#and my first instinct was to draw her. of course

[brennacedria]

Thursday Bangers 6/19

Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

Thank you to @woundedsoul12 for both the game and the tag! I'm so late this week that I think everyone else has already been tagged, unfortunately. But if you see this you can consider it an open invitation to join in!

This week was Panic! At The Disco:

All my friends we're glorious Tonight we are victorious

It took me a little bit to figure out how to approach this one, and even once I did, it gave me some trouble. I got there in the end, though. Featuring my alternate Ria Hawke and Sebastian Vael, meeting for the first time since she got back from the Deep Roads.

The Party on AO3. Is immediately followed by The Branch.

__________

“To my dear daughter, Marian.”

“To Marian!”

Ria instinctively waved her glass at the sound of the toast, but hadn't heard anything her mother had said about her. She assumed it was complimentary, and smiled, and mentally moved along. This was the third party her mother had thrown since they moved into the estate two months ago. But, while the first two had been small affairs where it hadn't mattered that Ria excused herself in the first hour, this one was supposedly for her. As the guest of honor, she couldn't just leave–no matter how miserable she was.

“Serah Hawke, you're looking well.”

“No, I'm not, but thank you for lying,” she smiled politely. She was doing a lot of polite smiling tonight.

“I don't know if you remember me–”

The next smile was tired, but genuine. “Flint Company, I remember. Sebastian, right?”

“Aye, that's right.”

“And to what do I owe the honor of a visit from Prince Sebastian Vael?”

He coughed awkwardly. “It’s Brother Sebastian, now. Elthina convinced me to stay with the Chantry, rather than seek further vengeance.”

“So I killed all those men for nothing?” she pouted.

“No, I wouldn't go that far. If you hadn't taken that job, I might never have slept soundly again. You have my thanks for that, regardless of my choices since then.”

“Mm-hm.” Ria drained her wine, and grabbed another. 

“I can't actually leave, but I'm going over there,” she pointed towards the study. “Join me? You're better company than everyone else.”

“Are you certain? I was worried I was bothering you “

She sighed, and drained the second glass. “No, I'm just in a bad mood. You don't have to come with me, I just hoped you might come along. Like I said, you're better company than most, and if you're with me then maybe the others will leave me alone.”

“Of course.”

They crossed to the study, and Ria left the door open so she could hopefully hear once the crowd thinned. She made her way over to a side table for another drink, then changed her mind and came back to the armchairs in front of the fire instead. As she curled up in one, tucking her feet underneath her in the seat, Sebastian took the other and they both watched the fire in silence for a bit.

“I'm surprised to see your mother so lively tonight,” he spoke up finally. “Elthina has me come by periodically to check on Leandra, and she's usually much more reserved.”

Ria nodded. “These things are shit for me, but they're good for her. It's why I keep paying for them.”

Silence fell again. “And how are you , Hawke?”

“Ria.”

“How are you, Ria?”

“I keep busy,” she shrugged. “Mother has her parties, and I work to keep my mind off things.”

“Does it work?”

“Not really. Mother throws parties for me here in Hightown, Varric buys me drinks in Lowtown, everyone wants to celebrate everything I supposedly accomplished when we went to the Deep Roads.”

A tear threatened to escape, and she wiped it away angrily before Sebastian could see. 

“Beth would have loved these parties,” she said suddenly, changing the subject. “She always wondered what it would have been like growing up like Mother did, in society .” 

“Tell me about her.”

“Little bitch was about four inches taller than me, for one,” she laughed. “But seriously, she worried a lot, and I know she hated that we all protected her so much. She was our Bethikins, though. We loved her, and couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her.”

“She caught the blight sickness, didn't she?”

Ria nodded. “It had to have happened early in the trip, but she hid it from us until we were halfway out. There's no cure though, and she was in so much pain. We couldn't even get her to the surface where she could be made comfortable. She…”

“Ria?”

“She was so far gone,” she whispered. “She couldn't even lift her head, she was so weak. I couldn't do anything about it. Then she started coughing up the blight, choking on it. I… I'd seen it once before, with Aveline’s husband. Except he wasn't as severe. We– I– Sebastian, there was nothing else I could do but–”

“Maker,” he swore, and crossed over to her, pulling her out of her chair and into his arms. 

“Shh, it'll be alright, Ria,” he soothed her, smoothing her hair, but he was surprised to realize she wasn't crying. Instead her face just held a look of quiet despair, like she could never hope to be forgiven for what she'd done.

“You can't ever let my mother know,” she whispered, begging. “Or Elthina. Or anyone. Please, swear it, Sebastian.”

“Of course,” he agreed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. One tear escaped, and she brushed it away just as angrily as the last. 

“Ria? Ria, are you in here?”

“Yes Mother, I'm sorry,” she called back, stepping away from Sebastian. “Brother Sebastian and I were just talking about Bethany.”

If Ria didn't know better, she'd say her mother looked almost disappointed when she entered the study to see them. “Well, don't neglect your other guests, dear.”

“Actually, Mother, I think I need to lie down. Too much wine.”

“What am I ever going to do with you?”

“I'm sorry, Mother.”

Leandra shook her head, and turned to leave again. “Thank you,” Ria whispered to Sebastian once her mother was gone.

“Of course,” he replied, taking and squeezing her hand briefly. “You go on and get some rest. I'll call on you in a few days, to see how you're doing.

“I'd like that.”

With that she excused herself, sneaking through the empty servants' passages to the back stairs and up to her room. When she got there, though, the first thing her eyes fell on was Bethany's old birchcore staff sitting on the mantle.

The tears welled up again, and this time she let herself cry a while. When she finished, she made a decision. There was nothing she could do to change the choices she'd made. But she had to know if there was anything else that could have been done. Even if knowing the truth might kill her.

[agaybitchwithashittonofattitude]

Found this today. LOOK AT THIS ITS FUCKING GORGEOUS!!!!! (Not my art)

Well. I rewatched arcane

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Could you please do Dad!Oscar introducing his little girl to the paddock

Baby Piastri

The buzz around the paddock had been electric ever since the news broke: Oscar and Lily were bringing their four-month-old daughter to the Australian Grand Prix. Despite being young parents, the couple had embraced their new life with warmth and excitement. Their little girl, Yn, had become the sweetheart of the paddock without even setting foot in it. The drivers had only seen pictures of her, a tiny bundle of joy with Oscar’s soft curls and Lily’s bright, curious eyes.

Now, on media day, the moment everyone had been waiting for finally arrived. The McLaren garage was filled with anticipation as Oscar walked in, his hand entwined with Lily’s. In his other hand, he gently steered a stroller, carefully covered with a blanket to shield his daughter from the sun and the ever-present cameras. The couple made their way to a shaded outdoor table, Oscar making sure to park the stroller where Yn would be most comfortable.

Lando was the first to greet them, practically bouncing on his feet with excitement.

“Finally! I’ve been waiting forever to meet the little princess!” he said, crouching beside the stroller.

Oscar chuckled, exchanging a knowing glance with Lily. “Alright, alright,” he said, reaching down to gently peel back the blanket.

As the fabric fell away, the small group was met with the sight of a peacefully sleeping baby, her tiny fingers curled into loose fists. Her soft, chubby cheeks were slightly flushed, her breathing steady and deep.

Lando melted instantly. “Oh my God,” he whispered, as if speaking too loudly might wake her. “She’s perfect.”

He reached out, hesitating just before his fingers brushed over her tiny hand. “Can I?” he asked, looking up at Lily.

“Of course,” she said with a smile.

The moment Lando’s finger made contact with Yn’s tiny palm, her fingers instinctively wrapped around it. Lando let out a breath of pure awe.

“I think she likes me,” he said proudly.

By now, the other drivers had started to gather, their curiosity drawing them in like a magnet. Max, Charles, George, and Carlos joined, standing around the table, their faces softening at the sight of the tiny girl. Even Fernando, who rarely got excited about much outside of racing, was watching with a rare, gentle smile.

“Wow,” Charles murmured, leaning in slightly. “She’s even cuter in person.”

George chuckled. “You say that like she’s a celebrity.”

“She kind of is,” Carlos pointed out. “I mean, the entire paddock has been waiting to meet her.”

“She looks like a mix of both of you,” Max said, glancing between Oscar and Lily. “But I think she’s got more of Lily’s features.”

Oscar grinned. “Yeah, I think so too. She’s definitely got Lily’s eyes.”

As they all spoke quietly, keeping their voices hushed in an effort not to wake the baby, a small noise caught their attention. Yn shifted slightly, her tiny face scrunching up as she started to fuss.

Lily immediately reached for her, carefully lifting her out of the stroller and settling the baby onto her lap. Yn blinked blearily, her sleepy eyes scanning her surroundings as if taking everything in for the first time.

Then, her gaze landed on Oscar.

For a second, there was just silence as she stared at him. And then, her entire face lit up in a heart-melting grin, her little feet kicking excitedly.

The collective reaction from the drivers was instant.

“Awwwwww!” Lando practically squealed. “Did you see that? She loves her daddy!”

Oscar, completely enchanted, couldn’t resist. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her soft, chubby cheek. Yn giggled in response, reaching up with tiny hands to pat at his face.

Fernando smirked. “She’s already got him wrapped around her finger.”

Oscar didn’t even try to deny it. “Of course she does,” he said, smiling down at his daughter. “She’s perfect.”

Charles, who had been silently watching, finally reached out a hand. “Can I hold her?”

Lily glanced at Oscar, who nodded before carefully handing Yn over to Charles. The Monegasque driver held her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, his usual composed demeanor completely replaced by adoration.

“Bonjour, petite princesse,” he murmured, rocking her gently. Yn gazed up at him with big, curious eyes before giving him a tiny, toothless grin.

Carlos nudged Max. “I think Charles might cry.”

Max smirked. “I wouldn’t blame him.”

The group spent the next half hour completely enchanted, passing Yn around as they cooed over her, each driver getting their turn to hold her. Even Max, who insisted he wasn’t good with babies, found himself holding her carefully, his expression unreadable before he finally muttered, “She’s pretty cute.”

Lando took endless pictures, sending them to the group chat with captions like “New McLaren team principal” and “Future world champion spotted.”

Yn, blissfully unaware of the chaos she had caused, simply soaked up the love, babbling happily as her tiny hands reached out for anyone close enough.

As the afternoon went on, Oscar and Lily watched their daughter surrounded by love, their hearts full. They had always known that the F1 paddock was like a family, but seeing how much everyone adored their little girl made it all the more real.

“Guess she’s got a whole team of uncles now,” Oscar mused, his arm draped around Lily.

Lily laughed. “Yeah. And they’re all completely smitten.”

Oscar looked at his daughter, now resting contently in Lando’s arms as he whispered nonsense to her with the biggest smile on his face. He felt a warmth spread through his chest.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think she’s going to love growing up here.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open and I'm more than happy to write them.

-💙🦋

[hoe4hotchner]

Hiii!! Could you do another non bau rich fem!reader where she gave Aaron lots of designer stuff and he starts wearing them to work? Like maybe ties, cuff links, and like an LV duffel bag and the team is just like “??? Woah dude where’d you get that??”

Subtle flex | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader| WC: 0.9k | CW: nothing

Aaron Hotchner was usually not one for excess. His wardrobe was practical and professional, his tastes minimalistic, and his life, outside of Jack, revolved around efficiency and exuding authority on the job. Sure he had splurged occasionally on a stray high-quality tie here and there as well as his Rolex watch. At least that was until you entered his life.  

The first gift was a tie — a deep navy one in silk with subtle pinstripes. It came in a sleek wrapped box with some designer brand he had never even heard of before. You’d handed it to him with a casual smile, brushing off his initial protests with a light, “Aaron, I saw it and thought of you. Let me spoil you for once.”  

He wore it the next day, paired with his standard black suit, and noticed how it caught the light in the mirror. “Looks good,” he muttered to himself, brushing his hand over it. As hesitant as he had been to accept it, he was thankful for the present and happy that you'd chosen one that wasn't smothered in logos or brand names.

Then came the cuff links. They were sterling silver and engraved with his initials. He opened the box late one evening after you handed it to him over dinner. “You didn’t have to,” he said softly, though his smile betrayed how much he loved them.  

“Of course, I didn’t have to,” you replied, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “But you deserve nice things, Aaron. You do so much good without even expecting a thanks.”  

And so it continued. A Louis Vuitton duffel bag for his work trips, a black leather wallet that somehow managed to look even more professional than the one he’d carried for years, and a collection of even more ties that were understated yet undeniably luxurious and seemed to multiply in his closet every so often.  

At first, he rotated the items slowly into his everyday wardrobe, unsure if they would draw attention. But one particularly chaotic morning, he grabbed the LV duffel, clipped on the cuff links, and shrugged into a jacket before heading into the office having gotten an urgent notification for a case.  

It didn’t take long for the team to notice.  

“Uh… Hotch?” Morgan’s voice cut through the usual buzz in the conference room as Hotch entered. “Is that a Louis Vuitton bag you’re carrying?”  

Hotch glanced at him briefly, setting the duffel down by the door before striding towards the front of the room to grab the file Garcia was holding outstretched for him. “Yes. Why?”  

Morgan blinked. “Why? Man, you’ve been holding out on us. Since when do you roll up looking like you just stepped out of GQ Magazine?”  

Emily leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “Is that a new tie, too? That’s at least Tom Ford.”  

Hotch adjusted his tie instinctively. “It’s not. It’s Brioni.”  

“Oh, excuse us,” JJ chimed in throwing her hands up and exchanging an amused glance with Emily.  

“I’m sorry,” Spencer Reid piped up, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Are those cuff links monogrammed?”  

“Okay, seriously,” Morgan said, crossing his arms. “What’s going on, Hotch? You win the lottery or something? Cause if your salary is high enough for those purchases Imma have to talk to Strauss about a raise.”  

Hotch, shrugged lightly as he opened his case file. “No. My girlfriend has… a habit of giving gifts.”  

The room fell silent for a beat before Emily’s jaw dropped. “Wait, girlfriend? You’ve been holding out on us in more ways than one!”

"Who is she I need details," Garcia cut into the conversation, her excitement starting to bubble over.

JJ smirked. “Are you telling me she just gives you designer gifts casually? I agree with Garcia, who is this woman?”  

Hotch allowed himself the smallest of smiles as he glanced up from his paperwork. “Someone who insists I deserve the finer things.”  

“Damn,” Morgan muttered, shaking his head. “Where can I find one of those?”  

“Maybe start with charm school,” Emily teased.  

As the team bantered, Hotch’s phone buzzed on his desk. A message from you:  

Miss you already. Hope you’re putting the cuff links to good use. Dinner at my place when you get back?

He smiled quickly at his phone before typing back a quick reply.  

Always. I’ll bring the wine.  

When he looked up, the team was staring at him, curious. “What?” he asked, his tone amused, knowing fully well that they wouldn't stop bothering him about you until he eventually agreed to let them meet you.  

“Nothing,” Emily said, though her grin suggested otherwise. “Just trying to imagine Aaron Hotchner in love with a rich fashionista.”  

“Not just a fashionista,” Morgan added, gesturing toward the duffel. “An angel sent from the heavens, apparently.”  

Hotch shook his head, lifting his file up in the air in a quick and smooth motion as if to remind them why they were there. “Focus, everyone. We have a case.”  

A few days later, when you saw Aaron again, he mentioned the team’s reaction with a mix of exasperation and amusement.  

“I think they’re more interested in my wardrobe than the case,” he said, loosening his tie as he sat beside you on the couch.  

You laughed softly, running a hand through his hair. “Let them wonder. They’ll get used to it eventually.”  

“I’m not sure they ever will,” he muttered, leaning into your touch.  

“Good,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him. “I like keeping them on their toes.”  

[moonstruckme]

I saw you opened requests for poly!marauders?! If you are able and still have them open, would you pretty please do rockstars! poly marauders x reader where the reader is their girlfriend and has a backstage pass etc all those privileges/clearance but after one of their shows she gets caught up in the groupies trying to get back stage and security trying to keep them away and you get caught in the scuffle and are injured, cue protective, upset boys ❤️

Thank you! I appreciate everything you write, it always makes my day 😊💕

Thank you lovely!

cw: crowd crush, minor injury

rockstar!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

It’s an alleyway smelling of pot and cigarette smoke. It’s spaced out fluorescent lights shining down on brick walls and pavement and a hundred bodies pressed tight together. It’s routine, it’s turning yourself sideways and murmuring apologies to those you wriggle past, some of whom seem nice enough and others who glare at you for trying to get to the front. 

You do get there, though not without some resistance, and you hold up your badge for the security guard’s inspection. The badge makes you feel a bit silly. It’s too official for what you are (though, as James likes to remind you, you are the most official), but you also feel a bit proud every time you get to flash it around. Not because of anything you’ve done, but because you didn’t always need one of these to see your boyfriends. They’ve come a long way from performing in empty dive bars. 

The security guard shines a light on your badge. You try your best to look friendly, and also like your picture, because it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been held in suspicion of making a fake badge to get backstage. You try to look honest, whatever that looks like. You are honest. He looks about ready to let you through, his flashlight clicking off, and of course that’s when Sirius decides to come out the back door. 

The crush is immediate. You’re four people back with a sore spot on the side of your ribs before you know what’s happened, tripping over other people’s feet and feeling yourself steadied by someone else’s hand and being swallowed up by a thousand screaming voices. 

You gasp, and it’s like you draw them all in closer by your breath. 

They’re in front of you, behind you, warm warm warm. An arm above your head. A heel digging into your toe. Sweat smeared from the crook of an elbow onto your shoulder. 

You can hear the baritone of the security guard’s voice in contrast, trying to get people to settle down and establish some kind of order where you all know there can’t be any. You don’t form a line to meet The Marauders. You fight your way to the front, you take your chance as soon as you can get it. 

You try going up on your tiptoes. You can see the tops of your boyfriends’ heads over the crowd. You do a little jump, hoping they’ll spot you. 

The second you go up, another force comes down, across your eye hard enough for stars to bloom behind your lids. Someone makes a sound like a wounded animal. It takes a few seconds—you hold your hand to your face and slowly, cautiously blink your unhurt eye open—before you look up at another girl’s horrified face and realize it may have been you. 

The other girl’s distress is obvious, parted lips and eyes wide with shock; she didn’t mean to do it. She holds her elbow like its collision with your face hurt her a little, too. 

“Oh my god!” she shouts. Because you have to shout to be heard here, even when you’re five inches away from each other. “I’m so sorry!” 

“It’s okay!” you shout back. It’s instinct to soothe her. You don’t know if you’re okay—your cheek is a throbbing ache, and you’re sweaty enough that you don’t think you’d be able to tell if you were bleeding—but there’s nothing she can do and she really looks terribly upset. You lie. “I’m good.” 

Strangely, your shouting isn’t quite so necessary when you say that last part. The crowd seems to be…quieting? It’s not calming, though. There’s a chord of tension running between you all. 

“No, no, stop it! Everyone settle down now.” That’s Sirius’ voice, ringing out with a hard edge he doesn’t use often. It’s shocked his fans into contrition. “Be still.” 

You spot Remus talking to one of the security guards before that guard turns to lock eyes with you, Remus pointing right at you. A handful of moments later the crowd is parting in front of you, security escorting you through. 

“We can’t have you acting this way,” James says, as you’re led under the barrier and straight into Remus’ arms. He cups your face, murmuring a hello with a sorry tilt to his lips as he tips it toward the light. Any pain feels instantly better under his touch. 

“I mean it,” James goes on. Sternly. He sounds upset, angry even, and James’ anger hurts worse than anyone else’s just for how difficult it is to invoke. You feel like you’ve upset the balance of the universe when you’ve made James Potter speak in anger. “People are getting hurt, and we can’t have it.” 

“Are you alright?” Remus asks you, his soft tone a strange but familiar contrast to the noise of it all as he begins to usher you towards the backstage door. “Come here, love. I can hardly see you.” 

“I’m okay,” you murmur. James is at your elbow a moment later, guarding your other side whilst security guards him. 

“No more autographs tonight,” says Sirius from behind you. An outcry of disappointment goes through the crowd. He weathers it unflinchingly. “No, that’s it. Go home.” 

“Sirius,” you whisper, though he can’t hear you. None of the boys have ever spoken to fans that way. It’ll matter more that it’s Sirius, too, as The Marauders’ frontman. Oh, Lily is going to be furious with him. 

You’ve stopped walking in your surprise. Remus touches the small of your back, encouraging you inside. 

“It’s alright,” James assures you, his hand coming between your shoulder blades to help move you. “He’s got it.” 

Sirius turns his back to the crowd just as you go through the door. It’s not much quieter inside (it’s never quiet at shows, not really), crew rushing around to organize cleanup and corral fans and find that goddamn missing microphone, but Remus manages to find you all some solace in the boys’ dressing room. You’re sat down on a tufted couch, your sweaty thighs sticking to the leather. James plops right down next to you. 

“Our poor girl.” He mushes his lips to the non-throbbing side of your face, arms wrapping you up in warm solidness. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that, angel. I saw your face pop up, and then it just—you just went down, it was awful. Does it hurt? Is it bad?” 

“I can’t see when you’re holding her like that,” Remus chides, trying to slip his palm between James’ cheek and yours. 

“I think it’s fine,” you say. “Just—is it bleeding?” 

“No, it’s not bleeding.” Remus gets James off you, if only by an inch, angling your face where he can see it. “Are you hurt anywhere other than your face?” His pointer finger touches gingerly to your nose. 

You flinch. “Ow.” 

Remus’ expression pinches. “Sorry, love.” 

“Let me see.” Sirius’ voice is still hard. His hand appears on Remus’ shoulder, meant to move him, but Remus only turns his head with a warning look. 

“Not like that.”

It takes Sirius a moment to work out what he means. He blows out a breath. “Fuck, sorry,” he says, taking a step back and trying to shake the anger out of his fingertips. “Sorry, baby, I’m just—that was a lot. James is right, it was fucking awful to watch.” 

“It’s okay,” you offer, eager to soothe your boyfriend. “I’m okay.” 

“Can I have a look?” he asks, gentler now. 

Remus makes room for him. Sirius crouches in front of you, a terribly sad little downtilt to the corners of his mouth. He brushes his thumb underneath the corner of your eye. 

“Looks like she mostly caught your nose,” he murmurs. “How does it feel?” 

“Not very bad.” You can hardly raise your own voice above a whisper when he’s looking at you so tenderly. “It mostly just surprised me, honestly.” 

“It sure looked surprising,” James agrees. He gives your arm a rub. 

Sirius probes the side of your nose, and you blink when your eyes water. His brows draw down. 

“It’s not that bad,” you promise. 

“Does anything else hurt?” he repeats Remus’ question. 

“No.” Remus and Sirius get comically similar stern looks. You can’t help but smile a bit as you shrug. “I got banged around a bit, but so did everyone. You didn’t have to end the whole night because of it, you know.” 

James scoffs, kissing your face again. Sirius lets you go. “Obviously we did,” says James. “Our girl was hurt, what else were we supposed to do? Anyway, I’ve never seen them get that out of hand.” 

Remus makes an unhappy sound of agreement. “We couldn’t let that go on,” he says, “and honestly, things probably only would have gotten worse if we’d tried to continue after all that upset.” 

You hum, letting yourself sink into James’ side. He squeezes you approvingly. “Lily’s going to be upset.” 

“Not as upset as she would have been if I’d stayed out there.” Sirius folds himself into a velvet chair, gathering his hair into a ponytail from his wrist. “Fans would have gotten home to find all sorts of creative swears along with their autographs.”

James nods sagely. “Damage control.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

Omg god can you please do a forced marriage au. Where reader is being weirdly clingy(Ik it doesn’t really fit her vibe) and rafe’s weirded out. And she kisses him unexpectedly and he’s so confused.

Drunk kisses || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: fluffy fic which ik all of you have been wanting in this au so u are welcome ;)

Warnings: none really just fluff

Word count: 2,380

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Rafe barely glanced up from his laptop when the front doorbell rang. The sharp sound cut through the quiet of the house, but he quickly resumed typing, thinking nothing of it at first. It rang again, more insistently this time, drawing his attention. He frowned, closing his laptop and glancing toward the hallway.

"Anita?" he called out, expecting the familiar shuffle of the housekeeper’s footsteps. But silence greeted him in return. He checked his watch—it was past midnight. Of course, everyone had gone home by now.

With a frustrated sigh, Rafe stood and headed toward the foyer, the steady ringing making him wonder who could possibly be at their door at such an ungodly hour. He glanced at the small display screen by the entrance, his brow furrowing at the sight of you. You were slumped against your sister, who looked like she was struggling to hold you upright. Rafe’s confusion deepened as he swung open the door.

Before he could say anything, you staggered forward, collapsing right into his arms. Charlotte let out a startled gasp, covering her mouth in shock as Rafe instinctively caught you, his hands gripping your waist to steady you. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath, trying to process what was happening. You looked up at him with a lazy, drunken smile, the scent of alcohol heavy on your breath.

The sight of you—usually so composed and poised—now giggling like a carefree girl was jarring. “Oh, look, Lottie! It’s my husband. My gorgeous husb—” you slurred, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you tried to blow a strand of hair away from your face. But before you could finish, Rafe cut you off, his annoyance already simmering beneath the surface.

"How much did you let her drink?" he snapped, turning his icy blue gaze toward Charlotte. There was disbelief in his voice, a hint of something protective and yet frustrated. You had been out of control before, but never like this. “I—I tried,” Charlotte stammered, her face flushed with guilt. “I gave her something else—”

“What? More alcohol?” Rafe’s tone was sharp, and Charlotte flinched under his harsh words. He couldn’t believe it. You were usually guarded, careful—this wasn’t like you at all. Rafe glanced down at you again, a mixture of irritation and concern flashing across his face as you leaned further into him, still smiling like the world was spinning too slowly for you.

"We're supposed to have breakfast with your parents tomorrow," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw clenched, the thought of having to face them with you like this filling him with dread. As much as he loathed the idea of those formal meals, they mattered in your world—the perfect image you were both supposed to maintain.

Rafe struggled to keep you upright, your legs barely cooperating as you leaned heavily against him, still giggling softly. His frustration flared again, and he shot a sharp glance at Charlotte, who stood frozen in the doorway, wringing her hands nervously. “How the hell did this even happen?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous.

Charlotte hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “She… she just kept ordering more drinks. I tried to stop her, I swear, but she insisted. And, well, you know how stubborn she can get.” Rafe let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I know." He looked down at you as you murmured something incoherent, your fingers toying with the collar of his shirt.

"And you didn’t think to call me? Or at least cut her off?” “I—” Charlotte started but quickly swallowed her words when Rafe’s icy gaze met hers again. "I thought she'd sober up. I didn’t want to make a scene… and she kept saying she was fine." "Clearly, she’s not fine," Rafe snapped, his tone sharp as he adjusted his grip on you, trying to stop you from slipping further down his side.

“You should’ve stopped her. God, Charlotte, you know we have that damn breakfast tomorrow.” Charlotte’s eyes widened as if realising the gravity of the situation all over again. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I really didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand…” Rafe clenched his jaw, his patience thinning with each passing second. “Well, it did. And now I have to deal with this.” He shook his head, his grip tightening slightly on your waist as he hoisted you up a little higher.

“Mmm… Rafe," you mumbled softly, your head lolling against his chest. “You're always so serious.” Your words slurred together, and you let out another soft laugh, as if this entire situation was some kind of joke. Rafe's brow furrowed, his annoyance tempered for a moment by the sight of you so completely out of character. He wasn’t used to seeing you like this—carefree, uninhibited, and honestly, it unnerved him.

“You should go home, Charlotte,” Rafe finally said, his voice quieter now but still holding that authoritative edge. “I’ll take care of her.” Your sister looked hesitant, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe. "Are you sure? I can help—" "No, just go. You've done enough." His tone left no room for argument, and Charlotte sighed in defeat, giving him a small nod before stepping back toward the door.

“I really am sorry,” she murmured softly, her voice laced with guilt. She cast one last glance at you, who was now resting your head against Rafe’s chest, your arms loosely draped around his neck. Rafe didn’t respond, his attention now fully on you as Charlotte finally made her exit.

The front door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the dimly lit foyer. You stirred in his arms, blinking up at him with bleary eyes, the remnants of your smile still lingering. “You always look so serious, Rafe,” you whispered, your words thick with exhaustion. “Why can’t you just… relax?” Rafe sighed deeply, his frustration mixing with an odd sense of helplessness.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this—torn between annoyance and something else he couldn’t quite place. "Because someone has to be," he muttered, more to himself than to you. You giggled again, leaning your forehead against his chest. “Maybe I should be serious too, then. Like you. So we can both be… boring together.” You laughed softly at your own words, your fingers tracing absentminded circles on his chest.

Rafe’s lips twitched again, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through his usually stoic expression. You were a mess, slurring your words and giggling like a child, but in the soft, dim glow of the foyer, you looked undeniably beautiful. Strands of hair framed your face in a way that made you seem even more delicate, your skin glowing faintly under the soft lighting.

For a fleeting moment, he found himself captivated by how vulnerable and unguarded you appeared—so different from the strong-willed woman he was used to. But he quickly shook the thought away, forcing himself to stay focused. This was not the time to get caught up in sentiment. “You’re drunk,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, though still touched with that same gentleness that had snuck in earlier.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed before you say something else you’ll regret.” His eyes lingered on your face, watching as your expression shifted from amusement to a peaceful kind of daze. The way you leaned further into him, trusting him completely in your intoxicated state, stirred something unexpected within him—an unfamiliar blend of protectiveness and tenderness.

It unsettled him, but he pushed it aside, convincing himself it was just the responsibility of the moment. You hummed softly, your eyes fluttering closed, a contented sigh slipping past your lips. “Mmm… my gorgeous husband, taking care of me,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying a playful edge that made Rafe’s heart beat a little faster.

Even drunk, you were still testing him, still finding a way to get under his skin. He rolled his eyes, though there was no real malice behind it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m your gorgeous husband,” he muttered, half-exasperated, half-amused as he tightened his grip on you, making sure you were secure in his arms. “Let’s just focus on getting you upstairs in one piece.”

You chuckled softly, your head resting more comfortably against his chest, your breath warm against the fabric of his shirt. “Always so serious…” you mumbled, your voice trailing off as sleep began to claim you. Rafe glanced down at you again, shaking his head slightly. Even in this state, you still managed to get to him. He started moving toward the stairs, his steps careful as he balanced your weight against his own.

Rafe opened the door to your shared room, his movements steady as he guided you into the closet. “Here, you should get changed into something more comfortable,” he murmured, opening a drawer and pulling out one of his shirts—a soft, oversized one you often stole when you didn’t want to bother with your own clothes. He handed it to you, watching as your tired gaze shifted toward the shirt before flickering back to him.

“Can… can you help me take my dress off?” you muttered, barely audible, your voice tinged with exhaustion and the alcohol that still clouded your thoughts. You gave him those wide, pleading doe eyes that always managed to catch him off guard. Rafe inhaled sharply but quickly nodded. He’d seen you like this before—unguarded, your skin bare, but it never failed to stir something in him.

It wasn’t the sight of your skin that unsettled him; he was used to that. Over time, in this strange forced marriage, he’d grown accustomed to the intimacy of shared space, of your body in close proximity. It was the trust you displayed, the way you asked for his help now, that threw him off balance. You turned around, shifting your hair to one side, exposing the zipper of your dress.

Rafe reached for it, fingers grazing your back as he slowly pulled the zipper down, the fabric sliding easily off your shoulders. His eyes briefly flickered to the dress, a slight frown on his face—it was shorter than he liked, something he wasn’t thrilled about you wearing out. But now, as you stepped out of it, all he could think about was how fragile you looked.

You grabbed the shirt from his hands and pulled it over your head, the soft cotton falling past your thighs as you kicked off your heels with a relieved sigh. Rafe watched you for a moment longer before quietly guiding you toward the bathroom. He rummaged through the drawer, pulling out your toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste onto it before handing it to you. You brushed your teeth lazily, your movements growing slower as your eyelids drooped, exhaustion settling in.

Rafe stood by, waiting until you were done before helping you back to the bed. Just as your body sank into the soft sheets, ready to drift off into sleep, he lightly patted your cheek, keeping you from completely fading. "Uh-uh, gotta get that makeup off, or you'll throw a fit tomorrow morning," Rafe teased, reaching for the wipes on your vanity. You groaned in protest, your voice muffled against the pillow. “I won’t.”

“Yes, you will,” Rafe retorted, walking back over and sitting on the edge of the bed. He began gently wiping the makeup from your face, his touch careful and methodical. He had done this before, knew the routine, and though the task was mundane, there was an unspoken closeness in these moments that neither of you ever acknowledged.

He returned to the bed, sitting beside you as he carefully wiped away the layers of makeup. His touch was gentle, more considerate than you expected, his brow furrowed in concentration as he made sure to remove every trace. You gazed up at him through heavy lids, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin and the softness of his gestures.

When he was done, he moved to pull away, but your fingers curled around his wrist, stopping him. Rafe looked at you, confusion briefly crossing his face, but the intensity in your gaze softened him. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice tender, vulnerable in a way it rarely was. Your eyes drifted to his lips, your heart picking up speed as the moment stretched between you.

Rafe swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he nodded, his voice hushed. “Of course.” Without another word, you gently pulled him closer, closing the space between you. Your lips met his in a slow, tentative kiss—an action that felt more like a quiet confession than anything else. Rafe stiffened at first, but then his lips moved against yours, soft yet firm, as though the weight of the night had brought you both to this point.

But he pulled back after a moment, his eyes searching yours for something he wasn’t even sure of. “Get some sleep,” he whispered, pulling the sheets up to tuck you in. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just a second longer than usual before he stood, leaving the room without another glance.

—

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains as you slowly lifted your head from the pillow, a dull throb of pain radiating through your temples. You winced, squinting against the brightness as the events of the previous night came flooding back—Charlotte, the drinks, Rafe helping you to bed, and… the kiss.

You stirred slightly, feeling the sheets move beside you. Glancing over, you saw Rafe’s sleeping form, his features relaxed. He lay facing you, still half-asleep, though he must have sensed your movement because he mumbled groggily, “On your bedside table.”

You turned, spotting the glass of water and the medicine waiting for you. A small smile tugged at your lips despite the pounding in your head. Even when his words were rough, his actions showed a softness you were beginning to see more often.

You reached for the water and pills, the gesture not lost on you. As you downed the water, you couldn’t help but glance back at him, wondering if, beneath all the tension and complications between you, something deeper had started to bloom.

[jobean12-blog]

The Best Worst Day Ever

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 3.4K

Summary: You're having a shit day but then you see a dog and things start looking up...

Author's Note: We love a soft and sweet Bucky and dogs and bookstores and cookies and kisses- so here we are! Hope you enjoy, thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️The two bookstores I mention can be found here (Spoonbill and Sugartown) and here (Albertine Books). Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: a cute dog, Bucky saves the day (a few times), cookies, soft fluff, building tension, books

“You will not believe the day I had.”

You practically sigh the words into the phone, feeling at least slightly better at the sound of your best friends voice.

“Tell me everything,” she says.

You start to recap your shitty day but a large fluff of black fur across the street catches your eye.

“Oh my god…,” you start, completely derailing your previous thought. “There is this giant black dog across the street. I have to go pet it.”

Your best friend laughs, “of course you do,” and you can feel yourself start to form a real smile for the first time today.

“I’ll call you back,” you tell her.

“You got it,” she answers, not even questioning your behavior.

You start to cross the street, giving a quick glance in both directions before breaking into a jog. You’re just about to call out to the old man to ask if his dog is friendly, when you hear the screech of tires.

Your heart drops and your body instinctively reacts but all you feel is the whoosh of air that whips past you and a set of strong arms wrapped around your waist.

For a few long seconds you simply breathe, clinging to the solid warmth of whatever is holding you up.

“Are you ok doll?”

The voice is soft but deep and you look towards it, blinking against the bright sun, wondering for a moment if the car hit you and you’re dead and in fact, now in heaven.

Your fingers dig into soft leather as you stare at one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.

“Am I dead?”

Bright blue eyes peer down at you, the corners lightly crinkling at your question. His gaze wanders over your face, his expression seeming to waver between awe and concern.

“No, I’ve got you. But are you ok?”

His words draw your attention to his mouth. Blinking again and trying to clear your head you finally manage to answer him.

“I…I don’t think so…I just wanted to pet the dog.”

His perfect lips curl up into a teasing smile and you have to drag your eyes away to focus on his blue ones. But the fact that you’re pressed against his solid chest and encased in the warmth of his arms does nothing to help your concentration.

With a slight tremble you start to sit up, but he doesn’t release you from his hold. He just moves with you and helps you to stand.

Once he feels you’re steady enough on your feet he removes his hands but stays close, clearly not convinced you’re fine.

You let out a shaky exhale and smooth your hands over yourself.

“That was so scary.”

You can feel the warmth of tears spring to your eyes and your vision starts to blur. He reaches out a gentle hand and places it on your arm.

“I’m sure it was. And while we could stay here I think it would be best to get out of the middle of the street. Why don’t we go sit?”  

He points to the bench on the sidewalk where the old man with the dog stands and watches.

As you approach the old man asks, “it’s a good thing this young man was here to save you. I could never move that fast.”

You glance at the “young man,” and he extends the hand that doesn’t have a secure hold on your arm to greet you.

“Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

“Thank you Bucky,” you say and then give him your name.

“Is she ok?” the old man asks Bucky.

“I think she’s gonna be fine,” Bucky says with a reassuring smile.

Bucky helps you onto the bench and as the dog moves closer, tail wagging, you blurt out in a rush, “can I please pet your dog?”

“Sure,” the old man says. “She’s very friendly.”

“What’s her name?” Bucky asks, as he kneels down to put his hand out for the dog to smell.

“Luna,” the old man replies, sitting down next to you on the bench.

You reach for Luna, letting her smell you before scratching her ears and leaning down to press your face into her soft fur.

Your focus stays on the dog until your heartbeat returns to normal, the conversation between Bucky and the old man lingering quietly in the background.

After a few more steadying breaths you thank the old man and Bucky helps him to stand, watching as he takes slow and small steps away from you, Luna in tow but still looking back at you.

Bucky stands and offers you his hand; strong and slightly clammy, and sparks fly, a curious look flitting across his stunning face as you both react to the touch. You fix your gaze on him and finally give yourself a chance to look. Your heart starts to crash against your chest all over again. You just sit there, staring.

He’s tall and the soft henley he wears beneath his leather jacket is fitted so that you can see the outline of the muscles in his chest. His eyes are the most beautiful blue, and the stubble covering his strong jaw does nothing to conceal the handsome features beneath it.

He smiles softly and for a moment you think you see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink at your obvious examination. He’s still holding onto your hand, and suddenly, seeming to come to his senses, he releases it and smooths his palm over his hair and then the back of his neck.

You feel a flush of heat move through you.

“You’re sure you’re ok doll?”

You nod.

“She should probably eat something.”

At the old man’s gruff voice both you and Bucky startle and turn to see him standing just a few feet away, a knowing smile on his face. Obviously, he didn’t get very far.

“He deserves a date for savin’ your life there young lady.”

With a decisive nod he dismisses you and Bucky and calls to Luna to finally continue on his way.

You feel Bucky’s eyes on you, and you look back up at him from your seat.

“Food?” you ask quietly.

“Let’s go,” he answers, his easy smile returning. “I know just the place.”

The butterflies stay firmly planted in the pit of your empty stomach and you stand so abruptly that you teeter forward and into his arms again. He catches you with two hands splayed at your waist and the urge to bury your heated face against his chest is overwhelming.

“I’m really having a day,” you mutter. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I’m just happy I’m here to help.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

He falls into an easy stride beside you and a huff of laughter falls from your lips before you say, “I can’t believe I almost died trying to pet a dog.”

“I get it,” Bucky says, throwing you a wink.

You’re careful with your footing, still somewhat shaky from the whole ordeal but when your attention turns back to Bucky, his eyes trailing across your face, seeming to linger on your mouth before lifting to your eyes, you stumble, your foot catching a crack in the sidewalk.

He grabs your bicep to steady you, and you groan. “Shit, you must think I’m hopeless.”

“That person’s driving skills having nothing to do with you,” he assures you as he gently leads you toward the restaurant. “And everyone likes to pet dogs…or at least they should.”

His voice is gentle, and you avoid his gaze, his hand still curled securely around your arm as you come to stop outside the restaurant.

He only let’s go to open the door and usher you in with a soft press of his hand to your lower back.

The flutter of butterflies that you keep trying to ignore are back in full force and when Bucky stops at a table and pulls out the chair for you the gesture has you feeling faint.

You must be starved.

With a monumental effort to relax you sit back in the chair and cross your legs. His gaze automatically flickers downward and be visibly swallows before quickly looking away.

There’s a definite blush on the tops of his cheeks now.

“The pizza here is really good.” His voice sounds extra rumbly, maybe even a little hoarse.

You pick up a menu and start to fan yourself without even thinking. “I’m sure it is.”

“Do you live close by?” you ask him.

“Just a few blocks away. I’m here all the time.”

Before you can ask any more questions, an older woman appears beside your table with a beaming smile.

“Barnes has finally showed up with a girl!” she sings. “And a beauty at that.”

You hide your giggle behind the menu and peer at Bucky.

“This is Millie,” he says, his smile wide. “She owns the place and loves to bust my chops.”

You introduce yourself, delighted and Millie’s warmth.

“Are you having the usual?” Millie asks Bucky.

He nods and looks to you.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” you tell Millie.

“I like her already,” Millie says before rushing back off to the kitchen.

Bucky sits forward, his arms crossed in front of him and now that he’s taken off his leather jacket there is more of him to admire.

His blue eyes are focused entirely on you, and you try not to blurt out your thoughts about how nice his biceps looked in his shirt so instead you clamp your mouth shut and look around the cozy space.

You fall into easy conversation and when the food comes the silence is comfortable while you eagerly eat it, not realizing how hungry you really are.

After your stomach is full, Bucky pays the bill, even after you offered several times, pleading with him that you owed him at least that after saving your life.

He waves you off and hands Millie the cash then holds his hand out for yours.

At the feel of his skin tension immediately springs between you, and you scramble to think of something to say.

He beats you to it.

“What are your plans for the weekend?”

Grateful for the distraction, you reply, “well, I usually spend my Saturday afternoons at this little bookshop in my neighborhood.”

“Is it Spoonbill and Sugartown?”

Your eyes widen and light up.

“YES! You know it?”

“I do. I used to go all the time. Haven’t been in a while though. I love the smell of the old books.”

A rush of attraction sweeps over you like a wave and your hand squeezes his.

“You could meet me there tomorrow? If you’re not busy?”

“Yeah. I’d love that,” he says, grabbing the door and holding it open so you can exit the restaurant.

“Which way are you?” he asks, still holding your hand.

You point right toward Bedford Avenue.

“Come on, I’ll walk ya home doll.”

“Is it out of your way? I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

He chuckles before leaning down to press a quick, surprising kiss to your cheek.

“Nah, it’s not and I really don’t mind.”

You are in love.

Inside the old bookstore, with its vaulted ceilings and shafts of light pouring through the skylights, you stare at the rows and rows of bookshelves.

Through the aisles there is something to catch the eye at every turn. Not just books, but interesting and antique Tiffany lamps and various knick knacks that make you smile. Reading areas are set up in breaks between the shelves, tables with chairs so people can lounge, read, and drink their coffee and eat their desserts.

You let out a contented sigh. On purpose, you arrived a bit early, hoping the familiarity and comfort of the store would calm the persistent butterflies that have taken up a permanent residence in your stomach since your literal run in with Bucky.

As you’re falling deeper under the spell of the leather lined bindings and dusty-smelling pages a soft voice calls your name.

You look up and see Bucky standing at the end of the aisle. He’s dressed casually but different from yesterday, his dark jeans fitted to his muscular thighs and his black tee shirt showing off those perfect arms and chest.

He steps closer and greets you with another kiss to your cheek, this time, closer to the corner of your mouth.

You close your eyes briefly, inhaling his scent and steadying yourself on your feet. Before you can actually swoon to the floor you tell him about the expansion they recently built in the back with a rush of enthusiastic words.

Taking his hand, you lead him to the new section, practically running.

Laughing at your overexcitement, he squeezes your hand.

“You’re very cute.”

When you turn to look at him, something in his eyes makes your skin heat and you have to look away again, but not before you give him a thankful smile.

You expect him to let go of your hand once you reach the back, but he doesn’t.

“Have you ever been to Albertine Books?” he asks.

You stop and think.

“No, I don’t think I’ve even heard of it.”

“It’s easy to miss,” he explains. “It’s inside the French Embassy and has mostly French language books and translations from French into English, but it’s gorgeous.”

“Really?” you say with uninhibited joy. “Will you take me there sometime?”

You’re too busy deciding which part of the expanded bookstore you want to show him first to see his expression, but you hear the affection in his tone when he replies, “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, doll.”

Your heart flutters.

Your hand gets clammy, and you gently pull it away, trying to use the shelves and the books lining them to refocus yourself.

He stays with you, content to watch you peruse the bindings, moving from bookshelf to bookshelf.

The book titles quickly become a blur as your awareness zeroes in on one thing, one person.

Bucky.

You feel the warmth of his presence, hovering at your back, and feel the heat of his gaze on your face. The skin on your cheek tingles and you can still feel the press of his lips.

Your breathing grows shallower as his fingertips brush against the small of your back, a gentle touch, but searing through your clothes.

Busy frantically pondering how to navigate the chemistry you share; you don’t realize the book you halt in front of until it’s too late.

A romance novel with a couple in a sexy position on the cover.

Just perfect.

His fingertips press deeper against your lower back, and then you feel the whisper of his lips on your ear as he comments, “interesting choice.”

You make the mistake of turning your head toward his and find his nose just inches from yours.

Your eyes lock for a second before his gazes drops to your mouth. Your body sways slightly toward his, and he takes the movement as an invitation, his head dipping those last few inches.

“Excuse me.”

A voice, loud and close, jolts you away from Bucky, whose mouth had just been millimeters from touching yours.

“I just…want that book.” An arm reaches between you and Bucky, and dazed, you look over to see a woman. She seems unfazed by the fact that she clearly interrupted a moment, and you grab the book for her.

She gives you a thin lipped smiled and darts away.

After a second or two of staring after her, you finally draw up the courage to meet Bucky’s eyes.

His cheeks are pink again and he’s rubbing his palm on his jeans.

Looking over his shoulder you spot the coffee and dessert counter.

“Ooh!” you say, hurrying towards it. “Let’s get a cookie!”

Bucky follows and you turn to him, smiling through the awkwardness.

“You have to try the double chocolate chip.”

He bends down to peer into the display case. Your eyes meet, and just like that you’re too close for your body to handle. You swallow hard.

“It’s delicious. And the chunks of chocolate are gooey.”

His eyes are trained on your mouth as he murmurs, “maybe we should get two.”

“Good idea. I can eat a whole one easily on my own. We might even need three.”

You sound breathless.

“Hm.” He’s not even listening to your words at this point. His focus is on your lips, his eyes are hooded, and he is definitely going to attempt to kiss you again.

“What can I get for you?” the worker behind the counter asks, smiling brightly when the two of you jerk your heads up.

“Four double chocolate chip cookies,” Bucky blurts out, then follows with a soft, “please and thanks.”

Once you have your cookies in your hand you head to one of the back tables and sit, stuffing nearly the whole cookie in your mouth.

It’s so good that for a moment you forget yourself and moan around the bite.

Bucky clears his throat, and you lock eyes. His reaches across the table, his strong fingertips gripping your chin, and he bends his head toward yours. He halts when he’s close enough that you can see the patches of gray in his beard and feel his warm breath fan your cheek.

With the softest brush of his calloused thumb, he wipes away some chocolate from your bottom lip.

“Had a little chocolate smudge right there,” he whispers.

You slowly nod and your tongue darts out to lick your lips. His eyes track the movement, and he releases you, biting into half of his own cookie.

“These really are amazing,” he says around the mouthful.

You nod again, too flustered for words.

The two of you eat all four cookies and despite wanting to distract yourself with more you leave the bookstore and let him walk you home once again.

When you stop outside your building you fiddle with your hands and look anywhere but at him.

“I had the best time,” he says, drawing your attention.

“Me too,” you say quietly.

“When can I take you to Albertine Books?” he asks, as he takes a tentative step closer.

“Tomorrow?”

It’s a hopeful question. One you couldn’t stop yourself from asking even if you wanted to.

“I’d love that doll.”

A deep tug low in your belly makes you bite your lip. You love the use of that endearment and after spending most of the afternoon so close to him you’re nearly at your wits end.

His gaze fixes on yours and his jaw tightens at whatever he sees in your expression then he closes the distance and slides his arms around you, his hands coasting slowly up your back.

He lifts a hand to your cheek, sweeping his thumb across your soft skin and splaying his hand to draw you closer.

“If someone interrupts us this time…” he says, tone full of warning but still teasing.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t even notice if there was a dog nearby for me to pet,” you say with a smile.

He laughs and bumps your nose with his.

“Not even a dog huh?”                                                                                   

You shake your head, and your eyes start to close as your hands grasp the front of his shirt. You feel the heat of his breath first, the warning before his lips touch yours. And when they do, it’s barely a brush, a hot, glancing touch.

Your fingers close more tightly around the fabric of his shirt, silently urging him to really kiss you. You’re desperate for it.

Another whisper of a of kiss, then a slightly deeper press, a nibble on your lower lip. A whimper escapes you.

It shatters whatever restraint he’s grounded himself with and his hand splayed at your back hauls you against his body as his mouth presses to yours.

You open your mouth to let him in, and his groan of satisfaction rumbles through you. The tickle of his scruffy jaw is rough in the just the way you’d hoped it would be and when you feel the slide of his hands down your back, the smooth strength of him under your touch, you completely melt into the kiss and the rest of the world fades away.

[valtsv]

sorry if this has been asked before, but are there any pieces of media that have shaped your conception of angels?

a formative one for me was his dark materials, when it described angels as only appearing in the form of winged humanoids because it was what was expected of them, and claimed that their true forms actually resembled architecture/"huge structures composed of intelligence and feeling" - i could never hope to draw the mental images that gave me, but it influenced my comparisons of pylon towers to angels, which are the closest reference i can give to the towering skeletal chain-like structures of light and matter that i imagined angels to be. it was also what first made me question the nature of angels, and begin to see them as something other than simply people with wings and halos who sang and/or fought for god - though i do have a weakness for angels imitating humanity, desiring and envying their free will and the unscripted lives it grants them, and in doing so becoming a little more human and a little less divine themselves, and falling in a metaphorical rather than literal, physical sense (which, to an angel, being an entity made of pure symbolism, is essentially the same thing, and can kill them just as surely as a sword).

kill six billion demons' angels are very inspirational to me; their naming system based on which reincarnation of itself the angel is makes me clap my hands with delight - particularly 6 juggernaut star, whose name belies how long she has endured through endless cycles, unable to break the wheel herself, and become entrenched in her own despair-driven futile rage as a result. and of course i'm a huge fan of 82 white chain's character arc involving an allegory for transition (specifically coming out as transfem) that also actually culminates in her transitioning (again, the symbolic and the literal go hand in hand with angels).

theres also this YA book called 'angel' by cliff mcnish that i read when i was like. eight? nine? i remember very little of it, and don't think it would hold up at all if i reread it now, but i do recall that one of the guardian angels in it died while saving one of their wards in a car wreck. the idea of angels as something that can be hurt and destroyed, that could be created to suffer and die, that could feel pain and experience grief, and potentially be imbued with supressed self-preservation instincts to serve their purpose, really flipped a switch in my brain.

[leahsgf]

— LOST FOR WORDS

alessia russo x reader | masterlist

⤷ just pure fluff based on this ask

୨୧

you barely have time to react, or even move an inch from your spot sprawled across the sofa - before the front door practically flies off its hinges, and your apartment is filled with the absolute whirlwind that is your girlfriend.

“i’m back!” she beams as you sit up, coming into her line of sight - and in quite literally the blink of an eye she was dropping her bags and launching herself practically flat on top of you, and straight into a full- blown ramble, barely giving herself a moment to breathe (or for you to even say hello)

despite alessia’s usual reserved nature, you had completely expected and predicted this - as it occurred every single time she came home to you after being around tooney, her best friend’s sheer amount of energy being beyond infectious.

“oh my god you will not believe the few weeks i’ve had, it was insane! it was so intense, like the training and stuff, but it was so fun! my legs are still sore by the way i will be requesting a massage later. i’ve been annoying the girls all week about it apparently - i think they’re overreacting but whatever. oh! and i wish i could’ve recorded the way keira absolutely destroyed georgia in this one drill - she went face first onto the grass! we were laughing about it for ages, even sarina! and the games! babe, the games were - wait, you watched them right? oh yes of course you did i remember you saying on facetime, but i’ll tell you anyway-”

you smile at her fondly, your eyes never leaving her as she sits up a bit, her hands flying around animatedly as she recalled literally every waking moment since she’d been away to you.

her presence is almost electric, lighting up the entire room in a way that made you realise just how much you missed her - even when she’s like this, overflowing with stories, not letting you get a word in, details tumbling out of her mouth as if she was afraid that she’d forget them if she didn’t say them quick enough.

“and millie - oh god, you know what she’s like, right? she dared tooney to-”

you suddenly decide to lean forward and cup her face, cutting her off mid sentence by pressing your lips to hers gently.

and for a moment, she freezes. you feel her entire body stiffen, mimicking a statue, before you feel the heat radiating off her cheeks beneath your fingertips. her hands, which had been gesturing madly mere seconds ago - hover awkwardly mid air for a second, before they spring into action, like you’d just pressed play on her remote - and they wrap around your waist, kissing you back, and instinctively deepening it.

when you finally pull away, she blinks at you, dazed - buffering, almost.

“w-what…um. what was i saying?” she stammers, volume suddenly much quieter than before, her face burning red.

“something about millie and a dare?” you grin, knowing there was zero chance she’d remember it now, thumb stroking her face as she practically crumbled beneath your touch.

she opens and shuts her mouth almost robotically, no words leaving her lips. instead, they let out the smallest, breathiest laugh as she shakes her head, still visibly flustered.

“you can finish telling me later.” you tease lightly, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, and another to the corner of her mouth. “just really missed you.”

alessia all but melted at that, arms drawing you into her hold as she buried her face into your neck, peppering kisses onto the exposed skin that peeked out from underneath your her shirt.

“i missed you more baby.” she mumbles, voice muffled as her hand moves to tenderly rub your back, drawing little shapes there like she know you loved.

you chuckle, holding her close - bathing in the newfound silence that settled across the room, the only exception being the light patter of the blonde’s heartbeat, steady and warm against you.

-

me and who me and who me and who

thank you anon for this request i hope i did it justice! literally wrote it in an hour and city just drew to west ham so my evening is going FANTASTICALLY! let me know your thoughtssss

- el x

[gigi-loveless]

thank you @alternativess for the inspo 🎀𓂃 ࣪˖

reqs are open!!

summary: bimbo!reader x abby. abby starts play fighting with you and discovers you enjoy being restrained.

warnings: nsfw under the cut, use of consensual physical restraint in a sexual situation, my first abby fic!!

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“a-abs! stop-stop-stop!” the incessant tickling from your girlfriends sturdy, strong arms was taunting you. trying your best to fight back, you slap her arm sheepishly.

“oh, that’s how you wanna do this, huh?” she smirks playfully, throwing her braid off her shoulder and lunging into you, beginning to play wrestle.

you couldn’t lie, the wet spot in your frilly pink panties was growing increasingly hard to ignore, especially if her muscles kept flexing so tauntingly close to your doe-ish eyes….

regardless! you do your best to fight back just to please her, because you two both know you don’t stand a chance, and she thinks it’s adorable. when you playfully go to bite her bicep, her fighting instincts kick in….

and her beefy, swollen arm has you in an unyielding headlock.

fuck.

the pornographic whimper that erupted from you caused abby to loosen her grip, taking your jaw in her calloused fingers and guiding you up towards her sweat glistened face.

“got something you wanna tell me?”

you begin to shake your head no, but abby interrupts-

“if i take off those panties am i gonna find my girl wet?”

my girl.

well, if you weren’t wet already, she was definitely going to find you soaked now.

with one quick movement, she has you laid down on your back, your underwear in one hand, and another sliding into your folds. your mind goes completely blank, well, more than it already was, only craving abby’s vicious touch.

“oh…sweet girl….tell me. was it that headlock? don’t. lie.”

the desperate moans that are bubbling from your plump pink lips would be fucking embarrassing if you weren’t already so drunk on her touch, your hips hopelessly rutting into her resistant fingers.

“words, angel.”

“y-ye-y….yes!! yes abs!!”

the menacing chuckle she exhaled was enough to make you buckle, but you knew better. had to keep your eyes on abby.

“does my girl get off on being hurt? bein’ restrained?”

“m-mm-mhm!”

“remember our safe word?” she goes soft for a moment, and you nod in agreement. as soon as she gets confirmation, this girl just starts manhandling the fuck out of you. fingerprint shaped marks decorate your hips and ribs as she positions you in the headlock once again, her bicep throbbing against your ear.

“gonna make you cum, yeah baby? no tricks this time, swear. jus’cum fr’me angel….” she cooes, as her previously mocking fingers finally…finally….fill you up completely.

“abs!! a-abs!!!”

“does my girl love my muscles? hgnh- loves how my arms are bigger than her stupid slutty brain?”

“y-yes….ys’ abs! always!”

the pace she’s drilling into you at is relentless, slick drooling down her knuckles and your pillowy thighs. your cushiony walls are throbbing around her thick fingers, only persuading her to go harder, to tighten the death grip on your neck, little veins popping out.

“g-gna’-“ you moan nearly pathetically, abby immediately understanding before you even opened your mouth, because of course she does. this girl knows your body better than anyone, the patterned pulses of your pretty pussy swallowing up her fingers signaling your orgasm.

“go ahead, sweetheart. cum fr’ me.”

your vision nearly goes black as the grip around your neck tightens, and her fingers curl up into you. everything is fuzzy for a few moments, but abby’s comforting touch soothes your senses, effortlessly picking you up and tenderly placing you in her lap.

“come on, baby. gonna draw a bath for you, yeah?”

god, you love abby anderson.

[downbad4sylus]

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Proof of Life

(part one, part three, and part four)

synopsis: Caught on the King of Onychinus’s lands, you spend a few interesting days in his encampment.

content: sylus x afab!reader; use of Y/N; slow burn; brief mentions of war; general angst; mostly proofread

word count: ~3.3k

a/n: thank you to everyone who’s joined the taglist and to all those who’ve enjoyed the first part! here is part two, hope you enjoy <3

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Fear was not something you were intimately familiar with.

You lived a life of privilege and luxury, protected by your father and the guards that surrounded you. You knew risk of course, sneaking out of your many homes throughout the years in the name of adventure, but the worst you suffered in doing so were some cuts and bruises you’d have to hide until they healed.

You’d never felt true fear until now.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drawing out everything except for him.

The King of Onychinus. The man engaged in a full out war with your father, hellbent on overthrowing his rule and taking over his country. Your country.

And you, the Princess of Linkon, the sole heir to the country the man before you had set his sights on.

You were dead.

There was no chance you walked out of this alive.

“Cat got your tongue, Princess?” the king drawled. With arms crossed, he stalked toward you.

You took an instinctive step back, your body shaking from the fear coursing through your veins. Was this it? Would he kill you right where you stand?

He was before you in no time at all, forcing you to tilt your head back to look at him. “Don’t you have something you wish to speak to me about?”

Your heart thundered so loudly you almost didn’t hear him. “I—”

He tilted his head expectantly.

You swallowed hard, but your throat felt like sandpaper. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but tremble.

He sighed, as if annoyed by your silence. “Luke, Kieran, bring her to my tent. I’ll be along shortly, I have something to take care of first.”

“You want us to interrogate her while we wait?” either Luke or Kieran asked.

“No,” the King snapped. “She is to remain unharmed until I determine otherwise. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Boss,” the other said, sounding dejected.

You didn’t dare feel relief, knowing the King could change his mind at any point and your life would be forfeit.

One of the soldiers grabbed your bound wrists and led you out of the tent.

Being free of the King’s unnerving gaze allowed you to think somewhat clearer.

You needed to find a way out of this. Needed to somehow convince the King that your safe return to your father was the best course of action for everyone. But how would you convince a man reputed to be a ruthless killer with no regard for human life beyond how he could use it for his own benefit.

However…

If you were to be returned to your father, what fate would await you there?

Your life was already one within a gilded cage that you’d worked tirelessly to escape, albeit temporarily. Your capture meant your father was right to keep you sequestered from the world, and your gilded cage would become an outright prison were you to go back to Linkon. Guards posted outside your door, your windows barred, every aspect of your life under strict scrutiny. You’d never be free again, not until you assumed the throne, accepting the destiny you’d been running from as Linkon’s next ruler.

You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, the only two options laid before you resulted in loss of life, the difference being one was literal and the other was figurative. Which was better? What were you supposed to do?

Lost in your inner turmoil, you slammed right into one of the soldiers’ backs as they stopped suddenly before another tent.

He turned around to look at you, at least, you were pretty sure he was looking at you considering he was still wearing a mask.

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” he asked. “Boss will kill us if he finds you hurt.”

“Um…no,” you murmured, slightly taken aback by the panic in his voice. “I’m fine.”

Both men’s shoulders slumped with relief, confusing you further. Not because of the way they feared punishment, but because of the almost comical way that fear presented itself.

Just what exactly was the dynamic between the King of Onychinus and his soldiers?

“All right Your Highness, in you go,” the other said, gently nudging you toward the tent flap.

“You’re leaving me alone in there?” you questioned.

“We’ll be right out here waiting for boss-man if you need us.”

“But don’t need us.”

You were unable to respond as they successfully pushed you within the confines of the tent.

Rather sparse furnishings greeted you upon entry, juxtaposed by the opulent decorations throughout. A double size cot topped with a ruby red blanket that looked to be made of the softest material, a well-crafted chest likely holding refined clothing befit for a king, a bear-skin hide as a rug, and a gold brazier filled with coals keeping the tent warm. It wasn’t extravagant by any means, but there was a quiet luxury to the King’s temporarily living quarters. You wondered idly what his bedchambers looked like at his royal castle.

The rope binding your wrists was starting to chafe so you decided to make good use of the brazier. As carefully as you could, you placed the rope on one of the coals, gritting your teeth as the heat licked your skin. You lifted your wrists when the heat became too much and pulled at the rope, loosening its hold. You repeated this process until the rope snapped and your hands were freed.

You massaged your tender wrists, surveying the interior of the tent once more before plopping onto the surprisingly comfortable cot. The blanket, as you suspected, was incredibly soft. Despite being in the most stressful situation of your life, you lay down atop this blanket, seeking comfort and warmth in a poor attempt to calm down.

It was impossible of course, you might have been comfortable but that didn’t negate the fact you were laying in the King of Onychinus’s bed, awaiting his return.

Listening to the unintelligible whispers of the two soldiers outside the tent, you wondered why you were brought here all of places. There was no denying you were a hostage, so shouldn’t you have been taken to some form of barracks? You certainly didn’t think the King was being kind to you, which begged the question why?

“Made yourself comfortable I see.”

You squealed, jolting upright to find the King standing at the entrance of the tent, arms crossed and eyebrow cocked. His fierce gaze zeroed in on your unbound wrists, his head tilting curiously.

“How did you manage that?” he asked.

You snapped to your feet, realizing that freeing yourself from your restraints might not have been the smartest idea. “The coals,” you muttered, cheeks blazing.

“Very clever, Princess,” he said, a genuine compliment. “Sit, let me look at your wrists.”

Suspicious, but not wanting to defy him, you slowly sunk down. He joined you on the cot, carefully taking your wrists in his much larger hands—

“Ow!”

Those hands wrapped around your wrists, his grip tight enough to aggravate your already sensitive skin.

You stared at him with wide eyes, scolding yourself for thinking he was being sincere. “What are you doing?” you hissed. “It hurts.”

“It’ll hurt more if you don’t answer my questions,” he threatened.

You scowled at him. “Quite an interesting interrogation technique.”

His lips twitched. “Think of it as motivation to answer truthfully.”

“Fine, ask your questions.”

“What was your true purpose in crossing the border?”

You blinked. “I told you already, I was stargazing.”

“Tch, you can’t possibly think I’m naive enough to believe that.”

“I wouldn’t possibly expect you to understand,” you sneered.

His fingers twisted around your wrist and you winced. “You best explain it then.”

Your cheeks heated again and you averted your gaze, unable to look at him as you murmured, “I sneak out all the time, to explore. Ever since the war began, my father has commanded I stay within the confines of wherever we’re living.” You took a steadying breath and met his eyes. “I don’t like it, so I escape from time to time. So, Your Majesty, I really was stargazing when your men found me.”

He searched for any sign of deceit, each passing second feeling like several minutes, until finally his fingers loosened. “It appears you’re the naive one here, Your Highness.”

“Listen,” you snapped, “this is the first time something has gone wrong so you’re the one who ruined my perfect track record.”

He cocked a brow, a smirk teasing his lips. “What an honor I’ve been bestowed.”

Was he…making fun of you?

How easily you had seemed to forget who this man was under the thrall of this…effortless banter. You didn’t even know his name.

“Since I answered your question, will you answer one of mine?” It was a risk, you knew that, you were in no position to be demanding anything.

“I’ll entertain it, yes,” the King was quick to respond.

“Why did you have your men take me here, specifically?”

He flashed you a disarming grin. “Haven’t you heard the saying, Princess? Keep your friends close”—he pulled you to him, breath fanning over your face—“but keep your enemies closer.”

Your mouth moved before your mind could catch up. “I’m not your enemy.”

“Aren’t you though?” he questioned. “You’re the only child of the King of Linkon, heir to the throne. This war is yours to inherit, that makes you my enemy.”

“I never wanted that fate,” you said firmly.

His brow furrowed slightly. “Not wanting it doesn’t change the truth of the matter.”

You tugged on your wrists. “It doesn’t mean I can’t dream.”

He sighed, finally letting you go. You chocked up the strange tingle around your wrists to lingering irritation as that was the only reasonable explanation for such a feeling.

“I sent notice to your father of your capture with the intent to negotiate your return. You’ll stay here until I receive his response.”

“You—” Your brows smashed together. “You don’t plan on killing me?”

He looked at you as if you were insane for suggesting such a thing. “That would spell more trouble than you’re worth, I’m afraid.”

You blurted a laugh, incredulous. “How kind of you, Your Majesty.”

He shot you a cutting glare. “A princess who spends her free time searching the stars for an answer to an impossible future is of no use to me.”

You reared back as though he’d slapped you across the face, tears pricking behind your eyes. It was a low blow, and it frustrated you that it hurt so badly.

Unfortunately for the King, you bite back.

“You know, I should really thank you, Your Majesty.”

His eyes narrowed but still, he asked, “For what?”

“For proving the rumors of your cruelty.”

He chuckled. “I’m capable of far worse than cutting remarks, Princess.”

You grinned, clearly taking him aback. “And yet you debase yourself by hurling such derisive insults at a poor, helpless woman like me.”

He sneered, brows bunching.

“As I said,” you purred, “cruel.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You maybe would’ve held your tongue had you known you’d be sharing the double size cot with the King himself.

You were as far away from him as you could manage without falling off the edge and yet it wasn’t far enough to not feel the warmth of his body next to yours.

After your spat, the two of you hadn’t spoken much, tension thick in the air. But it wasn’t a tension that made you feel as though your life was in danger, it was something different. Something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

Curious by nature, and ultimately your downfall, you held out an olive branch to the King.

“Hey,” you whispered into the darkness.

Nothing.

“I know you’re awake,” you continued.

No response.

You rolled your eyes and kicked your foot right into his muscled thigh.

“Oh my gods,” he groaned. “What do you want?”

You turned to face his back. “What’s your name?”

His head whipped to the side, those striking red eyes clear even in the dark. “What?”

“You never told me your name,” you said. “You know mine, it’s not fair that I don’t know yours.”

“I didn’t realize we were playing fair now,” he retorted.

You frowned. “We’ve met each other blow for blow, that seems pretty fair to me.”

He snorted despite himself, then let out a deep sigh as he lay on his back. “Fine.”

You waited, leaning closer to him in anticipation.

“Sylus.”

You blinked.

Rumors of the King of Onychinus had been circling from the moment he assumed the throne. Speculations of his visage—some of which included horns, wings, and a tail—were largely untrue as you now knew. The same could be said for his name, never once had you heard Sylus among them.

“Sylus,” you repeated, wanting to taste his name on your own tongue.

A near imperceptible shiver went through Sylus’s body. “Happy now? Can we sleep?”

You weren’t, not even close, your curiosity now rearing its ugly head.

“Why did you tell me?” you asked.

Sylus just stared at you.

And for some reason, you stared back.

“Because you asked,” he finally answered.

“Will you answer more of my questions?”

“No.”

You smiled. “You like me, don’t you, Sylus?”

He scoffed, giving you his back again. “Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales, Y/N.”

You were struck stupid hearing your name spoken for the first time. Sylus seized on the opportunity and pulled the blanket up, covering his ears. A clear message: conversation over. Not that you could form a coherent sentence at the moment anyway.

There was something about this man—Sylus—that grated on your nerves. Perhaps it was his arrogant attitude or his flippancy. Or perhaps it was how simply interacting with him stirred something long buried within your soul. A desire for more, to be more, to do more. To chase the danger laying mere inches away.

Who was this man, truly? This King of Onychinus? And why were you so drawn to him?

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Two days had passed since your capture with no word from your father. You’d barely seen Sylus, which, though not shocking, bothered you greatly for some inexplicable reason. He only came to the tent at night where he skillfully dodged any attempt at conversation. You didn’t understand why learning his name had made him so avoidant of you. And yet he was simultaneously ensuring you were taken care of and, on your second night, even offered you a bath.

That same night you’d awoken some time before dawn broke only to find yourself far closer to Sylus than when you had fallen asleep. The both of you had migrated toward the middle of the cot and were facing each other. To make matters worse, you each had a hand placed between you, the edges of your pinkies just barely brushing.

Waking to such an unexpected position had you scrambling back so fast you fell off the cot. Luckily you landed on the bear-skin rug, muffling the thud that likely would’ve woken Sylus had the rug not been there.

You couldn’t sleep much after that, and hadn’t really recovered since.

Coupled with exhaustion, you were positively bored to tears spending your days in Sylus’s tent. He had of course ordered you not to leave it under any circumstances and for once you’d actually heeded his warning.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing you slowly.

What better way to pass your time than to rummage through Sylus’s stuff.

Despite having taken a bath two nights ago, you had not changed out of the dress you’d been captured in. You figured the least Sylus could do was let you borrow his nice, clean clothes.

You replaced your dress with one of the many plain white shirts within the chest, glad Sylus was much bigger than you so that his shirt covered your more intimate areas. Much of your legs were still exposed, but what mattered was you were comfortable.

“Princess, are you hun—”

You whirled at the sound of Sylus’s choked off voice just in time to catch his gaze raking over your body.

“What are you doing?” he asked, making a point to look only at your face now.

“You said to make myself at home,” you answered with a shrug of your shoulder.

“I don’t recall saying anything of the sort. Or that you could borrow my clothes.”

“Even if you didn’t, you can’t expect me to traipse around wearing the same dress I was brought here in.”

Sylus’s sigh was long suffering, but…you swore there was something almost fond hidden deep within the exhalation. Surely your mind was just playing tricks on itself.

“My pants won’t fit you,” he said.

You grinned. “Who said anything about wearing pants? This shirt covers me just fine.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are not walking around a war camp with no pants on.”

“How chivalrous of you to mind my safety, Your Majesty, but I was told not to leave this tent.”

“Enough.” He spun on his heel, saying over his shoulder, “I will find you a pair of pants.”

You dropped into a deep curtesy, delicately lifting the edges of his shirt. “I am most grateful, Your Majesty.”

“You might very well be the death of me,” Sylus muttered as he swept out of the tent.

He returned some time later looking far more serious.

He tossed you a pair of pants and boots. “Put those on, then we’re leaving.”

You caught the pants but the boots clattered to the ground. “Leaving?” you repeated. “Leaving where?”

“I finally received word from your father,” he said. “He agreed to meet and negotiate your release as long as he has proof of life.”

“Does he think you killed me already?” you questioned.

Sylus shrugged. “It’s unclear, I assume it’s an excuse to be able to hand you off then and there.”

“You speak of me as if I’m merely a pawn on a chessboard.”

Sylus frowned. “My apologies, Your Highness.”

You blinked at the sincerity in his tone.

He turned, giving you a modicum of privacy. “Get dressed.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Your heart beat so fast you were sure Sylus could feel it against his back.

You sat behind him, arms loose around his waist, on a horse flanked by his two soldiers, Luke and Kieran. The four of you waited—ironically enough—near the flower field at the border for your father to arrive.

“Stop fidgeting,” Sylus hissed.

“I can’t help it,” you shot back.

You couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something was wrong but you couldn’t quite place your finger on why.

Sylus grabbed your hands, stilling them. It was an oddly intimate gesture, especially as the warmth of his much larger hands calmed you.

You didn’t have a chance to process this, or even pull away, as several people joined you by the flower field.

Your father led the charge, sitting proud atop his horse, his sharp gaze landing straight on where you sat behind the King of Onychinus.

And to where that King held your hands in his.

Sylus, entirely unfazed, dismounted the horse. “Stay,” he commanded you before approaching your father who had not gotten off his horse.

Your stomach was in knots as you watched the two kings regard each other.

“What terms do you wish to negotiate for your Princess’s safe return?” Sylus asked, voice cutting through the thick silence.

Your father didn’t do much as glance your way. “I’ve brought no such terms.”

What?

“Oh? Then why are we here?”

“This is a courtesy visit to inform you in person that I have no intention of securing my daughter’s return. You’re free to do with her as you wish, King of Onychinus.”

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

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[shouyuus]

popular host club host!keigo who's constantly the top 1 or 2 in his host club, so he's got a long roster of regulars, but one of them happens to be a good friend of yours who brings you in one day bc you're a bit naive and she thought it was about time you got out there in the world

host!keigo who is no stranger to shy little birdies, but still has a job to do, so he does his usual thing with your friend, asks about her part time job, compliments her new hairstyle, asks if she's gotten that one toner he recommended, before turning to you and offering you a smile and a wink, and is more charmed than a man in his profession should be at the way you turn red and refuse to meet his eyes

host!keigo who keeps it casual, wears relaxed, but chic street-style clothing and keeps his roots bleached well, but almost nothing else, except for the two slits of black he inks into his inner corners; says that they keep his eyes sharp so he can see all his favorite little birds at the club, of course. and suddenly, you can kinda see why your friend likes coming here so much -- the conversation is nice and he's never too pushy, but it's effortless, the way he talks about himself and gets everyone to talk about themselves as well.

host!keigo who's earnest when he asks you about your interest and feels himself smiling when you light up and talk about the things you love -- reading, painting, photography -- your friend cuts in that it's a shame you're too shy to ask him to be a model for one of your projects bc he does photograph really well, to which you blush even harder and keigo wonders briefly if there's something in the air or in the drinks today bc wow is he feeling just a tad lightheaded and from the looks of it so are you.

host!keigo who, when your friends goes to the bathroom, leans across the booth to hand you his card, just a black card with two bright red wings embossed onto the hard cardstock, runs a finger along the line of your cheek, tilts your chin up and says, "if you ever wanna come see me too... i'll make time for you, dove. all you gotta do is ask." but when u tell him, a little too honestly, that you can't afford him, he just looks at you with a little smirk and says "like i said, dove, i'll make time for you." and leaves it at that

host!keigo who texts you good morning and goodnight, who asks you if you've eaten, who, you're pretty sure, on his days off, pings you and asks you what you're doing. so you tell him that you don't have plans and he immediately calls to ask if you want to hang out -- he picks you up at the train station, wearing just a fitted black tee and some loose-fitted jeans, but even then, people are turning around, doing double takes, but he doesn't seem to notice, only grinning and jogging up to meet you, asking if there's anywhere you'd like to go

host!keigo who takes u to the aquarium and then to the park, where you do a few doodles in your notepad. he leans over to watch and even though your first instinct is to hide your work, you let him see it anyway -- something about him makes you want to trust him, and for once, you want to lean into that. he tells you that your art is beautiful, and you ask, before you can stop yourself, if you can draw him, "it'd be my honor, little bird."

host!keigo who makes you laugh by doing the most dramatic poses before leaning up against a tree and closing his eyes and you sketch him out, feeling your heart in your throat, but when you show him, he goes still and quiet, before asking if he can keep it. you nod and hand the sketch over, blushing bc he holds it like it's lost treasure, something he's spent his whole life looking for --

host!keigo who takes you to dollar karaoke, claps and laughs as you try to sing the current idol song, who is, unsurprisingly, fantastic at singing and tells you to pick your favorite song for him to serenade to you, who pays for all the drinks and never asks you to shell out a time; when you try to get the last round, he gently pushes your hand away and says "not today, little bird, i wanna do this so... let me."

host!keigo who, when you ask him if he does this with all his clients, bends down and flicks a bit of hair from your face before his eyes flicker down to your lips, says, "no... only the ones i really, really like."

host!keigo who offers to walk you back to the station but when you get there, he seems hesitant to say something -- when you gently ask about it, he lets out a tiny little laugh, shakes his head and says, "y'know it's weird -- all these years of being a host... i've never felt like this before but... you just -- god, how embarrassing, right? my whole job is to be good at talking to people and here i am, at a loss for words --" he pauses, runs a hand through his hair before turning back towards you with an earnest smile, "guess what im trying to say is... i spend all day tryna make people feel like they're special, like they're the only person in the entire world but... with you... it's the first time someone's made me feel like that and... i kinda wanna be selfish, be greedy and take you somewhere and keep you all to myself but..."

host!keigo who thinks he might be losing his mind when you smile up at him with that brilliant blush of yours and tell him that "if that's what you wanted... i wouldn't mind... if it were you."

[pyxxiestyxx]

H*ndh*lding

I found her hiding deep in the belly of the Radiant Wing, pressed up against a bulkhead and trying not to move a single muscle. She was a slight little thing, as the cycles of malnutrition and overwork has reduced her down to skin and bone. My antennae chirped in distress at the bags under her eyes, at the way her body shook with stress, at the quivering of her lip.

I knelt down low, until I was a mere foot or two higher than her eye level. "Hello, Abigail. Are you hurt?"

She didn't answer me with vocalizations, which was worrying. Was some part of her still attempting to hide? The furry lines above her eyes scrunched together, and she kept her gaze pointedly fixed on the floor a few feet in front of me.

"Abbi- may I call you Abbi?" Her eyes flickered slightly, and she gave the smallest and most hesitant of head movements up and down. I continued, "Abbi, my name is Cherry Berry, Third Bloom, pronouns of She and Her."

The girl's diaphragm twitched spasmodically as she exhaled, a strange and involuntary reaction to my name I've found many Terrans do. It is admittedly very adorable how they are unable to control themselves, similar to how they cannot control their heartbeat.

I kept my body perfectly still as I continued, "Now as you may be aware, my presence here means that this ship has been boarded. As of this moment, all but eight of your fellow crewmates have been sedated, and are being escorted off of this ship, and onto the Illastria. You are to join them. Do you understand?"

The girl shook her head wildly, her ocular organs wide as her heartbeat sharply increased. Many creatures had a fear response, of course; evolution's clumsy attempts at protecting them. I would be much more thorough, once my implant rested within her.

I carefully extended one of the four groupings of vines I had shaped into arms, holding the 'hand' palm-up towards her. Culturally, she would recognize it as an offering.

"Come here, petal. Take my hand."

She need not know the topical xenodrugs I excreted through my vines until later, of course.

The girl pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and nibbled on it as she thought things through. I waited, calmly. She was smart, I knew. Smart enough to have recieved an education at the collegiate level for nearly free, before it was shut down and she was shunted into this accursed coffin of a ship.

Finally...slowly...and ever so shakily, the girl's limb extended out towards mine. I resisted my instinct to close the gap in less than a single of her eye blinks, to slip my injectors under her dermis and make her mine.

That would come later.

Instead, I began to slowly sway my body back and forth. Not enough to be noticeable on its own, but enough that the natural rhythm of my flora to more prominently draw her attention. Like many species, it was difficult for her kind to focus on multiple tasks at once. All I had to do was utilize this trait to my advantage.

Her fingertips touched first, like soft wingbeats of an Al'yssrian upon the surface. They hovered over my own facsimile of her phalanges, and finally came to a rest in the center of my palm, with my own fingertips nestled on her radius and ulna. I allowed myself a full 0.3 seconds to enjoy the feeling of her body. All those complicated systems, each working so inefficiently to maintain that spark called life. The soft tiny hairs on her arm had raised, hundreds of little bumps coating her arm. Another automatic system, most likely. She reacted to me.

...But even so, she was far from ready for me to move, just yet. The sternocleidomastoid muscle was tensed to near-taut, and her ocular organs refused to stay fixed for long. Now that I was touching her directly, I was able to get a much more accurate pulse reading. It was far above resting, and the speed only hastened the effects of the adrenaline coursing through her systems.

I pulled a single vine from the 'back' of my hand, curling it slowly around the side until it hovered over her own. She watched it nervously, and I felt her limb tense in case she needed to pull it back.

"Have you ever seen one of my kind before, Abi?"

The girl paused, then another up-and-down bob of her head.

"...I mean like this. Not on a digital broadcast."

A left-to-right this time. Negative.

"I'm sure you have heard quite a bit about my kind, though. I will say that in turn, I have learned much about you." I was rather disappointed in the meager intelligence gathered for her, a mere twelve Petabytes of shopping habits, familial history, hobbies, disinterests, relationships, and every message sent from a device she has ever so much as looked at. Still, it was enough for me to develop an interest in the Sophont.

The corners of the girl's lips sank down, and the hair strips above her ocular organs scrunched up again. It would be adorable, if it wasn't meant to signal negative emotions.

"The point I am attempting to make is this: that information is useful, but ultimately direct knowledge is the highest priority. As an example..."

The vine dipped down and began to stroke along her metacarpals, a careful pleasing rhythm modeled after my own. The effects, though minor, were immediate: her heart rate shifted down and her eyes locked into the movement, and the scent of her perspiration indicated a reduction in chemicals released from stress. I continued to gently pet her, noting with mild amusement how she used the muscles in her throat she could control to contain any vocalizations. That would have to change, of course. The easiest way would be to remove her ability to notice them via hypnosis, but I enjoyed the way the hue of her face dyed red as she grew more embarassed.

I adopted a softer and quieter tone, causing the girl to lean forward slightly to hear me better. "You see? Nothing to be afraid of, is there? All I offer is comfort and pleasure, petal."

She continued to think while I directed more vines to join the first, carefully running them down and up the length of my grip on her. The topical xenodrugs began to take hold by then, causing her pupils to dilate by thirty...thirty-two percent. I checked my tablet from its place next to my core, and noted that I was one of only three affini left. Still, this could not be rushed.

"Abbi, I am very pleased with you. You are responding wonderfully to me, and I wish to reward you. May I do so?" Needing to ask was ridiculous, of course, but I wasn't quite ready to take...yet. The trap was laid. Now, all that was left was to see if she took the bait. The curiosity. Her kind had to know things. Especially if it is a mysterious 'reward'.

Abbi thought for a full five seconds, then her head bobbed up-and-down.

"Thank you, dear." The vines of my hand wrapped around hers fully while I began to tug, pulling her into the air as I prepared my other arms to cradle her now-prone body. The girl couldn't help but vocalize a squeal, but otherwise she did not struggle. Oh yes, she was absolutely mine in all but name.

I began to drag the clawed tips of my upper right arm across her radius, while the hand holding hers began to massage and squeeze in earnest. Hundreds of different points of contact, varying in intensity, texture, movement.

The girl's nervous system could scarely keep up with the combined input, and I couldn't help but shift the hue of my eyes to a higher frequency as a result. The dazed and unfocused ocular organs...the desperate panting as her chest rose and fell...the way her vocalizations continued to build....

Exquisite.

"Why don't we continue this somewhere more...palatable, little one? I would love to show you my garden."

No response. The drugs had likely reduced her to a mewling mess, and her auditory processing was a consequence. No matter.

I began to walk back towards the Capture vine I came from, continuing to caress and play with her soft skin. "You know, I think you would be much happier with a different name. Specifically, your familial one..."

[bitchinbarzal]

Soulmates | M Barzal

Sunmary: You were married once. You’re not anymore. But your daughter says you’re soulmates — and maybe she’s right.

⸻

Emmy’s teacher asks her to draw her family for parent night.

She draws three stick figures: one with curly hair, one with a hockey stick, and one in a sparkly dress that is obviously her.

At the top of the paper, she writes:

“Me and My Soulmate Parents”

You used to live in the same house.

The one with the big white porch and the crooked tile in the bathroom. The one Mat picked because he liked the sunlight in the kitchen and you picked because it felt like home before you’d even moved in.

You were young. Excited. In love.

And then Emmy came along.

It was beautiful, and exhausting, and real. The kind of love that cracked you both open and poured all the hard, sticky pieces onto the floor — sleepless nights, long road trips, missed milestones, and two people who didn’t know how to stop loving each other, but weren’t sure how to keep going together.

So you stopped.

Not loving. Just trying so hard to fit a shape that didn’t suit you anymore.

You moved into a smaller house closer to your sister. Mat found a place near the water. You told Emmy it meant two birthday cakes, two rooms, double everything. She didn’t cry. She just asked if Taco Tuesdays would still happen.

Mat said, “Of course. We’re still a family.”

And somehow, that was true.

You didn’t get lawyers. Didn’t fight over furniture. You just shifted.

And over time, you found each other again in a new way.

He comes over for dinner every Tuesday. Sometimes Thursdays too. He lets himself in with the same key he’s always had. Brings flowers for you, always. Brings donuts for Emmy on weekends. She always saves the pink one for him.

You don’t sleep in the same bed anymore, but you still fall asleep on the couch sometimes with Emmy curled between you, movie credits rolling, her small hand tangled in Mat’s hoodie, his foot touching yours under the blanket like it’s instinct.

You don’t say I love you out loud anymore. But sometimes you laugh so hard at something he says that you have to grip the counter. And sometimes he looks at you like he remembers every version of you that ever existed. And sometimes he shows up late just to talk. About nothing. About everything.

He’s still your favorite person. Just not in the way he used to be.

One night, Emmy catches you in the kitchen.

He’s in sweats. You’re in an oversized tee. There’s a song playing from your phone and you’re dancing barefoot, just the two of you. His hand on your waist. Your face tucked into his shoulder. You don’t even notice her watching.

Later, she curls up beside you in bed and whispers, “Are you and Daddy getting married again?”

Her voice is hopeful. Careful.

You shake your head gently. “No, baby.”

She frowns. “But you’re soulmates.”

Mat, who’s sitting on the floor braiding her doll’s hair, says softly, “You’re not wrong.”

You still sit side by side at dance recitals. Emmy runs off stage into both your arms. Mat always carries her out on his shoulders while she tells the entire lobby, “My mommy and daddy are best friends!”

You’re each other’s first call when something goes wrong. Or right. Or when the car won’t start. Or when Emmy loses her tooth and forgets which house the Tooth Fairy goes to.

There’s no bitterness. No tension. Just a soft, settled kind of loyalty that doesn’t need definition.

When people ask (and they always ask) Mat shrugs and says,

“We tried marriage. We weren’t great at it. But we’re really good at family.”

And you smile beside him, bump his shoulder, and say,

“Honestly, we like each other more now.”

Maybe it’s not the kind of love that ends in a wedding anymore.

But it’s the kind that never really ends.

Not in separate houses. Not through separate lives.

Just like this.

Always.

Until it shifts.

It starts with her name: Avery.

Mat mentions her in passing one night over tacos, like always.

“She works with the team now. PR.”

You smile. Nod. Sip your drink. Ask him if she’s nice.

“She’s fine,” he says. Then adds, “She asked me out.”

There’s a beat of silence. The room doesn’t shift, not really but something in your chest does.

You take another bite. Swallow hard.

“Oh,” you say. “Are you going to go?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “I guess. Just dinner.”

You nod again, even though your chest aches in a place you haven’t visited in years.

Avery is beautiful, of course.

She wears pencil skirts and red lipstick and calls him Mathew, like she’s known him longer than she has.

The first time Emmy meets her, she’s polite. Shy. Clings to your leg in a way she hasn’t done in years.

Later that night, she curls up beside you again because she asked, and you couldn’t say no.

“Is she gonna be my new mommy?”

The question slices through you.

“No,” you say softly. “I’ll always be your mommy. That won’t change.”

“But Daddy likes her.”

You brush her hair back. “It’s okay for Daddy to like other people. We want him to be happy, remember?”

She’s quiet for a long time.

Then, “I like it better when he’s happy with you.”

You don’t say anything when Mat brings Avery to Emmy’s birthday party.

You smile. Offer her a drink. Introduce her to your parents.

You pretend not to notice the way she watches you and Mat laugh over the cake. The way he takes your hand when you step on a toy. The way Emmy still calls out, “Daddy! Mommy wants to show you something!”

You don’t say anything when Avery frowns.

You don’t say anything when Mat lingers too long before leaving.

You don’t say anything not until the night he knocks on your door alone.

“She asked me what we are,” he says, pacing your kitchen, running a hand through his hair like it’s a problem he can’t solve.

“And what did you say?”

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admits. “Because we’re not together. But it’s not like we’re not… anything.”

You look at him then. Really look. At the man you built a life with. Had a daughter with. Lost and somehow kept.

“You don’t owe me anything, Mat,” you say. “You deserve to move on if that’s what you want.”

He stops in his tracks.

“That’s the thing,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to.”

You don’t breathe.

“I kept thinking maybe this - us was just… easier. Familiar. But Avery said something that made me realize I’ve never actually left you.”

You stand in the quiet for a long moment.

“I don’t know what we are either,” you say softly. “I just know it still feels like something.”

His eyes lift to yours, not relief, not certainty. Just something raw. Open.

He steps closer. Pulls you into a hug. Not rushed. Not romantic. Just warm. Familiar. Safe.

You lean into it.

Because it’s not love. Not yet.

But it’s not nothing.

You don’t kiss him.

He doesn’t ask you to.

But later, when he leaves, his hand lingers on yours for a moment longer than it needs to. And when you close the door behind him, you smile small and unsure like maybe, just maybe, you’re starting again.

Not from scratch.

Just from here.

And Emmy still looks at you both like she knows something you don’t.

[onmyyan]

(ive been spottily active lately and missed soooo much amazing stuff I'm trying to catch up still but the one thing someone mentioned to you is now running circles like an energetic puppy in my brain) yandere batfam angst with (yandere?) superfam fluff. The savior complex. The rivalry. I love your writing so much. I love how so many cool people message you and share ideas. You're awesome.

A/N: First of all you're so sweet ❣️ thank you!! I so appreciate this request and how it made my brain turn!!

In this situation let's say you've already done the whole 'neglected so you leave and trigger their yandere instincts' thing, so you've been kidnapped, bound to the manor for months at this point, but Bruce decides you've been behaving well enough to deserve a treat. He knows how cooped up you feel, he's not as delusional as the rest of his family who believe you love it there, so he takes you with him to the hall of justice, he isn't worried about you escaping after all the hall of justice is in outer space, and you're surrounded by experienced heros, you're not going anywhere.

That's his first mistake.

Clark takes to you immediately. You've got the Wayne charm but so clearly your own person, you stand away from Bruce, asking Clark earnest questions, listening oh so intently, he knows you're an adult, but your so much smaller than him, (the man is 6'3 he's bigger than most people.) he noticed the way your heart rate picked up when Bruce so much as touched you, you were scared of him, he could tell, and this is what ignites that dangerous flame inside him.

He starts by inviting the whole Wayne family over for dinner, can't draw suspicion by inviting only you, (despite that being exactly what he wanted to do) Lois makes a feast, that night you meet Clark's entire family, his son's Conner and Jon, Kara his cousin, and of course Lois his wife, they all focus on you despite trying to play it cool, Kara's around your age and asks if you'd like to go shopping with her in metropolis some day, you smile starting to nod before Bruce answers for you, "Her studies are taking up most of her time nowadays, some other time." He grins taking a bite of his steak.

Clark sets his silverware down, grinning that friendly smile of his, "Well surely she can take a little break, one day away from her studies won't kill her, besides she'll be safe as can be with Kara by her side." Bruce glares at him, he can't outright deny the claims because his own possessive need to have you by his side at all times, and because they're true, so he relents, and that's how you find yourself spending time with her, and in turn the superfam.

It doesn't take long for them to fall in love with the idea of you being there, with them, at their dinner table.

The second they're all in agreement,(about a week after getting to know you) they quickly decide you're better off with them, and when Superman breaks into the Manor one day and sweeps you off your feet, the batfamily can't do anything but watch in horror.

[rafecameronssl4t]

can u do dcc!reader x Rafe where they’re both at like an event, obvs reader w the other cheerleaders and Rafe with his other teammates and he sees when a man touches your waist even tho they aren’t allowed to bc of the no touching rule and the security guard doesn’t notice until you tell him to get his hands off of you. maybe the guy even goes up to Rafe to ask for a photo but he’s rude to him bc he was touching her girl

Hands off || nfl player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

A/n: so creative anon! thank you :)

Warnings: unwanted touching from stranger, lil bit of angst at end if you squint

Word count: 1,973

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The "no touch" policy was quite simple: fans were not allowed to touch the cheerleaders. Footballs were brought to every stand and pose event. This gave fans something to hold during photos, making the interaction less awkward and minimising any potential for psychical contact.

Not everyone knew the rule, though, and some would instinctively try to put their arms around the cheerleaders for a photo. Thankfully, security was always on hand, watching and ready to step in, instructing fans to keep their distance.

Over the three years you've been a dcc, you’ve never had a bad experience with this policy. It’s become second nature, and you trust the system. So when you and a few of the other girls arrive at the event, where fans will be meeting you and taking photos, you think little of it.

The familiar buzz of excitement fills the room, and as you scan the crowd, your eyes land on Rafe. He’s on the other side of the room, already engaged in conversation with a fan. A small smile tugs at your lips as you take in his casual outfit: a pair of well-worn jeans, a black shirt that fits him just right, and a green baseball hat.

Before you can admire him any longer, Kelcey pulls you along to start taking photos. The first few interactions go smoothly, with fans smiling as they pose beside you, football in hand. Of course, there are always a few who try to get a little too close, but security is quick to intervene, keeping everything under control.

As you smile for the camera, you’re completely unaware of Rafe’s gaze locked on you from across the room. His eyes trail over your figure, captivated by your appearance. Your radiant smile, the way you carry yourself—everything about you seems to draw him in. He watches intently, his attention fixed solely on you, as if nothing else in the room matters.

“Watcha lookin’ at?” Chris asks, nudging Rafe’s shoulder with a playful grin. He follows Rafe’s line of sight, his curiosity piqued. It doesn’t take long for Chris to figure out what—or rather, who—has captured Rafe’s attention. A knowing smirk spreads across his face as he spots you across the room. “Coach’s daughter, huh?” he chuckles, turning back to Rafe, who still hasn’t torn his eyes away from you.

Chris can’t resist teasing him a bit more. “Heard from a few fans ‘round here that she’s their favourite,” he comments, watching Rafe’s expression carefully. Rafe scoffs, but the amusement is clear in his eyes. “Too bad. It’s not like it’s my name she’s—” “Woah there, bud. Too much info. Jesus,” Chris interrupts with a laugh, shaking his head as he holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t need to hear all that.”

As Chris walks back to the others, still chuckling to himself, Rafe remains rooted to the spot, his gaze never straying from you. The smirk on his lips only deepens as he watches you, the teasing from Chris barely registering in his mind.

His thoughts are entirely occupied by you—your smile, the way you move, the effortless way you light up the room. Even from across the room, it’s clear that you have a magnetic pull on him, one that he has no desire to resist.

Rafe’s gaze narrows as he notices a man approach you and the other cheerleaders. Even from a distance, it’s clear that this guy’s attention is solely on you. The way he barely acknowledges the others, his focus only really locking on you when it’s his turn for a photo, makes it obvious to anyone paying attention—this man has a particular interest in you.

Rafe watches intently, a sense of unease creeping in as the man lingers around you. Something about him doesn’t sit right. The usual football, meant to occupy fans' hands and prevent unwanted contact, has somehow gone missing, and security is scrambling to find a replacement. In that brief moment of chaos, the man sees his opportunity.

Rafe’s muscles tense as he watches the man discreetly slide his hand around your back. His fingers hover just above your exposed skin, as if hesitating, before finally making contact with your waist and smoothly resting on your hip. It’s a subtle move, but to Rafe, it’s glaringly inappropriate.

His jaw clenches tightly, frustration bubbling up as he realises the sea of fans between you and him would make it impossible to reach you in time. He feels a surge of protectiveness and helplessness all at once.

But then, he notices your reaction. You don’t hesitate—your hand quickly grabs his, pulling it firmly away from your body. Your expression is unreadable from where Rafe stands, but he can see that you’re saying something to the man, your words lost in the noise of the crowd. Fortunately, before the situation escalates further, the security guard steps in. His large frame moves between you and the man, effectively blocking any further contact.

Rafe exhales, tension still coiled in his muscles, but relieved that you handled the situation with the confidence and poise he’s come to admire in you. Even from across the room, he can see that you’re okay, but that doesn’t stop the protective instinct from simmering just beneath the surface.

~

The moment you make eye contact with the fan, a strange vibe settles over you. There’s something off about the way he looks at you, his gaze intense and fixated. Still, you smile at him, greeting him politely even as he barely acknowledges the other girls.

His focus is entirely on you, and you can feel the discomfort creeping in. A quick glance at Kelcey and Reece confirms they feel it too, their eyes mirroring your unease. "Hi, how are you?" you ask, maintaining your practiced smile as the man approaches. You guide him to the center, between you and Kelcey, trying to keep things professional.

"I'm so great," he replies, grinning at you in a way that makes your skin crawl. You nod, forcing a smile, though the unease gnaws at you. "You're even more gorgeous up close," he comments, his voice laced with something that makes you nervously chuckle.

"Thank you..." you reply, your voice trailing off as you notice the security guards in conversation. Concern flickers in your eyes, and you glance at Kelcey for confirmation. "They lost the football," she whispers, and you nod in understanding, trying to keep your composure.

"Did the other guy maybe take it with him—" Before you can finish your sentence, you feel it—a hand sliding onto your waist, then resting on your hip bone. Your body tenses, and without hesitation, you step away, firmly pulling his hand off of you.

"Please do not touch me," you say, your voice steady and commanding. The firmness of your tone catches the attention of everyone around you. The man’s bravado crumbles in an instant, replaced by nervousness as all eyes turn on him. "I didn’t mean to—sorry," he stammers, but the lie is obvious, his excuse flimsy.

You narrow your eyes slightly, your patience wearing thin. "You didn’t mean to feel up my waist and hip?" you challenge, your voice tinged with defensiveness. Before the situation can escalate further, a security guard steps in, his imposing presence effectively cutting off the interaction.

"Okay, that’s enough," the guard says firmly, positioning himself between you and the man. "Sir, were you aware that there is a strictly no-touching rule when it comes to taking pictures with the cheerleaders?" The man gulps, his earlier confidence evaporating. "No—no, I had no idea—"

The guard raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You’re telling me you haven’t seen the signs that are everywhere informing you about this?" His tone leaves no room for argument. "Move along, please," the guard instructs, gesturing with a dismissive wave of his hand. As the man sheepishly slinks away, the guard turns to you, his voice softening. "Miss, are you okay?"

You nod, your pulse still racing but your composure intact. "I’m fine, thank you," you reply, your voice steady. Kelcey and Reece quickly move to your side, their concern evident as they guide you away from the scene.

"Let’s get to the changing rooms," Kelcey murmurs, her arm around your shoulder as the next group of cheerleaders takes over. You allow yourself to be led away, grateful for the support, but also determined not to let the incident shake you.

~

Rafe watches intently as you disappear from view with the other girls, a tightness in his chest gradually loosening as you’re led safely away. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, turning back to face the next round of fans lining up for pictures. His mind is still half on you, replaying the scene over in his head, but he forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

A few more fans pass by, offering handshakes and snapping photos, but then something catches Rafe’s eye—a familiar face in the crowd. It’s him. The same guy who had touched you earlier. Rafe’s entire body stiffens, his muscles tensing as a wave of anger surges through him.

His glare sharpens, eyes narrowing on the man who seems completely oblivious to the fury directed his way. The guy casually makes his way down the line of players, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in Rafe’s eyes.

When the man finally reaches Rafe, he extends his hand with the same nonchalant attitude, expecting another casual greeting. But Rafe has no intention of letting this slide. He grasps the man’s hand in a firm, vice-like grip, squeezing just hard enough to send a clear message.

The man’s expression shifts from easygoing to startled as he looks up at Rafe, his brows furrowing in confusion. Rafe meets his gaze head-on, his eyes cold and unyielding. There’s no need for words; the intensity of Rafe’s stare says it all. The man fidgets slightly, trying to mask his discomfort, but it’s clear he’s rattled by the unexpected show of strength and the silent warning in Rafe’s eyes.

The handshake lingers a beat too long, the tension thick in the air, before the man awkwardly pulls his hand back, mumbling something under his breath as he moves on to the next player. Rafe watches him go, his jaw still clenched. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, but the anger simmering beneath the surface remains.

When it came time for the group photo, Rafe made sure his smile was practiced, not genuine, his eyes cold as the man stood at the center of the group. The man's audacity to remain at the event after what he had done gnawed at Rafe, his mind replaying the earlier scene with a growing sense of disbelief and anger.

As soon as the photo was taken and the man left, Rafe rolled his eyes and shook his head, barely able to contain his frustration. "I need to take five. Gotta hit the bathroom," Rafe said to the event coordinator, his tone controlled but urgent. "Yeah, sure, go ahead," she replied, barely glancing up as she continued to redirect the flow of fans.

Without wasting another second, Rafe made his way to the girls' changing room, his heart pounding with concern. He knocked in a familiar rhythmic pattern, the signal you both had used before to let each other know it was safe to open up.

You opened the door, and before you could say a word, Rafe swept you off your feet, pulling you into a tight embrace. The door clicked shut behind him as he nudged it closed with his foot, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The tension you’d been holding onto melted away the moment you felt his warmth, your own arms sliding around his waist.

"I saw what happened," he murmured against your hair, his voice soft but filled with concern. "You okay?" You let out a shaky breath, your face buried in his chest as you absorbed the comfort he offered. "Not really," you admitted quietly, the vulnerability in your voice evident. "But I'll be fine."

Rafe’s arms tightened around you, his grip steady and reassuring. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, letting the silence speak for the care he felt. He knew you were strong, that you could handle yourself, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to shield you from every bad moment, every unsettling experience. He couldn’t change what had happened, but he could be there for you now, and that was enough.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just holding onto each other as the world outside faded into the background. Rafe’s presence was a balm to your frayed nerves, grounding you in a way that made the fear and unease dissipate, if only for a little while.

Finally, Rafe leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand gently cupping your face. "If you need anything, you tell me, alright? You don’t have to go through this alone." You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you, Rafe. I’m glad you’re here."

His gaze softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. "Always," he whispered, the promise clear in his voice.