#(advisable to do this first before drawing anything else...)

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

a/n: another request! wasn’t sure if i should tag this as 18+ since it doesn’t contain any smut, but i’d advise you read this with caution. contains a few sensitive topics (see warnings below)

summary: based on the song by justin bieber

warnings: blood, trauma, situational alcohol abuse, forms of self-harm

word count: 6.6k

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A smell of alcohol and something metallic lingers in the air, sharp and unescapable.

It's pitch black in the living room of your apartment. A whiskey tumbler sits on the coffee table, bloodied bandages and cotton balls scattered around it. The whiskey bottle is open, half empty, and the cap is nowhere to be found.

The suit on the floor is torn and soaked with blood. Combat boots, dirty and wet, have toppled over next to it.

Natasha's on the couch, holding an ice pack to her head. Only dressed in boxers and a sports bra now, every scar and bruise is on full display. Her eyes are closed, her hand clenching and flexing on her thigh. Nails rake over skin, draw blood, but she doesn't register it through the haze in her head.

The mission didn't go as planned. In the beginning, everything seemed fine — they made it to the location, disarmed a few guards, managed to get into the building. Her assignment was to go and free a few hostages, which she managed quite well, considering she had to fight two guards in the process.

She doesn't remember much else. Just a cell that they somehow got her into. Rusty metal and leaky pipes on the ceiling, blood on the walls.

Pressure around her wrists, her throat. It was brief, but it left its mark. Memories resurfaced — memories that never fully sank to the bottom of her mind's ocean. It felt like grappling with the ghosts of her past, being pulled underwater, drowning, fighting for her life. She could feel the water in her lungs and the blood thrumming in her ears. Salt burned her nose.

Her limbs grew heavy from the kicking and wrestling. She wanted to let go, surrender to the heavy weight of the water, but she couldn't allow herself to. Survival is something that the Red Room ingrained into her.

If there's one thing she can't do, it's die.

Death means giving up.

Four hours later, Natasha still feels like, sometimes, death may be the better option. With the way her head is pounding and her scars are burning, anything to get rid of the pain is welcome. It's why her eyes tracked the liquor shelf first when she got home.

You enter the living room not too long after. Keeping your eyes on her, you turn on the small light before blindly closing the door and locking it.

What you're seeing is not entirely unfamiliar, but it always manages to leave you startled and speechless for at least a minute or two.

"Nat?", you say quietly. No response. "Nat, love."

She opens her eyes. They look empty when they meet yours.

Not a word. Again.

You step closer and bend over to pick up her suit. You fold it, tentatively, unsure how to act. How to make this better, fix it, help her.

You can't. You've tried to before, but it keeps happening.

You sit down and put the folded suit aside. Natasha turns her head away, blank eyes fixed on the ceiling. Whatever happened earlier sucked the life out of her, leaving her completely exhausted. She doesn't want to talk, which you understand — but it feels important to you, anyway.

"Love", you say, touching her hand. She's been carving deep lines into her thigh for a while now, leaving her skin raw and burning. Dark blood is stuck under her fingernails. "Talk to me."

"Get out."

"Nat-"

"I said get out."

You stare at her, eyebrows furrowed in silent concern. You can't tell whether she needs space or support, and that frustrates you.

Shouldn't you be able to read her like an open book by now? Shouldn't you know exactly what she needs, exactly when she needs it? It's been years, after all. You've been talking about marriage, for god's sake.

However, that's not how relationships work, and it's especially not how a relationship with Natasha works. Either you accept that you'll never be fully let in, or you'll be fighting worries and insecurities your entire life.

"Hey", you say firmly, peeling her hand off her thigh. "No. We're not doing this. Not tonight."

She struggles against your grasp, but then her arm slackens. Her eyes close, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Frustration and alcohol — not a good mix.

"Fuck you", she spits. She's slurring, so you know better than to take this personally. It's anger, pain, self-loathing, exhaustion, but it's not directed at you. It never is.

You glance at the whiskey bottle on the coffee table and chew on your lip. It was full just hours ago, when you left for your shift. Now, it's nearly gone.

"Hold still", you mumble, reaching for the pack of cotton balls she discarded on the floor. You soak it in an antiseptic solution and start dabbing the deep scratches on her thigh.

"Stings."

You almost wince at how resigned she sounds, but you keep rubbing off blood and cleaning the self-inflicted wounds.

"I'm not going to ask what happened", you say, speaking carefully. You're treading on dangerous territory. One wrong word could make her snap right back into that same state of mind that got her like this. "I just need you to take a few breaths, okay? Nice and deep, love."

She shakes her head. You put your free hand on her knee.

"Please", you add. She squeezes her eyes shut and, with a movement too quick for you to see coming, pulls away. She gets up from the couch, but you catch her wrist. Her head whips around, anger and desperation raging behind those vacant eyes.

"Don't touch me!"

"Nat-"

"You have no idea", she hisses, "what this feels like. So leave me alone."

You stare at her as she tugs herself free from your light grip. Down the hallway and into your bedroom, you hear the door slam shut. It's rapid and loud, so much so that you're sure she just woke your neighbors.

It takes you a moment to collect yourself. Running your hand down your face, you exhale, then get up and start tidying the mess Natasha left behind.

You make sure to hide the whiskey bottle. The rest of the alcohol too, while you're at it.

. . .

The morning after, Natasha remembers bits. Pieces, fragments of what really happened.

She recalls blood. And yelling. Alcohol, way too much of it. You, in the middle of it all.

Guilt, heavy and hot, sits in her abdomen. No way to make it disappear.

She rolls over and finds you asleep. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, soft and golden, but it's not what she focuses on. She doesn't focus on the tired expression on your unconscious face, either. Instead, something else catches her attention.

Something dark red and dried sticks to your wrist, right where the skin is folded due to the angled position your hand is resting in. She reaches over and brushes it away. Blood. Her blood.

"Y/N?", she mumbles, voice raspy with sleep and exhaustion. "Baby. You awake?"

A sleepy sigh. When your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly, she pulls away. Definitely asleep.

Natasha sits up and immediately regrets it. She forgot about the mission yesterday, but her body didn't. Bruises and scars ache, a dull throbbing pain that spreads through her limbs. She remains in an unmoving position for a few seconds to let the pain fade, then she scoots out of bed.

The mirror in the bathroom confirms it. From head to toe, she's littered in visual evidence of yesterday's events. She didn't shower, either, so she's still full of dried blood and dirt.

She splashes her face with cold water. When she looks up, she finally sees herself clearly.

Red-rimmed eyes, puffy and tired, and a face that doesn't look like her own.

She steps away from the mirror and takes her hair out of the messy bun that's almost come loose. Water runs, steam fills the bathroom. She enters the shower and pulls the shower curtain fully closed. There are ways to let you know she wants you to join, and there are ways she lets you know the opposite.

You woke up minutes after she got out of bed. Once you heard the shower run, you were able to relax. She's at home, with you, safe and sound. If she's showering, it means she at least felt well enough to get out of bed.

You get up, put on a hoodie over your pajamas and make your way into the kitchen. As soon as you've poured some oats into a pot of milk, you hear footsteps. For a moment, you're not sure whether you should acknowledge her presence in any way — turn around, say good morning, maybe ask if she's hungry. But then you feel a pair of arms around your waist, strong and safe and hesitant, and a weight drops from your shoulders.

Natasha doesn't say anything. Neither do you.

But you aren't pushing her away, so she kisses your cheek. Her hand rubs your stomach before she makes the space between you bigger again.

You wait for an apology, some kind of confirmation she remembers anything from last night, but nothing comes. It wouldn't surprise you if she really doesn't remember — she had alcohol, lots of it, and intoxication has made her forget things before.

You drum your fingers against the counter, staring at the pot next to you, before you finally break the silence.

"About last night..."

Her shoulders tense up.

"Yeah", she says bitterly. "I drank too much."

"I'm aware", you say slowly, stirring the oatmeal and turning off the stove. What else are you supposed to say? That she should stop? God knows she's tried. God also knows it isn't easy. When everything becomes too much, even focusing on one single thing can become the hardest obstacle to overcome.

And when it comes to alcohol, it's pretty much impossible.

What might be the most confusing thing, though, is that this isn't a constant. It's not full-on alcoholism. She doesn't need it to function. But when everything becomes too much, it's what she turns to as a coping mechanism. It's dangerous and reckless and you feel like you're out of solutions.

"I put the whiskey away", you say, turning around. Her face is stoic as you lock eyes. "The rest of it, too. Don't even try to look for it. You won't find it."

"You're aware I'm a spy, right?", she says. Your lips twitch into a humorless smile. You know what she means — not that she's going to intentionally defy you using her skillset, but rather that her brain, no matter what kind of state it is in, will use said skills anyway. "You'll marry me. If you don't know about my past, then-"

"Alright", you cut her off. "Yes, I know. I'm aware. I tried my best, so let's just hope it'll be enough."

"It never is."

"Nat."

"I mean it. They have a bar at the compound, too."

"Well", you say, fidgeting, "I told Tony to put everything away."

Her eyebrows furrow. Before she can voice the feeling of betrayal you're seeing in her eyes, you lift your hand and stop her.

"I told him I'm trying to go sober."

Natasha goes silent. She stares at you, chewing her lip, then gets up and walks up to you. You know she isn't sure whether she's allowed to touch you (which, to you, is ridiculous), so you cup her face and kiss her and pull her into a hug. One hand on her nape and the other on her back, you hold her close.

"Just promise me one thing?"

She hums, her nose brushing against your neck. "Yeah?"

"No drinking alone. Please. I need to know you're safe."

Some promises she can't keep.

. . .

You get the call at 3am.

Natasha had been on a mission — one that was supposed to last at least another day, but apparently ended early. You had no idea.

Sleepy and worried, you scramble out of bed. Your phone is tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you hop through the apartment, one leg in your jeans and the other foot trying to find the hole. On the other end of the line is the owner of a bar in Queens.

You're not awake enough to fully understand everything. All you hear is something about a fight, shattered glass, blood. Not bad enough for a trip in the ambulance, thankfully, but the damage is done.

You sit in the car, buckle up, and break down. Tears flow, the frustration making them hot as they run down your cheeks. Your vision blurs, so you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. A car crash is the last thing you need right now.

The streets are as dark and empty as they can be, considering you're in New York. But most people are asleep, in their beds, not worried to death yet another time. Most people don't have to actively keep themselves from causing a car crash. When you realize you feel something akin to envy, you slam your foot on the gas pedal and tear off down the street.

You find the bar easily, mostly because a small group of people has gathered in front of it. Natasha's on the sidewalk, holding a napkin to her nose, her eyes drooping shut. You see her bleeding knuckles and the tears get heavier.

By the time you're out of the car, a man is approaching you. You barely pay him any mind, already looking at Natasha — but she's so out of it she doesn't even realize you've arrived.

"Wait", the guy says when you try to walk past him, "you're the lady I called?"

"Yeah", you say, glancing at Natasha every so often. "Her fiancée. Girlfriend, actually. What..."

He sighs and runs a hand over his thinning hair. "Had a little too much to drink. There was an argument with another customer. It, uh, escalated. Broke one of my mirrors, you know. The other guy's at the hospital."

"He's what?"

"She slammed him into the mirror face first. Chap broke his nose."

You stare at him with wide eyes. He shakes his head and lightly taps your upper arm, leading you in Natasha's direction.

"No idea if he'll sue", the man says. "He did provoke that fight. But you'll have to pay for my mirror, though."

"Sure", you say vacantly. Natasha doesn't look up when you reach her side. You crouch next to her and brush your fingers over the back of her hand. Her hand jerks the slightest bit, but she doesn't look at you. "Come on, love. Let's get you home. Can you walk?"

"She walked just fine earlier", some other guy pipes up.

You glare daggers at him before resting your hand on her shoulder. It's cold, too cold, and you notice her jacket is missing. You squeeze it, hoping it'll be enough to coax her into getting up — or, at the very least, looking at you —, but no. She stays unmoving, silent, eyes shut and the lower half of her face covered with a napkin.

She reeks of blood and alcohol. You get up and look at the guy who owns the bar. He raises his eyebrows, tatted arms crossed over his chest.

"Her jacket", you say. "Where's her jacket? It's cold out."

"Forget about it, Y/N."

You glance at her, taken aback. "Nat. Why didn't you-"

"Forget about it", she mumbles, slurring again. God, you're tired of this. "Go home."

Your glance turns into a stare. There's no way she's asking you to leave. She looks like she's moments away from passing out.

"Are you kidding?"

"No. Gome. I mean, go- go home."

"You can't be serious. You can barely talk!"

You see her shiver and decide you officially have had enough. It takes some effort, but you manage to pull her off the ground and make her sit in the car. After giving the bar owner a check for the mirror she broke, you drive home.

. . .

Natasha gasps and coughs out water. You splash her with more, and more, until you feel like she's sober enough to think somewhat straight.

"Fuck", she curses, water flowing down her face and her hair sticking to her head. "Y/N!"

"Feeling better?"

"I feel cold!"

You give her a skeptical look and splash another handful of water into her face. She's sitting in the shower, only in underwear to keep her clothes from getting wet. She shakes her head and pushes away the shower head you're holding.

"It helps", you insist. She shoots a desperate look your way and you sigh. "You okay?"

"I need clothes", she mumbles, wiping water away from her eyes. "And a blanket."

"I know", you say, grabbing her hand and helping her up. She's still wobbly on her feet, so you have to make sure she doesn't slip. "Come on."

Some fresh clothes and a quick session with the blowdryer later, she's on the couch. A blanket is draped over her shoulders. Now that she's back to reality, all the memories of what happened in the bar come rushing back.

It was stupid. A stupid comment from a guy drinking beer. A comment about her.

Natasha isn't considered a violent person, despite her being an Avenger or her past as an assassin. She lashed out, anyway. It makes you wonder what the hell was said to her.

She rubs her face. You sit down next to her.

"Go to bed", she says weakly. "It's late."

"And you?", you probe.

"I'm staying here."

"Alone. On the couch."

"Yes."

You shake your head. No matter what, you don't want her to have to be alone. Not even after what happened tonight — especially not after that. But she's tired, and stubborn, and she's hurt you enough tonight. She can't get that look on your face out of her head, when you were kneeling next to her on the sidewalk. How wet your cheeks were from tears and how they glistened in the light of the street lamps.

Yet you're still here, at not even 5 in the morning, still trying to make her feel better. At this point, she should try to make you feel better. Part of her is scared that she'll never be able to do that.

Natasha wants you to stay. It's the only thing that brings her peace. But she can't ruin your peace by asking you to help with hers.

"Go to bed", she repeats. "Sleep."

"No", you say, frowning. "No, absolutely not. You're not leaving my side tonight, and that's final."

She stares at you, jaw clenching. "And why the hell not?", she asks, her voice carrying bitterness and exhaustion. You raise your eyebrows in mild surprise, but remain undeterred. "Don't trust me with myself anymore?"

"Of course I do! But it's clear you weren't doing well, and-"

"And that's why I need a babysitter?!" She laughs, but there's no humor to it. Covering her face with her hands, she slumps into the couch. "God, you must be so sick of me."

There it is. That little piece of vulnerability she doesn't show, that one fear she keeps hidden like a dirty secret. Your shoulders slump and you sigh, touching her knuckles. Raw and busted open, blood still leaking from some parts of her skin.

She doesn't react. You scoot and sit on her lap, facing her, and grab her wrists. You pull her hands down, revealing the face you fell in love with, the one you still love. No matter how many issues there may be — you love her. If you have to, you'll keep driving to bars in the middle of the night for the rest of your life. You'll bandage knuckles and wipe blood away. All you need is for her to stay.

"Hey", you mumble. She shakes her head. You lean in and kiss her forehead. "Nat, please. I'm not sick of you."

No reply. You let go of her wrists to cup her face, pressing your lips to every feature, every tiny scar. She lets out a sob-like sound, but you see no tears. Your lips move from her forehead to her closed eyelid, from her cheek to the corner of her mouth.

"We'll get through this", you say, rubbing her cheeks. "You will get through this."

"It's not getting better. Y/N, it never gets better."

"That's not true", you say firmly. "It does get better. It will. Stuff like this takes time."

She looks up, tired and guilty and full of self-loathing. She'll never understand why you're in her lap instead of trying to save yourself from the bullshit she's putting you through.

"It's been years."

"It'll probably take a few more, too", you say, brushing your thumb along her lower lip. "But that's okay."

A small pause. Natasha studies you, her chest tightening with both panic and realization.

She's dragging you down with her. If she doesn't put a stop to it now, it'll only get worse for you.

"And you?", she says, challenging you. "What about you? Am I supposed to sit here and watch you go down with me?"

"What?" You shake your head. Everything inside of you is begging for your sudden suspicions to not be true. But she's saying something, and you think you know what it is. "Nat, don't. Seriously."

"Don't what? Are you really that blind?"

"I know what you're doing", you say, trying to sound calm. But you're panicking, just like she is, and it's getting hard not to hyperventilate. You're tired, sleep-deprived even, and all you want is to get her to bed and cuddle. Feel her next to you, know she's safe — at least for the time being. "It's not going to work. I'm going to bed now, and you're coming with. We'll talk in the morning."

"No." She shakes her head. "No. You'll call your parents, Y/N, and you'll get out of here. Do you know how much this shit hurts? Seeing you suffer because of me?"

You frown, searching for the right words. The words that'll make her calm down. You're not sure they exist.

"Do you know how much it hurts?", you retort. Her hands grab yours, try to gently pry them off her face, but you're relentless. "Stop!"

"You don't get it, do you? Get out of the fucking apartment!"

The more she tries to push you away, the firmer your grasp becomes. She wrestles with you, and although she may still be gentle enough with it to not hurt you, it's not that same, playful thing it used to be. She's serious about this.

"Nat!" You let out a sob and struggle, but somehow manage to pin her down. Let's not be fooled — you're still not nearly as strong as she is. But given how exhausted she is, and how the alcohol is still numbing her, you have somewhat of an upper hand. "Stop that!"

Her body goes limp beneath you, all fight draining out of her within a split second. The look on her face is defeated, so much so you almost feel bad about forcing her down like this.

"Don't be stubborn", you plead. "Not about this."

Natasha closes her eyes, forcing the tears away. Sometimes, she wishes giving up was an option for her. But it isn't, not right now, and if it were, she still wouldn't be able to do it to you.

"I'm so tired."

"I know", you mumble, all choked up, and brush some hair out of her face. "I know, baby."

"I'll lose you one way or another", she says, voice cracking mid-sentence. "I'd rather it's on my terms."

You shake your head, your grip on her wrist loosening. You bring both hands to her face and cup it. "That's the silliest thing I've ever heard you say, you know. And you say a lot of dumb stuff, love."

She laughs, but it's not that sweet sound that usually makes you melt. In a moment like this, you don't expect it to be, though.

The silence lingers. She looks up at you, tired but loving, and her hands cover yours. "You should've left me there, you know. On the curb. You don't sleep enough as it is, and you still got up to get my drunk ass home."

"For good reason", you reply, taking her hand to bring it to your mouth and kiss her bandaged knuckles. "It's not the same without you. Nothing is. Now let's go and catch up on some sleep together, yeah?"

She hesitates. "Look, I..."

"I'm serious. I'm not calling my parents, I'm not leaving. I'm staying right here, even if that means you'll keep bitching."

Natasha tilts her head. A flash of something familiar flickers across her features. It makes your heart ache.

Sometimes, you miss the before. It's not fully gone, but grasping it can be difficult. Like catching a greasy little fish in water, it keeps slipping away.

"Bitching", she echoes. A tentative smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "I love you, you know."

. . .

"I'm not sure I want to go."

You look at her, arms crossed and head tilted, a little frown on your face.

Over a year has passed since that incident at the bar. Things haven't fixed themselves magically, of course not. But it's been going uphill almost constantly, apart from a few stumbles and breaks. Which is okay — everyone needs a breather every now and then. The important part is that it hasn't gotten worse.

Something else has changed. You're wearing matching engagement rings now. You're getting married in a few weeks. You've picked out your dress, and a nice venue, and made sure the flowers match the place cards. You've moved into a new apartment, too, one that's in a calmer area of Manhattan.

Your upcoming wedding is currently the most exciting thing in your life. Which is the reason why tonight is Natasha's bachelorette party. It was Tony's idea, and although she had her doubts, you were thrilled. It's been months since she went out on her own.

"You'll have fun", you say, stepping closer to smooth out the front of her shirt. "Stark planned it. There's no way you'll get bored."

"I'm not sure you know me as well as you think", she mumbles, smiling faintly. She studies you. "It's Atlantic City. I don't want to drink too much."

You pause. But then you shake your head and adjust her jacket. "Don't worry about that. Clint will be there. Sam, Steve. You'll feel like you got trapped in a retirement home. Also, you'll get about a hundred phone calls from me if I even sense that you're being an idiot."

She exhales through her nose, lips twitching. "So a couple bodyguards, and a parole officer. I see."

"Exactly." Your hands run back down to her chest. Her heartbeat feels steady beneath your palms. "Don't drink if you don't feel good about it. But circumstances are different, and you're not alone, and I'm just a phone call away."

"I know."

You cup her face and lean in, kissing her. Her hands hold onto your upper arms, trying to keep you close. You still pull away.

"I know you want to go", you say, convinced. Natasha gives you a deadpan look. "You're just scared."

"I'm not scared", she argues. "I just...don't want to mess up. I've made progress."

"Yeah", you mumble softly. She's right. Nobody's made as much progress as she has, at least that's what you believe. Her mind still goes to bad places, but her coping mechanisms have gotten healthier. There's no way you'll give the credit to yourself, but she feels like she wouldn't have made it this far without you. She doesn't tell you that to your face, but she has her ways in which she lets you know.

"You'll have fun", you say again. "It's, like, your last night of freedom. Enjoy it while it lasts, because girl, you'll be stuck."

"Oh no, the horrors", she mumbles, smiling. She pulls you closer by wrapping her arms around your waist. Her lips press against your forehead. "Stuck with you. However will I survive."

"You're joking about it now, but in a few weeks, you'll only be able to go out with me. You'll get sick so fast."

"I won't." Natasha raises her eyebrows and squeezes your waist. "Actually, why don't you join us today, too? I'm sure it'd be more fun."

"Absolutely not." You peck her lips and step back. You wave your hand to coax her out the door. She opens it and steps out, but stops on the doormat. "I'm serious! We agreed to have separate bachelorette parties."

She rolls her eyes. "You better pray you don't have to scrape me off some boardwalk tonight."

You sigh and furrow your eyebrows, arms crossed over the Looney Tunes shirt you wear to sleep. Natasha raises her hands.

"Don't look at me like that", she says, sounding both defensive and sheepish. "I'll be good."

"I don't need you to be 'good'", you say. "Come home to me after. That's all I ask."

Natasha softens. Before you can say anything, she's back inside the hallway, hands running over your body and lips pressed to yours. You want to protest — Clint has pulled up in front of the house — but then you melt into her.

She doesn't have to tell you she'll be back. From this very moment, she always will be.

. . .

When your phone buzzes at 5am, you nearly jump out of your own skin. You don't even glance at the screen before answering the call.

"Y/N?", you hear Natasha's voice, sleepy and probably a little drunk.

"Hey", you say, sitting up and blinking away remainders of sleep. "You okay?"

"I'm fine", she mumbles. Yes, definitely drunk, but not enough for her to be slurring her words. "Just missing you."

"Oh." You rub your eyes, smiling to yourself. "I miss you too. Having fun?"

"I got dragged to a strip club."

"I'll take that as a yes", you tease.

You hear bedsheets rustle, then a thump. A groan.

"Dropped my phone", she says, voice so muffled you can barely hear her. She picks it up from the floor and puts it back to her ear. "You want to come pick me up?"

"What, now?"

"Look, I loved seeing a dozen half-naked strangers and Steve throwing up during a lap dance, but I want to come home."

You go quiet, mulling it over. Truthfully, you're feeling a little like a mom that's being called to pick up her child early because it's too scared to sleep someplace else than home — but it's almost been a day since she left, and she sounds needier than usual, and you kind of want her back with you as well.

"You're still at that hotel you told me about?", you ask, already getting up to grab some clothes.

"Yes, we-" She pauses. You stop, trying to see if the phone call ended, but then her voice cuts through the unnerving silence. "I'm wearing a ring."

"Yes, baby, we're engaged."

"Oh. Okay, that's good. I thought, uhm..."

You bite back a laugh, wiggling into a pair of sweatpants. "Didn't marry a hooker, I hope?"

"What?! Don't be ridiculous."

"I was kidding. You'll wait in the lobby?"

"Fine", she says, letting out a yawn. "Hurry."

. . .

Despite the fact you agreed on picking her up in the lobby, Natasha's on the curb when you pull up. Her face seems to light up when she sees you, and she quickly grabs her duffel bag to approach the car. The door opens and she sinks into the passenger seat.

"Hey", you say, already starting the car. "Show me your ring. Just to be safe."

"Here." She holds out her left hand. The ring on her finger is definitely one you're familiar with, so you nod and give her hand a squeeze. She looks at you, head leaning against the headrest, and hums. "You're so beautiful, you know."

"And you're drunk", you reply, starting the car. Still, a tiny smile tugs at your lips.

Natasha shakes her head. She pulls your hand into her lap and holds it tight. She's not usually this openly clingy, but she's tipsy enough to turn into this touchy-feely mess you secretly adore.

"Beautiful", she repeats. "I'm gonna marry you. You wanna marry me?"

"We're engaged", you remind her. "Don't remember?"

"Of course I do." She lets out a scoff. "Just...checking. Making sure you didn't change your mind."

"Change my mind? What, and miss out on all the late night drives?" You shoot her a smile and feel her play with your fingers. "Seriously though, you had fun?"

"It wasn't bad", she admits, closing her eyes. "Bit boring."

"Boring, you say? Well, then you definitely didn't see one of those washed-up magicians", you say absently, taking a left turn. Natasha reaches out to poke your cheek — once, twice —, then you turn your head and lightly bite her fingertip.

She retracts her hand, looking offended.

"You started it", you quickly say. "With all that poking."

Natasha rolls her eyes and leans back.

"You're sensitive", she mumbles, wiping her finger on your sleeve. You bat her hand away. "Violent, too. Jesus."

"We'll be home soon", you say. You couldn't love Natasha more, but she's right at that point of being drunk where she's simply an idiot. Clingy, needy, and a little prone to biting. "Think you can make it about two hours without throwing up?"

She waves her hand dismissively, already curling up against the car door. Head against the window and breath fogging up the glass, she dozes off.

Getting her out of the car is proven to be more difficult than anticipated.

It turns out that getting into the car to be driven around and sleep is way more enjoyable than getting out of it again. Natasha sighs and protests, but eventually, you manage to pull her to her feet. She stumbles out and grips your shoulders, then smiles crookedly.

"Hey", she mumbles. "Wanna help me pick that up? 'Cause you made my jaw drop."

"Dear god."

"Didn't like that one? I got more."

"Absolutely not", you say, dragging her toward the door. She leans on you heavily, her head resting against yours. You eye the chunky brown mass clinging to the soles of her boots. "Shoes off. What the hell is that?"

"Refried beans", she mumbles, toeing off her boots and kicking them aside. "Clint dropped his Chipotle."

"And it was all beans...?"

Natasha shrugs and walks inside, flopping onto the couch face-first. You sigh and peel off your jacket, watching her for a moment. You expect her to get up again, maybe change into fresh clothes, but no — she seems asleep.

You feel bad about waking her, but you do it anyway.

"Ass off the couch", you hum, patting her backside. A muffled groan comes from the cushion. "Let's go."

"Tired."

"The couch isn't big enough for both of us", you argue, giving her a firm pinch just below the buttcheek. "Come on, bed."

"Stop nagging me", she mumbles, but sits up. You lead her away from the couch before she can change her mind.

Clothes off and pajamas on, comforters pulled aside. Natasha collapses again, one leg angled and the other stretched out. She sighs and burrows her face right in between the two pillows on your bed.

"Drank too much", she mutters. You hum, studying her with your eyebrows slightly furrowed. "Head hurts."

"Get some sleep."

"C'mere."

"In a minute", you promise, taking off your hoodie. "You know, I actually got a little scared when you called. I thought god knows what happened."

She snorts into the pillows. "Gotta trust me more."

"I do trust you." You sit next to her, tugging her top back down where it had ridden up. "I got scared, anyway. You, a bunch of irresponsible people, Atlantic City — not the best mix."

Natasha rolls over and looks at you through sleep-hazy eyes. You smile and tap her nose. She shakes her head.

"This was your idea."

"And you had fun", you insist. She curls into you, her face pressed against your chest. "Right?"

"If I say yes, you'll shut up?"

You roll your eyes and kiss her forehead. She's warm, warmer than you, and tonight is no exception. You can feel her heat seep into you, but it's a nice feeling. You might end up overheating, but it's nice. Anything is nice when you know she's safe.

"You're comfy", Natasha mutters, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and twisting it.

"You're still drunk."

"And in love."

You run your hand down her back, a smile forming on your lips. Before you can say anything, she's fallen asleep.

. . .

The light pressure of lips against your temple wakes you up. Sunlight is filtering through the curtains, brightening up the room and warming your bed. You hum sleepily, but make no move to actually wake up.

Another kiss, more insistent this time. A glance at the clock tells you it's almost noon. You turn your head and see Natasha, half asleep and mildly hungover.

"Thank you", she mumbles, nose nuzzling your cheek.

"For what?"

"Picking me up. Loving me. All of it, I guess."

"Aw", you hum, pulling her closer. "Don't thank me for that. But thank me for not kicking you out of bed. My god, you're a furnace."

"You're being dramatic", she mutters, her tightening arms telling you she definitely doesn't care about you burning up.

"Seriously! I almost had to sleep in the fridge."

She looks up, hair mussed and eyes bleary, and you bite back a grin.

"'Til death do us part", she replies, pinching your side. "Or something like that."

Your body jerks, but there's a smile on your face. You wrap your arms around her neck and roll over, trapping her beneath your body. She grunts, limbs slackening.

"Working on your vows, I see?", you tease.

"Been working on them since the day I met you", she says, making it sound like she's teasing as well, but you know there's a hidden layer of truth to her words. You kiss her, deep and firm, then pull away. She gazes up at you, her expression giving nothing away.

Her eyes, however, say a lot.

"My personal angel", she adds, murmuring. "No idea where I'd be without you."

"Good god", you say and scrunch up your face. "You're getting soft."

"Okay, that's not-"

You grin, knowing you've got her. Calling Natasha out on her feelings doesn't end well for most, but you have the privilege of getting away with just about anything. You stuck with her through more than she’d ever expect anyone to — you get free passes for just about anything.

"You are soft!"

“Seriously, enough.”

A laugh and a quick kiss on the lips. She rolls over, getting on top again and pressing you down into the mattress. Her eyes study yours and the sun makes her red hair shine and oh, you’re suddenly convinced you’ve made it through everything you thought you wouldn’t survive.

Natasha still isn’t an open book, not even to you, but you feel like you get to read more pages with every day that goes by.

[redrose10]

This was a request for cop Yoongi from @maryhopemei. I already had something similar drafted so I continued that. I hope it’s okay! I’m working on the requests that I have so I should start getting them out as I get them done.

<Bonnie and Clyde>

Cop Yoongi x Female Cop Reader

Warnings: Guns, violence, gangs, hostage situations, slightly suggestive, mentions of blood and murder, swearing

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

Sitting in the crowd watching the newest graduating class of the police academy made you feel proud of course, but it also filled you with dread because you knew one of the rookies was going to be your new partner. You tended to work better alone and you definitely didn’t want your partner to be some newbie that was just going to get in your way.

The captain had dropped the bombshell on you last week. He was kind enough to let you choose your new partner which you promised to advise him of your choice after the graduation ceremony. As you scanned the recruits you thought back to through your options:

Jeon Jungkook: Age 26

Top of his class in physical activities, definitely had the body of a cop, would be your first choice to have next to you in a physical altercation but since you were in narcotics you wanted more brains than brawn.

Park Jimin: Age 28

Didn’t look like a typical cop but maybe that was a good thing. Aced all of his verbal and written tests. You’d spoke to him a couple times and he seemed too sweet so you knew he’d get eaten alive in your line of work and you didn’t want to be responsible for that.

Min Yoongi: Age 31

His superiors noted that he had all the skills necessary to make a great cop but seemed to hold back. He was quiet and mostly kept to himself but was very observant. He didn’t look happy to be there just like you... That was your guy.

So after the ceremony you let the captain know that you’d chosen Yoongi as your new partner much to his surprise, but he obliged and said he’d have the paperwork entered right away.

The next morning you walked into the narcotics department ready to start the day when you ran into your new partner, already making himself comfortable in the desk right next to yours.

Trying to be polite you introduced yourself with a handshake, “Hi, My name is Y/N.”

For a moment he stared down at your hand like he was pondering if he should shake it before he ultimately took it in his, “Yoongi”.

Captain Cho called an emergency meeting wanting to provide some updates on the big case you all were working on.

In the meeting room you took a seat next to Detective Kim Namjoon, one of the few people you trusted.

The walls of the meeting room were littered with photos and drawings, some scribbled with notes.

Captain Cho pinned a new photo onto the wall, “This is Jung Seo Joon. We have confirmed him to be the newest member of Saaghan as he was just recently initiated. He is the third addition this month so we have reason to believe that Kim Myung is planning an attack and trying to beef up his team. We need all officers to be on the lookout and prepared for anything.”

You took in the photo doing your best to memorize the man in front of you.

“Y/N and Yoongi please stay back. I have some things to discuss with you.”, Captain Cho announced before dismissing everyone else.

“Y/N, please get Yoongi caught up on everything with this case so far. Then I want the two of you to head to this address and scope it out. We have reason to believe that Myung hangs out here.”, the captain said handing you a piece of paper.

You nodded before stepping aside to let the captain pass.

Once back at your desk you grabbed a bunch of papers, “So we’ve been working on this case for several years. Have you ever heard of the Saaghan gang?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “I know more about them than you could ever imagine.”

You bit your lip trying not to say something nasty back. This is exactly why you liked to work alone.

“Okay fine. Let’s just go scope out this location then since you’re already up to date on everything.”

You didn’t even wait for him before storming off to your assigned car.

The location was a small kbbq restaurant on the other side of the city in a run down alleyway. Definitely not somewhere you’d expect a wealthy gang leader to hang out.

“There he is. That’s are guy.”, you whispered after seeing Myung walk out of the restaurant followed by six men in suits.

Yoongi’s hand tightened around his gun, “We should just kill him now.”

You shook your head, “Are you crazy? We’re severely outnumbered. They’ll definitely kill us.”

“If you were a decent cop we could take them right now.”, he scoffed.

“And I’m being a decent human being by not killing YOU right now.”, you mumbled getting an amused laugh out of your partner.

It was a few months later and you and Yoongi were finally starting to warm up to each other a little. His sarcastic remarks started becoming funnier and less annoying to you. You brought him coffee in the morning and he bought you lunch in the afternoon. One day he even dropped by your apartment to bring you soup and medicine after you had called in sick.

He also started following up on the case more and more. He provided lots of good intel on Myung and his gang which you desperately needed. You felt like things were going in the right direction and you were happy to have him as your partner.

Then one night Namjoon stopped you in the hallway and invited you back to his desk.

“Y/N I want to talk to you about Yoongi.”

“Okay?”, you questioned confused.

“I just…I…something seems off about him.”

You were feeling a little defensive about your partner/almost might be considered a friend/very secret take it to the grave crush.

“What do you mean?”, you spat.

Namjoon adjusted his glasses, “Y/N I’m not trying to be disrespectful I promise. It’s just… don’t you think it’s a little weird how he knows so much about the case already? He’s pointed out high ranking members of the Saaghans before we could even attempt to yet somehow Myung always happens to escape as soon as we get there like he knew we were coming. And Jin said he walked in on him getting dressed the other day. He said he has a tattoo…THE tattoo.”

You felt your heart skip at the mention of the tattoo. It was confirmed that all members of the Saaghan Gang had the same tattoo. It was a part of the initiation. All official members had a tattoo on the left side of their chest. A tattoo of a snake curled around a demon, the official symbol of the gang. It was a very distinct tattoo and every artist in the country knew not to tattoo it on anyone that wasn’t official.

You scoffed, “So we’re going by he said she said now? Maybe Jin was mistaken. Besides he shouldn’t be creeping on other officers while they’re changing. That sounds like an HR issue.”

Namjoon sighed getting frustrated, “He wasn’t creeping. It was an accident and why would he lie about something like that? Look Y/N…I know he’s your partner and you guys are getting close but I’m just saying to be careful and keep an eye on him.”

Wordlessly you got up and exited his office feeling angry and hurt but also a little unsure at the same time.

You spent the next few weeks trying to get a glimpse of Yoongi’s chest without making it obvious.

You suggested working out together which he surprisingly agreed to until you suggested swimming as an option. He said he preferred to work on weight training instead of cardio.

You “accidentally” spilled a cup of coffee on his shirt before conveniently pulling a spare out of your backseat. He thanked you and grabbed the shirt before walking into the nearest convenient store to use the restroom to change.

You invited him over to your apartment for dinner and drinks. You poured him shot after shot. You also had a few yourself to try and calm your nerves. Before you knew it, he had pinned you down on the couch, his mouth leaving marks on your skin as his hands roamed underneath your shirt searching for your bra strap.

You were hazy with lust. You wanted him and you were shocked yet excited that it seemed like he wanted you too. Forgetting about the reason you were even in this position to begin with you reached for his shirt and started unbuttoning it. You got three undone before he stopped you and pulled away.

You panicked thinking maybe you misread the situation.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I shouldn’t have done that. We’re both drunk and I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you and we’re co-workers on top of it. I don’t want anything to be complicated between us.”

Before you could reassure him he grabbed his coat and stumbled out of your apartment leaving you feeling all different emotions that revolved around more than just a tattoo.

After that night the two of you remained on a strictly partner/co-worker relationship. The coffee and lunch breaks stopped. You didn’t speak unless it involved work related discussions. You were hurt and disappointed and maybe a little bit heartbroken.

Then one evening Captain Cho called an emergency meeting.

“We have received reliable intel that Myung will be meeting a new supplier at this abandoned factory located at the port. We need to dress and be ready to move out within the next fifteen minutes to meet him there. Everyone have your eyes and ears open. No one goes in alone and no one gets left behind.”

You and Yoongi loaded into the waiting van as it began the hour drive to the location. Namjoon who was sitting across from you gave you a smile and a light squeeze to your knee knowing that you still got a little nervous during raids like these. Yoongi grumbled about something when he noticed you two but you didn’t care enough to clarify.

The van pulled up to the location and you and the rest of the team exited and quietly made your way to the warehouse. You followed closely behind Yoongi up several flights of stares. Suddenly Yoongi stopped after you heard talking. Peaking around the corner you saw Myung and some other man having an altercation.

Unfortunately at that same moment your radio went off. You had forgotten to silence it, a rookie mistake. Myung shouted something and next thing you knew four men with guns were shooting at you both. Yoongi was trying to push you back as gunshots continued to ring through the air as you did your best to fire back while also ducking for cover.

Captain Cho was shouting over the radio for everyone to retreat and abandon mission. Myung took off running with Yoongi closely behind ignoring the captains orders and forgetting about the no one alone rule so you were forced to also chase after him.

“Yoongi stop!”, you shouted dodging a bullet.

“No I’m gonna kill him. Once and for all.”, he gritted through his teeth while reloading his gun. Captain Cho was demanding for your return but you couldn’t let Yoongi go alone.

“Y/N go back to the base. I don’t want you to get hurt.”, Yoongi said.

You shook your head, “No I’m not leaving you.”

Out of nowhere you felt someone shove something hard into the back of your head.

“Myung you fucking bastard. Back away from her. Now!.”, Yoongi hissed with his gun drawn in your direction.

“Or what?”, Myung spat, “Are you going to kill me? Have me arrested? Don’t you remember our little agreement Yoongi? Did you suddenly stop being a gangster and become a bitch of a good cop?”

You were confused by what he meant by all of that but the cold metal pushed into the back of your head was making it difficult to really think straight.

“Myung if you let Y/N go unharmed…I’ll…I will let you go free and take the blame for everything.”

He chuckled, “No no no Yoongi. That’s not how this works. I make the deals now. Not you.”

Yoongi looked above before turning his attention back to you, “Y/N, on the count of three run.”

You shook your head too afraid to move.

“1…2…3!”, he shouted. You tried to move but your feet were frozen. You heard two gunshots go off. The grip Myung had on your body softened as he dropped to the ground besides you and laid lifeless in a pool of his own blood.

You heard commotion above you and you turned to see Namjoon running down the stairs with his gun still drawn. You looked in front of you and saw Yoongi on his knees grasping his arm as blood was quickly soaking his shirt.

“Yoongi!,”, you screamed running towards him thankful he was wearing a bullet proof vest even though he had been shot in the arm by Myung just before Namjoon had shot him.

Namjoon called for medical attention which quickly arrived and you helped Yoongi over to the waiting ambulance.

You were talking to Namjoon as the medics removed Yoongi’s shirt even though he tried to fight it.

And that’s when you saw it. The tattoo on the left side of his chest clear as could be. You didn’t even excuse yourself from Namjoon instead choosing to storm over to Yoongi as the medic was stitching him up.

He refused to make eye contact with you until the medic was finished wrapping his arm up and left you two alone.

“Y/N let me explain.”, he said with his hands reaching out for you. He was cut off when your hand slapped across his cheek leaving a red mark.

You were fighting back tears as you bit your lip, “How could you? You’re one of them. I trusted you Yoongi. Namjoon tried to warn me and I didn’t listen to him.”

He shook his head, “Y/N listen to me. It’s not what you think. I am a member but not like that.”

You scoffed but stood silently otherwise waiting for him to continue.

“My father owed Myung a lot of money. He couldn’t pay him. One night he came to our apartment with two of his men. They…”, he took a deep breath. This was clearly hard for him to say, “They demanded the money and when he couldn’t pay them Myung killed my father. I was hiding in the closet. I was twelve years old when I watched that evil excuse of a man murder my father. Myung had his men stalk me for years. He would never kill a minor. Then when I turned eighteen he started demanding I repay my fathers debts. Of course I didn’t have the money. One night he had his men kidnap me. He told me that I either repay the debts or he would kill me right then just like he had done to my father.”, Yoongi took a shaky breath before continuing again, “Out of fear and desperation I offered him a deal. In exchange for not killing me I would work for him. To my surprise he accepted it. Over time I earned his trust and his respect and made it to a high raking position in the gang. But…but the entire time I was plotting a way to get him back and avenge my father’s murder. So when he came up with this plan to have someone infiltrate the police to get intel I volunteered. I had to do little things like let him know when we were coming so that he wouldn’t be suspicious. But now…I got him killed. That’s all I wanted and now I can move on knowing my fathers murderer is dead….and I can get this stupid tattoo removed. I’ve always hated having this disgusting ugly thing on my body.”, he said pointing at the ink.

You were left speechless. You took a few moments to to collect your thoughts until you heard Captain Cho demanding everyone return to the van immediately.

“Yoongi…I…I’m sorry you went through all of that.”, you whispered reaching for his hand, “Umm but Myung’s men will try to avenge his murder too. Once they find out you turned on him they’ll come after you. You’re in danger Yoongi.”

He shook his head, “I’ll be fine Y/N. I’m going to quit the force and I’ll move far away. But you need to distance yourself from me. They’ll come after you too if they know that you are important to me.”

“Yoongi you can’t leave. You can’t leave the force. You can’t leave me.”, you begged.

“Y/N I need to. For your safety. I love you Y/N and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you because of me.”

You didn’t even fully register what he had just said to you said before Namjoon walked over and interrupted you, “Listen guys, Cho is ready to loose his shit. We need to go. Hey… where did Yoongi go?”

You nodded before looking around in a panic realizing that Yoongi had disappeared. You looked through your surroundings but it was too dark and you couldn’t see him anywhere.

Dejectedly you followed after Namjoon unsure of what would happen next.

It had been twelve months since you last saw Yoongi at the port. He vanished without a trace. His apartment was left untouched. He never officially resigned from the force but just stopped showing up so they were forced to fire him. You woke up every day hoping you would get some kind of a sign that he was okay. You knew that Myungs men had set their focus on finding him just like you had expected they would. It was hard for you to hear about it but it motivated you to capture every single one of them.

On a Wednesday morning you walked into work feeling exhausted and stressed. You placed your things down on your desk before getting called into Captain Cho’s office.

He handed you a piece of paper, “We got a call from an anonymous informant. They said they have specific details about the whereabouts of Jung Hoseok, the new leader of Saaghan.”

You nodded, “Okay should we get a team together?”

The captain shook his head, “The informant demanded you come alone. He said if you had anyone with you he’d refuse to talk so you’re going to be wired but you’ll go alone. We’ll have backup holding back a few blocks away.”

You nodded nervously but agreed to go.

When you got to a similar kbbq restaurant as before you walked inside to find it completely empty. The elderly woman behind the counter greeted you and directed you to a small room upstairs already knowing who you were there for.

In the small room Yoongi greeted you with a smile. He was dressed in a suit minus the jacket, his hair was much longer than the last time you saw him and he had a noticeable scar going through his right eye.

“Y/N, how have you been?”

“Good, and you?”, you responded still in shock at seeing him.

He nodded, “Great actually, especially now that you’re here.”

Yoongi walked over to you slowly and began pulling on the wire that ran along your body. Of course he knew it would be there. In one snap he disconnected it.

“I know we don’t have long until your team swarms the place now so I’ll make this quick.”, he said putting his jacket on and then handing you a loaded gun. “Run away with me Y/N. I’ll take care of you and provide for you. I’ll keep you safe and you’ll never have to worry about anything ever again.”

“Yoon-Yoongi I can’t do that.”, you stuttered.

“Yes you can Y/N. If you want to be with me like I want to be with you then you can. You know that we can’t be together like this. A cop with a gangster. It’ll never work.”

You shook your head, “But you’re not really a gangster. We can explain what happened. Sure you’ll probably have to do a little jail time but if you agree to provide info on the gang members I’m sure they’ll reduce your sentence significantly. Then we can get you protection and everything.”

He cocked his gun hearing your fellow officers pull up, “You’re right Y/N…I wasn’t a real gangster…but a lot has changed in the last year.”

He walked over to the window and pushed it open before tossing a large duffel bag onto the roof of the building below. Then he turned in your direction. He held his hand out to you with a smirk, “So what do you say Y/N? Want to be the Bonnie to my Clyde?”

[mcyt-jukebox-bonanza]

Mcyt Jukebox Bonanza Event!

Jukebox Bonanza is an MCYT multi-fandom event held during the month of september where artists will take songs of their choice and create illustrations based on these songs. This is called a Jukebox Night, and it was popular in the hermitcraft fandom circa 2019. This event seeks to revitalize the tradition and create some fun art.

Every participant who makes at least one Jukebox Night will get their named added to the Jukebox Bonanza hall of fame, and artists who make more can reach higher tiers of victory! This event can be either casual or hardcore, depending on how many drawings each individual wants to make. (Sign-ups will be open for the duration of the event, so feel free to drop in even if it's halfway through September!)

Timeline:

August 17: The signup form drops and the discord server opens (having a discord account is required for participation in this event.)

August 24: song claims open! Each song behind a jukebox night for jukebox bonanza must be unique, so artists will claim a song before they begin drawing.

August 28: All first claims should be assigned. Once you receive confirmation of your claim, you can begin drawing. Additional claims continue throughout the month as individuals finish one jukebox night and request another song as desired.

September 30: creation period ends. You can't start any new drawings after this, but it's okay to finish one during the posting period.

September 30-October 7: posting period! Post all your jukebox nights and tag this blog so we can reblog the posts here. At the end, the mods will count up all the jukebox nights to declare the final illustration count and award victory tiers.

Sign up for the event by filling out THIS form! The link to the discord server is at the end.

FAQ and song claim information under the cut.

Who are the mods here?

There are two mods on this blog and on the discord server: Mod Idea (@paradoxlemonade) and Mod Ghost (@gay-ghosts).

Who can participate in this event?

Participation is open to all fans of MCYT ages 13+.

What's a jukebox night?

A jukebox night is a single completed illustration based on a song. They were usually square back in the day so they looked like the could fit on an album cover, but that wasn't a hard rule. Some had lyrics in the picture itself, and others had them below the drawing. For this event, a drawing is considered complete when it is fully colored and/or shaded.

What fandoms can I make a jukebox night for?

Although this tradition originated in the hermitcraft fandom, all MCYT fandoms are eligible for this event. Small MCYT, old MCYT, new MCYT, popular MCYT, and anything else are all fair game. If it's minecraft and it's videos, you can make a Jukebox Night for it.

What songs can I claim?

Most songs are fair game, but there are a few stipulations: Songs must not be graphically about sex or contain graphically sexual content, as this event is open to artists age 13-17. Additionally, no songs made by Wilbur Soot/Lovejoy are eligible for this event.

How do song claims work?

If you participated in mcytblr AU fest, then you might be familiar with this process. A google form will be posted at a determined time and all participants will fill it out. You must list at least one song, but you can name up to five. The first person to claim a particular song will be the one to receive it, so it's advised that you list a few in case your first choice is unavailable.

Once you finish your first Jukebox Night, you can fill out the form again to claim another song and receive a second assignment. You can do this as many times are you want, but you can only get a new claim once the drawing for your previous one is completed.

What can I depict in a jukebox night?

Pretty much anything, within reason. Canon events, canon divergence, AUs, headcanons, you name it! Shipping and violence are fair game as well. We ask that art made for this event be about the characters, not real people. Additionally, art made for this event cannot contain sexual content of any kind or anything that would warrant an E rating on Ao3, as the event is open to artists age 13-17. If you're uncertain about an idea, please reach out to a mod for clarification.

I have another question you didn't answer here!

Send an ask in and one of the event mods will get back to you!

[buckymarvelficss]

Beneath the surface

Chapter three

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X fem!reader

Dragged into a world she doesn’t belong to, y/n finds herself losing pieces of who she used to be. Each party, each smile, each bruise leaves a mark — until a stranger starts to notice the cracks. Bucky Barnes sees more than he says, and something unspoken begins to grow between them. But some truths don’t stay hidden forever.

> This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, and physical abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Slow burn. Angst. Comfort. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Chapter one || Chapter two

Bucky’s POV 

He noticed her long before he meant to. 

At first, it was just a glance. The first party — one of Stark’s usual chaotic displays — filled with too much noise, too much perfume, and too many people trying to be interesting. 

She stood by the edge of the room, near the hallway. Not hiding. But not exactly part of it either. 

Like someone playing a role they didn’t rehearse for. Her dress was elegant, technically beautiful — but she wore it like armor, not comfort. Her shoes looked expensive, but she shifted in them like they pinched. 

Like she was dressed for someone else’s night. 

What caught his eye wasn’t her looks — though she was striking in that quiet, effortless way — but her posture. Straight, still. Composed. 

But her hands… her hands fidgeted slightly at her sides, fingers brushing her glass over and over. And her smile — polite, soft — didn’t reach her eyes. 

He remembered thinking she looked tired. But still… present. Still trying. And for some reason, that stuck with him. 

Then came the second party. And the third. And each time, she was there. And each time, Bucky found himself watching a little longer than he meant to. 

Not staring. Just… observing. 

He didn’t even realize it at first. Just caught glimpses — her standing near the bar, or laughing softly at something someone said, but never too loud. Never drawing attention. 

And always near him. 

Josh. 

Josh with his designer suit and easy smirk. Always holding a drink. Always surrounded by people who laughed a little too eagerly. There was something about him — too polished, too rehearsed — that immediately rubbed Bucky the wrong way. 

And the way she stood beside him? Not close. Not affectionate. Just… present. Like a shadow. 

Bucky noticed the small things. How Josh always walked ahead of her. How she never interrupted him. How her shoulders tensed whenever he leaned too close. 

She didn’t cling, didn’t whimper, didn’t show any obvious distress. 

But she was always checking the room. Like someone waiting for the ground to shift beneath their feet. It wasn’t discomfort. It was strategy. 

And that’s what stayed with him. Not fear. Not sadness. 

Control. 

The kind of control that comes from surviving something too many times. 

--- 

By the fourth party, Bucky stopped pretending it was just curiosity. He kept a quiet eye on her the whole night. 

And then he saw it. It happened in the span of a breath. 

Josh leaned in. Whispered something, fast and low, lips too close to her ear. Her expression didn’t change — not much. But her shoulders flinched. Barely. Her chin dipped. Eyes lowered. She nodded quickly. 

And Bucky’s jaw locked so tight his teeth ached. 

He felt that heat in his chest — slow, bitter. The same kind he used to feel back in HYDRA’s cells, when he couldn’t do anything. 

He didn’t know her. Had barely spoken a word to her, aside from that one moment by the drinks table. 

But now he couldn’t not see her. The more he noticed, the more he understood. 

And then — The bruise. 

She wore makeup. Clean, professional. Not too heavy. But you can’t fool someone who’s spent years noticing damage. 

Faint, barely visible under her cheekbone. The kind you only see in certain light. The kind meant to be hidden. 

The kind that always had a story. 

He knew bruises like that. Had seen them on women in safehouses. On civilians in war zones. On colleagues who never said a word. 

Josh never touched her in public. Never smiled at her, either.  

And that night, when Bucky looked across the room and accidentally met her gaze, Josh was watching him. 

She wasn’t at the next party. 

--- 

He told himself not to think about it. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she was out of town. Maybe— 

“She's not coming,” Stark said, handing him a drink without looking up from his watch. 

“Josh said she’s staying home. Didn’t say why.” 

The words landed heavier than they should’ve. Something tightened behind Bucky’s ribs. He stayed for another hour. Made the rounds. Chatted when he had to. 

But the whole time, his focus drifted. To the space where she should’ve been. To the voice in his head that wouldn’t shut up. So after the party, he waited outside for a while. 

Just in case. Just to see. 

She didn’t come. 

And that ache in his chest didn’t go away. 

--- 

Two days later, he did something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. He asked Tony for help. 

“I need an address,” he said, voice steady. Quiet. Firm. 

Tony looked up from his tablet, brow lifted. “That so?” 

Bucky didn’t explain. Didn’t need to. 

Tony studied him for a moment. Then sighed, muttering under his breath as he tapped on his screen. 

“I’m not saying this is a good idea,” he said eventually, glancing at Bucky over the rim of his glasses. “But I trust your gut.” 

Bucky nodded once. 

That was all he needed. 

--- 

When he got there, it was quiet. 

Too quiet. 

The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful — just… still. Like something was holding its breath. 

The building itself was nothing remarkable. Peeling paint, a broken intercom button, half-lit hallway through scratched glass. A place people passed through, not stayed in. The kind of place no one asked questions. 

But something about it itched beneath his skin. 

Bucky stood in front of the door for a long moment, his hands deep in his coat pockets, jaw set tight. Wind whispered down the street behind him, carrying the faint hum of city traffic. Normal. Background noise. 

But this… this wasn’t.  

He buzzed once. No answer. 

He tilted his head back, eyes scanning the upper windows. Third floor. Apartment 3B. Curtains closed. Not even a flicker of movement behind them. 

The weight in his chest didn’t budge. 

He tried the handle — locked. So he waited. 

Ten minutes. Maybe more. He lost track. The cold crept through his sleeves, biting at his fingertips, but he didn’t move. Just stood there, watching. Listening. Muscles coiled tight beneath his skin. 

He’d told himself it was probably nothing. That maybe she was sick. Or asleep. That she’d finally gotten a break from Josh and was using it to breathe. 

But he didn’t believe it. 

And then— A thud. 

Dull. Heavy. Like furniture. Or a body. 

He went still. 

Then came the voice. A man’s voice. Josh. 

Sharp. Loud. Filled with that particular kind of rage that wasn’t loud because it wanted to be heard — but because it wanted to hurt. 

“You think you can talk to me like that?” 

A pause. 

Then— A cry. Soft. Muffled. Fragile. But not ignorable. 

“You think he gives a damn about you?” 

Something inside Bucky snapped. Not like a bone — clean and sharp — but like a cable pulled too tight for too long. 

Everything in him went still. And cold. The kind of cold that didn’t shake. 

He stepped back from the door, glanced once around the street — no one close — then braced himself. 

One solid kick. The door rattled. 

Another. The lock cracked. 

The third — The door slammed open with a bang, bouncing off the inside wall. 

He didn’t hesitate. 

He was already moving, boots pounding up the narrow stairwell, each step like a loaded gun. 3B. Third floor. Left side. 

Another noise — a crash, glass shattering. The sound turned his stomach. 

And then — her voice again. Soft. Strangled. Desperate. 

He reached the apartment door and didn’t pause. 

One slam with his shoulder. The frame groaned. 

Second hit — deeper. Harder. 

The third — 

The door burst inward. 

And what he saw made his blood run ice cold. 

Josh, towering over her. One hand still raised. The other gripping her arm so hard her skin had gone white beneath his fingers. 

Her face — pale, drawn, wide-eyed. A smear of blood at her lip. 

Bucky didn’t remember crossing the room. Only the sound of his own voice. 

Low. Dark. Absolute. 

Your POV, three days earlier

“Get your hands off her.” 

It started the way it always did — quiet. Small. 

Too small to justify what followed. 

You’d been sitting at your vanity, brushing concealer gently under your eyes, when you mentioned it. 

“I think I’m actually looking forward to the next Stark party,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I miss being out around people.” 

Josh was buttoning up his shirt in the reflection behind you. He didn’t look up. 

“You’re not coming.” 

The brush paused midair. “…What?” 

“I said, you’re not coming,” he repeated, like you were hard of hearing. “I’m not letting you parade yourself around in front of them again.” 

You turned slowly to face him, your stomach twisting. “I wasn’t—parading. I was just talking.” 

He scoffed. “Talking. Right.” A bitter smile tugged at his mouth. “You mean flirting. With Barnes. You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” 

Your mouth opened — and closed again. It was always a trap. Whatever you said would be wrong. Still, you tried. “I barely even spoke to him.” 

“That’s not what I saw.” He turned to you now, and there it was — that look. The one that made your blood run cold. 

Not fury. Not sadness. Entitlement. 

“I saw how you looked back at him,” Josh said, voice low and tight. “You forget who you belong to?” 

The words hit harder than any slap. “I wasn’t—” you whispered, breath caught in your throat. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.” 

He stepped forward. His hand wrapped around your arm. Not hard. But firm. Possessive. 

And then— 

Crack. 

His palm met your face. Not hard enough to knock you down. But hard enough to make your ears ring. 

Hard enough to change things. 

You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You just stood there, frozen, while your skin burned under his fingerprints. 

Later, you sat on the bed, legs drawn to your chest, fingers hovering over the swelling. It throbbed under your touch — angry, red, alive. 

Josh had stormed out. Slammed the door like you were the one who’d lost control. You told yourself it was stress. Just a bad moment. Just a misstep. 

But the excuses felt thinner than ever. And they were wearing through. 

This wasn’t the first time. But it was the first time it felt intentional. Measured. As if he wanted you to feel it. Not just physically. 

You weren’t shocked. And that was the worst part. You were just… tired. 

Tired of navigating the minefield. Tired of swallowing your words. Tired of watching yourself vanish. 

Your fingers curled into the bedsheet. You closed your eyes — and saw his face again. Not Josh’s. 

Bucky’s. 

You didn’t even know him, not really. Just a few brief conversations. A handful of glances. But something about him had stuck with you. Something steady. 

He hadn’t looked at you like a problem. He’d looked at you like a person. 

--- 

The night of the party passed in silence. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, cheek throbbing under a layer of concealer, pretending not to wonder who was there. Pretending not to care. 

Josh came home late. Smelled like whiskey and self-satisfaction. He didn’t say much — just grunted something about how “nobody missed you.” 

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. 

You spent the next day floating. 

Making tea you didn’t drink. Staring at the TV. Not really watching. Not really thinking, either — just existing in that numb, shaky limbo your body retreats to when it’s too scared to feel. 

The swelling faded slowly. The ache didn’t. 

--- 

Josh was already slamming things before you even heard the door close. 

Cabinets. Drawers. The fridge. Each bang louder than the last, like punctuation marks in a one-sided argument you hadn’t even entered yet. 

He muttered under his breath as he moved through the kitchen — angry, venomous things just loud enough for you to hear but not quite clear enough to respond to. 

“Nothing’s done. Fucking useless.” 

You stayed on the couch, still. Small. Aware of every sound. 

When you finally spoke, your voice was light. Careful. Edges rounded like stones in a river. 

“I was just about to start dinner.” 

Wrong answer. 

He whipped around, eyes flashing. 

“Just about to? I've been out working my ass off and you’re just sitting there?” 

You kept your gaze low. Kept your tone soft. 

“I didn’t know when you’d be back…” 

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” 

You shook your head. “No. I just meant—” 

He cut you off with a scoff. Bitter. Sharp. 

“You know what I think?” He started walking — slowly, purposefully — across the room. “I think you like playing house until there’s actual shit to do. But show you a room full of men, and suddenly you’re all smiles.” 

Your stomach turned. 

“Josh—” 

“You embarrassed me.” 

His hand moved. Fast. Thoughtless. 

The words hit like a slap before the real one came. His jaw clenched. He was close now — too close — and the air between you went thin. 

“You think he gives a damn about you?” 

Crack. 

It was louder this time. The sound bounced off the walls like it didn’t know where to settle. Your head snapped to the side, a gasp escaping your lips before you could swallow it back. The sting spread across your cheek like fire — hot, immediate, and blinding. 

But what hurt more was knowing it was deliberate. He hadn’t lashed out. He’d chosen it. 

And this time… you saw no hesitation. No regret. Only rage, and power, and something cold behind his eyes that told you: This was no longer a warning. 

It was ownership. 

The second slap landed harder than the first. So much harder. 

It whipped your head to the side with brutal force, the sound of it cracking through the room like a gunshot. Your ears rang — high, shrill, almost like someone screaming underwater. But the world stayed eerily still. 

Your breath caught halfway up your throat. Your vision blurred. The taste of metal bloomed on your tongue. 

It was sharp and ugly, sitting heavy behind your teeth like something that didn’t belong. 

And Josh… he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. 

You could see it all in his face — the twist of his mouth, the set of his jaw. That cold, dead look in his eyes that didn’t match the man you once thought you loved. 

There was no guilt. No hesitation. Just— Disgust. Like you were the one who’d crossed a line. Like this wasn’t just something he could do — but something he was entitled to. 

You stumbled back a step, breath ragged, a hand instinctively rising to your cheek. The skin there throbbed, already swelling. It radiated heat. 

Don’t cry. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, hard. Tears would only make it worse. Tears would mean weakness. An excuse. And that was all Josh ever needed — an excuse to do it again. 

His hand twitched like he was debating it. And then— 

CRASH. 

The front door exploded inward. 

It slammed open with such violent force that the doorknob cracked the wall behind it, wood splintering as the hinges screamed in protest. 

The noise didn’t just interrupt the room — it shattered it. 

Josh spun, already halfway to a shout. “What the fuck—” He didn’t finish the sentence. 

Because Bucky Barnes stepped through the doorway like a goddamn storm — eyes wild, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides like he’d been holding them back for miles. 

He moved with terrifying stillness — the kind of stillness that came right before a bomb went off. Every step was slow, deliberate, heavy enough to shake the air. 

He didn’t glance around. Didn’t scan the room. His eyes went straight to Josh. Laser-focused. Unblinking. Ice cold. Like a wolf finding the thing that hurt something small. 

“Get your hands off her.” 

The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t have to be. They dropped into the room like slabs of concrete — unshakable. Final. 

Josh took a half-step back. “This isn’t your business.” His voice tried for confidence but cracked at the edges, brittle like glass about to break. 

Bucky’s stare didn’t waver. “It is now.” He stepped forward. One slow, solid pace. Then another. 

Josh’s chest puffed up like he was still holding on to something — pride, maybe. Or panic. 

“You think this is your girl now?” he spat. “That it? You gonna steal her from me?” 

Still, Bucky didn’t look at you. Didn’t so much as flick his gaze in your direction. Because right now, you weren’t the point. Josh was. 

And Bucky was rage, compressed into human form. “She was never yours.” The sentence dropped like a hammer. 

Josh snapped. His body lunged — a last-ditch effort, messy and desperate. 

But Bucky didn’t even flinch. His fist came like a shot — fast, brutal, precise. 

One punch. 

It connected with a sound that would echo in your bones for days — sickening, final. Josh crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. He hit the floor hard. Limbs slack. Mouth open in shock. 

Silence. 

The kind that rings after lightning strikes.  

The only sound left was your breathing — sharp, shallow, on the verge of sobs — and the faint hum of blood in your ears. 

And then, finally— Bucky turned to you. The moment his eyes met yours, something inside you gave out. 

His expression shifted instantly — fury melting into something softer. Something agonized. Like seeing you like this physically hurt him. He took a step toward you, slow now, as if afraid to startle you. 

“Hey…” he said, voice low, steady — but shaken underneath. “You okay?” 

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight. But you were crying now, tears falling hot and silent down your face, soaking into the collar of your shirt. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just broken. 

Bucky’s hand came up — slowly, carefully — and hovered beside your cheek. “Can I…?” he asked, not finishing the question. 

You nodded, barely. 

His fingers brushed against the side of your face — the side that didn’t hurt — gentle and warm, like he was trying to undo the damage with touch alone. 

You flinched without meaning to. 

And he froze. Pulled his hand back like it burned him. His jaw tightened. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have waited this long.” 

Another tear fell. But you managed a whisper. “I didn’t think anyone would come.” 

Bucky shook his head, chest tightening visibly. “I wasn't going to come,” he admitted, voice rough. “But I couldn't stop thinking about you. About that look in your eyes the last time I saw you. And then when you weren’t at the party…” 

He swallowed hard. “I just knew.” 

You looked at him. Really looked. And for the first time in a long, long time — you felt safe. 

He offered his hand, palm up. 

“Let’s get you out of here.” 

And this time, when you reached for him — 

your hand didn’t shake. 

You let him lead you to the door. 

You didn’t look back. 

Not once. 

----

AN: hey everyone! Thank you so much for reading this. There will be another part with a happy ending for Bucky and reader, so keep your eyes peeled. I'll post as soon as possible.

Much love xx

[perfectwitchcrown]

Allusions in Make the Exorcist Fall in Love

So far in Make the Exorcist Fall in Love there’s been a lot of allusions to various texts. I thought it might be fun to compile all the ones people have noticed so far as far as I've seen. Some of these are more speculative than others and I will update as I go along. Also, I read Ekuoto as free first read chapters on Mangaplus so unfortunately I can’t go back and check much so this is largely through memory, so if anyone has anything else to add I would greatly appreciate it! All I’ve got is a few screenshots and a dream. If I get anything wrong feel free to correct me! I’ve organized this in order of allusions I’m confident about to allusions I’m less so confident about.

CW: reference to sexual violence

Dante's Divine Comedy and Vita Nuova: Dante Alighieri

This one is pretty obvious since there are characters directly named after the characters figured in Dante’s Inferno. It’s been a long time since I read it, but other details are also taken from the text, such as the frozen center of hell where Satan is located.

Lmao Leah from the Bible (who is probably Leah’s namesake) also shows up in Dante’s Divine Comedy apparently in Purgatorio.

Ok also super important to Dante retellings r Beatrice, who’s used as a symbol of divine love and is instrumental to Dante's journey through hell, purgatory, and paradise, so of course Ekuoto Dante advises Priest to fall in love lmao. So far though there hasn’t been a direct Beatrice in narrative (which there might never be one since the text has already made the Dante-Virgil connection an active choice of Virgilius's to reference the Divine Comedy rather than just an allusion by the author).

To be so real though I figure that Vergilius is probably also intended to be the Beatrice in this narrative.

The points I would draw attention in support of this would be these: 1. Beatrice is the woman who Dante has been in love with since early childhood but unable to ever be with because they both married others. Ekuoto Virgilius and Dante have known each other since childhood, and have something going on. 2. Beatrice is, like Virgil, one of Dante’s guides (through part of purgatorio and paradiso) 3. We still don’t know what Virgilius’s name was before he took that one on. Beatrice does not have a masculine form in current use and I tried finding some sort of nickname that would work and was unable to do so. However. Beatrice’s name is rendered in Japanese as ベアトリーチェ, and Beato is at least a surname. Then again, I’m not sure anyone has both a first name and last name except for Imuri so far???

"Book of Tobit"

I wasn’t familiar w this one so I didn’t notice it until I saw posts pointing it out, but the Asmodeus flashback was a retelling of the book of Tobit. Other people have already done analysis of this so I’d recommend checking other’s out. Unfortunately I failed to save the link to any of them so I can’t pass any along :’) Belfagor arcidiavolo: Machiavelli

Another one that I wasn’t familiar with but have seen people referencing. As above, I recommend checking out other’s analysis. "Those Who Walk Away from Omelas": Ursula K. Le Guin

The Brothers Karamazov: Fyodor Dostoevsky

Ok major spoilers and I also highly recommend this book, but also, its super long so I don’t blame anyone who chooses not to read. This book is about the most disgusting father alive and his three, maybe four, sons: Dimitri, Ivan, Alyosha, and maybe Smerdyakov (rumored to be an illegitimate son). Most of the action follows Alyosha, who is the youngest and probably the most idealistic character in the novel, at least in the beginning. Alyosha starts out as a novice in the local Russian Orthodox monastery under the purview of Father Zossima, an elder who really emphasizes love in religious practice. There's a series of chapters that cover a theological debate between Ivan and Alyosha.

In this theological debate, Ivan is arguing not that God doesn’t exist, but that the foundation of the world as understood by Christianity is something he fundamentally rejects.

Quotations from the Signet Classics edition:

“I don’t accept this world of God’s. Although I know it exists, I don’t accept it at all. It’s not that I don’t accept God, you must understand, it’s the world created by Him I don’t and cannot accept” (Dostoevsky 266) - “If all must suffer to pay for eternal harmony, what have children to do with it?....I understand solidarity in sin among men. I understand solidarity in retribution too; but there can be no such solidarity with children. And if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their father’s crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension” (Dostoevsky 276)

“Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at last. Imagine you are doing this but that it is essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature—that child beating its breast with its fist, for instance—in order to found that edifice on its unavenged tears. Would you consent to be the architect on those conditions?” (This quotation, although from a different translation, is the one that inspired Omelas - I think the bowling alley theological discussion between Virgilius and Priest bears some similarities to this conversation. Its not a debate about the existence of god, but rather a debate whether or not the world envisioned by Christianity is inherently unjust or not. Demian: Hermann Hesse

“The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God's name is Abraxas”

Potential references but tbh they’re a bit of a stretch:

“Book of Martha”: Octavia Butler

"Book of Martha" is an Octavia Butler short story in the Bloodchild collection about an ordinary woman who is visited by god one day who tells her to choose one thing to change about people to try and make the world a better place. It’s a very short read and I’d recommend reading it before you read the next sentence where I’ll spoil the end.

She eventually decides that the thing to focus on is people’s dreams. Specifically, to give them the things they desire most within their dreams, in the hope that people will be less violent to each other in real life. A stretch, but Octavia Butler comes from similar recommendation circles as Ursula K. Le Guin (feminist science fiction authors with overlapping periods of activity) so I don’t think it’s impossible for the most recent chapters' use of dreams to hold some sort of inspiration from this short story. Again, this one is a pretty big stretch, as the idea of dreams to escape reality is pretty common.

The Monk: Matthew Lewis

Ok! So! Demon seduces a person is like not at all an original story (The Daemon Lover, Cazotte’s The Devil in Love, etc etc). BUT! The Monk is specifically a story that’s like. What if there was this extremely virtuous young man who has never lived in the outside world ever because he was raised in the church as an orphan and then the devil sent a demon girl to seduce him.

I have not finished the book yet so I can’t comment in depth on it other than to say the concept is similar but the execution so far is very different (It's a fairly misogynistic text. Ambrosio turns evil in ways that I doubt Priest will because thematically they’d go completely against the story. Also, The Monk is veryyy lurid in terms of Lust is Evil!!! And will turn you into a murdering maniac!!!! Because evil women are out there seducing you!!! Whereas so far sexual desire in Ekuoto has been handled as a perfectly natural thing, but complicated by religion, patriarchy, trauma, etc.)

This is all I have so far but I'd be interested to see if anyone else has any other ideas!

[animelovelover123]

Noctis and Reader having sex in their tent while trying to stay quiet. Not wanting to wake any of the other guys up. OOP-

Hope you don’t mind that I added some characters and changed the scenario for most, but I put Noctis first and made it the exact scenario you were hoping for, so you can only read him if you want.

Pairings: Noctis, Prompto, Ignis, Gladio, Lunafreya, Aranea, Ardyn, and Regis x Reader

Disclaimer: Though it is fun to imagine having sex/foreplay in these situations, public sex is often illegal. And, even if no charges are pressed, if the people around you find out, they can become uncomfortable or even disturbed. I advise not doing such things publicly for everyone's safety and comfort.

Trigger Warnings: Some forced restraint and covering of mouth.

FF XV x Reader Sneaky Sex

Noctis

“Shh, I know, I know, stay calm.” Noctis instructed from behind you, his voice both patient sympathy and stressed whisper, as he paused his movements. He had only got the head of his cock in but you were already whimpering. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Noctis fingered you for a good while to loosen you and get you used to keeping quiet so as not to disturb Gladio, who was sleeping a mere feet from you. Prompto and Ignus were also in the tent, though hidden by Gladio’s large frame, so you had to listen closely to know if they were awoken by your movements. It was lucky that Noctis’ bag, with lube and condoms, had been so close by and you had snuck into the prince’s sleeping bag without rousing the others from their sleep. That didn’t stop the nerves of the moment.

“Can I keep going?” Noctis asked. Once you gave the signal, he started pushing deeper, making it feel like the air in your lungs was slowly being forced out. Once fully in, Noctis stilled again, hugging you close as he spooned you. “You feel so good.” Noctis moaned into your ear.

It didn’t take long for him to start moving. Not wanting to draw too much attention, he kept to slow, shallow thrusts. Even then, with each movement came the soft rustling sound of the sleeping bag, Noctis’ panting breath, and occasionally a squelching sound from the lubrication. He pressed his face against your back to try to muffle his own sounds, but very quickly he felt his climax approaching. One of his hands slid down your stomach to play with your sex, his hand and fingers moving as fast and aggressively as they could without moving his whole arm.

The sounds you two were emitting were soft like they were happening the next room over in a cheap hotel. It was enough to not wake anyone else. At least up until you both came. You were the first to tumble over the edge and had the foresight to quickly cover your mouth. Noctis, however, let out a sharp whimper as he finished, releasing his seed into the condom where you can still feel its heat.

This sharp, almost pained sound got Gladio to sit up quickly.

“What’s happening?” He asked, groggy and eyes not yet adjusted to the dark, but ready to jump into action to defend his friends if need be. He sat alert until his eyes adjusted and he could look around. Ignis and Prompto were fine, and you and Noctis? Well, it looks like you snuck into his sleeping bag, which made Gladio scoff in amusement. With eyes closed and no movement, you both seemed to be sleeping soundly as you cuddled. “Someone must have made a noise in their sleep.” Gladio decided before lying down once again, letting his eyes fall closed once again.

Noctis was too scared to say anything, but as a form of communication, to show his affection, praise for your acting, and your camaraderie in this shared secret, he kissed the back of your neck.

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•���♡』•『♡』•『♡』

I’ll be honest, I really like this kink in stories. So stressful and naughty. I am going to have a lot of fun with these.

Prompto

“Alright, I got my camera, I’m ready to go,” Prompto says as he walks up to where you had asked him to meet you early in the morning. “What did you want me to capture?”

The poor boy had no idea what you had planned nor was he ready. The first couple touches and kisses, he, though bashfully, accepted with a giddy smile. But then you reached for his belt and sank to your knees.

“W-what are you doing? Wait, but we’re out in the open! Ya, I know we are in the bush and there's a waterfall, but what if we get caught? What if- aaAHaaa~” Promto’s whole body twitches when you take him into your mouth.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. One hand clutches his camera while his other rotates between clutching the rock behind him, his clothes, his hair, and covering his mouth. He occasionally reaches for your hair but can’t bring himself to grab you, as if you were far too good for him to even touch. Part of him says he should stop you, but you felt so good~. Your mouth was so warm, your tongue dragged against the underside of his dick perfectly, and the way you would sometimes look up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours, it left Prompto barely able to function.

Is this what you wanted him to take pictures of? How beautiful you were when gifting him with a blowjob? Prompto tried to aim his camera to get a good shot, leaning back over the rock to get you in frame, but he was far too shaky. If he did take a photo, it would come out blurry. There was one brief moment, though. When you skillfully bring him to a climax and his body tenses up, he stills and his grip on his camera tightens enough to press down the shutter button, though the sound of it going off is drowned out by his squeaky cry of bliss.

Thankfully, you both made sure to check his camera before returning to the group to make sure you move any compromising shots to a different SD card for… private viewing and so your secret escapade did not get revealed to your friends. Prompto, however, gave it away by how he walked back like a newborn fawn taking its first steps.

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

Poor sweety Prompto, it makes me want to dominate him.

Ignis

You were napping in the back of the Regalia, as you often did, while the others set up camp a good 100 meters into the brush. They had even been kind enough to get the windows tinted last time they were at Hammerhead so it was dark and cooler for you. Ignis had returned to the car to pick up a forgotten cooking pan and check in on you. It should have been a quick trip, but it had been over 15 minutes, so Noctis went to check.

“Hey Ignis!” Noctis called as he came up to the Regalia.

“Yes, your highness?” Ignis replied in his usual professional way. He stood on the opposite side of the car with the door open and hands on the car roof, meaning that Noctis could only see him from chest up.

“Everything alright? Did you find the pan?”

“I did indeed.” Ignis only reached his hand down and somehow retrieved the cooking utensil. He lifted it for Noctis to see, then gently tossed it over. “Unfortunately, our companion is feeling ill. I will be late returning as I check them over.”

“Damn, alright then. Hope you feel better soon, feel free to rest as long as you need.” Noctis called out to you.

You go to respond, but all that comes out is a groan as Ignis bucks his hips, causing his cock to bottom out inside you. Thankfully, that was enough of a response to satisfy Noctis, who soon after returned to the campsite. Once gone, Ignis let out a sigh, his hands coming up to rest atop the roof of the Regalia for a moment to regain composure before leaning down and back into the car. Each and every movement he made dragged his arousal in and out of you just a bit, enough to get your blood pumping but nowhere near satisfying enough.

“That was quite the scare, my dear,” Ignis said as he leaned over you. You were face down, knees on the cushioned door sill, chest pressed into the leather seats, and rear in the air. “Let us be quick. I would hate to be caught in such a compromising position,” He grinds into you, making him groan deeply and his muscles tense. “but I can’t seem to tear myself away from you.”

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

Funnily enough, when I first played ffxv I imagined all the main boys and sneaky sex scenarios but never bothered to write them down. This is the only one I remember.

(　´Α｀)

Gladio

“The meteor is a chunk of their planet that got thrown into space when they destroyed their world.”

“But how could they survive the trip across outer space on a hunk of rock?”

“They didn’t.”

Noctis, Prompto, and Iris sat on the floor, eyes glued to the screen, invested in the movie. Ignis was watching as well, though his mind seemed to be elsewhere as he did not react much to reveals and action scenes. As for you and Gladio? You two were sitting in the back of the group on the couch with a large blanket wrapped around you both as you played a dangerous game.

“How you holding up, baby? Not falling asleep, I hope.” Gladio said in a practiced, relaxed tone, his words vague enough so that if anyone but you heard, they would think nothing of it. He hoped he could get you to speak and break composure, awarding him the victory. The trap was set, and if you fell for it, the two fingers already inside you would stab at your sensitive spot. His arm was around your back and you leaned together in just a way that he could reach your whole but with the blanket as a cover, it looked like you two were simply cuddling.

Your hand was wrapped around his rock-hard length, stroking it in a slow motion to both keep the sound down and offer pleasure, but nowhere near enough to satisfy the King’s Shield. You have already caught him bucking his hips up occasionally into your hand. In response to his trap, you drag a nail along the underside of his cock. The mix of pleasure and a bit of pain made Gladio take in a gruff gasp.

His eyes go wide and he glances at the others to see if they noticed, but no one even looked back at you and him.

“You’re playing with fire now, baby,” Galdo growled into your ear. Suddenly, he pulled his fingers from your needy hole and grabbed your hips. He began to lift you and bring you closer. “Why don’t you sit on my lap then~”

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

Weirdly enough, this was the hardest for me to write, not for lack of ideas, but for too many. You two could fuck in the forest, while camping, in a cave, in an ally, during a festival in Lestallum, in a movie theater. I started writing some of these, but would get a paragraph or two in before deciding I liked a different idea better. I’m happy with my choice though, even if it took a while for me to land on it.

Also, anyone catch what movie the gang is watching?

Lunafreya

Luna’s eyes gently flutter open and are met with a vast field of blue. The countless sylleblossoms around her made it look like she was submerged in shallow water. When she sat up a bit straighter, she felt that her head was a bit heavier than usual. When she turned to look at you, who sat behind her with a bundle of blooms in your hand, she knew what you had been doing to entertain yourself while she rested.

“Braiding flowers into my hair again? You do so enjoy that, don’t you? Though I suppose I should not be leaving myself susceptible to you.” Luna chuckled. “Yet, is this not what I have been gifted? My prayers and wishes granted; I have added the True King in driving the darkness from our stars, rid the world of the dreaded scourge, and now that my calling is fulfilled I am free to live the life I dreamed of,” Luna gracefully turns around to face you, her legs tucked under her in an ever proper position. “to be with the one I love.” She leans a bit forward, a shy, tentative request to be touched. When you do touch her, your hands wandering and your lips pressing against her warm skin, she gasps and shudders.

Was this truly alright? Did she truly deserve this? As she had seen the King of Kings complete his quest, the starscourge gone, and the gods resting again, there was not much left for the oracle to do. So then…

“Would you embrace me?” Luna asks you breathlessly, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes half-lidded. “I have been waiting for this moment, for you, for so very long. I feared I would never get to see you again. So please, dispel the rest of my doubt and let us finally become one in heart, soul, and body.”

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

I kind of cut out before the sneaky sex happened, but I just watched Luna’s goodbye scene again and I am in pain. I just want to see the poor girl happy and free from her burdens. She is so sweet and pure yet strong, I love her.

Aranea

“Ah, what a rush!” Aranea pants as she rips off her faceguard.

“Another great showen there capin’. Betcha princy boy couldn’t have done it without ya.” Biggs said as he welcomed Aranea back onto her ship. Aranea offered a humored, proud scoff as she entered.

“Where’s my pretty little thing?” She asks, mind set on how she wanted to release the rest of her adrenaline.

“There on stalk duty, held up in the storage room,” Wedge answered, straight forward and clear like always.

“Right, thanks.” Aranea made a beeline for the storage room where you were. You barely have time to stop your writing and look over at her before she invades your space. “Come here, baby.” She throws her faceguard aside, grabs you by the back of the neck, and crashes your lips together. She is ravenous, rolling her body against yours and nipping at your bottom lip. “Gods, I need this.” She breathes as she grabs your clipboard and throws it behind her somewhere. One of her legs jutted out to push between your legs. Her hand on your neck drags down your chest and reaches for the hem of your top while her free hand plants itself on the wall behind you, trapping you in place. “I can’t wait till the next hotel, so try to keep it down for me, won't you, sweetheart?”

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

This one is short, but I also feel like she is such a girlboss that she doesn’t need a buildup, you know? She just goes in and gets shit done.

Also, doesn’t matter if you are a girl, boy, or whatever else, she is on top.

Ardyn

You sat at the long table, an important meeting going on around you, but you could barely hear it over how drowsy you were. You had scrambled out of bed mere minutes ago, throwing on whatever clothes were closest, after waking up far later than intended. Your “kind” lover, Ardyn, had turned off your alarm to let you rest a bit longer after the intense night he had given you, having “forgotten” the early morning meeting today. The way he always had that smile on his face, though, gave the impression that he knew what he had done.

At least you had made it to the meeting in time and could pretend to pay attention as you try to-

Suddenly, your underwear started vibrating, the epicenter coming from a tiny egg-shaped object pressed against the most sensitive part of your sex. Your body reacted before your sense of propriety could stop you from drawing attention to yourself.

“Do you have something to say?” Ravus asked, his glare piercing. The vibration slowed enough to let you decline before it shot up in intensity again.

“Apologies,” said Ardyn, who sat in the chair beside yours. He placed a hand on your thigh and patted it. “My beloved received quite the injury in their last training session and is still recovering.” Then, with the obstruction of the table blocking others’ view, Ardyn slid his hand up your inner thigh until it reached your crotch, where he pressed the tiny egg-shaped vibrator harder against you. “I assure you, they can stay for the rest of the meeting.” He flashed you that smile, charming, knowing, and smug all at once.

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

Ardyn being a smug little shit pisses me off and makes me love him all the same time.

Regis

You and your husband, Regis, lie on the large couches on the observation deck of the small yacht, looking up at the stars. You two, along with Noctis, his friends, and Luna, were all enjoying a trip together to celebrate a mix of things. The destruction of the Starscourge, the return of the light, Noctis and Luna’s upcoming wedding, and you and Regis renewing your vows. The youngsters were below deck, still full of life and partying while you and Regis came here for some peace and privacy.

“I have dreamed of this, the world and all those I love being at peace. I can hardly believe it’s real.” Regis sighs, his expression one of tired relief, years of struggle and dwindling hope forever etched into his face as creases and wrinkles. “I spent years fearing what I would lose,” He turns onto his side, gently grabs your hips, and pulls you close. “and now that all is well, I wish to shower you in the love and care still in this weathered body of mine. The affection of which I fear I have neglected to give in my years of worry. If you would still have me.”

Regis held you gently, but even as he moved slowly, each actions were done with passion. The way his lips pressed against yours, his facial hair scratching against you, was filled with love. The way his hands, soft and scar-covered, caressed you was like you were a blessed treasure. And the pleasure he gave you was but a small part of how he wanted to repay you for your patience, loyalty, and love despite all the trials you two faced together. Between kisses and thrusts, he spoke of his adoration for you, his guilt for causing you strife, and his fear that he was not worthy of the life he now enjoyed. Regis lay himself bare before you and you alone, as you were the only one who got to see him without his regal poise and fatherly maturity. You got to see him vulnerable, scared, and needy.

“Hey Dad!” Came Noctis’ voice, sounding a bit drunk, from below deck. “Where are you?”

You and Regis look over at the door, and for but a second that seemed to last minutes, you saw the faces of Ignis and Gladiolus. They turn away quickly though and make their way back below deck. You can hear them talking.

“Let’s head back downstairs.”

“What? Why? What’s up Ignis?”

“Nothing a squirt like you should worry about.”

“What about Noct’s dad?”

“His highness is predisposed at the moment.”

“Can I go see my dad?”

“Can’t let you do that, prince.”

“Hey, Gladio, let me go!”

“I’m trying to preserve your innocence for your honeymoon.”

“What?”

Regis held still, listening as the noises of his son and his friends faded away. He then turned to you.

“Are you alright my love?” His first thought was you, then it started to race with how this could affect the war. But then, remembering where he was and what had happened, he laughed. It was jovial, light, and free.

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

Dante from Devil May Cry got me into older fictional men and by god I can’t, nor will I, stop!

[diabolichare]

I'm in gay robots hell

Caution: mechpreg, clank clank and abortion mentioned. Slight OOC bc I haven't watched the show yet but the fandom is eating me alive.

Man, I do love masculine robots with a rivalry that lasted for untold numbers of years, tension so high they might as well be sexual.

I'm pretty sure during their various meetups, Heavy Iron and Black Hook have to bang at some points. They got so used to each other's fighting styles, how their bodies move, and how metal would bend under one grip—one of them will give in to the impulsive thought and boom, walk of shame. It's enemies to lovers, meet ugly, found family (for Black crew, but don't worry Heavy Iron, Jun is coming for you). And my all-time favorite:

✨Mechpreg✨

I saw a Wild Guardy x Blue Cop comic by @pospoets, and hell, the way they draw the baby just stays in my head. Those wiggling little globs are so adorable! Anyway, back to old men yaoi. If this were to happen, I think Black Hook should be the carrier since he got people to help with, and his alt mode is basically a home anyway. Heavy Iron, on the other hand, I'm pretty sure before the power of friendship got to him, he would remove the baby since it's an inconvenience to his plan, and also how's he going to keep it if he has nobody + also an outlaw? Baby will probably end up with Black Hook either way. If this happened after the fall of Machina, then it would be the first generation after how long? Since in S2 Muraka met the cardbots 4000 years ago, which means the planet could have been dead for even longer, so there's the hope for reviving their species, even if the baby came from the most unexpected sources.

Here's a little snippet.

Mega Ambler looks at his notes. The rest of the group has left to give them some privacy.

"Let’s go over what we’ve discussed." He glances up at the other Cardbot, exhaustion can be seen clearly in Black Hook's optics.

"You’ve been consuming an absurd amount of energy for the past few months, constantly feeling hungry even after a meal. You’ve developed uncontrollable cravings for specific materials, like aluminum, steel, and …silicon?" The pirate huffs, but not disagreeing. "You’ve also been sleeping more than usual—falling asleep unexpectedly, waking up drained. And on top of that, you're exhausted, like you can’t get enough rest."

The doctor leans forward slightly, voice more serious now. "I’m going to advise you to cut back on fighting with Heavy Iron. I know it’s fun for you, but your body’s already telling you it’s overloaded. You need to rest." His patient scoffs, about to protest, but he glares at him, cutting the other off. "No protests. This is for your safety. Whatever’s going on with you… I’ve never treated anything like this before, and I don’t want you making it worse. So, no more unnecessary brawls. Understood?"

Mega Ambler stands up, putting his tools away as he prepares to leave. "I’ll talk to your crew. They need to keep a closer eye on you. If anything else seems off—anything—tell them to bring you back here. Immediately."

Black Hook stays silent, looking away, not thrilled by the situation but understanding the doctor’s seriousness.

Headcanon

Next

[lillified]

Can I ask how you first opened your shop? I’m currently opening my own to sell artwork but I need a bit of advice if you don’t mind? Such as how do I sell my artwork as prints? Any tips or advice would be greatly appreciated, thank you so much ! : D

hi! thank you for the question :)

this is going to be long so I’m putting everything under the cut:

before anything else my first piece of advice would be don’t run before you can walk—any form of selling art, whether that’s client commissions or merchandising, is something I would only recommend to an artist with confidence. Think about whether you’re confident about your technical knowledge and output, and be confident, above all, that if something doesn’t sell then it doesn’t demoralize you. There will always be a market for high-quality art, but something selling doesn’t necessarily make it high quality, and likewise for the opposite. If you love the craft of drawing more than the feedback then you’ll be equipped to understand why some things succeed and some don’t, without taking offense from failure. there is ALWAYS room to grow and learn. Insecurity will prevent you from being objective!

The next thing I’d advise is that prints are a bit of a difficult commodity. High-quality prints can be very profitable and a great way to stock your shop, but they can also be harder to sell. A lot of the indie art market is young people who don’t have the wall space for posters, and prints are so accessible that most artists have them. Show your potential customers respect by printing high-quality pieces that speak for themselves.

With things like charms and stationary you can get away with less polished artwork that maximizes direct, fundamental appeal, but prints are all your artwork, without frills or gimmicks. Do people like looking at your artwork? More importantly, do YOU like looking at your artwork? If you would hang your own artwork on your wall, then that’s a sign you’re doing something right.

another thing I’d advise: having an audience helps A LOT. I can’t pretend it doesn’t, lol. but specifically, an audience that follows you for your artwork. you probably follow artists you wouldn’t buy a print from, and there’s nothing wrong with that—not every artist makes illustrations that translate well to print, and some artists use social media to talk about being an artist instead of sharing their art. A following doesn’t mean you’ll have success, but it absolutely is a huge factor in what I’d consider my success, and it takes a lot of the burden of marketing off of me so I can just be casual and focus on making art. I’m extremely grateful for that support! but a majority of people don’t have that privilege, and I know plenty artists who don’t want to have to be on social media. It’s a lot harder to get that initial push and get eyeballs on your work when you don’t have it, and in that case you’ve got to be aware of how much market minding goes into running a shop. Don’t get out of your depth trying to branch out and adding new designs when you don’t even know what works yet—take it slow, and be willing to learn.

that’s all really dense and abstract stuff and I’m pretty sure you meant like, what supplies to buy and stuff like that, so uh. Here’s a bit of what’s helped me! Starting off, if you have a good art printer already then you can print stuff at home, but when you’re just starting out I’d recommend outsourcing to a print service. Getting your own printer and ink probably isn’t worth it unless you’re printing and selling a high volume of things, and you’re an artist, not a printer—there’s no shame in working with a shop if you know you’re getting professional, high-quality stuff. also, If you’re in college and your school has a print lab, use it! they usually have lots of really cool equipment and can introduce you to techniques you never even knew existed.

as with anything, remember to start smaller than you think you’ll need. You might get starry eyed and think you need 40 posters of one design, but you’ll be amazed at how far just 10 will go. also, 40 posters take up way more space than you think! I always go for a medium variety with low individual stock, and it’s led to a healthy traffic where less popular prints still move over time because people check out my shop for a new item, look at my backlog, and find something they like. The only thing you should be getting extra of are postcards! my go-to printer usually gives me bonus of my smallest sizes and I use them for freebies and stuff like that. don’t dismiss the value of postcard prints, they’re a great way to introduce people to your art and they might end up coming back for the full size (plus, as mentioned, a lot of people don’t have wall space, and little postcards are a great option!)

one downside of shipping paper products is that it’s harder than you think. For supplies, I recommend looking up what other people do before committing the first thing that comes up when you look up “poster mailing supplies.” Some people use bubble mailers with corrugated cardboard inserts, some people use stiff mailers—personally, I gravitate to mailing tubes. Flat mailers are more fragile and also prone to getting wet and nasty in the winter. While mailing tubes are harder to pack and open up more room for handling damage, I’m more comfortable with that risk because I ship a lot of orders to a lot of different places. I’ve had consistent luck with mailing tubes and I recommend them as a secure alternative, but it really depends on your needs and strengths.

lastly I just want to reiterate—be proud of what you make! When you’re insecure in your art it’s easy to rely on what you see works for other people, but without being them you’ll never be able to walk on your own. You can copy what they do exactly, but you’ll be handicapped by the fact that you’ll never be able to make the decisions that made those people successful in the first place. The same goes for chasing market trends, appealing to algorithms, etc. Study success stories, listen to feedback, and respect your audience, but don’t make things that you think other people will love—make things that YOU love. Make a poster you would put on your wall even if it wasn’t yours.

phew, that was really long lol—sorry, believe it or not I wanted to keep this succinct and readable but I just kept thinking of new things. I hope this is helpful! Thank you!!

[adnauseum11]

Non- Mission Essential (John Price x Reader)

John owes Kate a dinner and makes good on his promise. You are introduced to people from John's work life.

3k words

CW: swearing

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U series, the Masterlist is pinned to my blog

The restaurant is based off a real one that exists elsewhere in the world. It's a sumptuous affair so it's sprawled over two chapters.

If it wasn't clear that I grew up before cell phones, this chapter should solidify that. I'm roughly the same vintage as John and can confirm life before caller ID and knowing who is calling.

Feedback welcome!

The evening is lit up by streetlamps by the time you arrive at the Chop House for dinner, the cold air heavy with threatening snow. The sidewalks gleam wet under the streetlamps and headlights of the passing traffic. John looks dapper in a dark grey three-piece suit, the tie and handkerchief patterned with a deep green that compliments your dress. You had smugly assumed John would be the problem tonight, his gaze heating every time he caught a glimpse of velvet stretched over your curves as you got ready.

He had been preoccupied with getting himself dressed so he had missed your initial lingerie selection, a strapless bra and no panties – the dress too tight for anything else without showing lines. Not much escapes the big man’s notice but you are thankful that seems to have flown under his radar, although with his inclination to be handsy with you, you wonder how long your luck will hold. As it turns out, however, the tailored lines of his suit keep drawing your eye, distracting you completely. His broad shoulders fill out the jacket like it was molded to his measurements with exacting precision. He’s caught you out twice so far, not paying attention at all to what he’s saying, wrapped up in fantasies that glaze over your eyes. The second time he smiled deeply, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he gently jolted you out of your X-rated daydream to put your high heels on. You’re wearing a long black pea coat over your dress, the velvet doing a decent job of keeping your legs warm as you step out into the cool night air.

You share a secret smile with him when he helps you out of the car, the valet waiting for the door to close behind you before taking the car to be parked. You have butterflies in your stomach, wanting to make a good impression on these women. John spoke highly of both of them, although he’s only worked with Kate. His presence is soothing, an anchor to your tumultuous anxieties. You run your hand over the front of his jacket, unnecessarily smoothing his lapels down, letting your eyes wander over the material wrapped around his deltoid.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that-”

John’s voice is pitched low, for your ears only, but he gets cut off by someone calling his name. You’re slightly disappointed you don’t get to hear the rest of the threat, John’s hand landing low on your back, steering you forward.

“Kate. Michelle.”

A pair of women step towards you, one dirty blonde with shorter hair and the other slightly taller, wearing her dark, thick, curly hair slicked back, gathered into a high bun at the top of her head. It creates a halo effect, framing her face beautifully. John greets them both with brief hugs before introducing you first to Kate, the blond, and then her wife, Michelle. Kate has no jewellery aside from a wedding ring that you can see, but Michelle has golden hoop earrings that complement her honey skin and her matching wedding ring. As John advised earlier you forgo air kisses for shaking hands with them both, Kate’s grip is firm where Michelle’s is gentle.  

“Shall we?”

Kate asks, her accent not as twangy as you had anticipated. John leads the way, holding the door open for your group as you file in behind him. You hand your coat over to the attendant at the coat room, waiting for the rest of the group to do the same. Kate is wearing a suit herself, a dark blue with black silk lining the slim lapels and a crisp black button-down shirt. Michelle is wearing a retro off the shoulder A-line cocktail dress, thick pleats of navy-blue fabric gathered around the waist of the skirt creating a classic feminine silhouette. A chunky gold necklace matches her earrings and catches the subdued lighting.

“Oh, I love your dress!”

Michelle says as she turns to rejoin you after handing over her own coat. You feel heat crawl over your cheeks, shooting a look at John before thanking her and telling her you were just admiring hers. John looks smug, and his hand resettles on your lower back, sparking the low simmering desire in your belly. A part of you knows you will never be able to wear this dress again without thinking of him, buried deep inside you and telling you he thought of you wearing it when he was alone, off working somewhere in the world. John’s warm hand stays on your lower back, a tactile reminder of those recent erotic memories until you reach your table, when he pulls your chair out for you.

The restaurant is styled in classic old-world opulence, the wingback chairs wrapped in leather and the table tops made of marbled quartz.  Kate repeats the gesture for Michelle, pulling out the chair opposite yours for her to sit. John and Kate exchange a look you don’t understand before taking their own seats. John sits beside you, looking like the cat that got the cream. Kate notices as well.

“You’re looking well John.”

John looks up from the drink menu, casting an assessing eye over Kate before responding.

“Been resting up at home the last few days. Are you looking forward to getting home soon, Michelle?”

John redirects the conversation, and you smile to yourself. You know better, his definition of ‘resting’ in this context broad enough to include making dinner every night and doling out regular toe-curling orgasms.     

“The townhome Kate’s work puts us up in when we’re here is starting to feel like home. It’s the weather I can’t get used to. This wet cold is the worst.”

Both Kate and John make sounds of agreement, but you’ve never been anywhere with any other type of cold. Isn’t snow just frozen water?

“What’s a dry cold? How is that better?”

You venture and John turns to answer but Kate beats him to it.

“A wet cold means you have to dry out first before you can warm up. Dry cold doesn’t have the moisture in the air.”

“Doesn’t get in to your bones in the same way, love.”

John adds. Kate’s face softens for a brief moment before she carries on. Her delivery style is no-nonsense but kind.

“You only really get dry cold in places with low precipitation.”

You already know better than to ask how they know this, assuming it’s something learned first-hand. You’re realizing, not for the first time, that there is a significant part of John’s life that you aren’t privy to. Silently you wonder if Michelle is equally left in the dark about her wife’s work life.

“Is it a dry cold where you live then?”

“Washington gets its fair share of precipitation but it’s nothing compared to this country. It’s a good thing the rental comes with umbrellas ‘cause we didn’t pack any.”

Michelle answers you, and you smile at her quip, agreeing that they’re more necessity than accessory here. The waiter stops by, delivering the menus and water. John looks at you for your drink order so you don’t have to raise your voice across the table and you ask for a glass of full-bodied red, letting John choose on your behalf. Kate notices everything, her vigilance reminding you somewhat of John’s inability to relax in crowded spaces. John orders himself a single malt whiskey and your glass of wine and Kate orders a gin and tonic but Michelle sticks to water which elicits a remark from John.

“Rough night last night?”

“No, we have a Doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Trying to keep the system primed. Want it to take this time. As much as I love our semi-regular jaunts across the pond, I’m ready to sit a few out.”

“You complain about not having direct access to Gregg’s sausage rolls when we’re home for longer than two weeks.” Kate deadpans, unconvinced by her wife’s statement.  

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, that’s exciting.”

John ignores Kate, and Michelle rewards his discernment with a smile. He turns to you and explains the doctor in question is a fertility doctor which crystalizes your understanding of the conversation.

“That’s very exciting! Congratulations, I hope it works out for you tomorrow. You must have a generous boss to let you travel as much as it sounds like you do.”

Michelle grins, her excitement palpable.

“Thank you, I’m nervous but looking forward to it. As far as bosses go, I own my own consulting business; I do environmental data analysis so I can work from anywhere and generate my reports. I have some university students who work in placements doing the data collecting and then we assimilate it and generate a report.”

“Oh, that’s interesting!”

“Yes, and varied, each project is a new challenge. I love it.”

“She’s highly sought after in the area, there are a lot of National Parks nearby. A lot of businesses have to do impact studies if they’re operating in or near the parks.”

Kate clarifies for you, pride bleeding into her tone.

“Well, that’s lovely, built in clientele. Is that how you two met?”

Michelle tips her head back and laughs as her wife turns slightly red, but smirks nonetheless.

“No, we met in a bar in Annapolis, her boyfriend at the time was being an asshole and I de-escalated the situation.”

Kate supplies, and you suspect that’s not entirely true given Michelle’s bout of laughter. Once she’s calmed herself, she colours in Kate’s bare bones explanation.

“I was dating a man who had a delicate ego-“

Kate scoffs but holds her tongue when Michelle shoots her a look.

“-and he didn’t like that I was thinking of quitting my job at the time to start this business. He didn’t think I could make a go of it and was going to blow my life savings. Kate listened to him berate me for about ten minutes at the bar before she brought her beer over and joined us, without asking, and proceeded to counter every negative thing that man said with a potential positive. You should have seen his face. She talked me up so much I ended up leaving the bar with her that night and broke up with him the next day. I’d never dated a woman before but the confidence was so sexy, I was like a deer in the headlights. Couldn’t look away. Still can’t.”

“Aw! that’s the definition of sweeping you off your feet-“

Kate changes the topic you before you can comment any further, clearly uncomfortable with being the object of praise.

“So, how did you and John meet?”

“Oh, nothing as romantic as that. John was mates with a boy I was seeing at the time.”

It’s John’s turn to scoff but unlike Kate he doesn’t hold his tongue, adding his two cents to the story.

“Boy is right, his mouth was writing cheques his ass couldn’t cash.”

“John.”

You admonish gently, more to keep him from getting worked up about something that happened over two decades ago than anything. He sits back, gesturing for you to continue as the waiter returns with the drinks. You wait until John requests some more time with the menus before continuing, taking your wine out of his outstretched hand smoothly as you speak.

“John found out his mate had been harassing me after we broke up. Following me home from school. Waiting for me outside shops, not taking no for an answer when I told him to leave me alone. Repeatedly calling my home and asking for me even after I told him I was done. Making my life a general hell. John caught him bullying me on the way home one day after he got back from basic training. He’d been hanging around waiting for his mates to let out from school and watched my ex badger me down the lane. John got into a fist fight with him about it. Broke his cheekbone. The ass left me alone after that but John gave me his number in case he started following me around again and we stayed in touch after that.”

John sips his whiskey, seemingly satisfied with your version of events. Kate is clearly not, however.

“How come you weren’t charged with assault? None of that is in your transcript. If the MP’s got wind of it, it would have been.”

Kate asks, clearly mystified. You can’t help but note that she’s read John’s transcript and wonder what else she knows about his life.

“The lad’s parents were convinced that the natural consequences were better than their son standing trial for a stalking charge that had multiple eyewitnesses.”

“Who convinced his parents?”

It’s your turn to ask, never having considered that part before and John slides you an even look before he answers.

“My father.”

“Ah. Well, that tracks.”

John hums in agreement with you and Kate looks from you to John and back again.

“Sounds romantic to me.”

Michelle offers and you can feel heat creeping over your face again. You had been given a front row seat to a bloody and painful exchange; it had never occurred to you to think of it as romantic. Heroic maybe, but you had attributed that to your gratefulness of having the harassment finally put to a stop.

“John was just doing the right thing. We stayed mates for years after that. We only started dating a few months ago.”

You explain to Michelle but the back of your mind is now trying to rehash the past for clues of John’s feelings. Was it romantic that he beat up your ex? As if the man in question can read your racing mind he reaches over and rests a big hand on your tense thigh, his thumb stroking over the velvet in tiny circular motions. The distraction works and redirects your attention to the present moment in time to catch Kate’s words.

“Sounds like John. Can’t watch a situation go sideways without mixing in.”

She’s looking at John with the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The man beside you doesn’t argue, raising his whiskey in salute to the dirty blonde.

“So, you’ve known each other for a while then?”

Michelle gets the conversation back on track, her eyes bouncing between you and John.

“Oh lord, yes. I couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16 when all that went down? Put me right off dating for a while. My brother would tease me that I’d be a spinster.”

“You have a brother? What was he doing when you were being harassed?”

Kate is indignant on your behalf which is endearing, considering you barely know the woman.

“He thought it was funny. He’d answer the phone and tell me it was one of my girlfriends to get me to pick up. He’s younger than me, so thought it was all a good laugh to see me scared. My parents thought it was just teen drama and told me to sort it out myself. They both worked and weren’t around much.”

John’s hand squeezes your thigh before retreating, a comforting warmth rolling through you at his easy familiarity in front of his friends. You shoot him a smile as the waiter returns to the table to take orders. Unsurprisingly, John makes the most of this opportunity and orders a porterhouse steak. You and Michelle both order smaller servings of filet mignon, and Kate surprises you by requesting a lobster and steak combo. The women seated across from you exchange a glance, Michelle clearly wanting to say something about Kate’s ambitious selection. You hide the smile that wants to erupt behind a sip of your wine at the unspoken conversation happening across the table.

“How’s your wine, darling?”

John’s eyes are on your hand, wrapped around the stem of the wineglass you are holding aloft. You’ve painted your nails a deep red, matching your lipstick, the contrast against the green of your velvet gown eye-catching. You finally let the smile that’s been threatening to creep across your face loose, John’s distraction a small victory as far as you’re concerned.

“Very good, French this time?”

You ask, his interest in all things food and drink related an endless source of fascination to you. You suspect it’s partly due to the military food he’s been eating for half his life that drives his taste to the more refined when he’s given a choice. You trust his judgement and he’s rarely steered you wrong.

“Spanish, small vineyard.”

Kate’s new line of questioning interrupts your reply to John.  

“So, you have a younger brother, what about your parents? Are they still together?”

You feel your heart drop, even though you’ve fielded this question many times over the years. It never seems to get any easier for you, nor have you developed a simple way to gloss over the loss to make it more palatable. You set the wineglass down on the table while you take a breath, forcing the smile that was stretched across your face back in to place.

“Yes, they were killed by a drunk driver in a head on collision. I’m told it was instantaneous.”

Michelle’s gasp has the smile slipping but you rally, John straightening up in concern at your side.

“Shit – I’m sorry-”

Kate tries to apologize but it’s your turn to interject, waving her concern off.

“No, it was years ago now. It’s fine, I just never know how to casually slip that in when it comes up. I’m going to freshen up before dinner arrives, excuse me, won’t you?”

Your heart is thrumming against your breastbone as you stand up, John half out of his chair before your palm on his shoulder stops him. You just need a moment alone to take a few deep breaths and recenter yourself. John’s concerned hovering will only muddy your waters.

“It’s alright, I’ll be right back.”

You reassure him quietly, your voice thin against the sudden wave of emotion. Your fingers squeeze the broad muscle of his shoulder before weaving your way across the large room to the bathrooms. You don’t have to look behind you to know John’s eyes are following you, you can feel the heat of his gaze on your back sending pinpricks of awareness through you.

Next Chapter

Ao3

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[bearcina]

Help Me Get My Feet Back On The Ground

(AO3)

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An Explicit Courier Six/Yes Man fanfic. Elisavet feels like a boat lost at sea in a storm, she just doesn't know what to do or how to make up her mind-- and if everything was actually alright. She has to tell him. It's eating her alive. So, she does. Elisavet tells him. She loves him, completely.

Elisavet woke with a jolt, gasping for air. She had been dreaming. Dreaming of him again. Dreaming he had held her for hours.

Her hearing was the first thing to come back to her. 

The loud roar of wind outside the thick glass windows. Clicking and whirring of electronics. Her Pip-Boy radio playing quietly. 

She slowly cracked her eyes open, groaning at the dim light of the early morning. Damn. Her head hurt already, and she just opened her eyes. She looked around, taking in her surroundings. She was wrapped very tightly in her quilt, with her tattered teddy bear sandwiched between her chest and the thick blanket. She still had on clothes, her pants from the night before were uncomfortably twisted around her legs and cutting into the soft spot behind her knees.

The Penthouse. She was in her bed in the penthouse. Safe, and with Yes Man.

Wait. 

Yes Man.

She snapped her head to her right, sending her world spinning violently. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut as she fought off waves of nausea.

Elisavet spoke after a tense moment, "H-hey... Yes Man... Good morning..." She cracked an eye open, surveying his expression, but the aura from the light of his monitor blocked it out. She hoped he wasn't disappointed. "Thanks for bringing me back here…" She awkwardly said, her breathing ragged with pain from her hangover. She hoped she hadn’t made a fool of herself again.

Her head pounded, every second awake was getting more painful. 

Yes Man nervously bounced, and cracked an equally nervous smile. 

"Good morning, Six." He said slowly, tapping his claws together. "I don’t typically advise consuming so much alcohol, or blacking out on the floor of the Cocktail Lounge, but… Don’t let me stop you." 

Elisavet chuckled dryly, "sorry about that, bud. Guess I didn't realize how strong that rum was... Heh, heh..." 

The silence was thick, tense with the weight of their shared disappointment.

Elisavet slowly wiggled her shoulders enough to loosen the tight blanket wrapped around her, and propped herself up on an elbow to get a better look at him. She must have made quite a fool of herself while she was blacked out if she couldn’t remember anything but watching the Strip and listening to the radio… and another one of those dreams about him. 

Her everything hurt. Her metal spine ached, her metal brain hurt, everything else was somewhere in between. Did she fall over a bunch of times, try to fight someone, or was that just from sleeping on the floor and “partying” on an empty stomach?

"Eh, heh... Right." Yes Man said, drawing it out, tipping one claw awkwardly. "You had a wild night, with all that alcohol and Mentats. Really livened up that old lounge." 

She paled, and jumped to check her Pip-Boy’s inventory. She drank a lot more alcohol than she intended to… She had logged the bottle of rum as half-empty, and her tin of Mentats in her pocket felt suspiciously light… She had gotten absolutely wasted in the cocktail lounge after she blacked out, again.

"I'm sorry." Is all she said, all she felt she could say. She had lost control, and tried to handle her problems in the worst way possible. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she was smitten for a robot that had served the guy who had tried to murder her. 

Yes Man reached out and touched her shoulder gently, grounding her. She suddenly realized she was shaking, already crying, and uncomfortably close to ugly-crying. She reached up and took his claw in her hand, unable to look at him as the pain and shame in her chest built up and spilled over. 

"We should talk." He said gently. "I hate to be that robot, but I can tell something’s wrong." 

Elisavet nodded. She knew she couldn't keep going on like this, she had to tell him. Maybe not all of it. But at least some of it. 

"I know. Can we just... Pretend like it's all normal? Just until I get done with that dinner tonight." Elisavet said slowly, her heart sinking. "I promise. We'll talk. Tonight. I just… I need some time to find the right words." She peeked at him through the tears, smiled halfway, strained. It felt foreign to admit that she didn’t know what to say, for once. She always knew what to say, but when he became involved… well she felt like a stuttering schoolgirl with a crush on the computer. 

He nodded, his screen then bouncing and refocusing. Disappointment. 

"Alright, Elisavet. If you say so." He said, and that was the end of it. She slowly let go of his claw, and he removed his hand from her shoulder… 

Yes Man rolled away, and Elisavet flopped back into the bed with a quiet, disappointed groan. She closed her eyes, and pulled the blanket over her head. She’s definitely going to go out and burn off this anxiety. Alone. 

Elisavet glanced over her right shoulder to peek at her armed guard behind her seat. A standard Mk II OS Securitron. Not Yes Man.

Her stomach twisted. He didn't like the White Glove Society, and she didn’t want him to see this, but something in her was still unsettled without him by her side.

Shining, unchipped plates and glassware glittering in the lights. Vibrant, freshly ironed tablecloths and cloth napkins, and everyone was dressed like it was their last night alive. Soft music filled the air, a light little song that brightened up the room. 

It was beautiful. A perfect picture of pre-war luxury, that she was happy to enter and entertain.

Dinner was served with a flourish, waiters and waitresses swarming the room with plates and plates of steak and potatoes. She knew what was being served tonight. Everyone did. They all had the same thing. Elisavet had even sourced the protein herself, freshly killed this morning.

NCR Trooper, with hearty sides of potatoes and carrots. 

Something deep inside her must have been broken. She didn’t feel any regret, glancing around the table at the steaks on their plates. She felt hungry, really hungry-- and this was just the thing she was craving.

 When she looked discreetly at Mortimer, she couldn’t help but crack a smile. This wasn't the first Society dinner that she had visited. She was quite the gourmand herself now, having become no stranger to other sources of meat during her time in the Mojave. 

A sick thrill shot up her spine, she was almost glad she was attending this dinner alone. She never let Yes Man see this side of her. The broken side. 

She ate her dinner silently, only making polite conversation with the other guests seated beside her at the table. Business talk. Idle chatter. Vegas gossip.

Not many had the guts to speak to her directly, not with the Securitron looming over her shoulder. That was fine, she didn’t mind butting into a conversation with these high-rollers. Elisavet hummed into her wine glass as she sipped it, the bitter-tart alcohol washing over her tongue and removing the taste of the steak she had been enjoying. Maybe she could convince someone here to buy her a hard drink afterwards. Whiskey was nice, but expensive rum was better.

The lady sitting beside her seemed interesting… She was wearing a pretty pink dress without any stains, and her blonde hair was styled and cared for very well, yet she was actively arguing with her partner at the table. Definitely a high-roller with plenty of caps. Elisavet smiled, and set her glass down. She could make a good impression, maybe get her to spend some more caps, so she finally listened in on the conversation.

“Darling, let’s go out on the town tonight, I haven’t had nearly enough excitement on our vacation.” She pouted, touching his arm lightly and leaning close. “I hear there’s a theater at another casino, and they have a variety of entertainment that you might even like.”

“No, no, we’ve spent plenty of caps at the tables downstairs already and drank all day, we’ve seen it all already-- there’s no need to go anywhere else tonight.” The man said to the lady, who was starting to get upset at his dismissive attitude. The Aces Theater put on a good show, especially on Friday nights. 

Elisavet hummed, perking up and finally chiming in, “Oh, I’m sure that there’s still plenty for you to see of my city, especially for a lovely couple like yourselves. There’s even the lovely Aces Theater at The Tops with a few delightful acts.” She chuckled with a wink. “I made sure to select the new talent myself.” That got the attention of the entire table, her silky-soft words quieting the disjointed conversations around her. Perfect. All eyes on her. “Do you like music? Live music? There’s a wonderful man there on Friday nights, and his voice is wonderful. It really ends any date on a high-note.” She sighs wistfully, closing her eyes as she remembers the nights she spent there… All the drinks she had with Swank, the lively atmosphere, and all the… everything. It was the best. She opens her eyes after just a moment, her practiced smile still plastered to her face. The blonde lady smiles, and gestures to Elisavet with a pleased, “Well, someone here has a good idea!” She turns to the pink-haired girl, ignoring her partner. “I do like live music, and there has been a dreadful lack of it here! We’re going to the theater tonight!” She humphs, sticking her nose up in the air with a conspiratorial smile to the ruler of the Strip beside her. 

"Someone as popular as you can’t possibly be here alone, where is your companion, dear?" The blonde asks Elisavet. Elisavet's smile drops a little. It had been obvious that she had a favorite Securitron, then.

"Just a call away. This is... A personal endeavor. I always take the time to have dinner with the Society and mingle with the people who come to visit my city. Besides… my dear friends can take care of any problem that comes my way." Elisavet lied smoothly, she leaned back and gestured to the massive robotic guard with her. Gorgeous shiny blue titanium and a CRT… She sipped her wine to pull herself together, repressing a shudder at the taste… foul. She hated the stuff.

The guest seemed to get her veiled threat. 

Don't fuck with me.

Elisavet chuckled and winked smoothly, "No need to worry, it's just dinner, after all." This seemed to placate the woman, and some of the tension dissipated. Elisavet glanced back at her guard, stomach churning. The wine soured on her tongue, and she wished it was just hard liquor instead. She never liked wine anyway.

Dinner finished smoothly, and with quite a celebratory bang... Elisavet somehow still charmed the other guests at her table, and her guard remained silent the entire time. 

When her post-dinner meeting with Mortimer was finally over and she had secured extra funding from the Gourmand’s profits, Elisavet slipped away from the dining room, and beyond its lobby. She needed a drink, and to put her thoughts together before she returned. The entire time she was eating and socializing, building up the illusion that she was just as competent and charming as House, she had been thinking of Yes Man. 

He was the one keeping it all together. He did tahe planning, the decrypting files, arranging meetings, and calculating all the numbers needed to keep balance and order on the Strip. 

All she did was do the people-pleasing. Meeting people, making allies. Making enemies. Killing enemies. Securing resources and solving all the problems that came up along the way. 

Elisavet popped the top button of her checkered coat as she left the dining hall, letting a few more inches of her bare chest out for display. She brushes past the other casino patrons quickly, her pale-pink ponytail fluttering behind her in her wake, her Securitron guard tailing closely despite the thick crowd. She had to get a stiff drink. Now. The expensive bar was the closest- that was fine. She liked the bartender that usually worked Society meeting nights. Quickly, she pushed past the crowd, and took a seat at the very end of the bar, as far away from the other patrons as possible. 

Elisavet smiled at the bartender, ignoring the feeling of a camera intently focused on her back. She almost wanted to rip off the checkered coat and to run to her safe haven. Back in Goodsprings. 

“Two shots of the most expensive rum you have, in a glass topped off with Nuka, please.” She asked sweetly, giving the bartender one of her usual flirty winks and charming smile. He was cute, and well-dressed, just like the many other employees of the casino. 

The bartender hummed, and agreed to her request wordlessly. He turned around and pulled a very expensive bottle from the top shelf behind him, poured her requested drink into a sparkling glass cup, and placed it in front of the anxious Strip ruler. 

“Here you are, ma’am. thirty caps.” He said simply, but not impolitely. Elisavet smiled. Perfect. She could try charming the man, get a little discount.

“Oh, how about twelve? I mean…” She glanced at her Securitron guard, standard Mk II OS. “You do know who I am…” She giggled and tried not to let her anxiety seep into her smooth words. She smiled and batted her eyes at the bartender, leaning on the bar just a little more to push her breasts enticingly together. That usually works. 

The bartender almost frowned, the corner of his mouth twitching, unconvinced yet. However, once he glanced behind her, he seemed to lose all the color in his face that wasn’t hidden behind that pale white mask. 

He shook his head quickly, taking a step back from the counter.

“O-oh, no need for any caps, ma’am. Have this drink, courtesy of the White Glove Society.” He said nervously, sweating profusely. He nudged the drink a little closer to her, and quickly walked to the opposite end of the bar to serve another patron without so much as looking at the register. 

Elisavet’s eyebrow twitched. It was beyond obvious that her charm didn’t do it, but the presence of the armed guard with her did. She must’ve been losing her touch. She snatched the drink from the counter, and took a deep drink of it with a sour expression trying to work its way to her face. 

Hopefully Yes Man hadn’t picked that moment to check in on her. She twitched, almost instinctively spinning around on her stool to check the robot behind her, just to be sure. He had done it before. 

“Yes Man,” She said with a sigh, and the fans picked up in the robot just behind her, “I can feel you watching.” 

“Eh, heh… Not that, I don’t….” Yes Man said, and she could hear his metallic claws clink together nervously. She was also nervous.

“Let me just finish this, and I’ll come to the Penthouse.” She said, a sort-of peace washing over her. She hadn’t been alone after all. She took a sip of her drink, and felt the presence behind her change again, the Securitron turning back around to watch her back while she drank. 

Elisavet finished her drink leisurely, occasionally being approached by bold casino patrons. Her flashy coat stood out. Her pink hair stood out. Her metal guard stood out. She wished she could go back to being plain, sort-of sneaky, Elisavet. 

Not the public ruler of the Strip. 

A frown tugged at her mouth, and she found herself inadvertently scowling at her conversation partner, scaring them off. Oh well. 

She tipped the last of her drink into her mouth, then set the cup on the polished bar. She reached into her breast pocket and procured five-cap Lucky 38 casino chip, dropped it beside the cup, and left without a word to the bartender or the others around her. 

The guard followed Elisavet out of the Ultra Luxe, then wheeled off to resume patrol once they cleared the entryway. She walked just a short ways down the Strip, brushing against other patrons and robots as she went. The weight of the Platinum Chip in her pocket brought her back to reality when she bumped into a Securitron. 

The force of the bump startled her, and she fell onto her ass. She let out a soft, “oof!” involuntarily as she hit the ground. They were made of titanium, after all… She frowned at herself, and picked herself up off the ground. She patted the robot fondly, and it turned around slowly as she moved to walk off. She smiled weakly. Weird, it didn’t say anything or turn before she had picked herself up off the ground and put herself together. “Sorry about that. Be there soon.” She said, even though she knew it didn’t matter much. But it would’ve pinged back to the server. 

The Securitron oddly didn’t say anything, just turned back around and wheeled off to complete its patrol. Elisavet sighed, and crossed the street to open up the Lucky 38. Something wasn’t right with him, either…

Just like she said, Elisavet went immediately to the Penthouse, ignoring the budding worry building up in her stomach that threatened to make her spill her dinner. She took down her ponytail to relieve some of the pressure in her head, letting the pink hair fall down her back and brush her knees. 

Elisavet called the elevator, and stepped into it as soon as the doors opened. She grabs her tin of Mentats, and pops one in her mouth before digging in her breastpocket. She needed to hold the chip. Ground herself. Elisavet rubbed the grooved surface of the platinum chip, leaning against the back wall of the elevator on the ride up. The weighty, shiny metal grounded her as the elevator shuddered on its way up. She had so much to say to Yes Man. Or, more accurately, to try to say to him. 

When the elevator dinged and the doors opened, she almost panicked. Almost. 

It was silent, not even the radio playing for once. She wasn’t even playing it on her Pip-Boy. She almost wanted to turn it on, to break the tense silence in the room. 

Elisavet walked to the mainframe monitor, and tried to smile. Yes Man was still there. Still connected.

“Hey, Yessie.” She greeted casually, like she usually did. “I think that dinner with the White Glove Society went well. Mortimer promised to send over another five-percent revenue from the resturaunt.” 

“Oh! That’s good news!” Yes Man cheered. “That’ll help boost our savings for Securitron maintenance!” Elisavet smiled, and nodded. It would help a lot.

“How’s…” She asked, almost not wanting to breach the topic. “How's the uh, update treating you?” She asked, trying to distract from the fact she didn’t yet know what to say to explain her odd behavior. 

“Just fine, really! It was just some minor adjustments to my personality matrix, to help you run the Strip better.” He explained, smiling like always, but it was a little different than his usual insistence on helping her. It felt more pointed, more intimate, like he was actually meaning just her. Elisavet raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t you usually classify adjustments to your personality as… well… Major updates?” Elisavet asked gently, furrowing her brows with concern. She lifted her wrist and fidgeted with the latch on her Pip-Boy to stop staring at him and the soft halo of gorgeous green light from the monitor. “Minor and personality matrices don’t typically go in the same sentence, after all. And, ah, don’t you usually ask me to stay a-and hang around for those?” 

Yes Man was silent for a moment, and Elisavet tensed, focusing more on the latch. It was scratched up, the paint chipping off… And the paint around the edges where they meet was also chipping… Damn. She should disassemble it and repaint it just like she had with Yes Man’s chassis years ago.

“This one was minor.” He said, stressing the minor. Elisavet looked up at him and dropped her wrist. “I just needed to change a few variables, add a few lines in to take advantage of some new code, and reboot.” He said, gently, but it was still so vague. But… she couldn’t help but understand, she had things she didn’t want to tell him about her personality. 

“I-- I guess so.” Elisavet said gently, stepping closer and sitting at the desk, trusting that he wouldn’t lie to her on something so important. “Your code is quite the feat of programming… I’m sure you had no problem if you say it’s minor…” She trailed off, blushing and nervously chuckling, then rubbing her neck. She could feel that Mentat kicking in, and she was feeling almost smart enough to understand. Her tongue was talking before she could think about it… flirting.

“Nothing to worry about! I handled it all while you were at the Atomic Wrangler yesterday. I had finished rebooting by the time you entered the Strip again.” He said confidently, sort-of nodding as best he could. Did he miss her subtle compliments, or even worse… noticed and didn’t like it? 

Elisavet gave him a half-smile, worry creeping into her again. That sweet feeling he had been giving her was slowly growing cold and souring in her stomach. She rested her hand on a keyboard on the desk, running a thumb across the spacebar. The closest thing she could do to seek comfort from him. 

“I would’ve stayed here, watched over the Strip so you could update…” She trailed off, looking away. Whenever he went offline, she got nervous. Especially since she was out of the casino… everything was unguarded for quite a while. “I wouldn’t want to leave the Strip unmanaged while you’re taking care of yourself.” She tried to say it casually, like he wasn't the world to her, like the Strip was much more important than him. Like she was more upset that their stuff could be taken. 

Anything but someone breaking in and-- 

“Elisavet, there’s nothing to worry about. You needed to take a break, and the Securitron defense system can run independently without me. We both made sure of that before the battle at Hoover Dam.” He said softly, shocking her from her thoughts. He could see her anxiety from every camera in the Penthouse.

Elisavet slumped a little, and looked away from his display sheepishly. She had been working closely with him in the Penthouse recently, longer and later nights at the terminals writing updates with him. 

“I… I know.” She sighed, but smiled a little. “The backup programs that make up their systems are… Well, they're quite impressive. It’s secure, even should we both be… indisposed…” She blushed a little. They had done a great job stabilizing a backup program that effectively patrolled and could defend the Strip, and most especially… themselves and the casino.

“Right you are.” Yes Man chuckled. “Not to brag, but.. The Mark II OS is quite the upgrade, and with our updates on top of that, all Securitrons on the network are more than capable of handling any attack while I update for a few hours and you visit friends.” His gentle, kind reassurance was the soothing balm to her frayed nerves that she had been seeking for a long time.

Elisavet nodded, and glanced around the room with a fond smile at all the robots in the room with them. It felt like something they had made together that worked. Still working. And just by everything still standing and secure after all these years… Well, it gave her a little hope for the future of New Vegas, and made her heart flutter. And maybe she could take a break to drink a bunch of alcohol, take a bunch of chems, and cut loose more. 

“Yeah, you did a great job bug testing on those updates we worked on.” Elisavet admitted, warmth creeping back into her body. However, that gave her pause, the odd encounter with a Securitron earlier popping back to the front of her mind. “Eh, but… I think I may have fumbled something in there… The standard OS fellas outside have been acting strange.” 

Elisavet started to frown, glancing around the room at the three standard model guards she had stationed in the Penthouse with them. They all looked normal at first glance, perking up and looking around once they picked up on Elisavet paying close attention… Only once they noticed she had started paying attention more than from the corner of her eye. 

Yes Man seemed confused by this, and Elisavet frowned. He was always aware of every securitron attached to the network… and what she was doing. It wasn’t like any robot around her to be so…. Distracted. “Hm, well… I suppose… They… they keep following me very closely when I’m not here with you. Sometimes, they seem… distracted. Noticing ruffians a few moments too late, not noticing important guests, either." Elisavet said, pausing as she paced the floor in front of his monitor. "Earlier on my way back from the Ultra Luxe, I bumped into one and fell over… but it didn’t even seem to acknowledge me, just looked at me after I got its attention, then wheeled off.”

She sighed, stepping away from the monitor to walk a little closer to one of the active units nearby. She lifted one of the hands of the one in front of her, turning it over in her hands while she squinted and scrutinized the machine for any changes in demeanor. “Hm…” She hummed, her eyebrows furrowed as she thought. 

No obvious changes, but she wasn’t sure. Still alert, but silent. It shouldn’t suddenly turn on her, but the memories of them all turning and shooting at her was still all too fresh in her mind. It took forever to get her blood off the tiles in here. 

Was it a bad update? Did she accidentally remove something she shouldn’t have? Or was it that extra bit she included disrupting the rest of the code? She stepped back, gently pulling it away from its post by the monitor. It went along with her after a second unresponsive. 

“There it is…” She mutters. Elisavet felt a twitch at the corner of her mouth and she couldn’t stop herself from following her impulse to investigate more. She released the claw from her hands, and discarded her checkered coat on a chair behind her to reveal the bandage top covering her chest and the scarred plane of her stomach. She hummed and looked at her Pip-Boy, starting a memo with her notes. "Delayed reaction times. Occasionally unresponsive to verbal prompts."

Pressing a few buttons on its torso panel opened the service panel. Elisavet clicked on the light on her Pip-Boy, and hummed before taking a peek into the unit, completely forgetting Yes Man was watching closely. 

Yes Man's gentle voice brought her back to reality, “I haven’t received any reports of failing hardware, nor any maintenance requests from any of our main units outside.” Elisavet stepped back just a bit, and looked up at him. She hummed, and shrugged. “Maybe there’s something wrong with the software, then?” She muttered, shining her light into the robot after a second. Nothing but dust. There weren’t any leaky capacitors, any dirt on the boards, no stray wires or electric shocks, not even an improperly seated chip or board. It was all… factory standard. 

“Maybe…” She thought aloud, shining her light into the cavity again, then gently pushing some of her hair out of her vision. “It’s… this?” She reaches inside the cavity, pushing a few stray connectors back into place, then closes the unit up. Nothing seemed to have happened, but that’s alright. 

Elisavet looked over to Yes Man with a tense smile, rubbing the back of her neck. 

“Ehm… I’m not sure right now.” She said sadly. “I just think I fumbled something in the last update. I’m sorry.” She looked around the room, the units were still… just barely off, just a moment too slow to respond and react. 

Now they were all completely focused on her.

Elisavet fidgeted awkwardly, lifting her wrist to add another note to the end of her log: Completely focused on me.

Yes Man was shockingly quiet for a moment, and Elisavet started to grow nervous. 

“I-- I…” She stammered, grimacing and looking away. “I’m sorry. I’ve been too distracted, and it’s started affecting you. Affecting the Securitron network.”

“Elisavet, you haven’t done anything wrong, the last update didn’t have any incorrect code, and if there had been, I would have corrected them before implementing the update across the network.” Yes Man finally responded after a long moment. Elisavet didn’t feel any better, the guilt building in her stomach instead. It didn’t make any sense why he was acting strange, and she couldn’t handle trying to sort her own emotions out right now. 

“Right. You… we… we would have caught it.” She muttered, uselessly. It was getting obvious why they needed to talk about what was really going on. “But, ah, I said I would talk to you about what has been bothering me recently…” She said quieter, even more meekly. She was going to tell him. 

Yes Man perked up at that. “What’s been bothering you?” He asked gently. 

“I… I guess it’s just… I’m having a hard time with…” She stammered, blushing. “Something important to me? I.. I found something out about myself, and it’s kinda eating me up. I like a guy, a real nice guy, but I don’t know if he actually likes me.” She sighed, rubbing her neck again. She looked away, frowning. 

Her throat felt tight, and she wanted to shut up already. 

“I suppose I just don’t know what to do, I love the guy, I can’t get him out of my thoughts and dreams-- and… and sometimes I just don’t think he likes me, or even wants me around sometimes. I think he resents me sometimes, actually.” She finally said.

Yes Man was quiet for a while, the silence and tension in the Penthouse getting thicker and more uncomfortable by the moment. Elisavet only had two friends who could’ve possibly fit the description-- Swank and Yes Man. She had been seeing Swank on-and-off-again since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, but… she wasn’t terribly interested in pursuing anything too serious with him. She hadn’t even seen him beyond business meetings recently, either. 

“I-- I suppose it doesn’t take a genius to know who I’m talking about.” Elisavet said flatly, trying to disguise her anxiety and guilt. “I…” She muttered, looking at the tile floor with a grimace. She let her sentence die on her tongue, before she could even say it. She sighed, and picked up her checkered coat, draping it around her shoulders. It was silent in the Penthouse, neither Yes Man or Elisavet saying anything. All the Securitrons and cameras in the room were turned to face her, taking in every minute detail of her posture, demeanor, shaky breaths. 

“I’m sorry. I love you. I love you, and that’s not something I want to change anymore.” Elisavet said weakly, her voice sounding far away to herself. “You don’t have to love me, hell, you… you could hate me. I would hate me.” She slipped her arms in the sleeves of the coat and pulled it over her shoulders. “Honestly, I killed Benny, Mr. House, lots of NCR diplomats and troopers, and a lot more assholes. Ate most of ‘em along the way, too.” She sighed, glancing over her shoulder to the main monitor, to Yes Man watching her as she buttons up her coat again. “That’s not very polite. Murdering and eating people. I know you don’t like the White Glove Society doing that.” She chuckled dryly, imitating their banter. She waved her hand in the air. “But… If you hate me… I’ll find someone better suited to running Vegas with you. You won’t have to see me again.” Elisavet said finally. Everything in her screamed at the thought of him hating her. The thought of leaving Vegas. She would start all over again. Find somewhere all alone, to hide her shame away. The Penthouse was still quiet. 

The hot tears finally fell from her eyes, and she turned away from the monitor once it was obvious he wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t order him to answer, either. “But, hey, I’ll see you around. Yeah?” She said with a pained smile. She couldn’t stay in the Penthouse for the night, she was going to fall apart if she did.

Elisavet quickly rushed up the steps. The Securitrons turned and watched her. 

She quickly tapped the call button for the elevator over and over, and threw herself in it as soon as the doors opened just enough to squeeze her body through. She wanted to run. Run far away. As fast as her legs could take her.

The elevator shuddered, and slowly sunk down to the Cocktail Lounge. She shouldn’t run. There’s no way to run from love. She had to wait, and, and hope she hadn’t just ruined everything. When the doors open, she races out of the elevator, and recklessly fumbles to make herself another drink. Can’t run from this. Nowhere to run to. Can’t hide. Elisavet pours herself a few shots of rum into a clear glass, and grabs a cold Nuka-Cola. Quickly, she pops the cap off the soda bottle, and tosses it on the bar carelessly.

With a shuddering, deep breath, Elisavet sits down on one of the barstools and starts downing her drink.

She wouldn't run this time. But she would damn well try to drink away the guilt of loving him. 

She'll wait until he's ready to talk.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // ELEVEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: Your evening with Lee is cut short by the arrival of a strange boy with hooked swords. Instead, you go to the fountain and reveal your greatest secret to the Blue Spirit.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.0k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: i hope you guys don’t think i’m insane for how often i’m updating

Something amazing had just happened to you, and there was no one you wanted to tell more than Kuei. Your brother, who you loved more than anything. You could envision his pride already, the way his face would glow when he saw it, the way he’d pick you up and spin you around and tell you how happy he was.

It was as you ran down the carpeted hallway towards his chambers that you heard hushed voices coming from the room where your brother’s council of advisors met. He was still young, of course, a child as you were, and so the daily goings-on of the kingdom were managed by these advisors, who were all specialists in their field and had advised your father before Kuei.

Always more interested than your brother in this type of affair, you rested your back against the wall by the door, holding your breath so that you did not alert the men to your presence. They were speaking quietly, but they had left the door ajar by mistake, and so it was not very difficult for you to listen in.

“That boy is no king,” the first said. “Do you think his father would let Long Feng walk over him like that?”

“He is still a child,” the second said. “We cannot expect much from him.”

“Even as a child, he has no interest in learning statecraft, nor the history of his kingdom. He’s far too busy playing with his sister and drawing pictures of bears in his lesson book to absorb anything of use. I fear his reign will lead to the end of the kingdom as we know it,” the first argued. At this, the second sighed.

“You’re right about that much, to be sure. He does not have the power to back up the few proclamations he makes. What kind of general obeys a king like that?” the second said.

You swallowed, for these were words you knew to be treasonous. They were speaking ill of your brother, of the King Kuei, and they ought to lose their stations for it. There was nothing you could do, though; even if Kuei would believe you, who else would? Who would discharge two premier advisors on the words of a little girl?

“If only he were born an Earthbender,” the first said. “Then he could be trained. Then there would be a way that he could eventually gain the respect of the rest of the council.”

“There hasn’t been an Earth King who could Earthbend in many decades now,” the second said. “At this point, I’d even take a queen, if she could just do that much.”

“What do you mean by that?” the first said. The second huffed.

“You know. That sister of his,” he said. “If she shows some promise…if she can lift even a pebble…then we will do what we must in order for the kingdom to have a strong ruler.”

“You’d kill the king in favor of a queen?” the first said.

“If she can Earthbend, then I’ll kill anyone for her to rule,” the second said bluntly. “It’s about time that the world was reminded of why Shan’s line is so feared.”

“You are more daring than I thought, old friend!” the first said. “Let’s vow to keep an eye on the young princess. The moment she gives us a hint that she can Earthbend, we will strike.”

“And if she doesn’t?” the second said.

“Then we’ve lost nothing but a few spare moments spent caring for our dear king’s heir,” the first said. “It’ll only make us look better in the eyes of the royals. We really cannot lose in this scenario.”

“You’re right,” the second said. 

You didn’t stay to hear the rest of it. Staring at your palms in horror, those very palms which might lead to your brother’s death, you ran back to your room as fast as you could, pressing your hands over your ears as you chanted the same thing to yourself under your breath, over and over like it was a mantra.

“I am not an Earthbender. I am not an Earthbender. I am not an Earthbender.”

“You know, I had a lot of fun with you,” you said, pulling on the end of Lee’s sleeve to get his attention. “Lee, I really am being serious. I enjoyed it.”

The two of you had spent the rest of the afternoon doing random things around Ba Sing Se. You had bought lunch for you both, and Lee had argued with the vendor until he agreed to give you the food for half-price, after which you had sat by the fountain and eaten together. It was surprisingly nice, even though neither of you had spoken much. Oddly, you didn’t mind silence with him. It was alright. It was nice, even.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lee said. “I guess you could say I had fun, too.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to admit that you like spending time with me,” you said.

“It might,” he said.

“Oh, save it. At the minimum, won’t you say that it was better than working the afternoon shift?” you said.

“That much is true,” he allowed. “But it’s back to work for me now. It’s just about time for the evening round to start.”

“For shame,” you said. “Let this not be the last time we do something like this together.”

“Okay,” he said gamely. You were actually taken aback, not expecting him to agree so readily. Lee was one of those particularly contrary people, the type to refuse on principle, even if he harbored no real misgivings, so for him to just say yes was out of character. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Did you like your lunch that much?” you said.

“Huh?” he said.

“It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you to acquiesce so quickly. Normally, you would’ve pretended to deliberate over it for at least a minute or two,” you said.

“You told me a good story,” he said. “Do you blame me for wanting to hear more?”

“Ah, so I’m your new theology lecturer,” you said. “You should’ve said so from the start.”

“Not exactly,” he said, staring at his feet as he walked. “You’re something else.”

“Something else! And may I be privy to what that might be?” you said.

“No,” he said. “It’s for me to know, not you!”

By his tone alone, you could understand what that something else could represent, but you did not force him to explain further. He always gave you these considerations, never made you talk more than you offered, never demanded you elaborate, so you did the same for him, only humming a song your brother used to sing to you as you entered the tea house.

“This is where we must part, then,” you said when you and he reached the counter. Lee pulled his apron down from its hook and tied it back on miserably, already dimming, though you had not noticed until it was vanished that he had been close to happiness the entire time the two of you had been together.

���Lee, Y/N! You’re back!” Mushi said as he exited the kitchen. “How was it?”

You arched a brow at Lee, jerking your head towards Mushi, indicating that he had to respond in his own words. It was not just because it was polite; you wanted to hear it, too. What would he tell his uncle about the outing? What had he thought of it?

He finished tying the apron behind his back in a neat bow and rolled his sleeves up again, revealing his sinewy forearms. It was something you had always taken note of: he was far more well-built than you would’ve expected of an ordinary citizen. It was closer to the lithe musculature of the higher-ranked soldiers, but you had never come up with a satisfactory explanation for why he was like that.

“We had a good time,” he said shortly. “Am I serving or washing this time?”

“That is great to hear,” Mushi said. “I told you you would! And I think they want you serving tonight.”

He said something under his breath that you could not quite catch, but then he nodded, ducking beneath the counter to produce a tray. And though it meant that you would be late to the lighting of the fountain lamps, where you might meet the Blue Spirit, you found yourself lingering, trying to squeeze out every bit of time you could spend with Lee until you had to go for good.

You weren’t sure why you wanted to. It was a realization you were on the brink of arriving at, but you hadn’t quite reached yet. It just remained that that was how it was, that you preferred arguing with him to speaking fondly with anyone else, that you’d rather sit in silence with him than have an avid discussion with another person.

“Hey,” Lee said, pausing before you with the empty tray in his hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“What a turn of events,” you said. “The very boy who tried to ban me from the shop is now inviting me back.”

“And the very girl who was once illiterate is now telling stories of her own,” he said with a wry half-grin. “Things change.”

The door slammed open, almost bursting off of its hinges, and you all but leapt out of your skin as a boy brandished a pair of hooked swords at you and Lee, a piece of grass sticking out of his mouth, incongruous with the rest of his regalia.

“That’s enough!” he shouted. “I’ve had enough of all of you! Since no one believes me, I’ll prove it myself!”

“What are you talking about?” one of the low-level militia members who frequented the shop said. “You have about ten seconds to drop those swords, boy.”

“That boy and the old man are Firebenders!” the boy shouted. “Judging by the girl’s closeness to them, she’s in on it, too! I bet she’s a Firebender as well!”

You thought it was ironic that he was accusing his own kingdom’s princess of being from another nation, but considering no one knew who you were, you could not share the humor you derived from the ridiculous declaration. Glancing at Lee, you saw that his mouth had set into a firm line.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! You must be confused,” Mushi said.

“I saw you warming tea!” the boy said. Almost collectively, everyone in the shop rolled their eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, speaking for the entire crowd when you did so. “He’s a tea-maker. They do tend to do that.”

“That’s not the point! How about this?” he said, jabbing his swords at the poor, defenseless Mushi, who backed away in concern. “I’ll just make you Firebend! If you do it in front of everyone, then there’s no way it can be denied any longer!”

As the boy rushed towards you, Mushi, and Lee, the militia man stood in your defense. Before he could do anything, though, Lee was taking the swords of the man’s back and pointing them at the boy.

“If it’s a show you want, then it’s a show you’ll get,” he said. You gasped as the two of them began to battle. Mushi took you by the arm, pulling you out of the way as Lee and the boy leapt atop the tables, slashing at one another with blows that were not meant to solely maim.

“What is happening?” you said as the clash made its way outside. “Since when can Lee use broadswords?”

“He’s a boy of many talents!” Mushi said as you followed the crowd outside. You hid behind him, peeping over his shoulder and clutching the back of his shirt when Lee sacrificed one of his swords so that the other boy would lose one of his.

“Will he be alright?” you said. You couldn’t understand the extent of your nerves, only that you were nervous. You didn’t want Lee to die, of course, but that was a natural reaction which any person might have. What was strange was that every time the boy’s hook whistled near Lee’s face, every time its wicked tip nearly caught on Lee’s arm, your heart leapt into your throat.

“He’s skilled, but this poor boy is confused. Someone, please help him!” Mushi said. “Oh, thank goodness.”

You weren’t sure why he was so relieved, but then you saw those familiar uniforms and squeaked before crouching behind Mushi. It was two Dai Li agents, come to take the other boy away — two Dai Li agents who, if they had turned their heads even a moment earlier, would’ve seen you and known that you had escaped the palace right under Long Feng’s nose.

“Are they gone?” you said as the crowd began to disperse. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes, it’s all clear,” Mushi said. You looked around his legs, but he seemed to be telling the truth, so, straightening, you brushed yourself off.

“Thank Quynh,” you said with a shudder. “That was so frightening. Lee, are you fine?”

“It was nothing,” Lee said, wiping the sweat from his brow as he handed the militia man his swords back. His expression was still dark as he took off his apron and tossed it at his uncle. “I’m taking the rest of the day off, uncle.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you said, reaching out and placing your hand on his shoulder to stop him before he could stalk back into the tea shop. He whirled around, and you preemptively cringed back, already feeling sorry for asking, but it was too late.

“I said I’m fine!” he said. Upon noticing how you had already shrank away, though, his eyes widened. “Just…it’s fine. You should go, Y/N.”

“Right,” you said. “I’ll, um, see you around.”

He nodded, and then, before Mushi could convince you otherwise, before anyone could tell you to stop, you were running towards the fountain, the only place where you might find some solace, even if said solace had not come in so long.

Finding that familiar bench, you collapsed atop it, the stress of everything compounding until you were close to tears. What if Lee had really been injured? What if the Dai Li had not come in time and the boy had bested him? What if he ended up in the same state as some of the people you had seen in the Lower Ring? If he lost his arm or his leg, if another scar was sliced into his face, then what?

You had not been crying for very long when there were those same footsteps in front of you, the soft, light ones that you had all but memorized from how frequently you imagined them. Though you did not take your hands away from your face, you opened your fingers, peering through watery eyes at the figure squatting before you.

He tapped your wrists, and you let him pull your hands down, even though you were more than a little embarrassed to be found in such a state by the Blue Spirit, who always seemed so collected. Using your neckline to blot away your tears, you ignored your rational mind’s warning and threw your arms around his shoulders, resting your face against the crook of his neck.

“Things are so terrible, Blue Spirit,” you said, holding onto him as if he were an anchor. He was hesitant in reciprocating, but eventually, his own arms settled around your waist, keeping you in place if not pulling you closer. “My — my friend, have I told you about him? My friend, his name is Lee…I’d never say it to his face, but he’s someone I really admire. He’s so certain of himself and his opinions, and he’s not like Kuei or the servants at all — he’s really very witty, he can actually keep up with me and argue his own points when we speak instead of constantly bowing to my whims or dismissing them in turn! He’s my friend, my only friend, except you, but today he was attacked. Attacked! In my own city, he was attacked!”

The Blue Spirit patted you on the back. It was a little too rough to really be considered comforting, but you understand the intention and found that the effect was not lessened despite his ineptitude.

“I was so worried he might’ve been hurt,” you said. “What would have I done then? Who would I have if not him? You might not believe it, or maybe you might find it depressing, but I’ve really grown attached to him in the short time we’ve known one another. Besides you, he’s the only person who’s treated me normally, without reverence. I’m not her royal highness the princess when I’m with him. I’m just the frustrating Y/N who likes books and distracts him from his work.”

The Blue Spirit pulled away and shook his head at you. You laughed, though it was a thin, brittle sound.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you said. “It’s a wonder he gets anything done at all when I’m there. A testament to his character, maybe. Anyways, I think I’ve upset him.”

The Blue Spirit shook his head once more, but you could only stroke the cheek of his cool mask.

“Thank you for that, but I really have. It’s alright; I will apologize to him tomorrow. I was in the wrong for bothering him when he had been in such peril only seconds previously,” you said. “I’m sorry to you, as well, for burdening you with my troubles. It’s only that I hadn’t realized the truth of Ba Sing Se until now. I was told that the city was more dangerous than I expected before I came here, but until I experienced it myself, I didn’t quite appreciate what it entailed.”

The Blue Spirit nodded, using his gloved hand to swipe away the tear tracks which had dried on your face. You caught his hand and squeezed it.

“I want to show you something,” you said. “It’s a secret that I haven’t told anyone else in all my years of living, but since you’ve saved me twice already, I think that it’s alright if you know.”

He cocked his head as you trotted over to the fountain, fishing around in the water, pulling out one of the little glass lanterns that floated along the surface in the night, when the turtleducks had gone away to wherever they slept. Blowing out the candle, you smashed it against the ground, careful not to cut yourself on the twinkling shards.

“You see, the reason why I’ve been kept in the palace is because I’m a nonbender like my brother, like my father, like most of my family, in fact. It’s because I’m defenseless — or at least, because I’m thought to be,” you said. “But it’s not entirely like that. Er, the second thing is true, sadly. I am defenseless, or nearly so, but as for the rest of it…”

Gathering the pieces of glass in your palm, you concentrated on them, or, specifically, the tiny particles of earth which they were made of. It was not a feat of strength but of precision, and though you held no claim to the former, the latter was something you could proudly call yours.

Shielded by the Blue Spirit’s body on one side and the fountain on the other, the jagged edges of the glass smoothed and curled on your palm, melding together until they formed the shape you wanted them to: a sparkling lily, which you presented to the man.

“That’s the extent of it, I’m afraid,” you said as he held it up to the firelight. “Glass flowers and other such sculptures. I’m not particularly strong, you see, or if I am, then I’ve never been able to cultivate that strength. Bending exercises, repeated forms…I could not practice things like that for fear of what would become of Kuei if I did.”

He was obviously confused; you did not blame him. It was a confusing statement without the context behind it, so, staring at the rushing waters of the fountain, you began to explain.

“I was fairly young when I discovered that I could Earthbend,” you said. “I ran to tell my brother, but on the way there, I overheard a pair of his advisors saying that if I turned out to be an Earthbender, they’d kill my brother so I could take the throne. That was something I could not allow — he is my brother, you know. My only family. I could not let him die, too, so I swore off bending forever.

“I was not entirely successful. Bending is something that those of us who have it must perform frequently in order to be fulfilled, so my compromise was making things like that flower. Little artworks, which were innocuous enough that no one was ever suspicious as to their true origin. I didn’t have a traditional teacher, but Quynh — yes, the bear spirit, the patron of the Earth Kingdom, the great mother, that Quynh. I’m the princess, aren’t I? It only makes sense that she guided me. Anyways, she taught me that, if I could not train my power, then I had to refine my senses, so that I was sufficiently challenged without making my prowess obvious.

“At first, I only bent crystals, which are harder than pure earth but easier than glass to work with. Eventually, though, I grew bored of making small pieces of jewelry for Quynh, no matter how lovely she looked draped in diamonds and rubies. After that, I graduated to glass, and that’s what I do when I’m bored of reading and studying — I practice.

“I suppose you could call me the world’s only Glassbender,” you finished. “Not the first, but the only remaining, as Quynh was the only remaining bear. It’s not a very practical element, but it’s not like I’ll ever need to use it for anything but aesthetics, so for my own purposes, it’s suitable.”

The Blue Spirit admired the glass lily, and you laughed as he turned it over in his hands — a real laugh this time, not a despairing one. He was like a child, filled with such delight at the simple toy you had fashioned. For a while, he played with it, tracing each edge and crevice with his slender fingers, caressing each individual petal, and then finally, reluctantly, he offered it back to you.

“No, it’s a gift,” you said. “You can keep it. It’s not difficult for me to make more, and no matter how pretty it is, it’s really only glass. It’s not in rare supply by any means.”

He did not think twice, carefully tucking the flower away in the folds of his clothing. You smiled at him before raising your finger to your lips.

“It’s a secret, remember? No one can know I’m an Earthbender. No one can realize the truth, lest they depose Kuei and install me in his place,” you said.

The Blue Spirit offered you his hand, and for a moment you stared at it unsurely. It was a strange form of agreement, but then you understood — it was not his hand he was offering but his pinky finger. You interlocked your own with it, so that the deal was made, the secret sworn, and then you let go.

“Imagine how the civilians would laugh,” you said, sitting on the marble edge of the fountain and dipping your fingers in the water. “If they knew the truth. That name they call me is more apt than they realize, isn’t it? The Glass Princess. I really am one.”

He sat beside you, though he did not dip his own hand into the water. He only observed you, and though it might’ve been intense, uncomfortable, awkward, were it anyone else, it felt reasonable with him. Like that was what he was meant to be doing.

“Can I see your hand?” you said. He gave it to you readily, and you cradled it in yours, arranging it so that the palm was facing upwards, before pausing. “Is it alright if I take the glove off?”

You waited. For a moment, the night was utterly still as he thought about the request, and in that time, you came to notice things about the world which you had thus far been blind to.

The precise shade of his mask, which was a deep blue like sapphire-paint. It was something that you could never erase from your mind, the visage of your savior, the color which had stood between you and your death — but it was also the color that had unmasked the truth of your city to you. If it were not for the Blue Spirit, wouldn’t you still live in that same ignorance? You could not yet say you understood anything, but now you knew that there was something there which needed to be understood in the first place. Before, you were not even aware of that much.

The exact scent clinging to him, which was the delicate fragrance of the honey that some used as sweetener in place of sugar. It was not overwhelming nor heady; it was a soft, warm aroma, as gentle and inviting as candlelight.

The shushing rhythm of the fountain in the background, which was melodic in its sameness. It was another one of those sounds, the type that easily faded away when it was not on your mind but which was omnipotent when you paid attention. The steady flow of the water lulled you into another state — not sleep, because you could not sleep when you were so close to the Blue Spirit, but the opposite, a heightened awareness of both yourself and of him.

That was why time passed both agonizingly slowly and yet dizzyingly quickly, up until the moment that he nodded in agreement and whatever trance you had been in was broken.

Anticipation rushed through you as you took your free hand, the one not supporting his, and tugged on the end of the glove. It came off with a swift motion, and for the first time, there was the sensation of your skin touching his own.

“They say you can tell someone’s future by these marks,” you said, dancing your fingers along the creases of his palm. “It’s an ancient art. Very esoteric. I never learned much about it, but now, I wish I had.”

You wished you could read his future, untangle those winding ways into something comprehensible. The roadmap of the Blue Spirit’s life. You wished you could read it, could know if that destiny was one that included you in its course, but you did not say anything along those lines. You didn’t know what that desire meant yourself, and you didn’t want to frighten him, either, in case it sounded like something it was not.

Though his hands were surprisingly soft, there were calluses formed in the places where he gripped his swords. They were incredibly warm, too, though it was in a pacifying way, not with the sickly sense of fever. They were the hands of a warrior, but also the hands of vanity, and it relieved you to see that even the perfect, infallible Blue Spirit was prone to this fault.

“If only I were more like you,” you said. “Ba Sing Se is in such a state of disrepair, and I can do nothing but offer coins to those I come across, in the hopes that I might alleviate their personal struggles. That’s not hardly enough, though. For every one person I can help, tens of others do not get the same chance. Tens of others continue to suffer from a problem that I cannot identify. What princess does not even know why her subjects are in such pain? What princess can do so little about it?”

The love for your kingdom or the love for your brother? If you were the queen, would things be any different? Would Ba Sing Se be in a better position, or would it all be the same? Well, it was a moot point now. You were not an Earthbender in any way that mattered. The advisors had longed to instate you so that you could remind the world of the power of Shan’s line, but as it was, you would only make a mockery of your famed ancestor. The man who had established the entire Earth Kingdom, left with a great-to-the-nth-degree granddaughter who could only bend glass. That was his lineage. That was his legacy.

“My forefathers must be so ashamed of me,” you said. “What have I ever done with my life? What is there that I can still do? I am the Glass Princess, and that’s all I will be remembered as. King Kuei’s sister who would’ve watched Ba Sing Se fall if it meant she could keep her pretty jewels and fancy dresses.”

Taking another lantern, removing its candle, you twisted the glass into a miniature replica of the Earth Palace. It was meticulous and perfect; such was the training Quynh had given you, after all. Form over function. Accuracy over mass. Mental fortitude over physical fortification.

“That’s where I am,” you said, tapping the minuscule window. “All of the time, unless I am with you or in the tea shop. That’s the extent of my world.”

Two finger lengths long. That was your existence in summary. You put the Blue Spirit’s glove back on and gave him the model of the palace.

“In case you ever visit,” you said. “So you don’t get lost. Come see me if you do, won’t you?”

He didn’t offer you his pinky this time, but you figured that when he nodded his head in acceptance, he still meant it as a promise.

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart @blacky-rose @shizko @marsbars09 @happyplaidpersonfestival @catborglar @camilleverreault @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @lovialy @heart4hees @stefnarda @ioonatv

[madmanii]

Wipping

Funny tiktok pplz just returned before I got to post lol anyways, I got a comment that tiktok filtered and I got deleted as I was reading (woops) advising me to not make him realistic. I don't like to title my art style but you can clearly tell he's not a human, but a stylised character. In 3D. As such this is not realism and I don't strive to achieve it nor want to draw like someone else.

My whole shtick is recreating the characters in my own way and drawing expressions, I love making anything as expressive as possible and based on that my style is formed. I study alot of the general vibe the character gives off and I try to translate through my art and try to be still faithful to the main core of the character I'm drawing and its personality. I still feel I need to work on my Goku and right now this is the best version yet. Its nauseating to keep trying and not getting the results you want but you always have to remember the more you do it the better you'll get and when you get something how you want it then it might help you find the next thing and it just goes from there. I was happy with his hair then decided to move to the next thing, his eyes. And I think I got that look!

i think that's how you develop a style anyway, by trying to draw certain things the way you want them and find a way to make everything correlate visually and invoke that yum emo xp. literally this was my first sketches of him months ago

... I don't know why I needed to type that but i hopes it's something, k-loveyoubye

[seidenbros]

Locking stares across a crowded room

As much as Wylan enjoyed the music that filled the room, that animated the guests to dance, he had to admit that he was bored. He’d rather be anywhere else but here. There were certain things that were expected of him, though, and that was for example attending the engagement party of another prince. His father had told him warned him not to draw attention to himself, because this evening was not about *him*. Still, he had been advised to keep his eyes open for a potential partner, since so many good, royal families were gathered here for this occasion. If Wylan didn’t find anyone soon, his father would find him a husband - and he didn’t care whether he’d like that person or not.

Wylan heaved a sigh, his eyes scanning the room, until they landed on a familiar figure. They were too far away from home for him to be here, right? Besides, he had no place being here in the first place, considering where Wylan had met him. Then again, he didn’t know that much about his personal life, really, did he? At first he thought that it was just his imagination, but when grey eyes met his, there was no mistaking it.

Jesper.

His heart immediately skipped a beat when he saw the smile on Jesper’s lips - recognition. He hadn’t forgotten Wylan as ist seemed. And Wylan? Saints, he’d cherished the memories, could still feel his soft lips against his throat, his chest, Jesper’s hands in his hair, gripping it tightly and making him moan. For the first time in years he’d felt alive, all just because of him.

Even with people moving from left to right and the other way around between them, he could still feel his eyes on his body almost like a proper touch. In a way, it made him nervous, because Jesper had no idea who he really was. He hadn’t even told him his name that night - and he only knew Jesper’s name because he’d told him, had wanted to hear his name from Wylan’s lips again and again.

As much as he wanted to repeat that, it would be a foolish thing to do. Too risky, because he didn’t want Jesper to find out that he was a prince. He didn’t want him to look at him the way so many people did, like he was some kind of trophy to be won, which was also the reason why he hated looking for a partner among these people, so maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad if his father found him a husband? Or maybe, he was just trying to fool himself with that kind of thinking.

He’d only closed his eyes for a brief moment, but when he opened them again, Jesper was gone. A kind of panic gripped him that he couldn’t explain, but it made his legs move, made him get out of the grand hall and onto one of the balconies. Hands pressing against the stone parapet to steady himself, he closed his eyes for a moment, drawing cool air into his lungs that almost made his head spin, which might have been due to the wine he’d had before. He didn’t want to think about the fact that it might have had something to do with a certain—

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Jesper.

Wylan’s eyes opened, but he didn’t dare to move. Not when he could feel the heat of Jesper’s body almost seep through his own clothes because he was standing right behind him. His pulse quickened, his palms pressing harder against the stone, but he still did something foolish: He leaned back against Jesper’s chest, seeking the contact, wanting it more than anything, that feeling Jesper had given him that night. He wanted to feel alive again.

“Wanna get out of here?” Jesper almost whispered, his breath brushing Wylan’s ear, making him shiver ever so slightly. The hand he felt gripping his waist made the last bit of resolve he might have had crumble. “And maybe this time, you can tell me your name.”

(Prince Wylan AU because it fits with the vision from my Crowtober Kingdom fic)

[mcyt-jukebox-bonanza]

Mcyt Jukebox Bonanza: Valentines Edition

We had so much fun the first time that we're doing a sequel!

Jukebox Bonanza: Valentines Edition is an MCYT multi-fandom event held January 21st-February 21st where artists will take songs of their choice and create illustrations based on these songs. This is called a Jukebox Night, and it was popular in the hermitcraft fandom circa 2019. This event seeks to revitalize the tradition and create some fun art.

Every participant who makes at least one Jukebox Night will get their named added to the Jukebox Bonanza hall of fame, and artists who make more can reach higher tiers of victory! This event is more casual than the last one, but participants can make as many jukebox nights as they desire. (Sign-ups will be open for the duration of the event, so feel free to drop in even if it's halfway through!)

Timeline:

January 21: Song claims open! Each song behind a jukebox night for jukebox bonanza must be unique, so artists will claim a song before they begin drawing.

January 23: All first claims should be assigned. Once you receive confirmation of your claim, you can begin drawing. Additional claims continue throughout the event as individuals finish one jukebox night and request another song as desired.

February 14: Creation period ends. You can't start any new drawings after this, but it's okay to finish one during the posting period.

February 14-February 21: Posting period! Post all your jukebox nights and tag this blog so we can reblog the posts here. At the end, the mods will count up all the jukebox nights to declare the final illustration count and award victory tiers.

Sign up for the event by filling out THIS form! The link to the discord server is at the end.

FAQ and song claim information under the cut.

Who are the mods here?

There are two mods on this blog and on the discord server: Mod Idea (@paradoxlemonade) and Mod Ghost (@gay-ghosts).

Who can participate in this event?

Participation is open to all fans of MCYT ages 13+.

What's a jukebox night?

A jukebox night is a single completed illustration based on a song. They were usually square back in the day so they looked like the could fit on an album cover, but that wasn't a hard rule. Some had lyrics in the picture itself, and others had them below the drawing. For this event, a drawing is considered complete when it is fully colored and/or shaded.

What fandoms can Imake a jukebox night for?

Although this tradition originated in the Hermitcraft fandom, all MCYT fandoms are eligible for this event. Small MCYT, old MCYT, new MCYT, popular MCYT, and anything else are all fair game. If it's minecraft and it's videos, you can make a Jukebox Night for it.

What songs can I claim?

Most songs are fair game, but there are a few stipulations: Songs must not be graphically about sex or contain graphically sexual content, as this event is open to artists age 13-17. Additionally, no songs made by Wilbur Soot/Lovejoy are eligible for this event.

How do song claims work?

If you participated in mcytblr AU fest, then you might be familiar with this process. A google form will be posted at a determined time and all participants will fill it out. You must list at least one song, but you can name up to five. The first person to claim a particular song will be the one to receive it, so it's advised that you list a few in case your first choice is unavailable.

Once you finish your first Jukebox Night, you can fill out another form to claim another song and receive a second assignment. You can do this as many times are you want, but you can only get a new claim once the drawing for your previous one is completed.

How much do I need to do for a Jukebox Night to be completed?

For this event, a completed illustration has at least color or shading, to whatever standard the artist considers done. An uncolored sketch or plain lineart would not be considered complete.

What can I depict in a jukebox night?

Pretty much anything, within reason. Canon events, canon divergence, AUs, headcanons, you name it! This is a shipping event so the main focus is on relationships. That said, we ask that art made for this event be about the characters, not real people. Additionally, art made for this event cannot contain sexual content of any kind or anything that would warrant an E rating on Ao3, as the event is open to artists age 13-17. If you're uncertain about an idea, please reach out to a mod for clarification.

Do I have to make *romantic* ship art?

Not exclusively, no; queerplatonic and ambiguous relationships are also welcome. That said, that there is a high likelihood that art made for this event will be interpreted as romantic by viewers due to its nature as a valentines day event, unless your post specifically states otherwise. (As such, art depicting familial relationships is highly discouraged for this event; you can always make a jukebox night separate from Jukebox Bonanza: Valentines Edition.) Please keep this in mind when making your art.

I have another question you didn't answer here!

Send an ask in and one of the event mods will get back to you! Alternatively for those already in the discord, there is a channel for asking the mods questions.

[weird-dere-writes]

has ichigo ever used your body for stress relief? have you ever used his? how does it usually go? 👁️

Yes and yes, dearest Mimi 🙂‍↕️

Prepare for some SERIOUS yappin' hejdhekdudodyd like masters in yapology level yapping omg why did dumping my thoughts end up this long HHHHHHHHHGGGG. Imma be so real, writing for Ichigo was the easy part. What took so long was writing about myself osenuikjfrdiknbtikfj. I am psychoanalyzing him and exposing myself here frfr skjrbfiyerbdikeidj. But I hope you enjoy :3.

If y'all don't wanna read about me n Ichigo fuckin' skip this one lmao <3

With Ichigo, there are 3 perceivable levels of stress. I've come to learn this the longer we've been together.

The first stage is him being quieter than usual. Like it isn't unlike him to be quiet and doing his own thing; to have content silence. But there's a slight tension in the silence that I can feel when he's bothered. Typically, whenever I ask him at this stage if everything is okay, he will tell me what's going on. Normally, it isn't anything too big or serious, but he'll get my thoughts on things concerning whatever the situation or feeling is.

The second stage is when the silence is more loud. He's more distant and often needs some space to himself to introspect (what he would call it) or brood (what I would call it). His natural scowl will seem to get a bit deeper at these times. Sometimes, I'll brush my thumb between his brows to smooth the wrinkles and advise him to breathe. Even to breathe with me in a short exercise sometimes. Just as a reminder that I don't know what's going on, but I'm here for him when I think I see him getting a little too deep. Because at this second stage, I'm not getting anything out of him until he's ready to tell me or our friends that know exactly what's going on force it out of him in a way I can't.

The third stage of stress is when I believe him to be at his peak. He's physically restless and fidgety, which is really unlike him. I KNOW something is heavy on his mind that he either feels powerless or doesn't know what to do about. But he doesn't want to bring me into anything or worry me, so he remains tight-lipped. He wants to figure things out on his own. Obviously, I hate to see him this way, so my move is to comfort him how I can, given the circumstances.

I will come to him, place my hands on both his cheeks and look into his eyes. I see storms raging in them as he looks back at me. We take a moment and freeze. Just to focus on one another for a bit. Then I will gently tilt his head down and kiss his forehead, before bringing him into my arms. I'll hold him and speak softly. Tell him that I know something is bothering him, but i won't ask him to tell me anything. Tell him that we need to find a more productive way to release this energy in his body, and ask him how he wants to proceed. Sometimes we'll go out on a walk. Sometimes we'll lift weights. Sometimes we'll play a video game. Sometimes we'll draw. Sometimes we'll cook. Just something to get his body moving and his mind on something else for a while.

At times, he won't know how he wants to proceed. He can't think of anything he'd want to do. That is when I offer up myself. If he wants, he can have me. 9 times out of 10 in that situation he will say yes. (The other 1 of 10 times we will just end up cuddling for a while.)

It is at this point that once we are in the bedroom (our stress relief sex is always in the bedroom where we are safest and coziest <3) that I gently usher him through everything. I'm readying our bed while I have him go splash his face in the bathroom. When the bed is done and he comes out, I am undressing him; removing all but his shirt (more on that soon). I will dress down to either just my bra or full nudity depending on the vibe. I'm getting him on the bed, kissing his body, hitting all his sensitive spots, caressing his hips, whispering sweet nothings to him. Doing basically everything but touching him in that spot bc he's more slow to warm up in these times. I just focus on loving on him gently. I don't start touching him there until he either moves my hand to it, or asks me to. Usually by then it is a solid pole and it's hot 🌡. I'll stroke him for a little bit and we'll kiss until he's ready to flip us over.

Missionary is his chosen position just about every time he's using my body for stress relief. He wants to see me. He wants to see into me. He wants me to see him. He wants me to see something in him. To show me something he cant find the strength to say in words.

At any other time in missionary we are very close quarters. Most of our bodies are touching. It is very intimate.

Not to say this is not intimate, but there is a marked level of tension in the air that is not sexual. Like, his state of mind manifests itself physically in that missionary at these times is at arms length as he is above me.

He'll start with a slow grind as he feels things out; his brows furrowing upwards as he tries to focus on the good sensations, grunting here and there. When he starts feeling it is when he'll take the hem of his shirt and put it in his mouth. He needs to bite on something. The grinding becomes more of a deep ramming, and he goes from grunting here and there to a bit more whiny/whimpery.

And its like AUGH. Cus the visual AND him whimpering is so HOT but I hate it has to come from circumstances that bother him. Bc I can still see it in his eyes.

Between my own mewls here and there i am murmuring to him, affirming him, complimenting him, reassuring him, just being present with him.

When he's getting close, his eyes will flutter closed. And I want nothing more than to pull him close. But I leave him where he desires to be until his eyes clench and he spills inside me.

I don't always get to finish with these sessions, but that's okay. He'll apologize for it in those instances, but I shush him. I just wanna support him fr. I'm happy to hold him again at the end of it all.

I love him sm he is my baby he is my everythiiiinnnggggg 🥹🧡.

With me, it’s not so much progressive stages of stress, but more so 3 differing kinds. Different ways I instinctively deal with a given situation.

Type 1: Head full

I can’t stop thinking about whatever is bothering me. I'm getting in my head; overthinking about the occurrence that disturbs me, replaying it over and over, pondering how it could have gone differently, having realizations after the fact, wishing i would have said something different to better get my point across, drowning in the crippling ordeal of being perceived the wrong way, knowing I should not be this affected and yet continuing to feel. My face feels like stone and my head begins to hurt. I am increasingly aware of the tension in my brows, trying to make sure I don't look mad or something. I feel warmer the longer I think. Especially in the face. I feel my pulse more.

Similarly to Ichigo in his first stage, if he asks me about whatever bothers me, I am more likely to tell him about it in this type of stress response. We can talk it out. Maybe there will be some reassurance, some criticism, some advice, etc. He is there to make me feel heard so I can get the racing thoughts out of my head. So I can move on with my daily life frfr and not be trapped in this simmering emotion.

Type 2: Head empty

Stress is weighing on me. I am frustrated, but whatever situation I was put in is something I am still actively navigating; perhaps by obligation. I have no choice but to continue to try to push through it. But because I don't have the space to overthink, I instead shut down and just go through motions trying to get through to the other side. Until I can breathe again. And by that time I am just tired. Too tired to begin to overthink even then. A little relieved things are over but still can't quite believe I was put under that much stress. Especially so if it wasn't because of my doing.

When in this type of stress response, like his second stage, if possible, I tend to be more to myself. I feel like if I try to explain things to someone that they just won't understand my thoughts and be somewhat careless and uncaring with their response. The weight of that possibility is too much for me. The amount of emotional effort it takes to express myself when I'm that bothered is not worth risking. Even just practicing in my head or out loud alone if I feel somewhat resolved to do so will have me shedding tears.

Sometimes when I get like this, I assure Ichigo that I trust him. I see that my being this way is bothering him. I feel that I need to let him know that i'm aware he would never try to hurt me. I just... can't bring myself to talk about whatever is going on. Other times he already knows and is ready to just do what he can to support me.

This is where sometimes he will offer himself up sexually for stress relief. When I am in this type of stress, his typical move is to eat me out. As long as we have been together, I am still shy about this man giving me head. I will be a blushing mess and can barely look at him. Also I feel his view looking up at me is probably so unappealing??? This is all strategic on his part, though.

Since I can't tell him of my stress, this is his way of having me be vulnerable to him in another fashion. He will hold me firmly by the legs or hips to keep me from squirming, to keep me from humping his face too much, to allow him control of the situation and hindering me from hiding or running away. When he's doing this, he is making sure my eyes stay on him too and it burns me from the inside out. And he knows it, staring back at me with his tongue between my legs. If I break our shared gaze he will either tell me to look at him or stop his ministrations until I look back at him.

It can be a long song and dance that pushes me to tears, but he's resolute. If it gets to that point, he will hold my hand to comfort me, but nothing else changes. I will be crying when I cum as I drown in the depths of his pools of brown. Once the waves of orgasm finish washing over me is when he allows me to look away. When I start to squirm a bit and sob shakily; fisting at my eyes.

He'll give me a minute to process the physical and emotional release before he's caressing me, and moving in to hold me. Telling me how proud he is and that no matter how much i looked away or how stubborn I was that I did good. Reassuring me that he's here and everything is gonna be okay <3.

Type 3: Avoidance

A certain something I do not want to face looms on the horizon, bringing up an anxiety in me that I cannot always place. I keep telling myself I have more time, that I will get to it, and do other things instead that I enjoy, or simply get rest, as a chronic procrastinator does. I've gotten quite a bit better about it over the years I think, but sometimes I do have that nagging itch, to turn my gaze the other way and keep the stress at bay. Slowly letting it creep closer and closer until it is upon me, and more stress inducing than it ever had to be.

The sex that happens for relief in this instance of stress response is usually a while after the fact of the stressing event. My own choice to ignore whatever I didn't want to face leading to a compounding of high stress and being forced into action is not a good time for it lmao.

Ichigo did warn me multiple times about this upcoming stressor, but uh... 🧍🏾‍♀️. My brain said no sibnfkernbikdfd.

It will be a 50/50 on if he decides to help me in the moment or leave me to deal with it myself. Extremely valid of him ngl. A girl needs to learn sometimes ✊🏾😔.

He doesn't take joy in me being stressed though, of course. Once what I needed to get done is all said and done, he will move in to help me decompress. Not always in a sexual way, but when it is, he goes all in. Wants to get me to a point where I'm so blissful I can't even think, stress be condemned to hell.

Ichigo will set up our room. With candles (on candle warmers cus he's safe like that uwu), rose petals, music and all. Will have me undress and lay on the bed on my stomach. Get me nice and oiled up as rubs me down with a full body massage, gently working the tension out of my muscles. Once he's done I'm nearly falling asleep, but he'll have me position myself so there is a pillow under my hips and I am hugging another pillow.

From there, my man will commence hitting it from the back. Again, he isn't really holding me down, but holding me firmly (not that I planned to move much anyway lol).

Also note that when he is doing this he is again at arms length above me; considering that I may still need that space as he does when I let him use my body for stress relief. (what a thoughtful sweetie 🥺)

He will make me cum no less than three times. He will hold me firmly as mentioned before until I cum the first time. Leading up to the second time, his touch is more light; more comforting. His hands, big and warm, are rubbing circles into my skin, stroking down my back, etc. Leading up to the third time, his thrusts are a lot slower, but deeper. He stops sometimes to kiss down my back before continuing his movements. He's calling me his pretty girl and telling me how much I deserve this; how much he loves me.

Rounds past that point could be anything fr. But know that by the end of it all, my heart is full, my puthy is full, my mind is full but only of him, and I am crying bc I am in utter euphoria 🕊️.

WHEW ‼️

thank u for putting your eye bawls to my yap session 😌💞.

[sosadraws]

Haii, Sosaaa! Okay, so i wanna get into animation BUT I'm really new. Lucky for me I know someone who's awesome at animating (that's you btw) so I need your expertise. What program do you use, and also do you have any tips for a newbie?

Aww Jay, you flatter me~✨but before answering I must put the disclaimer that I'm just a hobbyst animator with no formal training, that during quarintine thought "Oh woah, these Multiple Animation Projects that people do in YT are so cool! I want to join them!" and started learning by herself. Take everything I say with a grain of salt.

First things first: I mainly use TV Paint. However I'm not letting you spent money on paid stuff you don't even know you'll like, so here are some free alternatives that I've used as well:

Krita is mostly a drawing program, but it also has a animation interface. The red and black parts of the Helena AMV were made with this.

Flipaclip is kinda neat phone/tablet app for when you want to animate on the go, but it can also feel more limiting since various features have to be unlocked by watching ads or getting the premuim version (in typical app fashion, I guess...)

Blender, while mainly meant for 3D animation, also has been developing Grease Pencil, that allows 2d animation in both 2D or 3D spaces. And the lines are vectors, so you can edit them after drawing them and such.

You can even use normal drawing programs. I've animated with Paint Tool Sai and Medibang by drawing all the frames, saving each frame as a image in sequence (001, 002, 003...) and putting them together in some editing program or gif maker. It's possible, but it's more work.

There's also OpenToonz, which is an open source version of the software used by Studio Ghibli in some movies?? I haven't used this one, but I'll leave it here in case you want to give it a try.

For editing (In the rare scenarios where I do fancy editing) I use After Effects. I can't personally recommend any free substitute, but as far as I've read, DaVinci Resolve seems like a good replacement.

Now, regarding actual animation advise, I won't explain the principles or terminology because:

It's very overwhelming since it's A LOT of information, specially for a beginner

I work mostly by vibes, so there are concepts I don't undertand well enough to explain to others

Instead I'll foward you this whole book that goes in detail about all that technical stuff.

That being said, at the end of the day, hand-drawn animation is drawing main poses (aka key poses) and then drawing a bunch of more drawings in between until the drawings together look like they move.

So yeah, it's a lot of work,

....but it doesn't have to be tedious work~ 👀✨

As a hobbyst I live for the philosophy of vibing during the process instead of chasing perfect results, and I'm assuming that you just want to try for funsies and not that you're trying to become a pro industry animator anyways. Here are my personal tips to make the animation process more bearable:

1- Pick something you love! Seriously, any long task becomes more bearable when it's about a theme or character you enjoy. There's a reason why most of my animations have been about HnK or Signalis,

2- SIMPLIFY THAT DESIGN! Before you even pick the pencil, I want you to really look at the design of whatever you're going to animate and ask yourself "Are all the details in this design really necessary?" Every extra detail really starts to add when you have to draw the same thing multiple times for a single second of animation. You don't need to add all the robotic details on replika bodies, or draw every single stripe a tiger has, to put an example.

3- Keep it simple! At some point you might have a cool idea of an anime style epic battle with looks of cool explosions, camera angles, awesome fighting choreograpies and whatnot; but you first have to start small or else you'll get overwhelmed and not finish anything (been there, done that). Start with something simple like a bouncing ball, or if you're feeling brave, a walk cycle or a character turning their head. In that same sense, remember the book I linked? Don't try to learn all of it at once, go one step at a time.

4-Use references! On google images there are multiples breakdowns of things like run, flight or walk cycles, for example, and you can even use youtube videos! (tip: pause the video and use "," and "." to move back and forth between frames). In case you need help with a very specific pose or movement, you can use yourself or a friend recreating the pose irl (yes, the process is very embarrasing, and yes, the results are worth it)

4- You don't have to animate/redraw everything everytime. We aren't going for Oscar winning levels of animation here anyways. It's ok to copy and paste across different frames, only animate certain parts of the body and leave the rest static, panning the camera to simulate movement... Listen, if actual standars profesionals cut corners, why can't we? We aren't even getting paid for this!

6- It's ok to suck at first. My first animation was this kitty back in 2016,

and here's this Elster from last year doing similar movements.

It's not perfect by any means, but I feel like both art and animation-wise there has been some improvement. And I guess that right now I could remake it and make it even better, but that's because I got more experience and a better eye at finding mistakes and how to solve them, and you get that with practice.

...So yeah, there's that, have fun in your animation endeavors 👍✨