#i've been putting it off for a while and it's finally done!!!

[vamplvs]

I WANT SOMEONE BADLY

INCLUDES -> bradley "rooster" bradshaw x fem!reader WARNINGS -> jealousy, pining, alcohol, bradley is an idiot (lovingly) WORD COUNT -> 4.7k SUMMARY -> bradley has long since been the designated performer for the daggers, and that's no different when he's jealous, pining, and well past tipsy.

NOTES -> i've been sitting on this for so long but here she finally is <3 it's a little corny, and a little trope-y, but i had a blast writing it. the songs are "layla" by derek & the dominos and "i want someone badly" by jeff buckley! originally the first song was going to be "slow hand" by the pointer sisters if anyone wants to give that one a listen, too. as always: comments & rbs are much appreciated, and my asks are open!

it's been a year now since the mission from hell, and everyone is scattered across the continent. hangman and coyote are stationed out in the midwest, bob and phoenix are in south carolina, and everyone else has found a new crew.

you and bradley have been lucky enough to stay stationed in san diego. bradley, of course, is still flying with the navy, while you spend your days teaching at top gun. safe to say, the two of you have stayed close between the occasional movie night, brunches with mav, and beach days—when you have a day off anyways. when you don't, bradley finds a way to visit you at top gun despite it.

it isn't easy to coordinate yearly leave among the rest of the crew, but when they finally manage it during the dead of summer, the hard deck is already full of life. people crowd around the bar and the tables, chatting and laughing over the music.

bradley catches the wide grins on mav and penny's faces when they see the daggers walking in, ready to wreak havoc. their smiles only grow wider when the group pulls mav into a group hug, bradley leading the charge.

it's the first time in a long time that they're all in the same place at the same time, and hell if it isn't making people nostalgic. there's some classic rock song from mav's old piloting days ringing through the jukebox. hangman has, predictably, started up a betting pool around the billiards table, dragging mickey, javy, and a reluctant bob with him. the others hover in their own circles, leaving you, natasha, and bradley to catch up at one of the high tops.

it's been exciting talking to her again after so many months have passed. she and bob have been stationed out in south carolina, and it comes with story after story about the antics that the two of them get up to—well, more like the ones natasha pulls bob into.

by the time you decide to get more drinks for the three of you, your stomach is aching from laughter.

bradley just watches as you wander up to the bar. he takes in the sway of your hips, your easy confidence, all of it.

"still haven't done anything about that, then?" natasha asks, leveling a deeply accusatory look at him.

"about what?"

"rooster, you can't be serious." when he looks at her incredulously, she bursts into laughter. "oh, come on, you two have been dancing around each other for a year now! we all see it."

his ears go pink. "that's not-"

"oh, don't you deny it. i have eyes."

"i am serious!" bradley is sure you have no interest. it's been a year—more than that if you include your time at top gun together and a few sparse meetings between that and the big reunion last year—and he's been quietly pining all the while. if there was even a chance with you, he would have taken it by now.

"whatever you say," she replies, her head turning to you.

and when bradley follows suit, he sees you standing all-too close to a man at the bar. he's tall, classically handsome—all in all, the kind of guy you'd expect to see in a rom-com—and he stands so close that his arm is nearly brushing yours. you laugh and smile at something he says, and the hand he puts on your arm sends a chill through bradley. it sinks like a pit in his stomach, churning through the several beers he's had and their subsequent buzz.

the chill turns into a sickening haze when he sees the man pass you a napkin that surely has his number on it.

"told you so," bradley mutters, turning away to face the game of eight-ball that jake is still running. the clattering of the balls and the cheers are more than enough to drown out the pulse roaring in his ears.

he entirely misses your polite rejection, the way you nod your head back to the team, and the hop in your step when you finally turn to bring the drinks back.

"ugh, sorry i took so long. poor penny is still teaching mav to make cocktails," you say with a laugh when you return. you hand them their beers with little ceremony, before following bradley's eye line. "bagman still running the betting pool?"

"you know it," bradley replies, keeping his eyes locked ahead of him. the thought of seeing that man's number in your hand makes his palms sweat.

"you'd think he'd learn that bob kicks his ass every time." that makes bradley and natasha laugh. "his entire job is aiming a laser at a tiny pinprick, pool is no big deal."

"and yet, he insists on betting against him," nat sighs.

the night continues with more drinks, more pool, and more stories from their deployments. jake tells some story about his greatest exploits—which javy quickly interrupts by informing the entire team just how spectacularly jake fumbled only a week later. the team laughs, and it's back to business as usual.

eventually, javy and jake push bradley to the piano, insisting he play something good—citing the first time they were all at the hard deck together. nostalgia is one hell of a drug after a few beers. he warms up, hammering down a few notes and a glissando into an opening chord.

the bar's attention is caught on him and the piano. a handful of older couples immediately recognize the song, standing to dance—which would include penny and mav if they weren't manning the bar. but they sway to the song, mav against penny's back with his arms around her waist. he whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh.

"what'll you do when you get lonely and nobody's waiting by your side?"

your eyes are stuck on bradley, too. his glasses sit comfortably on the end of his nose, his standard patterned button up is open, and he bleeds a confidence so easy that it's impossible to take your eyes off him. he looks good doing what he loves, and he knows it. and maybe there's some self-satisfied part of him deep down that's pleased to see how he's stolen you're attention.

"you've been running and hiding much too long you know it's just your foolish pride."

as he ramps up to the chorus, the bar is ready to sing along with him. "layla," they all cheer, you included.

"you've got me on my knees"

his eyes drift over to yours for just a fraction of a second, his wide grin splitting even wider before he flits his gaze away to where natasha, bob, and mickey are all shouting the lyrics. well, natasha and mickey shout the lyrics at bob, while he sort of mumbles them quietly, embarrassed by the attention.

it's only a few minutes of bradley performing, but with the pressure of your eyes on him, it feels like an eternity. he's not sure he's ever been more aware of who he's looking at when he sings. there's a woman who has sidled up to the piano, singing every lyric with tequila on her breath, and it takes everything in him not to roll his eyes at her and find yours in the crowd.

he finishes the song with one final, dramatic chord, and the bar erupts into cheers. his eyes lock onto yours and you tip your drink toward him like a salute, whooping along with the rest of the bar. you gesture to the space next to him with a raised brow, and he turns to see the same woman from before leaning against the piano with a nearly empty cocktail glass in her hand.

she introduces herself, but bradley's mind is elsewhere. his eyes scan the space you were just in to find you gone. were you really playing wingman just now? the woman is saying something about his hands, but bradley can't care less, not with your apparent disappearing act. he excuses himself politely, ignoring her pout and the way her friends urge her to find another guy to hit on.

people are packed tightly around him, patting him on the back and clapping for him. he smiles politely in return. the longer he searches for you the more concerned he gets. you aren't by the bar or with the rest of the team by the pool table. hell, he doesn't even find you by the jukebox despite the ever changing cycle of music it goes through.

when he finally takes a step outside, he sees you sitting at the stairs leading down to the beach. it's a lot quieter outside, with the chaos and noise of the hard deck trapped within its walls. you're mindlessly twirling your drink in your glass.

"nice playing in there," you say with a glance over your shoulder.

"thanks," he says simply, taking a seat next to you. his glasses hang from the neckline of his old, white tank. the silence between you is thick, and right when he's going to break it by saying something that'll probably be stupid, you interrupt.

"no luck with that girl?" bradley is taken aback.

"what?" your eyes stay focused on the beach in front of you. the crash of every wave is steady and familiar.

"she spent the entire song singing at you, rooster," you tap your shoulder against his in what's supposed to be a playful gesture, but it falls flat.

"oh, yeah," he responds dumbly, "dunno, she's not really my type." he nearly winces as he hears himself say it.

you fall silent again, and bradley joins you in it. it's not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it's heavy. there's so much more he wants to say. that she's not his type because you are, because he's spent a year looking into your eyes, laughing at your jokes, going warm when your hands touch him. that he's spent a year wishing he could say something to you without messing what you have up.

it took ages for you two to get to where you are with the easy banter and the quiet movie nights. the two of you have spent long enough laughing about your almost-rivalry back in your top gun days that he knows you care about this friendship just as much as he does. and the last thing he wants to do is lose that by running his mouth.

"i should get going," you say. "i have to prep for next week's classes."

bradley watches as you leave for a second time that night, mumbling a quiet goodbye after you.

-

on leave, the team spends time exploring san diego again. they go to wine and beer tastings, try new cafes and restaurants, and even find the time to hike through the torrey pines natural reserve—that one is bob's request, and boy, does it deliver. it has the entire team winded by the end of it—except, miraculously, for bob, who brought a camera to take pictures with. 

but bradley's favorite, of course, is the afternoon they spend at the beach in front of the hard deck. dogfight football is up and running the minute people put their bags down. jake just can’t resist the urge to goad people on, so bradley gets wrapped up in the competition, too. initially, it's shirts versus skins, but with the hot san diego sun beating down, everyone is stripped to their trunks pretty quickly, not that it does much to dissuade the heat from tearing through them.

all the while, you're trapped at top gun teaching classes until later in the day. bradley's not even sure you'll be able to make it with the way things have been going with the new class of pilots. so, he puts you out of his mind, focusing on the game at hand—and how badly he wants to knock jake down on his ass just to teach him a lesson about talking shit.

when penny brings out lemonade for everyone, the sun is still bright overhead and unbearably hot. bradley's skin is sticky with sweat, and he holds the icy glass to his cheek with a sigh. sitting on his towel with the drink in his hand is easily the best decision he’s made all day. natasha takes no time in jogging over to him with a smug grin.

"saw you chase the love of your life outside after layla the other night," she sips on her lemonade like it proves something.

"she's not the love of my life-"

"oh, yeah? then why do you follow her around like a lost puppy?" he doesn't have a response for that and clears his throat, trying to pretend that his ears aren't burning. "she totally dug it."

"nat, she tried to set me up with another girl. i got wing-manned." the memory of your raised eyebrow and the way you asked if he had any luck with her make his stomach churn.

natasha snorts. "oh, please, if she was actually wing-manning you, she wouldn't have run outside to avoid the aftermath." bradley tries to formulate some kind of intelligent response, but gets cut off by natasha perking up. "speak of the devil!"

bradley turns to see you walking over with your towel in hand. he tries not to stare, god, he tries. but you're wearing a button up you borrowed from him months ago, and it's open over your bathing suit. there's something about that and the shorts you're wearing that makes the blush spread from his ears to his cheeks and down his neck. you look unfairly good in his clothes.

"all good things i hope!" you reply with a smile so bright bradley swears you've stolen the sun for yourself. natasha is quick to pull you into a hug—one that you're ready to reciprocate.

"rooster was just telling me how much he misses you," she nudges him, and he has to fight the urge to strangle natasha.

"it's only been a week, bradshaw, missing me that bad already?" you toss down your beach towel and sit next to him, still laughing at her words.

he tries to play it off with a shrug. "what can i say? i've been spoiled." natasha gives you a cryptic look that he can't decipher. as a matter of fact, he doesn't even get the chance to try before jake is calling everyone to the shoreline for a rematch. half the beach groans, complaining about the heat, and the other half start up their goading once more.

“c’mon, rooster, afraid of getting your ass handed to you?” jake calls, tossing the football in the air in a way so cocky only he could manage it.

you laugh when natasha drags him over to jake, already placing a pair of sunglasses over your eyes to sit and watch from afar. he shrugs apologetically at you. "get his ass, bradshaw!" you cheer.

-

the game only officially ends when the sun starts to set. it's been on and off for the rest of the afternoon, with people taking breaks to swim and cool off throughout. somehow, you and bradley never quite end up in the same place at the same time. it isn't until everyone is packed back into the hard deck that you get the chance to talk properly.

the two of you sit at a high top by the end of the pool table, drinks in hand once more as the team's usual chaos unfolds around you. it’s like a do-over of the week before: the betting pool going strong around the billiards table, the same old rock songs playing through the jukebox, and you and bradley tucked into a corner of your own.

"i thought you said you weren't going to make it today," he prompts, looking at you over his beer.

"that was before the admiral interrupted with some group punishment for breaking the hard deck," you say with a laugh.

"oh, you've got a maverick, then?" he nods his head over to where mav is desperately trying to wipe down a spill on the bar top that he no doubt caused.

"something like that," you reply, "there's always some kind of rivalry at top gun, but these two..." bradley laughs at your grimace.

"no worse than us, i hope." he taps his bottle against your glass in a mock toast.

"bradley, they are so much worse." he watches you launch into some story about your students, your smile echoed on his face.

and so conversation flows along with the drinks, the two of you wrapped up in your own world until jake—being the bastard he is—interrupts to drag bradley away to the billiards table. for a second time that day, bradley is pulled away from you against his will.

he is going to tear jake to shreds for this, beers be damned.

he relishes in your cheers whenever he knocks the stripes into the pockets. until your attention is taken from him, that is.

somehow, between his turn and the next, the same man from the weekend before has found his way to the table bradley left you at. he's taken up bradley's seat and is apparently content to just chat you up without any care for the rest of the crew observing this newcomer to their night out. even bob is prickling at his presence.

and if bradley breaks when the next game starts with a little more force than strictly necessary, no one says anything about it. if he plays a little harder, if he's a little snappier, every time he looks over and that man is closer to you, then quite frankly, it isn't anyone's business but his.

he drops his cue on the table and marches off to get another drink when he sees you lean in to hear the guy better. he hears jake call after him, but he pays him no heed. god, he needs another beer if he's going to put up with this tonight, too.

mav gets bradley a drink with a raised eyebrow. "trouble with the girl?" mav asks, nodding over to where you're sitting.

"how'd you-"

"bradley, i've known you since you were a kid," he responds like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "just say something."

"it's not that simple, mav, she's..." bradley trails off. perfect? is that what he means? unattainable? uninterested? he takes a long swig from his beer, a comfortable buzz settling in his chest. whether that's the beer or the thought of you, he's not sure.

"if you want to keep pining, that's on you." mav shrugs. "but take it from me, doing something about it is better than nothing."

"now you're playing wingman?" mav scoffs at that, but it doesn't have any heat.

"i'm trying to play dad, but whatever works for you, kid."

bradley goes quiet and lets mav get to the other patrons asking for drinks—which he is almost certainly going to ask penny for help with. he watches as they dance around each other gracefully, like despite mav's inexperience behind a bar, he knows exactly where penny's going to move. he watches the gentle hand that mav puts on her waist, and christ, he's in deep. all he can think about is you.

he thinks back to that movie night you had a few months ago. the two of you maneuvered around your small kitchen making popcorn and hot chocolate. he had pulled the same stunt—a hand on your waist to guide you out of his way. a hand that you hadn't pulled away from. he remembers the warmth of you next to him and your smile when you finally got to curl up on the couch with a warm mug and an oversized bowl of popcorn between you.

he thinks about the brunches you've had with mav and penny, and how they almost felt like dates. you had made a joke about getting introduced to the parents so soon, and the tips of bradley's ears had gone warm. if he were introducing you as his girlfriend, it would have gone spectacularly. you hit it off with mav immediately, somehow. even though you technically had met him before at top gun, there was a difference between captain pete “maverick” mitchell and mav, the closest thing bradley has to a father—even if he’d never outright say it to mav’s face. but getting that man friendly outside of a plane-related situation was a feat he could have kissed you for.

he thinks to last week. the grin on your face when he looked at you while he was playing, while he sang at you—no, sang to you.

and that's precisely where the too-loud, too-tipsy, only slightly jealous part of bradley's mind kicks straight into overdrive. he slams back the rest of his beer and takes a glance over his shoulder to where you're sitting. the man still sits across from you, but like you sense him looking, your eyes meet his with a concerned furrow to your brow. he's not sure how long he's been standing at the bar, but based on the look you give him, it's been long enough.

he turns and marches over to the jukebox, unplugging it unceremoniously. the bar lurches into a chorus of groans until bradley takes a seat at the piano.

"now i-" he starts, his voice ringing into the near silent bar.

"i want someone badly"

the first chord he strikes on the piano summons a round of whoops from the pool table.

"got a girl here tonight, want someone new"

he pretends not to notice the way your attention is focused on him again, pretends that the heat on his face is from beer and beer alone. his head is down, intent on staring holes into the piano keys. couples around the bar are starting to sway together, and he dreads the thought of you getting up with the guy you've found. he's sure that the man is offering you a hand right about now, that you'll take it, and bradley will have to walk off to drown his wounds with another drink.

"'cause i, i cry all over madly don't do anything, do it for me."

the daggers have found themselves by the piano, arms thrown over shoulders and swaying. they sing along and it's a small comfort in a sea of strangers. he hears natasha's voice above all, singing the lyrics with a passion that she always carries with her when he does this.

"i wanna know am i sure that i have your love?"

and that's when bradley figures it's a good idea to look out into the crowd that's around him. it's cruel how easily he can find your eyes amongst the throng. you stand a ways away from him, alone and glowing under the warm lights of the hard deck. your mouth is slightly parted, but he can't figure out if its shock or something else. and then there's that look in your eye. he'd almost believe you're in love with him.

or maybe bradley's just drunk.

"if you're leaving, just make sure it's right now i want someone badly"

the crowd cheers when he hits a high note, but his eyes are locked on the way your jaw clamps shut.

"could it be true that someone is you?"

the final chord rings out along with varied forms of praise from those around him. natasha asks him a question, but he's already on his way outside before he can hear it properly. adrenaline is crackling through him viciously, bringing a shake to his hand that he hasn't felt since he first started training in the flight sims.

he sits on the steps of the hard deck with a thud. the porch is blessedly empty, leaving him to process exactly what he just did. the cool ocean breeze is doing wonders to sober him up. or maybe that's the dread pooling in his stomach. he can't tell anymore.

did he seriously just fucking serenade you? what kind of rom-com bullshit-

"you um, you played really well in there." your voice, gentle and soothing, pulls him from his spiral, and his head whips around to face you.

"thanks," he replies shortly, and his tone makes himself wince. there’s a distinct sense of deja-vu that hits bradley suddenly, like he’s entered some fucked up kind of parallel universe. the two of you stand awkwardly on opposite ends of the deck. your hands fidget, and tomorrow, bradley will surely blame the beers on the way his eyes linger on them.

it takes you another moment to move toward him, taking a seat by his side. you're so close that he can smell your perfume over the breeze, and isn't that just the cruelest trick yet? that he can't reach over to you and kiss you breathless, that he can't hold your hand in his. instead, he just sits miserably next to you, reliving his own stupid idea to play jeff buckley in the hard deck.

man, if he's thinking like this, he must really be gone.

"was that-" your voice cracks, "nat said i should come out and talk to you."

"of course she did." he picks at the corners of his nails.

"she said that was for me." your voice is indecipherable, and bradley's not sure he can stomach looking you in the eye right now.

he sighs, running a hand down his face. it's too hot out, now. the cool breeze from before has been sucked away by your presence.

"i just didn't want to see you with him, anymore," he mutters. there's another horrible, tense silence between you, and it's not one that he's in any rush to break.

"was that what this was? jealousy?" your voice is impossibly small.

"no, i-" jealousy made it sound like he had any kind of claim over you. jealousy sounded like he thought he had a chance at keeping the careful balance of his sanity and your friendship.

"so you sing that for all the girls in there, then?" you press, and in a world where he isn't head over heels for you, it would have been infuriating.

it still is infuriating, and bradley can't help but laugh.

"no, god, no." his laugh is shaky and a little dejected. he finally turns to face you, trying his damnedest to suck in every anxiety he has about this. he thinks, quite possibly, that this is the only time tonight he's been grateful for the alcohol.

that same heavy silence fills the air between you.

your eyes are wide when he looks at you, filled with something unreadable and maybe a bit of hope. his eyes flit between yours, and maybe, just for a moment, they linger on how your lips are upturned ever so slightly.

"just kiss me already, bradley."

and he does. by god, he does, and it's like a breath of fresh air. your lips are soft against his, and if it's a little clumsy, he doesn't mind. not when his hand is on your cheek, and yours is in his hair, and you taste like heaven on earth. the kiss lasts a lifetime, or it feels that way to bradley, anyways. it's the entire year he's spent wishing to be by your side wrapped into one small moment.

when you finally pull away from him, the two of you are panting. your foreheads rest against each other, and bradley can't seem to get his hands off you. the same one stays on your cheek and rubs small circles while the other is tentative against your waist. he's nearly giddy at holding you so close.

"you have any idea how long i've been waiting for you to do that?" you ask.

"probably about as long as i have," he replies with a hoarse voice.

"didn't think you were interested." you give him an incredulous look when he starts laughing, but that only makes him laugh harder.

"i should've listened to natasha so long ago." at that, you join him, head tilted back, and laugh into the sky. it's a long moment where the two of you giggle like schoolgirls outside the hard deck, and bradley wouldn't change it for the world. "think anyone will notice if we leave?"

you think for a moment and reply, "nat definitely will."

"she'll consider it a win." and that sends another round of laughs through you both.

the next morning, the team makes a plan to get brunch at a little cafe nearby, and if they notice that you and bradley arrive together and sit just a bit too close, no one says anything about it.

no one except for natasha, that is.

she finally catches a moment with bradley alone when people are saying their goodbyes.

"you finally did something about your pining?" she asks, a grin already spreading across her face.

bradley shrugs, but the smile he dons is telling, and the gentle kiss he places against your temple when you walk over to him, even more so.

[friend-of-giants]

•●Wednesday Wrensday●•

The stars have aligned, I'm finally here with a little something to share! Since finishing that dreaded dragon fight chapter, I've been able to work some on the aftermath. It's at a choppy stage right now and needs some refining and editing, but I've put words on the page and I'm happy with that.

Tagging... @theoneandonlysemla @skyrim-forever @umbracirrus @silly-little-diary @heavy-metal-dick @chiqita @labskeever and anyone else who sees this. It's been a while and I forget who I usually tag lol

For those of you who haven't caught up with my fic, the black, hollow eyes is one of my own lil headcanons. I don't want to spoil it, but it just means something ain't right (and it ties back to Miraak, lol)

The dragon appeared to be dead, its massive body lying limp on the damp earth.  Its neck and most of its head were burnt black, its scales split apart and oozing blood.  Just behind the slain beast stood the Dragonborn, and she was alive.  Teldryn felt his heart beat thunderously, though as he began to stumble toward her, dizzy with relief and adrenaline, it became obvious that something wasn't quite right.

Thick gray smoke billowed from her gauntlets, bringing with it the unmistakable stink of hot metal.  Scattered in the dirt at her feet lay dozens of shards of ebony and a smoldering strip of leather—all that remained of her prized axe.  But most worrisome was the look in her eyes, or a lack thereof.  With a gaze as hollow and dark as the Void itself, Wren stared ahead at the dead dragon, her mouth twisted into a sinister grin as she awaited its soul. 

Teldryn stepped aside and watched it happen.  He wasn't sure what to focus on, the way the dragon's flesh melted from its bones and turned to light, the shimmering golden strands rushing from its corpse into her body, or how absolutely pleased Wren looked as she absorbed the light, but somehow he managed to witness the entire experience with equal amazement.  

He had to wonder how it must feel to absorb the life force of something as powerful as a dragon.  Did it hurt, did it burn?  Did it feel good, or did it make her feel, just for a moment, that she was the one with wings? 

As the last of the dragon's soul disappeared into her, Wren's body shuddered, and she dropped to the ground with a weak groan.  It was almost identical to what he had witnessed in the Skaal village when she returned to Nirn after slaying Miraak, but this time he hoped she wouldn't be unconscious for a whole damn week—or worse. 

Restraining his panic, Teldryn rushed to kneel at her side, found the clasps of her still smoking gauntlets and hastily undid them, then pulled them off.  He drew in a breath of shock at the sight.  Her skin on her palms and fingers were reddened and blistered in a familiar web-like manner that he often saw on aspiring mages who hadn't quite gotten the hang of casting electric spells.  It was nothing he couldn't mend with a stronger healing spell and some burn salve, but to see it on someone who often struggled to light the hearth with her own magic?  It filled him with more questions than he might ever get answers to. 

What in the blazes have you done?

[paramountinplace]

Could you write something about Mari shyly asking if she could get a Luke skywalker action figure cause she saw that Mel got a Darth Vader action figure as a reward. Van and Tai were at first very skeptical thinking maybe she was asking as a new way to tease Mel but no she just secretly loves Star Wars. And absolutely lights up when they (hesitantly) agree to get it for her.

(I am pushing my silly little ‘Mari is actually a secret nerd’ agenda)

I Choose Luke - Little!Mari

Summary: As detailed above! Mari badly wants a Luke Skywalker action figure, but is met with a bit of skepticism. Turns out, she just loves Star Wars.

Mari had been inching closer and closer to Van ever so slowly, trying to make her approach seem casual. Van was pretending not to notice the girl staring at her and taking a few steps closer at a time, wanting to see how this was going to play out. Finally, Mari gave up the act of casually getting Van's attention and threw herself down on the couch next to her.

"Oh, hey, kiddo!" Van greeted, enthusiastically. "Where'd you come from?"

The look she got in return was disbelieving.

"I was right there," Mari replied, pointing a few feet away.

"I didn't even notice," Van said drily.

Mari huffed but waved a hand between them dismissively.

"I have a question," she stated. Van nodded encouragingly. Mari took a deep breath before speaking again. "I want a new toy."

"You've got an allowance, don't you?"

"No!" Mari cried, crossing her arms. "You know that."

"Alright, alright, sorry, kid," Van relented. "Done with the jokes."

"You know how I've been so good about not getting into fights with Shauna?" Mari asked.

Van considered this. Mari had, by all accounts, been unusually well behaved in the past week. She'd gotten into no more than two minor disputes with Gen, hadn't said a mean word when Misty came home drenched by the rain, done all her chores without being asked, and taken care of Akilah for a whole day without complaining about it once. And, as she'd claimed, she hadn't gotten into any fights with Shauna—not even when the other girl had nicked a few of Mari's barbies to use in her reenactment of the Titanic.

"You have been quite good about that, Mar," she agreed. Mari's face lit up and she nodded eagerly, leaning a little closer to Van in her excitement.

"And you know how you got Mel something for getting her cast off without throwing a fit?"

Van nodded. They had gotten Mel something for getting her cast off without throwing a fit, as had been frantically promised by Tai when Mel burst into tears upon being told she would have to go back to the hospital in a week to get her cast off. She'd very carefully picked out a Darth Vader action figure, holding up proudly to Van once she'd made her selection. Mel had been in a bit of a Star Wars phase and had been wearing the same Stormtrooper-emblazoned hat every day for more than a month.

"We did do that, yeah."

"So, I was thinking maybe I could get something too if I keep not fighting with Shauna," Mari mumbled, suddenly shy as she looked down at her lap.

Van smiled, reaching out to tip Mari's chin up. She didn't think Tai would mind if she agreed without consulting her.

"That sounds like a great plan, bub," she said. "If you can give me one more week without fighting, we'll go to the store, okay?"

The ultimatum motivated Mari so much over the next week that she strayed into absurdity—avoiding Shauna at all costs, which Tai quickly put a stop to when she realized and explained to Mari that while she was glad she was taking it so seriously, avoiding Shauna was probably more likely to end in a fight than just being nice.

Despite one minor spat, Tai and Van decided at the end of the week that Mari had done well enough to earn her reward. Mari was thrumming with quiet excitement as they buckled her into the car, kicking her feet happily as they made the trip to the store. She was so excited that she didn't say a word as they arrived, letting Van and Tai follow her into a toy aisle as she weaved through the store with expert precision.

She picked something up off a shelf and turned back to them.

"Done," she murmured. Tai blinked as Van hide a chuckle behind her hand. They'd been expecting as least twenty minutes of back-and-forth alongside multiple requests to go to a different store or to type something into Google to see if there was a better version of a toy.

"What've you got, honey?" Tai asked.

Mari bit her lip before revealing the toy from behind her back.

"Luke," she whispered.

Van winced, knowing immediately that they were gonna have to vet the pick before they allowed her to take it home.

"Why Luke, Mar?" She asked gently, trying not to seem too accusatory. It just seemed a little too opportune with Mel's new Darth Vader figure. Mari was clever—she could find a way to use the toy to taunt Mel in some way.

Mari looked a little confused at the question.

"Because," she said matter-of-factly, "he's a Jedi and he's the best fighter of all of them. Even better than Obi-Wan."

Van had to hide her face behind her hand again, so endeared by the answer that she could barely keep from laughing. Now that she was thinking about it, Mari had been present at every single one of Mel's Star Wars movie nights. She kept pretending her bike helmet was a Stormtrooper helmet and she'd gotten into a row with Mel about which lightsaber color she would have if she were a Jedi. She'd even begged for a copy of the Lego Star Wars game for the Nintendo, which Van had barely thought twice about because of course Mari wanted that one—it was the third coolest one.

"I think she's serious, Tai," she murmured. Tai nodded slowly, still a little skeptical.

"What are you gonna do with Luke?"

Mari shrugged. "Make him fight my Barbies. Fly an X-wing. Maybe get stranded in the freezer. Dunno yet, really."

Tai's face melted into a smile and she nodded.

"Alright, Mar. Let's pay and get you home, then."

She bounced up on her toes, grinning happily as she reluctantly handed the toy over to Tai so she could pay for it while her and Van looked at the trading cards by the register. Once paid, she reached for it again and kept it held closely against her side the entire ride home, sprinting into the house once they'd arrived to find Mel.

"Look, Mel, look!" She cried, skidding into the kitchen.

"Shoes!" Tai reminded, shucking her coat off. Mari toed them off where she was standing, leaving them in the middle of the floor as she and Mel took off to get her Darth Vader figure to play with. She hadn't even taken Luke out of the packaging yet.

Van went over to pick up the shoes, returning Tai's eyebrow raise with a smile and a shrug.

"Aw, c'mon, she's so excited. She wasn't trying to be a pain. You'd let me get away with it," she defended, watching a Tai's mouth twisted into a smile.

"I would," she hummed.

Mari came sliding back into the kitchen, breathless and brandishing her toy with Mel close behind her.

"Can you help us open this, please?" She asked sweetly. Tai grabbed a scissors from a drawer, carefully extracting the toy from the plastic as Mari and Mel watched, tense with anticipation.

"There you go," she said, handing Mari the toy. Mel squealed and immediately ran into the other room, but Mari hesitated by Tai's side for a long moment.

"Um, thank you for the toy," she rushed out, cheeks flushing as she gave Tai a quick hug, doing the same to Van before she hurried after Mel.

"Too cute," Van mused, shaking her head, "too cute."

I never know how to end these. Hope you enjoy, anon, sorry for the bit of a wait!

[sos-gone-deeper]

I Could Be A Good Mother (Travis Martinez x Reader) (Part 4 - Final Part)

Part 3

Winter is gone, and spring brings new beginnings, new people, and new memories in the wilderness. Post rescue, you and Travis adapt to your new life together.

Notes:

- More talk of childbirth in this chapter

- Takes place during season 3? or maybe a little bit before it, and also a larger time jump towards the end.

- I've said it once but this isn't accurate to the plot at all lol

- I didn't name the baby because I literally did not know what to choose lmao

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

Winter was harsh. There was no denying it. After what had become of Jackie, everyone worried for the day that the cold got to them. Especially when the cabin burned down.

But winter finally left, and when it did it left you with a new purpose. A new purpose that only came after tireless pushing, angrily yelling at Mari who was joking too much for your liking, and squeezing Travis' hand until you were sure you'd broken it. You'd nearly done the same as Shauna did and passed out. You didn't let yourself slip away until you heard the baby cry, and even then you were afraid that in this scenario, passing out could lead to you dying.

So there you laid on the floor of yours and Travis' makeshift hut, feeling the worst you ever had but also somehow the best. Javi was waiting outside somewhere, and you'd only let a few of the girls come in. While Misty tended to you, you tried to stay awake by listening to the girls talk to your baby in an effort to soothe it. Travis was holding the baby, but his eyes weren't leaving you.

"It's a girl." Misty said. "She looks like you."

She was beautiful. You remember that being your first thought when Travis put the baby in your arms. And she really did look like you, just so much more tiny. You were so in love.

And so was Travis. All the restless nights and blood that had been shed melted away, and for a moment it was just him, you, and the baby, not a care in the world.

Everyone loved her, especially Javi. He got over his whole 'I wish it was a boy' mindset the second he held her. He carried her all over, showing her the people, the surroundings. Van and Tai would help by taking turns holding her on the nights where it felt impossible to calm her down. Akilah would hold her bunnies up to the baby, smiling at the giggles that escaped as her tiny hands grabbed at the bunny's ears.

Travis was obviously the most in love, other than you. It was hard for you to connect this Travis back to the grumpy Travis that was always sitting in the bleachers, either watching with a grimace or studying the ground, the Travis that claimed to hate the Yellowjackets. He was constantly asking if you were okay, if you needed him to take her. He carried her everywhere in the sling he had made from some old clothes, patting the top of her head every now and then. He'd splash with her in the lake as you washed clothes nearby, watching and laughing. And on the off chance that he wasn't completely engulfed by her, he would be clinging to you, kissing all over your face, following you as you did chores, practically stuck to you.

You were really starting to enjoy yourself out there. Sure, it was dirty still, and you were still hungry and desperately waiting for rescue, but you were starting to enjoy life again. Being postpartum meant you couldn't do much heavy lifting, and you couldn't stray far from your baby, so you helped Akliah with the animals. It felt nice to have something to keep you busy. You really started to appreciate the little moments of the life you were starting to build: midday naps in the hammock where all 3 of you managed to sleep at once (a rare occurrence), Javi playing with her the best he could while you and Travis tried to get stuff done around camp, watching her laugh as Lottie gently baptized her. Lottie insisted, much to your dismay. "I don't want the wilderness freak dipping my baby in the lake." You'd said to Natalie at dinner after Lottie brought the idea up.

One night, after a particularly good day, Travis was holding the baby while you worked on stitching a hole in a blanket. The sun was starting to set, and you two were the only ones currently around the campfire.

"I want to get away from this." Travis said out of nowhere.

"Me too." You said, still working at the blanket.

"She deserves a real home in the real world. You deserve that."

"Well so do you." You were quick to say. You turned to face him, and tried not to melt over the way his big arms were so gently holding your tiny daughter.

"Well, when we get rescued, what do you want? I mean, where do you want to live? What kind of house?" Travis asked.

"I don't care how big it is, just enough room for the three of us. I want a dog- no, two dogs. And a farm with lots of animals. And I want to be close to home." You knew these things were probably unrealistic to want. Neither of you had finished high school, and your return to the real world was surely gonna be a lot harder than anticipated. But in the moment, you just let yourself think about what you really wanted.

Travis decided that night that he would make it happen. And he did.

The following years were strange, to say the least. Cameras following you everywhere you went. Trying to relearn how to fit in with society while also learning how to be parents. A lot of the Yellowjackets lost touch. Lottie was in the hospital, Nat was in rehab, Shauna got married (You and Travis attending, of course), and the rest of the girls were out there, somewhere, struggling. But you never forgot them, never forgot the pain you all went through together.

The stormy weather was done and over with, and you realized that sitting on the porch one night. The sunset was painting the sky purple and pink, and Travis was in the chicken coop, pulling a baby chick up into the pocket of his overalls. Your daughter was waiting patiently next to you on the porch swing, her legs kicking back and forth. Javi and Travis' mom had left at the same time your parents did, thanking you for the Friday night dinners at your house that they hold so dear.

"Hold your hands out." Travis said, sitting on the other side of her. The chick spilled out of his pocket and into his hands, helping your gentle toddler hold it.

You spent a lot of time admiring your family, especially in moments like this. Travis was glowing, strong from finally having a balanced diet again, and you could see his personality being lit up again the longer you were away from the wilderness. And your daughter, who was growing up faster than you had anticipated, was the light of everyone's life, always reminding you that there was good in the bad.

You were so used to being just content that you often were worried this wasn't real, and you'd wake up in that cabin, afraid and sullen.

But this was real. And both you and Travis were perfectly okay with this. Just the three of you, in this big house with a farm, filled with constant laughter and love.

That night, after the whole farm was asleep in their pens and barns, Travis came inside to find the downstairs empty, but the nursery lit up with the dim nightlight. You were pacing back and forth in your daughter's room, patting her back and singing Landslide by Fleetwood Mac. The song brought Travis back to that fall night, watching you sing to Javi. He stood in the doorway, smiling gently, watching as you gently laid the girl in her crib.

Travis often found himself thinking that his first dream about you was some sort of prophecy, and in a way, maybe it was. The house. The baby girl. Everything had come true, in some way.

You nudged him out of the doorframe, quietly shutting the door behind you.

"I always liked hearing you sing that song." Travis said, taking your hand in his. He ran his thumb over your knuckles, catching on the wedding band you wore. It wasn't the biggest diamond, Jeff had pointed out at his and Shauna's wedding, but Travis knew you never cared about those material things.

"Oh, believe me, I know." You said, kissing him.

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Yay final part! So sorry for how long it took me to write this my life got super hectic and I also hit writers block lol. I also don't rlly know how I feel about this chapter, but I hope you guys enjoy!!

[hells-okayest-dad]

35, 29, 3 🙂‍↕️

This is the greed they talk about in the Bible btw

35: filthy

Jabberwocky was filthy. He had taken it upon himself to wander through every mid puddle he encountered on his walk with Jean, despite the man's attempts to go around them. What really did it though, was the decision to roll around in one. Jean had to pick him up and carry him back into the apartment so he didn't track mud everywhere, which of course meant that he was now filthy.

Jean deposited the unruly beast into the bathtub and told him to stay while he grabbed a towel and dried off his hands. As he turned on the water, he pulled out his phone to send a picture to Jeremy. "Your son is un cochon," he said. To which Jeremy replied "don't call your son a pig :(" Jean scoffed lightly and put the phone away, rolling up his sleeves to get this over with.

As much as he hated to admit it, his therapy was helping, and he found himself mostly unafraid of the pool of water forming around the dog that had gotten himself so dirty he seemed to be a different color. He still struggled with getting wet on purpose, he wasn't ready to go swimming or anything yet, but a stray splash from a wet dog or accidentally getting his face in the stream of the shower no longer sent him into a panic, it was just annoying.

By the time Jean was done, Jabberwocky was finally recognizable. Recognizable and wet, and like Jean, wet was not his preferred state of being. "Ah. There you are," Jean murmured to the dog as he scooped him up in a towel to dry him off. He wrapped the towel around Jab and held him close to his chest. "I've got you."

29: sweat

It turned out that spending most of your life as practically a shut in, either in Marseille or West Virginia was awful for your immune system. When Jean went down, he went down hard. He was a shivering, sweaty mess where he'd been parked on the couch. There was a part of him that hated being out here instead of in his room where he could hide in the darkness until this was over or it killed him. That hated being out here in the common area where his suffering could be a spectacle for the whole apartment. There was another part that was relieved to not be alone in the darkness, that there was always a person or lights or sounds around him even as his delirious and traitorous mind struggled to differentiate between real and imagined, between past and present.

In the present, Jean was curled up with at least two blankets over him. Jeremy had stayed home from practice to take care of him, something Jean would be tempted to never forgive him for if he hadn't been forced to deal with his own helplessness when getting up to piss had left him dizzy. They were watching movies to fill the time. As tired as he was, it was hard to follow along, but he'd gathered that this girl had stalked her ex-boyfriend to law school. It was better, at least, than the one where the dog played Exy. All of it better than silence or trying to hold a conversation.

His mind kept going back to how he was cold, wet, and shivering, the way he always was whenever Riko used water against him. If he closed his eyes for too long he could see it, and his eyes were so heavy from exhaustion it was almost inescapable.

Before he fully processed what was being said to him, he saw a wet washcloth coming for his face and bolted upright so fast his head was pounding. He squeezed his eyes shut and cradled his face in his hands, both to protect himself and to stave off his headache. Breathe the way Dobson told him to but he can't breathe because he's so congested and he can't breathe because he's drowning and he can't breathe and he can't—

"Jean." Jeremy's voice brought him back. Reluctantly, Jean looked at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—you were really hot and I just wanted to—"

"It's fine," Jean interrupted. "Not your fault. I am just..." He gestured to his head. "Confused. Tired but can't sleep because every time I close my eyes I convince myself I am in danger, but the more tired I get the worse it becomes." He knew he was safe, logically. Jeremy would never hurt him, but that did very little to silence the part of his brain that was on high alert.

"Can I help?" Jeremy asked, wide-eyed and earnest. "Make you feel safe, I mean."

Jean looked at Jeremy, looked at the spot beside him on the couch where he'd been laying that was empty now, and let an idea form. "Sit with me," he said, too desperate to be embarrassed. To his credit, Jeremy did. Jean grabbed a throw pillow off the floor and held it near Jeremy's lap. "Is it okay if I..."

"Yeah. Whatever you need," Jeremy answered.

Jean laid the pillow in Jeremy's lap and laid his head on the pillow. He was surprised only for a moment when a gentle hand found its way into his hair and ran fingers through it lightly. It was more relaxing than he'd anticipated. "Is this okay?"

Jean let out a sound somewhere between a contented hum and a whine as he nodded his head. He was safe. Jeremy had him. He didn't know when he fell asleep, but he knew he was feeling at least a little better when he woke up.

3: [I] trusted [you]

When he was a Raven, victory was a promise. Even against the Trojans, it had been all but a guarantee. Funny, the way something that comes so easily is worthless in the end. But Jean's wearing red this season, and he's beaming with pride as he watches Jeremy—his friend, his captain, his partner hoist the championship trophy over his head. In some ways, this has been the hardest year of his life, in some ways winning this trophy has been the hardest thing he's ever done. But when he looks at Jeremy and sees his smile, he knows it was all worth it.

It was a close game, a tie until the last few seconds when Jean had managed to get the ball from Kevin and get it to Jeremy, who scored it. Objectively, it was an incredible play, especially when you consider that Jean couldn't really see Jeremy when he made the pass. The announcers are saying it and the crowd roaring and his teammates around him are all cheering their names, but all he's focused on is Jeremy. Jeremy, who is pulling him into a hug which Jean readily accepts. Jean wants to kiss him, right here, in front of all these people, but they'd have their own private celebration later. This moment belonged to all of them.

"How'd you do it?" Jeremy asks, keeping an arm around Jean as he turns to face the crowd. "How'd you know I'd get the ball? I know you couldn't see me."

Jean just shrugs. "I just knew," he says. He wouldn't kiss Jeremy here, not the way he wanted, but he allows himself to plant a gentle kiss on the man's temple. "I trusted you."

[dragynkeep]

RWBY Design Review - Yang Xiao Long (Atlas)

Overview

Now with the final member of Team RWBY, I've long given up on seeing Yang in actually good fits since Volume 2. She just consistently gets the short end of the stick and her Atlas outfit not only carries on the trend, but gives us one of her worst looks.

Which is very telling of my feelings for her. She was one of my favourites in Beacon going into Volume 4, and her favourite outfit of mine was her Volume 2 Hunter outfit. Only now she is easily one of my least favourite characters and her outfits reflect that in how misfitting and outright bad they are for her.

Let's just get into it.

Pros

Just like Weiss, there is hardly anything I like about Yang's Atlas outfit. Even her previous outfit, which is still a mediocre one to me, has more going for it than this.

But I will say that I like the jacket. The wooly undercoat shows off white in a natural way, not only making it look warm for Atlas but lets Yang wear Weiss' colour also. It also being an almost dark desaturated red, like mulberry, is a good step in having Yang wear Ruby's colour and fits in with the warm, fiery palette that Yang should be associated with.

I also really like her boots. The style of them and the matching colour to the jacket has the colour seem more integral rather than slapped on into Yang's 47 colour palette, and looks suitable for the rough terrain that Yang works in.

It's also always been slapped on, and I do prefer the purple sash in her Hunter outfit, but having Yang keep the bandana on her leg consistently is a neat feature and purple is a good colour to have since it matches her purple eyes, a fun design choice with mixing Taiyang's blue and Raven's red.

On top of that, credits to Ein Lee and Erin, but they colour Yang with a vibrant purple that looks so good and it's a shame that it's constantly desaturated by the show.

Another thing I like about Yang is that, in the arc where everyone and their mother changed up their looks, Yang pretty much stayed the same.

She's characterised by being protective over her hair and while I think her growing comes with her embracing change should it happen, and not blowing up at little things, I do also appreciate the showing of this little characteristic in that Yang never changes her hair.

The only time she did was in Patch, when she was very much not feeling herself and stuck at crossroads, with that shown through putting her hair up in a ponytail. Not an extreme form of change, but still something for someone who does care about how she looks primarily through her hair.

And Atlas could've had Yang change it up with the rest of their team, and there could've been good points for her doing so in writing, but her keeping that is also a positive.

Yes, the massive amount of yellow behind her in the form of her hair has similar problems to Blake's pre-Atlas, but yellow is also a tricky colour since it's so bright and in your face, so you don't want to stick Yang in so much yellow either.

I am also a big fan of ponytail Yang, but her keeping her hair is also a positive for me. Either way, I wouldn't have complained.

A final point is that, I actually think the way her emblem is implemented into her design is a little creative. So many have their emblems slapped somewhere on their outfit, but Yang's is done with her belt buckle, centering it in the middle of her body rather than copying what she did in Beacon and slapping it on her breast again.

It's also a cute mirror to Ruby, who nearly always wore her emblem on her belt.

And that's really it for Yang. Now for the many, many flaws.

Cons

Similar to the others, Yang's gonna be in segments with how much I just don't like her design.

Outfit

Outside of the few outfit pieces that I mentioned in the pros, the rest of Yang's outfit is straight up a downgrade even from her Mistral outfit.

Just like Weiss, Yang's outfit does not look suitable for the Atlas environment at all. Not even just a little cheeky show of breast for fanservice, but she for real has her chest out, her arms in the show since she never has her sleeves down, and one thigh with the stupid half up, half down legs of her overalls.

The overalls themselves don't look great with all the cluttered lines, zippers, and we see with the back that Yang's exposed except for the little bit that's covered by her tube top.

Even with the jacket on top, that exposure of skin with only one layer to protect her isn't doing anything.

I have to preface that I don't particuarly care about fanservice or outfits not being 100% accurate to real life for certain situations. Yang has never been properly dressed for both the job she's meant to be doing and the environment she's in, but that didn't matter as much before because at least the outfits were great (Hunter), alright (Beacon), or at least serviceable (Mistral).

But this doesn't even look good! So the fact that she's in the middle of the tundra in this makes it even more egregious to look at, similar to Weiss since, by admission of the show, we're supposed to take the cold seriously to the point it's used as a tension plotline when Watts turns it off.

Again, I do not care about Aura because the guidelines to Aura is so hazy that the writers just pull whatever to wave away bad design and writing choices.

On top of that, why is one leg unzipped to expose Yang's thigh? Why are these pants now mimicing Vernal who, despite should've having something in writing with Yang, does not interact with her at all, never mind meaningfully?

And those stupid belt flaps. Yang isn't the only one who gets stuck with them, but they really are CRWBY just needing something to put on the belts for some interest. Only they're not interesting, they're ugly and useless, especially when you can easily add pouches or something for extra storage.

The thing anyone on the roat, Huntsman or no, would appreciate to hold their trail mix.

Colour

Yang literally has the worst colour palette out of anyone on her team, maybe even in the whole group.

As said before by many people, including myself, you don't want Yang in too much yellow because, not only will you lose her in the massive mop of yellow behind her, but because too much yellow is overstimulating and just an eyesore.

I also hate the colour yellow so Yang is already on the disadvantage with me.

But canon just takes it the completely opposite way in not letting Yang have any yellow in her design because the miniscule amounts in the zippers of her outfit and the yellow of her prosthetic/gauntlet. Her jacket is reddish-brown, her accents are orange/purple, her tube top is white rather than copying her Beacon look and making it yellow again, and the overalls are grey.

Even if some art pieces try to retroactively change this by making them a yellowish-tan, the concept art, the marketing pieces and the model itself all have it as grey.

So the only splashes of bright colour amongst the dark and shades are orange and purple, leading to Yang's associated colour no longer being yellow but orange.

It doesn't matter that Yang's hair carries most of the yellow because not only is it cut off halfway through the design, stopping the flow of yellow completely, but it's to the back. When you're looking at Yang from the front, as you want with any character, her hair is mostly hidden by all the others.

And this is why people say to stop putting her in so much brown/orange. Brown isn't a neutral shade like black or white, and orange is a bright colour that can easily overpower yellow if used too much.

Nevermind that Yang already has an accent colour in purple. A cool tone that pops against her mostly warm palette, opposite but similar to the warm red popping against Weiss' cold blues and whites.

And since Yang is often characterised as Ruby's overprotective sister and has Ruby as one the most important people in Yang's life, why not have Yang wear red to symbolise that importance in her design?

At the very least the concept art gives her a human skin tone. Yang is often coloured in with a slight tan, which works wonders with her warm palette and helps keep her from appearing washed out.

But this is still way too many colours. Really, a character should have probably five colours maximum that're used throughout the design, but Yang here has 10.

Not only is there three different shades of yellow, but then both orange/purple for the accents, and a different shade of purple for her eyes, and then the grey, then the reddish-brown, then black and white.

It's too much! Yang needs two shades of yellow at most, she doesn't need two accept colours and the purple doesn't need to be a different shade to the purple of her eyes. Shaving this down at least creates a more cohesive look from a colour perspective.

Yang really got hit with the grey scale of the Atlas arc.

Whereas Weiss at least got elevated with the blues, despite that not being her colour, Yang's warm palette is just washed out and grey, especially going into Volume 8.

Redesign

I will be honest with all of you in the chat right now, Yang's colour palette stumped me for like ten minutes.

Since the first redesign had that I couldn't do any wild reworks with the outfit or the palette, I had to look at Yang's colours and figure out not only how to make it not ugly, but also show her colour and combat the massive mop of blonde hair behind her.

So I did this!

Not gonna lie, the colours are still teetering to the too much side, but the use of two different shades of yellow and shades like white and black helped it all.

The only ones to be cut from the group was that greyish tan of her overalls, and the third shade of really dark, ugly gold that was used for the metal on her canon version.

Originally, I was going to close the jacket and have the sweater and overalls underneath, creating a layered look while trying to keep faithful to canon, but then I coloured in the legs the same colour as the jacket.

So it made this into more of a jumpsuit type outfit. I actually had something very similar to this to keep me warm as a kid-

Pretty similar to this! Just black and yellow, it always reminded me of the suit that the Bride wears in Kill Bill. So, I made that for Yang and kept the reddish-brown colour for it though changed the arms to the lighter yellow while keeping bright gold for her hair.

Which I quite like! Dare I say that, if I could tweak the shade of the red, I would like this more than the all black look that I usually advocate Yang to be in.

There was also a poll I made a few days ago to decide between Yang's hankerchief being purple or orange, and orange won out even if I really like the purple. So, I kept her leg bandana but also made the shoelaces purple just to have more of that cool colour for Yang.

Now, her fully redone version.

Me talking about how good Yang's slight tan is for her design and then just not doing it, okay faker /j

So, I actually kept the jumpsuit idea from the mini redesign of before since I really liked the idea. I used both black and a dark grey for different zones to keep it all from blending together, on top of using bright gold for all the metal and details to keep the colour consistently through Yang's outfit.

The yellow sleeves are a lighter, softer shade of yellow with grey cuffs and black gloves, keeping most of her arms from disappearing into her legs, and the black jumpsiot frames her yellow sweater so there's more of Yang's colour situated on her chest.

This helps accent the middle and the limbs of the character, along with using purple in the bandana and shoelaces to show a pop of cool tone against her warm palette.

Speaking of her palette, her colours had been reduced drastically to black/white, two shades of yellow, purple for the accents and now importantly, red for Ruby, finally putting her sister's colour on her.

Her neck scarf was also swapped out for an actual scarf, mimicing Ruby's hood and having some red between Yang's body and her yellow hair behind her, segmenting more of it off.

And while this improves so much on the canon outfit, it's not as impressive to me given how much the other outfit just brings Yang down. I really like the use of black for higher contrast to her yellow, but something about the reddish-brown used before had me almost preferring that one.

Either way, still very much prefer her look now.

Conclusion

Overall, Yang very much ended the team lineup not with a Yang, but a flop. Her incohesive colour palette, lack of signature colour, poorly though out outfit for the environment, and cluttered look really didn't help and, I ahve to say, she's the worst one out of all of them.

Weiss is a close second however, but at least with Weiss, there's some bits that I quite liked and her colour palette, while not good at showing her signature colour, at least was cohesive and nice to look at. Yang's couldn't even do that irregardless of my hatred for yellow.

So, just like Weiss, I gotta give Yang's Atlas outfit an F.

Now that Team RWBY's Atlas designs are done, here's what I'm planning next.

The next round for RWBY is their Beacon outfits, as they won second place in the poll. After them will be Mistral, followed by their Volume 2 outfits. When I'm done with those, I'll likely put up a poll to determine what order I'll be doing Team JNPR's, including hypothetical outfits for Pyrrha if she had lived past the FOB.

But, to make sure I don't get burnt out making so many drawings and redesigns and posts about Team RWBY, I'm gonna put a poll after each RWBY section with 4 random RWBY characters to choose from.

Whoever wins will be the design review between each RWBY set. I've already got the four characters this round, but feel free to comment or send in any characters that you want to see!

Until next time!

[squishosaur]

hm. i think i will ignore the last 8 episodes of arc v

[intoxicating-goddess]

TW - intox, somno, cnc, forced breeding

We're talking on a video call like we usually do in the evenings. I'm smoking a bowl to help wind down for the night. When I finish, you suggest I might want to do another. I've been really stressed out lately, it'd be helpful to have a little more, you tell me. I have been stressed lately, why not? I fill another bowl half way, but you convince me to make it another full one. After I'm done the second bowl, you can see how faded I am. I tell you that the weed is hitting me really hard and I think I'm gonna go lie down. You wish me well and say goodnight. I stumble through the house in a stoned haze, eventually making it into bed. I drowsily strip myself of my clothes before rolling over and falling asleep. I'm too deep in slumber to hear the door unlock. I gave you a spare key for emergencies, after all. You creep into my bedroom and see my naked body sprawled across the bed. You quietly take off your clothes and climb on top of me. Kissing your way down my back while running your hands all over my limp body. Feeling up my ass and tits and then finally, my pussy. I let out soft moans in my sleep. As you rub my clit and fondle my ass, I start to become wet. You then line yourself up with my slick entrance and ram your entire cock inside me. I wake with a scream, a concoction of panic and pleasure. As you begin violently thrusting, I try to get my bearings. My head is so dizzy and my body is so heavy. I let out a feeble scream as I try to resist, but it's no use. My body is far to weak and I can't put up a fight. I am pinned in place by the weight of your body on top of me. I have no idea who is inside me, but I can't seem to focus on anything but how good it feels. You lean down on top of me and begin grabbing at my breast. You pinch my nipple and I can't help but let out a moan. You chuckle softly between grunts, you know a filthy whore like me likes being used. Your thrusts are so hard and deep that it doesn't take long for me to cum on your cock. You continue to fuck me for what feels like hours. I am so out of it that I have no concept of time. I eventually let myself drown in the pleasure. It doesn't matter who is fucking me, the only thing that matters is how good it feels. After you've lost track of how many times you've made me to cum, you feel yourself get close. Your thrusts become faster and faster. You pull my hips hard against you, forcing your cock as deep into my pussy as possible. With a loud grunt, you let your load out inside me. You pull out and let my hips go, causing me to slump onto the bed. You watch as your seed seeps out of my throughly used pussy. You then put your clothes back on and leave, locking the door behind you. I lay in the wet patch knowing I should feel mortified, but instead I feel euphoric. Having my rapists seed pouring from my violated pussy turns me on all the more. It's not long before the exhaustion and intoxication lull me back into a deep sleep. I sleep well knowing my only purpose is to be a good cocksleeve. It doesn't matter if I'm conscious or not.

[sugarwarachan]

horny brainrot: bnha

andy's notes: ahhhh i've missed y'all!! getting back into the swing of things (work was hell this week) and hope you like this particular bit of filth while i crack into prompts

content warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, not free of spoilers just by character names alone lol, pregnancy kink, panty kink, oral fixation, brat taming, oral m!receiving, cnc, throat fucking, scent kink, slightly yandere behavior with feathers, size kink

characters: kirishima eijiro, tenko shimura, shinsou hitoshi, hizashi yamada, aizawa shouta, keigo takami, shouto todoroki

kirishima has the nastiest pregnancy kink, no one can convince me otherwise, so he's delighted when he finds out you have one, too. but when you're trying for a baby, your everyday life becomes horny hell because he insists on treating you like you're already pregnant. when you want to do something around the house, he tells you to "think of the baby," wide grin on his face when you flush and squirm your legs together. shows you maternity clothing ads of all the things he can't wait to buy you, patting your tummy. "you're gonna look so good in this sundress when your bumps start to fill out, honey." it gets so bad that literally the mere swipe of his thumb across your lower belly makes your pussy clench. (you get a positive pregnancy test two weeks later)

tenko puts on a pair of your silk panties because he has "nothing of his own left to wear" but he's actually been thinking about how the material would hug his balls ever since he pulled them off you days ago. the silk clings to his dick, dragging over the shaft with a feather-like caress. he groans and ruts his hips into his palm. pre-cum darkens the silk. arousal unspools in his belly and his cock twitches, aching at the fact that your cunt rested here, right where his balls now hang. your pretty pussy lips dragged over this fabric too, leaving your juices on the gusset. he rolls into the mattress, humping your pretty pink sheets. he hears whimpering and whining and realizes it's him drooling out your name into the pillow as he cums harder than he ever has

when you're done being a mouthy little brat, shinsou loves to cup your jaw and sink two fingers into your mouth, the cold metal bands of his rings clinking gently against your teeth as your cheeks hollow, sucking and humming around his digits like the greedy little whore you are. "look at me," he says, tipping your head back and holding your gaze. "keep your eyes on me while i keep your mouth full.''

hizashi loves when you take charge, when you tie him to a chair and stuff your panties in his mouth while giving him the sloppiest head of his life. he ruts his hips up into the delicious hot suction of your mouth, but you hold him down and pull away with a plop. you smear spit and pre-cum over your lips with the head of his dick, smirking when it twitches. you do this for hours, until his dick is flushed dark, engorged and aching, balls drawn up so tight against his body your mere breath against them is torture. when you finally let him cum, he explodes down your throat and onto your lips, a creamy gloss that you lick away after

the first time you broach aizawa about cnc you don't miss the way his jaw clicks shut like he's swallowing down every thought. "you're sure?" is all he asks and then you get a questionnaire in your email a few days later regarding hard limits. cut to a month later, he's fisting your hair and bullying his cock down your throat. "break eye contact and i'll paddle your ass raw." you're already slobbering all over his shaft, drool slipping down your chin and neck. your eyes burn with tears and mascara and you know you look like a fucked-out mess, but your body is tingling, flying. "you love to be used like this, don't you?" aizawa fucks even deeper into your mouth, rocking into the curved concave of your throat. "nothing more than daddy's little cumdump?"

keigo gave you one of his feathers for a totally normal reason, he swears - not because he wants to keep an eye on his attractive personal assistant on your off time. it backfires, though, because you know all about his feathers' capabilities. the first time you stroke the feather keigo thinks he imagined it. but no, the more he interacts with you, the more he memorizes your scent, the swollen bud of your lower lip. when he feels you kiss his offering, it nearly brings him to his knees. but he scents you next, the musky sweetness of what can only be your arousal. when he lands on your window sill and sees the feather slipping between your thighs, you merely smile and ask him what took him so long to get there

shouto "doesn't have a size kink" todoroki hearing you whine "it won't fit" when he slots the head of his cock against your pussy. he's never really paid attention to how much smaller you are than him, how much his body overwhelms yours. he'll have to work hard to make sure you're ready for him. he rubs your swollen clit with his thumb, the palm of his hand hot on your belly. your pussy jumps and flutters around the thick head of his dick, already flushed red and weeping. he taps your belly button, knowing that's where he'll be soon. "i'll make it fit."

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works pls. reblogs and comments always appreciated <3 If you'd like to be added to my general taglist, let me know!

general taglist <3 @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi, @waterfal-ling, @iluvikeu, @bach-ira

[differenteagletragedy]

To me, Simon has the dumbest hair 90% of the time because he just buzzes it himself (I cannot believe that man pays money to one, do something he could theoretically do himself, and two, spend time with a stranger). The other 10% it's good -- when he first cuts it, an eighth of an inch of pale fuzz left behind, and when it just starts growing out, that's fine. But a lot of the time, especially when he's at home, he just lets it go.

And you, his next door neighbor, will never not give him shit about it.

"You look so goofy," you tell him when you see him in the hallway, one arm holding your groceries and the other fiddling with your keys. "Just cut it, Jesus Christ."

He rolls his eyes or tells you to fuck off, because you've known each other long enough for that kind of thing. He's lived in the building for years, never having seen a reason to leave, and you've been there for a few yourself. You're friends in the way that you may not call or text or schedule time to hang out, but you can scarcely think of anyone you see more often.

"Seriously," you go on, unlocking your door and speaking louder so he can hear you when you go inside. "It's just like two inches sticking straight off your head, why are you walking around like that?"

"Doesn't bother me," Simon answers, moving to lean against your doorframe and watch you as you put up your things. "Seems to bother you an awful lot though."

Your back is to him while you move around your kitchen, but you can tell he's smirking, and you scoff.

"Yeah, it bothers me. You get a face like that and you go and screw it up with the dumbest excuse for a haircut I've ever seen."

It's not the first time you've flirted with him, or even the most direct time, but it still gives him pause. He doesn't wear his mask when he's not working, most of the time anyway, because he thinks it draws too much attention and he'd prefer to just slip into the shadows wherever he goes. But you seeing him, and you letting him know that you like what you see, it does something to him, every time.

"You cut it then," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're the one so torn up about it, you fix it."

You snort, finally turning back to him, saying, "I'm not a barber, stupid."

"No, you sure seem like a coward though."

A few minutes later, you're both in Simon's bathroom. He's got his shirt off, straddling the toilet so you can reach his head, and you're behind him with clippers in your hand, looking down at him. You've never seen this much of him, never even seen the place where his tattoos stop on his arm, and it's a lot to take in.

You want to take your time, commit every scar, every freckle to memory, but he turns his head, smirking again.

"Told you you were a coward."

Without a word, you turn on the clippers and get to work.

It's not hard, it's just a buzzcut. The hard part is in touching his ears, gently pushing the lobes down to trim around them. It's in sneaking glances over his shoulder to watch his chest as it rises and falls while you work. In trying not to notice the tiniest little hitch in his breath when you lean in closer and rest your hand on his back while you get the hairs on the back of his neck.

The worst part though, is the beauty mark that sits perfectly in the place where his neck meets his shoulder. Specifically, the worst part is the strong, almost uncontrollable urge to bite it.

When you're done, you turn off the clippers and set them on his bathroom counter, then dust off his shoulders for him. Just before he stands, you can't deny yourself any longer -- you won't be able to reach it when he's not sitting so perfectly like this -- and give a quick, soft kiss to the mark.

During all the time you've known Simon, he's barely responded to your flirting. To you, he doesn't seem interested, and to him, you don't seem serious. But a kiss, faint as it may have been, is different, and before you can register it, he's on his feet, turned and standing over you.

"Hair looks better," you say softly.

He grunts in response, and before you know it, his mouth is covering yours, hot and insistent. It's a heady feeling, having him so close, and before you can get used to it, his hands are on you, first on your waist, then on your hips, then on the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up and holds you against him.

He maneuvers you both out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom, where he unceremoniously tosses you on his bed. You look up at him, letting your eyes trail freely over his body now, going down when you see him place his hands on his belt.

"Not so mouthy now, are you?"

[mydearzero]

After Hours | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader

Summary: Clean shaven. That was how you knew Bob. But while you were away on a mission, he'd decided to change up his look. Who knew just a little facial hair was enough to shine a new light on the man and drive you absolutely insane?

Contents: SMUT, porn with some plot, fem!reader, No Y/N, thunderbolts!reader, Bob is taller than reader, reader has hair long enough to get in your face, matchmakers Ava and Yelena, shower sex, Oral (f receiving), Penetrative sex (p in v), slight overstimulation, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), creampie. If I missed any warnings please let me know!

WC: 4.4K

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Masterlist

A/N: As I've made very clear and made it everybody's problem, I'm currently going fucking insane over Lewis Pullman. Watched The Starling Girl, was not okay afterwards, wrote this. Bon Appétit.

Clean shaven, undetectable facial hair. That was how you knew Bob. You weren’t even sure he was able to grow any facial hair, until you’d spotted him in the bathroom one morning. Shaving was part of his morning routine. For a long time, he’d just preferred the look and feel.

Until last week. 

You’d been overseas for a mission, nothing unusual. You returned, debriefed and made your way back to the tower, just like you’d done many times before. Not everybody was at the tower, but then again, it was once in a blue moon everybody was there at the same time. It was just Ava, Yelena, Bob and you for today, it seemed. 

You took off your shoes, placing them on the rack next to the elevator. The sound of your heavy bag dropping to the floor caught the attention of the room’s occupants. Such dangerous people, yet they hadn’t heard the elevator? You met each of their eyes, giving them a tired but warm smile. Your smile faltered ever so slightly, eyebrows raising, at the sight of Bob. He looked different. 

He was wearing a black t-shirt. Short sleeves, you noted. Not something he wore often. He preferred to wear longer sleeves to cover some of the scarring on the inside of his elbows, understandably so. That was in the past. The shirt looked good on him. Very good. 

It was not the main attraction, though. He had stubble. More than a five o’clock shadow, but not a full beard. Probably a few days of growth, at most. But dear lord did it change his whole look. Bob noticed the extra attention you were paying him, insecurely rubbing his hand over the stubble and turning his attention back to the TV, away from you. 

“Hey guys…” you finally spoke. You tore your eyes off the back of Bob’s head, meeting Yelena’s amused gaze. “What’s going on?” 

“We were just watching a movie, you’re welcome to join, if you want,” Ava invited. 

“I’m just gonna go put my stuff in my room and change and then I’ll join you,” you agreed. Bob casually put his arm on the back of the couch, leaning back, and your eyes snapped to the exposed skin of his biceps. You knew he had some muscle on him, so why did you feel like a sinner seeing a woman’s ankles in the 1800’s? 

You grabbed your bag off the floor and hastily made your way to your room. God, what had gotten into you? Sure, Bob was very sweet. Why had your mouth gone dry at the sight of him, today of all days? 

You unpacked your bag, throwing the dirty clothes in the laundry hamper. You grabbed a change of comfy clothes and changed into them, finally being able to unwind after a week away. You already felt more relaxed just by being back in the tower. It had really become your home over these last few months on this new team. 

You walked into the kitchen to grab some snacks and a drink. Damn it. The one thing Walker and you had in common was your favourite brand of chips. Did he really have to put them on the tippy toppest of shelves? You were convinced he only put them there so you wouldn’t be able to reach them. Bastard. 

“Need a hand?” Startled, you whipped around. Bob was closer than his voice had sounded. He was already reaching over you for the chips. You were now faced with his chest and the new stubble on his chin. He put a hand on your waist to steady you. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled. He put the chips on the counter, grabbing a bag of M&M’s for himself. You took a deep breath to steady yourself as he moved away to the fridge. You followed his movements, frozen against the counter. 

“Thirsty?” He asked, holding up a bottle of soda. 

“Huh?” You blinked. You are a grown woman. Why are you getting distracted by him like this? 

“You want a drink?” He had grabbed a glass for himself, offering one to you, too. 

“Oh, yes, please. Thanks.” He poured two glasses to the brim. 

“How was the mission?” He asked. You grabbed the snacks and the both of you walked back into the living room, putting your stuff on the coffee table. 

“It was good. Quite uneventful, really. No wonder they sent me to go alone,” you shrugged. Surveillance for a full week without any real action. Boring. 

“Well, at least you didn’t get hurt,” Bob smiled. You returned it and sat down next to him on the couch, on the free spot between him and Yelena. If anybody were to hold you at gunpoint and ask what movie they’d been watching that night, they might as well shoot you. Your eyes were on the TV, but your mind and peripheral were preoccupied with the man to your right. 

You knew Yelena noticed. Ava too, probably. At this point, you didn’t care. You were enthralled. He looked so different. It had only been a week. Had someone dosed you with an aphrodisiac on the plane back or something? Because it sure felt like it. 

He absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair and pushed it out of his face, and just like that, you were done for. The nonchalant action was so hot, it wasn’t fair. You were starting to get angry with yourself, but also with him. Stupid Bob. Stupid beard. Stupid heart that won’t stop beating at a thousand BPM. 

“What did that bag of crisps ever do to you?” Ava asked, interrupting the silence. You looked down at your hands. You were grabbing the bag as if it had killed your family and owed you money. You had eaten one, maybe two hands of the stuff before your cravings had dwindled. Or shifted, more like. You were definitely craving something– someone else now. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled, releasing the bag and deciding to just put it on the table. “Probably still a bit tense from the mission.” 

“Hmmmm, right. I thought you said it was uneventful?” Yelena questioned. 

“Uhu,” your voice went up an octave, betraying your lie. Bob gave you a curious look. You refused to return it, scared what you might do if you made direct eye contact right now. 

Before you knew it, the credits rolled over the screen. Ava cleared the table and took everything to the kitchen, leaving you alone with Yelena and Bob. Yelena turned to you. 

“So, what do you think of Bob’s new look? Quite dashing, no?” She proposed. Smug little– You were so going to get her back for this one day. You slowly turned your eyes to Bob, who was patiently, though anxiously, awaiting your answer. 

“It uh– Looks good. Different,” you replied, scared to give yourself away. 

“Different? Is that a good thing? Or…” Bob’s face had fallen, though only a little. He was masking the insecurity, but you saw it either way. 

“No, no– I mean– Yes, it’s a good thing. Good different. Looks good,” you choked before he could feel any worse about it. 

“I’m not too sure about it, yet. Think I might shave it tonight.” 

“NO. I mean. Why don’t you give it a little longer? It’s only been what, a week? Just test it out for a while,” you laughed awkwardly. 

“Hmmm, I don’t know…” Bob pushed a hand through his hair again. It was getting long. You closed your eyes and turned back to Yelena. Anything to spare yourself this torture. Yelena was barely containing her laughter. If Bob had any clue as to what was happening, which was unlikely– the man was as dense as lead– he didn’t show it. 

“Well, I think it looks great. Makes him look a little more rugged. Don’t you agree?” You were going to kill Yelena Belova. It would be difficult. You would make it slow, torturous. 

“Yup! Definitely more rugged. Hey, where has Ava walked off to?” You changed the subject. Speaking of the devil, she walked back in with a cup of steaming tea. 

“I’m gonna go shower. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but please don’t kill each other while I’m gone,” Bob joked. So he had noticed Yelena was pestering you. He got up off the couch and walked down the hallway towards the bedrooms. 

The second Bob turned the corner out of sight, you jumped Yelena, reaching for her throat. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you threatened. She wrangled your arms away from her throat and laughed loudly. 

“I think you have more important matters to concern yourself with,” Ava interjected. You stopped wrestling Yelena into the couch, though you kept your grip on her wrists tight. 

“Like what?” You asked Ava. Yelena took that opportunity to flip you around. You groaned as your back hit the couch.

“Well, first of all, I think we all know you’re underneath the wrong person right now,” Ava laughed. Yelena laughed too, having finally rendered you powerless. Damn Russian spies. 

“But I’m pretty sure a shower means a shave, too. There might still be time to stop him, if you hurry,” she shrugged, sipping her tea. 

“God, was I really that obvious?” You gave up. Yelena released your wrists, and you got up, brushing your hair out of your face. 

“I think if it had been any more obvious we’d have to call a plumber over to investigate a leak,” Yelena said, catching her breath. Your jaw dropped at her words. 

“What? It’s true. I mean we knew you were into Bob, but the heart eyes you gave him when you walked in? Astronomical.” 

“What do you mean ‘we knew you were into Bob’?” You put quotation marks around it. The thought had hardly even crossed your mind before tonight. Both women laughed as if you’d made the funniest joke imaginable. 

“What do you mean ‘What do you mean’? You’ve been drooling over him ever since–” Ava was going to spill, but Yelena held her hand up, stopped her. 

“You’re saying you weren’t into Bob before tonight?” 

“I mean, he’s cute. But… I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it, I guess.” 

“But we’ve been trying to–” Ava was once again cut off by Yelena. 

“The beard is all it took? That was all he had to do?” Her voice held a tone of disbelief. 

“The t-shirt helps, too…” you admitted sheepishly. It was only then that it registered what Ava had said. “FUCK, you’re right. He can’t go shave now!” Your eyes shot towards the hallway he’d disappeared into, before meeting Ava’s. 

“Well what are you waiting for? By all means, go stop him.” she gestured towards the hallway. 

“Go stop him?? I can’t just waltz into the bathroom and say ‘Hey, don’t shave because then I can’t imagine what your stubble will feel like between my thighs while you’re eating me out.’ I have no–” The amused shock on their faces spoke for them. You closed your eyes and turned around, where Bob stood with his jaw slack. 

“We’re out of towels…” was all he said. He quickly walked into the laundry room, grabbed towels and hurried back to the bathroom. You turned to Ava and Yelena, unsure of what to do. 

“Well he knows, now. What’s stopping you? Go climb him like a tree! Show him some of those wrestling moves you showed me just now, while you’re at it,” Yelena shoved you off the couch. 

“You guys are horrible and I hate you very much,” you grumbled, getting off the floor. 

“Yeah, yeah. You can thank us later,” Yelena got up and used all her weight to push you towards the hallway. You stumbled over your feet and dragged them to Bob’s door. You hesitated before knocking lightly. You held your breath as you heard him shuffling around before opening the door. 

Bob Reynolds stood before you with only a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. In all the months you’d lived at the tower, you had yet to see him without a shirt. That in combination with the new facial hair? Murderous. Lethal. 

He was about to speak but was cut off as you decided to throw everything to all hell and just push into his room, place your hands on his face and pull him in for a kiss. He quickly recovered, putting an arm around you and using the other to quickly slam and lock the door behind you. The tenacity with which he kissed you was addicting. 

He finally pulled away to breathe. “If I’d known you liked it that much–” he started, interrupting himself with a soft moan as you kissed up his jawline. “I’d have grown it out months ago.” 

“Shut up,” you said breathlessly. You ran your fingers through his hair and pulled him against your lips once more. You gripped his locks tightly. His stubble felt rough against your face. He toyed with the hem of your shirt, unsure whether to take it off. You helped him take it off, making quick work of throwing it in a random corner. Your sweatpants followed, leaving you only in your bra and underwear. 

“I should–” Bob spoke between kisses. “–at least go turn the shower off.” It had been on all this time, steaming up the bathroom and in turn his bedroom. 

“We can shower together, if you want,” you suggested, fingering the edge of the towel still tightly wrapped around him. 

“Yeah– Yeah I pick that option,” he smiled, leading you into the bathroom and shutting the door. You took off your bra and shimmied your panties down your legs, kicking them into the corner. The towel around his waist was gone. You put a hand on his abdomen, softly passing over his abs down to his hard cock. 

“All for me?” You whispered. 

“Yeah, you painted quite the picture back there. Something something, me eating you out?” He cradled the back of your head and brought you in for a soft, sensual kiss. You lazily stroked him, getting a feel for his length. You didn’t know what you’d expected. He was big. 

He pushed you into the shower, soaking you with water. He brushed your hair away from your face, slicking it back so it wouldn’t get in the way as it got wet. His own hair fell in front of his eyes. He slicked it back once more before trailing kisses down to your chin. Your hands came up to his chest, steadying yourself. You leaned against the cold, wet tile of the shower when he kissed your neck hungrily. 

He mouthed at your body, quickly sinking to his knees. The water hit him so beautifully. He gently rubbed his chin against your thighs, teasing you. The stubble tickled, sending goosebumps up your spine. He moved on to the other thigh, holding both of them in his hands. He peppered kisses all the way up your legs, making sure to leave a trail of tingles behind wherever his beard had made contact with your skin. 

You were growing impatient, but he took his time. Your breathing was rapid, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. He tenderly pulled at your legs. “Open them for me, baby,” he sounded as breathless as you felt. You obliged, making room for him to nestle himself fully between your thighs. The higher he worked with his mouth, the more sensitive you became. He leaned his cheek against your thigh and gazed up. It was a hungry, depraved look. You ran your fingers through his hair again, silently begging him closer to where you needed him most. 

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, and placed a soft peck on your inner thigh. He was so close, yet he kept kissing around where you wanted him. He didn’t break eye contact when he finally placed the smallest of kisses on your pussy. You’d never seen him so confident as in that very moment, on his knees between your legs. He brought his face closer and started sucking your clit. Your knees felt weak at the sensation. The added coarseness of his beard was the perfect combination of soft and rough. 

Your head hit the wall harshly as you threw it back, a loud moan echoing from your lips. He made out with your cunt as if he was a man starving. Your grip on his hair tightened when he experimentally added a finger into the mix, circling your entrance. 

“Fuck, Bob,” you moaned, wishing he’d just put it inside. You bucked against his face, seeking more friction. His beard was going to leave a rash if you kept this up. Somehow, you didn’t care. 

A deep moan rumbled from his mouth against your clit. The sensation was so good, your other hand reached down to tug him closer against it. He chuckled, another sound that had no right feeling that good when being made against your skin. 

He pushed the finger inside, slowly working you open. Not that you needed it, at that point. You were soaked, and not just from the shower. The things this man did to you. Within no time he added a second finger, scissoring you open. 

Heat built in your core as you quickly got closer and closer to the edge. You no longer had any control of the soft noises escaping your lips or your fingers tightening in his hair. Your toes curled and you squeezed your eyes shut. He added another finger, then. 

You peeled your eyes open, enthralled by just him. He was humping the air absentmindedly at the same rhythm his fingers were working inside of you, desperate to be touched. He couldn’t touch himself though, one hand preoccupied holding you up, the other curling its fingers inside of you. He was dedicated to getting you to come in his mouth, and he was succeeding fast. 

He circled his tongue around your clit just right. A high pitched keen left you as he curled his fingers against your G-spot repeatedly. You could feel your legs starting to tremble. His grip on your thigh tightened, determined to keep you standing. You ground against his tongue, breathing erratically. 

“Shit, Bob. I’m gonna come,” you warned. He kept going, sucking and licking until you snapped. 

“Come for me,” he groaned. “Come on my mouth.” 

Your vision went blind for a second as you came, riding out your high on his fingers. 

“Fuck!” You moaned, uncaring of who’d overhear. 

Bob kept sucking, kept thrusting his fingers against that perfect spot. You hissed and tugged at his hair, trying to get him to get up. He didn’t relent. 

“Taste so good,” he groaned. “So wet.” 

He took his fingers out, leaving you feeling empty. You were glad for the break, but his lips worked overtime. A newfound passion arose inside him to get you to come again now that he had a hand wrapped around his cock. He stroked idly, more focussed on your pleasure than his own. 

“I– I can’t. Fuck,” you whined. Your body was on fire, the hot water pouring down on you not helping your case. How the man hadn’t drowned yet, whether from your pussy or the shower, was beyond you. 

“Yes you can,” he grumbled. “For me?” It sounded so innocent. His pupils were blown wide as he sought eye contact, pleading you to come again. It was building up quickly. You hadn’t even caught your breath from your previous orgasm. Just as you were about to tip over the edge again, he stopped abruptly, standing up. 

A frustrated sob escaped your lips, but it was cut off by a desperate kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Want you to come on my cock,” he mumbled. You nodded quickly, taking him in your hand and stroking him. He put his hands around your waist and lifted you up like you were a feather. God, that super strength was a turn-on. He pushed you against the wall of the shower and lined himself up. He didn’t waste any time, pushing himself to the hilt. 

He moaned loudly in your ear as he bottomed out. It was the sexiest sound you’d ever heard. 

“F-fuck. So tight– God,” he couldn’t complete a sentence as he began rhythmically pounding inside. You held onto him for dear life. You were still so, so close. He kissed you hard, like this was his only chance. You leaned your head against the wall, lips sputtering as the water hit your face. 

“Bob,” you moaned. He sucked harshly at the bottom of your jaw. His hips snapped harshly, the sound of skin against skin vulgarly echoing through the bathroom. You tightened your legs around his waist, trying to get him to go deeper. 

“Waited so long for this,” he gushed. “Wanted you so bad.” 

“Yeah?” you replied breathlessly. He was mesmerized by the way your tits bounced with every thrust. 

“Mmhmm. Didn’t think you wanted me,” he admitted, peppering more desperate kisses on your neck. 

“I do. Shit,” you whined. “So much.” 

“Fuck, baby. Come on my cock. Come for me, please,” he pleaded, hips speeding up. 

Your nails scratched at his back, no doubt leaving red trails behind. You dug into his shoulders, gripping them tightly. The muscles underneath your fingers were sturdy. 

You came again with a loud wail of his name. You put your hands on his face, tugging him against your mouth and kissing him deeply. You couldn’t stop kissing him. Couldn’t stop feeling that delicious stubble against your chin. It scratched your palms as you caressed his face. 

His hips stuttered against yours. You could only hope the sound of the shower drowned out the sound of his balls slapping against your cunt with every harsh thrust. 

“Cum inside me,” you begged. “Please, need it.” 

“Fuck, are you sure?” Bob asked, ever the gentleman. 

“Please, Bob.” That sent him over the edge, shooting his spend inside of you. 

“Shit,” he whimpered. His palm made contact with the tiles beside your head, cracking on impact. Neither of you seemed to care at that moment. Your eyes sought his, and you found them glowing. He held you tight as he rode out his orgasm, lazily pumping inside of you as the water washed away your sweat. 

He held you against him, still holding you up against the wall. He let his head fall against your shoulder as he caught his breath. Both of you gasped lightly when he finally pulled out, cum dripping to the floor of the shower, immediately washing down the drain. 

He gently put you back down, careful to not let you slip. Your legs felt weak. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself up. You tugged him down, craning your neck so you could steal another kiss. 

You kissed softly for a while, before deciding you’d wasted enough water. He took his 2-in-1 shampoo and squirted some on his hands. He put some in your hair, softly massaging your scalp. You held your arms around his waist as he worked the shampoo through your hair. 

“We’re going out tomorrow and buying you some actual proper products. Who still uses 2-in-1 shampoo?” You scoffed. He laughed and agreed. 

“Okay, boss.” You smiled up at him as you let the water wash away the suds. You took some of the shampoo and returned the favour, washing his hair. He had a dumb smile on his lips the entire time, looking down at you lovingly. 

The same process repeated with his body wash. It wasn’t anything special, but you loved the scent. It smelled like him. He roamed your body with his hands, massaging your shoulders as he went. He spent some extra time fondling your chest. You still hadn’t fully recovered from the heated session just now, yet you could feel the fire starting again. 

“Hmmm,” you moaned. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” You washed down his abdomen, and already found him hard again. 

“Superhuman stamina, remember?” Bob grinned. 

“Amazing,” you sighed. You gave him a few experimental tugs, and he hissed, gently slapping your hand away. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not sensitive.” 

You finished up in the shower and realized there was only the one towel to dry the both of you. You made do and walked into Bob’s room. 

He lent you a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. “I didn’t know you owned several short sleeved t-shirts,” you joked. 

“I don’t wear them very often,” he laughed, putting on some sweatpants and a sweater. He looked like his cozy self again, if you didn’t count the stubble. The very very sexy stubble. 

“Well, I like you in them. You should wear them more often. Really highlights your biceps.” You flexed yours as a joke. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and mirrored your pose. 

“God, if you do that we’re never going to make our way out of your bedroom,” you groaned. 

“Good. Then I’ll never have to shave again.” Bob wrapped an arm around your waist and placed a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Please never shave again. It’s so hot. Like. So hot.” 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Asshole,” you slapped his chest. 

You walked out to the living room together, ready to face the music. Ava and Yelena were still where you’d left them, on the couch. At the sight of you, both grinned. 

“About time, loverboy,” Ava commented. 

“Remind me to never buy a razor again,” Bob said as he plopped down on the couch. 

“I’m gonna personally shave your face in your sleep if this is gonna be a recurring thing. My poor, poor ears.” Yelena groaned. You threw a pillow at her face, which she caught, of course. 

“I’ll kill you for real if you do, Belova,” you threatened. 

“I’d love to see you try.” 

You were about to jump her again, but Bob pulled you against his side. You melted into his hold. You could get used to this. 

[a-b-riddle]

Part Six

Can't stop thinking about reader finally giving the boys a taste of their own medicine. And hurting my own feelings in the process of it all. I wanted to make this a baddie reader chapter, but its just a saddie reader chapter. I played Down Bad by T.S on repeat while writing this. Y'all need to thank @blueladys-world for being my ventor for this part.

None of them came the next day to pick up the box of everything you had collected. By everything, quite literally everything. Birthday cards and gifts. Keepsakes from your time together they had given you. Even going as far as returning lingerie they had given you. You didn't want any trace of them in your home anymore. You were gonna have to work hard in rebuilding it to be your safe space once again.

You were surprised that someone from the expo had DM'd you. Renée was an author who had tried to stop by to your stand, but got too caught up in the day. She was in London, working on her next series installment and wanted to pick your brain. Writer to writer.

The two of you agreed on a time. She had mentioned wanting to try this restaurant the last time she visited and you already knew you would be putting that meal on a credit card. It was a bit of splurge, but after the past week you deserved it. You could even wear that sexy black number that had been collecting dust in your closet.

By the time you were done getting ready and squeezing into your dress, you looked more ready for a date than dinner with a colleague.

A colleague. You had a colleague!!!

The knock on the door pulled you from your girlish glee. You didn't need to guess who it was. Your friends knew to text you before they came over and Renée had agreed just to meet you at the restaurant.

It was one of them.

You didn't even t bother looking through your peephole before you opened the door to find Johnny standing there with a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers.

Johnny began to speak, afraid you were going to shut him down immediately no less. But no words came out. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking you in.

A vision.

You wanted to snap at him that your eyes weren't located on your hips. But damn if it didn’t feel empowering seeing Johnny’s gaze gloss over.

"Fuck me." He swore, gathering his bearings before realizing you were dressed. In a sexy black dress and heels and makeup and oh, fuck you were going out. "Where are you going?"

"First off, none of your business," you said holding a finger up. "And secondly, what are you doing here?"

"Listen," "Bon-"

"The box is right there." You said pointing to a large cardboard box on the floor. "That's everything."

"If you just let me make it-"

"Up to me?" You cut him off again. "I'm over it. Really."

"Just give me a chance."

"Either you haven't spoken to the other two to know I am well and truly done with this situationship, or you’re hoping some half-ass apology and flowers will let you get a last fuck in and the skedaddle. So hopefully if it was latter, hopefully the former answered that for ya.”

So if that's all you came here for, I've got to get going. My reservation is at seven and it's rude to keep a friend waiting."

"It's been a week and you're already going on a date?" He accused.

"Who said anything about a date?" You didn't outright say it wasn't. Where would be the fun in that? “It's just dinner with a colleague.” You didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t a date. But you didn’t need to say it was a woman. “Hardly a date.”

“Look at the sight of ye!" He said, taking the opportunity to take a quick look at how deliciously your ass filled that dress. “A fookin’ dinner with a colleague. Like one of us would show up to a briefing like that.” You opened your compact. Not needed in the age of cellphones but loving the feminine touch.

There was something so... seductive about using a compact mirror to apply your lipstick.

“Kyle does have the legs for this dress.” You said, applying that lipstick he loves. That same shade that looked beautiful on your lips. The same lipstick you would mark all over Johnny’s body. “Believe what you want. Not my problem anymore.”

You put your compact back in your purse along with the lipstick in case you needed to reapply it after dinner.

Johnny's eyes zeroed in on your lips before his eyes met yours. That's when you felt it again. That undeniably spark of chemistry that you had with him. With all of them. That feeling that sucked the very breath from your lungs and for a moment all you could see was the man in front of you.

"Bonnie," he said placing his hands on your neck. His thumbs stroking your cheeks softly. "Just one more chance." He begged, his voice breaking. "I'm a fucking git, but I won't let you go again. I won't leave." You knew that when it came to promises, Johnny had proven that even if he didn't mean to break them, he had forgotten he made them in the first place.

But in that moment you didn't care. Even after everything, Meredith was right. You had loved them. Everything else had ended so shitty. John had blamed you. Kyle had only shown up until it was too late. And Simon. The last time you would ever hear his voice was after he said such cruel things to you.

No.

If you were done with Johnny, you won't let the last time he fucked you being a quick, rough fuck doggystyle before leaving you naked and alone in your bed.

No. The last time with Johnny needed to be good. It might make it harder to finally leave, but you needed this. You needed to know that he could still make love to you and not just fuck you like an animal in heat.

"Johnny?" You asked. Your mouth dangerously close to his. "I don't want you to fuck me."

"I don't have to," he said, starting to take a step back to give you some space before your hands reached his. Holding him in place.

He can't let you go. You couldn't let him go. Not yet. Just one more. You needed just one more time to get him out of your system. The closure you needed.

"Make love to me." You begged, your eyes pleading. "I need to know that I wasn't just something you wanted to fuck." You don't move as his eyes search yours, looking for reassurance. When you nod, his mouth softly touches your own.

His hands travel along your body, but never fully leave you. Sliding your neck to your back. Pulling your body closer to his. A hand placed on your hip so tightly he's afraid you might disappear.

There's no rush, no haste in his touch. His mouth not eager to devour you.

He's slow. With his hands, his tongue. Even when he picks you up and walks to your bedroom with your legs around his waist.

He doesn't throw you on the bed.

Not this time.

He lays you down. His body laying on top of yours. His hand skimming along your bare thighs, but not daring to travel any higher.

But damn you needed him. You wanted love making, but if he didn't get inside you soon, you weren't sure you could let him go after this. You weren't sure you would be able to leave.

"Johnny," you whimpered, pulling away from his mouth. "Please." You took his hand, putting it between your thigh. Aching for any friction.

He obeyed without hesitation. If you told him to get on his bark, he would in that moment. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you.

"Got to get you out of this dress first." He resting on his knees before he began to slide the black satin from your thighs to your stomach. You maneuvered, helping him undress you leaving you in nothing.

"I thought you liked the dress." You couldn't help, but tease. Your hand finding its home on the back of his neck, pulling you to him once more.

In a tone lacking any note of humor and in all seriousness, he looked at you. Really looking at you. Taking in how your smile reached your beautiful eyes before he said, "I want you bare to me when I take you."

You felt your stomach flutter at his words before he began to take off his clothes.

He joined you again. His body relaxing when they got between your legs again. His mouth traveled from your exposed neck to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue until your back arched. Pressing harder into his mouth.

Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair before you boldly guided him to your already dripping core. He slid down your body before his hands began to push your knees apart until you were fully expose to him.

With your knees bent, Johnny settled on his stomach, placing soft kisses on your soft inner thighs. God, did he love seeing you squirm. He smiled at your tortured expression before looking down at your sex. "There she is." He said before placing a kiss on your pussy.

It wasn't sloppy. He wasn't diving in and licking at your center like so many times before. He was kissing it just as tenderly as he kissed your mouth. Slowly building it deeper and deeper. Adding tongue. Breaking away to readjust his head.

The delicious ache between your thighs began to become to unbearable. "Need you inside me." You panted. "Johnny-"

"Shhh." He soothed. "Got to warm you up first , Bonnie." He said before slipping his finger inside of you. One was all it took before your head settled against the pillows again. When your body relaxed, he added another. He would need to add three to make sure you were good and ready.

His digits stroked that spongy spot inside of you that made your toes curl. "You're barely fitting around my fingers." Johnny was a good 6 inches in length, but the girth is what always did you in. It hurt to take anything past his head into your mouth. If you fucked him without any preparation, especially after a week of no sex, he would tear you into too.

His tongue caressed your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your first orgasm creeping up on you.

"Johnny." You moaned, your fingers running through his soft brown hair.

"Give it to me, beauty." He panted. "Come on my face. Squeeze my fingers, Lass." He begged before his mouth went back to you.

It was like lightning. Your body now sensitive after being forsaken for so long. Your vision blurred and before you could process it, Johnny was sitting on his haunches between your legs, stroking his cock.

You could only nod, dazed and barely keeping a grip onto the reality of what this was.

The end.

He leaned forward, his cock nestling against you. You knew this was going to be nothing compared to his fingers. "Tell me if I need to stop."

You smiled, mockingly. Reminding him, "Not our first time together, Johnny." just our last.

"You were wrapped tight around my fingers." He gave a half smile before kissing your forehead. The gesture like a knife twisting in your heart. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm ready." You brought your legs around his waist again. Pulling him to you, your arms wrapping around his neck as your mouths meet.

He presses into you. The head of his cock sliding inside just one or two inches. You body contracting around him in a small spasm. He swallows your moan and lets you adjust. He pulls away before looking down where the two of you meet.

"I could die like this, Lass." He said, his breath coming out unsteady as he tries his best to control himself. So close to just burying himself inside of you to the fucking hilt. "Seeing you like this is this first thing I want to see when I make it to the other side." You let out a choked cry as he pushes deeper inside you. Another inch. And another. And another until you're taking all of him.

He slurs something that sound like "fuck", but you are in too much of a daze to care. You arch into him, trying to get closer.

His thrusts are slow and deep. His pubic bone brushing against your clit making you whine and squirm. Begging for more.

You're not sure how long he had fucked you like that.

You needed it to stop.

You couldn't handle it. The softness. His words.

I could die like this, Lass.

Your lip quivered as you told him you wanted to be on top. You needed a moment. A chance to create a bit of space before he shattered your world yet again.

He pulled out. His absence already making you ache for him again before he settled beside you.

You squatted above his cock. Your feet flat against the mattress as you grabbed his hardness and slipping it inside of you. The sound you let out was pornographic. A high pitched, soft moan slipping from your lips as he buried himself inside of you again.

You placed you hands on his chest. Using the leverage to ride him. Your arms serving as barrier for you to get your bearings.

You used his body just as he had used yours. Throwing your head back, you moved faster and faster. Readjusting so your hands went from his chest to his stomach, giving him a better view of your connecting bodies.

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing against your clit, and you tighten even more around. A needy whimper coming out of your throat. The sound mixing in with the sounds of his labored breathing and slapping skin as he begins to fuck up into you.

Even though he had been doing all the work for the last several minutes, you felt the tension start to creep into your calf.

"Fuck fuck fuck." You screech, barely able to hold yourself up any longer. "Ow." You hissed as the cramp took hold.

"Leg cramp?" He asked, not even faltering in his thrusts. You pathetically nod before he takes it upon himself to flip you on your back again.

"I'm going to do this every chance I can." He promises, pressing a searing kiss onto your exposed neck. "Any chance you'll give me." You can't take it. His words, his mouth, his fucking cock. It's too much. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. How much I want to fucking worship ye. Do anything to make you feel good. Not going to leave you again like that, Bonnie."

You reach for him again, pull him into a searing kiss just to shut him up. You need him to shut up. You couldn't take his false promises. You wouldn't survive it. Couldn't.

"Shit." His thrusts quicken, his thumb returning to your swollen bud. Flicking it in a way he had crafted into an art. He buries his face into your neck and you know he's getting close.

You weren't too far behind.

He didn't want to come, not yet, but this was fully out of his control. It was pathetic. A week without sex and you had him nearly coming in the first ten minutes.

But that's what you want. To see him lost in the idea that you would stay.

"Johnny." You groan out. "Please. Cum inside me."

He draws fast, beautiful circles around your clit that immediately push you over the edge. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing him like a vice as you come in strong waves, continuing to push inside you.

in out in out in out.

Deliciously clenching around him tighter and tighter until he can't take it anymore.

"Fuck," he says again, and you see it in his face, and you see it in his face, the second it's all over for him. You want to sear the image in your head. Keep it there forever. Knowing you'll never see it again. The way those enchanting blue eyes squint nearly shut before closing in complete ecstacy.

His mouth would open. A moan caught in his throat that he isn't ready to let go.

His hand closes around your hip, holding you to him while he presses as far as he can go, and it's only then do you feel his cock twitch in quick, jerky movements. He moans out your name before taking your mouth into a searing kiss.

"I fucking love you." He says. "So fucking much."

He was still under the blanket when you returned from the bathroom. You picked up your clothes up from the floor. Looking at the clock realizing you had less than five minutes to get out the door before you would be late for dinner.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You couldn't look at him. Hearing the panic in his voice almost made you stop. Tell him it really was just dinner with a colleague. A woman. That you would be back. Beg him to wait until you came home.

"I can't cancel on the dinner." You said slipping your feet into your heels. "This was a mistake."

You weren't sure why you said it. You weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. If you wanted to hurt him or make him think you regretted it when you would truthfully do it again. You would do it again and again. You would never stop.

Like Johnny, you could have died in that moment, but for a completely different. Where he would be content, you would be saved from the pain. The pain currently coursing throughout your very soul.

"Lock the door behind you." You say as you practically sprint out the bedroom. Only slowing in your stride to snatch your purse off the kitchen counter before running out. The door slamming behind you.

The restaurant was nicer than you expected. The wine alone was the price of an entree. You didn't seem to be phased at all and were relieved when Renée insisted on picking up the bill.

Your dinner had been delicious and the conversation even better. Renée wrote fantasy romance and wanted to pick your brain about a Why Choose. You had nearly spent out the over priced wine you weren't even really enjoying. Oh the irony.

"It's like all the rage now, but it's hard to make more than one appealing as the love interest. You should have seen the Goodreads comments on my last book. So many people bitched about my FMC not ending up with a character who was quite literally her adopted brother."

"So," you took a breath trying to find the words. "I'm going to be honest. I only read your latest book and I loved Luka. But I can't compare him to other MMCs you've written about so I don't know if they are similar or different. But what I can say is that I'm seeing like this trend of MMCs where they are all this dark-haired, brooding or mysterious character who dislikes mostly everyone and is only soft for either a select few or only the FMC."

"I think if you are going to write a Why Choose you need to think of guys you wouldn't mind falling in love with." You couldn't help, but think of what drew you to your boys. "One could be the leader. Someone who isn't afraid to have his neck on the line. To make sure everyone else is taken care of and being strong enough to handle the stress of that. He would be big on words of affirmation. Lifting the FMC up. For me, it would be someone that I know will take care of business. He's confident in his decision. That confidence would extend to me." You clear your throat. "If I was the FMC, that is."

"Okay." She nodded, pulling out a pen and notepad. "You don't mind if I-"

"I don't write about polygamy." Crossed that bridge. Currently trying to burn it. "So feel free."

"Another could be the one who it's so easy to fall in love with their charm. The one who falls to his knees. Wanting to worship every inch of her. The one who makes her laugh. That one to make her forget about the sadness that creeps into her bones. The one to hold her whenever he could. He's about quality time and physical touch."

"So different love languages." She said, her pen quickly scribbling.

"Yeah." You said, leaning forward. "Then there is the gift giver." Your mind went to Gaz. Most of the gifts and trinkets in the box sitting by your door had came from him. He had gotten you new earbuds when yours broke. When you were being harassed at your gym, he had bought you and him a membership at a different one. "The one who would give her the world if she asked for it. If you're going with a high fantasy then maybe the one to take note of something at a market that the FMC had been eyeing and he bought it for her. Just someone who takes notice like that."

"So acts of service would fall with all of them then you think?"

No. Simon had been the one who probably spent the least amount of money on you. He didn't praise you like John. He didn't even try to attach himself at your hip like Johnny.

But if you needed something fixed, he would come fix it himself. He'd be damned letting a strange man into your apartment. And alone? Fucking forget about it. The one who hated any sort of cardio activity outside of fucking you, but didn't hesitate in attempting to keep up with you when you wanted to go on a run and get some fresh air. If you needed something done, he didn't pay someone else to do it. He did it. If you wanted to do something, he made it happen. He made you safe.

You couldn't bring yourself to say explain it. Your eyes begin to itch. Warning you to think of something else.

So instead you just told her yeah. That they would all commit acts of service. And even in your hypothetical explanation of characters that haven't even been written yet, Simon was still the ghost among them.

"Lucky fucking girl." Renée said setting down her pen.

"Yeah." You said, downing the rest of your wine.

You walked home. The cool crisp wind feeling like it was whipping your exposed skin. It was soothing as the ghost of Johnny's touch still seemed to burn you.

You had hoped that you would get some closure, but you just felt hollow. You came twice and still manage to leave unsatisfied. Johnny wasn't malicious... he was Johnny. He wasn't like the others. Simon would never apologize and John and Kyle wouldn't try to keep reaching out after you told them know once.

Johnny couldn't stand you being mad at him. He never could. He would beg and beg for your forgiveness. You didn't regret fucking him one last time. He needed to know that you were well and truly done. There was no going back from this.

"Hey, Love!" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice coming from a source you couldn't see. You perked up, quickly scanning the dimly lit street before your eyes settled on a cluster of shadows just across the street. "Yeah." The slurring voice said again. "Talking to you gorgeous!"

You resumed your trek home. Now picking up your pace. "Don't be like that! Where ya off to?" The voice followed you. You kept your gaze straight. You were three minutes away. Three minutes and you would be at your building.

Three minutes.

Three minutes.

"What's the rush?" Another voice joined the cacophony. "Just want to have a chat."

You turned. They were maybe twenty feet away. You kept your eyes glued to them as your started to make a run for it.

You had made it about ten feet before your body collided with someone. Firm hands gripped your upper arms, steading you as you threatened to fall back.

You sucked in a breath of air, ready to scream when you looked up. It was too dark to make out the man's facial features. He was tall. His head eclipsing the street lamp just behind him. You shook beneath his hands. The voices behind you now silent.

"Keep walking." You didn't need to see his face. You knew that deep timber voice anywhere. He released you from his grip before letting you pass him.

"Just wanted to have a chat." You heard one of them try to reason. "No harm done."

"No harm done yet." Was the last thing you heard Simon say before you broke out into a full fledged run.

[writersdrug]

no thoughts just waitress!reader showing up for shifts like nothings wrong after the date situation

just keeping it calm and professional. working her shifts efficiently and no longer bantering/flirting with ghost, who would rather reader melt down and tear into him than putting up the walls around herself hehe

Ok I'm combining some asks here that had some different ideas - I got so many of you guys demanding reparation for making reader cry 😭 here's the comfort chapter! (Still a tad angsty at the beginning)

Ghost had finished your tips for you that night. He had half a mind to slide a hundred in your payout folder as an apology for ruining your date... but what good would that do? That would make you quit for good, if you hadn't already.

He lays in his bed, eyes stuck to the ceiling, still in his jeans and black shirt. He wishes he could snuff out the guilt that sits heavily in his gut. He wonders what you're doing - probably crying, possibly making a half-assed voodoo doll of himself and stabbing his chest with a dull steak knife, because that's all he feels right now.

He gets up early the next day after a rough three hours of sleep. He lumbers down the stairs to the office - Price is there, sorting out cash and working on the next supply order. He looks at Simon, who's rubbing his eyes and looking worse for wear.

"Mornin'." Price says, turning back to the monitor. Ghost grunts in response, dropping himself onto the couch behind Price. His head aches from the lack of sleep, thoughts circling in his mind about how to apologize to you. He can imagine you won't want to talk to him - or, if you do, it'll most likely be profanities wedged between insults. He'd love for you to berate him right now, and make him feel like he got what he deserved.

Price sighs. "You sleep alright?"

"I've had better."

"Nightmare?"

"... yea, somethin' like that."

Price huffs. "I'm workin' front of house today." He says, grabbing the bag of tips and standing up. "Goin' down to drop these in the safe, then I'll help you stock up."

Simon opens his eyes, looking at Price with confusion. "You?"

Price nods. "Dove called out sick. Sounded like she's got the lurgy."

That delivers the final blow to Simon. He knows you're not sick - you're avoiding him now. All plans to apologize are now out the window, and the more time passes, the harder it'll be to do it.

"You've only got yourself to blame, Simon." Price says, heading down to the restaurant floor.

He curses under his breath as Price leaves. How he heard about what happened - he could only assume it had been from Soap. He drops his arm over his face and groans. He wants to call out himself, but then they might as well shut down the entire pub for the day.

Should he try phoning you? Would you answer, let alone allow him to get more than five words out? What would he say? "Sorry I ruined your date, I was jealous tha' ya got a life outside of the pub." There is no variation of an apology that feels like it would be enough. He made you cry, for fucks sake. That was a punishment in and of itself, but he still had to own up to what he'd done.

He sighs loudly; his body feels heavy as he drags himself off the couch, trudging down the stairs. He still has a bar to run.

It had to have been the longest shift of Simon's life, and he even wrapped things up a bit earlier than usual. He didn't have the gift of your incessant chatting or being able to tease you to make the time pass. Price was a solid companion in front of house, but there was hardly a conversation to be held - even with the usual bar crowd. The patrons had a look of confusion for the majority of the night, wondering why Soap wasn't popping his head out of the kitchen to chat every once in a while - and why the hell the owner was serving tables, and not the chipper, spunky waitress.

When Simon had locked up for the night, he noticed your bike was no longer in the alley. Johnny must have dropped it off on the way back to his place.

Today isn't much different - at least, not for Simon. He's still suffering from a lack of sleep, he's irritable (he had a spat with Johnny in the morning, over something he can't even remember), and his work ethic is suffering. He's not worried about slicing bar fruit; it'll give him something to do later, when he needs it. Maybe the rush will kick him back into shape.

He stares at the dishes on the edge of the bar - they're all in need of a good polish, but he finds himself stuck on staring at the bar fridge. There's nothing else he needs to stock up on - it's packed completely full with wine, champagne, and cans of beer. He gently kicks the side of it with his boot. He should be checking the to-go boxes, helping Soap with setting up the condiments and soups, making sure the tables all had full salt and pepper shakers. That's what you would be doing. But, you're not here, and neither is Price. He can only hope tonight isn't as busy as the previous night, otherwise he'll have to close some tables. Which would make customers mad. Which would make Price mad. Which would-

Suddenly, he hears three loud bangs against the back door. He freezes, the sound triggering a Pavlovian response. He immediately looks up to the kitchen window - Soap opens the door, and you come jogging inside. You greet him with a smile. He asks how you're feeling, and you say "much better".

He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he just stands there like an idiot as you hang your bag and jacket on a hook. Stands there as you push your way into the restaurant, barely sparing him a glance as you scurry by him. Stands there as you run up the stairs, two at a time, diving nose-first into your chores so you can avoid Simon.

He can't speak. Should he? What can he say? "I'm sorry," for starters, but it isn't that simple. He thought you might have quit, and was preparing his heart for the worst. But now, here you are, running back and forth through the pub and setting up your tables - and it feels like you've never been farther away from him.

In all honesty, you can't bring yourself to talk to him either. You're feeling just as ashamed with your behavior two nights ago as he is about his own. Why the fuck would you expect someone - let alone your boss - to do your chores so that you could run off and have fun on a date? Not only that, but you'd made a scene; you felt like you had half-assed the ice bins in your scramble to get them cleaned, and then you sobbed in the middle of the restaurant. The cherry on top, however, was when you called Price yesterday and told him you had a cold, calling out of your shift. It was a cowardly thing to do, and you could tell he wasn't buying your story.

But: bills need to be paid, rent is due, and you can't lose this job. So you sucked it up and came in today - Simon is easy enough to ignore, separated from you by the bar.

At first, the quiet bartender was relieved that you had showed up for your shift - he wouldn't have searched for a new waitress if you had quit, instead choosing to deal with the consequences of his actions. But he's quickly getting more and more irritated with the silent treatment you're serving. You only talk to him when necessary: a simple "thanks" when you grab your drinks and run them to your tables. You busy yourself between rolling silverware, (over)stocking napkins and condiments, and even going so far as to spray the menus down and scrub them with a rag. You spend more time in the kitchen with Soap; each peal of laughter shared between the two of you is another arrow in Simon's chest. He's stuck behind the bar, listening to woes spilling from drunken lips, forced to watch you flit around and pretend he doesn't exist.

You can't keep this up forever.

Still, you do for most of the night. Even when your shift is coming to an end, the kitchen closed while you close the tabs for your remaining tables, you don't cave and sit at the bar with Simon. You sit at the farthest table from him, the farthest chair, in fact, skimming over your tip receipts - and talking to Soap (who was only able to sit with you since you had helped him knock out his tasks).

Simon's never been as angry with Soap as he is now - and the worst part is he knows it's not justified. He's watching from behind the bar, polishing glasses so hard they might wane into cups. He wants to talk to you. He will talk to you before the night is over. He doesn't expect forgiveness, but he expects that you'll at least let him offer an apology.

One of the regulars at the bar looks to whatever Simon is glaring at, chuckling quietly when he sees you. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Stuff it, Mike." Simon grumbles.

Meanwhile, you walk back from closing out your last table, plopping back in the booth with Soap. "What are you doing after this?"

"Sleepin'." he replies instantly, tossing back an onion ring. "Been dealin' with a grumpy bawbag since early this mornin', and I'm beat."

You glance over at the bar; Simon's back is facing you as he organizes the beer glasses. You really should apologize to him... you just couldn't figure out when the right time would be. He'd still be working by the time your shift ends, and you don't even know if he wants to speak to you at this point.

"Is he mad at me?" you ask, tapping your pen on the table.

Soap sighs. "I'm not goin' t' be the middle man, Bonnie." he says, looking at you intently. "If ye feel like somethin' needs to be said, go talk to 'im."

You groan, leaning back against the seat. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't! He's already pissed at me, and he probably thinks I'm a slacker. What good is an apology?"

"Ye won't know 'til ye talk to 'im, hmm?"

"What if he fires me?"

Johnny barks with laughter, and you frown. "I'm being serious."

"He'd never fire ye." he says, getting up out of the booth. He stretches both arms above his head and lets out a grunt. "In fact, he was throwin' a fit yesterday n' today 'fore ye came in. Bitch took it out on me."

You winced. "I'm sorry-"

"Save it fer 'im." Soap interjected. He left you at the booth with the onion rings and your tips, disappearing into the kitchen. You huff, hunching back over your tips and scribbling through them.

Deep down, you know Soap is right. If anything, you could just apologize to Simon. If he chooses to be grumpy about it, so be it. You've got tough skin... still, you can't stand the thought of him being upset with you - not because of your work ethic, but because you liked him. A lot. And you wanted him to like you back, even if it was in the most platonic way.

But that didn't change anything. An apology was due, and you were going to give him one before you left tonight.

You grabbed an onion ring and popped it in your mouth, grimacing when you realized they were cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Simon making his was across the floor to your booth.

Great. Guess the apology is coming now.

He stops at the edge of the table, wiping his hands in a rag. You pretend to punch numbers into your phone's calculator, but they're all random - you just want to look like you're busy.

"May I sit?" he asks, tucking the rag into his back pocket.

You mumble out a "sure", still not looking at him. You hear his large frame slide into the seat across from you, polyester squeaking underneath his weight. You continue to do random equations on your calculator, letting a thick blanket of tension settle between the two of you. You can feel his stare burning into your head, his arms folded over his chest... and you notice that his mask is in his hand. You finally look up at him.

It's not the first time you've seen his face - you've caught glimpses of it when he smokes in the alley, or when he eats whatever Soap throws under the warmer for you and Simon. But this time, he's not taking it off to be convenient. And, dear god, you're just now paying attention to how scarred, rugged, and handsome he is - but now's not the time for those kinds of thoughts. You feel like he's reaching out an olive branch, showing a possible vulnerable side to himself. So, you place your pen on the table and lean back.

He stays quiet for a moment longer, trying to figure out how to start this. He wants to make sure that you know he's here to apologize, not to ask for forgiveness. From his silence, you assume he's waiting for you to go first.

"I'm sorry about Tuesday night." you say, eyes dropping to the table. Simon's astounded that you're the one apologizing, but you continue. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and I'm sorry for trying to dump my job on you."

He feels worse, now. Was that even possible? He was expecting anger, insults - a detailed, frustrated explanation of what you did last night since you did not go on that date. But you're the one saying sorry? You think you're to blame for all of this unspoken aggression? Oh, you really do confuse him, sometimes...

"You don't need t' be sorry, luv." he says, gazing at you with a softness you'd never seen before, not in his brown eyes, at least.

"No, I do." you say, nearly pleading with him to let you be apologetic. "I was being a brat, and whether you usually do the ice bins or not, I shouldn't have expected you would do them without asking." You push your pen on the table, doing your best to convey your feelings. "And yeah, I was late for my date, but... well, he sounded like a dick, anyways."

Simon chuckles, watching you stare at the table. "Well, I owe you an apology, too. I jus'..." he sighed heavily, running a hand down his jaw. "I don' even know. Guess I was bein' lazy, or... I got jealous tha' you've got a life outside of this pub. Feels like you belong here."

He immediately regrets saying that - it sounds way too possessive and... just straight up weird. But you smile, taking comfort in the fact that he still wants you here. That this was the whole reason behind the mess.

"Soap called you a bitch. Said you were an asshole all day."

Simon scoffs. "Yea... 'm pretty sure Price would tell ya the same. And he wants ya back, too. Couldn't stand waitin' on tables, he was tryin' t' trade places with me all night."

You laugh. The world seems alright again - not perfect, but good enough. It might take a night of sleeping the tension away before you're fully back to your normal self, but this is a leap in the right direction. You look at Simon, into his brown, steady eyes, as they stare right back at you.

He breaks the silence. "I really am sorry for ruinin' your date."

You smile softly. "Thank you, Simon. I forgive you."

And just like that, the weight of his guilt is lifted away. The lingering sourness remains, a reminder that he had made you cry. But you had forgiven him, which was more than he was hoping to get tonight.

"Are we better?" you ask timidly.

He nods once. "Better."

You smile - you slowly slide your stack of receipts to him, biting your lip. "Cool - can I have my money?"

Just like that, his smirk drops - but you know it's all in good humor. He huffs, snatching the stack from the table and scoots his way out of the booth. "Always got money on the mind, eh?"

"I've always got rent on my mind." you retort, following after him with the bowl of onion rings. You plant yourself at your usual spot on the end of the bar, right near the POS where Simon cashes out your tips. He tries to hurry up, assuming you want to dip and go home after such an intense conversation. He slides the mask back over his face and punches his code in, trying to edit your tips into the system as quickly as he can.

"Simon?"

"Hm?" his response is instant, turning around to look back at you. You've got your phone on the bartop, and your back and jacket on the unoccupied seat next to you.

"Can I stay for a drink?"

He's melting on the inside, only held together by his own skin. He sets your receipts down and opts to do them later, right before whenever you decide to leave. He won't miss on an opportunity to have you stay longer.

"Course, luv. What's it gonna be?"

"You know how to make a cosmo?"

He chuckles, grabbing a glass from the shelf behind him. "Sure do."

[that-one-p00k1e]

─────〃★ for you, I wouldೃ⁀➷˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

✧ summary: things they would do for you ft. Ren Kaji, Hajime Umemiya, Haruka Sakura, Hayato Suo, Jo Togame, Mitsuki Kiryu, Akihiko Nirei, Tasuku Tsubakino, Toma Hiragi, Yamato Endo, Chika Takiishi

✧ content: fluff, gn!reader (I think), OOC most likely, established!relationship, not proofread I'm sorry, tsubakino's pronouns are confirmed he/him ✦ a/n: HAAAAPPPYYYYY NNNNNEEEWWW YYYYEEAAARRR BBBBIITTCHHESSSSS😝😝😝😝 six months since I last posted omg-! I'm still alive! 😍 tysm for the support while I'm gone ily'all <33

—REN KAJI would turn off his music and pull down his headphones to listen to you ramble. Though he had his attention to his phone, he'd give silent nods and hums here and there to let you know that he was listening. Occasionally, he'd throw in little comments and questions regarding the topic you were telling. Little to your knowledge, your rambles to him were like taking notes. He'd mentally highlight things that he thought were important, and would keep it in mind in the future. He's the type to look nonchalant, but deep down, he cares more than he lets on. “... What's wrong?” he asked as he heard you abruptly stop talking. “Forget it.. You're not even listening.” You looked away in disappointment, letting out a quiet sigh. “But I have been listening,” he tried to reassure, feeling slightly guilty for making you feel neglected. “Really? Then repeat all the things I've been saying.” He, in fact, did repeat most things you've mentioned and justified his word.

—HAJIME UMEMIYA would gift you random bouquets every week, as if he hasn't gifted you enough already. What's special about his bouquets is that you can never guess the theme for the week. First, he started off classic – flowers, with the consideration of them being fake so that you'd be able to keep them forever. Then, he brought you a bouquet of snacks and sweets that he knew were your favorite. Next thing you knew, he's giving you a bouquet of money he's been secretly saving up on. You felt guilty; guilty for the effort he's been putting, just for you to return it with some unprofessional homemade baked goods. It felt unfair. But does he sail on the same boat? No. He's going to reassure you that he expects nothing in return, and that you being there for him and loving him was what all he ever wanted and needed.

—HARUKA SAKURA would spend his free time struggling to assemble a Lego flower bouquet set after learning about White Day. He wanted to return your gesture of gifting him during Valentine's, despite himself denying such intention. It took a lot of effort, in both figuring out what to get while fearing you wouldn't like it –to the point that he would even call over Nirei and Suo for help – and in building the tiny pieces of bricks after settling on a final decision for the gift. He persisted to build it himself, no matter how much his friends offered to help. He wanted to make sure it was his work purely, done with his own hands. The whole process was frustrating, infuriating, and was basically a test of patience. But after seeing how you kept the received bouquet in a glass vase – delicately treasuring it on your bedroom display – he has never felt so proud yet flustered his whole life.

—HAYATO SUO would waltz into the café without a care in the world while having scattered lipstick stains decorating his face. Moreover, it wasn't your idea in the first place– it was his. Your relationship wasn't out yet, and he thought, what better way to publish it than announcing it wordlessly but gives double the impact? “Hm? Oh, this? It's my beloved’s artwork. Do you like it?” he'll innocently ask when someone questions the visible lip prints. Sakura was a blushing mess, and Suo was very much enjoying the look of bewilderment from others as they received the unspoken news. This was the reaction he wanted. This was what boosted his pride furthermore in being your boyfriend, and he'd shamelessly do it again to show off his love for you to the world.

—JO TOGAME would be your personal walking object holder. He'd take your bag and sling it over his shoulder with you needless to say; he'd keep hair bands around his wrist in case you decided to tie your hair up; he'd hold your shopping bags throughout your journey at the mall. Never were you the one to request his aid first, and never has he complained about being tired. He'd even go barefoot just to lend you his footwear when your feet start to hurt in heels. Moreover, he'd carry you bridal along the way. Despite you worrying over him tiring himself, he persisted to keep ahold of you. He loves seeing you enjoy life without a care in the world, and he'd do anything to carry burdens that dare to get in the way of that enjoyment.

—MITSUKI KIRYU would deliberately lose in a game of UNO and let you take the victory when he could've won decades ago. The whole time the both of you were playing, he's been holding a Wild and Draw 4 but refrained from using them. Instead, he kept drawing cards and just went yolo to buy time. Though he always played fair, seeing your dejected expression after losing many rounds this time was a little too unbearable for him. He promised himself for once, just this once will he let himself take a loss. He knew it wouldn't be fair, but if it meant that he'll get to see you smile in victory, then he doesn't find any problem with that.

—AKIHIKO NIREI would write down even the littlest of details about you that were thrown at him. You'd be casually mentioning a trivial preference as a ramble, but never had he pulled out his notebook and pen so quickly. During his early stages of getting to know you, he made sure to memorize everything you told him about yourself; your favorite color, favorite food, dream place to go, he even looked up your zodiac sign after knowing your birth date. He doesn't mean it in a creepy way. In fact, it was his way to know how to get closer to you. Despite already having the skill to remember it all, he likes to write it down to make sure as well as for keepsake. Thanks to that, now he has a cheat sheet on how to make you smile.

—TASUKU TSUBAKINO would wear himself a nail polish color that reminds him of you. Or, moreover, your favorite color. He loved being stylish, and what better way to do it than having at least a part of you involved in it? He'd walk proudly in his heels that you got him as a gift, and was even more ecstatic if someone complimented them, proud that your taste in fashion was appreciated by others. He'd ask to trade manicures with you for a date, where the both of you choose a nail look for each other. But if you weren't into painting nails, he'll ask you to choose a look for him instead. On special or fancy occasions, he'd often wear your fav lip combo or makeup look, as he treasures your choices and views them as something precious and only to be used when necessary.

—TOMA HIRAGI would pull up to the function wearing either a Hello Kitty or Kuromi tee under his gakuran jacket. Was it his personal choice to do it? Clearly not. Was it his choice to willingly wear it for the sake of his beloved significant other? Very much so. After many attempts of pleading, he caved in and (begrudgingly) agreed to your whole ‘matching outfits’ idea. He ate a pill or two when he saw how he looked in the mirror. Then ate two more when he finally appeared in public, especially at how much Umemiya and the others teased him for it. It was embarrassing, but was it worth it? No questions needed. The beaming smile you immediately wore when seeing him agree to your shenanigans, was enough proof that it was all – undoubtedly – worth it.

—YAMATO ENDO would revel in the feeling of being the center of your attention as you placed stickers and colored in his tattoos or drew silly doodles along his body. He liked the feeling of flexing himself while having you express your inner artist onto him. He'd think of himself as your muse; the art and the artist. Once you were done, he'd be extremely careful with doing activities, afraid of your artwork smudging off at the slightest touch. Even during the shower, he makes sure not to wipe it with full pressure. He considered turning it into an actual tattoo, really. Because it would mean that he'd get to keep something of yours to be a part of him, eternally.

—CHIKA TAKIISHI would let you do his hair as you please. He was one to outright reject the idea of someone touching him, but you – you had the privilege to do as you please to him without him raising a finger to stop you. You had him wrapped around your delicate fingers, his head leaning into your touch as you smoothly ran your hands through his long locks of red that met its ends with yellow. When he saw that you did your hair the same way as his, a flicker of surprise reflected on his eyes. Though he tried to come off as indifferent, he was secretly pleased to acknowledge the fact that the both of you were matching. He'd spend the whole day with you while wearing those matching hairstyles, not caring about how others would think of him. All he could focus on was how ethereal you looked in your current look. In fact, he always thought you looked beautiful in any shape and form of physical aspects.

[poguehearted77]

Between The Lines

Summary-> It's the little things that go on behind the scenes between you and Drew that makes your chemistry electric.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

"Park place." Maddison narrates where Drew lands his dog piece across the monopoly board. "I'll buy it." He says but your hand is in his face, "Not so fast. I'm sure you would love to buy it if I didn't already have a hotel on it. You owe me $1500. Pay up." You show him your open palm, ready for lots and lots of cash.

"He's so cooked. Look at that pathetic stack of cash Drew has. I've got piggy banks with more than that." Jonathan's comments send the four of you erupting into a fit of laughter which eventually dies down to a patient silence. "Sometime today would be great." Madison clears her throat.

"Josh is coming!" Drew points, appealing to your gullibility and you all fell for it. By the time you realized he was bluffing, the board was tossed and the pieces were all out of place. He gets up and runs off as if he already knew you'd be hot on his heels.

Your outburts left JD and Madison alone to pick up the pieces, but not without an interesting conversation. "50 bucks they're together by the time we finish the season." Madison says it so casually as she reaches underneath the couch for the pieces.

"So I'm not crazy? You see it too?" He looks almost relieved. "Trust me, I've got a knack for these things." JD seems skeptical about the timeline of the bet. "I dunno, we finish filming in four months. That might be too soon, I say by the premiere."

The both of them look up to Carlacia who seemed to have been streaming live on her istagram. She enters the room mumbling something about getting winded by you and Drew sprinting past her.

Madison scoffs, "That's like nine months from now. They could get together and break up by then, but you know what-- If that's what you wanna bet, then be my guest." She holds out her hand and JD shakes on it. "You're on."

"We're ready for you guys." One of the assistants notifys them that it was time to head to the screening room where the weekly table reads were held.

Today would be your first look at the script for the second episode, and to say you were shocked was an understatement.

Script Summary:

Eventually the pogues put their trust in Piper and she gives them a fair exchange of some arms that they can handle, while she opts for her weapon of choice, a steel pipe.

"How do you think I got the name and the scar?" She says and it puts an odd sense of comfort among the group, minus a skeptical Rafe, to know you were confident enough in your skills that you didn't need a gun.

They beleived they were in good hands, until they realized they weren't. There was movement coming from the bushes and it made the pogues stand on guard, beckoning them to come out. Soon, the figures finally revealed themsleves. More mercenaries.

"Nicely, done Piper. It seems you can still make yourself useful after all." The red-headed woman speaks up, tossing you a pouch of money that you caught with one hand effortlessly.

"Never doubt my capabilities, it's insulting." You warn, tucking the pouch into the bag strapped across your back. The british woman continues, "Y'know, Mr. Finch could use your talents again. Once we're done tying up loose ends, we're headed back to home base in Lisbon."

Rafe is livid. He knew he couldn't trust you. It couldn't be by pure coincidence that the mercenaries popped up in the middle of this oasis when you were leading. "Lisbon? You told us Finch was here-" Kiara exclaims and Rafe interrupts.

"It was all a lie, from the very beginning. Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta, he was working with you, wasn't he? You knew he'd send us to you, and now you got your sad little payout from these dipshits for bringing us to them." Rafe seethes.

"I'll neither confirm nor deny that claim, love the enthusiasm though." Your attitude remains unbothered throughout the ordeal until Pope demands, "What do you want from us? We don't have the crown! Groff took it." The red head shrugs casually, sharpening her blades as she approaches the group.

"Don't you worry, Groff will get what's coming to him. For now, it's time to repay the debt that is owed. You get blood on your hands, I get blood on mine." Your eyes bulge, "Hang on, you never said you wanted to kill them." You step in and the woman pays you no mind.

"Perhaps because It's none of your concern. You've got your cut, now's a good time as ever to leave. It's about to get messy." She retracts her hand, about to plunge the blade into Pope when she's knocked out cold by a flying piece of steel.

The group looks over to you in shock, fear, and a hint of gratitude, but there's no time to gush about it when there's suddenly a brawl that breaks out between the mercenaries and the pogues.

You all hardly take them out before escaping.

"Piper, what the hell?!" John B yells and his anger is heavily agreed on in the group, you take it on the chin before offering the most sincere apology you could come up with. They're unconvinced. "I deserve that. Everything you heard back there is true. Finch's Fortress is in Lisbon. If you find him, you'll find Groff," You trail off, reaching into your bag, handing Cleo the pouch of money you'd just gotten.

"Take this. It's more than enough to get you a boat big enough to get across the atlantic and even have some leftover for food for a few days. When you arrive on the coast of Cascais, you'll need to head north in-land."

There's silence.

A long silence, nervous glances between the pogues and Rafe's eyes roll. "You guys cannot seriously be considering trusting her. She almost had us killed! Am I the only one who cares about making it back home?"

"Just shut up, Rafe!" John B silences him, and Pope speaks up. "Listen, I don't know about you guys but Piper just saved my life when she didn't have to. We've already lost someone. Going after Groff could be a suicide missison for all we know. But we all know this isn't about our safety, it's about revenge. For JJ." His speech is moving, the expressions agree.

"For JJ." They all agree.

"To Lisbon we go." Cleo chimes, and the group moves on.

End of Script*

You had just finished reading the script and you were blown away. The cast never knows what to expect whenevfer a new script is dropped in front of them.

"Wait a minute... If the pogues are going to Lisbon in the next episode then," Madison trails off and the director ties in, "So are we. Pack your bags, flights are booked for Saturday morning at 5am, please do not miss these flights, we're not opposed to writing you out!" Josh jokes and there's excited and shock all around the table.

You knew that the last season of the show had implied that the pogues would be on their way to Lisbon but it never dawned on you that it would be so soon, even though it made sense.

"You ever been to Portugal?" Drew leans in, a soft whisper in your ear tickled your skin and made the hairs on the back of your neck at attention. "Never, have you?" He thinks about it, "If a layover counts then yes, yes I have." You're not sure if the joke was funny or if it just left the mouth of an incredibly attractive man, nonetheless, it made you giggle.

Madison kicks JD from under the table, jutting her chin towards the two of you giggling in secret and he rolls his eyes. "Patience." He says it calmly, but Madison is impatient, she knows she'll reign triumphant by the end of it all.

-

It’s a Friday night—or, more accurately, the early hours of Saturday morning. The world outside your accommodations complex is still cloaked in sleep, and you should be too. But no. The responsibility of making your flight in two hours has ripped you from the warmth of your bed. Groggy but determined, you scrambled to gather your belongings, knowing you wouldn’t be back.

After a last sweep of the room, you opened the door with a flicker of confidence—only to jump at the sight of a six-foot-two figure standing in your doorway.

“Drew! Oh my god, you scared me.” Your hand flew to your chest in a theatrical gesture, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

A small smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were actually up. Everyone else already left. There’s one driver still waiting downstairs.” His voice was smooth, annoyingly easy to listen to this early in the morning. Too easy.

“You sound oddly refreshed for 3 a.m.,” you quipped, your own voice still husky from sleep as you grabbed your suitcase.

“That’s the beauty of insomnia.” He shrugged, gesturing to his temples with a finger like it was some kind of genius life hack. “You can’t wake up tired if you never really sleep.”

The elevator dinged open, and the two of you stepped inside. The silence that settled was heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define. It hung there until you both spoke at once:

“So where are you—” “How did you—”

You broke into quiet laughter, and Drew’s mouth twitched with amusement. “You first,” he said, giving you a slight nod.

“How did you know I hadn’t already left with the others?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. For a moment, something flickered across his face—an emotion too quick to name—before a light blush dusted his cheeks. He masked it with an easy tone.

“I did some askin' around,” he replied, the answer short and almost vague. It was just enough to spark your teasing instincts.

“Ah,” you said with a smirk, “so you missed me?”

Instant regret settled within you. The elevator seemed too small, too still as Drew turned to look at you, his gaze steady and disarming. For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond, and your cheeks grew warm under his stare.

“You could say that,” he finally said, the ghost of a smirk curling the corner of his lips. His attention shifted to the elevator doors as they slid open, leaving you to wonder if you’d imagined the whole thing.

The ride to the airport was longer than expected thanks to roadwork that forced a detour. You should've been annoyed, but at some point, your head found its way to Drew’s shoulder, and your eyes fluttered shut. The fabric of his hoodie was soft against your temple, and his warmth lulled you into a half-dream state.

Drew didn’t dare move. The weight of your head against him was almost too perfect, and he fought the sudden urge to reach for your hand resting on your lap. Instead, he focused on the ticking clock in the back of his mind and the quiet hum of the car.

When you arrived, he sprang into action. “C’mon, we don’t have time to waste,” he murmured, grabbing your suitcase and his carry-on in one hand while ushering you toward the terminal with the other.

You barely had to lift a finger. Drew handled everything—tickets, baggage check, even navigating customs—with practiced efficiency, his jaw set and his movements quick. He wasn’t just organized; he was determined.

“Do you always walk as fast as a drill sergeant?” you teased as you reached the gate, breathing a little easier now.

He shot you a look, his lips twitching. “I'm not a huge fan of being late,” was all he said. But the way his eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary told you there was more to it than that.

Finally, you made it to your seats in first class. You settled across the aisle from Madelyn, who flashed you a bright smile.

“I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it,” she teased, leaning toward you with a glint in her eye. There was an underlying subtext to her words but you were too tired to decipher it.

“Drew made sure that didn’t happen,” you replied with a soft laugh. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

From behind your seat, Drew caught the sound of his name on your lips--and god did he love the way it sounds. He didn’t know what you’d said, but it didn’t matter. The fact that you were talking about him stirred something in his chest.

As the flight began, you glanced back once, meeting his gaze. He held it for a fraction of a moment before looking away, his expression unreadable.

And yet, for the rest of the flight, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop replaying the memory of the weight of your head on his shoulder—or wondering what it might feel like to hold your hand in his.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,

[iamthatonefangirl]

YOU WANTED more thoughts?? here i am.

mean n possessive dads best friend bucky whose always known you have a crush on him

OR (and?)

also you yapping n overthinking and bucky stopping you by fucking you

-@nevereclipse

sneaky - nsfw dbf!bucky barnes

please be warned this is... deranged. uncle kink. (not actual uncle because it's dbf) BOTH ARE FULLY GROWN ADULTS 18+ OKAY. you have been warned, read at your own discretion. series masterlist.

~~~

sneaking around with your dad's best friend probably wasn't the best idea you'd ever had.

what made it worse? every time your dad referred to him as your "Uncle Bucky." you cringed every time you heard it.

yeah, that's who he was to you your whole life. but hearing it now, knowing what you knew...

it put a bad taste in your mouth. a reminder of what you absolutely should not be doing.

but the way he fucks you isn't worth giving up just for peace of mind.

you wonder, sometimes, if that's what people who cheat on their partners think. that no matter how wrong it is, how many people you hurt, it just feels too goddamn good to give up. they're willing to go to insane lengths to keep the secret and keep their families together. they want to have their cake and eat it too.

because even though neither of you are cheating on anybody, that's exactly what you're both doing.

~~~

"fuck, that's my girl," he groans as you get down on your knees in front of him. you'd been sitting on his couch, watching something on netflix, anything, when you got carried away. only thirty seconds into the show.

maybe you're just insane, but there's something about being on your knees for him, bowing down to him, knowing how wrong this is...

he's supposed to be a father figure in your life, and what are you doing? you're blowing him with no remorse for your actions. you've done it before, and you're looking forward to doing it again.

his hands massage your scalp, encouraging you, "come on. be good. you can take it all," he says, pushing further into your throat and holding your head there, making you take it.

"love seeing you take all of me. love knowing I'm the only one who gets to fuck this little throat, huh? ain't that right? my own personal call girl?"

you nod as best you can while he holds you in place.

"yeah. my little girl. all grown up now, such a slut for her uncle, huh?"

your face warms so much you feel like you're sitting in front of the furnace. he loves rubbing this in your face, reminding you of what you're doing, forcing you to get off on it.

"that's right. you know your place, I know you do. I taught you so well."

he holds you there for you don't know how long, massaging your scalp down to the back of your neck, before bringing his hand to the front of your throat and pressing on where it bulges, thanks to him.

"my girl," he hisses. "none of those little college boys can fuck you the way you need. you needed someone you know, someone you trust, ain't that right?"

you might cry from how embarrassed and turned on you are right now.

"that's right. so needy for my cock, every fucking time, knowing how stupid you're being. you just can't get enough."

you're startled when his phone rings. he doesn't bother moving you, making you sit there while he looks down at the screen to see who it is. when he ignores it, you finally relax.

"you know I've been taking care of you your whole life, darlin'. course I'm gonna take care of you now. gotta take care of all your little needs cause no one else can, not like Uncle Bucky can."

and then, your phone rings in your pocket.

"fuck, is he calling you now?" Bucky groans.

and that's when you freak, shoving yourself off of him and falling backwards onto your ass on the floor. you reach for your phone in your back pocket.

Bucky asks you, "the hell are you doing? you're not done."

your voice is fucked when you quickly tell him, "my dad knows I'm with you! I told him we were getting dinner!"

Bucky's eyes widen. normally you tell him you're at a friend's place.

he nods and you hurry to answer.

"hey, Dad..." you try, clearing your throat, trying not to sound like you're absolutely wrecked.

"yeah, no we got takeout... yeah, Bucky's outside... yeah..."

you eventually hang up the call, both of you sitting there, startled.

no matter how much Bucky taunts you about it, it's not fun when you're reminded of the reality.

"he asked me why we didn't invite him and my mom," you tell him quietly from your spot, still on the ground.

you're both silent for a minute, the tv still playing in the background as you the awkward moment drags on and on.

you eventually both decide it's best to call it a night.

~~~

you both know better than to be reckless at this point.

but sometimes, you just can't help it.

you were trying to hop in the shower one afternoon, turning on the water, waiting for it to steam up the room. minute after minute ticked by as you stood there, naked, pleading the water to get hot.

you curse the universe when it doesn't, because it's just your luck that your dad isn't home to fix the problem.

so you shut off the water, wrap a towel around yourself, and go sit on your bed while you make a call.

"hey you, what's up?" he asks.

"can you come fix my pipes?" you tease.

Bucky stutters for a moment. "wow, that's... bold of you to say. I take it your folks aren't home?"

"you're right, they're not. but no, I'm being serious, the hot water won't turn on. can you come over and take a look at it for me?"

"yeah, sure. be over in a few."

you don't bother putting on any clothes, waiting around for the knock at the door still clad in your bath towel.

when you answer the door, you can't help yourself.

"oh, mister, however am I supposed to repay you?" you ask, pretending to be distraught, but it's ruined by the fact that you can't stop laughing as you say it.

"you're insufferable," he teases, stepping inside and yanking the towel from your form as he walks to the closet where the hot water heater is.

"hey!" you yell, reaching for the towel again.

"nothing I ain't seen before. besides, it'll encourage me to do my best work if I got an incentive for payment, don't ya think?"

that's how you end up in the shower together, hot water fixed, thirty minutes later.

he's got you pinned against the ice cold tile wall, hooking one of your legs up and around his waist. his fingers trace the skin of your thigh, his other hand behind your head to keep it from hitting against the hard wall.

"yeah, that's it. gonna let me use you, aren't you?"

"yes, yes, Bucky," you whine. he's teasing you, running his tip up and down your folds. he stares down at the sight, working you up to make you so desperate you'll do whatever he wants.

you start begging way too soon. "please, Bucky, I can't wait. please," you say, drawing out the last syllable.

he has no mercy, continuing to tease, before pulling back entirely.

"Bucky!" you cry, the only word in your mind.

"you know what I want to hear," he whispers in your ear.

he did this on purpose. he always does this on purpose, goddamnit.

"please, Uncle Bucky?"

he groans in approval, finally pushing himself into you, opening you up for him once again.

except it doesn't last long, because with the water raining down on the both of you along with the force of his motions, neither of you can keep your feet in place, and you keep slipping.

"god, least we tried," he laughs, turning off the water and picking you up bridal style to take you to your bedroom.

he barely gets the chance to lay you down when you hear the front door unlock downstairs.

you make eye contact. you're fucked, you're fucked.

"go put on your clothes. spray your shirt with the shower nozzle, tell him I sprayed you after you fixed the hot water," you whisper to him, pushing him off of you.

you both scramble to put on your clothes. Bucky does as you instructed, and you freak out when you see your sheets covered in water. you didn't bother using your towel, which clearly, was a bad move.

you're pretty sure your dad buys the excuse.

~~~

a few weekends later, your parents invite Bucky over for family dinner. he texts you before coming over, "wear a skirt for me, pretty girl."

now, as you sit at the table eating dinner, you know why.

he sits there, trailing his prosthetic fingers up and down your thigh under your skirt, all while your parents talk to him like normal. there's very little for you to contribute, so you're lucky you can focus on keeping your shit together while he messes with you, occasionally pinching your skin to keep you on edge.

"Bucky, we have something to ask you about," you hear from across the table.

his hand stops, and your jaw freezes in the middle of chewing.

"uh, what's that?" he asks them.

"we think there's something you're not telling us. and we think it's something you're both keeping from us."

you're fucked. you're done for. it's over.

"it's not what you think-" he begins, only to be cut off.

"have you started seeing someone? you've been happier lately. and knowing our daughter, she's probably already figured it out, but you've sworn her to secrecy, right?"

you let out a sharp exhale.

you're safe.

"yes, yeah. that's exactly it," he tells them, continuing to make excuses that he didn't want to say anything yet, it's still new...

his hand begins moving under the table again.

~~~

later that evening, you express a craving for ice cream.

"I'll take her," Bucky says before anyone else responds. "and I'll have her home before curfew."

you feel a pang in your chest when your dad assures Bucky, no need. we trust you with our daughter.

you know Bucky feels the guilt hit, too.

it doesn't stop you, though, from finding an empty parking lot and getting in the back seat as soon as possible.

"fuck, what would you have done if they'd found out, hmm? would you have admitted you had a thing for your uncle, baby?" he taunts, moving your hips down on his as you straddle him, riding him the way he likes.

the windows are already coated in condensation, the both of you so eager and pent up from the stress of the evening.

"no," you pant, tossing your head back.

he brings a hand to your throat, making you look at him.

"nuh-uh. you're gonna watch me while I fuck you. you're never gonna forget who it is that's fucking you like this, you hear me? I'm never going to let you forget."

~~~

when he drops you back at your house that evening, your mom asks, "vanilla?"

"I'm sorry, what?" you ask, confused.

"you get vanilla? you got some white stuff right there," she points to the corner of your lips.

you don't tell her you didn't go for ice cream.

~~~

guys I am sorry for this one... I had to

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