”

“I didn’t. I would never.”

“You think that won’t haunt me forever, Sirius!? I was still me when Snape walked down those stairs! I was still me when the wolf could sense fresh blood. I was still me when I woke up the morning after and had no idea if I had become worse than Greyback! I was still me! What happens when the wolf comes out doesn’t remove itself from my consciousness! I am still me even if I do look like a monster! Because I am the monster!”

“No, Remus, you aren’t a monster. You—”

“Is that now what you were thinking when you told Snape how to get passed the tree? That he would see the werewolf, the monster—me, and what? What was the end goal here, Si—Black!? Huh? You wanted everybody to know I’m a monster, but you were too cowardly to tell them yourself? What did I ever do to you that justifies what you tried to do to me?”

He reaches out and shoves Sirius. He stumbles back a few steps, wide eyed. He does it again. React. Fight me back. Fight. Don’t just stand that. Show me who you are! FIGHT ME!

“I’m not going to fight you.” Siri—he says as though he can read Remus’ mind. Maybe he can. He probably isn’t a disgrace to his family as he claims. He is probably their perfect heir, playing bad boy rebel because he’s bored. He probably knows Legilimency, that’s why he knew exactly what to do to hurt Remus the most.

“Gryffindors don’t send others to fight for them.” He curls his fingers into fists.

“I’m not going to do this with you right now, Remus. You can come find me when you are ready to talk, not before.”

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he follows through. His fist flies through the air, landing square between Sirius’ eyes. The crunch of his nose and the spurt of blood isn’t nearly as satisfying as he expected. Less so when Sirius doesn’t even react. Just a slight flinch, then nothing. Not swinging back, not yelling at him, not even reaching up to see if the appendage is broken. Nothing.

“I don’t want to talk to you ever again!”

Sirius nods once, blood dripping onto the stone floor. “If that’s what you want.” Then he turns and walks away.

“You are a coward! A COWARD!”

The hollowness carving away at his chest expands, his lungs caving in when Sirius doesn’t react still. All he can think is how he really is a monster. Resorting to his base instincts, but they aren’t his, not really. They are the wolves’. But slowly—so slowly he hadn’t even noticed, or maybe so quickly he hadn’t noticed—he is becoming the wolf, and the wolf is becoming him.

Remus is the one who cannot be trusted, not Sirius.