#scribbles from the swamp

[river-bottom-nightmare]

the shapes that you drew

buddie | rated m | 3397 words

“If someone wrote a story about us,” Buck once asked when they were packing up the kitchen utensils in boxes for Eddie’s horrible, horrible new house, “who would it be about?”

or, Eddie comes home from Texas to find Buck in his house, and life continues on from there.

written for the @bratbuckbash for @shealwaysreads ! it ended up being less brat buck and more intimate introspective vibes as per everything i write but i hope yall like it <3

[ao3 link]

[skyward-floored]

Psssssst. Migratory Rito in bright colors who show up when it's convenient for the plot seasonally, and then fly off to some other continent far beyond the ocean when you're done with them the rest of the year

Don’t tempt me!!!! Ack!!!

*already thinking about how I could make it work*

[maskedbyghost]

Simon knew marriage came with adjustments, but nothing could have prepared him for life with a writer.

It wasn’t just the weird questions—though there were plenty of those—it was the way your mind never seemed to slow down. You’d be doing something completely normal, like folding laundry, and suddenly stop, eyes going distant.

He’d barely have time to ask what was wrong before you’d rush off to scribble something down, muttering about plot twists and character arcs.

Sometimes, he’d wake up in the middle of the night to find you sitting up in bed, phone screen lighting up your face as you frantically typed notes because “this idea can’t wait until morning.”

It meant half-finished coffee cups scattered around the house, abandoned when inspiration hit.

It meant narrating your own actions under your breath, like “she sighed, stretching her arms above her head” while actually doing it, which always made him raise an eyebrow.

And then there were the moments that made him question everything, like when you casually asked if he thought someone could realistically survive being shot twice in the chest or how long a body would take to decompose in a swamp. He used to answer with concern. Now, he barely looked up. “For a book?” “For a book.”

At first, he thought the strangest part was the research, but then he realized it was how easily you pulled him into it. You used him for everything—testing out fight scenes by making him grab your wrist so you could figure out how a character would escape, running your hands over his shoulders and down his arms as you mumbled about muscle structure and “what kind of build do you think my main guy should have?”

You studied him constantly, stealing phrases he said, describing his expressions in your notes, even admitting once that a few of your male characters had a bit of his attitude.

And then there was the way you used him for other inspiration. He figured it out one evening when he saw you sitting on the couch, staring at him with that look—one that usually meant you had something on your mind, but this time, you weren’t saying anything. Just watching.

He glanced over from where he was cleaning his gun. “What?”

You didn’t answer right away, just tilted your head slightly. “I think I want to write a new scene.”

He raised his brow, setting his things aside. “What kind of scene?”

A small smile played on your lips as you stood, walking toward him. “Something a bit messy.”

Simon leaned back, arms resting lazily on the couch as he looked you up and down. “You need details, then?”

“Mhm.” You straddled his lap, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Need to get it just right.”

He smirked, his hands settling on your waist. “That why you’re lookin’ at me like I’m about to be put to work?”

“You don’t mind a little hard work, do you?” you teased, nails scraping lightly against his skin.

His grip tightened, voice low. “Not if you’re gonna make it worth my while.”

Much later, when you were tangled in the sheets, catching your breath, you rolled over and reached for your phone. Before you could even unlock it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against Simon’s chest. “Nope,” he muttered against your shoulder.

You laughed. “I just had a thought—”

“Don’t care.” His voice was warm and heavy with sleep. “Whatever you’re about to write down, you can remember it in the morning.”

“But—”

A hand slid down your hip, fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made you shiver. “I said, in the morning,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. Then, just to make sure you listened, he added, “Be a good girl and go to sleep.”

Your entire body heated at the words, your brain short-circuiting for a second before snapping into overdrive. Without a word, you bolted upright, nearly diving for your phone as you started typing furiously.

Simon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you serious?”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, fingers flying across the screen. “This is really good.”

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

@daydreamerwoah

[shangchiswife]

bucky barnes- a brief intermission

summary: you remind bucky what he's been missing when he's too busy with his job.

bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: smut, cursing

word count: 1841

...

You stared at the message on your screen, frustration slowly creeping in.

It was the fifth time Bucky had canceled on you.

Sorry, doll. Swamped with work. I’ll make it up to you, promise, the message read.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance, setting your phone aside.

Bucky had been buried in his duties as a Congressman, and lately, it felt like he was slipping further and further away.

Just two days ago, you’d been curled up on the couch together with his head resting in your lap, eyes closed, a quiet hum of contentment vibrating from his chest as you gently ran your fingers through his hair.

“This feels so nice,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper.

You’d smiled, the corners of your mouth lifting softly.

“I’m so glad, baby,” you said, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his head.

But before you could say anything else, his phone rang.

His head snapped up immediately, reaching for it without a second thought.

Your smile faded.

You felt like an old woman at that moment. You wanted to tell him so bad to get off that damn phone. You wanted to be more important than whatever was on the other end of that screen.

“Hello?” he answered, casting a quick glance your way, just enough to catch the way you crossed your arms.

A moment passed. Then his face fell.

“Alright I’ll be there right away,” he ended the call before gathering his things.

“Sorry hon, there’s a work emergency and they really need me,” his voice was soft, almost guilty as he looked at you.

“It’s ok, maybe we can do this another time then,” you said, forcing a smile.

“God you’re the best wife ever,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before slipping on his suit with ease.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a silence that felt louder than the conversation had been.

And now, here you were again. Alone on the couch, the screen still glowing with his apology.

You were exhausted. You missed your husband so much.

You stared at the text on your phone

Suddenly, an idea popped up in your head. If he couldn’t make time for you, you’d remind him why he should.

A smirk tugged on your lips.

You sprinted to your closet and slipped into a crisp white button down shirt and paired it with a black pencil skirt you knew drove Bucky crazy.

Oh you’d show him.

When you arrived at the Capitol Building you could feel all eyes on you as your heels clicked against the polished floor. 

You even watched as an intern who was carrying two cups of coffee ran into a wall because he was gawking at you.

You knew your husband was going to lose it. Bucky wasn’t going to know what hit him.

You knew exactly where his office was. You had come a couple of times to drop his lunch off when he’d forget it at home.

Once you walked in, his secretary was there.

“Hey, Layla,” you nodded at the girl.

“Hello Mrs. Barnes, the Congressman is in his office,” she gave you a polite smile before her eyes darted back to her computer.

You didn’t even bother knocking and immediately entered the room.

There your husband sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, collar slightly undone, scribbling notes across a legal pad. His brow was furrowed in concentration, jaw tight.

Oh he looked good.

You cleared your throat.

“Hi honey,” your voice was like silk as you watched Bucky look up and freeze.

“Honey!” His face broke into a grin, surprise flickering into something else as his eyes took you in.

You waltzed over to his desk and leaned forward, giving him the perfect view of the valley of your breasts.

His breath hitched at the close contact.

After teasing him, you planted a kiss on his lips, leaving him wanting more.

His face flushed instantly, ears going pink as he adjusted in his seat. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, trying to sound composed despite his pants suddenly tightening.

You leaned in, your voice low and close to his ear. “Just thought I’d remind you what you’ve been missing.”

He looked up at you like he’d just remembered how to breathe.

You sauntered over behind the desk where he was sitting, letting your fingers trail lightly across the edge as you moved.

Bucky swiveled slightly in his chair to follow your movement, eyes wide and glued to you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You came to a stop just behind him, resting your hands gently on his shoulders. He tensed for a second, then melted under your touch like he always did.

“You’ve been working so hard,” you murmured, leaning down to press a kiss just beneath his ear. “I figured you could use a little break.”

He let out a groan as you slid your hands down the front of his chest, your cheek brushing against his.

“You’re really trying to kill me in the middle of a budget meeting day, huh?” he muttered, voice rough.

You said nothing as you got down on your knees in front of him underneath his desk, relishing in the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. 

“Let me take care of you, honey,” you purred as you rubbed his thighs suggestively.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky breathed as he stared down at you, his eyes glazed with lust.

You slowly unbuttoned his slacks, watching as his cock sprung free already leaking with pre-cum.

You practically salivated looking at it. It had been so long.

“All this for me?” you batted your eyes innocently before bending down to press a kiss to it, lifting your head up so he watched you lick your lips which were smeared with his pre-cum.

His eyes widened as he felt his cock twitch.

“Holy shit,” he said, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek.

You gave him one last mischievous look before kissing his inner thighs.

“No teasing, sweetheart,” he murmured, gently tilting your chin up with his thumb, his gaze dark and focused entirely on you.

You gave him one last smirk before wrapping your lips around his cock making him suck in a breath.

You immediately started suckling, making his hand slide into your hair, fingers threading gently but firmly.

This only spurred your actions as you pushed his thighs further apart and started taking more of him into your mouth. 

“Doll, you’re gonna kill me,” he groaned deeply as he threw his head back against the chair.

You looked up at him, your lips momentarily moving away from his cock.

“That’s the plan, baby,” you winked before taking him into your mouth again, your tongue gliding along his veins.

He gripped your hair tighter, his hips bucking up into your mouth as soft moans spilled from his throat.

Your eyes started to water as his cock brushed the back of your throat.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, flicking toward the sound like a deer caught in headlights.

You didn’t flinch. If anything, your sucking became more deliberate, your smile more devilish.

“Go answer it,” you said, pausing just enough to let your words hang in the air like a challenge.

“Don’t play with me, sweetheart,” he warned, his voice low and ragged.

“What’s wrong, Bucky? Scared of getting caught?” you teased, voice honey-sweet as you looked up at him through your lashes before bobbing your head around him.

He let out a strained breath, his hand tightening in your hair, the other gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing grounding him.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he said, voice hoarse and trembling with restraint.

Oh, but you did. And hearing the way his polished exterior slipped sent a pulse of heat through you, your own desire curling in response as you dipped a finger under your skirt, toying with your clit.

Another knock echoed through the room.

“Congressman Barnes?” Layla’s voice came through, tight and professional. 

Bucky swore under his breath.

He knew that if he didn’t let her in she’d think something was wrong.

“Come in, Layla,” he said with gritted teeth as your teeth grazed his shaft teasingly.

Layla stepped in, tablet in hand, her eyes skimming over Bucky’s disheveled appearance. “Sir, the committee’s already seated. They’re expecting you in five.”

Bucky cleared his throat, loosening his tie slightly when you started massaging his balls.

“Thanks, Layla. Just reviewing some last-minute notes.”

“Of course,” she said with a small nod, though her eyes lingered a second too long. “Let me know when you're ready and I’ll walk you down.”

“Will do,” he replied quickly.

She turned and exited, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

“I’m going to make you pay for this,” he growled as he started thrusting hard into your mouth, all his restraint gone.

Tears fell down your cheeks as you allowed him to use you.

“Shit doll I’m gonna-” his eyes fluttered shut.

His cock twitched in your mouth as he reached his climax, his hot cum spilling into your mouth.

You waited until every last drop of cum was down your throat before you detaching your lips from him, a strand of saliva connecting from your lips to his cock. 

You both said nothing for a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing, the air between you still humming with heat.

Then, slowly, Bucky reached for his phone, his gaze never leaving yours as he dialed.

“Hey, Layla,” he said, voice low and steady despite the chaos still simmering beneath the surface. “You’re going to need to cancel all my meetings for the day.”

A pause.

“Yeah. Personal emergency.”

He ended the call and set the phone down with finality, like he’d just drawn a line in the sand.

His eyes met yours, full of something fierce and unshakable.

“You’re not leaving this office,” he said, standing and moving toward you with purpose. “Not until I’ve made up for every single time I canceled on you.”

When it was all over, the two of you stepped out of his office together, giggles spilling from your lips as Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist. His tie was crooked, your blouse a little rumpled, and your hair slightly tousled from his hands, but neither of you cared.

As you passed Layla’s desk, her jaw dropped, her eyes widening as she stared at the both of you.

“Reschedule everything tomorrow too,” Bucky said smoothly, barely glancing her way. “I have important matters to handle.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back another laugh as he led you down the hallway, the two of you radiating a kind of happiness you hadn’t felt in far too long.

And in that moment, with his hand in yours and laughter still lingering on your lips, it finally felt like he remembered what truly mattered.

[wadewnstonwilson]

need you close;

summary: when your busy schedule leaves logan feeling neglected, he craves your attention in his own way—by showing up with small, thoughtful gestures and lingering touches that hint at his pent-up need. despite his rugged exterior, logan’s vulnerability shines through as he tries to remind you he’s still there, waiting.

word count: 1k

a/n: okay so this was originally a headcanon idea but this was my most popular headcanon so I definitely wanted to post it as a one shot! always feel free to leave an ask if you guys want anymore logan themed headcanons or fics!

Logan wasn’t used to being ignored. Or at least, not by you. It had been weeks since you’d been swamped with work, and while you appreciated his support, you couldn’t help but feel the strain on your relationship. He’d never say it, not out loud at least, but Logan was needy, and he craved your attention like nothing else.

The soft scratch of a pen met your ears, but you didn’t even look up from your laptop. Logan stood by the counter, lazily scribbling something on a piece of paper. He’d been in and out of your office all day, never staying long but always making his presence known. His scent—musky, earthy, all Logan—lingered long after he’d leave. It used to comfort you, but now it only reminded you of the time you couldn’t give him.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Logan, I’m really busy.”

Without missing a beat, he crossed the room and placed a steaming cup of your favorite coffee on the desk. His fingers lingered, brushing against yours as he slid the cup toward you. You glanced up and caught the faintest smirk on his lips.

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” he grumbled, leaning in closer. His warm breath fanned over your cheek, and you could feel the tension melt from your muscles, despite how desperately you needed to focus. “Been workin’ too hard.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrayed you. The way his hands rested on your shoulders—rough yet tender—sent shivers down your spine. He started massaging the knots in your shoulders, his fingers kneading the tension from your overworked muscles. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this—missed him—until now.

“You need a break, darlin’,” Logan muttered, his voice low and rough, sending a familiar heat through your body. “Can’t have you burnin’ out on me.”

You chuckled, but the sound was weak. “I’ll take a break soon, I promise.”

Logan let out a soft grunt, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. But instead of arguing, he pulled back, leaving a small note on the corner of your desk before disappearing from the room. You picked it up, your heart softening at the sight of his messy handwriting: Missin’ you. Don’t forget to take a break.

For a moment, you considered following him. You could see the hurt in his eyes, the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. But you had deadlines to meet, work piling up faster than you could keep up with. You’d make it up to him later—at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The next few days were more of the same. Logan was always around, but never directly demanding your attention. He’d leave notes scattered around your workspace—short, sweet messages like Thinkin’ ‘bout you or We’re overdue for some time together. He brought you food, sometimes your favorite meal, other times just a snack to keep you going. He’d make excuses to touch you, his hands lingering on your back or brushing against your arm as he walked by.

But you noticed the shift. His touches were growing more possessive, more intense, as if he was trying to remind you that he was still here, waiting for you to give him the attention he so desperately needed.

One evening, you returned home from a long day at work, exhausted and drained. You dropped your bag by the door and collapsed on the couch, barely managing to kick off your shoes. Within seconds, Logan was beside you, pulling you into his lap without a word.

“Logan, I’m—”

“Shh.” His arms wrapped around you, and you could feel the weight of his need in the way he held you, so tight you thought he might never let go. “You’re always busy, darlin’. Let me take care of you.”

The frustration in his voice was clear, but so was the affection. He wasn’t angry—he was hurt. Hurt that you hadn’t been giving him the time he needed. You felt a pang of guilt as you melted into his embrace, feeling the heat of his body against yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your head resting against his chest. His heart thudded steadily beneath your ear, a comforting sound that you hadn’t realized you’d missed. “I’ve been so caught up in work, I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop apologizin’,” Logan interrupted, his voice softer than before. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. “Just... don’t do it again, alright? I miss you.”

You nodded, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. Logan wasn’t the type to openly express his emotions, but the way he held you now—tight, protective, needy—said more than words ever could.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering against your hair. “I’ve been patient,” he muttered, his voice rumbling through his chest. “But I need you. Not just here, but with me. You get what I’m sayin’?”

“I do,” you replied softly, shifting to look up at him. His eyes met yours, and you could see the raw emotion swirling in them—jealousy, frustration, but above all, love. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”

Logan grunted, but this time there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I can forgive you, but only ‘cause I know how hard you’ve been workin’. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

You laughed, feeling the tension in your chest ease. “I’ll try not to.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss that made your heart race. You could feel the heat of his need, the way he poured every bit of his pent-up affection into the kiss. It was almost overwhelming, but in the best way possible.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I’m not gonna stop remindin’ you I’m here,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You’re mine, darlin’. Don’t forget that.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “I won’t forget.”

For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to relax completely in his arms, savoring the warmth of his touch and the strength of his embrace. Logan wasn’t one to be needy often, but when he was, it only made you fall harder for him.

And maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what you needed too.

[bubblesgarden]

｡˚○ — witchy!reader & rafe cameron

it starts with a morning like any other. 

too quiet. 

too heavy. 

rafe had woken up before dawn, already wired with that kind of restlessness that made his skin feel too tight for his body. the walls of tanneyhill felt like they were closing in on him, the silence too loud. he didn’t even bother with breakfast; just laced up his sneakers, grabbed a hoodie, and hit the road. 

running helped… sometimes. not with the anger, exactly. that stayed. but it dulled the noise in his head. pushed it down beneath the thud of his shoes on asphalt and the burn of cold air in his lungs. 

he was two miles out when his phone started to buzz. 

top. [6:34AM] yo top. [6:35AM]  kelce wants to hit the gym.  top. [6:35AM] bring that preworkout u use. top [6:37AM]  ???

rafe rolled his eyes as he thumbed through the texts. typical. 

he didn’t reply. 

instead, he veered off the road, ducking into a narrow trail that he used to take when he was younger. it cut through the trees, curled around the marsh, and spat you out at the dock. and he needed the dock— needed the stillness of it. 

or maybe he just needed air that didn’t reek of chlorine, bourbon, and lies. 

you’re barefoot the first time rafe sees you. 

not the typical flip flops off at the beach barefoot, but barefoot at the edge of the trees, crouched besides a tree stump, lighting something in a tiny dish that smells like rosemary and smoke. rafe almost didn’t see you, completely lost in his own world— earbuds in, hoodie damp with sweat. but when the wind shifts, that's when he can smell the smoke. 

you don’t startle when he notices you, instead, you just glance up, offering him a tiny smile like you’d already knew he’d be there. 

and rafe slows down, but only for a second. and still, he looked back.

rafe’s knew who you were, of course. everyone on the island knew you— kooks laugh about you with their friends, the pogues joke about you like you’re their in house forest spirit. you’re that weird girl who lives on the cut, raised by your grandmother who had the same connection with the earth as you did. you did tarot readings at bonfires, trading for beer and sea shells. 

you were strange.

and rafe cameron doesn’t do strange, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

but somehow? he kept running into you— at the dock, braiding wildflowers into kiara’s hair. at the small cafe on the corner, scribbling in a worn leather notebook and ignoring your food. he saw you in a bookstore, curled up in the floor in the spiritual section like you belonged there more than anywhere else. 

“you know most of that stuff’s just made up, right?” he said, nodding toward the open book in your lap. his voice was lazy, a little condescending, trying to sound more sure than he felt. and when you tilted your head at him as you looked up, he couldn’t help the lump that formed in his throat. 

“so are stories. doesn’t make them any less powerful.” 

he scoffed, walking away from you. but that night, he dreamt of the ocean swallowing him whole. 

you were like a splinter in his brain. he tells topper you’re a freak, saying your whole ‘moon child swamp witch’ thing is a performance— he says it with his chest, but he still goes quiet when your name comes up. still finds excuses to be near places you might be. he starts to pay attention, noticing things like little bundles of herbs tied to fences, strange symbols etched into drift wood. 

and you? you don’t chase him. you don’t flirt with him, or force anything. but you see him. you look at him like you know something he doesn’t. like you’ve looked straight through that carefully polished exterior he holds so proudly and seen whatever’s underneath— bruised, rotting, and aching for something soft. 

and that should piss him off.

but it doesn’t. it fascinates him.

you fascinate him.

[oizysian]

Bad Puppy | Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Y/N isn’t in the right headspace today, and when Wanda lets Natasha go too far with her punishment, she has to make it up to her poor puppy.

Warnings: pet play, spankings, dirty talk

Word count: ~2.5k

AN: I’m so nervous about posting this because I’ve never really written anything like this. I hope you all like it!

•

“Bad puppies get punished,” Wanda said without looking up from her work. “You know that, pet.”

“Yes, mommy.” I responded softly, not wanting to antagonize her further.

“And today mommy is far too busy with work to punish you, so I’m having Tasha come and do it for me.”

My eyes widened. Natasha was coming to punish me?

“But, mommy -”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She took a break from typing to crack her knuckles, then looked at me. “Unless you want Tasha to stay over tonight.”

“No.” I whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

“Good girl.” She looked down at her paperwork, picked up a pen and scribbled something down before typing again. “She’ll be here any minute so go lay down. You know how she likes you.”

I almost started crying at her words. I did like playing with Natasha, really, but I didn’t want to play today. Puppies didn’t talk back to mommy so I couldn’t tell her how I felt, so I just went and laid down on the pullout couch she had in her office.

I lay pouting when Natasha walked in, dressed in a pencil skirt and plain white top, and high heels to finish off the ensemble. She closed the double doors behind her and approached Wanda’s desk, completely ignoring me.

“Wanda. I hear someone’s been bad.”

She took a moment to look up at the other woman, nodding as she did so.

“Very. My little pet needs to be punished, but I’m just swamped with work today.”

“I see.” She said as her eyes scanned over the various piles of paperwork she had on her desk. “So that’s why you called me.”

“Exactly.” She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the older woman. “I know you’ll dish out the appropriate punishment for my little pup.”

Natasha finally turned to look at me, spread and waiting for her on the luxuriously large couch.

“She’s well trained, at least.” She walked over to me and ran her hand along the edge of the couch, fingers brushing the soft, silk cushions.

“She’s well trained for you.” Wanda rolled her eyes. “She’s been a bit of a brat lately.”

“It’s because you’re working too much and too hard.” She walked back over to Wanda and stood behind her chair, reaching over and massaging her shoulders. “You’re gonna work yourself to death.”

“Mm,” she moaned, her head lulling back against the headrest as Natasha worked out the knots in her upper back and shoulders. “You’re right, but I need to earn a living.”

“Wanda, you’re one of the top five richest women in New York.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck and Wanda tilted her head to give her better access. “You need some time off. You need someone to take care of you.”

My ears perked up at that, watching them from my place on the couch.

“Not today, Tasha.” Wanda finally sighed and Natasha stood up straight, returning her gaze to me.

“I know. Today is for the pup.”

I trembled where I lay, watching as her hungry eyes ran over my bare body. I didn’t want to play today! I wanted to be with mommy!

Usually Natasha and Wanda played with me whether I said I wanted to or not, but they always listened for a safe word. I’ve never used it, always coming around and wanting to play after a while, but today wasn’t like that. But, puppies didn’t talk back to their mommies.

Natasha walked back over to me and climbed onto the pullout bed, crawling over to me like I was some kind of small prey. Wanda stole a glance at us, her eyes hovering over me before returning to her computer screen.

Natasha rolled me over and rubbed her hand along the swell of my ass, propping herself up on her elbow as she laid next to me.

“Wanda,” she spoke as she caressed me. “Why haven’t you painted this ass red already?”

“I figured you’d rather do the honors.” She continued to type. “I know you so enjoy a good spanking.”

“I do.” She slapped my ass and I whimpered, gripping at the sheets beneath me. “Especially when someone deserves it.”

“Mommy,” I whimpered, turning my head to face her, but she didn’t even spare me a glance. “Please.”

“Mommy won’t help you if you’ve been bad.” She smacked my ass again. “She might actually enjoy hearing you cry.”

“I think I might.” She said with a smile, tilting her head slightly so she could see Natasha spank me.

Natasha spanked me again and again, causing me to cry into the pillows. My ass was red, burning and raw once she was done, which felt like hours later. I had been bad, yes, I had disobeyed mommy, so I deserved this.

“I love it when she cries.” She directed at Wanda, but kept looking at me. “You really have the most perfect pet.”

“She’s perfect when she listens.”

“I’ll listen, mommy, I promise!” I cried and Natasha laughed.

“She says she’ll be good, mommy. What do you think?” She said as she rubbed my ass, causing me to hiss from the pain.

“I don’t believe her.” She said, resting her head on her hand. “I don’t think she means it.”

“Maybe her pussy needs a spanking too.”

“Mama, please, I’m sorry! I’ll listen to you! I won’t disobey you again!”

“Mhm.” She hummed and Natasha laughed again.

“I’m sure she’ll listen, mommy. At least she definitely will once I’m done with her.”

I buried my face in the pillows, crying freely. Why wouldn’t mommy believe me?

Natasha flipped me back over, running her hand over my mound. I cried when my ass hit the sheets, and covered my eyes so I didn’t have to look at them. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t be good enough for mommy that she had to call Natasha over. I was embarrassed that I had been spanked.

“Look at Natasha, detka.” Wanda said smiling. “Look at her when she spanks your pussy.”

I removed my hands from my face, balling them up at my sides. I sniffled softly as I watched Natasha pet me, my chest heaving as I tried catching my breath. She wasn’t hitting me yet, but my body trembled in anticipation.

“She’s shaking.” Natasha said with a smile. “She must be excited.”

Wanda got up from her desk and went into her bag, retrieving a rose gold buttplug with a little tail on the end. She walked over to us and handed it to Natasha, who eyed it excitedly.

“I was in such a rush this morning, I forgot to put this in.”

“Keep those legs spread, pup.”

Natasha spread me further and tried to insert the plug into my ass dry, causing my muscles to push her out.

“Tasha,” Wanda chided. “You need to get it wet first.” She gestured to me with her head. “Use her mouth.”

“Open wide.” Natasha brought the plug to my lips and slipped it into my mouth.

I pulled away from her and she grabbed at the leash attached to the collar I always wore and pulled me back toward her to take the plug in my mouth.

“Get it nice and wet.” She said softly, a sadistic smile on her face.

Tears stained my cheeks as I swirled my tongue around the plug, doing as she asked. I was taking the punishment I knew I deserved but I wasn’t sure how much more I could take today.

“She’s such a needy slut. She needs all her holes filled up, doesn’t she?”

I didn’t respond. She popped the plug out of my mouth and pushed me back down on the plush cushions beneath me, spreading my legs once again to insert the plug into my ass.

“She’s so tight.” Natasha said as she attempted to push the plug in again. “I love it.”

I let out a grunt as she finally got it through my ring of muscles, relaxing at the familiar feel of my plug in my ass.

“There you go. Puppy’s got her tail now. I thought something was missing.” She reached up to pet my head, touching the ears I had clipped to my hair.

“I do love when she’s all dressed up for me.” Wanda leaned over and tugged at my tail gently, drawing a low moan from the back of my throat.

“She likes her ass getting played with, huh? She really is a whore.”

“Mommy …” I looked up at her with teary eyes, but she continued to examine my tail.

“I might need to get her a bigger one for when she’s bad. Maybe one that’s a little longer and with a little more girth.”

“I’ve seen some pretty ones in the shop,” Natasha chimed in. “They’ve got a lot of things your pet would look delicious in.”

Wanda smiled at her before walking back over to her desk. She went in her drawer and pulled out a wooden hairbrush - one that was not used for hair - and brought it over to Natasha.

“I need to purchase a few different things. Paddles in different sizes are one of them.” She handed her the brush and Natasha ran it over my slit.

“A hairbrush is classic, though.” She tapped it on my mound gently and I nearly jumped right out of my skin. “It’s got a different texture than the paddle.”

Wanda hummed in agreement and Natasha began spanking my pussy, sharp, lingering strokes of the brush.

“Count for Natasha, pet.”

I was unsure of how many times she had already hit me. I opened my mouth to speak and she gave me another smack, and all that came out of my mouth was a whimpering cry.

“She’s too dumb of a whore to count.” She continued to spank me, my pussy red and raw, and I cried, attempting to close my legs to cover myself.

She pushed my legs open and spanked me harder, ignoring my cries. Wanda watched as Natasha punished me, her eyes hard and unwavering.

“Thank Natasha for spanking you, detka.”

“Thank you, Tasha.” I cried, blubbering like a baby.

“How many was that?” She asked Wanda and she raised her eyebrows.

“Twenty. My obedient pet should’ve been counting.”

“I’m sorry, mommy.” I just wanted to get back in her good graces.

“Hm,” Natasha slid her fingers into my heat, causing me to cry harder from the pain. “She’s wet. Dumb slut even gets wet from punishment.”

I couldn’t control my body, but everything hurt. My heart just wasn’t in it today, I wasn’t feeling good anymore.

“Red, mommy. Red.” I finally squeaked out, her eyes widening as she finally looked at me.

“Natasha, could you wait in the other room for a minute?”

The other woman nodded and climbed off the couch, straightening out her clothes before leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

“Detka.” Wanda said softly, coming to sit next to me, resting her hand on my bare thigh. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to play.” I cried, covering my eyes with my hands. “I deserved to be punished, but I don’t wanna play.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier, baby?” She rubbed my thigh, comforting me.

“Because I deserved it.”

“Hey. Look at me.” I peeked at her from behind my hands and she waited until I was fully looking at her before she continued speaking. “You deserved to be punished, yes, but not if you weren’t in the right headspace to be punished.”

I sniffled softly, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

“You need to speak up when you’re not feeling good, okay?”

I nodded.

“Are you still mad, mama?”

“No, malyshka. You took your punishment, you did good. But, don’t do this again. If you don’t feel right, we won’t play, okay? This isn’t fun for mommy if it isn’t fun for you.”

“Okay, mama, I’m sorry.”

“I know. Come here.”

She held out her arms to me and I climbed into her lap, curling up in her embrace despite the pain on my ass and pussy. She held me close and rocked me, petting my hair.

“You’re my good girl. You did so good today. Do you want to sit with mommy while she works?“

I nodded and she pressed a kiss to my head.

“I’m gonna go tell Tasha we won’t be needing her anymore today, okay? I’ll be right back.”

She put me back down on the couch and got up, walking out and talking to Natasha.

I laid down and waited for her. My breathing finally evened out as I relaxed and calmed down. Mommy wasn’t mad and now I didn’t need to be punished any more today. I would get to cuddle with mommy and everything would be better tomorrow.

She walked back into the room, her gaze softening as she saw me curled up and practically falling asleep. She went and sat in her office chair, patting her lap for me to sit with her. I climbed off of the couch and almost ran to sit with her, letting her wrap her arms around me as I got comfortable on her lap. She began typing again and rested her chin on top of my head. This was all I wanted. I wanted to be with mommy today.

I nuzzled my face against her neck, taking the sensitive skin in my mouth and sucking gently. I slipped my hand up her shirt and palmed her breast, playing with her nipple through her bra as I sucked on her neck. I couldn’t be happier.

She ran her hand along the swell of my ass, hushing me when I hissed from the pain. She was just trying to comfort me.

“Do you want the cream?”

I shook my head slightly, not wanting to let go of her. I could handle the pain that I had deserved. I didn’t want us to part and I didn’t want to be a bother to her. I knew she had a lot of work to do.

“If you change your mind, let me know.” She pressed another kiss to the side of my head and continued to work.

“Mama?” I asked softly, looking at the dark mark I left on her neck.

“Hm?”

“Do you … need someone to take care of you?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion before she remembered the conversation she had with Natasha.

“No, detka. I have you. I don’t need anyone else.”

I smiled to myself and rested my head against her.

“Am I more important than your work?”

“Of course you are, baby. What a silly question.”

I was important to her. I was hers and she was mine. Now that everything was settled, I couldn’t wait to play with mommy and Natasha again.

•

@boredandneedfanfics @hailee-steinfelds-girl

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: More Than Enough

Marshall had been deep in album mode for weeks now, and you understood. You always understood. When he was in that space, nothing else existed—not time, not sleep, not food unless you physically put it in front of him.

But what you hadn’t expected was how his team would start leaning on you.

At first, it was small things—grabbing coffee, handling small errands, answering calls when Marshall was too busy. You didn’t mind helping. But then it became more.

"Hey, can you run out and grab lunch for everyone?"

"Mind handling the studio schedule? Paul’s swamped."

"Can you make sure the deliveries get sorted? We’re behind on inventory."

And it wasn’t just errands—it was the dismissive way they spoke to you, like you were supposed to do these things. Like you were just there to help them.

Like you weren’t his wife.

The first few times, you brushed it off. It wasn’t a big deal, right? Marshall was in his creative zone. You didn’t want to bother him with stupid complaints when he was making something brilliant.

But after a while, it started to weigh on you.

You weren’t just being helpful—you were being used.

And the worst part? Marshall didn’t notice.

He barely even looked at you most days, too caught up in the music, scribbling in notebooks, pacing the room while he worked through lyrics. You were just there, silent and waiting.

So you stopped going.

You didn’t make a big deal out of it—you just found excuses. Told him you had things to do at home, or that you didn’t want to get in the way. And at first, he didn’t seem to notice.

Until today.

Marshall came home earlier than usual, his hoodie slung low over his face, his hands in his pockets. He found you curled up on the couch, watching some random show you weren’t even paying attention to.

"You mad at me?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

He sat down on the armrest, facing you. "You’re mad," he repeated. "You haven’t been at the studio all week."

You shrugged, looking away. "Just needed a break."

His eyes narrowed. "Bullshit."

You sighed, your fingers tightening around the blanket in your lap. "It’s nothing, Marshall."

"Obviously, it’s something." His voice was sharp now, frustration creeping in. "Talk to me."

You hesitated. "It’s just… your team. They—" You swallowed, feeling stupid for even bringing it up. "They kind of use me for shit."

His brows furrowed. "What?"

"Like, I get it, you’re busy, but they just assume I’ll do things. Errands, scheduling, handling stupid crap they don’t want to deal with. And I didn’t say anything because you were working, and I didn’t want to bother you with—"

Marshall stood up so fast the armrest shook.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

You flinched. "Marshall—"

"Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?" His voice was low and dangerous now, his fists clenching at his sides. "They’ve been using you?"

You bit your lip. "I didn’t want to be a distraction."

His head snapped toward you, eyes flashing. "You think you’re a distraction?"

You looked down. "I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it."

Marshall let out a sharp breath, running a hand over his face before crouching in front of you. He reached for your hands, prying them away from the blanket.

"You’re my wife," he said firmly. "Not their assistant. Not their goddamn secretary. Mine."

Your chest tightened. "I know, but—"

"No." His grip on your hands tightened. "No buts. You don’t hide shit like this from me, you hear me?" His voice softened, but the fire in his eyes didn’t dim. "You don’t just deal with it alone."

You swallowed, guilt creeping in. "I didn’t know how to bring it up."

He exhaled, shaking his head. "Baby, you don’t gotta know how. You just gotta say it."

You nodded slowly, and Marshall stood, pulling you up with him before wrapping his arms around you.

His chin rested on your head, and his voice rumbled against your hair.

"They’re gonna learn real fucking quick who they’re dealing with."

You smiled into his chest, feeling the weight of the past few weeks lift off your shoulders.

Marshall wasn’t just listening now—he was handling it.

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 6 - Please Don't Die

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: they go house hunting and things go sideways.

warnings: enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, maybe angst... some fluff...

AN: a bit more angst because why not

word count: 2.8k

Part 5

—//—

The street was quieter than expected.

That was your first clue something might be off. No dragging footsteps. No guttural moans carried by the wind. Just the low rustle of breeze through trees and the faint creak of an old street sign swaying lazily above the cracked pavement.

You and Jenna slowed your bikes at the edge of the block, shoes hitting asphalt almost in sync. She scanned the rooftops while you pulled the crumpled flyer from your jacket pocket and looked up at the actual house - or what was left of it.

“This the one?” Jenna asked, coming up beside you.

“Yeah,” you said slowly, holding out the page for her to see. “It’s a match.”

Or, it had been.

The front porch had collapsed inward, boards snapped like ribs. One of the support beams was cracked in half, crushed beneath the weight of a massive tree that had fallen straight through the second floor. Glass crunched underfoot as you moved closer, boots skimming along the edge of a splintered welcome mat now buried beneath debris.

You gave a low whistle. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Jenna frowned. “Looks like a hurricane came through here.”

She crouched near the foundation, lifting a cracked plank with her knife and peering into the ruined understructure. “This place is a coffin waiting to happen.”

You exhaled slowly. “Was really hoping this one would hold up.”

“Me too.” Her voice was neutral, but you caught the flicker of disappointment behind it. She’d been hopeful too - just quieter about it.

Still, neither of you wasted time mourning it. You were already moving - circling the house, checking sightlines, exits, rooftops, scanning for movement. It felt easy. Natural. Like you’d always done this together.

You split off briefly to check the detached garage. Jenna scouted the overgrown backyard, her boots making almost no sound in the grass. She moved with purpose - sharp eyes, quiet hands. You heard the soft click of her rifle safety disengaging for half a second, then a whisper of breath as she flicked it back on.

“No good,” you said when you met back at the front. “Too many structural weak points.”

She nodded. “And there’s a crawlspace behind the fence. Not safe.”

You both paused for a beat, standing there in the soft hum of the late morning, the wind tugging lightly at your clothes.

Then Jenna reached for the flyer in your hand.

“Cons: compromised roof, unstable foundation, one tree through the guest bedroom.” She flipped the flyer over and scribbled it down with a stub of pencil.

You snorted. “Pros?”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Nice hydrangeas out front.”

You chuckled, then nudged her shoulder. “On to the next?”

She tucked the flyer away. “Lead the way.”

-

The next house was three blocks down - a squat, single-storey thing with boarded windows and a cracked chimney. You climbed the fence while Jenna boosted herself up with the help of a low brick wall. The gate squeaked but didn’t break.

Inside, it smelled like damp wood and dust.

You moved through it fast - room by room, tight corners, open hallways - Jenna taking point while you swept behind. Neither of you had to speak. You knew the routine. Doors first, then windows. Look for water lines, cracks in the walls, attic space, floor rot, cellar access. Rinse and repeat.

“This one’s clear,” she said eventually, voice low.

“Not bad,” you replied, glancing up at a patch of black mould blooming across the kitchen ceiling. “Still smells like a swamp threw up in here.”

Jenna looked at you, nose wrinkled. “It’s the carpet.”

You kicked it gently with your boot. “What’s left of it.”

She cracked a grin. “We’ll put it down as a maybe.”

You ended up checking four more houses that afternoon.

Some were too cramped. Some had broken locks. One had a basement you both noped out of the second you heard that echo - not quite a growl, not quite a moan, but close enough.

You stopped writing cons by the third one. Started using symbols instead. “ 🐳 = flooded.” “⚠ = damaged.” “ 😵 = smells like death.”

Jenna drew that one.

By the fifth house, you weren’t even trying to be quiet anymore. Not unless you had to. It was strange - moving through the ruins of civilisation with someone again. Someone who didn’t need everything explained. Someone who moved with you.

You climbed through a broken front window while Jenna secured the back door. By the time she reappeared in the living room, you were kneeling over a gutted fireplace, scanning for loose wiring.

She leaned in the doorway and crossed her arms. “You always take the electrical stuff so seriously?”

You looked up at her. “I’m not giving up my coffee machine when we find a house.”

Jenna smirked. “Apocalypse priorities.”

“Say that again when I brew you a cup.”

She held your gaze a little longer than necessary - not teasing now, just curious. You caught her eyes flick to your mouth, then back up. A breath passed between you. Quiet. Steady.

You stood and dusted off your hands. “Not it,” you said, nodding toward the sagging roof.

“Definitely not it,” she agreed.

Back on the bikes, the air cooled slightly as clouds drifted across the sun. The wind picked up. You adjusted your pack, feeling the familiar weight against your spine, and glanced sideways.

“So,” you started. “What do you think? How long do these things last?”

Jenna turned toward you, a brow raised. “Zombies?”

You nodded. “Assuming no head trauma. How long before they just… fall apart?”

She thought for a moment. “Six months. Tops. The fresh ones are strong, but that’s adrenaline. After that, muscle decay’s going to hit hard. No food. No oxygen. No brain.”

You hummed. “I say three.”

“Three?” She scoffed. “You’re optimistic.”

“They’re already rotting. The moment they turn. It’s just delayed. Something in the virus slows it down.”

“And when’s the last time you saw one that far along?”

“Exactly,” you said, smirking. “We haven’t. Yet.”

Jenna narrowed her eyes playfully. “You think you’re gonna win a Nobel for zombie decomposition theory?”

You grinned. “I’m just saying - if we make it to Christmas, they won’t.”

She chuckled. “Bold of you to assume we’ll be around to find out.”

You paused, looked at her sideways. “Well, I plan to be.”

That quiet settled again.

Not heavy this time. Just full.

And when she smiled at you, soft and crooked, you smiled back.

Together, you turned down the next street.

-

The sun had started to sink behind the rooftops, spilling honey-gold light across the street as you pedalled slowly ahead. The silence was changing - less of a threat, more of a hush. A settling.

Jenna pulled up beside you at the end of the cul-de-sac, scanning the last house on the map. She didn’t even get off her bike.

You did.

You stood beside the rusted gate, hands braced on the handlebars, squinting at the peeling paint and crooked shutters. “Well?”

Jenna didn’t respond right away. She was still looking around, but you could tell by her posture - half-tired, half-bored - that this one was another no.

You sighed. “Alright. No more for today.”

She gave a little nod, but said nothing.

You paused. Watched the way her jaw shifted. She was trying not to show it, but the exhaustion was there - in the tightness around her eyes, the slump in her shoulders. She hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of dried fruit since midday. And neither of you had slept properly in days.

You cleared your throat and adjusted the strap on your shoulder.

“My place isn’t far,” you said casually. “We could crash there tonight.”

Jenna turned her head toward you.

You shrugged. “It’s secure. Reinforced. Two-storey. I’ve got rainwater collectors and a half-decent mattress.”

She hesitated, something unreadable flickering across her face. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” You raised a brow. “You gonna sleep in a tree again?”

She shot you a look - but it was mostly smirk.

Then you tilted your head. “I’ll cook.”

That made her blink.

“I’ve got canned potatoes. Lentils. Spices. Some ham. I can do a warm meal. Might even toast the bread if we’re lucky.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You have heat?”

You tapped your temple. “Solar panel battery backups. And I rationed my last camp stove cartridge for emergencies.”

Jenna folded her arms. “And this qualifies as an emergency?”

You grinned. “You look like someone who hasn’t eaten a hot meal since the world fell apart.”

She didn’t deny it.

You leaned closer, voice dipping just a little. “Come on. Warm food. No tree roots stabbing you in the back. Real pillows. I’ll even let you have the couch.”

She stared at you a moment longer. Then: “I’m not cleaning up after.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Another beat.

Then Jenna swung her leg back over the bike and adjusted her gloves. “Alright.”

You laughed, pedalling ahead. “Try not to starve on the way.”

-

You were less than five minutes from home when it happened.

The neighbourhood was familiar - rows of overgrown lawns, shattered windows, the wind knocking an old windchime somewhere out of sight. You were already starting to relax. The streetlights were crooked, long dead, but the amber glow of the setting sun was enough to guide you. You could almost smell the spices you’d stashed in your pantry. You were already thinking about the lentils. The warm meal you’d promised her.

You were thinking about the smile she’d given you, rare and quiet, like she didn’t know she’d done it.

And then you heard it.

A shuffle. A grunt.

Too close.

Too fast.

You didn’t have time to shout.

It was on you before you could even draw your machete - tall, still heavy with muscle, a face not yet rotted, jaw twitching with feral hunger. One of the fast ones. One of the fresh ones. It lunged with no hesitation.

The impact sent you crashing backwards, your bike clattering against the pavement. Pain shot through your leg - something tore, something snapped - and then the edge of the curb slammed into your back, knocking the breath clean out of your chest.

“Y/N!”

You heard her shout before you could even register where she was. Your vision blurred as the weight pressed down on your abdomen, hot breath on your throat, teeth snapping inches from your face.

You screamed.

Your hand found your blade.

Instinct took over.

You shoved upward with all the strength left in your arms, the machete piercing through the side of its neck - not clean, not deep enough to kill, but enough to send it reeling.

Then Jenna was there. She moved like a strike of lightning - her rifle swinging down too close to your ear, the butt slamming into the zombie’s skull with a sickening crack. You heard the sound of bone giving way. The creature dropped, twitching once before going still.

Everything was silent again.

Except for your breathing - ragged. Sharp. Wet.

And the pain.

Oh God, the pain.

You curled sideways, arms wrapping tight around your midsection, but the burning in your abdomen was already spreading. You touched your side, and your hand came away soaked.

Jenna dropped beside you in an instant. “Shit. Shit- Y/N- where are you hurt? Where-”

“I don’t-” you panted. “Leg… side- fuck-”

“Okay. Okay, I’ve got you. Just-just breathe, alright?”

You were already trying not to pass out. The world kept tilting. Black dots danced at the edges of your eyes.

Jenna pressed a cloth - something, her sleeve maybe - to your stomach. “Stay with me. Where’s your place?”

You blinked, blinking hard, trying to focus on her voice. “Two streets down. White siding. Solar panels.”

She looked up. Calculating.

“I can get us there,” she muttered. “But you have to stay awake, alright?”

You groaned. “No promises.”

She ignored that. Her hands were already under your shoulders.

The pain was indescribable when she moved you. Your leg throbbed, your vision went white, and you screamed - not just noise, but a sound torn out of you like it didn’t belong to anything human. Jenna flinched but didn’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” she kept whispering. “I’m sorry. Just hold on. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t walk, not properly, but you gave her directions between choked breaths.

“Left… behind the blue car…”

“Yeah, I see it. We’re close. You’re doing so good, Y/N. Just a little more.”

Every step was a fight not to black out. You kept blinking, forcing your mouth to stay open, kept talking just to make noise. Your ears rang. Your ankle felt like fire. You were fairly certain you’d torn something deeper than you wanted to admit.

Jenna kicked the door open when you finally reached your house.

You didn’t even register the stairs.

You didn’t remember the couch.

You remembered Jenna’s boots slamming against the tile.

The sound of your own breathing - gasping, hitched, like your lungs couldn’t decide what they wanted.

Then there was fabric. The scratch of the blanket. The cold against your back. You were lying down. Your eyes fluttered open for a second, catching the ceiling above you - cracked paint, water stain, familiar. Home.

“Stay with me,” Jenna was saying. Over and over. Her voice was everywhere. Beside your head. Near your stomach. Somewhere by your hands.

You tried to speak. Only managed a whimper.

She was kneeling next to the couch now, her backpack already tossed aside. “Where’s the kit? Y/N, talk to me- where is it?”

“Pantry,” you rasped. “Bottom shelf. Behind… the rice.”

She was up before you finished the sentence, vanishing into the back of the house with heavy, frantic footsteps. You blinked slowly, the world pulling in and out like a tide. Your fingers curled weakly against the couch cushion. It felt like something was leaking from you - not just blood, but strength. Time. Whatever thread you were holding onto was fraying fast.

Jenna returned in less than a minute, the kit slamming onto the glass coffee table hard enough to rattle it. She pulled it open with trembling hands, her gloves discarded, hair sticking to her face.

“I need to see it,” she muttered. “I need to see.”

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t have the energy.

She peeled up your shirt. Her breath caught.

“Oh my God.”

It was bad. You’d seen enough injuries in the last two months to know. The wound across your abdomen wasn’t just deep - it was jagged. Torn. The blood had already soaked through half your shirt, down the side of your hip.

Jenna’s hands hovered over it, then shook once before she snapped on latex gloves from the kit.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay. We’re fine. You’re fine.”

You weren’t. And she knew it. But you let her say it anyway.

She cleaned the area - iodine, gauze, more gauze, more blood.

Then she picked up the needle.

You flinched.

“Y/N.” Her voice cracked. “I need to stitch this.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“I’m going to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to.”

You blinked, tears stinging your eyes. “It’s okay.”

She knelt beside you, knees pressing into the floor, hand on your waist.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Then the needle sank in.

You screamed.

It ripped out of you like fire - a sound so loud, so sharp, it made Jenna jerk back, her whole body tense.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry- please just- don’t move-”

You couldn’t help it. Your body twitched, convulsed slightly as your hand slammed against the back of the couch, trying to brace against the pain.

She was crying now. You could hear it in her voice, even if you couldn’t see her face.

“I can’t numb it- there’s nothing to numb it, Y/N, I’m sorry- I need you to stay still-”

You whimpered, your whole body shaking. “I c-can’t- Jen- please-”

“I know, I know-” She bit down on her own sob. “But I have to-”

She pushed the needle in again.

You cried out, louder this time, a strangled sound that felt like it broke you in half.

Her voice cracked. “Please just pass out. Please, Y/N. Just-just go under, I’ll handle the rest- just let go-”

“I’m trying-” you gasped, hands fisting in the blanket.

“I can’t do this if you keep-” Her voice failed. “You’re going to tear more- God, please. I've got you, I got you, please- Y/N-”

The next stitch went in.

And something snapped - not inside your body, but in your mind.

The pain blurred. The light dimmed.

Everything tipped sideways.

You stopped fighting it.

The last thing you heard was Jenna’s broken sob as she gripped your hand tightly in one of hers, the other still working.

“Please don’t die,” she whispered.

And then-

Nothing.

--//--

Part 7

[tinylilacbun]

If you're not swamped with requests, is it possible that you could write a mob! daddy Bucky x fem! little reader fic where he takes her to his office and she gets to sit on his lap? And maybe she colors and he pretends she's writing documents? She mirrors him and pretends to be on the phone? Thank you!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Bucky usually tries to avoid to have you involved in his work but today he just doesn't have another choice because Steve wasn't available to babysit you for the time being and Bucky doesn't trust anyone else with you alone.

He reluctantly decides on taking you in his office for today, so he could get some paperwork done he was already due for and Natasha will beat his ass if he doesn't has them finished by tomorrow.

You actually surprise him with how good you are behaving, keeping yourself busy with coloring or watching cartoons on your ipad with your white headphones that had little cat ears on the top.

Sometimes you would get a little restless, demanding some loving from your daddy as you're not used to being in the same room with him but him not giving you his whole attention.

To prevent a possible coming tantrum Bucky pats his thigh and you giggle, rushing over to him with a couple of papers in your hands. You sit down on his lap with your back to his chest, placing the small stack of papers on his desk.

"Daddy you gotta sign these." You say pointing at the empty spaces he had to 'sign'. "'s important business." You tell him with such seriousness on your face Bucky has to refrain from chuckling at your cuteness.

"Alright. If it's important I can't say no, can I, baby?" He asks and you shake your head handing him your glittery gel pen.

He quickly signs the documents and contracts while you watch carefully, making sure he scribbles where he should be. "Fank you." You nod placing the papers aside and reach for Bucky's phone, looking up at him for approval and he nods.

Instead of unlocking it as Bucky thought you would you instead held it to your ear, talking about 'cancelling meetings' or that 'daddy hasn't time right now for a tea party' all that while you keep drawing random shapes on a blank sheet, pretending to write down information.

When you were done with your 'call' you sigh leaning your head against Bucky's shoulder. He chuckles and kisses the side of your head. "Guess I have a new secretary, huh?"

"Nuh uh, bein' dat is exhaustin', daddy." You sigh again, smiling when you felt the rumbling from his chest as he laughs. "Dunno how Natty does this evewy day."

"Me neither, bunny. Me neither..."

                             ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

(taglist below the cut)

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For Bucky:

@almostcontentcreator

Crossed out are the ones I somehow can't tag!!

[soelstress]

Hopelessly Devoted To You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Summary: Bucky misunderstands when he hears you but doesn't recognise those popular lyrics...

Word count: 3.4k

A/N - Hello lovelies! Thought I'd post this piece from when I was working on ANOTHER WIP and in a craze for misunderstandings from eavesdropping. This is silly fluff with a possible smidge of angst.

A big big thank you to @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for eyeballing this and catching my hiccups. Much love, Skittle!

The pic is what I had in mind for the polaroid.... just look at him 🥰😍 Sourced from Google

Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work

Whistling, you prepared two lunches to go in the kitchen of Stark Tower. After putting the food into containers you cleared up any mess. Looking up, you saw Bucky stride into the kitchen. “Hey doll”. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, leaning on the counter.

You grinned back, your face heating at his proximity. “Hiya Buck. What’s up?”

Shifting his weight, he straightened slightly. “That movie you were talking about is playing at the old theater this afternoon. Thought I’d go see it… and wondered if you’d wanna go?”

Happiness filled you at his hopeful tone, only to be immediately swamped by guilt. “Oh Buck, I’m sorry but I’ve got-“

“Petal, are those nibbles ready? We gotta dash and dine!” A male voice called down the hall. You saw Bucky’s eyes then register the two lunches in front of him. His smile wavered.

“Coming Danny!” You quickly scooped the containers into your bag. Approaching him, you placed your hand on his flesh hand which rested on the counter. “Let me know if you do go, Bucky. If you don’t, maybe we can watch it here later? Snacks, popcorn, big pillows - the usual?”

His Vibranium hand covered yours,  whirring gently at the contact. “I’d love that doll”.

Once again you felt the heat in your cheeks as you tried not to melt at the feel of your hand caught between both of his. Catching sight of your watch, you groaned. “Crap I gotta run. See ya Buck”. Without thinking you stood on tip toe to peck his cheek and ran out. Unseen to you, Bucky touched where your lips brushed his cheek and blushed.

You met Danny at the elevator. He bounced with energy, his brown eyes glinting. As you both stepped in, he nudged you gently. “I know I said it after asking you, but I really appreciate you doing this, Flower. You’ve got enough going on with the team and saving the world”.

“Saving the world one memo at a time” you joke and he laughed. 

Exiting the elevator into the garage, you got into his car and drove to Queens where Danny was starring in a community production of Grease, performing for one week. He loved the stage, and was psyched to play Danny Zuko. So it had been a surprise for him to arrive at the Tower saying the show was in trouble and he needed you. Once calmed, he explained that the female lead had been injured in rehearsal and wouldn’t be able to perform on opening night. The director tried to contact people who had previously auditioned with no success. Danny had thought of you, knowing you loved Grease and had taken drama classes in school. Hesitantly you auditioned, knowing you weren’t the best singer but apparently your soft notes sounded better than some of the banshees called back as a desperate measure. When offered the role for opening night, you jumped at the chance. Trying to juggle rehearsals with your job was tricky but you were determined to push through, for Danny and yourself.

You arrived at the theatre and immediately started rehearsing. With opening night one day away, tensions were running high for everyone. Final notes and adjustments being made, everyone checking and rechecking every minute detail. The director watched you perform “Hopelessly Devoted To You”.

“Nice one, sweetheart” he drawled, scribbling on his script. “The pitch and volume are good, remember don’t push too much”. You acknowledged his advice. “My main thought is it needs just a bit more emotion, a bit of angst. Sandy’s fighting the urge to love this man but her love is so strong she’s determined to hold on. Might help if you think you’re singing to someone like that, rather than just an audience”. He eyed you with a frown. “Know what I mean?”

Nodding, you bit your lip. “I’ll try”. He nodded and turned to move onto his next task. Moving to the edge of the stage, you fought the image that appeared in your mind.

“Thinking about that Super Soldier of yours?” Danny obviously overheard your feedback… and seemingly read your mind. “I heard him ask you out earlier” he elaborated at your raised brow. “And what about inviting him and the team? I’m sure they’d come to see you”.

“Yeah, if no emergencies pop up” you snorted. “Come on Danny, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes showing up for a pen pusher?”

You found yourself being spun gently and saw Danny scowling. “I hate when you put yourself down, Petal. You did that even when we were together”. Shrugging, you avoided his gaze but didn’t move away. “But you’re more than that - you train with them, gather intel, help each one in their own individual way - paperwork is the least you do for them! Just because you’re not actively fighting in the field doesn’t mean you’re not part of the team. But even if you were just a ‘pen pusher’, I bet Barnes would still show”.

Sadly you shook your head. “It’s not like that between me and Bucky. Come on Dan, you know me. I’m not the type to be his girl, however much I might want to be”. Exhaling, you mumbled about rehearsing more before forcing the notion from your head.

Later that night, you walked through Stark Tower and asked FRIDAY the location of the team. The AI informed you that the team was sparring in the gym. Knowing you wouldn’t be disturbed for a while, you made your way to the open lounge. It was roughly the same size as the audience seating area at the theater. Popping your AirPods in, you asked FRIDAY to record your efforts. On your second attempt, you remembered what the director suggested. From your wallet, you took out a Polaroid you’d snapped of Bucky. Unguarded, his baby blue eyes sparkled, lips turned up in a soft smile. Your heart tugged, having fallen hard for the seemingly surly Super Soldier. Inhaling, you played the song again and allowed emotion to wash over you.

Bucky walked to the kitchen, grumbling about Tony and Sam showboating during training rather than focusing. Noticing a soft sound, he used his sensitive hearing to find the source. He paused at the entrance of the lounge to see you facing out of a window, your back to him. Carefully he took a step forward, intending to say your name when he heard you speak softly.

My head is sayin', "Fool, forget him" My heart is sayin', "Don't let go Hold on to the end", that's what I intend to do I'm hopelessly devoted to you

Frozen, he watched as you looked at a photo before pressing it to your chest, your voice hitching. He silently withdrew, not hearing you sing the chorus. Bucky entered his room and closed the door, heart thudding painfully as he replayed what just happened. He had been working up the courage to ask you on a date, but hesitated when Danny reappeared in your life. You had told Bucky that the two year relationship had ended amicably but Danny would still be your friend. Bucky had found himself wondering if the two of you had worked things out, given that you had spent so much time together the past few weeks. Still he hoped that something was possible, especially as you made every effort to make up for declining the plans Bucky offered. But now… he understood. It crushed him, but he knew he couldn’t hurt you by keeping you from the man you love. He only hoped that Danny knew how lucky he was. 

The next day rushed by in a chaotic blur, running errands for the team in the morning and dress rehearsal in the afternoon. Unfortunately due to a technical hiccup, you were unable to review your solo notes with the director. You and Danny relaxed backstage, inhaling your dinners knowing you wouldn’t be able to eat until after the show. Nerves began to show in twirling the cutlery, which he picked up on. “You know what they say about a bad dress rehearsal. Stop worrying Petal, you’ll be fine”. 

“Easy for you to say” you growled.

“Jeez, you need to chill out. Are they keeping Barnes on ice again? He could cool you off… or heat things up” Danny smirked, ducking when you reached to flick his ear. “Ok forget the team for a second - why didn’t you invite him?”

“That’s all I need Dan - nerves over inviting him and then with my luck performing badly. I’m stressed enough”. You pointed your cutlery at him for emphasis before throwing it in the bin. “Please… it’s opening night, can we just focus on that? No more talk of invites or team support”. Danny nodded and you sighed in relief. 

At the Tower Nat, Steve, Tony and Bucky were gathered in the living room for movie night. Since you usually joined them and offered options to watch, they noticed your absence. “Where’s our movie critic?” Tony asked, pouting when you don’t appear with snacks in hand. “Tin Man, did she say anything to you?”

Bucky shrugged, frowning. “She’s not been around the last few afternoons, but she didn’t say anything about tonight”.

Peter suddenly skidded into the room, clutching a piece of paper in his hand.

“Where’s the fire kid?” Steve caught Peter before he crashed into someone. 

Panting, Peter shuffled nervously. “So have you guys heard of that old movie Grease?”Tony and Nat groaned at Peter’s definition of ‘old’ while Bucky and Steve were confused. It hadn’t been mentioned to Steve, so he wondered if he should add it to his ever growing list of things to look into. Bucky tried to understand how a movie could be made about grease… unless Peter meant the country?

Nat started to suggest watching it for the current movie night when Peter interrupted her. “Wait! At school I was walking by the bulletin board, you know where you can put fliers for things. There was so much on that board - actually there’s a demonstration I think you and Bruce would love Tony - “

“KID!” Tony huffed with a smile. “What’s this got to do with Grease?”

Pausing, Peter blushed before laughing. “Oh right! Well I saw a flier advertising opening night tonight at a local theater. But that's not what caught my eye. Look at this”. 

Nat took the flier before anyone else could, her brows reaching for the heavens. “Well this explains a few things”. 

The boys gathered round. “No way” Tony exclaimed, his eyes widening behind his trademark glasses. Steve let out a noise of confusion while Bucky stared at the picture snapped of Danny in his T Bird Costume and you in a poodle skirt. Tony asked FRIDAY to check if any tickets were still available, which the AI confirmed would be set aside.

“Well we’ve got our movie night plans, though I’m definitely adding the movie to our list for these two fossils” Nat smirked as Steve let out a sarcastic laugh. “Everybody go change, I doubt our support would be as appreciated if we show up in our sweats”.

Everyone scrambled to go change, Bucky collaring Peter as they headed down the hall. “You know anything about theater kid?”

Backstage, it was a swarm of activity as everyone counted down to showtime. Standing in the wings, you saw Danny on the other side of the stage mumbling and wringing his hands. Darting around your castmates, you engulfed him in a hug which he reciprocated. “It’s gonna be great Danny. Let’s show ‘em the ole Razzle Dazzle”.

His body drained of tension as he softly laughed. “Wrong show Petal”. 

You faux pouted. “Fine. Let’s show ‘em Grease is the word”. He laughed again, prompting a big smile on your face. “Break a leg Danny”.

“You too, Petal”.

You crossed the stage back to the wings, not hearing the whispers about the audience being a full house due to a post on social media. In the audience, a certain group of people sat three rows back, not wanting to risk distracting either you or Danny. Bucky and Steve fidgeted, not knowing what to expect but nevertheless excited to see you perform. Nat sat beside Steve, with Bucky on his other side. Peter was sandwiched between Bucky and Tony, watching on his phone as followers responded to his post about the play. Once the curtain rose, the group was hooked by the performance with Tony and Peter humming along. 

The first few scenes passed smoothly as you darted backstage for a quick costume change. Nerves fluttered in your chest as you hummed a few notes in preparation. Danny appeared like a ghost, handing you the Polaroid and giving your free hand a comforting squeeze. “Remember, deep breaths… and sing to him”. Taking one last glance at the picture, you thought of the soft blue eyes that haunt your thoughts. Hearing your cue, you moved back to the stage.

Bucky’s breath left him as he saw you walk onto the stage, softly singing. He’d never heard you sing before, and the gentle tune was soothingly beautiful. But his heart stopped as he heard the words from the night before and understanding crashed through him - Danny’s sudden return and constant presence, you not being available to hang out - you were practicing for your performance tonight. His heart restarted when he once again heard the hitch in your singing, words filled with emotion. He steeled himself, thinking he might still have a chance and would take any opportunity to try. The group applauded loudly when you finished.

It was a whirl of costume changes and songs until the final act. Slipping into the leather suit you borrowed from Nat, you cursed when the zipper refuses to budge. “Wow, you’re really channeling this whole costume thing aren’t you? Right down to the broken zip”. Danny grinned mischievously. “I’m not sewing you into that, Petal”.

“No one is touching this suit - Nat will kill me if I return it in less than perfect condition”. You cursed softly. “I’m gonna rip this thing if the damn zipper won’t move”.

“Good thing Barnes isn’t here then, I bet you’d have his attention”. You flipped Danny the bird as he cocked his head in mock thought. “I bet he’d fight Widow for a chance to rip it off you himself, not like he couldn’t afford to replace it anyway”. Thankfully the zip then moved into place and you shoved him towards the stage.

When you walked on stage in the ‘Bad Sandy’ costume, the effect was immediate. “Shit” Tony murmured. Peter's jaw dropped. Steve reflexively admonished the cursing, Nat smiling at the exchange. Meanwhile Bucky silently growled. Gone was your workday office combination, the leather suit hugged your every curve, just the right side of sexy and not too modern.

The final song concluded and you were met with thunderous applause. Each cast member took their bow, ending with cheering. When you stepped forward for your turn, you thought the noise increased slightly but since audiences usually cheered loudest for the lead roles, you thought nothing of it. You practically floated backstage, thrilled with how tonight went. As you moved to enter the dressing room, you stopped in shock.

“So our Jack of all trades is also a moonlighting performer” Tony’s glasses flashed under the bright lights. He smirked at your surprise as you gaped at the four people crammed in the room. 

“What? How - “ you were at a loss for words. 

“Underoos here found a flier. Not important” Tony stepped forward and clapped you on the shoulder. “You did good kid, great work. Though now I know how you can juggle things, maybe we should discuss your workload”.

Nat swept you into a hug. “Explains why you wanted to borrow the suit… I was hoping it would be for more indecent purposes”. She winked as you blushed. “These meatheads all had their tongues hanging out, you stunned them. Good thing it wasn’t the ‘Cell Block Tango’, you might’ve given them all strokes” she laughed.

Peter and Steve both also congratulated you on your performance, Peter enthusiastically as he was familiar with the show. Steve mentioned he would definitely be adding the movie to his list. 

You smiled at them all but before you could say anything more Danny spun you round, sweeping you up in a huge hug. “Petal, you were amazing! I cannot thank you enough for helping us”. He turned to Peter and Tony. “And thank you both for sharing the event on socials, it’s helped us sell out all the shows”.

“It’s the least we can do, given how much Sandra Dee here helps us out. Especially our resident grandpas” Tony shrugged carelessly.

Danny nodded in agreement, pulling you close to the doorway so he could murmur “Just a pen pusher huh?” Leaning back, he winked at you before letting go. “Great seeing you all, thanks for coming. Petal, Ash is here and wants to take me for a drink so-“

“So what are you still doing here?” you laughed. “Get changed and say hey from me”. He turned with a nod, almost colliding with Bucky. Danny apologised, Bucky reciprocating without taking his eyes off you. Face heating under his gaze, you opened your mouth to speak but Bucky beat you to it.

“Is that what you really think?” His Vibranium hand took one of your hands and gently tugged you closer to him, so there was barely any room to breathe. “You really think you’re just a pen pusher?” Dread filled you. His enhanced hearing… what else had he heard? Lowering your eyes, you saw his chest rise and fall before cool metal fingers cupped your chin and raised your gaze back to his. “Doll… you help all of us on the team. Yes, you ensure all our paperwork is filed correctly and on time. But you step up when we need someone to train with, make sure we’re looked after in the field and you help us all individually… Starks errands, Parker's love life, Steve and me being old guys…” You chuckled softly. “Even your guy knows how valuable you are to us, so I can’t - “

“My guy?” You blinked in confusion. “What guy?”

Bucky frowned at you. “Danny, who else? Anyway, even he knows what you mean-”

“He’s not my guy”. Now Bucky wasn’t the only one confused. “I told you all that we’re just friends… did you think we’re still a couple?” At the nods, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “I promise you, we’re just friends now”. A flash of movement caught your eye. “If you guys look you’ll see why”. The group gathered at the doorway to see Danny leaving arm in arm with a beefy looking man who was listening to Danny in adoration. Danny in turn planted a kiss on his cheek. “That’s Ash, Danny’s boyfriend” you smiled when five sets of eyes widened. Tony and Nat murmured something about needing a drink, Steve and Peter following them out the door. 

“But the picture…” Looking up, you see Bucky was still confused. “Last night I saw you in the lounge, you were looking at a picture. If it wasn’t him, then who?” For some reason he looked upset. Heart pounding, you crossed to your dressing table and picked up the Polaroid before holding it out to him. Keeping your eyes down, you heard him inhale sharply. “Doll…”

“I’m hopelessly devoted to you” you murmured. 

His flesh hand entered your vision, holding something. You gasped. It was a red rose. “Parker said flowers before a show is bad luck, and that roses are usually accepted afterwards. Do you know why one red rose?” You shook your head. “One rose is for new love… while the red is passion, desire and romance”. Your eyes darted to his blue ones, soft with love and happiness. “I’m hopelessly devoted to you too, baby girl”.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

the two of the had always treated it as one big joke, was the thing. bruce and dick would put on a show together: a stumbling, overly-friendly yet well-intentioned gatsby and his young ward with a sweet tongue and an artful smile. laugh a little too loud, bat the eyes, play up the youth, and they had gotham eating out of their palms. it was fun, a punchline only the two of them were ever in on.

"that was a good one," bruce said, voice warm, deftly removing his cufflinks. "the bit with mrs. arlington's cosmetic surgery was particularly inspired."

"i thought so!" dick chirped back. his suit jacket was already draped over a chair in the sitting room, shoes flung off. "i mean, what could i possibly know about the divorce rumors."

bruce hummed in amused agreement. "i always forget how tiring brucie wayne is to play, though," he said. "for someone who doesn't exist, he's quite the effort."

right then, though, a quiet ripple of alarm went through dick. "wait, what do you mean brucie doesn't exist? what do you mean he's an effort?"

"i mean he's not...he's not real, dick. you know this." bruce shot him a confused glance. "he's a fiction i have to endure on occasion. having you there does make the theatre much more bearable, though."

"of cource brucie wayne is real. he's you!"

bruce was staring at him now, the tired comfort from a successful night wiped from his face. he was just confused, and more than a little concerned. heart on his cheek , always, helplessly (to dick, anyway). "it's just a performance, dick. it doesn't mean anything. you are well aware—"

but dick cut him off, shaking his head. "nothing is ever just a performance, b. that's not what performance is!"

and it killed him, gutted him that bruce didn't understand this, that he had failed to grasp 'brucie wayne' was poetic, was almost victorian, was a masterclass in crafting a mask around a kernel of truth. was the kind of murder you watched a play just to revel in at the end.

"i don't see how it isn't," bruce said, speaking very carefully. "the version of bruce wayne the public sees is a persona. his very existence is to perform the function of deceit."

"deceit?" dick said incredulously, almost laughing with it. "performing isn't deceit, bruce. and that's not what you're doing either." he jabbed a finger in bruce's general direction. "you way overplay how harmless brucie is, but you're not hardline serious all the time. with me and with other kids you meet on patrol, you're gentle."

"that isn't—"

dick kept steamrolling over him. "and sure, brucie is ridiculous sometimes. but you didn't pull that silliness out of thin air, did you? no, because you're playful with me and alfred."

"how i behave with you and alfred isn't a performance though, dick," bruce explained. "that's simply...well. that's who i am when i'm not pretending to be someone else."

"that's what you're missing, b. a performance isn't you pretending to be someone else. you're exaggerating certain parts of yourself like crazy, but at the heart of it all, you're still you."

"why does this affect you so much?" bruce asked. "you're hurting." you're hurting because of me, went unsaid. it wasn't an apology, but it was the closest dick was going to get.

"because brucie is bruce in all the ways that matter, and bruce is my best friend," dick said simply. "don't you dare tell me my best friend doesn't exist!"

bruce was still tense, though. like his heart was a step behind his head, like was a dandelion seed and the wind was unsure. so dick did what he should have done at the beginning of his whole ordeal: went over to him and looped his arms over his waist in a hug, as high as they would go.

"performing is a little tiring, but like batman is," dick mumbled into bruce's shirt. "it isn't a chore you gotta get through. it's an art, and you should have fun with it! because every show you put on is you basically just exaggerating different parts of yourself. you're not creating anyone new."

bruce reached down to hug dick in return, holding him close and sure, strength and sinew and sharing it all. "dick," he said honestly, "that sounds exhausting."

"yeah. but it's worth it," dick said in return. "you always perform for a reason. brucie exists 'cause you want to help people."

"i suppose that desire's real enough," bruce said, gentle. "in that case, thank you."

"for what?"

"for being my best friend, no matter the performance."

---

hahaha noooo being a performer from a young age hasn't impacted me or dick in any way at all we've got a perfectly normal relationship with performance i promise

anyway look guys!!! i wrote a thing!!! first time in forever idk my writing's rusty but i hope yall like it regardless. lmk if i should pop the taglist back in here i'm pretty sure half the people on that thing forgot i existed

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hey how are you? I was actually curious how the characters' main writing was like. I remember that Harry makes his "i" like Lily's and Ron has a bad writing but I don't remember well for characters like dumbledore, Snape, Malfoy...

Hi, I'm doing pretty good, swamped with uni, but I don't have much to complain about.

Luckily for you, I actually have some notes regarding canon character handwriting. These notes are from supplementary books (Fantastic Beasts & Tales of Bettle the Bard) which actually have the character's handwriting in them. Along with some quotes I found about character handwriting.

(Also I'm not using signatures from the movies)

Harry:

'She had made her “g”s the same way he did' (DH) - Harry's handwriting shares some letters with his mother's handwriting. Notably, the "g".

Ron:

'Ron’s untidy scrawl' (CoS)

 'said Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible' (CoS)

'Harry stared at the word “Pig,” then looked up at the tiny owl now zooming around the light fixture on the ceiling. He had never seen anything that looked less like a pig. Maybe he couldn’t read Ron’s writing' (GoF)

Hermione:

'Harry could make out Hermione’s neat writing' (CoS)

'And Hermione’s done four feet seven inches and her writing’s tiny' (CoS)

Dumbledore:

'Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before' (PS)

'The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar' (OotP)

'thin, slanting writing on the parchment' (HBP)

'were five words written in the thin, slanting handwriting that Harry recognized as Dumbledore’s' (DH)

McGonagall:

From the actual HP books we get McGonagall's handwriting as well, due to her signature being on Harry's Hogwarts letter:

Snape:

Thanks to the HBP book, we also have some notes about Snape's handwriting:

'and yet his writing was minuscule and cramped' (OotP)

'cramped handwriting' (HBP)

 'Although Harry had offered to share his book with both of them, Ron had more difficulty deciphering the handwriting than Harry did' (HBP) - I take this to mean young Snape had tiny handwriting and that might be slightly similar to Harry's own (hence his ease at reading it).

'I think the handwriting looks more like a girl’s than a boy’s' (HBP) - assuming the handwriting is small and has some flourishes. (I kina imagine Snape's and Lily's handwriting is similar, which is why I think Harry's handwriting is a little similar to the Prince's)

Hagrid:

We also have some notes regarding Hagrid's writing which is nearly eligible.

'even a scribble that looked as though it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.' (CoS)

'He recognized the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from Hagrid' (PoA)

Tom Riddle's:

'Riddle’s reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew' (CoS) - meaning his handwriting is quite tidy usually.

(On an unrelated note since I've been searching for mentions of writing in the books I encountered this line in PS:

Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote

Considering we all talk about Harry's gold cauldron, I think we need to talk about Harry's color-changing ink. More cute Harry additions to Fantastic Beasts since I found them adorable:

The kid's adorable, I don't understand how the Dursleys could keep hating him, my boy.)

Edit: I got my hands on the 2017 edition of Quidditch Through the Ages, so I have more handwriting to add for anyone curious:

We've got in this photo: Ron (with comments), Neville, Susan (with comments), Hermione, Padma, Earnie, Melicent, Hermione again, and Draco.

(I'm not sure who commented on Ron and Susan's names as I don't recognize the handwriting. These are two different commenters I belive, due to how they write their 'S' and 'i'. The 'stinks' next to Ron's name might be Bulstrode as the 's' and 't' are a little similar)

[kismetarchive]

i've been swamped with school work sooo... simon taking care of reader after a study session

pairing: simon ghost riley x student!reader

Hours muddled together in your mind — the only thing keeping you awake was the occasional shuffles of feet passing in the library, pages turning, books being grabbed from shelves, and the shushed sighs of stress.

Your eyelids fought to stay awake, feeling so heavy and drowsy that you felt akin to a heavy rain cloud ready to pour. The cup of coffee wasn't helping anymore either, your bones to tired and wrist to sore to continue with your notes.

Your feet dragged behind you as your trudged into your car, hands weakly gripping the steering wheel as a nagging voice spoke in your head that you were in no position to be driving right now.

You fumbled out your phone from your pocket, your thumb clicking on Simon's contact before groggily muttering to him that you were too tired to drive home from the library.

You tried to be patient and wait for him, but your exhaustion won. Your eyes fluttered shut and your breathing slowed down, a gentle sight for Simon when he came to the library parking lot and saw you peacefully passed out in your car.

The next morning you'd awake to a warm, cozy bed, sunlight flickering into the room, and fresh pair of clothes at the end of the bed for you to change into.

You stretched your sore body, yawning as you blearily looked at the bedside table and saw a scribbled note on the wooden surface.

Theres oatmeal in the fridge with cut up fruit and orange juice. Love you

—Simon

Your lips curve into a smile, your heart feeling warm at the sincere and sweet message left by Simon. Despite being pulled and pushed as a solider, he still tried his best to be there for you in your academic pursuit.

「 Masterlist ❤︎ 」

[hana-no-seiiki]

More dommy mommy reader!

this time, using some lines from makima’s jp cv’s asmr and devil wears prada scenes. pretty sure i wrote this scenario before but like a long time ago, and just in headcannons so.

YANDERE! BATFAM x DOMMY! MOMMY! READER

You do not think Bruce Wayne was completely aware of the logistics when it came to Galas. If he did he wouldn’t be holding so many of those damn things all the time.

“I’m so sorry, Miss [Y/N]! I really did confirm last night.”

“Tales of your incompetence do not interest me.”

But maybe you shouldn’t be blaming him, but the lack of tact, wit, or remarkable capability the entire staff had. Then again, it’s because you’re always around the Batfamily that your standards for competency were so high.

“Miss [Y/N]!” You heard someone call out to you.

The assistant behind you visibly tensed. Anyone with a brain on them knew not to bother you during work. Hell, any thing that could breathe knew not to approach you when you were swamped with work (which was usually all the time)

“Drake, let me go.”

“Damian. Stay.” Damian doesn’t even notice the condescending way his father reprimanded him, jealousy consumed him entirely. He only saw red.

“How can you be so calm about this? They’re practically smothering her!”

“There’s a reason why Miss [Y/N] was picked to be Alfred’s successor y’know. Beyond just family ties.” Dick caressed Damian’s hair. “She values professionalism above all. She’ll reject them right about now…”

“You . . . love me?” You parroted back. Your features do not budge an inch.

“Y-yes. I’ve been —“

You interrupt, frankly too busy to listen to their rambling, “Then pray.”

“Huh?”

“You love me right? Then pray that I love you. Beg if you have to.”

Despite their flustered almost angered reaction to your command, your admirer felt their knees turn into a soggy noodle like substance. Their heart practically leapt at the opportunity to obey you.

“Only God will make me consider.”

Not even a moment passed before you were back to your duties, the confession long gone from your thoughts, “Tell Timothy for the 48th time, no. I do not want those devices of him in my room, and if I find another one I’m promptly sending in my resignation. Has Bruce confirmed?”

“Uh- oh!” The intern snapped out of their daze, scribbling furiously on their notepad.

You finally stopped where the guys were at, a bit befuddled by the way they were staring holes at you. Damian practically had a mix of panic, relief and anger painted all over him. “Yes, how may I be of assistance to you, young master?”

“I- I’m fine.”

“Richard, make sure to confirm your attendance.” You glared at the eldest brother.

He saluted in response, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Busy day?” Jason inquired, an attempt at small talk if you will.

“Busy day.” You swiftly cut off his olive branch. After making sure none of the men needed your presence with a quick once over, you make a bow and left. Your voice, though soft could still be heard, “Do I smell freesias? If, I see, freesias anywhere I will be verrryyy disappointed —“

[arkangelo-7]

Okay, I know it’s more canon-typical for Bruce to have a super-detailed, meticulous manual that outlines all the procedures, rules, and safety protocols that he expects his Birds to follow when they’re out on patrol or on a mission (whether or not the Birdies actually abide by these rules/regulations is a different matter), but I personally think it would be much more hilarious if this manual was actually just like a random ass, sparkly spiral-notebook with a bunch of random advice the Robins have passed down over the years.

No one actually knows where the tradition started, as at least half the pages are torn out or have been exposed to some sort of explosion/alien substance, but the current highlights would include:

Stay strapped or get clapped” — Jason wrote this after he forgot to pack the bat-a-rangs for patrol and Bruce made him do like 100 pushups as punishment.

“Do NOT ask Killer Croc if he’s featured on The Crocidle Hunter or Swamp People.” — by Tim, who almost drowned before Batman pulled him out of the sewer.

“ >:( “ — Cass drew this after she went on a deep-cover solo mission for two months, and will not elaborate any further on what it means or what about the mission was so crappy.

“You’re my dad, boogie-woogie-oogie!” — Scribbled in a margin by Dick when he was high as a kite on some weird drug that Scarecrow manufactured. It’s not really advice but everyone thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

“Ask Ivy for Weed” — is from Tim, but no one knows whether he accidentally wrote that down as a reminder about a case, or if he’s actually suggesting that they hit up Ivy for a good time.

“Cuddles are essential to the Mission!” — No one knows if Dick wrote this when he was Robin and trying to get Bruce to spend some quality time with him, or if Dick wrote this when he was Batman and trying to get Damian to hug him. Either way, the general consensus is that Dick wrote it.

“Eat the Rich” — an addition by Stephanie, and despite the fact that the Birds all are, by extension of Bruce, uber wealthy, there is a general consensus that it remains.

“Please refrain from the use of the monogrammed towels during post-alien-invasion clean ups” — is one of only two notes from Alfred, who dropped like 2 grand at the dry cleaners after the Birds ruined all his fancy towels when wiping alien goop off their uniforms.

“The first person to say ‘yeet’ next time I throw a projectile will be on case work duty for a week” — this is the only thing Bruce has ever written in the notebook, and the only reason it hasn’t gotten torn out yet is because yelling “yeet” also annoys Selina, and no one is allowed to annoy Selina.

And, lastly, while this isn’t necessarily a piece of advice, I think the way page in the notebook an exceedingly detailed drawing of Bruce, with an arrow pointing at him reading “boring old bat.”

(Damian drew it. It’s his only entry. The Birdies cackle every time they look at it.)