#Two-phase flow

[astranauticus]

really not beating the brainrot allegations but genuinely this line has been haunting my brain for ages

[bikananjarrus]

trials of the jedi out tomorrow ha ha ..fuck

[tr0ubl3d-tr4n53nd3r]

Guys help. I'm trying to finish my main book before high school finishes, but I came up with an entirely new plot for an old one I started in 2019 (I know 💀).

I need to talk about it so bad but that book has famously always had an awful nearly episodic writing style, and I like to think my current one is better than that.

The whole idea is bad. It's a Romeo and Juliet style book, following the Juliet character through an abusive family and the light that the boy brings into her life. In the end he's killed, and she leaves the country to start a new life, never to be heard from again.

The biggest issue is that I've never been in an abusive house, so the stuff her parents do is either villianishly bad, or cartoonishly pathetic. Like we go from a guy killing his own daughter, straight to yelling at his son and they're supposed to be the same level of severity.

I did a new opener for the book recently. It used to open with the dad screaming, and our main character guides us through, but in my head, all of the books I write are told through the eyes of Laura Davis, the main character of a different novel. She is telling stories of her family history, and her own history, to her now aged grandchildren.

[wp100]

Ok, I'm trying "??" Zekvir and holy shit, his autoattacks hit HARD.

This is going to be a whole "planets have to align" type of thing, isn't it?

[hayatheauthor]

The Anatomy of Passing Out: When, Why, and How to Write It

Passing out, or syncope, is a loss of consciousness that can play a pivotal role in storytelling, adding drama, suspense, or emotional weight to a scene. Whether it’s due to injury, fear, or exhaustion, the act of fainting can instantly shift the stakes in your story.

But how do you write it convincingly? How do you ensure it’s not overly dramatic or medically inaccurate? In this guide, I’ll walk you through the causes, stages, and aftermath of passing out. By the end, you’ll be able to craft a vivid, realistic fainting scene that enhances your narrative without feeling clichéd or contrived.

2. Common Causes of Passing Out

Characters faint for a variety of reasons, and understanding the common causes can help you decide when and why your character might lose consciousness. Below are the major categories that can lead to fainting, each with their own narrative implications.

Physical Causes

Blood Loss: A sudden drop in blood volume from a wound can cause fainting as the body struggles to maintain circulation and oxygen delivery to the brain.

Dehydration: When the body doesn’t have enough fluids, blood pressure can plummet, leading to dizziness and fainting.

Low Blood Pressure (Hypotension): Characters with chronic low blood pressure may faint after standing up too quickly, due to insufficient blood reaching the brain.

Intense Pain: The body can shut down in response to severe pain, leading to fainting as a protective mechanism.

Heatstroke: Extreme heat can cause the body to overheat, resulting in dehydration and loss of consciousness.

Psychological Causes

Emotional Trauma or Shock: Intense fear, grief, or surprise can trigger a fainting episode, as the brain becomes overwhelmed.

Panic Attacks: The hyperventilation and increased heart rate associated with anxiety attacks can deprive the brain of oxygen, causing a character to faint.

Fear-Induced Fainting (Vasovagal Syncope): This occurs when a character is so afraid that their body’s fight-or-flight response leads to fainting.

Environmental Causes

Lack of Oxygen: Situations like suffocation, high altitudes, or enclosed spaces with poor ventilation can deprive the brain of oxygen and cause fainting.

Poisoning or Toxins: Certain chemicals or gasses (e.g., carbon monoxide) can interfere with the body’s ability to transport oxygen, leading to unconsciousness.

3. The Stages of Passing Out

To write a realistic fainting scene, it’s important to understand the stages of syncope. Fainting is usually a process, and characters will likely experience several key warning signs before they fully lose consciousness.

Pre-Syncope (The Warning Signs)

Before losing consciousness, a character will typically go through a pre-syncope phase. This period can last anywhere from a few seconds to a couple of minutes, and it’s full of physical indicators that something is wrong.

Light-Headedness and Dizziness: A feeling that the world is spinning, which can be exacerbated by movement.

Blurred or Tunnel Vision: The character may notice their vision narrowing or going dark at the edges.

Ringing in the Ears: Often accompanied by a feeling of pressure or muffled hearing.

Weakness in Limbs: The character may feel unsteady, like their legs can’t support them.

Sweating and Nausea: A sudden onset of cold sweats, clamminess, and nausea is common.

Rapid Heartbeat (Tachycardia): The heart races as it tries to maintain blood flow to the brain.

Syncope (The Loss of Consciousness)

When the character faints, the actual loss of consciousness happens quickly, often within seconds of the pre-syncope signs.

The Body Going Limp: The character will crumple to the ground, usually without the ability to break their fall.

Breathing: Breathing continues, but it may be shallow and rapid.

Pulse: While fainting, the heart rate can either slow down dramatically or remain rapid, depending on the cause.

Duration: Most fainting episodes last from a few seconds to a minute or two. Prolonged unconsciousness may indicate a more serious issue.

Post-Syncope (The Recovery)

After a character regains consciousness, they’ll typically feel groggy and disoriented. This phase can last several minutes.

Disorientation: The character may not immediately remember where they are or what happened.

Lingering Dizziness: Standing up too quickly after fainting can trigger another fainting spell.

Nausea and Headache: After waking up, the character might feel sick or develop a headache.

Weakness: Even after regaining consciousness, the body might feel weak or shaky for several hours.

4. The Physical Effects of Fainting

Fainting isn’t just about losing consciousness—there are physical consequences too. Depending on the circumstances, your character may suffer additional injuries from falling, especially if they hit something on the way down.

Impact on the Body

Falling Injuries: When someone faints, they usually drop straight to the ground, often hitting their head or body in the process. Characters may suffer cuts, bruises, or even broken bones.

Head Injuries: Falling and hitting their head on the floor or a nearby object can lead to concussions or more severe trauma.

Scrapes and Bruises: If your character faints on a rough surface or near furniture, they may sustain scrapes, bruises, or other minor injuries.

Physical Vulnerability

Uncontrolled Fall: The character’s body crumples or falls in a heap. Without the ability to brace themselves, they are at risk for further injuries.

Exposed While Unconscious: While fainted, the character is vulnerable to their surroundings. This could lead to danger in the form of attackers, environmental hazards, or secondary injuries from their immediate environment.

Signs to Look For While Unconscious

Shallow Breathing: The character's breathing will typically become shallow or irregular while they’re unconscious.

Pale or Flushed Skin: Depending on the cause of fainting, a character’s skin may become very pale or flushed.

Twitching or Muscle Spasms: In some cases, fainting can be accompanied by brief muscle spasms or jerking movements.

5. Writing Different Types of Fainting

There are different types of fainting, and each can serve a distinct narrative purpose. The way a character faints can help enhance the scene's tension or emotion.

Sudden Collapse

In this case, the character blacks out without any warning. This type of fainting is often caused by sudden physical trauma or exhaustion.

No Warning: The character simply drops, startling both themselves and those around them.

Used in High-Tension Scenes: For example, a character fighting in a battle may suddenly collapse from blood loss, raising the stakes instantly.

Slow and Gradual Fainting

This happens when a character feels themselves fading, usually due to emotional stress or exhaustion.

Internal Monologue: The character might have time to realize something is wrong and reflect on what’s happening before they lose consciousness.

Adds Suspense: The reader is aware that the character is fading but may not know when they’ll drop.

Dramatic Fainting

Some stories call for a more theatrical faint, especially in genres like historical fiction or period dramas.

Exaggerated Swooning: A character might faint from shock or fear, clutching their chest or forehead before collapsing.

Evokes a Specific Tone: This type of fainting works well for dramatic, soap-opera-like scenes where the fainting is part of the tension.

6. Aftermath: How Characters Feel After Waking Up

When your character wakes up from fainting, they’re not going to bounce back immediately. There are often lingering effects that last for minutes—or even hours.

Physical Recovery

Dizziness and Nausea: Characters might feel off-balance or sick to their stomach when they first come around.

Headaches: A headache is a common symptom post-fainting, especially if the character hits their head.

Body Aches: Muscle weakness or stiffness may persist, especially if the character fainted for a long period or in an awkward position.

Emotional and Mental Impact

Confusion: The character may not remember why they fainted or what happened leading up to the event.

Embarrassment: Depending on the situation, fainting can be humiliating, especially if it happened in front of others.

Fear: Characters who faint from emotional shock might be afraid of fainting again or of the situation that caused it.

7. Writing Tips: Making It Believable

Writing a fainting scene can be tricky. If not handled properly, it can come across as melodramatic or unrealistic. Here are some key tips to ensure your fainting scenes are both believable and impactful.

Understand the Cause

First and foremost, ensure that the cause of fainting makes sense in the context of your story. Characters shouldn’t pass out randomly—there should always be a logical reason for it.

Foreshadow the Fainting: If your character is losing blood, suffering from dehydration, or undergoing extreme emotional stress, give subtle clues that they might pass out. Show their discomfort building before they collapse.

Avoid Overuse: Fainting should be reserved for moments of high stakes or significant plot shifts. Using it too often diminishes its impact.

Balance Realism with Drama

While you want your fainting scene to be dramatic, don’t overdo it. Excessively long or theatrical collapses can feel unrealistic.

Keep It Short: Fainting typically happens fast. Avoid dragging the loss of consciousness out for too long, as it can slow down the pacing of your story.

Don’t Always Save the Character in Time: In some cases, let the character hit the ground. This adds realism, especially if they’re fainting due to an injury or traumatic event.

Consider the Aftermath

Make sure to give attention to what happens after the character faints. This part is often overlooked, but it’s important for maintaining realism and continuity.

Lingering Effects: Mention the character’s disorientation, dizziness, or confusion upon waking up. It’s rare for someone to bounce back immediately after fainting.

Reactions of Others: If other characters are present, how do they react? Are they alarmed? Do they rush to help, or are they unsure how to respond?

Avoid Overly Romanticized Fainting

In some genres, fainting is used as a dramatic or romantic plot device, but this can feel outdated and unrealistic. Try to focus on the genuine physical or emotional toll fainting takes on a character.

Stay Away from Clichés: Avoid having your character faint simply to be saved by a love interest. If there’s a romantic element, make sure it’s woven naturally into the plot rather than feeling forced.

8. Common Misconceptions About Fainting

Fainting is often misrepresented in fiction, with exaggerated symptoms or unrealistic recoveries. Here are some common myths about fainting, and the truth behind them.

Myth 1: Fainting Always Comes Without Warning

While some fainting episodes are sudden, most people experience warning signs (lightheadedness, blurred vision) before passing out. This gives the character a chance to notice something is wrong before losing consciousness.

Myth 2: Fainting Is Dramatic and Slow

In reality, fainting happens quickly—usually within a few seconds of the first warning signs. Characters won’t have time for long speeches or dramatic gestures before collapsing.

Myth 3: Characters Instantly Bounce Back

Many stories show characters waking up and being perfectly fine after fainting, but this is rarely the case. Fainting usually leaves people disoriented, weak, or even nauseous for several minutes afterward.

Myth 4: Fainting Is Harmless

In some cases, fainting can indicate a serious medical issue, like heart problems or severe dehydration. If your character is fainting frequently, it should be addressed in the story as a sign of something more severe.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[thelostconsultant]

Lando Norris x reader

summary: You and Lando got married before the beginning of the season, but no one knows you’re together. You make a bet at the wedding, and Lando truly believes he can get through the season with everyone believing he’s single.

about the fc: The one in the red hoodie is just a random girl from pinterest, because I love that hoodie. Don't see too much into this, I'm not having that conversation again.

“What?” you ask, although it comes out more like a bark than a well formulated question.

Lando has been watching you with that stupid grin of his for long minutes now, and you can’t hide your annoyance any longer. You love him, you really do, but God, isn’t he annoying sometimes? As you wait for his response, he holds up a finger and opens a video on his phone for you.

It’s him at the last race weekend, standing on the stage with Oscar. Nothing new. But then he talks about being single, and after this part he quickly moves over to the comments. Everyone is either offering to date him or feels sorry for him, there is no in between. But you can’t feel sorry for him. 

“You’re still gonna lose,” you tell him with a laugh.

With a thoughtful hum, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his chest. “You read the comments. I’m the people’s princess, they feel so sorry for me. No one suspects a thing. I’m safe,” he says with a confident smile.

Over half a year ago, on the day of your secret wedding at a remote part of the world, the two of you made a bet. You said he wouldn’t be able to keep this secret, that there was no way he could last this season without people finding out he was not only in a relationship, but married too. He begged to differ, saying he was pretty good at keeping secrets.

Now, after all those months, you sometimes have your weak moments when you are sure you would lose, although this is something you are under no circumstances about to tell him. His ego is already big enough when it comes to the bet, the last thing you want is things getting worse in this sense.

If he wins, he will get the right to decide when and how to announce your marriage. And if it’s up to him, it will be a hard launch, like a wrecking ball crashing into a building to tear down the walls. He wants chaos, he wants everyone to know how much he loves you. It’s flattering, really, but can he not?

Because Lando wants a big, flashy event with all of his friends from on and off the grid, and he wants alcohol to flow like water while the music blasts loudly around you. It would only come to an abrupt stop the moment he grabs the mic and announces how much he loves his wife, only to cause the guests to murmur loudly as they try to figure out if he’s just drunk or dead serious.

If you win, it will mean people found out about you, so your prize would be something other than how you make this relationship public. But what could you ask for? So, in the end, you told him you would get to make a wish one day when you figured out what you wanted, and he couldn’t say no when you asked.

As of now, people don’t know about you at all. You are just a nameless McLaren employee to them who sometimes shows up on photos with the rest of the team. To make sure you can stay in the background, he even asks one or two girls during the time you are still in the dating phase to pose as his girlfriends for a while. It only comes with a few photos and posts, sometimes appearances in the paddock. Nothing serious, really.

While you can wear your wedding band all the time, Lando doesn’t have the freedom to do the same. Sure, he has it, safely locked away with the rest of your jewelry until the day your marriage becomes public. Now he only has a necklace with a pendant you chose, your initials engraved into it with small letters so it won’t be too obvious on photos.

“I’ve been thinking,” you suddenly say, moving your head a little so you can look him in the eye. When he lets out a questioning hum and flashes a smile at you, you reach out to play with his pendant. “Why don’t we raise the stakes in our little bet?”

Lando kisses your cheek, then he says, “You hate it that I’m winning.”

Rolling your eyes, you let out a sigh. “No, I just had an idea for a little experiment. What if you wore your wedding band on the next race weekend?” you ask with an innocent look on your face.

It's mean, you know that, because this will surely draw attention to him. Wearing his ring could only result in losing the game. But you have to do something, you want to win. Well, you just don’t want your dear husband to win, but that’s almost the same. 

“That would be too obvious,” he replies with a shake of his head.

“Buy a few more and say you’re copying Lewis,” you offer with a cheeky grin. 

He shakes his head with a laugh, then takes a deep breath. “And what do I get if they don’t notice?” 

You have thought a lot about this, because you know it has to be something big, something he really wants. And there is only one thing that came to your mind. “You get two kids,” you tell him casually. 

But Lando isn’t stupid, he knows this is the moment to negotiate. “Hmm… You know I want a big family. Three and I’ll do it.”

He will lose anyway, so why would you say no? “All right, three. But if I win, we’ll only have one,” you remind him.

He nods before leaning down to kiss you. “I’ll win, so you can start picking names,” he says with a confident grin.

You: Sorry, babe, you officially lost the bet. <link>

A few seconds later your phone rings, and you answer Lando’s call with a satisfied smile on your face. You just want to rub it in his face, you want him to know he lost the bet. To be honest, ever since you’ve seen this post, you’ve been thinking about what to ask for, and a soft launch of your relationship sounds quite nice. 

“I didn’t lose,” he says right away. 

“You saw the post, someone spotted the ring.”

To your surprise, Lando starts to laugh, a carefree sound that makes it clear he’s sure he’s winning this. “Do you want me to remind you that you’re not here with me right now? And that video of us was recorded during the summer break in Greece. The bet was about me wearing the ring this weekend. So no, sweetheart, you definitely did not win this one,” he explains, and you can imagine that smug smirk on his face. 

“Still, the original bet–”

He tuts to interrupt you. “No, no, you changed the rules with the ring. I won. No one noticed it this weekend.”

“Let’s call it a tie,” you try, although you know he has you in a corner now. 

“I want to talk about the prize,” he begins, waiting until he hears you hum to let him go on. “We agreed that if I win, we’ll have three kids, if you win, we’ll only have one. If it’s a tie, then fine, let’s settle with two.”

You remain silent for a while as you think about this. He’s right, it would be only fair to reach a compromise, and in this case it involves the number of your future children. If it’s a tie, then two is the logical conclusion, there is no reason to argue with him. So, you take a deep breath that you let out slowly until you gather your thoughts. “All right, fine. And what about us? I mean, our relationship. Do we keep it a secret, or…?”

“What do you want? If you’d rather not be in the spotlight, we can deny everything if there’ll be a bigger buzz about that tweet,” he says kindly, his patience with you painfully obvious. 

But you don’t want to hide, you want things to be out in the open now. “I’d say let’s do a soft launch with mysterious posts for a while. But if you have a different idea, I’m open to it,” you assure him. 

Lando lets out a thoughtful hum. “We have a short break now, soooooo… Okay, we do the soft launch, but you come to the next race with me, as yourself, not disguised as a McLaren team member, and we’ll wear our rings and everything.”

“That’s pretty much a hard launch.”

There’s a scoff on the other end of the line. “You get almost two weeks of soft launch, what more do you want? Come on, I need you by my side,” he begs you sweetly. 

You agree. There’s no way you can say no to him.

liked by oscarpiastri, martingarrix and 522,145 others

landonorris: My wife, the queen of the house 😍🥰❤️

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

yourusername: LANDO!

⤷ landonorris: Yes, love?

⤷ yourusername: You said you’ll give me two weeks. That’s it, you’re sleeping on the couch when you get home.

oscarpiastri: What did I miss? Last time we talked, you were chronically single.

⤷ landonorris: I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve been happily married for over half a year.

⤷ user1: WHAT?!

user2: Lando being married was not on my bingo card.

maxverstappen1: My wedding invitation must have been lost in the mail.

⤷ landonorris: Sorry, it was just the two of us.

user3: I’m so happy, you deserve all the love!!!

user4: We have a new WAG, woo-hoo! But please yourusername don’t make him sleep on the couch 😭

⤷ yourusername: I’ll reconsider that decision.

[shooting-a-wizard-with-a-gun7]

Don't get me wrong, I love Destiny 2 raids but sometimes it's like, Okay PEECHAN1000 we'll do the complex stuff, here's what we need you to do: first you have to kill the 17 elite wizards in this room without getting hit by the global shockwave that goes off every 5 seconds (it will instakill you and everyone will have to restart the entire encounter) then you'll get two buffs, one will last for 30 seconds, the other for 20 seconds. When the first buff runs out, but before the second buff runs out, you'll have a ten second window to pick up one of three glowing orbs hidden around the room (to find out which one you need, determine which day of the week and the exact minute on the hour it is and follow the flow chart we posted in discord) then run to a square that is not the boss's least favorite color and do three counter clockwise circles and shoot the smallest of 50 knights exactly ten times. If you did it correctly you will hear a tiger's growl, if you did it incorrectly you will hear a lion's growl. If you don't do this in time, we wipe. Do all of that three more times, this will open the passage to where we'll deal damage to the boss, but don't go though it yet! Next you'll have 30 seconds to run seven laps around this spire of floating platforms while jumping through rings, each lap you will pass a large projection of one of the presidents of the united states, decide which president this is and make a mental note of each president's full name and consecutive years in office and birthday. Then you'll have 20 seconds to call out to us the name of every president you did not see while running laps. It will be more helpful to the rest of us if you could list them in reverse alphabetical order. This will give you a buff which will last for 10 seconds and will allow you to deal damage to the boss. Now let's go over damage phase. Remember the years those seven president's were in office and their birthdays?

[gay-dorito-dust]

Cliche but imagine Bob’s trying his hardest to confess to you, seeing as how everyone is on his ass about how oblivious he is with his feelings, literally heart eyes and looking at you as though everything else didn’t matter type of thing.

However while that might sound easy enough to the rest of the group, they’re literally the ones preventing Bob from confessing in the first place with how often they interrupt him, and or ruin the mood set in place with their entrance.

John tells Bob that he should ask you on a date, Bob then later tries to ask you out on a date to a nearby bookstore that also acted as a cafe, only for John to fucking walking in and say ‘have you done it yet?’ Mood ruined.

Alexei tells Bob that he should just go for it and be confident when doing so, And so Bob tries to do it that way when you and him were making breakfast for the rest of the team, only for Alexei to hover over the doorway like a weirdo as a massive smile paints his face as he asks. ‘Is my ship finally sailing as the young people call it these days?’ Or ‘have you kissed them yet?! I’m not getting any younger!’ (I would’ve put ‘are you winning son’ but thought against it)

Yelena tries to be helpful too by telling Bob to wait for his golden opportunity to confess to you, yet again while that sounded great at first, but when poor Bob is convinced that this moment where you two were on the roof of the tower simply watching over the bustling city. The mood was right, the conversation was flowing as it should to naturally transition to a confession that was on the tip of his tongue. Only for Yelena to ruin it when Houdini -the guinea pig- decided to be rebellious and break out from her room, somehow ending up on the roof where you and Bob heard her trying and cursing as she attempted to recapture the animal.

Ava does something similar to Yelena but just as Bob had gotten past saying ‘I’ve got something to tell you’ after walking you back to your room after movie night, it was a romcom, only for Ava to phase through the wall, look at the both of you before phasing through another wall to get to her room.

Poor Bob was growing frustrated and needless to say in a moment of spontaneity and general tiredness of being interrupted by the very same people who had pester him into confessing for weeks now, he just grabs your face and kisses you, pulls away and walks out of the room with a red face as he realised what he had just done. He doesn’t regret it but he didn’t think he’d have it in him to just do something so boldly.

Apparently it was the same for the rest of the team as they were all slack jawed at the display, but you were happy and on cloud nine to care.

[yasministration]

Two sides, one door - Remus Lupin

summary: potter!reader going to james after remus yells at her the day before a full moon. 1.1k wc cw: angsty, full moon rem, bleeding knuckles (from remus punching a mirror), basically therapist james potter!reader x remus secret relationship au! find more here

The knock on the door is soft, and has James straightening up in his bed. It's too soft for him to recognise the person knocking on the other side of the door, so he sticks his head out of the closed curtain of his four poster bed. He calls out for whoever is on the other side to come in, and the door slowly creaks open. "James?" You ask, making sure it's your brother in the dorm and not Sirius. James hears the tremble in your quiet voice, and immediately, he's out of bed, worry engulfing him. The movement catches your eye, and you spin to face your brother, watching as he take long strides towards you. You let him cup your cheeks to take a good look at your face, eyebrows furrowing in distress. Your cheeks are tear-stained, eyes red and glassy, mascara muddy under your eyes from where you'd wiped the tears away.

James envelops you in a tight hug which you accept without protest, weakly wrapping your arms around him as fresh tears fill your eyes. You begin sniffling, and James guides you to his bed, sitting you down next to him. He lets you fall into his chest, sobs wracking your chest, and he holds you gently, offering you as much comfort as possible. "Remus is mad at me." You finally tell him, sniffling between each word, hands coming up to aggressively wipe at your wet cheeks. James frowns, glancing up at this month's moon phase calendar hung up on the back of the dorm door to confirm his immediate suspicion. The full moon is tomorrow. "Why would he be mad at you?" James asks, and you hiccup, shrugging your shoulders. "I don't know he just yelled at me." Tears begin flowing freely, and you move across the bed away from James to lean back against the headboard, bringing your knees up to your chest.

James joins you, ensuring the curtain around his bed is securely closed. James glances at you, leaning your chin on your folded arms, and he sighs. He knows that he made a vow to beat Remus up if he ever hurt you, but he knows if he tried right now, he would be the one getting the beating. Beside, the last thing Remus needed right now was a scolding from James. Knowing the boy, he was probably already beating himself over raising his voice at you. "He didn't..." James huffed, trying to find his wording "He didn't lay a finger on you, did he?" James watched as you shook your head frantically, looking at him with betrayal. "That's not Remus, James! You should know!" James nodded, whispering calmly "I know, I know. I'm just making sure." James wrapped an arm over your shoulders, tugging you closer to him. You let him hold you for a while, a comfortable silence settling over you apart from the occasional sniffle from your side.

Suddenly, the door to the dorm slammed open and close, causing both you and James to jump. You weren't able to react before another door opened and shut - the bathroom. James opened the curtain around his bed nearest to the bathroom, eyeing the door suspiciously. Loud rustling could be heard from the other side of the door before something shattered and a loud "Fuck!" Was heard. Remus. You straightened up, worry overtaking your features. "Such a fucking asshole!" The words were muffled behind the door, but they were still perfectly decipherable.

The room fell silent before more sounds were heard from the bathroom — sobs. You stood up, but James put a hand up, stopping you from going anywhere. "Just, stay here." He mumbled, walking over to the bathroom door. Knocking twice, James called out "Rem? Open up, mate." A few seconds passed before the bathroom door slowly opened. A long silence ensued. You tried glancing at your boyfriend, but your view of him was blocked by the door. "Oh Remus." James mumbled, looking at the other boy with compassion. "James I'm so sorry." Remus sobbed quietly. You felt your eyes tearing up at the sound of your boyfriend's struggle, crossing your arms over your chest as he hiccuped. "I yelled at her and she started fucking crying and I didn't mean to and - I'm just such a fucking asshole." James cocked his head towards you, muttering "Well say that to her. I'm not the one crying."

James nodded, a response to a gesture you hadn't seen Remus make, stepping out of the way so that Remus could walk out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. You gasped when you saw him, arms falling by your side. Remus's knuckles were bleeding, shards of glass sticking to the blood on his skin. "Remus." He stepped towards you, eyes red and cheeks wet from crying. "Darling, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to yell I'm just, I just-" Sobs interrupted his words, and you stepped closer to your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around him. He immediately responded, arms loosely hanging around your waist, head digging into the crook of your neck. "The full moon's tomorrow." He said, and your eyes widened in realisation. "I know it's not an excuse but-" "Remus, it's okay," You sniffled" It's okay sweetheart. Let me take care of your hand, yeah?" You felt Remus nod, separating from the hug.

Glancing at James, you wiped your eyes one last time, stepping into their bathroom to fetch their first aid kit. You avoided the glass on the floor, returning to Remus, who sat on his bed, before sitting in front of him. "You lovebirds going to be okay?" James asked, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Locking eyes with Remus, you both nodded. James reciprocated the movement, opening his mouth before promptly shutting it and walking out of the dorm without uttering another word. You felt a hand on your cheek, and looked up to meet Remus's eyes once more. He leaned in close, softly kissing your lips before dropping his hand back down and letting you get back to treating his cuts.

"I'm sorry." He repeated, quieter now, showing you how ashamed he was of his actions. "I love you so much." Securing the bandages around Remus's knuckles, you looked up, telling him "I love you too." You stood up, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes. "You should go to sleep. Wake up tomorrow with some energy." Remus hesitated to reply, nodding instead. You leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, muttering "Everything's okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

[wonubby]

obsessed - k! bakugo

2. hire someone to 'leak' crude pictures of the two of you on holiday

synopsis - despite knowing you've successfully bagged katsuki bakugou, aka pro hero dynamight, his fans are still shipping him with his ex. so what's a better way to claim him than leaving little trails of your love on him? specifically, his body.

warnings – fluffy and suggestive, bakugo death mention but only briefly.

prev - masterlist - next

katsuki wasn't stupid. he knew what your plan was, and honestly? he didn't give two fucks. you were bound to reach your breaking point one day.

he actually loves this side of you. you matched his inner freak on some level. of course, he was still crowned as the 'bitch' in your relationship, given his infuriating attitude.

you, however, were overjoyed. everything fell into place.

phase one? complete. phase two? already in motion.

you and katsuki had travelled to the Bahamas for the week. it was a little getaway for the two of you since he's always busy fighting.

the first two days were spent wrapped in the sheets. the warm air creating a sexy atmosphere that kept the male going. something about fucking in the heat, getting all sweaty, and using his quirk in the midst of the act got him heated.

not that you were complaining though; you were blessed with the most amazing orgasms of your life.

anyway, today, the two of you decided it was the perfect time to head to the beach... with some secret company.

was it a bit desperate to call the paparazzi, getting them to leak pictures of you and your fiance? possibly.

was it going to make that bitch burn? absolutely.

"are you finally ready, babe?" his gruff voice called out to you.

letting out a breathy chuckle, you hooked the last earring on before facing him. "yep," you said, popping the p, "how do i look baby?" you did a little twirl, letting your frilly, leopard tankini flay around you.

smirking, katsuki placed two hands on your hips, biting his lip at the sight. "you always look amazing, sweets. but this? this makes me want to cancel our plans and keep you inside." he said, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

"well, sucks for you, katsu, because whether you like it or no, we're going out there. you can channel all of your inner fuckboy when we're on the beach." you teased, placing two hands on his chest, pushing back.

katsuki was wearing an unbuttoned white shirt with a pair of khaki shorts. his muscles were on display, including the couple of scratch marks you had left on his chest from this morning.

you placed a kiss on his lips, slow and sensual, subtly biting his lower lip as a warning. "worry less about fucking me and more about how you're going to act all lovey for the 'hidden' cameras."

"yes ma'am," he chuckled. boy did he love the new you.

walking towards your purse, you grabbed the keys, throwing them at him before heading to the door. "grab the speaker; i'm making my way to the car."

the car ride was decent. old 2010s music blasted through the window, as your hair flowed behind you, occasionally stopping to kiss katsuki during the red lights.

you were truly living life.

the moment you reached the beach, the feeling of the dry, hot sand beneath your feet had you relaxing. finally feeling like you could breathe. katsuki was quick behind you, tugging off his unbuttoned shirt and throwing it into a pile of your clothes.

"come here; let's get some sunscreen on you before you look like a tomato," he joked. you scoffed, touching his chest before turning around.

his hands slid up your body, slowly massaging the skin tenderly. your eyes snapped shut, leaning back onto his body as he began. "feels so good, kat. maybe i should make you my personal masseur." you giggled.

"yeah right, like i already don't do all 'at." he groaned teasingly.

as he continued to rub the cream all over your body, you locked eyes with the photographer hidden in the bush. a smirk crawled onto your face as you quickly turned around and faced katsuki.

"have i ever told you how hot you are, baby?" you questioned, eyes half-lidded as you looked at him with the most innocent eyes.

"hmm, no i don't think so." he raised an eyebrow in false confusion. "why? is there something you need to tell me?" his eyes trailed over your body, large hands moving from your hips to your ass.

"nope!" you laughed, running away from the boy and into the water.

"you tease!" he yelled, moving fast to reach your now wet body.

the moment he caught up with you, you were pulled flush against his body as he brought you into a searing kiss. every kiss you shared with katsuki felt magical. he made you feel something. made you mean something.

he was all you could ever ask for, the man of your dreams. you spent your childhood following him around. watching him bully izuku, win the sports festival, and even watching him die. but, during those times, your love for him was simply platonic.

it wasn't until you both bumped into each other while he was on patrol that everything changed. a few months after his breakup with amira, he had contacted you, asking you out on a dinner date. at first, the two of you thought it wasn't anything serious until you shared your first kiss together under the night sky as snow painted the pavement.

breaking away from the kiss, you smiled softly at the man. "i love you." the three words were muttered so softly he could barely hear them.

"i love you too, pretty." he smiled, leaning down and pressing kisses to your neck. tongue poking out to trace the purple marks he left the night prior.

a moan left your lips at the sensation, smiling softly as your hands dragged into your hair. the slight flash of a camera caught your eyes as you nudged katsuki with your knee. he seemed to understand the cue as he effortlessly picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

the moment became intense with mouthwatering kisses and bites being marked all over your body. it clearly gave the photographer what he needed.

"you might be as mean as i am kats. you must really hate her to be doing all this for me."

"i hate everyone. you're just lucky."

the moment you got home, the internet was going wild.

the pictures were up and everyone was going crazy. fans were trending #DYNAMIGHTBACKMUSCLES, #DYNAY/NFUCKING??? and IN PUBLIC IS CRAZY all over twitter. they analysed the way he held you, how he kissed you and, most importantly, the marks on his back and your neck. their most favourite picture was the one where the reddish handprint on your ass was noticeable.

however, the best reaction was from amira. immediately after the pictures were posted, she turned to Instagram, posting a photo dump. the said dump included photos of food, half-empty wineglasses, beach pictures from last year and an old picture of her hand in katsuki's.

the public were immediately quick to notice the types of pictures and who she posted. some sympathised with her, while others called her out on her shitty behaviour. and maybe others included you because you didn't hesitate to post a tweet.

one that read: "he said thank you for the character development. we’ll send flowers."

yeah, you definitely broke the internet.

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

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[scarletmika]

The White Witch pt. 3 : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Avenger!Witch!Reader

Summary: Bob knew who the Avengers were, who you were; he grew up watching them save the world time and time again. Now, he was one, but none of that could prepare him for what it would be like to meet you, or the instant connection that seemed to flow between you both.

Warnings: soulmate trope, language, fluff, tiny tiny bit of angst, slight mental illness talk kind of, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts* and like the rest of the MCU honestly, feminine description of reader, FINAL PART WOO

Word Count: 5,327 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“Alright, I want you losers all on your best behavior tonight. The majority of the world already refuses to call you The Avengers, I don’t need you embarrassing yourselves in front of Wilson himself,”

“Please, Valentina, we will be the perfect models of righteousness and heroism! We shall laugh in the face of danger, and anyone who dares to speak ill of us-”

“Yeah, okay. Yelena, please keep your father away from the bar tonight,”

The former Widow simply hummed in response to Valentina’s request, muttering something about ‘not making any promises’ before returning her attention back to the mirror in her handheld compact. With another mutter of ‘unbelievable’ from Valentina, that she definitely intended for the group to hear, she was dragging Mel back into the elevator to abandon her team to suffer through this night alone.

Well, not everyone was going to suffer. Bob certainly was, especially with the way the collar of the dress shirt under his suit jacket was scratching at his neck.

The gala, the celebration of Earth’s Mighiest Heroes - The Exhibition finally opening, was just an hour away, and The New Avengers had all been invited to attend. Well, Bucky had been invited to attend, which came with an honorary invitation to the rest of his new team. Valentina had accepted on their behalf, stating that a public appearance such as this, especially in the same room as Sam Wilson, would surely garner them better favor with the public.

“So, whose ready to schmooze it up with politicians and Sam Wilson himself tonight?” Ava asked the group, stalking across the room as she dug through the small purse she’d chosen for tonight. O.X.E. had been able to design her a relatively less bulky suit, something to allow her to still have control over her phasing while still being able to dress the part for events such as this. It gave just enough space for her to be able to don a full-length black gown with longer sleeves, made fully of velvet. 

“I think the main question is if Bucky is prepared for that,” Yelena joked lowly, almost completely under her breath, standing up and using her father’s shoulder as leverage to wedge herself into the small heels that Valentina had insisted upon. “Sam Wilson, your maybe-former, still kind-of friend, and a bunch of politicians you worked with for, what, less than half a term?”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny, Belova,” Bucky muttered, stepping up to Bob to help him adjust the color of his dress shirt that was clearly bothering him. “Walker should be the one scared shitless for tonight. Things left off pretty rocky with Sam, and I’m pretty sure Ivory has made her feelings toward you very clear.”

Ivory. Your nickname, one that Bucky had said Steve had given to you years ago. He was glad you weren’t here, for once, instead you were somewhere across town with Sam Wilson and the new Falcon who you’d mentioned from time to time. Even the mention of you had red crawling up Bob’s skin, and he knew for a fact that Bucky noticed. He did everything he could to not look the super soldier in the eyes.

“You’d think Ivory would’ve gotten over it by now,” John scoffed from across the room, redoing the cufflinks on the blue suit he was wearing for the night. “And Wilson…yes, maybe we didn’t leave off on the best of terms, but I’m a changed man. He knows this, I’m sure.”

That devolved into a whole offshoot conversation between John and Ava, debating on whether or not John really was some ‘changed man.’ Bob watched with an amused smile on his face until a voice cleared directly next to him.

“You doing okay?”

Bob finally looked Bucky in the eyes, the man in question just finishing tucking the collar of Bob’s dress shirt down so that it didn’t scratch at his neck awkwardly, and he put on the most confident smile he could muster.

“Who, me? Oh, yeah, y-yeah, I’m totally doing great. Absolutely,”

“Uh huh. No tie tonight?”

“Tried, it uh…it kind of felt suffocating,”

“Fair enough,” Bucky took a step back, adjusting his own black tie before folding his arms over his chest, a smirk lighting up his face. “Nervous?”

Bob groaned, shaking his head immediately as he looked anywhere but at Bucky.

“Nervous? N-No, I’m not nervous-”

“Why does Bob need to be nervous?”

Yelena had slid into the conversation, standing between the pair and glancing back on forth. Bucky’s smirk seemed to grow even wider.

“Because Bob’s finally going to grow a pair tonight and tell little Miss Ivory how he feels,”

Bob hung his head with another groan, burying his face in his hands. Great, now Bucky had really started it.

“Ah, young love! Reminds me so much of my Melina and I, even though our relationship started as a ploy of the Red Room,” Alexei’s boisterous voice rang out through the room as he sighed fondly at the memories. His arm, clad in the red suit he’d chosen for the night, fell over Bob’s shoulders as he pulled him in, affectionately, into a pseudo-headlock. “We have all seen this coming since the day you two met. You go together perfectly, like those birds who choose a mate for life and form the little heart with their heads and necks!”

“That would be called a swan, Alexei,” Ava commented as her and John joined the conversation, the entire group essentially surrounding Bob now as her pointed look turned to him. “About time you did something about it, though, Bob. I think we were all dying seeing how cute you two were. Reading together, cooking in the kitchen, movie nights, whatever other cliche and disgusting rom-com meet-cute moment you can think of.”

“For the record, I just want to say that I taught Bob everything he knows-”

“No you didn’t,” the entire group cut in together, ending the conversation John tried to initiate before it had even truly begun.

Bob glanced around at his team, his friends, cheeks blazing red, but they ended up landing on Yelena and Bucky, glancing between them both.

“What if…w-what if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“Bob,” Yelena deadpanned, unamused at his comment. “You described it to me as soulmates, that you two are quite literally soulmates, how could she not feel the same?”

“Yeah, isn’t that the whole thing with soulmates? That they’re, like, destined to be in love?” John questioned. Bob shook his head, running a hand down his face.

“No, at least n-not always,” Bob tried to explain to them again, trying to remember exactly how you’d phrased it to him. “It just means that-that we’re d-destined to…do life together? To be in each other’s lives. As f-friends or…or something more.”

Alexei moved to talk, but Bucky interjected, simply raising his hand up to stop the man. Bob looked to him, and Bucky gave him the easiest smile he could muster. 

“I’ve known her awhile, Bob. You’re leaving out the last thing she told you in that moment: ‘We’re whatever we decide we’re going to be.’ She left it in your hands, Bob, it’s your choice what it is. But if you want our opinion, she’s definitely hoping you want it to be something more,”

“More than definitely, she does,” Yelena cut in, shaking her head with a laugh. “Hell, you two were practically cuddling on the couch the one night watching Romeo and Juliet. The 1968 Romeo and Juliet movie, Bob, there’s nothing more romantic than that.”

“Just be you, and tell her the truth. It’s gotten you this far,” Bucky said simply with a grin, before it dropped into his signature scowl immediately. “And because I’m sick of you showing up at my door in the middle of the night like a lost puppy complaining about being in love. You might actually be worse than Steve.”

Be himself, and confess. That was the mantra Bob kept chanting to himself the entire limo ride to the museum. Just be himself; it had gotten him this far. You were his soulmate, whatever he wanted that to mean. You’d be by his side forever, no matter what, because you were destined to be. That made him smile, just the tiniest bit.

Bob was terrified of ending up alone again one day. But now, he had someone essentially destined to walk life with him, to always be there. And that person was you…there was no one else he’d rather it be.

When they’d stepped out of the limo in front of the museum, his anxiety came crawling back into his throat. Journalists lined the stairs to the front door, security making a narrow passageway for them all. Lights flashed, hot and bright, and questions were hurled toward the entire group as they quickly tried to get inside, almost flanking Bob like his own personal security detail.

“Barnes! What’s it like to be part of The Avengers again?”

“Bucky, are you and Sam Wilson on speaking terms?”

“Alexei and Yelena, do you have anything to say about reports that the Red Room is back?”

“John! Have you moved on from the incident overseas? Do you want to reclaim the title of Captain America?”

Vultures. That’s what you’d called them once when recounting stories to Bob of your days with your old family. How the press at events like this were like vultures. They’d say anything they could, dig up anything they could, all to get a reaction.

Bob’s fingernails were pressed into the palm of his hand as the team guided him up the stairs as far away from the reporters as they could, throwing open the doors of the museum as if they couldn’t get inside fast enough. His anxiety was clawing at him, clawing it’s way up his throat, trying to suffocate him, and in that moment all he really wanted was you-

And there you were. A picture of perfection, dressed to the nines and standing right beyond the front doors, like you’d been waiting. And the second you locked eyes with Bob, the second he could see the smile on your lips, that familiar sense of calm washed over him. That feeling of you washed over him, seeped into his bones, and dispelled his anxiety in a flash.

The rest of the team said hello to you, complimenting you, before saying they’d talk later as they moved further into the room, heading in the direction of the party that was held in the exhibition hall. You stayed in place, watching Bob, who was frozen in his spot, simply looking you up and down and drinking in the sight of you.

A one-shouldered, floor-length gown. Just barely off-white, almost the same shade as the suit you wore in the field. It hugged every part of you as if it were made for you. The slit in the bottom of the dress ran up your leg, stopping right at your mid-tight, and Bob had to quickly turn his gaze back to your face to keep the thoughts he wanted to bury in the back of his head down.

“Y-You were waiting,” was the only thing he could think to say. You just nodded, smiling at him as you took a few steps toward him.

“I could feel you. Figured you needed me,”

“You…you look beautiful,” Bob’s voice got softer as he said it, looking at you with such genuine affection in his eyes. And by the way you brightened, he knew you could feel it. There was a bloom of something in his soul, something that you were feeling, but he couldn’t place it.

With one perfectly manicured hand resting on his cheek, you leaned in, pressing your lips gently to his other cheek, before sliding your hand into his. Bob’s eyes never left you, only fluttered for a moment as you kissed him, and he squeezed your hand like a lifeline.

“You look incredibly handsome yourself, Bob. Let’s go enjoy the night,”

He’d never say no to you.

Hands still clasped together, fingers intertwined, your other hand came to rest just on his bicep, practically clinging to him as you both walked into the exhibition hall. His anxiety came back for just a moment, the number of people and the volume of conversations growing, but you squeezed his hand. As long as you didn’t let go, Bob was sure he’d be fine.

It was like a timeline, walking by the walls. The Battle of New York, photos collected from journalists and survivors alike. Washington D.C. and the realization that HYDRA had compromised SHIELD. Sokovia, Lagos, Germany, and then…Thanos. A tribute to the lost years, to the Blip, and those who died so that others could live.

He’d heard so many stories from you over the last two months. When Tony had dragged you all out for shawarma after taking down Loki. When you first met Sam Wilson, and elected to call him ‘bird man’ for the next few weeks following. When you met Wanda, found someone just like you for the first time, found a best friend.

Bob had even heard the worst of it. In the nights in the tower, after you’d confessed you knew what tied you both together. He remembered the first night like it was yesterday. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forget it.

Bob woke with a start, his phone on the nightstand shining a bright ‘3:00 a.m.’ up at him when it noticed his movement. But that was the least of his worries.

Bob’s chest was heavy, as if someone was stepping on it, constricting his airway. He couldn’t breathe; he felt as if he was about to hyperventilate. A panic attack, that’s what this was. It had been so long since he’d had one, but he remembered the feeling. But this one felt inherently different, in every way. It didn’t feel like him.

It wasn’t him. It was you.

Bob was out of his bed in seconds, limbs failing as he rushed to the door of his room. When he’d thrown it open, there you stood: hair a mess, tear stains running down your cheeks. And without a second of hesitation, you threw yourself into Bob’s arms.

He wasn’t sure what to do for a second, but the moment you were in his arms, he felt that little ache soothe just slightly. So, he held you tightly. He sank to the floor, right there in his doorway, with you in his arms. And he didn’t say a word. He simply held you, let you cry into his chest, as he stared ahead at the wall before him, and let you cry.

“I was there. I was back in Europe, back on that stupid mountain,” Bob had never seen you cry. You’d talked to the team before, telling stories about Tony, telling Yelena any story she wanted to hear about Natasha, but you had never cried. You’d smiled, told the story, and laughed when the others did. “It kept playing over and over, n-nothing I did could change it. Every time, she…she threw me off the mountain, and she just…she just let herself die. I didn’t want her to die.”

Bob had shushed you then, relying on everything Bucky and Yelena had done for him since they’d met. Thinking back on every time they’d rushed to his room, awoken him from his own nightmares, and calmed him until it was all in the past.

“Y-you’re not there. It’s just a nightmare,” he’d whispered, holding you tighter. He hated that achy feeling in his chest, that you were feeling like this. Bob would’ve done anything to make it disappear. “It’s okay. I-I get them too.”

That was the first time you’d come to him in a moment like that, and it wasn’t the last. The story of Wundagore, the moment you’d blipped back into the world just to watch Tony die, to learn Natasha had sacrificed herself. You came to him through every nightmare, sneaking him out as if your body needed Bob in order to breathe again. And he did the same, recounting every dark moment of his life that haunted him.

It was as if, after finally speaking into existence what that golden thread was that strung you both together, it was sealed. There was no going back: you needed each other, and you always would.

“Did I mention how good you look in this?” your question broke him from his thoughts. Bob glanced over at you, away from the photos that hung on the wall before him, and gave you a shy smile.

“O-Once, but it is nice to hear,” Bob stole a glance down at himself. “I don’t dress like this much.”

You hummed, unraveling yourself from Bob’s side to stand in front of him, adjusting his dress shirt as it had shifted awkwardly beneath the weight of his suit jacket. Your eyes never left his, and his never left yours. Bob didn’t even think about the number of cameras that were probably in the room covering this event, that were probably taking photos right now that the public would see. If anything, they’d probably make Valentina happy. ‘Good optics’ or whatever is she usually said.

“I think I might prefer you in the sweatshirts, though,” you teased, getting a slight laugh out of Bob.

“Me too. E-Except, you did steal my favorite one…”

“Oh I did,” once his shirt was properly adjusted, you’d fit yourself right back into his side, hand resting on his shoulder. When Bob hesitated for just a second, you laughed, taking his arm and resting it around your waist, a promise in your eyes that it was okay. “You aren’t getting that one back, by the way. Smells like you, it’s nice for when I’m not around you.”

There it was again, that feeling in his soul. Whatever this was you were feeling, that he was feeling now, was something he couldn’t place. It was different from anything else, different from the way he felt your joy and laughter deep within his bones. He felt this in his soul, in his heart, in his very being. It engulfed it, set him at ease, and whatever it was had his feelings dangling right at the edge of his lips.

“Hey, I-I wanted to ask you about, uh, about the-”

“Wow! Is this the infamous Bob you don’t shut up about on every single FaceTime call? Damn, I didn’t think he’d be this tall,”

Bob had seen this guy before, in photos that you’d shown him. Joaquín Torres, the new Falcon. Maybe only a year or two younger than Bob, with an infectious personality. He donned an army green suit, one that matched his flight suit that he typically wore, and he carried himself with a confidence that Bob could only wish he had.

“Quin-”

“Sorry, was I not supposed to mention the way you gush about him?”

Bob could only watch, slightly nervous but with an amused smile anyway, as you unwrapped yourself from his side again, swatting your friend and teammate on the shoulder with what he knew was a partially real exasperated look on your face.

“You promised you’d be nice,”

“I am being nice! Not every day you meet your friend’s âme sœur,” the man quickly dodged the next slap from you with a laugh, instead reaching his hand out for Bob’s with a friendly grin. “Nice to finally meet you, Bob.”

Bob hesitated, just for a moment. Touching the team was one thing, touching you was one thing. He was no longer terrified that the Void wasn’t somehow just lurking on the edges of him, that he wouldn’t bleed into the mind of his team and the woman he loved and make them see the most horrendous moments of their lives. Someone new…that was something different entirely.

But you gave him a small, encouraging smile, one that screamed ‘you got this,’ and he took Joaquín’s hand firmly.

“N-Nice to meet you, too. She’s told me a lot about you,”

“About my charming good looks and about how I’m a kick ass Falcon?” his gaze drifted to you for a moment, ‘tsking’ at the unimpressed look on your face. “Oh come on, I’m a kick ass Falcon!”

“I-I’ve seen videos,” Bob chimed back in, nodding his head with a tiny grin. “You are. That stuff in the air…it’s pretty cool.”

Joaquín grinned, snapping his fingers as he pointed toward Bob, glancing back at you with a smirk.

“See? He gets it. I’m going to steal him from you, make him my new best friend-”

“Joaquín, I thought I told you to leave them alone for a bit,”

This was a face that Bob could easily recognize. Sam Wilson, standing in all his glory between both you and Joaquín, adorning a dark blue suit. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to stand just slightly taller in the presence of the Captain America himself.

“I was just introducing myself!”

“He was being a pest,” you deadpanned, an unimpressed look on your face as Joaquín pointed a finger in your direction.

“I’m your favorite pest, don’t forget that-”

“You both are adults, why do you act like children?”

“Because little Miss Magic over here disappeared to the city for two months, I’ve missed her!”

Even witnessing this brief conversation, Bob relaxed slightly. This was your family. Just as Bucky and the others were his, these two were yours. They were your team, the people you trusted with your life, and yet you argued just like his own family did. It made him smile, seeing yet another side of you that had his heart bursting with affection, and judging by the side look you shot him and the grin quirking up on your lips, you’d felt it too.

“Okay, Bob and I are going to go enjoy our night,” you finally cut in to the bickering of the two men, wrapping yourself back around Bob’s arm and sliding your fingers back through his. You sent a pointed look Sam’s way. “Have you talked to Bucky yet?”

Sam sighed, rubbing at his temple as Joaquín clapped him on the shoulder.

“Nope, he’s being a chicken about it. Thinks it’s going to be awkward-”

“We’re going to go find and talk to him right now,” Sam cut in through gritted teeth, grabbing his Falcon by the back of his suit and dragging him slightly backward. Sam’s eyes shot to Bob, softening just for a second as he gave him a nod. “Nice to meet you, Bob. Sorry you had to witness this one’s extrovertedness.”

Bob hadn’t even gotten to reply before Sam had dragged Joaquín away like a scolded child. The second they were out of earshot, your head dropped to Bob’s shoulder with a groan that shifted into a laugh.

“God, I’m so sorry about those two. Frankly, they’re embarrassing sometimes,”

“I-It’s okay,” Bob laughed with you, eyes locked with yours as you finally stood back up. “They’re your family.”

“They are, as painful as they are,” you watched him for a moment, something dancing in your eyes, as you stood a bit straighter. “Before they interuppted…there was something you wanted to talk about?”

Bob’s ears burned red as he quickly looked away, shaking his head and clearing his throat.

“Oh, that. Uh…no, i-it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,”

Bob knew better, he knew you better. He could feel you, and you could feel him. And with the thought of anxiety rushing through him, it was clear that he was lying.

Your hand only squeezed his in response, a soft smile on your lips when he finally turned back to you, as you nodded your head down a hallway.

“Come with me,”

He’d follow you anywhere, that much Bob was sure of.

With the main exhibition long behind you, you guided Bob by the hand through the rest of the museum like a woman on a mission, and he was just along for the ride. Every door you’d come across, you’d peek inside, before muttering something about it ‘not being good enough’ and dragging Bob further through the dark museum, the party long forgotten.

Floors above that party is when you’d finally found a room that worked, and pulled Bob inside and shut the door. It was one of the offices, that much was clear by the many desks and the way the room was simply illuminated by the glow of the desktops on each desk. And when Bob turned his attention back to you, you were waiting expectantly with a smile.

“W-What are we doing up here?”

“I want to bring you somewhere,” your voice was soft as you held out your hands. “I just need you to trust me.”

He did. Bob trusted you more than anyone, and by the way your smile grew he knew you could feel it. He placed his hands in yours, glancing down at them, and when he’d looked back up, your eyes had gone entirely white, something he’d only seen in old video clips from battle.

The room instantly lit up as tendrils of white magic seeped through the room. They covered everything: the walls, the floors, each and every desk. But they left you both untouched; they simply moved until they’d coated the entire room. And the second the white left your eyes, the white of the room left, too, but you were no longer in the office room you’d been in before.

Bob stood on a dock, right by the railing overlooking the lake before him. The water rippled lightly as fish swam through, the trees surrounding the dock and just across the lake rustled in the wind that he could feel on his skin. And when he’d turned around, Bob’s breath caught.

“The…t-this is the Avengers Compound,” Bob’s eyes were wide in wonder, looking out over the building that stood as a testament to all the heroes that had dedicated their lives to saving the world. When his gaze drifted to you, he tilted his head in confusion. “But…didn’t it get destroyed?”

“It did. We’re in a hex,” to show him, you joined him at the railing, reaching out your hand. Just a few inches over the railing, your hand fell flat in midair, a shimmering white wall of magic stopping you from reaching any further. “Don’t worry, it’s contained to just this room, we’re the only ones in it. It’s all real, technically just a little warped reality. This used to be my happy place, where I’d come to think, to just put my crazy life behind me for a minute. I always felt safe here.”

Bob mimicked you, leaning against the railing beside you. He reached his hand out, feeling the faint hum of your magic as it stopped his hand from reaching further.

“W-Why bring me here?”

“Because there’s something you’ve been wanting to tell me, to talk to me about. I can feel it,” you’d told him simply. “And I wanted you to have somewhere safe to tell me. Somewhere Sam wouldn’t interrupt, or John and Ava wouldn’t start an argument, or a room full of reporters and politicians wouldn’t be listening. I just wanted you to feel safe enough to talk to me.”

This was it, the chance to be honest, to confess. But somewhere, deep in the back of his head, he could feel The Void. He could feel it taunting him, telling him you didn’t want him. Why would you want him? You could have anyone in the world; the only reason you wanted him was because destiny had tied you together. Surely, if you had the chance, you’d pick anyone else. You were a hero; the world looked to you as a savior; he was just a broken man, lucky enough to be attached to you.

Those anxieties clouded his mind, and they seeped over into you. So you put your hand over his, and his mind unclouded just enough to start the conversation.

“Y-You told me…that we’re whatever we decided we want to be,”

“I did,”

“So,” he turned his head just slightly, to see that you were already looking at him. “W-What do you want to be?”

“I’ll tell you, when you answer one question,” you took your hand off of his, cupping his cheek, and Bob leaned into the warm feeling against his skin. “When we’re reading, or walking around town, or even the nights I’m crying in your arms…I feel it in me: that warmth, that adoration. Tell me, Bob, is that just affection? Or…is it love?”

His breath caught just for a moment, and somewhere in the back of his head, he could hear Bucky yelling at him once again. So, he straightened himself and nodded his head.

“Love…it’s love. Because I-I love you,” the second the words left him, it was like a weight had lifted off his shoulders, just like the one that lifted off yours. “I knew it that day, when you t-told me about this. I think I knew it before then, too, but uh…I’ve never felt like that before. I’ve never loved s-someone, not like you. I love the quiet moments, when y-you’re reading a book with me. Or when you pull me down on the couch and make me watch a movie. I-I knew the first time I saw you cry, and knew I never wanted to see that again. A-And I know we, uh, we aren’t forced to feel like this. We can choose, but…but it doesn’t feel like I can. I-It feels like I’m supposed to, like I was made to love you…”

Bob finally took a breath, word-vomiting every single thing he’d thought since the night he realized he loved you, and all you did was smile. Your hand left his cheek, trailing down his chest and resting right above his heart, and you took a small step closer.

“I know. Because I can feel it. In my soul, in my heart, in the very fabric of my being,” his breath hitched at the way you described that feeling, and your grin widened. “You know the feeling, because you get it too. When I look at you, when I’m around you…they feel the same, because it’s love, Bob. I love you, too. Maybe we get to choose what we are to each other, but you’re right, it doesn’t feel like a choice. Because whatever cosmic force designed us and split us apart…it made us lovers, that much I know for sure.”

That was like the breaking of the dam. If the acknowledgement of the soulmate tie was the crack, every moment after had just grown that crack inch by inch. But those three little words, they broke the dam: I love you.

Bob didn’t know what came over him, what shot of pure confidence shot through him when his hands reached out and cupped your cheeks. All he knew was he loved you, you loved him, and he needed you more than he needed air.

Bob takes the first step and presses his lips to yours, and it’s as if everything in the universe finally makes sense again. It’s foreign, but familiar at the same time. You’d never kissed one another, but the second your lips touched, it felt right, like you’d done it a thousand times before.

It’s desperate, it’s passionate, but so gentle and loving in a balance that somehow only Bob Reynolds can achieve. Unspoken longing and desperation mixed with pure love and adoration, a clash of lips moving feverishly against one another as if there’s nothing else needed in the world but this moment, this kiss.

There, shrouded from the world together in your own little moment physically made of magic, it’s as if the universe itself is celebrating that its broken star has finally been made whole again.

TAGLIST: @cypherpt5fttaehyung @dark-silhouette @greenbean-4ever @qardasngan @one17 @nutellajade @etheralponygirl @spencerreidswifexd @alexwinchester23 @am1525 @artistadistrada2002 @blackoutdays13 @roseeatta @foreverchangingmind @thecraziestcrayon

[ilium-ilia]

ichor tongue; salted wounds

simon ghost riley x fem!reader | warlord x servant | masterlist

Chapter Two: mouse

tw: non-con groping, dub-con, nudity, bathing, mouth kink, minor spit play

You stare at your palms the entire way to the bath house. 

Indentations still plague your skin, nettling deep into the thick tissue where it saves the memory of the brush you clutched in your hands. Sturdy wood and bristles thick enough to shed long rotting skin. You attempt to recall the last time someone had ever got your hands to curl, either out of indignation or panic, yet nothing comes to mind; not much phases you these days.

Ghost is sure to change this, you think. The tips of his toes nip at your heels as you lead him through the palace, and you’re certain you feel his breath huffing on the back of your neck. He looms. Lowering clouds kissing the horizon, promising a flood, promising lightning and destruction. You’d feel the wrath of the sky if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s already fallen upon your city. You see it in the changing of banners in the corridors; pristine white and silver cloth like wispy clouds are now replaced with red and gold, and an unfamiliar crest—the symbol of barbarians, of your new leaders. The storm has come and passed, and you’re wading through the aftermath. Through the lingering destruction that lies at your feet.

There is a detached bath house that lies away from the palace, past the garden and just before a steep trail that leads down to a placid cove. The building winks in your periphery as it stands outside the windows while your feet carry you further down the corridor. It is one that’s saved for servants and soldiers. Anyone expendable. Anyone deemed not important. Communal, and with a single pool, it’s a great source of socialization where people sit among the curved stone, lathering each other’s backs, or diving into the depths of the water. 

It is a place free from prying eyes. Free from judgement of the superiors, of the aristocrats, of the kings one step below the gods themselves. 

Once, you attempted to use the same water as the others when rain had punished your city for a near week straight. Voices echoing off of the stone walls, wet skin glistening in the shrouded sunlight, they all fell silent the moment you entered. They questioned what you were doing there knowing full well you could not answer, only point in the water that they shared with one another, but refused to share with you. 

I’d rather share water with a pig. 

Caenis. That was the name of the servant who spat at you, sneering at the way your feet uncomfortably tapped at the marble floor knowing there was nothing you could do to spit back. No one has ever been kind to you since you lost your tongue and your parents, but no one has been quite as cruel as her. Pristine skin left unmarred, laying with soldiers to get favors, living as an underground princess beneath Emperor Shepherd’s very nose, she always gets her way. 

But you do not take Ghost to the same place the servants bathe—to the very place where you were made a fool of—instead, you bring your new lord to the same chambers Emperor Shepherd used when he still drew breath. Private. Quiet. Held with the decorum expected to be given to a ruler.

It is a small room adorned with stone nestled far back in the palace, well away from foot traffic and echoing conversations. A round hole cuts deep into the floor with stairs to lead to the bottom, and a lipped ridge to sit on. It reaches deep enough to kiss your hips, and is wide enough for you to stretch your arms, but not much more. Private. Not meant for sharing. A hand lever pump that joins directly to the aquifer stands towards the back of the room, waiting to fill the carved tub to the brim. Grandiose, this bath is one of the single greatest wastes of drinking water, second only to the ever flowing fountains that peasants sneak sips out of when soldiers aren’t looking. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost murmurs. Stepping around you, he marches to the side of the tub, curiously eyeing the craftsmanship. Engraved in the stone are various creatures of the sea. Clams, gulls, schools of fish and animals from ancient stories—krakens, ship eating squids, merpeople luring unsuspecting men to shore. “All this artistry for a man who starved his people.”

Now, it’ll be wasted on you. A wretched and unkind way to think, but it springs to mind. The blood that taints his skin. The scrapes on his arms. How many civilians did he cut down for this one spoil? For a bath soiled by another wretched man? 

Ghost looks to you as if expecting an answer, but you instead direct him to a wooden table against the wall behind him that holds all of Emperor Shepherd’s old oils and soaps. There are countless ones with various scents, consistencies, and medicinal effects crafted by the best artisans. He only scoffs at them. 

“Need me clean and smellin’ like a pansy?” he grumbles. 

Still, he offers you reprieve in distracting himself as you work on filling the tub. Ensuring that the metal plug is in place, you begin to pump water from the spigot, allowing it to gush and wet the stone at your feet. You are grateful it is not designed like a regular pump. It flows long after you’ve stopped working it, water still gushing from the pressure, spilling and babbling as if it were a waterfall. What should take you hundreds of pumps only takes you fifty before it’s full enough to bathe in. 

Not bothering to wait for your direction, Ghost removes his chiton with a stiff grunt while his shoulders pop. Now that you no longer look at him in terror, you take note of all the wounds he’s gathered from the battle. There’s nothing of importance. Nothing that would take his life now or later when the wound goes bad and rotten. He shamelessly struts before you, flaccid cock swinging between his legs, broad shoulders swaying and knees groaning as he steps into the water, hissing at the way the frigidness kisses his skin, smoothing over each injury. 

When you realize he hasn’t pointed out a preferred soap, you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe out your frustration before approaching the table yourself. Lavender. Lemongrass. Mint. Yes, mint will do. You grab the bar before you kneel at the ledge of the pool just next to Ghost, hands dipping in the water and lathering it as best as you can. 

“I don’t think you’ll be able to clean me from there,” Ghost deadpans. Pausing, you turn your attention to him. His elbows are on the ledge, head tilting to the side to look at you. “I’m a big boy.” As if to prove his point, he stretches his legs just as he rolls his hips. You try not to let the distorted image of his cock through the water distract you. “Gonna be hard to reach all of me if you’re sittin’ pretty by that ledge.” 

You freeze. Prey caught in the sights of a predator. If he wanted to, Ghost could gralloch you right here with his bare hands—nails digging through your navel, splitting you open, turning his bathwater pink. You clutch the bar of soap so tightly it nearly slips from your hands, and you opt to hold it against your stomach instead. 

“C’mon then,” he urges, not impatient but rather intrigued. “In the water, little bird.” 

Knowing better than to deny a powerful man his whims, you stand to your feet and pitifully trudge to the stairs. Ghost watches you like a vulture licks its beak over carrion, waiting to peck and tear flesh—to devour something rotten and whole. But you are a defiant creature to an extent. With no tongue to sing with, you hold onto what little power you have left. You do not shed your chiton before descending the stairs, cotton turning wispy in the algid water, hugging your body tight and tangling around your shins as you wade towards your relaxed warlord. The cold has your nipples hardening through the cloth, but you pay them no attention as you keep your chin high and your lips tight. 

He’s chuckling by the time you’re standing in front of him. Thick fingers tap against the stone at his back as he watches you wordlessly begin to wash him up. You start with his hands. His knuckles are split like grapes that are too ripe, but he doesn’t hiss at the sting. Meaty palms nearly devour your own hands, fingers and all, and you try not to pay too much attention to the way he seems to linger against you as you swipe the grime out from beneath his fingernails. 

Tendons pull taught in his forearms once you begin moving up. There are countless scars to trace. Deep ones that deform his skin, to lighter, silvery ones. Your knees knock against the sitting stone as you lean forward, reaching further along him, body bending at your hips. 

“D’ya always make things so difficult for yourself?” Ghost questions. Pausing, you look at his face for further explanation, brows nearly furrowing, but he seems to be waiting for something. On someone. For you. When you don’t respond, he sighs—then, he grabs. Hands slicing through the water, fingers digging into your hips, he pulls you towards him until your legs are spread wide around his thighs, rump resting in his lap. You gasp at the sudden movement, and a smirk pulls at his scarred lips. “Better?” 

Mind still spinning from the sudden movement, you attempt to distract yourself with your task only to realize that the soap has slipped from your hands. It floats along the surface, half buoyant and ready to sink, drifting further from your reach. You point at it, finger trembling too viciously to truly follow, but Ghost grabs your face. Thumb and forefinger digging into your cheeks, he turns your head towards him before releasing you. 

“I don’t care ‘bout the soap, little bird,” he says. His fingers drift from your face, down your neck, and to your collarbones. You pray to the gods that he cannot feel the way your heart thunders in your body. “Don’t care ‘bout the bath either. Just wanna hear you sing.” 

Dipping between your breasts, his hands grab your chiton and then pull. Thread yanks apart, linen ripping down your sternum, bosom on full display as the remaining tatters slip down your arms. Another gasp from you has him humming with pride as you look down at yourself, hardened nipples dancing with each shuddering breath you exhale. No one has ever exposed you like this—so scandalously on display before your lord like a whore.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” Ghosts questions. His hands are on your chest now, palms cupping both your breasts, swallowing them whole with the ever growing cavern in his eyes until he drifts up to view your befuddled face. Despite the water, he’s warm. Too warm. Sweltering against your skin, the mixture of hot and cold threatens to undo you. “Or are you really expectin’ me to believe that a pretty thing like you would waltz into my room to serve me so willingly? Watched me conquer your city, now you want me to do the same to you, is that it? C’mon, pretty bird. Sing.” 

Ghost pinches you where you are soft and tender. The ripening bud of your nipple screams as he squeezes it between his finger and thumb, and it’s as if the sky is angry. Billowing clouds. Cracks of thunder and lightning rippling throughout your body. Your mouth opens enough for a squeak just as your body jolts, and he relents. Pauses. Eyes darkening, head tilting—Ghost looks at you with a fading smile and pursing brows. 

Then, he demands; “Open your mouth.”

The softest part of you. Ripe flesh around a peach pit. Teeth like brittle sand dollars waiting to crumble. You obey. You always do.

Lips parting just enough to open, Ghost hooks his thumb into your mouth without warning where he finds purchase behind your bottom teeth, then pulls. Jaw wide open, you stare at him as he peers into your mouth, and you note when he sees it. You. How you were marred beyond recognition. Humming, his thumb dips lower into the space that would harbor the soft tissue beneath your tongue if it were still here. A phantom tells you that you feel it; him. Prodding beneath the wet muscle. A bitter memory of what you once had. 

“I see.” He fits two fingers into your mouth and rides them along the ridges of your teeth. You feel him count each one. He presses against the edge. Each point. Enough for your jaw to ache. Nearly enough to draw blood. “You’re no bird. You’re a little mouse, yeah?” 

Soft palate now. Dragging forward. Hard palate. Incisors. Then, cheek. Hook and drag, saliva gathering on the tips of his fingers, running over the smooth skin and the indentations left from your teeth. 

“I’d ask who did this, but I have a feelin’ I already know. It was that bastard Shepherd, yeah?” Ghost questions with a hum. With his fingers still in your mouth, you nod. “Dirty cunt. This isn’t fresh either.”

He pushes further towards the back of your throat where the mangled remnants of your tongue lie. A branch cut too short on a tree, too much scar tissue and no reach. The nub pushes against the back of your throat as you swallow, skin melting beneath Ghost’s gaze. 

This is the most bare you’ve ever been in front of someone. Breasts spilling from ripped cotton, mouth open, lips wrapping around a stranger’s fingers as he pokes and prods at your greatest source of shame—of the hellfire and scorn wrought upon you that still lingers as embers and the smouldering remains of your past. 

Eventually, Ghost retrieves his fingers from your mouth, pulling them out slow and steady, prodding at your front teeth before his own lips part. Then, they’re in his mouth. Tongue lapping at your saliva, humming content at the flavor you can no longer taste—a sapor long forgotten. A shaky exhale fans across his face as you watch his eyes dilate. He has kind eyes, you think. A stark difference from the ruggedness strewn across his body, scars like mountains, bruises like valleys. They are soft. Warm like the rocks you sunbathe on after cleaning yourself with the brine of the ocean. Warm like the heated iron used to cauterize your tongue. 

“This city was bequeathed to me,” Ghost says, fingers popping free from his mouth before placing his hands on your hips. His thumbs wander. Rubbing, repetitive and soft against your waist, sending water singing around your bodies. “Everythin’ here belongs to me. Includin’ you.” 

Perhaps in another life his words would make your stomach churn, but the prospect of being owned by yet another ruler does not phase you. It’s something you require, now. Someone to take care of. Someone to serve. His words prompt you to nod, but his fingers squeeze against you and you freeze—a rabbit ensnared, a doe catching scent on the wind, a little girl kneeling before a man playing god. 

“But unlike Shepherd, I take care of my things. I don’t go destroyin’ things that could be easily fixed or corrected. And you—” Ghost pulls you closer, body dragging across his lap and chiton bleeding around you in the bath, forcing your hands to brace against his shoulders to steady yourself as water sloshes around you “—might just be my favorite possession yet.” 

For the first time you can recall, something besides fear or contempt swells in your chest. It is not pride, nor flattery, but something deeper. A beast with its maw opened wide, waiting to swallow something—but what? You? Unsure of what to do—here, in your city’s usurper's lap—you nod. You cannot name if it’s because you are saying you understand him, or if you’re agreeing with him. 

You tell yourself it’s the latter, but each beat of your heart strangely sounds like yes please, let me be something, anything more than this, something of importance, let me be useful, please let me mean something. 

Either way, Ghost chuckles before he taps your hips, legs stretching out behind you. The added buoyancy of the water allows him to move you easier, weightlessness taking over your body as if you’re caught in some sort of dream. 

“C’mon, little mouse,” he prompts. “No prized possession of mine will walk ‘round wearin’ rags like these. I like to rip through somethin’ of substance before I eat.”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

*full story is currently up for early access, updates will be posted every sunday night (may be a different day depending on time zones)

[capsyst]

Here’s a breakdown of my animation.

Once I created the cave set in 3D, I retextured all of the blocks to be a wireframe so I could more easily keep the proportions correct as the camera moved through the scene. I began with a simple box person body. Not only did this help me make sure the proportions were correct but the different angles and sides of the character helped me eventually keep the characters features in the right places later. It’s very rough, but it was a good indication that I was on the right track.

Then began the tedious process of refining the animation. I did a new pass over the original animation with all the features of the character. It’s more detailed, but it’s just as rough in a lot of ways. I wasn’t trying to ensure elements were consistent frame to frame, so you can see a lot of the linework is very wobbly and inconsistent.

Once that was done I went back and did a cleanup phase. This helped smooth out all those inconsistencies and I worked on making sure the animation was smooth and flowed nicely. This became the basis for the final inks and color.

When I’d gotten far enough into working on the scene I went back to the 3D model and rendered it out in multiple passes. I did a flat lighting pass which you see here, and then a shadow pass. I combined the two in Premiere, added some color adjustments and then rendered it out to be used as the background for the final product.

I imported the finished rendered background into Procreate Dreams and began the final coloring. I’d already previously decided on the desaturated colors that would make them fit in this cave environment, so coloring was actually a breeze.

The final two elements that really brought it all together was a shadow layer and a glow layer for the torch. The shadow layer was tricky, but it definitely helps make it seem like the character is interacting with the environment.

As previously mentioned I thought I was going to import this into Procreate and animate it there since I like the Animation Assist tool in Procreate more than I do with how Dreams works. But ultimately because so much of this animation was tied to the movement of the camera I ended up animating ALL of this in Procreate Dream.

I’m really proud of my work here. If there’s anything you wanna learn more about how I worked or anything please feel free to ask, I’d be more than happy to talk about the process more!

[keithyp00]

When The Quiet Comes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Setting: Post-Endgame, Semi-rural town

Warnings/Tags: Healing, Trust, Emotional Intimacy, Soft Domesticity, Peaceful Slow-Burn Romance, Kissing

Word Count: 1,018

Author Note: Hey guys! This is my first time actually posting one of my writings on a platform (and this one is kinda silly and cringey) but I watched Thunderbolts* on Saturday and it actually launched me headfirst into by Bucky phase again so expect a lot of fanfics in like the next week. Anyways I hope you enjoy it <3

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

The town was too quiet.

That had been Bucky's first thought when he arrived- alone, bags over his shoulder, truck engine still cooling behind him. Not suspiciously quiet, not the kind of quiet that made his hand inch toward a weapon. Just... calm. Peaceful in a way he hadn't expected. He didn't know what to do with that new kind of quiet.

That was until you came along, carrying a stack of books that was definitely too heavy, as well as a grocery bag hung over your right shoulder- one that was tipping your bodies natural point of gravity so you couldn't quite walk straight. You rammed right into him on the sidewalk, the book tumbling onto the concrete with several soft thuds, and muttered apologies started flowing from your lips as well as an awkward laugh as you crouched to gather them.

"God, I'm so sorry. I didn't- are you okay?"

Bucky blinked. He had seen aliens. He had fought a metal man in a flying suit. He had stood toe to toe with Thanos. But he had never seen eyes like yours. Soft. Warm. Unafraid.

"...I'm fine," he'd said, voice hoarse from disuse.

"Good." You flashed a quick, sheepish smile. "First time I've hit someone with 'War and Peace'. I guess that counts for something."

He even surprised himself with the small laugh that bellowed from his chest as a response.

______________________________________________________________

You didn't recognize him.

That was the second thing that shocked him. You offered him coffee, not questions. Company, not curiosity. And slowly- so slowly he barely noticed- Bucky began to anchor himself around you.

You ran a bookstore on the corner. Lived above it in a cozy little apartment that smelled like cedar and ink. You wore knit sweaters, laughed at your own silly jokes, and had a tabby cat named Fig that liked to perch himself on your shoulder like a pirate's parrot. You talked to Bucky like he was just... a man. A grumpy, awkward, very handsome man with hair that some might deem tragic, but not you.

You didn't ask about his past.

You simply asked if he enjoyed lemon cake.

______________________________________________________________

Bucky came by the shop more often. At first, it was once a week. Then twice. Then almost daily under the excuse of "running errands" that suspiciously never seemed to produce groceries.

You noticed the way he looked at the world- as if it might slip out from under him at any second. The way he always sat facing the door. The way his jaw tightened when sirens howled, even faintly, in the distance.

You didn't push.

You simply made space.

"Sit," you told him one late afternoon. Rain tapped against the windows, and the power had flickered twice already. "I'll make tea. You can pretend you're a mysterious Victorian man recovering from a duel."

He blinked. "What?"

You gave a grin. "Just trust me. It's a vibe."

To your eternal surprise, he smiled. Not just a twitch of the lips- a real one- small and tired and a little crooked. But real.

______________________________________________________________

The first time he let you touch the metal arm, it wasn't planned.

You had tripped on the top step of the bookstore staircase, two books in hand and- of course- he caught you without hesitation.

Your hands gripped his forearms instinctively. One warm, flesh and bone. The other- cool vibranium. Your eyes flickered down, then up again, and you didn't move away.

"Sorry," you said, breathing a little harder than usual. "You always catch me when I fall."

His expression changed. You saw the flicker of something behind his eyes- something heavy.

"I didn't always," he replied softly.

You didn't ask what he meant. You didn't have to.

______________________________________________________________

It wasn't until winter that you kissed him.

You'd been putting up lights in the window and Bucky came to help, grumbling about how unnecessary it all was- but he brought you hot cider in a thermos anyway and adjusted the ladder every time it wobbled under the movement of your weight.

The lighted ended up not working.

You cursed under your breath, repeatedly flipping the switch back and forth beneath your fingers. And Bucky- sweet, quiet Bucky- reached over, tilted your chin toward him, and kissed you without a word.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't fire and teeth and desperation.

It was slow. Careful. Like he was memorizing something sacred.

"I've been thinking about doing that for a long time," he murmured, lips still brushed against yours.

"Then why wait?"

He hesitated. "Didn't think I deserved to."

You touched the side of his face, brushed your thumb along his cheek. "You deserve peace, Bucky. Even if you don't believe it yet- I do."

______________________________________________________________

Peace didn't come overnight.

Some days, Bucky still woke up gasping. Some nights, you found him on your fire escape, knees drawn close to his chest, eyes scanning the dark. The palm of his metal arm resting against his thigh, twitching like it remembered something he didn't want to.

But you never asked him to come back inside. You just joined him. A blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a cup of tea between your palms, silent unless he wanted words.

Sometimes he spoke. And sometimes- when the wind was soft and the town was asleep- he looked at you like he was terrified to admit that this, whatever it was between you, might be the only thing keeping him tethered.

So you stayed.

______________________________________________________________

The first time you heard him laugh in his sleep, you almost cried.

It was a soft sound. A breath of joy. His head nestled into the pillow beside yours, hair mussed, lips parted in a small, crooked grin.

You reached over and touched his cheek and he stirred under the brush of skin.

"What are you lookin' at?" He mumbled, voice like gravel.

"You," you whispered, smiling. "You were dreaming."

"Was I?" He blinked blearily. "About what?"

"I don't know," you smiled, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. "But you were happy."

He was quiet for a long time. Then, voice low, he said, "You were in it."

[spartev]

(Not) About Us - Karina x reader

SYNOPSIS: A young idol's mental fatigue messes up her life beyond expectations but when the world is cold Karina is your warm home.

CONTENT WARNING: angst/smut, little discussion, make-up sex, slaps, comfort

A/N: Chat I would kiss her so sofly :(

I've been wanting to write a bit of angst for a while now, so I hope you like it :)

The walk home was quiet, eerily quiet. In the noisy streets of Seoul, tiredness was the loudest noise in people's minds. As a young idol in the industry, your days were almost always busy and tiring, but despite that, the walk home usually felt good, almost as if the world was redeeming itself by giving you at least 15 minutes of rest.

It was in these turbulent times that you began to question yourself... About your career, your personal life, your choices. Maybe it was just the difficulties of being in this industry knocking on your door, weighing your body down and changing your attitudes. Maybe it was just a phase.

The hood of your sweatshirt covered most of your face and the mask helped you hide your identity. The hallway light turns on as you step out of the elevator and cross to your door, your hand reaching for the doorknob, taking a deep breath as you hesitantly type in the password.

You already know what to expect, but you open the door and walk through, taking off your mask and hoping that maybe today won't be like the last two weeks. But you spot the figure sitting in the armchair on the darkest side of the shared apartment's living room.

Your fingers reach for the switch, turning on the light and revealing the expressionless face of the woman you loved. Your eyes watch her run her fingers through the pages of one of the books you had given her for her last birthday. She doesn't say anything at you and you think that maybe silence would be better than another argument to fill your ears.

Then she leaves the book on the stool next to her, gets up, puts on her little slippers and walks towards you, passing straight past you with her body lightly brushing against yours, following the corridor that led to the room.

You finally exhale, realizing that you've been holding your breath and your body tense since the moment you set foot here.

Your eyes scan the room before turning to the hallway, hands clenched as your feet drain all the courage you have in your body to walk to the room.

Opening the already open door, you can see her leaving her glasses on the table next to the headboard of the bed, she lets her hair down and it flows perfectly down her back, long dark and soft curls.

You finally walk in and she doesn't look at you again. Sighing, you sit on the bed with your back to her, taking off your sweatshirt and quickly getting up to go to the bathroom. You take your time in the shower, feeling the hot water soothe the pain in your back.

The wrinkled fingertips betrayed your commitment to avoiding the inevitable — and necessary — conversation. The sight of the sweatsuit waiting on one of the pieces of furniture decorating the room made your heart clench. She had set it aside for you, even during this moment.

You take your time to brush your teeth, already wrapped in the comfort of your clothes. The sight of her lying with her back to you fills your vision as you approach the bed.

The secondary lamps are the only source of light that illuminates the room. Your eyes stare at the ceiling for a long five minutes after you insert yourself between the heavy blanket and the large, soft bed. But you can't help but look back at her, far enough away that you miss her warmth, her smell, and the sound of her breathing.

"Karina." You whisper as you turn towards her, your hands itching to touch her but you don't.

She doesn't respond, nor does she move.

"Jimin... Please." You whisper again. And you see her body shiver.

"What do you want?" She tries to speak firmly, but you can hear the fragility in her tone.

The room is silent as you select your words.

"Can we talk?" Your voice comes out carefully.

"Now you want to talk? You've been avoiding me all week, Y/N." She says irritably.

The words don't come out of your mouth and she continues.

"You leave early, you stay there longer than you need to, you take a long time to get home and when you get home you hole up in that damn studio." The grinding of her teeth is clear as she raises her voice, turning to you.

Your words falter, swallowing for a moment the shame of your own actions.

"So what do you want now?" She repeats, staring at you with her brow furrowed in anger.

"I just... I thought we could talk, like... A real talk. No yelling." The words come out slowly, at this point you can see the anger bubbling in her eyes as she takes her time watching you.

"Okay. So where have you been? Who have you been with?" She shifts on the bed, towering over you. "When you're not at work and don't even come home." Somehow you know she's been thinking about this often, maybe because of the way she immediately mentioned it.

"You know I always stay longer than my office hours." You say, sitting up in bed.

"I know?" An unhappy laugh is uttered. "Yoona assured me that you weren't there during the twenty times in a row I called to check on you." She refers to the leader of your group.

You sigh, not believing what she's implying. "Jimin... please. I'm not always in Yoona's sight." Your tone can describe a bit of discontent.

"Come on, Y/N. Be honest once and for all." The voice echoes in a delicate thread about to break.

“I’m not cheating on you, Jimin.” You make sure to meet her eyes as you say this. “I could never do that.” Your head falls back, closing your eyes and sighing before turning your gaze back to her. “It’s not that.”

"So what is it? What makes you come back late, avoid me and dodge around." Her tone gives her away, the restrained words coming out as if they were stuck in the back of her throat.

"I just... I've been going through some things. Work..." Your throat tightens. But you have to do this, you know you have to make sure she knows that... "It's not about us."

"But you're the one doing this to us." She whispered, tears starting to stream down her face. And fuck... That hurt, it hurt more than when she pointed her finger at you about her suspicions, it hurt more than the angry words exchanged over the past few weeks, because you knew it was true, you knew it was your fault.

"Jimin..." This time you don't hesitate, your hand reaches out to reach her, sliding over the tears that were streaming down the woman in front of you. You can feel the warm skin in contrast to the cold tears that ran down your hand.

As much as she briefly thinks about pulling away, she can't. She misses you, she misses your touch on her, your love.

She chokes, trying at all costs to stop crying but the small sobs come to the surface with the persistence of her tears.

"Don't cry, please don't cry." You gently beg, your voice low as your hands cup her face.

Your fingers stroke her sadness-stained cheeks and her blurred eyes look up at you. You step closer to her, your faces inches apart.

"Shh... I'm here. It's okay." You stated, trying to reassure her. Your foreheads were now touching, your gazes locked even though she couldn't see much in her current situation.

Her hands reach out to grip the hem of your sweatshirt, her grip firm as she tries to make sure you’re really there.

"My love." You whisper, placing kisses on her face. She continues to pant as her sobs fill the room. "I'm sorry I did wrong to you." Your hand moves to the back of her neck, caressing every skin it touches.

"I thought..." She shudders before completing her sentence. Her chest rises and falls unevenly.

"No, no, never." You insist, nodding. You can feel the pressure of her grip on you, pulling you toward her. "There's only you." Her eyes meet yours again, swollen and watery.

"Do you promise?" She whispers, her voice weak and exuding fragility.

"Babe, I promise." The gentleness is present in your tone. "I'm so sorry." Your lips brush against hers as she gasps for breath, her tears stifling.

Your mouth moves forward millimeters, feeling the softness of her lips and the great gusts of air that enter and leave her mouth. You press your touch to the warmth of her half-open mouth, the delicate contact expressing all the care and love you have for her.

Her lips slowly meet your, effectively sealing them in a kiss. Parting for another breath of oxygen and meeting again.

Her tongue slid over your lip, exerting pressure to enter your mouth. Your saliva mixed and her taste intoxicated you like a sweet warm shot of tequila.

She gasped into your mouth, pulling you desperately towards her. Your sighs were inevitable as her nails scraped the skin of your waist through the gap in your sweatshirt. Your body followed hers, carefully laying her down on the bed and placing yourself on top with her legs on either side of hers.

"Mmmph..." She bites your bottom lip before you pull away, you lowering yourself towards her neck.

"Jimin..." You whisper into her neck between wet kisses, sending goosebumps across her skin. Her legs open to receive your hips.

All you hear are the murmurs she lets out whenever you run your tongue over her or catch the skin between your teeth, marking her with a red that makes her sigh.

Your hands slide down over her pajama shirt, settling on her hips to squeeze the soft flesh. Gently your hands rise along with the fabric, with her help you manage to remove what was blocking the view of your paradise.

Your eyes travel down her figure, trying to imprint the image in your mind. Her rosy face and closed eyes furrowing her brows, her blotchy neck and her large breasts moving with her rapid breathing.

Her tapered waist and wide hips painted by the pale skin your hands touched. She has no flaws at all, and you feel guilt build up in your chest.

The path your hands trace is warm, the skin that fills your palms is firm and soft. Her eyes open as your fingers tighten, squeezing her boobs.

The heat that takes over her is expressed in the way her hips advance beneath you, seeking contact.

"Oh..." Escapes her mouth, her low, gravelly voice reaching your ears as you lean down, your tongue snaking across the bristling areola.

Your tongue runs over the entire breast before wrapping around the nipple and sucking it between your lips. Your hand never stops working the other, teasing it with small pinches.

"Y/N!" She exclaims louder, your teeth working on the sensitive area. Her full breasts are pink with darker spots from the hickeys you've beautifully distributed all over her.

Her hips move, grinding against you. Her hands hang on the back of your neck, pressing your face even harder into her, you can feel her nails digging into your skin as you pulls harder between your lips.

She lifts her hips off the bed as your hands travel to the edge of her pants, pulling her panties off with them. Your mouth trembles with desire as you see her pale, shapely thighs squeezing her intimacy.

Your fingers wander again over the slender body laid out below you. Feeling yourself throb as you gaze at her.

"You're so beautiful." It escapes your mouth without you even questioning it. Her bright eyes staring deeply into yours, her body moving vaguely in a hurry.

She likes it. Karina loves having your eyes on her and your compliments directed only at her. Seeing your tongue moving over your lips as you saw her exposed made her feel desired, powerful, loved.

When she was like that, with her legs opening slightly to give you the pleasure of her glistening folds, and you saw your brain stop for seconds, completely enchanted by her. All of this made her own mind imagine the feeling of having you inside her.

"Y/N, please." She asked in the way she knew you liked, low in a growl. Trying to rub herself against your thigh next to her.

You quickly removed the sweatshirt that covered your torso wrapped in a tight tank top. Your hands hurried to lift her legs, making her sigh due to the pressure of your fingers on her open thighs.

She felt the cold air in the room in contact with the throbbing heat that was already seeping out by now.

Her hands squeezing her own breasts, before having you between her legs. Your mouth kissing and sucking the white skin of her inner thighs, on the way to paradise.

Her scent filled the air, filling your lungs with the most delicious aroma. Your mouth glided along her sides, kissing her larger lips. The feeling of being on the edge of an abyss about to fall.

She gasps with delicious sounds as your tongue slips over her soaked folds. Gliding smoothly over the soft skin, dipping into the slit that expelled the liquids into your mouth.

"Oh, oh... Fuck!" She moaned needily, pressing your head into her and lifting her hips to grind herself into your mouth.

Her mouth drops open as her eyes roll back at the pressure of your tongue on her sweetest spot.

"Tell.... Tell me you're mine." She begs through gritted teeth, fucking your face hard. Your scalp is starting to feel sore from the way she's gripping your strands and forcing your head down.

"I'm yours. Only yours." You reply messily with your mouth full of pussy. Your teeth scraping deliciously against her swollen clit and your tongue pressing against her entrance.

Her mind is confused and aching from the impact of her pussy with her face. She starts to rub it on his face, enjoying the way her liquids make him wet, and how his eyes express nothing but an empty mind desperate for her pussy.

"Ah... Yes, you're mine." She moans softly, reveling in the sensation of your mouth devouring her. Her hands reach up to her hair as you sink into her.

"You're mine," you say through gritted teeth, sucking her clit between your lips hard as your hands work to keep her legs open.

The soft flesh spreads in your hands, filling them completely. Your body begins to shudder in his hands, your hips stuttering as they thrust into you.

"Fuck, fuck... I'm gonna cum."

You allow her thighs to close around your head, pressing her pussy hard into your face as she melts into you.

The moans echo in sequence as you feel your mind go numb for a few minutes due to lack of air.

She takes several deep breaths, panting with pleasure. Her arms fall to her sides and her legs slacken around her, demonstrating her lack of strength after orgasm.

You partially raise your torso, watching her mumble some nonsense to your ears.

Her thighs tremble slightly at your soft touch on them, roaming inside her, squeezing in some places for the pleasure of hearing her gasp, still dizzy with pleasure.

Your wait isn’t long, she barely recovers before your fingers are wandering even closer to her throbbing cunt. You can feel the heat emanating from her core, her sensitive hips pulling away ever so slightly, only to press back into the touch.

"Ugh... I haven't... I haven't recovered yet." She struggles to catch her breath.

"Let me show you how much I love you. Hm?" You state more than ask. Your fingers, which had previously been pressed to spread her legs, now touch directly to her core.

Wet skin, sliding over your fingerprints, her hole opening and closing slowly, pulsing as if begging you to fill her. Your fingers press against her, but return to roaming calmly around her sensitive clit.

"Ah... I..." She can't find the words to speak when she feels your fingers tug lightly on her hard spot. Her hands fly to her hair when she doesn't know what to do with them. She feels herself shiver, her throat closing and her womb tightening with the pressure of your fingers.

Your fingers slide down her slit, now inserting one inside her. Slowly getting used to it, you know she's too sensitive, her walls gripping tightly around your length.

You can feel them opening and closing as your finger pushes deeper, reaching all the way to the base of it. You arches inside her, hitting her pleasure spot, her hips jerking up with a loud moan.

"Mmmph..." She bites her own hand to keep from screaming when you insert the second finger at once. You're almost certain she hurt herself with the force of the bite.

Warm walls expand around you, molding themselves to your shape. The high blood pressure makes it all better, the clenched fingers squeezing all the remaining sanity from your needy body.

Your fingers start to pound hard inside her, in sync with your other hand that moves towards her face. Forcing her to open her eyes to look at you when you hold her by the jaw, you can see her cloudy and shiny eyes, her swollen and open mouth that drips a trickle of saliva.

A firm slap makes her eyes widen as your palm touches the now red skin, your hand immediately caressing the spot. Her pussy throbs at the same time, pulling you deeper inside, sliding around you, the texture of her insides leaving your brain overstimulated.

"Take it. Take it all." You command, your fingertips hitting her most pleasurable spot.

"Oh... Uh... Fuck! Ugh..." Her moans are cut off when you shove your fingers inside her mouth. Sliding over her soft tongue, bathed in her saliva.

She works her mouth over you lazily as your fingers pound inside her holes. You feel her gasp as her pussy begins to convulse in your hand, her juices spilling over your palm and wrist, dripping onto the expensive white sheets.

Your hand speeds up, fucking her hard even as her thighs struggle to stop the impact. She starts to whimper as you slap her breasts again, turning the marked skin red again.

"It's my love, take it." You whisper in her ear as you lift up to kiss her neck.

"Ugh... Y/N!" She exclaims once again, completely melting into you. Her nails tearing into your back and her legs squeezing your hand between them with her hips chasing her pleasure.

"Oh..." Her breath echoes loudly through the room, her body softening beneath you. Your fingers tremble inside her to pull out. "No... No, leave it there. Leave it inside." She begs, her eyes dazed from her recent orgasm.

You laugh, pulling your hand out slowly, she stops you halfway, both hands grabbing your wrist to push back in. You look into her eyes and know that even though they look silly, she's not joking.

"Baby, let me taste you a little. I promise I'll put you back in." You wait for her to let you, your grip on her hands loosening hesitantly.

Your fingers come out with a sigh from both of them, lifting them your mouth to suck on them. You run your tongue between them to taste the milky cum with a moan. She keeps her eyes on you even though they are heavy with fatigue.

"So delicious, my love." You climb on top of her to seal your lips gently. She moans into your mouth feeling her own taste flavor the kiss.

"I'm so sorry... It won't happen again." You whisper against her lips, your regret expressed in all your actions, in the shine in your eyes.

"It's okay now. I understand." She matches your tone. "We'll deal with this together." Her fingers caress the arm hanging over her waist.

"Yes." You affirm with conviction. Her hands move down your arm to your hand, her lips pressing back to yours in a calm kiss, her hands directing yours to the middle of her thighs.

You giggle as she places you in her warmth, your fingers filling her again and she moans into your mouth.

You settle into each other as comfortably as you can, your bodies intertwined in a lovely warmth.

"I love you. I love you so much." You say, caressing her sleepy face, removing the strands of hair from her eyes.

"I love you too." She smiles big, falling asleep in your arms within minutes.

For the first time in about a month you feel at peace with life, with yourself again.