#Memory Mapped I/O

[gu6chan]

ouaaaaaghhh i've been on a bit of a pokemon binge lately......... i should crack open my old pokemon games and take a peek at my teams :,) i wish i still had my old copy of conquest and black 2 though............ :(

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

i need everyone to know that i bloody love the lotr films and i went from grinning like an idiot to gesturing wildly and trying to remember my sheet music bc I KNOW THAT ONE IVE PLAYED IT to crying bc of current or future tragedy or suddenly remembering that with the passing of this age all the magic we see will fade if it hasn't already. but also i will NEVER forgive them for the sound of boromir's horn, the great horn of gondor, passed through ages and generations to call for aid that shall always be heard by allies when it is within or at the bounds of gondor and its surrounding lands, because i was this close to crying and then this bloody horn STARTS BLARING LIKE A FUCKING CAR HONKING AND INSTEAD OF CRYING ALL OF US WERE LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY LIKE LITERALLY EVERY OTHER HORN SOUNDS SO COOL WHAT THE FUCK YOU FUCKING DESTROYED THAT SCENE I MEAN I STILL CRIED BUT ONLY AFTER I COULDNT HEAR THE BLOODY HORN ANYMORE THAT IS SPECIFICALLY SUPPOSED TO ALSO INVOKE EMOTION AT LEAST WHEN YOU'RE AS WEIRD ABOUT LOTR AS I AM WHAT THE FUCK I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THAT PETER FUCKING JACKSON AND EVERYONE WHO LET THIS HAPPEN

[kurooh]

would literally risk it all for muscly osamu...like when he has you trapped under him and he has his biceps around you in a headlock...could you please write a little drabble on osamu muscle brainrot 🙏

being manhandled… 🧘‍♀️ you are onto something babes

osamu doesn’t take it well when you, as he puts it, try to ‘run’ from him. dragging your hips away and whining his name, complaining about how it’s too much so many times that your words start to run into each other—he doesn’t want to hear it.

he arches a brow and loops his arm around your neck in a way that makes you gasp. “stop kiddin’ yerself, babe.”

“‘samu,” you wail, sounding more pathetic than you intend, “wai—wait, it’s too much . . o-oh, i can’t.”

his abs flex against your lower back as he presses himself into you, nibbling at your neck. osamu’s got no idea as to why you doubt yourself so much, but it’s probably just a side effect of being fucked so well—you’re drunk on him, and getting dumber with every inch.

cream spills from your overflowing cunt, sloppily running down your inner thighs in thin rivulets while the rest squelches at the base of his cock. he almost feels bad for you, although he looks over your wrecked body with a sense of primal delight.

fuck, you’re shaking from the sting of having your ass slapped sore and then because of the way he’s fucking you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to.

thick muscle ripples under his skin, and osamu’s arm gets a little tighter around your neck. “yer talkin’ too much, baby. ya know ya can, and ya will.”

you moan deliriously, arching against him as if that was all you’d been waiting to hear. the corners of his lips lift in amusement, and he nips at your skin, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“like it when yer told what to do, huh?”

tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you whimper, called out. the tip of his cock kisses deeply, passionately against that sweet spot inside you, and it doesn’t help you to stay steady on all fours. osamu’s arm flexes again, and he rears back onto his knees, keeping you pinned against his chest.

you’re so cute, shaking like a leaf and mumbling his name now that his cock is able to go much deeper. “ya do, don’t ya? fuck, my baby’s so nasty.”

“all yours, osamu,” a sob leaves your parted lips and you reach desperately for your clit, “just don’t stop, ngh—right there, gonna make me cum.”

all his, huh? just for saying that, he’s gonna give you the most euphoric orgasm humanly possible. osamu’s faster than you, getting his fingers on your clit and touching just the way you like—you grasp at his fingers and grind into them.

it’s hard to say anything coherent when you’re seeing this many stars, and osamu’s cock twitches, just a little further from the edge than you are.

“f-fuuuck, oh my god—cumming, ‘m cumming!”

you ride the blissful wave, squeezing hard around his cock and dripping more sweetened slick. still rocking his hips into you, osamu holds you like a doll, mapping your body out with his touch and committing everything to memory. you’re shuddering by the time you come down, panting into his bicep and sinking comfortably into his grasp.

“good, baby. that was good,” he murmurs against the nape of your neck, feeling the pressure grow tighter in his body. “wanna be a doll ‘n give me another?”

[kyri45]

ISAT Sequel - Sky: CotL Mix/Au

So! I'm making this AU since so many elements about The Forgotten Island remind me of the Kingdom of Sky, and since I REALLY want a sequel, I'm making a masterpost of all the parts, worldbuilding, headcanons and fanart based on this!

Part 1: Beach of Dawn

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9

Part 2: Into the Forest

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

Intermission: A Shortcut

1 - 2 - 3

Part 3: Through the Valley

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16

Part 4: Up the Vault

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

Part 5: The Eye of the Wish

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14

P a r t 6 : T h e V o i d

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11

Part 7: The Light

1 - 2 -

Other art

Siffrin Sky!AU fanart

Forgotten Country / Island Map

Worldbuilding

Headcanon Masterlist

Forgotten Country, AKA The Kingdom of Stars

Use of Wish Craft instead of lights/flames

The dock (based on Isle of Dawn)

Spotify Playlist! (CONTAINS SPOILERS!)

Premise:

After travelling to Bambouche, rumors starts to spread about an Island appearing and dissapearing through the fog and clouds at the horizon. After Siffrin opens up about his home, the family decides to head towards the Island to find possible hints that could break the Wish, bringing back the memories and the colors as well.

And now that Siffrin created the first fracture, it might just be possible to save his home.

[wonderjanga]

Where Have you Been?

This is inspired by this post.

Billy was having a rough day. Scratch that. A rough couple of months. Recently, he’s been… losing himself? He doesn’t know how to put it into words. It’s just that more he’s Marvel, the more he forgets about being Billy. In all honesty, it’s scaring him. What’s even worse is that, no matter what others think, he isn’t in control anymore, and Billy knows it. One moment, he’ll just be Billy Batson and then the next he’ll be Marvel with no recollection of even saying the word. Billy truly wished he hadn’t noticed the gaps in his memory getting bigger.

Speaking of memory gaps, Billy had a pretty big one to fill considering all he did was go to bed, and was then greeted with the misfortune of waking up on a random beach with the lower half of his body slightly wet from the tide. All he knows is that he’s not near Fawcett, let alone Iowa, because last he checked, it was a landlocked state. So, he got up, and decided to go find out where he was.

Billy: *wandering around while shaking any sand off himself, eventually spotting a flag* “Oh! I’m in… I still have no idea.”

Glasses Lady: *approaches him* “Por que você não está na escola?” (Translation: Why aren’t you in school?)

Billy: *frog blinks* “Huh?”

Billy was… pretty sure that was Spanish. So he’s probably still on earth. Maybe. After a little bit of back-and-forth, the Glasses Lady finally realized he couldn’t understand what Billy was only half sure was Spanish. In the end, she just started taking him around to find somebody who could speak English.

Glasses Lady: “¿Você fala inglês? Acho que este é o filho de um turista.” (Translation: Do you speak English? I think this is a tourist's son.)

Old Granny: “Não. Pobre garoto.” *leans down to pinch his cheek* (Translation: “No. Poor boy.)

Billy: *confused as to why this random old lady is pinching his cheek*

Eventually, after a while, they did find somebody who could speak English.

Billy: “Do you know where I am, miss?”

College Student: “You’re in Brazil.”

Billy: “Brazil??” *sounds super concerned* “Isn’t that in South America? I think?”

College Student: “It is. How did you even get here? Are you on vacation?”

Billy: “No? I just woke up here.” *wondering how he’s gonna explain this to Rosa*

College Student: “What?” *also now concerned because she thinks this child might’ve been a victim of trafficking*

Billy: “Uhm… you have like a map that you can show me?”

College Student: “I don’t think a map will help you, bud.”

Billy: *shrugs* “Theres always the chance it could, miss.”

College Student: “I guess?” *pulls up google maps*

Billy: *zooms out so he can just see the countries* “Oh okay. So not that far away.”

College Student: “You’re plenty far away what are you talking about? Also, why’re you sandy?” *wipes off some sand her phone*

Billy: *ignores both questions* “Do you know which way is north?”

College Student: “Uh… it should be that way.” *points in the direction*

Billy: “Oh thank you!” * is about to runoff, but looks back at the Glasses Lady* “And gracias?” *looks to the College Student* “That how you say it right?”

College Student: “No, that’s Spanish.” *shakes head* “It’s supposed to be obrigado.” (Translation: Thank you.)

Billy: “Oh, obrigado!” *definitely butchered the pronunciation and runs off to he north*

College Student: “Wait, come back!”

As soon as Billy was out of sight, he shazamed and flew in the direction she pointed in. Now, the boy wouldn’t admit this, but he actually flew slower than normal. He didn’t wanna think about the future confrontation with Rosa, not to mention his other family members. Was he prolonging the inevitable? Yes. Did he feel guilty? Also, yes. Did that mean he was gonna speed up though? …No.

Billy was just passing over Mexico when his JL comm started going off like crazy.

Marvel: *answers his comm*

Batman: “Marvel. Watchtower. Now.”

Marvel: “Huh? Why did I do something wrong?”

Batman: “You went AWOL for three weeks, and then the first sign we find that you’re alive is a video of you partying at a Mardi Gras parade in Brazil. I really wonder what you did wrong.”

Billy was straight speechless for a solid minute. Three weeks? Three weeks? The memory gap was way bigger than he thought.

Marvel: *trying to find words* “I- I’m gonna be honest I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He honestly felt like crying. Genuine, ugly, crying. Because now he knows it’s gotten to a point where he can’t shrug this off anymore. He could do one day. He could do two days. He’s even gone a week before. But three weeks? That’s nearly a month and he doesn’t remember anything. Billy was now being forced to acknowledged how big of a problem this was.

By now, he had stopped, still floating in mid air.

Batman: “Is that you confirming you were too intoxicated to reach out to us or-”

Marvel: “Mr. Batman Sir, I really can’t talk right now.” *can feel himself starting to hyperventilate* “I’ll come by later. I promise.”

Batman: “No, not later. Immediately. We all want a word with you.”

Marvel: *grimaces* “I’m sorry. I just really can’t right now. I’m really sorry.” *hangs up*

Billy just started hyperventilating after that. His chest felt tight, his world felt like it was one the brink of crashing down. He needed to go see the wizard. He needed help. The wizard could definitely help. So, he went to the rock.

Wizard: *sounds solemn* “I’m sorry, Billy.”

That was literally all the old man told him before he started talking about how the gods were starting to exert more of their influence on him. And he basically had no say, say in some of the things he would start to do from now on. Just when Billy’s life couldn’t get harder. Please, Gods, give him a break.

[senualothbrok]

Carried Away

Summary: A response to @dekariosclan 's request for some good old fashioned boring bed sex with Gale. (Read the ask as it's a masterpiece of smut in itself). I hope this is boring enough for you, my dear 🫶 (it became more tender than hot, I hope this is ok😅)

Word count: 817

Disclaimers: NSFW. Smut. Vaginal sex / penetration.

AO3 link

When a rustle of cool air tickles your shoulder, you clutch at the blanket. Cocooned in the darkness of sleep, you are vaguely aware of the warmth of his body, his tired heave as he slides into bed beside you. You roll towards him, the scent of his teaching robes still clinging to his pores.

“What time is it?” you croak.

“Four o’ clock,” he breathes. “Go back to sleep.”

You grizzle. As his arm drapes over you, you bury your nose in the silk of his hair.

“So late,” you mumble.

Memory flickers in your slumber. The untouched dinner left on his desk in the study. His brisk peck on your cheek when you wished him goodnight. Your fleeting resignation as you glanced at the Gale-shaped hole beside you before you blew the candle out.

“Forgive me, my love.” His soft lips graze your forehead. “I got carried away with the modifications I was making to--"

A gaping yawn swallows his words. You nuzzle into him, your fingers seeking his. His legs tangle into yours, the tendrils of sleep wrapping around your bodies. He lets out a small sound, half-moan, half-breath, as his nose settles into the crook between your neck and shoulder. 

It could be minutes or hours. You drift through the veil between dreams and wakefulness, Gale’s breathing a soothing rhythm against your skin. From a distance, you feel the firm brush of his toes against your calf, a hard heat whispering against your thigh.

You ignore it at first. But a gentle pressure is circling your nipple, trailing down to your navel. A faint wetness tingles on your earlobe, his rasp trembling through you like a siren. Your lips search the roughness of his beard as you press against him. 

His mouth is open when you find it. His length nestles into your core, firm and insistent. Your tongues are lazy and slow as you savour his taste, thick with sleep and stupor and need. In the blind haze of exhaustion and desire, you do not need speech. Nor do you need light to find the points of each other’s pleasure, imprinted on your senses like an ancient map. 

He does not need to ask when he hooks his knee around your waist, pulling you closer. You do not need to check before your hand dips into his briefs to free the thrust of his cock. It surges against your touch as you skim his leaking tip, tracing the veins that twitch on his girth. You know them as well as the lines on your own palm, the heady fragrance of his musk. You relish each other’s groans as you lift your leg over his, guiding him into your waiting folds. And when, with one long stroke, he fills you to the brim, the ache that flares is like a spell. 

Your fingers fist into his tousled hair, the peaks of your nipples rubbing raw against his chest as he rocks. He clasps the cheeks of your ass in a silent demand, and you whimper as you angle your leg wider, inviting him deeper, into the deepest parts of you, reserved for him alone. You arch your back as he pumps into you with growing urgency. A throbbing hunger pulses with his every pant and plunge. You are fully awake now, and so is he.

“I missed you.” He laps and sucks at your mouth, your earlobe, your chin. “Gods, I missed you.”

“I'm here.” You grind against him, desperate for more. For all of him. “I’m yours.”

You clutch at his muscles, hard and taut as he rolls into you with gathering speed, a raging flood against your banks. There is no reserve, no restraint in him, nothing but love and unbridled need. Your walls clench around his stretching stiffness. 

“I love you."

He spasms, a shaking hand cupping your cheek, his forehead pushing against yours in a mist of sweat and sandalwood and desire.

“I love you.”

Your tongues are a ravenous frenzy, his beard a dizzying rasp against your chin. His hips snap furiously as he bottoms out again and again.

“I love you.”

You can no longer tell if it is his voice or yours, or where his touch meets your own in the darkness. You are one body, one soul, and when you cry out and shatter into each other, you cannot tell where his ecstasy ends and yours begins.

He remains inside you as your chests rise and fall, your breaths slackening. Sated, complete, your kisses become languid and halting. When he pulls out, he plants a feather light kiss on the tip of your nose, and you let out a silent laugh. Your fingers remain intertwined as his arm returns to drape over you, where it belongs.

“I forgive you,” you murmur, and you feel him smile into your skin as you sink back into sleep.

***

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[arcane-fox]

The Golden Hour

QZ!Joel Miller x F!Reader | Explicit 18+ MDNI | 2.1k WC | AO3

Summary: On a crisp, autumn morning in the Boston QZ, you wake up in Joel Miller's bed and indulge each other during the golden hour.

Warnings: Reader age undefined. Established relationship. Minor Somnophilia. Unprotected P in V, Oral, Face Riding, Fingering, Cum Eating. Not beta'd.

M A S T E R L I S T | A O 3

The Golden Hour

The morning sunlight was getting bolder, painting stripes on your body as it peeked through the derelict blinds. You were fast asleep. Safe in the arms of your protector on a crisp fall morning in the Boston QZ.

Joel’s arm draped heavy over your side and his body was curled into yours. Your spine flush with his soft belly. He had you held close and his heat was exceptionally soothing underneath the ratty comforter. He pulls you tighter and his bare body carves perfectly against yours, engulfing you in his embrace.  

The bed creaks as he stirs behind you, pressing his semi-hard cock into the small of your back. He stretches to place a gentle kiss on your shoulder followed by another and another. Gentle but wanton as you slumber undisturbed. Your presence in his bed fills him with an eagerness to have you again.

You lightly bat your eyes open as you feel Joel tracing his fingers along the length of your body. His feather touch was gentle, as if he was trying not to wake you while he stole a secret moment with you. Mapping out the curves of your figure and committing it to memory. Tenderly brushing over your scars and bruises that the infected world branded onto you.

His arm curls over your hip and his hand finds the softness of your inner thigh, sliding it up higher and higher until he is at your center. You feel him pause briefly before he drags his fingers over your opening and gently grabs a hold of you. He can’t resist. The tiniest moan escapes your lips and he knows for certain you are awake. He places his mouth on your neckline for another kiss and whispers your name into your ear with the lowest growl. 

You press back into him. His voice and his touch making you wet in your hazy, sleepy state. His mouth messily leaves marks on your neck as he nips at you. You can feel him stiffen more and his movements getting more needy.  

He dips one of his fingers into your opening and curls it deep inside you, holding you even tighter against him while he lets you adjust to his presence. Having Joel inside you feels like home and you welcome him in, offering him the warmest comforts.  

You let out a faint moan as he adds another finger. He uses the heel of his hand to put pressure on your clit as he pins you between his hand and his hardening cock. He drags his fingers in and out of you at a tortuously slow pace, making you clench onto him. His expert hand knows exactly what you need.

You are fully awake now and needy for his touch. Your body was still sore from last night but it didn’t make you want him any less. You couldn’t get enough of him. 

“Mornin’, beautiful.” He whispers into your ear as he pulls his wet fingers from your slit, content with his teasing. He presses another kiss to the back of your shoulder and gently nudges you with his nose, breathing in your scent. His coarse whiskers prickle at your skin. 

You roll over to face him. His hand glides over your side as you turn and he claws his hand over your ass, grabbing you lazily and kneading with his big paw. In one fluid motion he pulls your hips to meet against his and locks eyes with you.

It was astounding how such a violent man could be so docile in the right circumstance. His gentle energy could be felt all over you as his hands kept busy. He was content in enjoying the softness of your skin and the warmth you afforded him. It only fueled your desire to bring out his raw and unleashed side. The side of Joel that had become your vice. 

He rolls onto his back with a groan, taking you along with him. You press your hands into his chest and look down on him. He looks pleased to have you sitting on him like a conqueror. 

The sun catches his grays and it fills you with gratitude that his ruthless survival has rewarded him with aging. A beautiful mark of perseverance too few get to experience anymore. In this moment he makes you feel nostalgic for the way life was before the outbreak. You wonder how much of Joel is left from before. How much of him is real and how much was shaped by what he’s had to do. What he’s done for you. 

He gazes up at you slyly, eyes half lidded. His mess of curls and unruly scruff  makes him look so soft. Comically angelic in the glow from the sun. Not the capable killer you know he is. A handsome devil in disguise on this beautiful morning.  

You lean forward and kiss him. Tasting him and it fills you with desire. Your tongues explore each other in a heated passion. His hands grab at you, one pinching at your nipple and the other sliding down your lower back. His fingertips dig into your spine as your roughness escalates. That inner fire had been ignited and was burning hot.    

You break away from him and pull back to fill your lungs with a delicious breath of air. His chest rises heavily as he does the same. Perched atop him with your legs straddling him, he has a gentle hold on your hips and rubs circles with his thumbs. His resolve to be patient is unwavering.  

His eyes are lustful and you need to have him. He was being so well behaved and restrained and it was turning you on more and more, knowing full well what lies beneath the surface. A conflict between wanting him to ravage you or to indulge in this rarity. 

He lets you dictate what happens next but not without tempting you with his own desires. He wants you just as badly, and nudges you forward. Admiring how delicate you look in the golden, autumnal glow of morning. 

“Let me have a taste of you?” He asks so politely while he pulls you towards him by your hips. You couldn’t say no to him if you wanted to, but you liked him asking so nicely. His innocent disguise was obvious but you let him think he is being cunning. 

“Just a taste.” You accept with a sly grin.  

You give into him willingly and he lifts you onto his face so you are straddling his head. 

He nudges his nose up your slit and grazes your clit. The curve of his nose carved perfectly for the task at hand. You reach your arms out to brace yourself on the headboard and hover over him just barely putting any weight on him. You can already feel your body pulsing for him.

“Sit.” He growls at you and pulls you down onto his face, muffling his command. 

You relinquish your body to him and let him lap at your folds and prod you with his tongue.  He grips you firmly and pulls you into him. Your nerves electrify as he sucks at your clit and drinks in your wetness. His muffled moans of enjoyment sending vibrations through your body as he eats you out.  

His masterful tongue works in tandem with his nose, making your feet curl and your head tip back. Your mouth gapes open as you breathe out his name in ecstasy.  

Your hands scramble to grab onto his hair as he fucks you with his mouth. You can’t hold back any longer and your orgasm washes over you. He relentlessly drinks up every drop he pulls from you while you convulse on top of his face until your body stills.

He places a kiss on your sensitive bud before he gently guides your hip back down to his chest. He wipes your slick off his beard with the back of his hand with a subtle, wicked smile. 

You catch your breath and feel your body still craving to have him inside you. Always hungry for more.      

He gazes back up to you, clocking your needy eyes. He groans as he adjusts his leg and finally acknowledges how hard he is. You want nothing more than to take care of him now.  

His cock comes alive as you slide further back and it falls heavy against his stomach. He was a sight to behold. A beauty you could never get enough of. You reach your hand between your legs and grab him at his base, running your thumb up the underside of his cock. He moans and his body writhes subtly underneath you. He wasn’t going to last much longer. 

His eyes close and his mouth parts open just slightly. He relaxes his body and soaks in your touch. You trace his vein with your fingertips. 

You stroke his length with more vigor and notch the swollen head at your opening, letting it gather your returning slickness. 

With him being so docile you take the opportunity to use his body. You grind against the underside of his shaft. It twitches in your grasp, plump and seeping and soaked from your slick.   

A throaty groan escapes his lips as he tips his head back. He digs into your sides harder as he swells. You take it slow, giving him a taste of his own medicine from when he woke you. Letting him feel your heat grinding against his. 

You can’t wait any longer and need to have him fill you. You position him at your entrance and slowly take him inside you. Just the tip at first. Slow and disciplined. Your lazy morning energy is gaining traction with every inch. The momentum grows and your sensual moment with Joel escalates to a feral spiral.   

He grabs onto your hips and pulls you closer to him, making you sink down all the way on his cock. You gasp at the stretch as he holds you there for a moment. Being filled to the brim with Joel so tightly you marvel at how effortlessly he makes himself at home inside you. 

You watch him grit his teeth as he bucks up into you. With each thrust up he pulls your full weight down, making you scream his name as he pushes inside you deeper and deeper. Neither of you have a care in the world that you are waking up the whole apartment building. You suspect Joel takes pride in making you yell his name, letting everyone know that he has claimed you as your second orgasm surges.     

Your walls clench around him each time he starts to pull out, begging him to stay. He snarls when he can feel your body gripping him so tight and when he can’t wait a moment longer he lifts you off him and pulls out. He grabs his cock and pumps it as he cums, loudly. His cum spurting up and landing on your belly and dripping down to your cunt. His thrusts into his hand slow as the final spurts of cum drip over his hand and his body stills.

You want him to finish inside you, but the risk is too great. Another unfortunate construct on this broken world void of pharmacies and medical practices. He would never put you in a dangerous situation if it could be avoided. 

You take hold of the hand that was wrapped around his cock and bring it up to your lips. You look him in the eyes as you take his finger in your mouth and suck off his cum, slow and seductive. You wanted a taste too, after all. 

Joel stares up at you in a fucked out haze as you lick his second finger clean too. He was haggard and spent but a final spark flickered in his eyes watching you consume him. He had told you often how pretty you looked with his cock in your mouth. You mimicked it with his fingers covered in his mess.   

He cups his free hand on your jawline and pulls you down to kiss him, unphased by your obscene performance just prior.  

You lay down next to him, this time facing the window. He rolls onto his side up against you, stickier and softer than before. His hand stroking up and down your side in a soothing gesture.    

You end up just as you awoke. Wrapped up in Joel Miller’s arms with the golden sunlight, now a little higher in the sky, painting your bodies in shadows. The air smelling of sweat, sex and summer decay. 

He presses a kiss on the top of your head and holds you tight. You drift off together, savoring the final moments of the golden hour as it ticks away.   

Tagging my Loves / Mutuals / Joel girlies I hope will enjoy this 💛

@legendary-pink-dot @magpiepills @for-a-longlongtime @youandmeand5bucks @exquisiteserotonin

@redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @milla-frenchy @itwasntimethatdidit40

@toxicanonymity @rifflovesjoey @pedrospatch @covetyou @alltheirdamn

@moonlitbirdie @tonysopranosrobe @pedropeach @jolapeno @djarinmuse

@mermaidgirl30 @schnarfer @mountainsandmayhem @mothandpidgeon @sin-djarin

@gasolinerainbowpuddles @guiltyasdave @perotovar @sawymredfox @sp00kymulderr

@cavillscurls @hellishjoel @strang3lov3 @aurorawritestoescape @pearlessance

@almostfoxglove @joelsdagger @littlemisspascal @lotusbxtch @burntheedges

Thank you so much for all the love. Comments/Reblogs are so appreciated. My inbox is always open and I want to hear from you! I like making new friends, I want to get to know you all and my super introverted self is putting myself out there 💛

Divider by @saradika-graphics and Banner by me

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen act with their writer s/o

requested by anon ^^

masterlist

seungcheol

he is begging. he is on his knees BEGGING you to pls let him buy you a new laptop because the one you use is literally on its last legs and makes ominous sputtering n whirring sounds like a dying cat stuck in a vent every time you start it up. you don't let him tho bc “no cheol the memories :(((“ cuz you've had it for years but he is nearing the end of his tether and who knows. in a few days ur laptop may mysteriously disappear forever and you'll be forced to let him buy a new one

jeonghan

he's like the pet cat you don't own who likes to slink into the room and make inquisitive noises as he watches you work. drapes himself over your shoulders and makes distressed huffs when you try to dislodge him. he's never usually noticeably clingy, but when you try to write, the clinginess always springs out and you can't go five minutes without jeonghan poking his head into the room to check up on you and see what you're up to

joshua

your biggest fan. buys every single novel you write, puts on his glasses, and reads them very seriously in one go on the very evening it's released with the lamp on beside him. he looks so serious every time, but he'll always peer at you over his glasses and then give you a big grin, telling you how much he loves it. gets you to sign a copy for him and brags to everyone he knows that he has your signed novels with special messages just for him that no one else can have

junhui

he's your personal general knowledge bank. when you're searching up obscure things and slowly losing hope on finding an answer, just ask junhui and he'll either a) know the answer or b) knows someone who knows someone else who knows someone else else who knows the answer. don't ask him how to spell words tho bc he's like. hopelessly bad. blinks at you going “what's an [insert word]” before you give up and google it yourself

hoshi

alwaysssss wants to know what you're working on right now. gets all whiny when you get possessive of your work and refuse to show him before it's finished bc come on, it's surely perfect already, why are you trying to hide it from him?? loves helping you do, like, the non writing stuff. writing out plot? nooo. building fantasy maps, figuring out political systems, getting lost on a tangent on figuring out the price of beans in the 1800s? hell yeah sign him up!!! 

wonwoo

knows all the grammar rules in the world. you can ask him stuff like “hey wonwoo can i put a comma here or no” and he'll amble over to peer over your shoulder and tell you whether you can or cannot, in fact, put a comma there. helps you curate all your writing playlists for the different moods you have. gently reminds you to get back to writing whenever you end up scrolling on instagram for too long

woozi

you're even more of a workaholic than he is when in the zone, so he gets to realise how unhealthy it is to be sat in front of a computer for hours straight with no break. you get to act as each other's “let's act like a normal human being now” reminders, depending on which of you is going through a work fixation. you guys both go on runs together in the mornings even though it kills you bc at least it gets both of yo brains kickstarted to spend a day being all creative in ur respective fields

minghao

you value his opinion above anyone else's. above your beta reader's, above your agent's, even above your editor's bc those are more like advice, not opinions. but knowing that minghao likes your work, and knowing which parts in particular he really likes, is so important to you because ultimately, you want the person you love to also love the things that you create. 

mingyu

brings up the fact that you're a writer in every conversation he has with anyone ever. “oh my god look, this menu has writing on it. speaking of writing, my s/o writes actual books as a job!!!!”. your agent made him sign a contract similar to an NDA bc he just keeps yapping about your books even when they haven't been released yet. loves the noises you make whilst you're writing. thinks it's the cutest thing ever when you make overjoyed “AHA!!” sounds when you finally realise what the plot is doing

dokyeom

more than willing to be your rubber duck and let you talk at him until u figure out your own plot holes. he could be in his room scrolling on his phone but the minute you call for him, he's leaping up and bounding over to you and pulling up a chair in an instant, more than willing to let you bounce ideas off him. sits there doing nothing but looking all pretty as you talk at him and work out the tangle you've gotten yourself into. beams and gives you a big kiss when you manage to figure it all out. 

seungkwan

he buys you a biiiig wheely whiteboard and a bunch of coloured board pens to help you plot your novels. when you get stuck, he comes over and stares at the board with his hands on his hips, very gravely considering your dilemma and what would be the best way to get you out of it. you two talk about plot holes like it's the most serious thing in the world and he just nods like a proud father once you both find a solution

vernon

at this point he's like. a professional tea and coffee and biscuits supplier due to the amount of snack runs he does for you. has walked in on you lying face down on the floor during a meltdown one too many times to bat an eye anymore. also great at helping you block out actions during scenes like. he's the perfect doll. lets you maneuver him into the weirdest positions in the world with zero complaints. he just loves helping you however he can, really. 

chan

reads through your drafts whilst you're in the middle of writing, accidentally gets hooked and is begging you every day to finish the novel bc he really wants to know what happens next. he's the best at spotting inconsistencies and plot holes in ur writing so before you even send it off to your beta reader, he gets to have his hands on the manuscript to check for any changes needed. also bc he needs to read the ending asap otherwise he'll probably combust. 

request guidelines

reactions tags: @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @kikohao @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @all-american-fangirl @f1uffyjun @sea-moon-star @nonononranghaee @isabellah29 @mcu-incorrect @hrts4hanniehae @suraandsugar @pan-de-seungcheol @dokyeomkyeom @melodicrabbit @bananabubble

[mathmodder]

GetWildMOD & OceanLifeMOD Launch FOR FREE on my Patreon

I'm thrilled to finally announce the official release of GetWildMOD & OceanLifeMOD, after lots of testing and fine-tuning!

Get Wild Mod: Unleash the untamed beauty of the wilderness with the "Get Wild" mod. This mod transforms your gaming environment by dynamically spawning a variety of animals, from graceful birds that soar through the skies to fascinating ground-dwelling creatures. Immerse yourself in a vibrant ecosystem as you explore the map, encountering wildlife in unexpected and breathtaking moments. The "Get Wild" mod breathes life into your gaming world, creating a dynamic and immersive experience. Know more clicking here

Ocean Life Mod: Dive into the depths of your virtual oceans with the "Ocean Life" mod. This mod introduces a stunning array of marine life that populates the vast waters surrounding your in-game world. From majestic whales to colorful schools of fish, the oceans come alive with the addition of this mod. Explore the depths, witness the beauty of underwater ecosystems, and encounter the wonders of oceanic biodiversity. The "Ocean Life" elevates your gaming experience by adding a new layer of realism and excitement to the aquatic realms. Know more clicking here

What's New:

This version brings fully optimized spawners, so animals now appear much more efficiently! The best part? It's 100% compatible with Smooth Patch, meaning no more CAS issues or lag. While I may still need to tweak a few small details, the mod is ready to enhance your virtual worlds starting today!

How to Install:

Main Files:

Place the file "GetWildMod & OceanLifeMod Override Folder (Math Mod)" in the Mods/Overrides directory.

Place both "GetWildMod and OceanLifeMod Animals Package File (Math Mod)" and "GetWildMod Spawner Package File (Math Mod)" in the Mods/Packages directory.

Optional Addons:

For additional features, you can also install the three optional addons:

GetWildMod Addon 1 - Enhanced Butterflies spawns Wildlife too!

GetWildMod Addon 2 - Enhanced Will-o'-the-wisp Butterflies spawns Wildlife too!

GetWildMod Addon 3 - Enhanced Fireflies spawns Wildlife too!All optional addons should be placed in the Mods/Packages directory as well.Important: If your PC doesn’t have a lot of memory, I recommend not installing all optional addons at once to avoid performance issues.

Support My Work:

If you enjoy the mods and would like to support me in continuing my projects, please consider subscribing to my Patreon. Your support motivates me to keep creating and improving these mods, and it helps bring more content to life for all of us. 💖✨

Important Note:

Though this is the full release, I still appreciate any feedback or reports on issues you may find. Your input helps refine the experience for everyone! Feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr or Patreon.

I can’t wait to hear your thoughts and see how GetWildMOD & OceanLifeMOD brings your worlds to life! 🌿🐠✨

Head to my Patreon to download the official release now for FREE!

Math Modder | The Sims 3 Mods and MO-MO-MORE! | Patreon

[hellskitchenswhore]

Headcanons for Matt with an s/o with skin texture?? Like acne/strawberry skin/stubble on their legs/even tattoos? How do you think he’s react? I mean we know he likes soft things with his senses and most authors write readers as having smooth skin but that’s not realistic for a lot of people. I wonder if it’d cause any insecurity in the relationship? Would love to hear your take

A headcanon request?? For MOI???

I don't get many HC requests, as I'm not much of a writer, but I'm happy to share my thoughts!

Also, I HIGHLY recommend both Insecurities and Skin to Skin by @courtforshort15. Both deal with the reader having skin issues and are very very very good!

Now, for my thoughts:

I think Matt's senses doesn't necessarily mean that he dislikes textured things. In fabric, sure. But in your skin? You're ALWAYS soft, even if you have texture. You're still literally skin-soft. And more importantly, you're you.

I think he'd love the texture of your skin. He'd memorize every sensation, every rise and valley, like a map. Something thats uniquely you, like the way you smell or the exact sound of your breathing when you sleep. There's no mistaking it, its just another way of committing you to memory.

Gentle mornings running his fingertips over the bumps on your legs like little dots of braille telling the most beautiful story he's ever known

Bonus: I'm convinced he's that guy who knows all the holy grails of skincare. Like those old italian grandmas who still have perfect skin at 80 because they know exactly whats the good old fashioned stuff and whats the new 'flash in the pan' bullshit

[redroomreflections]

Paint It Black Chapter Seven

Teen Natasha Romanoff x Teen Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has never known love—or at least, that’s what she tells herself. During her time in the Red Room, she encountered a girl whose memory was forcibly erased from her mind. Now, as an Avenger, she faces a new enemy who turns out to be more than just a threat; they share a tangled history that challenges everything Natasha thought she knew about herself and love.

Chapter Summary: Natasha learns that she and R aren't friends

W/c: 3.9k

Warnings: This is a dark story, so read at your own risk. Mentions/hints of SA, violence, guns, and abuse. We're exploring the Red Room and Natasha's origins, kind of.

The car was too quiet. The sound of tires gliding along the pavement of I-95 was barely a whisper.

In the backseat of the large sedan, Natasha blinked slow and groggy. Her head leaned against the cool window, hair splayed against her forehead and a faint line of condensation where her breath had touched the glass. She attempted to orient herself.

It was still night. Or was it early morning? It was too dark to tell. Natasha was vaguely aware that the car was moving, and the driver seemed to be navigating. But where were they going? Natasha closed her eyes again. She was so tired, but she forced her mind to review the details of the last few hours, the last few days.

"Hey, are you awake?" You whispered from somewhere beside her.

Natasha opened her eyes again, this time blinking at you. She sat up straight, her hand twitching toward her side instinctively. No weapons. No harness. No blindfold. From what she could see, you looked different. Dressed in a simple black zip-hoodie, pleated plaid skirt, and a pink backpack at your feet. You sat with perfect posture, eyes trained forward, and hands folded neatly in your lap like you’d always known how to be still.

“Morning,” you said. Your voice—no accent. Just pure, effortless American.

It was jarring.

Natasha blinked again. “Where—”

“We’re almost there.” You kept your tone light, like girls on a school trip. “It’s not far. Do you want the briefing now or once we’re inside?”

Natasha’s eyes flicked to the front seats.

The man driving looked mid-40s, tall, clean-shaven. Sunglasses. The woman in the passenger seat had cropped hair and flawless skin. She tapped something on a map and didn’t look back.

“They’re with us,” you murmured. “Their names for this mission are Ken and Karen. I know.” You smirked a little, almost like it amused you. “They do black ops usually, but Dreykov wanted them on this one. You’ll be playing my best friend from boarding school. Your name is Lizzie. You’re here on vacation with my parents for spring break.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “Why Lizzie?”

“Because you look like a Lizzie,” you said simply. “And because someone already took Emma.”

You didn't smile, but there was a glimmer of humor in your voice. Something that sounded almost like an inside joke.

Natasha's mind reeled. It had been so long since she was outside the Red Room's walls. And she had never been to New York City.

You turned your head slightly, watching the highway pass by. “We’re staying in a penthouse overlooking Central Park. Karen has documents in her bag—IDs, school transcripts, letters from ‘friends’ back home. Our goal this week is to observe and record. Target details will come after dinner. First, we act like normal kids.”

Natasha studied you. Your voice. Your confidence. You sounded like a girl from Connecticut, not a girl raised in shadows.

“Have you done this before?” she asked.

You nodded once. “Yeah. A few times.” A pause. “It’s been a while, though.”

The man driving glanced at you in the mirror. “We’re one hour out.”

Natasha didn’t have to ask what that meant. The change was immediate.

You leaned into the seat, your expression relaxed. The lines on your forehead softened, and you slumped your shoulders just a bit.

She wasn't ready for this mission. She barely understood the objective.

But you did.

*****

The revolving doors spun you into a quiet lobby of marble and air conditioning. The lobby was sleek and minimalist as if it were designed not to be remembered. The floors were polished and reflected the soft yellow lighting from above. There was a citrus smell wafting in the air. It certainly wasn't the most expensive apartment building in New York, but it beat the Red Room any day. You walked over to one of the couches, your backpack slung low on your shoulders, as you plopped onto the soft cushions. You grabbed last month's cover of Seventeen Magazine and flipped through it curiously.

Natasha stayed a step behind, shoulders relaxed but alert. She wore a light hoodie and sneakers, her hair tied back like any twelve-year-old on a family vacation.

At the front desk, Karen leaned forward with a practiced laugh, chatting with the doorman as she lived there. Because she did, she’d been building this life for months. Ken stood nearby, keys in hand, nodding like a man who’d just flown back from a conference in San Diego.

The doorman greeted you like old friends.

“Glad to see you back, Mrs. Porter,” he said.

“Thank you, Paul,” Karen replied warmly. “This is our daughter Emma and her friend Lizzie. They're back from boarding school for the week. Girls, say hello."

You glanced up from the magazine. You gave a polite wave. "Hi, Mr. Paul."

Paul smiled kindly. He looked at Natasha. "I hope you have fun this week, Miss Lizzie."

"Thank you," she said.

The elevator dinged.

As Karen and Ken stepped over to it, Ken glanced meaningfully at the suitcases. “Ladies?”

Natasha moved to grab two of them. You didn’t budge.

Karen turned sharply. “Emma,” she said—your alias. “What did we talk about?”

You blinked slowly like a teen dragged into something you didn’t care about. “Ugh, fine.” You tugged a small bag half-heartedly.

Natasha didn’t miss the flicker of annoyance in Karen’s eyes before the mask slipped back into place. The act mattered. Every detail. Every look.

Inside the elevator, you leaned casually against the mirrored wall while Natasha stood beside you, bags in hand.

“You’re good at this,” Natasha said quietly.

You shrugged. “You get used to it.”

There was a pause, which felt too big for the space you were in.

“You sound different,” Natasha added.

You gave her a sideways look. “You mean American?”

“You sound like someone else.”

You smiled—but it didn’t reach your eyes.

"Isn't that what we are?" you said.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

Natasha felt a strange weight on her chest, and she wasn’t sure what it meant.

*****

The penthouse was massive—three bedrooms, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a view of Central Park that stretched out like a painting. Natasha had never seen anything like it. Everything gleamed as if it had never been touched, as if the air was filtered and expensive.

The kitchen was fully stocked and spotless. The master bedroom had a tub big enough to swim in. It didn’t feel like a safe house. It felt like a life that didn’t belong to people like you.

Karen and Ken disappeared into the study with the equipment they had retrieved from the suitcases, already arguing in that quiet, clipped tone adults used when they didn’t want the kids to hear. Natasha couldn’t make out the words, but she caught the edge in Ken’s voice, the way Karen’s jaw tightened before she shut the door.

You turned to her, all casual, all ease. "Come on, I’ll give you the tour."

You opened doors like a game show host, voice light, but a little too rehearsed. “Living room, obviously. That’s the TV. The couch is for show—it's terrible. Kitchen’s stocked with fake healthy food.”

Natasha followed silently, watching your body language more than your words. You weren’t bouncing like you usually did. Your shoulders were a little too tight. She wondered if you noticed those things about yourself. Were you as self-conscious as her?

"My room's here," You opened the bedroom door. There was a queen-sized bed, a desk, a bookshelf, and a dresser. The closet was half-full, and the bathroom was spotless. If someone was looking, it would look lived in, but not by you.

"You can have this one," you said. "It's closest to mine."

Natasha watched how your fingers twitched at the edge of the door, the subtle way you held your breath like you were waiting for her to notice something.

She stepped inside. "I'll take it."

There was a brief flicker of surprise in your eyes.

"We can do whatever here in the week," You said.

"Like what?"

"Sleep. Read. Whatever." You shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like none of it did.

Ken’s voice echoed faintly from the study, low and impatient. Your jaw clenched for half a second before you smoothed your face again.

“You okay?” Natasha asked.

You looked at her. Not surprised. Just tired. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Natasha didn’t answer. She just nodded once and glanced across the hall towards your room.

"So, how close of friends are we supposed to be?" she asked.

"Close enough to have sleepovers." You shrugged. "But not so close that we're in each other's rooms all the time."

"That's specific."

"I have a reputation," you replied with a slight grin. "I'm popular."

Natasha snorted.

"It's true," You insisted, still grinning.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Right. I’m sure they cried when you left.”

You laughed softly, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Neither of you said anything after that. The conversation hung for a moment too long, like a thread someone forgot to snip.

Neither of you wanted to keep it going. Natasha crossed her arms and leaned against the wall outside her new room. You shifted your weight, folding your arms too, mirroring her without thinking.

That’s when Karen appeared in the hallway, her tone clipped, mission-focused. “Girls. Living room. Ground rules.”

You straightened, all business, all roughness.

A switch was flipped, and the mask was on.

Karen glanced between the two of you. Her expression was neutral. "You've met before. So I'll keep it short." She held out her hand. "I'm your mother for the week. Ken is your father. This is our vacation house."

"We know," You murmured.

"This is your first time here," Karen continued. "So there are ground rules. We are only on the top floors of the building. Only the four of us have access. If the front desk calls, I'll pick it up. Don't answer unless it's an emergency."

"We're not babies," You said.

Karen's eyes flickered dangerously. "Excuse me?"

You froze.

There was a tense silence that made the skin prickle and the bones shift. Karen had the same stare as the handlers in the Red Room, who could break the strongest girls just by looking at them.

“I don’t care if you don’t like each other. You don’t have to hold hands, but will not draw attention. Got it?” She continued.

“Yes, ma’am,” you both muttered.

Karen’s eyes narrowed. “Louder.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said again, in unison this time.

Just then, Ken passed through the room. He didn’t stop. Didn’t even look at you properly. Just a glance—calm, indifferent. His eyes paused for a beat too long on you, then flicked over Natasha, unreadable.

Then he shut himself in the master bedroom without a word.

Karen didn’t look surprised. Just sighed. “Don’t bother him unless you’re dying. And even then—make it interesting.”

She turned and left, leaving the two of you in silence.

Natasha stared straight ahead.

“Popular, huh?” she said eventually.

You didn’t even turn to look at her. “Undeniably.” You stood to head to your bedroom, leaving Natasha sitting on the couch.

She didn't move for a while. Simply sat with her hands in her lap and her back straight. The apartment was silent, and the skyline was starting to brighten.

It was going to be a long week.

*****

Manhattan Mall was like an amusement park for teens—loud, crowded, glittering. An endless tableau of shopping bags, neon signs, and smells wafting from food courts. Every corner promised something new: ads of 30% off, arcade machines, and the smell of cinnamon pretzels. You and Natasha trailed behind Karen as she guided you from store to store under the excuse of buying “more American clothes.” In truth, it was cover practice. Exposure. It was an opportunity to be seen acting normal, just in case anyone came looking. Just in case the mission went sideways.

You’d never really been shopping, not like that. Your idea of the outside world was fragmented and distorted, filtered through observation windows, briefing folders, and missions that always came with conditions. You’d been shopping before—but always alone, always focused, always with purpose. Never with other girls your age. Never like that.

Natasha didn’t seem nearly as phased. She flipped through the racks like she’d done it a hundred times before, and this was just another normal Tuesday. Karen, meanwhile, kept her distance, eyeing a few racks but never really looking.

You padded up to a rack of jeans and hoodies, fingertips brushing against the fabric. You tried to memorize the colors, the smells, the buzz of the mall around you. Tried to chase the fading, blurry edges of something you weren’t sure was ever real.

You’d been taken when you were four. Four-year-olds remembered things. You should have remembered things. Like your mother’s hair. The tone of her skin. The sound of her voice. What it felt like to be held. What kind of clothes she wore?

But you couldn’t. Not really.

And no matter how hard you stared at the sea of strangers in the mall, no one looked like they might’ve come from your memories.

You'd been taken from a mall like this one. That's the only thing you remembered. One minute, you were riding on a carousel or maybe something else.

The next, your face was pressed against a stranger's shoulder, and you were screaming.

It was all a blur now, but the memory of the scream was clear. It was a scream from the deepest, darkest part of your gut. The type of scream that made your throat raw. The kind of scream no one heard. You wish you remembered more. Memories would help.

"Do you want that shirt?" You heard a voice next to you.

You blinked, glancing up to see Natasha a step away. Her arms were folded, casual, a little bored. 

You blinked, realizing you'd been wearing the same sweater too long. You let go. "No, just looking."

"It's nice," Natasha said.

"Yeah," You agreed.

"You should try it on," Natasha suggested.

You hesitated. You were supposed to be practicing. Supposed to be making decisions like a girl your age.

"I have too many," You said. "Besides, it's not my color."

Natasha studied you. She didn't ask any questions. Didn't push or pull. She simply nodded, then wandered away.

You stood there a moment longer, the noise of the mall coming from all sides. You felt something rise in your chest—something cold and lonely.

"Emma?" Karen appeared suddenly, a bag in her hand. "Let's go. Time to check out."

You blinked. The feeling was gone. "Okay." You moved to follow her but instead turned back to grab the hoodie. She would buy it for you. And you would wear it.

That's how things were done.

Karen took her time paying, and Natasha drifted through the aisles, picking out random things she thought looked interesting. When you finished, the three of you walked out.

Karen turned her wrist to glance at her watch. "It's 3:15. You have 45 minutes to do whatever you want."

"You're not going with us?" Natasha asked.

Karen shook her head. "I have errands to run. Be back at 4:00 sharp."

"Yes, ma'am," you and Natasha both said.

And just like that, she was gone.

You and Natasha walked out into the main corridor.

*****

You walked in silence at first, not knowing what to say to each other and not wanting to look too much like spies. It was strange to think this was your first time speaking to Natasha outside the Red Room.

You passed the arcade.

The glow of neon signs spilled out into the hallway with pulsing reds and blues and greens, the chime of digital prizes, and the crash of video game explosions clashing like some chaotic symphony.

You slowed. Just barely. But Natasha noticed.

She glanced at you, then back at the arcade. “You wanna go in?”

You shook your head quickly. “No.”

She gave a little smirk. “Why not? Afraid I’ll beat you at something?”

“No,” you said too fast. “It’s just not part of the mission.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Karen said we could do whatever we want.”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t used to… whatever this was. Making decisions. Having options. Freedom—even if it was pretend—felt like a trap.

Natasha bumped your shoulder with hers, just a little. “Come on. It’s not a real mission without a little recon.”

You frowned but didn’t stop her when she veered toward the entrance.

And after a second, you followed.

Only to keep her safe.

Natasha exchanged her dollars, which Karen had given her, for coins. Then she walked over to a machine with a yellow fish with colored ghosts.

You watched her curiously. She slid a coin in and started moving the joystick, pushing the button. You didn’t get the appeal. It was loud and crowded. Pac-Man, the screen said.

You stood behind her, arms crossed, watching the little yellow circle gobble dots across the screen. It made no sense—chased by ghosts, only to chase them back when they turned blue. She didn’t look like a killer. But her fingers were fast, sharp, practiced. Like everything else, she did.

“Ever played before?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the game.

You shook your head. “No.”

“It’s not hard. You just keep moving.”

You didn’t say anything. You were too busy watching the ghosts close in.

She lost a life and groaned. “Wanna try?”

You glanced around the arcade. No one was paying attention. No one was watching. Still, you hesitated.

Natasha moved aside. “C’mon. It’s not gonna bite.”

You stepped up. The joystick was a little sticky. You slid a coin in and started the game. For a moment, you were just a girl chasing lights. Then, two ghosts came from opposite ends of the screen, and you panicked, running straight into one.

“Okay,” Natasha said, suppressing a laugh. “That was bad.”

You scowled. “I didn’t know they could corner me like that.”

“They’re not real, you know.”

“I know.” You huffed.“I just didn’t like it.”

Natasha smiled—not smug, just amused. “You wanna try something else?”

You looked around. “What’s that one?”

She followed your gaze to a flashing game with two plastic guns attached to the front. “Time Crisis,” she said. “Now that’s more your style.”

You didn’t smile. But you stepped forward.

And this time, you didn’t hesitate. You were in the zone,

A row of zombies flashed on the screen, and you fired without hesitation, moving side to side, reloading, taking down wave after wave.

"You're pretty good at that," Natasha said. You nodded, way too in tune with the video game. This was nothing like real life. No pain. No consequences.

This was something else.

You didn't stop until the round ended. The timer flashed, and you relaxed.

Natasha studied your face, and you knew she was analyzing your every movement, looking for a flaw.

"Not bad," she said.

You didn't smile, but a part of you felt lighter. "Thanks."

"You don't know how to be a kid, do you?"

"Of course, I do," You raised your chin in challenge.

"I didn't mean it as an insult," She said. Before you could argue back, a boy approached you. He was about your age, sandy brown hair, light eyes, and a blue hoodie on his back. His eyes went straight for Natasha.

"Hi," he said, "I was watching you play, and I just wanted to say it's really impressive."

"Thanks," Natasha replied.

"How do you get so good at games like this?"

"Practice," You murmured.

He smiled at her, not hearing. "You want to go a round together? I'm a total noob, so it would be nice to have someone to play with."

Suddenly, you felt something. A shift, low and heavy, like your stomach had dropped and forgotten how to climb back up. It wasn't anger. Not exactly. It was a quiet irritation that settled in your chest like static—hot, uncomfortable, and impossible to shake off.

You watched as Natasha tilted her head slightly, her lips twitching like she might smile. She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no, either. And that was enough to make the feeling sink deeper.

You stepped aside, arms folded tight across your chest. Not because you wanted to make room for him. Not because you cared. But because standing there suddenly felt too loud, too much.

She could play with whoever she wanted. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t.

But it did.

You hated that it did.

*****

After a while, you got bored watching Natasha and this boy flirt. So you went for a walk, not venturing too far away from the arcade, only wanting to clear your mind. Natasha was a big girl, and she could figure it out. A perfume store was just up ahead, and you wanted to smell the scents. You weren't interested in the subject, but you were all for new experiences.

As you entered the store, a saleswoman looked up and smiled. "Hi. Can I help you?"

"Just looking," You answered, glancing at the rows of glass bottles.

She smiled again. "Sure. Let me know if you have any questions."

You nodded politely and wandered the aisles, reading labels and sniffing samples. Some of them smelled good. Some of them were too strong or downright terrible. People didn't wear perfume in the Red Room. That wasn't the point. It was a luxury you'd never thought of before.

You wandered quietly between the shelves, fingers grazing the curves of glass bottles. The store clerk was busy helping another customer, so you didn't feel so suffocated. Then you picked it up.

Giorgio.

Giorgio Beverly Hills.

The scent hit you before you even sprayed it—something about it was already in the air like it had been waiting for you. One sniff, and your nose filled with something warm. Something familiar.

Your chest tightened.

It wasn’t just perfume. It was something else. A memory, half-formed and blurry. A woman, maybe. Arms around you. The soft brush of fabric and the faint scent of this very thing clinging to her neck. It filled your head so completely that, for a second, you weren’t in the store anymore. You were…somewhere else. Somewhere you couldn’t reach.

You didn’t realize you were crying until a tear hit your thumb.

You glanced around. The saleswoman was busy chatting near the register now. You didn’t know why you did it—but your hand moved quickly, almost without thought. The bottle slipped into your hoodie pocket.

You didn’t plan to leave with it. You didn’t even know what you were planning. It just felt like something you couldn’t leave behind.

You turned to go, brushing past a display of body lotion, when a sharp voice cut through the store like a wire.

“Hey! Excuse me—what did you just put in your pocket?”

Your stomach dropped.

You froze.

“I saw that,” she said, stepping closer. “You need to give that back.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You grabbed the nearest thing off the counter—a sample spritzer—and tossed it to the display like you were swapping it out. “Sorry, thought this was mine,” you lied, already backing toward the entrance.

But she didn’t buy it.

So you bolted.

The perfume bottle thumped once against your side as you ran. The woman shouted something after you, but you didn’t stop to hear it. You ducked out of the store, pushed through the crowd, and didn’t stop until the arcade was in sight again. Your heart was racing. You could still smell the perfume clinging to your wrist.

It smelled like home.

Whatever that meant.

*******

Later that night, the penthouse felt too big.

Natasha lay in her new bed, wondering if she should get the cuffs in her suitcase to help her sleep as she thought about the day she'd had. Across the hall, your door was closed. Had been since you got back. No words, no explanation. Just the sound of you retreating behind it and not coming out again.

She didn’t get it.

One second, you were laughing with her over stupid hats and cinnamon pretzels, and the next—it was like you’d flipped a switch. Cold again. Distant. You didn’t want to be near her, like she’d done something wrong without knowing what. She hadn’t even talked to that boy. Not really. Not like that. And it wasn’t like any of this was real anyway. She wasn’t supposed to care. That was the rule. The mission came first, always. No attachments. No friends. Especially not girls like you, who looked at the world like you didn’t trust it to stay.

But she did care. And that was the problem.

With a sigh, Natasha climbed out of bed in hopes of getting a glass of water. She hadn't heard any rule about leaving her room, so she supposed she could come and go as she pleased. When she went to open her door, she found Ken, standing right outside of yours. His hand was on the doorknob, and she couldn't tell if he was coming or going.

"Sir," she said, unsure what to call him. He didn't even know her name, so she was unsure what to call him.

"You should be asleep."

"Couldn't," she lied. "Did I miss the meeting time?"

"No, no," he waved her off. "I'm just checking in."

She frowned. "I think y/n is asleep."

"Right, right." He took his hand off the knob and backed up. "Good night."

She watched him carefully. "Good night, sir."

Then he disappeared into the darkness, and Natasha was left standing there.

That was strange.

But then again, so was this whole operation.

She shut the door, not wanting to get too caught up.

She wouldn't realize until later this night, and the ones to follow would change the both of you. 

-----> next part

[baby-you-you]

Hi could you do a Cryptid related list?

Cryptid regressor theme !!!

👣 activities

Watching cryptid documentaries or cartoons (e.g., Gravity Falls, Scooby-Doo) Reading storybooks or being read folklore tales Drawing or coloring cryptids (Bigfoot, Mothman, etc.) Making "evidence folders" or journals of cryptid sightings Building pillow forts or “secret lairs” Collecting rocks, feathers, or "mystery" objects from nature walks Playing hide and seek as forest cryptids Crafts! Stargazing or moon-watching with binoculars Playing basic games; tag, red light green light, etc

👣 clothes

Oversized hoodies with cryptid prints (Mothman, Nessie) Footies! onesies (forest animal themed) Soft robes with spooky patches or glow-in-the-dark stars Beanies with ears/horns or hooded capes Character socks (Bigfoot toes, monster claws) Pajamas with bats, eyes, or forest prints T-shirts that say “Local Cryptid” or “Believe” (I have this bigfoot t-shirt from oklaholma (?)) Monster slippers or fuzzy boots Forest/camo patterns for stealth mode

👣 toys

Plush cryptids (Mothman, Flatwoods Monster, Chupacabra) Weighted or scented plush creatures Monster-shaped fidget toys or squishies DIY cryptid stuffed animal kits (you can buy these off of etsy) Build-a-bear with a homemade cryptid story Mini figures or statues of spooky creatures "Mystery bag" toys Nightlight projectors with stars/moons/eyeballs Custom-made “evidence kits” with tools and maps

👣 games

Coloring apps or drawing cryptids on tablet Cozy cryptid mobile games with supervision! Memory or matching games with creature cards Hide-and-seek as monsters/creatures Card games like Uno but cryptid-themed Hide-and-grawr (made up) ! make quiet grumbly noises when hiding and use that as your only hint <3 Roblox/Animal Crossing custom cryptid outfits/islands “Monster hunter” scavenger hunts

👣 foods/drinks

Gummy worms/snakes (aka cryptid bait!) (Haribo reccomended) Hot cocoa with marshmallow “eyeballs” PB&J shaped like footprints or monsters “Swamp water” (green punch or soda) Trail mix aka “forest snacks” for cryptid hikes Toast with spooky cookie cutter shapes Jell-O “slime cubes” or pudding “mud cups” Poprocks! Popsicles shaped like claws, bones, or stars

👣 nicknames <3

Bug/buggy (Mothman theme) Chuppy (Chupacabra theme) Lil Foot / Tinyfoot (Bigfoot theme) Little nightcrawler (Fresno nightcrawler theme) Spooky Bean Creech (Creature) Starling / Starlight Gobbie (goblin-theme) Wisp / Whisper (Will-o-wisp theme) Echo Shadowling Gremlin Jessy (Jersey devil theme)

[brunchable]

𝐌𝐫. 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐱

Part Five | Seven Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader | Daughter of Thaddeus Ross (Red Hulk) Words: 7.5K Themes: Forbidden/Off-Limits Reader, Love Triangle, M for Mature, 18+ , Post-Endgame, AGE GAP (24y/o reader). Summary: Bucky finds out from Steve that Y/N is taken. Meanwhile, with her symptoms becoming a hindrance in her life, Y/N decides to visit her Doctor.

taggies: @astrelz @pattiemac1 @mrsevans90 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strepsils123

Y/N sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the bouquet of lilies in her lap. The flowers felt like a formality—something to soften the evening she wasn’t looking forward to.

Ethan sat beside her, his jaw clenched, hands resting on his thighs, his posture as stiff as ever. For all his calmness, she could sense he was bracing himself.

“Y/N,” Ethan’s voice broke the silence.

She blinked, her thoughts momentarily scattered, her gaze still fixed on the lilies. It took a second longer than usual to process what he had said. “Yeah?”

Ethan frowned, but he continued. “We need to talk before we go in,” he said, his tone more serious than usual. “I’ve been working on something—a real way out of this. But you need to hear me out.”

Y/N shifted slightly, feeling a twinge of discomfort at the edge of her thoughts. Had she already asked him something about this earlier? Her mind had been playing tricks on her lately, short gaps in memory that made conversations blur.

“Well?” she asked, trying to push through the fog.

Ethan exhaled slowly, collecting his thoughts. “You already know we can’t just break it off out of nowhere. You know how your father is. This isn’t just about us—it’s about public perception, about politics. The media is already watching his every move, and if we do this wrong, it’s going to backfire. For both of us.”

Y/N frowned, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon on the bouquet. She tried to focus on his words, but her thoughts slipped away like they were caught in some strange, sticky haze. She blinked hard, as if clearing her vision would clear her mind.

“You keep saying that. But what’s your actual plan, Ethan?”

“Okay, here’s what I’ve mapped out,” Ethan said, shifting slightly to face her more directly. “We can’t break it off right now—not with the event coming up. Your father is going to introduce you to the public for the first time, and we need to maintain a united front for that. There will be too many eyes on him, on us—actually. . . this plan might be crossing some dangerous territory but trust me.”

Y/N’s frustration simmered, but she let him continue.

Ethan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “After the event, we create a slow, controlled narrative. We start appearing together less in public. Gradually, we let it slip to key people that we’re focusing on our careers, that we’re ‘growing apart.’ It won’t be sudden. It’ll be gradual, subtle. The public will buy it because we’ll be feeding them a story that makes sense.”

He paused, gauging her reaction, but Y/N’s expression remained unreadable.

“So after the event,” she said slowly, “we pretend like everything’s fine for a little while longer? And what dangerous territory are you talking about?”

“Huh? Did I say that? Ignore that and just trust me,” Ethan replied, his tone firm but calculated. “It’s all going to work out, I'll tell you more during the event.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “And what about the engagement itself? What do we say about that?”

“We make it seem amicable,” Ethan continued. “We’ll say it was a mutual decision to step back.”

Y/N sat back, her mind racing as she considered his words. “And what about my father?”

Ethan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s the tricky part. Your father won’t like it—at all. But his is where the dangerous part comes in.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened on the bouquet as she considered his plan. “What dangerous part? You said it won’t be scandalous.”

“It won’t be on our part but this is necessary. If we’re strategic, we control the narrative. So what do you say?”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her mind spinning. Ethan’s plan was cold, calculated, but it made sense. He wasn’t asking her to be patient for nothing. He had thought it through—every angle, every move. Still, the idea of keeping up the façade for a while longer felt suffocating.

“We’re running out of time,” Ethan added quietly, as the car slowed in front of the White House gates.

Y/N stared out the window at the imposing building, the weight of her father’s expectations pressing down on her. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to keep playing this game. But Ethan was right—this was bigger than them now.

She sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Okay.”

Ethan gave her a tight smile. “I promise. Just a little longer.”

As the car pulled up to the entrance, Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her composure. Ethan offered his arm as they stepped out, the bouquet still clutched in her hands like a shield. She glanced at him, knowing they were about to walk into another performance. 

× × × × 

The Avengers were gathered on the terrace, enjoying a rare evening of relaxation. Tony manned the grill with exaggerated flair, flipping steaks while bantering with Clint, who was attempting to sneak food from the grill.

“Clint, if you steal one more piece of steak, I’m revoking your Avengers membership,” Tony warned, eyeing him as he flipped another steak on the grill.

Clint smirked, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But if you burn that one, I’m taking it.”

Clint grinned, pretending to hold up his hands in surrender. “I’m just quality-checking for you, Stark, in case you burn one. Consider it a service.”

“Please,” Tony said, waving his spatula, “I don’t burn anything. Ask anyone.”

Happy, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold statement, considering what happened with the burgers last summer.”

Natasha chuckled from her seat at the table. “Yeah, Tony, we all remember the ‘crispy’ burgers.”

Pepper walked out of the house, smiling as she set a basket of bread on the table. “I’m surprised you all still let him near a grill.”

“Hey!” Tony protested, “My grilling is top-notch.”

Peter, who was seated between Clint and Sam, leaned forward, grinning. “Well, I mean, if this doesn’t go well, there’s always takeout, right?”

“That’s the spirit, kid,” Tony said with a wink. “Now, everyone, prepare to be amazed.”

As the group continued to banter, passing around plates of appetizers, Thor raised his goblet of mead. “I must say, this meal is already fit for a king!” He took a long drink and slammed the goblet on the table, making Peter jump.

Bruce looked amused as he sipped his drink. “Thor, you’ve had three goblets already. Maybe slow down?”

“Slow down?” Thor laughed heartily. “Nonsense, Banner! This is a night for celebration!”

“Celebration for what, exactly?” Natasha asked, her eyebrow raised.

“Does a man need a reason to celebrate among friends?” Thor replied, grinning.

Sam chuckled. “You’re always celebrating, Thor.”

As the steaks were finally placed on the table, everyone dug in. Clint immediately went for the biggest piece, earning a glare from Tony.

“Steak thief,” Tony muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Clint smirked, cutting into his steak. “What? It’s a gift.”

Peter was devouring his food with enthusiasm, looking between the adults. “This is awesome! I mean, I usually just have pizza nights with May, so this is... cool.”

Happy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You’ve gotta try the Stark steak, kid. Just don’t expect it to beat New York pizza.”

Tony shot Happy a look. “Hey, nothing beats Stark steak.”

“Not even pizza?” Peter asked, genuinely curious.

“Not even pizza,” Tony said with a smirk, winking at the kid.

As the group dug into the meal, Tony took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair, a sly grin spreading across his face. “So, speaking of dinners... anyone get an invite to the Thaddeus Ross Spectacular coming up in a few weeks?”

Pepper rolled her eyes, giving Tony a light slap on the shoulder. “Tony...”

“What?” Tony shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying, it’s not every day a guy like Ross throws a party to show off his ‘secret family.’ You’ve gotta admit, it’s pretty intriguing.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Let me guess—you’re more interested in the political gossip than the actual event?”

“Oh, come on, Nat. You know me too well.” Tony winked before turning his attention to the rest of the table. “So? Who’s going? Everyone get an invite?”

Clint leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, got one. Not sure if I’m showing up, though.”

Sam snorted. “You? Miss a chance to rub shoulders with the political elite? Shocking.”

“Apparently, he’s been keeping his daughter hidden away, and now he’s ready for the grand reveal.” Tony chuckles.

“Why now?” Bruce asked, curious.

“Politics, probably,” Sam said, taking a sip of his drink. “Everything’s about appearances.”

Happy chuckled. “Wouldn’t put it past Ross to use his family for a political boost.”

Pepper sighed, giving Tony a nudge. “Can we not gossip, please?”

“Just saying,” Tony grinned. “It’s not every day you get an invite to something like that. So, who’s going?”

Clint nodded. “Now that I know the context, I might.”

“Same,” Sam added. “Seems like a bit of a spectacle.”

Bruce shrugged. “I got one too. I don’t know if I want to go.”

Thor, who was already pouring himself another drink, chuckled. “I shall attend, if only to witness the drama.”

Peter looked confused. “Wait, Ross? Isn’t he the guy who—?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, cutting him off with a smile. “Same guy.”

“Okay, just making sure I’m keeping up.” Peter raised his hands. 

Bucky, who had been quietly eating, finally chimed in. “I got one. Haven’t decided either.”

Tony gave him a teasing look. “Oh, come on, Barnes. What’s not to like? A stuffy political event, full of pomp and circumstance. Your kind of crowd.”

“Yeah, sounds like a blast.” Bucky smirked, shaking his head.

Pepper turned to Steve, who had been unusually quiet. “What about you, Steve? Are you planning on going?”

Steve shrugged, pushing a piece of steak around his plate. “I got an invite... I just haven’t decided.”

Tony chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, Rogers. You can’t pass this up. You’re curious, I can tell.”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Steve chuckles, “We'll see.”

The evening had grown quieter at Tony’s, the Avengers scattered around, finishing their drinks and chatting in smaller groups. Steve and Bucky stood near the terrace, leaning against the railing, a comfortable silence between them.

Steve glanced at his beer, swirling the liquid around. "I saw Y/N the other day... Thought I should try therapy too."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, letting out a small chuckle. “For what?”

Steve shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, you know, now that I’ve carried on my legacy to Sam. Not Captain America anymore. Gotta figure out what’s next.”

Bucky nodded, though his thoughts were already starting to drift. “Huh. I see.”

There was a pause before Steve added, almost too casually, “I didn’t know Y/N has a boyfriend.”

Bucky’s head snapped toward Steve, his stomach tightening at the mention of Y/N. He caught himself quickly, casually retreating into a more neutral posture, but the surprise had already flashed through him. 

“Wouldn’t be surprised if she was taken.”

Steve looked at Bucky, his curiosity piqued. “Really? You think so?”

Bucky shrugged, trying to keep his voice light, even though his thoughts were racing. Taken? He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Y/N could be with someone, and now the idea of her with another man—after she kissed him, twice—bothered him. What the hell was she doing kissing me if she had a boyfriend?

“She’s smart, successful,” Bucky said, keeping his tone nonchalant. “And let’s be honest, she’s pretty damn attractive. So, why would she be single?”

The words came out easily enough, but Bucky could feel the simmering frustration building in his chest. He had let himself get caught up in her—let her get under his skin—and now he was finding out she might have been playing him all along. Was I just a moment of curiosity for her? Some game to figure out who she kissed at that party?

Then it hit him—he once saw Y/N with a man in the café during one of their run-ins. Idiot!

Steve tilted his head, watching Bucky a bit too closely. “You say that like you know something.”

Bucky met Steve’s gaze, his face a mask of indifference, even though his insides were twisting in knots. “I don’t know anything. I just wouldn’t be surprised.”

Steve nodded slowly, “Huh. Guess I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

Bucky stared out into the darkened sky, trying to push the thoughts away, but the bitterness clung to him. The realization settled like a stone in his chest, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the anger flared again. Why the hell didn’t she just say something?

They stood in silence for a few moments, Steve sipping his drink, still turning over what Bucky had said. But for Bucky, the silence was filled with the echoes of those moments with Y/N—the kisses. Now, it all felt like it had been a game. And the worst part was, he couldn’t shake how much it bothered him.

× × × × 

Session 4

The room was quiet, the ticking of the clock the only sound cutting through Y/N's voice. Y/N sat across from him, clipboard in hand, her professional mask perfectly in place as she glanced down at her notes. 

She had been talking about progress, about making amends, but her words barely registered with Bucky. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled up in frustration and confusion. 

He couldn’t shake the image of Y/N with another man. Taken—that was the word that kept replaying in his mind. She was taken. He wasn’t mad that she had someone; he was mad that she kissed him like it meant something, only for him to find out she was with someone all along.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, simmering in silence, when Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Bucky, you seem very closed off today. Is there something on your mind?”

He blinked, refocusing on her. “No.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking to him from her notes. “Are you sure? You’ve been pretty quiet.”

Bucky let out a small, frustrated breath. Of course I’m quiet. How was he supposed to talk to her when she was hiding so much? When she had kissed him but still had another man? His fingers curled into his bicep a bit tighter, but he kept his voice leveled. 

“I’m fine.”

Y/N didn’t press, but the silence that followed felt suffocating. She looked down at her clipboard again, jotting something down, and the sight of it—her calm professionalism—only made his frustration boil higher.

He shifted in his seat, his body tense. He didn’t understand how she could sit there so collected, while his mind was racing. 

Y/N glanced up again, her tone gentle but probing. “Bucky, if there’s something bothering you, this is a safe space to talk about it.”

His jaw tightened. A safe space? That felt like a joke. He could spill his guts to her, tell her everything about his past, his pain, his guilt. But what about her? What was she hiding? What was she not telling him? The frustration simmered hotter.

He shifted in his seat again, trying to tamp down the anger rising in his chest. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. The silence, the tension—it was suffocating him. Finally, he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice sharper than he intended, “it’s funny.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. She set down her clipboard, giving him her full attention. 

“What do you mean?”

Bucky huffed out a breath, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You know everything about me. All my baggage, all the crap I’ve done. But I don’t know one damn thing about you.”

Y/N straightened, her professional mask slipping just slightly. “Bucky, this is a therapeutic setting. The focus is on you—”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky snapped, his frustration boiling over. “But how’s that fair? You’ve heard everything about me. You’ve seen every scar, every mistake I’ve made. And I don’t know anything about you. Not even something as basic as... if you’re—” He stopped short, biting down on the words he almost let slip, but it was too late.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, her voice still calm, though there was a crack in her usual detachment. “This is about helping you process what you’ve been through. It’s not about me.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“Of course it’s not. Because why would it be? Why would I get to know the person who knows all my deepest, darkest secrets?”

Y/N held his gaze, her expression softening slightly, but she still kept that professional distance. “Bucky, if I’ve crossed a line—”

Bucky leaned forward, cutting her off, his voice low and sharp. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly, her mind clouded, the words slipping from her grasp. It was like she was reaching for a thought, but it stayed just out of reach, teasing her from the edges of her awareness. Her heart raced in frustration, not just at the argument but at this unsettling feeling that had been plaguing her for days.

“I... I wasn’t—” she stammered, blinking as she tried to focus on Bucky’s angry face, the lines of it somehow blurring together. It felt like the room tilted for a brief moment, but she quickly grounded herself, inhaling deeply to stay composed.

“You kissed me,” Bucky’s expression hardened, mistaking her hesitation for guilt. “Not once, but twice. And now, I found out you’ve been with someone this whole time?”

Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t respond right away.

Bucky shook his head, his tone bitter. “What was that? Some kind of test? You trying to figure out if I was the guy from that party? Well, guess what? I wasn’t. But you didn’t even give me a chance to say anything before you tried again.”

Y/N’s face softened, and she started to speak, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“You know everything about me. Everything. But I don’t know anything about you. You sit there with that clipboard, all calm and collected, while I lay my soul bare. But what about you? What are you hiding?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but the words seemed to falter. Bucky could see the cracks forming in her usually unshakable demeanor. She wasn’t used to being the one under the spotlight.

“It’s not fair, Y/N,” Bucky continued, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You’ve got this wall up, and I’m supposed to just keep spilling my guts to you while you stand there behind it, safe and protected.”

Y/N’s lips parted, her voice barely a whisper. “Bucky...”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “I’ve told you everything. Every mistake, every regret, every damn thing that haunts me. And you? I don’t even know who you really are.”

Y/N’s hands tightened around the arms of her chair, her nails digging into the leather as she fought to stay present. His words cut through her, but the fog in her mind made it difficult to piece together a response. Why couldn’t she just think straight? The frustration bubbled up inside her, and her head throbbed as if under the weight of a thousand unsaid words.

Bucky watched her, waiting for something, anything, but the room remained heavy with unspoken words.

“I didn’t mean to—” she started, her voice shaking slightly, but she paused again, a sudden confusion taking over. Had she told him that already? Was she repeating herself? Bucky’s words echoed in her ears, and for a moment, everything felt disjointed, like pieces of a conversation out of sync. 

“You’ve never asked.” she added, her voice barely audible.

Bucky blinked, then let out a dry, humorless laugh, the sound catching even him off guard. He shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “That’s your answer? I never asked?”

Y/N sighed, glancing at the clock, clearly trying to buy time. “It’s not what you think—”

Bucky scoffed, his laugh harder this time, sharper. “Oh, that’s rich. ‘It’s not what you think.’ What, you think this is just some misunderstanding?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“You’ve got a guy, right? And yet, you've kissed me. Twice. What am I supposed to think, Y/N? You make me feel like I’m the guy on the side, like I’m stealing someone else’s girl. I don’t do that.”

Y/N’s face flushed, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to respond, but she stayed silent, her eyes downcast.

The frustration had been simmering for days, ever since he’d found out she wasn’t single. And now, sitting here, watching her keep up that perfect, composed therapist façade, it was too much. 

He wasn’t just angry—he was insulted. He wasn’t the kind of man to step into someone else’s relationship, and the fact that he had kissed her without knowing she had someone was eating him up inside.

“You didn’t tell me,” Bucky said, his voice lower now, filled with barely restrained anger. “You didn’t tell me anything. And now, what? I’m supposed to just sit here and pretend it didn’t happen?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her voice barely above a whisper. “Bucky, I wasn’t trying to—”

“To what?” Bucky cut her off, his tone harsh. “What were you trying to do? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you were playing games. And I’m not the kind of guy who does that. You put me in a position I didn’t ask for. You made me...”

He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, frustration radiating from him. He felt trapped, like he’d been dragged into something he had no control over. The last thing he wanted was to be tangled up in someone else’s drama, especially when it came to relationships. He wasn’t the guy who crossed those lines.

Y/N looked up at him, her expression softer, but she still didn’t speak.

“You’ve got your life, your man. Fine. But don’t pull me into it.”

The sharp sound of the alarm ringing broke the tension, signaling the end of their session. Bucky glanced at the clock, then back at Y/N, the frustration still etched across his face. 

He let out a long, heavy sigh, standing up slowly. Without another word, he turned and made his way toward the door, his movements stiff, controlled. He paused for the briefest of moments, his hand resting on the doorknob, but he didn’t look back.

“You take care, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no warmth in his voice. 

And then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Y/N remained where she was, her eyes still fixed on the spot where he’d been sitting just moments before. Her throat tightened, and her vision blurred, but she blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. She was stubborn, always had been, and she wasn’t about to break down now. Not after that.

× × × ×

Y/N’s heart raced as she navigated the city streets, her thoughts a whirlwind of worry and confusion. The familiar sounds of the bustling city seemed distant as she pressed harder on the gas pedal, weaving through the evening traffic. The day had dragged on longer than usual, her symptoms clouding her focus as she worked through meetings and paperwork. But now, with the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her, she needed answers.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned off the ignition. Inhaling deeply, Y/N gathered her things and stepped out of the car, moving quickly through the entrance. The sterile, fluorescent-lit hallways of the private clinic always made her uneasy, but today, her unease stemmed from something far deeper.

The receptionist glanced up as she entered. “Miss Y/N,” she greeted with a soft smile. “Dr. Kim is expecting you. Please, go right in.”

Y/N nodded, unable to muster more than a polite smile as she made her way down the hall. Her chest tightened with each step until she finally reached the familiar door. Pausing for a moment, she exhaled slowly and knocked softly before opening it.

Dr. Kim looked up from his desk, his expression immediately softening as he saw her. 

“Y/N,” he greeted warmly, standing to meet her. “Come in, have a seat. What’s going on? You sounded urgent on the phone.”

Y/N sat down, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The overwhelming need to explain everything spilled out of her, the words tumbling over one another as she tried to make sense of the chaos in her mind. 

“Dr. Kim, I—something’s wrong. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s been happening for weeks now. I keep getting these... these daydreams that feel so real. I’ll lose track of time, or I’ll end up in places and not remember how I got there. And my head... it’s like there’s this constant fog, like I can’t think clearly. I’ll forget things in the middle of a conversation. It’s—it’s scaring me.”

Dr. Kim’s brow furrowed as he listened, concern flickering in his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on his desk. “When did these symptoms start?”

“A few weeks ago,” Y/N admitted, her voice shaky. “I thought it was just stress at first—work, everything with my father, the engagement. But it’s getting worse. It’s like... like I’m losing control of my own mind.”

He nodded, his face calm but serious. “Have you experienced any physical symptoms? Headaches? Nausea?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. The headaches are getting more frequent, and they’re... different. Not like any I’ve had before. And I get this dizziness, like the room is spinning, but it’s only for a few seconds at a time.”

Dr. Kim sat back in his chair, deep in thought. “Y/N, I’m going to schedule an emergency scans for you—right now. I don’t want to wait on this. Your symptoms... we need to rule out any serious issues.”

Her stomach twisted at the word "serious," but she nodded, grateful that he was taking action.

“What scans?” You shook your, trying to blink off the incoming headache.

“CT, MRI, PET. I'll add a Blood analysis as well—you might want to cancel plans, if you've got one tonight or you can go home and we can arrange a time tomorrow for the results.” He gave her a choice.

“I can stay. I need to know what's going on.”

Dr. Kim stood up, motioning for her to follow him. The minutes that followed were a blur—hushed conversations with nurses, the hum of machines, and the cold, sterile air of each scanning room.

She lay still as the machine whirred around her, her mind racing despite the calm instructions from the technician. It felt like hours and hours had passed by the time she was finally back in Dr. Kim’s office, waiting for the results.

When Dr. Kim returned, the air in the room seemed to thicken with tension. He carried a file in his hands, his face somber.

“Y/N,” he began quietly, taking a seat across from her. “I need you to listen carefully.”

Her pulse quickened, her intertwined fingers tightening on eachother. “What is it?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the file before meeting her gaze. “The scans show something... concerning. You have a rare form of cancer called Cloud Cytoma.”

Y/N blinked, her mind reeling as the words hit her like a wave. 

“Cancer?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “How bad is it?”

Dr. Kim’s expression was gentle but unflinching. “Cloud Cytoma is an extremely rare type of cancer that affects the cranial nerves. It explains the symptoms you’ve been experiencing—memory loss, disorientation, even the vivid daydreams. The tumor is in the area of your brain that controls memory and perception.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. "How… How long?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Dr. Kim weighed his words carefully but there was no easy way to break out bad news. “I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good. With treatment, we may be able to manage the symptoms for a little while, but... you likely have about six months, give or take.”

The words hit her like a tidal wave. Her breath caught in her throat as the world around her began to blur. 

“I can contact specialists around the globe, who study this form of cancer. I will do my utmost best to find another way. . . . .”

For a second, she wasn’t sure if she was still in the room. It felt like she was slipping into one of those disorienting daydreams again, the ones that felt too real but weren’t. Her vision wavered, and she instinctively pressed her hands against her temples, trying to anchor herself.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Dr. Kim’s voice cut through the fog, concern deepening in his tone.

Y/N opened her eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to shake off the sensation that everything around her was crumbling. She took a deep breath, but the words "six months" echoed in her mind like a broken record, looping endlessly.

Six months. It was absurd. How could someone just say that so calmly? She had just come in here expecting to hear she needed rest, maybe a break from work, and instead, her entire world had been ripped out from under her in a matter of minutes.

She stared at Dr. Kim, trying to wrap her head around it, but the room still felt tilted. 

"Six months..." she whispered, shaking her head. "That’s... not enough time to even figure out how to respond to something like this."

Dr. Kim nodded sympathetically, his eyes steady on her. "I know it’s overwhelming. But we’ll focus on making you as comfortable as possible and explore every option available."

Y/N bit her lip, staring down at her hands, her mind spinning. This was her life now—six months left to live. Six months to figure out how to say goodbye to everything and everyone. The absurdity of it all clawed at her chest. It was so ridiculous, so horrifyingly unfair. Six months. The more she thought about it, the more surreal it felt.

And then, out of nowhere, a small, unexpected sound escaped her lips. A laugh. It was quiet at first, almost like a hiccup, but it bubbled up before she could stop it. Her shoulders shook with it, and before long, she was laughing—softly, incredulously, like she couldn’t quite believe the situation she was in.

Dr. Kim blinked in surprise. "Y/N?" he asked cautiously.

But Y/N couldn’t stop. The sheer insanity of being told she had six months to live, just like that, felt like some sort of twisted joke. She wiped at her eyes, half-laughing, half-crying, the sound mixing into something she didn’t even understand.

"Six months..." she gasped between laughs, shaking her head. "I barely know what I’m having for dinner tonight, and now I have to figure out how to live with six months left?"

Dr. Kim watched her with a mixture of sympathy and confusion, clearly not expecting this reaction.

She took a few deep breaths, her laughter finally subsiding, though the absurdity of it all still hung in the air. 

"Sorry," she muttered, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "It’s just... It’s kind of funny when you think about it. I mean, how does anyone process that? It’s so... random."

Dr. Kim’s expression softened, and after a moment, he allowed a small, understanding smile. "Everyone processes this kind of news differently," he said gently. "Sometimes, a little laughter helps. It’s your body’s way of coping with the shock."

Y/N nodded, still smiling through the haze of disbelief. “Yeah... maybe. But I can tell you one thing—this isn’t how I imagined my day ending.”

× × × ×

Y/N sat at the bar, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, trying to drown out the noise in her head. Probably not the best decision but with six months left? Why should she even care anymore?

When she took another sip of her drink, a sudden, sharp pain pierced through her temples. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shake it off, but the disorienting fog that had plagued her for weeks started to settle in again. The world around her seemed to tilt for a moment, her breath catching as she tried to refocus.

She blinked hard, forcing herself to concentrate on the glass in her hand. Everything felt too bright, too loud, like the whole bar was closing in on her. 

A presence beside her jolted her out of the fog. A man she hadn’t seen before, clearly drunk, sidled up next to her with a lazy grin on his face.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he slurred, leaning closer than necessary. Y/N tensed immediately, her skin crawling at the intrusion.

“Why’s a pretty thing like you sitting here all alone?”

Y/N’s heart raced, but she pushed down the panic, trying to stay present. She had to. “Not interested,” she said flatly, her voice sharper than intended. She lifted her glass, hoping he’d take the hint.

But he didn’t. The grin on his face widened, and he leaned even closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

Her grip on the glass tightened, her pulse pounding in her ears. The fog was still there, lurking at the edges of her awareness, but she forced herself to focus, forced herself to stay grounded. She wouldn’t let this escalate.

“I said, not interested,” she repeated, her voice icy.

The man’s smile faded slightly, his hand reaching out to brush over her arm. “Feisty, huh? I like a girl with some fire.”

Y/N jerked her arm away, her heart pounding in her chest. “Back off,” she snapped, louder this time, but the man’s hand moved to her thigh, his grip tightening just enough to send a wave of nausea through her.

Before she could react, a strong hand clamped down on the guy’s shoulder, yanking him backward with force.

“Let go of her,” a firm voice said, filled with authority.

Y/N’s eyes darted up to see Steve Rogers standing beside her, his expression hard as he pulled the man off her. The drunk stumbled backward, a look of anger flashing across his face.

“Who the hell are you?” the man growled, trying to stand up straighter.

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his posture straight and unmistakably threatening. “Walk away.”

The man scoffed, rubbing his shoulder, clearly too drunk to realize who he was messing with.

“Nah, I’m good right here.” His eyes flicked back to Y/N, a disgusting smirk crossing his face. “She and I were just getting acquainted.”

Before he could say another word, Steve’s fist shot out, connecting with the guy’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man staggered back, crashing into the barstools before crumpling to the floor, clutching his jaw in pain.

The entire bar went silent, everyone turning to see what had just happened.

Steve stood tall, glaring down at the man on the floor. “I told you to walk away.”

The drunk groaned, still clutching his jaw as he scrambled to his feet, glaring at Steve but clearly outmatched.

“You’ll regret that,” he spat, stumbling toward the door, muttering curses under his breath as he left the bar.

Y/N sat there, still frozen in place, her heart racing. The sudden flare of pain in her head had passed, but the fog lingered, making everything feel slightly off-kilter. She had been ready to scream, to fight back, but Steve’s intervention had caught her off guard. Slowly, she released the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

Steve turned to her, his expression softening as their eyes met. “You alright?”

Y/N nodded, though her voice was shaky. “Yeah. I’m... fine.”

Steve studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her face, as if checking to make sure she was really okay. “You sure?”

Y/N let out a breath, finally allowing herself to relax. “Yeah. Thanks for... you know.”

“It’s nothing.” Steve gave her a small, reassuring smile. He motioned to the empty stool next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

Y/N hesitated, still shaken, but then nodded. “Go ahead.”

As Steve sat down beside her, the tension in the air began to dissipate, though Y/N’s thoughts were still a mess.

Steve glanced at her drink, then back at her. “Rough night?”

“You have no idea.” Y/N let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking her head. 

Steve’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.”

Y/N stared at her drink, debating whether to unload everything or to keep it all bottled up, like she always did. She sighed, shaking her head. 

“It’s... complicated.”

“Life usually is.” Steve smiled faintly. 

Y/N took another sip of her drink, her thoughts still swirling, when Steve’s voice broke through the heavy silence again.

“You know,” Steve said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “it’s kind of funny.”

“What’s funny?” Y/N glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m sitting here, offering to listen to you, and you’re supposed to be my therapist.” Steve leaned against the counter, he gave her a playful look. 

“You know, therapists need therapists too?” Y/N couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her.

Steve grinned, clearly enjoying the lightening of the mood. “I guess I didn’t realize I’d signed up for a two-way session.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I’m off the clock, Steve. If you want therapy, you’ll have to book another session.”

Steve let out a low laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But it feels like I’m earning some points here. First catching you before you fell, now the bar rescue, and now some free therapy advice? You’re really getting the full Captain America experience tonight.”

“Is that what this is? The Captain America experience?” Y/N shook her head, her smile widening.

“Saving lives and giving pep talks, all in a day’s work.” Steve raised his glass in a mock toast.

Y/N’s laughter came more freely this time, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had been pressing down on her lifted just a little. She hadn’t realized how much she needed a moment like this—something light, something simple. No complications, no lies. Just a small break from the storm that was her life.

She glanced over at Steve, who was watching her with that same warm, gaze he always had. There was something about him—his presence, his calmness—that made her feel at ease. For a fleeting moment, she considered telling him everything. But the thought quickly passed. She couldn’t drag him into her mess.

“Thanks, Steve,” Y/N said softly, her voice sincere.

Steve shrugged, still smiling. “Anytime. I’m not just good at punching guys, you know.”

“I’ve noticed. You’re also good at therapy.” Y/N smirked, giving him a playful look.

Steve chuckled, his eyes flicking over to her empty glass. “Well, if you ever need more... Captain America therapy sessions, you know where to find me.”

Y/N nodded, her smile fading slightly as reality began to creep back in. The joke was lighthearted, but the weight of everything she was carrying started to settle in again. She felt the heaviness pressing down again, but before she could sink too deep into it, Steve leaned forward, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You know,” he said, his tone conspiratorial, “there’s one thing I’ve always wondered.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Steve took a dramatic pause, glancing around the bar like he was about to share a state secret. Then, in a completely serious voice, he asked, “Do therapists actually read all those self-help books, or is that just for show?”

Y/N snorted, caught off guard by the absurdity of the question. She covered her mouth, trying to keep from laughing too loudly. “Seriously? That’s what you’ve been wondering?”

“Hey, it’s an important question. I mean, there are a lot of those books out there. The Art of Not Giving a Damn, How to Be Your Best You, 10 Steps to Inner Peace... Do you just have a whole library of them stashed somewhere?” Steve grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

“Well, some of us don’t need a self-help book to be as annoyingly well-adjusted as you, Captain.” Y/N couldn’t hold back the laughter this time.

Steve held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Annoyingly well-adjusted? I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in weeks.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, alright. To answer your question—no, I don’t have a secret stash of self-help books. But now I feel like I should start collecting them, just to mess with people.”

“You should. Imagine the look on people’s faces when you recommend something like Finding Inner Zen for Dummies.”

Y/N giggled, shaking her head. “Yeah, that would go over real well with my clients.”

Steve leaned in a little closer, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “I bet Bucky would love that.”

Y/N’s laughter bubbled up again, the sound light and genuine. “Oh god, can you imagine? He’d walk out immediately.”

Steve nodded, his expression serious. “Absolutely. The moment you pulled out a book like that, he’d be gone. You’d have to chase him down with a copy of Anger Management 101.”

Y/N was laughing so hard now, her sides hurt. “Stop! I can’t breathe!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. But only because I don’t want to be responsible for making my therapist pass out from laughing.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes, still giggling as she tried to catch her breath. “I’m supposed to be the one helping you, remember?”

Steve gave her a playful shrug. “Hey, you help me, I help you. That’s how this works, right?”

“I guess so. I didn’t realize I’d signed up for a comedy show, though.”

Steve crossed his arms, looking mock-offended. “Comedy show? I’ll have you know I’m much more than that. I’m also very good at giving bad advice and quoting old movies no one’s seen.”

“Oh, really? Now I’m intrigued. What’s the worst advice you’ve ever given?”

Steve pretended to think for a moment. “Hmm... worst advice? Oh, I know. I once told Tony that it was a good idea to let Peter drive the Quinjet.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror. “You did not!”

Steve grinned. “I’m kidding. I’d never let that happen. But Tony would.”

Y/N let out a relieved breath, still smiling. “I was about to say...”

The tension that had weighed her down all night seemed to disappear, replaced by the warmth of Steve’s humor. She wasn’t sure how he did it—how he could make her laugh so easily, even when her world felt like it was spinning out of control—but she was grateful.

Steve caught her eye again, his smile softening just a little. “Feeling better?”

Y/N nodded, the smile lingering on her lips. “Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good,” Steve said, his tone gentle now. “You deserve to feel better.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed at his words, but before she could dwell on the emotion behind them, Steve leaned back and gave her a cheeky grin.

“Now, do I get a discount on my next therapy session for all the laughs I just provided?”

Y/N burst out laughing again, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. You’ll pay double for that, Captain.”

Steve raised his glass in mock surrender. “Fair enough. It was worth a shot.”

As Y/N's laughter filled the space between them, Steve's smile faltered for just a second. He caught himself watching her more closely than he should, noticing the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the small crinkles at the corners of her mouth. His heart ached—just a little—as he realized how much he wanted to be the one to make her feel like this all the time.

But he pushed the thought aside, burying it beneath the camaraderie and lightheartedness of the moment. He wasn’t sure when it had started—this subtle pull toward her—but he felt it more and more with each passing day. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not when her world was already complicated enough. Not when his own feelings were supposed to be under control.

Still, sitting beside her, hearing her laugh, he couldn't help the quiet longing that settled in his chest.

[blasphemyandbackshots]

wait o my god. i love ur cock drunk bakugo fic. could i get a top knight bakugo x bottom male royal painter reader where reader does a nude painting of bakugo and they get steamy

ღ katsuki bakugo x you —paint me like one of your…

Your hand trembled slightly as you dipped the brush, eyes flicking up to where Bakugo stood. Nude, proud, unapologetic. He leaned against the tall, carved post of your studio chair like he owned the damn room. One arm rested behind his head, showing off the sculpted stretch of muscle in his torso. His cock was half-hard already, heavy against his thigh and he didn’t bother to hide it. He just watched you.

“Gonna keep starin’ or actually paint something?” he asked, smirking and rough with amusement.

You swallowed hard. “I—I’m sketching the base first.”

“Tch. Whatever. Just don’t act like you’ve never seen a real man naked before.”

He was impossible. Arrogant. Gorgeous. You didn’t answer. Instead, you pressed your lips together and focused, letting your brush move. Each stroke mapped him. The harsh cut of his hips, the way his thighs flexed even when still, the tension in his abdomen. The thick veins in his forearms. The war-scarred beauty of him.

“You’re quiet,” he said, his voice lower now. “Too quiet.”

“I’m working.”

“I know what you’re really doing.”

That made you pause. You glanced up. His eyes were on you. Not casual, not teasing, but dark. Dangerous. A predator watching someone squirm. His prey, right before he’d pounce.

“You’re thinking about what it’d feel like,” he said, stepping off the platform. “What I’d do to you.”

Your heart jumped. “Katsuki, the commission—”

“Fuck the commission.”

He reached you in two strides, the heat of his bare body burning against you before you could speak again. His hand gripped your wrist, pulling it from your canvas.

“You want me.”

It wasn’t a question and you didn’t deny it.

“I shouldn’t,” you breathed, barely louder than the rasp of your breath.

“But you do.” His voice dripped with hunger. “And I’m sick of pretending I don’t see the way you look at me every time I pass in armor. Like you want me to bend you over the throne room dais and make you scream my name.”

You gasped flushed. The brush clattered from your fingers. “Katsuki—”

“I said,” he growled, “stop pretending.”

He kissed you brutal and deep. Tongue sliding into your mouth as his hand pinned you back against your workbench. His other hand palmed your cock through your robes, rough and greedy, making you moan against him.

You clung to him, panting as he pulled the fabric away from your hips and lifted you easily onto the table, knocking scrolls and palettes to the floor. His mouth was on your throat, your collarbone, teeth scraping against your skin like he wanted to mark you. Your cock throbbed between your bodies, desperate for friction.

“Katsuki—please,” you gasped, breath hitching as he nudged your legs apart with his knee. “Need you—”

“Say it right,” he growled into your neck. “Beg like a fuckin’ noble slut.”

“Please, Sir Bakugo,” you whispered, “I need your cock. Please—take me. Ruin me—”

Then he did the unthinkable. He poured some of the oil on your soft pucker, followed by warm spit. Before you could protest he shoved into you in one thrust, hot and thick and stretching you open with a brutal snap of his hips. You cried out shamelessly, overwhelmed.

“That’s it. Paint this feeling next.” He growled.

He didn’t go slow. He fucked you like he was carving your name into memory. Each thrust deep, punishing, greedy. The bench creaked beneath you, your legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms clinging to him like you’d drown without his touch.

You came untouched, moaning his name like a prayer as he slammed deep and came inside you with a broken curse.

Later, breathless and sore, you sat in silence. Bakugo stood behind you, still naked, watching the ruined painting.

“I think,” he said, “next time you should paint what I did to you.”

You hid your face, not caring about the ruined painting. There would be a next time and that brought the flush into the apples of your cheeks.

[mysterylilycheeta]

ONYX STORM REVIEW:

After 2 days of catching up on all the work I had postponed for the sake of reading OS, and organising my thoughts, I'm here with my spoiler free review of Onyx Storm. Please remember that these are my personal thoughts and opinions and you're free to agree or disagree based on your views

Rating: 3.25 stars

The Good:

The absolute lack of miscommunication between Xaden and Violet: This book is a gift for all those people who were annoyed to their wit's end by the repetitive stupid fights between Xaden and Violet in Iron Flame. They trust each other, communicate with each other and don't get mad about secrets. I was so pleasantly surprised

Ridoc: Ridoc went through such amazing character development, he easily became one of my favourite characters in the story. We saw him as only the comic relief friend till now but man, he shows such badassery in this book while still being his clown self. And, let's not forget his favourite dick jokes!

The Dragons: Anyone who knows me knows my favourite part about the series is Tairn and the other dragons. Love seeing my grumpy dad dragon, he's such a mood. We also have our sassy teenager Andarna to give him grief. I love all the moments Tairn started boasting about his lineage and his feat: he's such a dork!

Dain and Cat: I never truly hated Dain because I knew from Fourth Wing itself he never intentionally wanted to harm Violet. My only gripe with him was about breaking her trust and looking through her memories without her consent. But man, does he redeem himself. Needless to say, Dain is on my "need to protect" list. I really hated Cat in Iron Flame because she was such a stereotypical cringey evil ex and the way she attacked Violet was so crass and below the belt. She still has some shitty moments in the beginning of the book but she gets a lot better so much so that I want good things to happen to her in the next books. RY did a great job writing these two

Jealous Xaden: My o my was it a treat to see Xaden so jealous. RY fed us with those entertaining af moments. Read the book and you'll find out what I mean

Aaric: I was intrigued by Aaric in book 2 but he stepped up the game so much in this book. He is an amazing character and I'll throw hands if RY even tries to harm him in any way, istg.

The Bad:

Very mediocre worldbuilding: This might be just a timing issue, but the last fantasy book I read was the Mistborn series by Brandon Sanderson, and every fantasy fan knows the kind of world-building Sanderson does. Onyx Storm tries to introduce us to new places beside the continent, but it is not well done. We spend half the book in the Isle Kingdoms, yet they're not even mentioned on the map. They talk about routes to get to the kingdoms, but how am I supposed to follow them if you won't even mention them on the maps? Every Island has a god it worships and things go according to that but I think we could've had a little more information about them beforehand instead of being presented basic info right before we arrive at the next island. "We're going to said island, this is the god they believe in, here's a five point bullet lost of their customs"- NO, THAT'S NOT HOW YOU DO IT! Like I said, it might be because my last book was by Sanderson so my expectations were higher but the world felt so lacking.

Lack of Glossary: A glossary should be a must in every fantasy book, especially if you're branching out and diving deeper into worldbuilding. We are introduced to gods, islands, uprisings and groups of people we haven't even heard of before and we get hardly one or two lines about them in a chapter and then they are mentioned again 2 chapters later and we're supposed to follow. There were so many new names in OS, it was difficult to keep track of them after a while. I still don't completely understand who the Krovlan people were and what was their deal.

Lack of Basgiath: My favourite book in the series till now has been Fourth Wing and one of the biggest reasons for that was Basgiath. I loved that place and the way it felt an actual character in the story. That Basgiath charm is missing in this book. Basgiath is the biggest strength of this series, it's the reason why FW was so successful, the war college and it's deadly atmosphere, the challenges, the interpersonal relations, it was entertaining af. However as the series is progressing, it's turning into another typical romantasy involving young adults leading revolutions, making alliances, fighting wars etc. I started reading Fourth Wing because of it's setting and yet with each new book, we spend less and less time in Basgiath and it's just dampening my mood.

No real surprises: Let me be brutally honest- this book felt like a filler. Of course there are a few shocking moments with new information but it hardly hit the mark like the previous two books. There were no moments that essentially packed a punch. It's just a bunch of random sidequests to gain alliances which didn't up feeling all that meaningful because of worldbuilding problems. It also seemed like fanservice because of a lot of reasons but I won't mention them as they can be accounted as minor spoilers. Some characters died but it didn't feel impactful at all. It seemed more like Ry was just filling up the death quota because we can't have a book where no one dies

Violet and Xaden: Okay so here's the thing, I like both of them as characters and I think they make a good pair. However, I didn't ever truly feel the romance and this has been a problem since Fourth Wing. They have a shit ton of lusty moments but hardly any soft romantic domestic moments that make the relationship feel organic. I have always been disappointed by the lack of proper romantic development between these two. The problem in this book however is the dialogue- they felt so cheesy and downright cringe at times. Maybe show more and say less?? The way they keep saying nothing else matters as much and I know people are feral for how Xaden and Violet are ready to throw off the entire rebellion for each other but it irks me so much. Xaden, you are leading these people and you have accepted that responsibility. Stop endangering the lives of people you swore to protect because Violet might be in danger. She has other people to support her. Violet, don't get mad when people tell you your needs and wants will come second to Xaden's duty towards the people. He is their leader, he has to make those sacrifices, If you think that's unfair then find someone else to fill his position. You can't have the leadership position yet be each other's top priority. It might seem unfair but that is the right thing to do. I really don't feel like the two of them are fit to lead people. Agree with @thequietesthing's review about Violet's god level power feeling over dramatic and out of character at times.

The Ending: If any of you have talked to me about the book in the last few days, you'll know I'm frustrated af with the ending. It doesn't exactly feel like a well done cliffhanger, it's just plain messy. A bunch of unanswered questions to keep the reader confused and hooked for the next book but it just ruined the whole book for me. I have no issues with cliffhangers but the book should feel complete. The way Onyx Storm ended, it feels there were at least two more chapters that got deleted. It's just all over the place.

That was the review guys. I'll still wait for the next book to get published but my excitement has gone down quite a lot. I was expecting more of a Harry Potter style story where the main still occurs in the school/college itself but it seems like that isn't gonna be the case. I honestly believe this series should've been just 3 books instead of 5 but oh well, what can we say. Really agree with @justallihere and @justascrollingghost. We have almost the same complaints with the books lol P.S: The best surprise in this book: Broccoli, the kitten

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field VIII

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.2k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there

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a/n: omg so this is the final part of the first like, section of this story! i probably should have not called them parts bc idk what to do for the second like.. bit. season? maybe?) yeah sure, season two coming soon!! lol

thank you guys so much for being here and reading this and enjoying it as much as i have enjoyed writing it! it truly means so much to me :)

next part

You hear footsteps and turn around in the seat, hoping desperately that it's Coryo, and you are relieved to see that it finally is. He had been gone for close to an hour. You stand quickly, going to meet him halfway, what you had to tell him couldn't wait. "Coryo," You say quickly, before launching into the full story. "Lucy Gray came back, the others were chasing her and she hid in that vent and she's still in there, they're trying to figure out how to get in. She's stuck."

You follow him back to the desk, his eyes wide now too. "That's good... I think that's good." He's scanning the arena again, as if there's any inch of it he hasn't committed to memory, trying to see if there was any way Dr. Gaul's snakes could reach her in the vent you pointed to.

"No, no it's not good because I don't think there's another way out of that one except the way she came in." You dig into your bag as it hangs at his side, pulling out the notebook that you drew the map in. "Yeah, look- it's pinched off about thirty feet in." You point to the page, holding it out for him to see.

"She just has to wait them out." He insists, pushing your hand down. "Put that away- you shouldn't have that."

Why is he so calm about this? Lucy Gray was trapped, and this time there was nothing either of you could do to help her. "Yeah, but that's not going to work for much longer." You say, watching as the three make a plan to push her farther into the vent and try and get her out from the bottom.

Hurriedly, you close your notebook and put it away so you don't have to look away for long.

"Just a little longer, Lucy Gray..." Coryo mutters to himself and grips onto your hand at his side. At this, you reach across your body and rub his arm with your free hand. His whole future could collapse in a matter of moments if Lucy Gray doesn't survive. Yours could too. But as you watch Coral thrust her weapon up into the pipes that you know Lucy Gray is inside, you flinch, not knowing how much longer Lucy Gray can hold out.

You can't even process what is happening to Treech and the outcries of his mentor and people in the theatre, wondering what happened to him as he collapses with a bloody nose. You knew, so you avoided even looking in their direction as Lucy Gray tumbled from the now shredded vent, landing directly on top of Coral before making a run for it. You're sure Coriolanus isn't even breathing.

You aren't either when every one of the tributes freezing and the wind starts whipping Lucy Gray's hair around her face and her dress around her sides. Everyone watches as a large tank is lowered into the arena and dropped delicately on top of the pile of debris in the center.

"What is that?" You wonder out loud, and Coryo just shakes his head as you look up at him.

"C'mon Lucy Gray, get out of there..."

"Wouldn't it be funny if it was candy?" Lucky jokes and you stifle a laugh.

At this moment, the young girl from District Eight wanders out into the clearing, pale and skinny. "Is it over?" She asks no one in particular, making your smile fade.

"Wovey..." Reaper warns her from where he's kneeling next to the bodies he had covered with the flag.

"Can we go home now?" You clutch your hand back to your chest as she walks toward the tank- you don't know what was in the tank, but you know it wouldn't be good.

"Wovey." He warns again, more stern this time with a slight shake of his head.

The tank starts to splinter, cracking steadily along all sides until it bursts open. You gasp at the amount of snakes that come out. A wave of moving, rainbow destruction crashes over the floor and completely engulfs the little girl in a fraction of a second, as everyone else starts to run.

As Lucy Gray and Coral make a break for the walls, trying to get up to the stands, Reaper seems to just accept his fate. You feel... bad. He could have taken your offer made days before, he could be winning right now. At least he and Wovey didn't suffer.

As Lucy Gray pushes herself backward up the pile of rubble away from the fast moving snakes, Coral starts speaking to her. You can't hear what she's saying, but you can see she's crying- maybe pleading for Lucy Gray's help, maybe just saying her goodbyes to this world. It didn't matter, Lucy Gray was the last one alive as Coral's body got surrounded by the snakes.

Please work. Coriolanus begs the universe, hoping that the cloth he had used to wipe her tears and the one she used to wipe away the dirt from her skin before the interview, which he took from your bag and shoved into slots in the tank would be enough to save her.

"She won!" You grin, shaking Coryo's shoulder as he stands beside you, eyes still locked on Lucy Gray.

That's when she starts to sing, just as the snakes catch up to her. Why aren't they letting her out? It was over.

"Why aren't they getting her out?" You ask him, confused as everyone watches intensely, entranced by her voice.

"I'll be along, when I've finished my song..."

Coryo and you both turn, facing the audience now and all eyes immediately lock on Dr. Gaul. "Dr. Gaul, she won." He says, as if somehow she's missed it- surely she had. Surely she's not watching the same thing you are.

"When I've shut down the band, played out my hand..."

"It's over, let her out!" You shout, attempting to draw her attention.

"Paid all my debts..."

"Why aren't they attacking her?" You hear someone ask, noticing the snakes are almost entirely covering Lucy Gray's shirt now.

"Have no regrets, right here..."

"It must be the singing," Coryo replies, and you look up at him. You don't know that that's true, but you won't ask. "It's calming them."

"In the old therebefore..."

"She can't sing forever."

"Then let her out!" You yell, looking pleadingly up at Dr. Gaul in the stands. "Dr. Gaul!" You demand her attention now, stomping your foot down.

Your blood is boiling when she still won't look at you and the sound of Lucy Gray's voice fills the theatre. "Look at me!" You scream, and clearly, people are getting annoyed at you for interrupting Lucy Gray's song. "Look at me now or let her out!"

She does neither, not until Lucy Gray's song moves everyone else to match your cries for her to be released. Only then does Dr. Gaul look at the two of you, and you drop Coryo's hand.

The doctor sighs, leaning over to her assistant. "Get her out. Now." She says, and cheers erupt in the room previously filled with emotional tears.

"I did it." Coryo says, and you have to lean close to hear it over everyone's delight.

"You did it!" You laugh, throwing your arms over his shoulders. You scream in excitement as he hugs you back, lifting you up and spinning you around as people crowd the two of you. You don't think you've ever been happier.

As he lets you down gently, grabbing your cheeks and pressing a kiss to your forehead, you wonder if your parents are watching. You can't wait to get home, to see your family and let them sing your praises for Coriolanus's success in the games. Well, Lucy Gray's success that the two of you get to reap the rewards of.

Then, he's gone, leaving you to gather your things while he goes to see Tigris. You smile, sighing to yourself as you watch. It's likely your father has already sent the car to collect you, so you should probably get going. You're in dire need of a celebratory bath, anyway.

Last night, you had the best sleep you had gotten in weeks. A full eight hours- a privilege you didn't know you missed so bad. Even when you had to get up for school around six, you felt so well rested you knew you could take on the world.

That was until you walked downstairs for breakfast. "Good morning." You grin, skipping down the last couple of steps only to be met with your father hanging up the phone, storming over to you, and shoving you back onto the staircase.

"Sit down. Listen to me." He spits as you groan, holding your head from where it hit the railing and adjusting yourself so you are sitting properly on the stairs.

"Ow... What did I do?"

"You know what you did, Y/N." He hisses, pacing in front of you. "Un-fucking-believable! They went out on a limb for you, and this is how you repay them? Do you even realize what you have done? To me? To this family?"

The poison.

"Dad, I didn't do anything! I had no say in it! Coryo gave her the compact empty- it wasn't our business what she did with it!" You argue, standing up only to earn yourself a slap across the face.

"You were to give her nothing. You knew that." You hold your cheek while he lectures you, and you just nod.

"Yes, sir." You sniff, rubbing your jaw to soothe the sting of your already burning skin. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me- you will apologize to Dean Highbottom first thing this morning and hope he's smart enough to forgive you. Now, go."

You pull your bag back over your shoulder, avoiding eye contact with your little brother and your mother sat at the table as you walked out the door. It looks like you're walking today.

You make it to your first class, obviously not feeling too excited about the concept of speaking with the Dean. Coryo walks in just a few moments after you, stealing the seat at your side. You can't even look at him.

"Good morning." He whispers, pulling his textbook out of his bag. He's in good spirits it seems, but you know that won't last long. "You left in a hurry after the games yesterday, I was hoping we would celebrate together."

When you don't respond, he furrows his brow. Were you mad at him? Had he done something? "Wow, you're a ray of sunshine this morning, aren't you?" He asks, disguising his hurt as a joke. His intention was to come back to you after speaking with Tigris, he wanted to see if you would like to go for a walk or something and discuss everything. He didn't really have a plan, but he didn't want you to leave his side, not yet. The games had ended all too quickly, and you had yet to even discuss what had happened with the kiss you shared. He couldn't let you slip back into a routine of only seeing each other in class and during breaks, he couldn't bear the mere idea of it.

You slam your pen down on the desk, turning to look at him now. "We are in such deep, deep shit, Coriolanus." You hiss, taking notice of everyone looking at you so you quiet down.

"Your... your cheek." He just mutters, leaning in to look closely at the other side of your face and the maroon bruise that now adorned it. Even under your makeup he could see it. "What happened?" He reaches out to gently brush his hand over your jaw and you flinch away quickly.

You sigh, looking around quickly before leaning in closer to whisper to him. "They know, about the poison. We're done for, enjoy your final moments of freedom." You move away quickly as your professor starts speaking and the world begins to crash down around your best friend.

He sits back, face pale as his stomach turns. How could they know? They must have found the compact on Lucy Gray- it must not have been empty. Or was it the cloths in the tank? Those would be easier to find, probably, but how could they be traced back to you?

"We need to borrow Miss Y/L/N and Mister Snow, please." A peacekeeper says as he knocks on the open door frame, eyes quickly finding the two of you.

"It was nice knowing you." You sigh, quickly gathering your things and making your way down to the door.

He follows quickly behind, and for once, your classmates are silent.

A group of three peacekeepers lead you down a quiet hallway of the school, and stop at an open door gesturing for the two of you to enter.

"Ladies first," Coriolanus says softly, stepping aside for you to enter.

"Oh, so now I'm a lady." You scoff quietly, walking into the large open room, the high biology room, with nothing but a table in the center. The table is adorned only with the compact he had given to Lucy Gray, and two handkerchiefs. One of his, and one of yours. How did they get that?

"Kids." Dean Highbottom greets the two of you as the door slams shut behind you.

You open your mouth to speak, taking a breath and he stops you before you get the chance. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, Y/N, but I don't want to hear it."

"No, I think you do." You protest, "Because my-"

"Your father?" He cuts you off. "What about him? Because I just got off the phone with him this morning, and judging by the state of your face, I would argue that I am in agreement with him."

You swallow, fighting the urge to look down and avoid his gaze. If you had any chance of walking out of here without being in too much trouble, you had to prove that you were not afraid.

"Don't you think that she's been punished enough?" Coryo argues, looking between the two of you.

"Coriolanus." He ignores his plea, tapping the table next to the compact. "How many times did I see your mother pull this from her handbag to check her face? Your pretty, vapid mother, who'd somehow convinced himself that your father would give her freedom and love. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say."

"She wasn't." Coryo protests, referring to the Dean's insinuations about his mother. You look at him, but he won't meet your gaze.

"Only her youth excused her, and, really, she seemed fated to be a child forever. Just like the opposite of your girl, here." He gestures to you. "Eighteen going on thirty-five, and a hard thirty-five, at that. Your songbird, too."

"She gave you the compact?" Coriolanus asks, the sadness of betrayal evident on his features at the idea of Lucy Gray handing it over.

"Oh, don't blame her. The peacekeepers had to wrestle her to get the thing. Naturally, we do a thorough search of the victors when they leave the arena." Dean Highbottom explains, tilting his head as he looks between the two of you. "So smart of her, to poison the water Dill drank and dust it over Treech the way she did. If I didn't know better, I would have thought I was watching you, Miss Y/L/N."

You take a sharp breath, making an effort to straighten your posture.

"She claimed that the poison was her idea, that the compact was nothing but a token." He adds.

"It was." You state, though he is likely speaking to Coriolanus.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you got your story straight." Highbottom nods at you, voice dripping in sarcasm. "But I don't believe you. Even if I did, what am I to make of these?" He taps next to the handkerchiefs now next to it. "One of the lab assistants found these in the snake tank last night. Everyone was baffled at first, checking to see if it was one of their own that they had dropped. Until we noticed the initials. Not yours. Your father's. So delicately stitched into the corner..."

You look at Coryo, who is fighting to keep a straight face through his urge to vomit. "Why haven't you made this public?" He asks.

"I know why." You say, crossing your arms and looking the Dean up and down, who just rolls his eyes.

"I was tempted," He ignores you. "Believe me, I was. But the academy, when expelling students, has a tradition of offering them a lifeline. As an alternative to public disgrace, Coriolanus, you may join the peacekeepers by the end of the day."

Coryo's heart drops, as does yours. "The other one, it's hers." He points suddenly to the other cloth, next to his father's. Your jaw drops. How dare he throw you under the bus like that?

"I was getting to that." The Dean sighs as you shoot glares into the side of Coriolanus's head.

"I didn't do that! He took my bag, he took it and put it in the tank- I didn't know anything!" You argue, and he once again raises a hand at you to shut you up.

"Coriolanus, you better hurry. The office closes in twenty minutes, if you run you can make it in time." Highbottom says to your classmate, who just nods and turns for the door. "Oh, and what's that?" He asks, looking up at the skylight. "It's the sound of Snow, falling."

Coriolanus glares at him, pacing quickly out of the door and slamming it behind himself.

You're in shock still over why he would do that to you, but you don't have the time to process it before the Dean is scolding you. "Now, what will happen to you, huh?" He asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. "Be honest, did you know?"

"No, sir." You reply, giving a firm shake of your head.

"That's a shame. He really threw you under, huh?" He laughs, mocking you. "After what I saw the other day, I was expecting he would defend you tooth and nail... but no. I mean, he is a Snow, after all."

You don't say a word, just glaring at the man in front of you and waiting for him to tell you your fate.

"Anyway, if it was up to me, you would already be undergoing the necessary procedures to become an Avox. Oh, how I would love to see you without a tongue." He muses, sighing in disappointment. "But I know your father would be embarrassed so I think it best to leave your punishment in his hands, would you agree? Outside, of course, your expulsion."

"You can't expel me!" You shout, fists clenched around the sleeves of your coat.

"Enough of your tantrums, Y/N. You're too old for this. But, alas, you're right. I'm obligated to extend you the olive branch too." He concedes. "You are allowed to graduate under the condition that you work in service for the next ten years. Although keep in mind, your father won't like that."

"Fuck your olive branch! How dare you threaten me like this! I did nothing wrong, we won!" You fire off, practically twitching with anger at this point. "If you won't go public with it, I will! I've got nothing to lose now, the whole country will know what you and my dad are doing! What you're selling! I'll tell everyone! You'll be executed for treason!" You didn't even notice when you started grabbing anything you could reach and launching it in his direction until the peacekeepers were grabbing the back of your arms and dragging you away kicking and screaming. "You'll hang for this!"

You hardly make it to the door before you feel a stab in your neck, and the world fades to black around you.

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