#and like I can’t perform or rise to the pressure of the expectations

[saltminerising]

seeing the drama go down about the auraboa lore has made me super anxious. as a writer and also an autistic person, it can be hard to fully know and prepare for every single issue ahead of time, and it worries me that i’ll accidentally write something problematic into my own lore on flight rising without realizing it. (also i don’t have the funds to personally hire a sensitivity reader for all my flight rising lore.) it makes me wonder if one day i’ll write something and get cancelled and called racist for something i didn’t intend for it to come across that way at all, despite my best efforts to be cognizant of such things.

i’m not saying people shouldn’t call out these things. as a writer, there’s a lot of pressure to perform, but also the responsibility to get things right, to not spread misinformation or perpetuate harmful stereotypes. but i really think some compassion should be extended to the other side too, that people are human and they do make mistakes, unintentionally causing hurt. should flight rising hire sensitivity readers? absolutely. should they fix and change the issues present within the lore? absolutely. but i also don’t think they intended to belittle or dehumanize a group of people with their recent lore, either.

i know i’ve certainly taken the time to rewrite entire chunks of my own lore when something just felt… off to me for whatever reason. and i think that’s something that no author should be afraid to do. but the sheer hostility that comes from some people can be really daunting and anxiety-inducing. discouraging, even. to some extent, it makes me personally wonder if i should even try to tell stories when people try to find as much fault as possible in them, and aggressively tear them down rather than offering constructive criticism. it creates an environment of hostility rather than a learning space where we can all be better people.

i’m not talking about the folks who have valid criticisms, and voiced those things politely and with respect, who have brought up real concerns. that should by all means get discussed and acknowledged. i’m talking about the ones who are going overboard and getting angry at staff and just straight up calling them extremely racist. not that i’m defending racism. of course not. just that i think being that as accusatory as possible doesn’t get us anywhere other than high tension and mob mentality.

i also think there are definitely people who are being dismissive of these concerns as well, and those folks need to back down too. (especially that individual who posted a baby image as a reply to what an individual stated. that’s such a childish thing to do. please be better than that.) i’m just sad to see some people can’t remain civil about these topics, i guess. i feel like, we’re all people here, we all bleed the same, we all make mistakes. perhaps a little bit of empathy would go a long way from both sides of the equation.

on another note. for the folks who are being equally dismissive of the phobias that genes like medusa and scuttle trigger: people are people, and what bothers one person might not upset another. expecting everyone to feel the same way, and to not have a certain trigger because it doesn’t personally bother you is a very narrow-minded way of thinking. let people exist in the way that they do without making them feel unheard and unseen, as though they are ridiculous or foolish. they’re not.

i love these genes myself, but i can understand if someone else was unnerved by them, because the world is a larger place than my own narrow perception of it. again, compassion and empathy go a long way. please don’t be unkind to the folks who may be dealing with things you are not. wouldn’t you appreciate it if someone was as understanding about the things that upset you?

anyways. sorry for rambling. i’m sure most of you will think this is too much to read, and that’s fine too. i can understand that. regardless of whether you did or not, i hope you all have a good week. rest, hydrate, and take care of yourselves.

[topgunreacts]

Ok in MtH you wrote such a complex and compelling argument for Mav as an omega that i’m kinda stuck from seeing it the other way 😭 Could you kinda explain why Ice works as an omega in your ABO-verse? I think his canon persona is so much more alpha but I could kinda see how he’s omega it just wouldn’t be my first thought & Id love for you to ramble about it a bit

A great question! I think these two facts (pertaining to MY version of omegaverse) are what will help you most to shift perspective:

First: Pheromone types are sexes. Not genders. In the real world, sexes (of which there are many—hello intersex people! You are in my omegaverse too!) are intertwined with gender in a number of ways, some more biologically driven and others more socially driven. But only a biological essentialist would say that all gender expression is innately tied to sex. When people say things like this: of course he kept badgering you for sex; men just want sex all the time; they can’t help it! When yes, in fact, cis men can control their sexual urges—that’s bioessentialist. Being a man does not mean dude is somehow less in control of his sexual urges. That has nothing to do with whatever is going on in his hormones or chromosomes. That behavior occurs as a result of social reinforcement, gender bias, and sexism. So in my omegaverse, saying that someone with Ice’s traits (stoic, confident, assertive, in control, unflappable) must be alpha is playing into Real World (and in-universe!) stereotypes of conditioned alpha male behavior. Just as biological sex IRL is not a binary set of gender experiences, biological sex in my omegaverse is not a set of six genders, where all the confident assertive men are alphas and the more emotional, ‘softer’ men are omegas.

Second: Heat/rut cycles do impact behavior innately. But not everyone experiences the same impacts in the same ways. As I said in my other lore post, heats and ruts serve community survival purposes. A male omega heat says: protect group, exploit resources, achieve goals. And what that actually looks like is different for every single male. Ice’s heat looks like his inborn personality traits being fine tuned into biological weapons: he becomes more observant, more assertive, more precise, more patient (when he’s stable). Maverick’s heat by comparison was all about explosive energy, risk, unorthodox maneuvering, and aggression. Someone else’s might look like sneaking around or manipulating people emotionally. It’s them dialed up to eleven.

Another thing you might find interesting about this story that’s very different from MtH is the fact that in this new timeline, the Male Omega Combat Revelation has already come to pass. MtH has Maverick kicking off the military’s “discovery” (in the modern, Western dominated era) that male omegas experience battle trances when they’re in heat—skills that could be refined and trained. Maverick in MtH is on the cutting edge of his sex’s newfound rise to power. Iceman in Principles of Aviation, conversely, was born into a world where the Revelation happened at Pearl Harbor during the Japanese bombing. Since then, decades of research and billions of taxpayer dollars have gone into refining the art of male omega battle trances. Consequently, there is HUGE pressure on Ice to conform and perform to perfection. After all, the military practically has it down to a science—they even run blood tests on all pilots to uncover potential matches that are especially biologically compatible! What could go wrong?

Omega Maverick: stuck in a world where no one believes he can accomplish anything worthwhile, devalued, oppressed, but lots of room for creativity and innovation once shit does pop off

Omega Iceman: stuck in a world of impossibly high expectations, pressured to be the best at all times, expected to thrive in a government assigned Formula for Success, no room for going off script

They’re fighting against/working with themes and plot points that play to their strengths as characters. Maverick had to dig beneath the bottom of the barrel before anyone so much as noticed him. Ice is constantly scrutinized and then criticized because he’s gone through several failed matches without the perfect success and martial prowess that is automatically expected of him.

[russellius]

GQ: George Russell: F1's Mr Consistent is focusing on all the positives

With four races left in the season, the British F1 driver is on course to finish fourth in his first year driving for Mercedes – but make no mistake, his goal is to win multiple world championships

By Mike Christensen 23 October 2022

It’s early September and George Russell is in peak chill out mode. He’s taking full advantage of an unexpected break in the F1 calendar to hang out with his family and loved ones at home in north Norfolk, where he was born and bred. Today, though, he’s down in London for a photo shoot with Belstaff. When I mention my grandparents used to live in Kings Lynn, he rises slightly from his chair and his eyes light up.

“My grandparents had a shop in Wisbech called Else Discounts,” he says proudly, hoping I might know it. “Their surname was Else, so their slogan was ‘Who else, but Else?’ It was a bit cheesy, but I liked it.”

It’s clear that family is, and always will be, extremely important to Russell. He recently posted a photo of his parents, who were visiting the Mercedes AMG HQ for the first time. “They have been a huge part of my journey from the very beginning,” he wrote, adding that his career to date has been “a proper family effort along the way”. When Russell first started go-karting at a young age his father, Steve, would act as his mechanic while his mother, Alison, used to record all of Russell’s setups and lap times in a green notepad.

“I always try to represent myself in the best light possible,” he says, “and the people who I represent as well – Mercedes and all the team partners but also my family, my girlfriend, and my friends.”

With four races of the 2022 season left, there’s no doubt the season hasn’t panned out as many people expected for Mercedes but Russell’s feeling good about his debut after three years at the back of the grid with Williams. “I’m really enjoying being part of Mercedes, seeing how they operate as a team. They're the best in the business so it's been a learning process for me,” he says confidently.

(...) Here’s how life in the fast lane has been for the man himself.

How would you sum up this season so far for you? For a team of Mercedes' calibre, we have underperformed substantially this season but I can see there's light at the end of the tunnel. Moments like this either make or break a team. Either you fall apart because there's so much pressure, emotions are high, and maybe you’re thinking irrationally about a number of the issues. Or you grow stronger together. I'm really feeling that, seeing how the team is coming together, going about the issues we've had almost scientifically, as you would and should in a Formula 1 team, and being rational about every single issue rather than making decisions in the heat of the moment.

Being your first in a Mercedes seat, what was your aim for 2022? I went into the season with a very open mind, because I appreciated and recognised it as a totally new era and there were no guarantees that we would get it right. Obviously I've come here to win races, and I'm not satisfied with just finishing in the top five every single race. But again, I've got to be rational about this. And I can't be disappointed with my results this year, because the results on almost every single occasion have been optimised. This is my fourth season in F1, I worked so hard to get here and I feel ready to fight for victories and World Championships. I'm here for the long haul with this team, and I believe that this is the best place to be to give myself the best chance of World Championships if I look at it over the next five-year period.

Are you satisfied with your performances? It's always that half-glass full, half-glass empty analogy. I saw this really nice artwork of two people sitting on a bus on an ocean drive. One guy was looking out onto the sea, and the sun was shining, and he had a big smile on his face. And the other guy on the same bus, on same journey, was looking the other way out into a cliff wall. And he had no view and it was dark and shaded. That really struck me and it's so true, so many people can be on the same journey, but you've got to take all of the positives from that journey and look at the sunshine rather than looking in the shade. That's what I'm trying to do this year, I'm looking at the sunshine. I'm looking at how we've always improved on a Sunday, how the results have, generally speaking, been the best possible result we could have achieved with the car we've got. Rather than thinking, "Oh, we should be winning because we're in Mercedes."

What’s the aim for the last remaining races? If we won a race this season, we can walk away feeling that we've been on a difficult journey, but one that we've recovered really well. As a team, we want to finish ahead of Ferrari in the team championship. That would be a good boost for us over the off season and it would be a difficult pill for Ferrari to swallow, considering that they had the fastest car on the grid at the start of the season. And for us to take that momentum into 2023, psychologically that would be quite an important result for us.

What lessons has Formula 1 taught you? When I look at my career path compared to other people's I feel like sometimes if you have too much success when you're younger and don't experience those really challenging moments where you need to look in the mirror and question yourself ‘How am I going to improve?’ it hurts you later down the line. I had two standout years in my junior formulas where they were really, really challenging for me. I didn't perform and I wasn't fighting for the championship and that was difficult for me, but it was a moment that probably really helped me progress as a person.

How so? When I was 16, I was a little bit naive and arrogant. If I wasn’t winning, I’d be like ‘Well, it can't be me why I'm not performing, it must be something else.’ There were other reasons why I wasn't performing, but I was also a big factor of why we weren't getting those results. Realising that really helped me to improve as a person and improve as a driver. Equally now in F1, three years on the back of a grid with Williams. These difficult moments, a couple of mistakes along the way, they make me stronger.

Do you have any pre-race rituals? Before the race, a big part for me is taking 10 minutes alone in my room to get away from all the craziness that's outside with 150,000 fans in the grandstand, loads of people in the paddock, all of our sponsors and guests within our team. It's my quiet space but it's less to try and get in the zone, and more to let my mind and body relax, because it's sometimes a bit overwhelming with everything that’s going on. Often on a Sunday we do the driver's parade in front of the fans. Your heart is pumping because you feel the energy from the crowds, and you're psyched up before you get in the car. Sometimes that plays against you because driving a car, when you do these incredible laps you need to be relaxed and you've got to flow between the corners so the harder you try the worse it is. For me, jumping into a car when I'm all hyped up and my heart is racing, is not what I need to perform. I almost need the opposite. I need to be calm, I need to be relaxed. And so, just taking 10 minutes is good.

What’s the toughest thing about being a Formula 1 driver? I'm so passionate and motivated to perform, win, and be a World Champion. But the sport is tolling. You've got the physical aspect and the psychological aspect is tolling. You have all those emotions of the race weekend, the success, the highs, the lows. The travel is tolling on the body. It's not a healthy lifestyle. And I'm not talking just for drivers but for everybody in the sport. We're going to 22 different countries in a year, staying in 22 different hotels, eating 22 different types of food, and 10 different time zones. That lack of routine is not good for anyone. So I sit here today and say, ‘I think I can go until I'm 40’ but maybe in five years time I'll say something else.

How do you deal with everything else that comes with the job? So many things are expected of athletes these days that I think people forget we are just human. I'm a racing driver, not an activist, not a politician – I'm not this and I'm not that. You're expected to have the right view and opinion on everything and for me, I'm 24 years old, and that's probably one of the hardest parts of the job. The driving part is easy because I'm a racing driver so once I've got that helmet on, I'm in my happy place.

Some big names will be leaving the sport at the end of the year. How do you feel about that? [Sebastian] Vettel retiring, he’s one of the biggest names in sport, and Daniel Ricciardo probably being out of a drive next year, are not things we really contemplate. I've got a huge amount of respect for those two and obviously the sport will miss them dearly, but it's like that in any sport industry, people come, people go, and the sport will live on. That's just reality.

Another thing attached to the sport is looking the part. Is style important to you? I want to dress well. And I want to look classy and elegant. Kind of like David Beckham in that regard. Or Federer, someone who has always dressed well. He's smart.

Seems like you’ve found yourself a good match then, in Belstaff? Being British and patriotic, Belstaff is the perfect brand for me to be associated with. It’s very classy, elegant, and casual as well. It's got a huge heritage and history with motor sport and motoring, so it ticks all the boxes.

Would you say style transcends trends? I was talking about first impressions with somebody, and they say that if you're going to get a job, they know within the first five seconds if they're going to hire you or not. Within the first five seconds walking through a door, probably half of that is you haven't even opened your mouth yet. People, rightly or wrongly, judge characters based on how they dress. So for me, I always want to have the right impression, good impression.

Were you wearing racing overalls when you had your interview with Toto Wolff? Toto always says I was wearing a suit, which is pushing it a little bit. I had you a shirt on and nice trousers, nice shoes. That was the biggest interview of my career and I went in thinking, ‘This can totally change my destiny’ so I wasn’t going to walk in with my trackies and a hoodie on.

You drive fast cars for a living but what about stylish old cars? I would love to own a vintage car, for sure. I'm not quite at that stage of my career yet, to be looking at having multiple cars as such. But I actually had an event in Monaco earlier this year. And there were three Mercedes SL300s from the ’50s and ’60s. Incredibly elegant cars, and I thought ‘definitely one day’. That’s the dream to own one of those classic convertibles, roof down, driving along the coast.

[dulcewrites]

oh god i read ur recent chapter of fcc (amazing btw) and it seems tension (?) is rising at the lack of child- namely son- being produced . myrah is quite aware of how the world works here :( eg ‘men are to take their pleasure’ what if she starts thinking she’s failed aemond in the most fundamental way.

although yes they married for love, (my sweet aemyrah </3) lines are expected to continue , and she is a woman of a fairly insignificant house in comparison to the likes of the targaryen name ,, what if she starts feeling the pressure .

bc we know that essentially, a woman’s only function in the GOT/HOTD world for women is their womb , and myrah may feel even more pressure to perform her duty considering the naysayers (sorry otto) when it came to their union .

if it may be even worse is when the seed does take , she miscarries :( oh my sweet myrah. and you’ve mentioned before that baelor’s birth was extremely difficult and almost resulted in myrahs death so it seems she’s going to have a really rough go of it , i can’t imagine the mental anguish

rambled a lot sorry i hope u are well and i hope my babies get through it

First hi, I’m glad you liked it! Thank you so much.

I’m so happy that was coming across bc yeah I didn’t include the dance in this fic bc I feel like stories get very… melodramatic with it lol. But just because that isn’t a factor doesn’t mean other things aren’t.

You’re right, Myrah is very aware of her place in that world. Despite growing up in a less strenuous environment than Aemond and with parents that did value her and sister, she is still influenced by everything around her. She is still in a semi new place with a new family. Regardless of what Aemond may say, there is expectation for how a wife “should act”. Even if he doesn’t voice it, others will.

THEN you have the added pressure of not only expectations from people around her but she also needs heirs herself. So not only does she feel like she is failing Aemond and as a whole her ‘duty’ as a woman/wife but that shes also failing her house.

She would probably have an even harder time adjusting because of how unusual (in a good way) her parents dynamics is. Her parents were a love match that grew into understanding and partnership. They are an anomaly. No matter how much she cares for Aemond, there is an uneven power dynamic there (brother of the king, prince in his own right, a man, and a dragon rider). She worries about unbalancing the scales because she knows deep down by marrying, she lowkey sort of gave away her claim :/

[ph4ngz]

⁺˳✧༚ scandalous… ༚✧˳⁺

★ (Kaeya x Fem! Reader, love/hate relationship-ish)

—

You shouldn’t be doing this. You really shouldn’t be doing this.

Kaeya had asked you as a friend to keep him company whilst he dealt with some paperwork, of course you happily obliged but… not without your entire body heating up with his every movement.

He had told you to stay put so he could get you both a cold drink and ask Lisa for a certain book, leaving you in his room with nothing but his scent and your thoughts.

You found your underwear beginning to dampen with each passing second, your skin burning up and blushing.

You tried, you really did! But you couldn’t stop entertaining the dirty images of him in your head. Imagining you both in all sorts of ways.

Kaeya, Kaeya, Kaeya…

You could touch yourself just a little, right? Just until he comes back?

You open your legs the tiniest bit and lean back in one of his desk chairs, the skirt hugging your hips crumpled by your wrist between your thighs. Fingers pressed lightly on your covered clit, circling round and round til you throw your heavy head back.

Surges of guilty pleasure make you feel dizzy, and your tummy does backflips. The intense paranoia that Kaeya can walk in at any moment is exhilarating, but you’re struggling to keep your heavy eyes trained upon the door.

The excitement causes you to shift in your seat and bring a hand around your neck to lightly choke yourself. You wish you could spread your legs more, but that’d be way too risky.

Applying pressure just beneath your jawline is enough to draw a quiet moan from your lips. Fuck, if he saw you right now…

Holding the rest of your breath as you come closer and closer to your release, you fail to catch the door open.

Kaeya stands surprised for what seems like an eternity to him, holding two glasses of chilled dandelion wine and a large book under his elbow.

He can’t say he wasn’t expecting it, though. He could clearly see before that you were getting flustered. So he decides to take you by surprise instead, sneaking behind you while your eyes are closed in a moment of yearning.

Gorgeous.

The obnoxiously loud sound of glass being placed on the desk is truly terrifying in your situation. You freeze and attempt to stifle a yelp once the Captain’s hands place a tight grip on your upper arms.

Kaeya stands over you, eventually bending over slightly to whisper in your ear, all the while removing your stiff hand from your neck and not the one on your clit.

“Grand Master Jean, it appears that our little helper has succumbed to performance of indecent acts in the Cavalry Captain’s own sleeping chamber…”

His hushed tattletale can only be heard by the two of you only, yet the prickling fear it provokes is unmatched.

“You wouldn’t dare.” You hiss nervously, pupils blown.

Your reply doesn’t faze him at all, in fact you can practically hear the way he’s poking his tongue out.

“Scandalous~!” He whispers with an expression of fake disbelief. Asshole.

Still holding your wrist, Kaeya reaches to take the other one frozen beneath your skirt. A strained whimper and a rise of your hips tell him all he needs— wants, to know.

“Don’t tell me you were close to fucking cumming…?” He makes sure to over-pronounce the last two words to intimidate you. It works.

You wish that he’d stop humiliating you and that he’d just hurry up and tell you to get out, but who the fuck are you to assume Kaeya Alberich will let you get away with this.

“And to think I caught you with your own hand around your throat… unbelievable.” He continues, letting go of your arm to trace a few shapes beneath your chin.

Before abruptly squeezing the raw skin beneath your jaw, similarly to how you were doing it. A strangled groan passes your plumped lips at the sudden action.

Just as suddenly as it happens, it stops. Although now he’s stood in front of your sorry state, looking down at you. You miss his heavy touch already.

Focusing mainly on his huge, skilled hands, you watch as he takes a sip from his wine glass. He appears to swallow it.

Then, he pulls you to a stand so he can kiss you. The kiss is rushed, dry… until the dying fizz of dandelion wine floods over your tongue, some escaping from the corners of your mouth as he continues.

Kaeya pulls away, satisfied with the sheen on your lips created by a coat of his sweet saliva. Satisfied with the sound of your laboured breathing and rosy cheeks. Satisfied with your small hand covering the outline of his hardened cock.

“Eager much?” He spares a glance at his lower half, smirking.

“Fuck you, just fuck me.” You swallow any remnants of wine and push him so his back is against the desk.

“Feisty…”

[narutoad]

it is with a heavy heart i post my latest controversial hot take: Gai-sensei was not a good sensei at first.

housekeeping disclaimers: this has nothing to do with his teaching methods or personality, yes he’s a fantastic ninja and revered master of taijutsu, yes he (eventually) emotionally supported his students, yes he shaped up as the series went along, peace love and all that. you people know i love this man.

now let’s get down to business.

flash back to the chunin exams. Tenten took a pretty significant loss in her match— she pulled out all the stops, even her rising twin dragons she planned on saving for the finals, and she still couldn’t touch Temari. then Tenten got her back cracked and Temari began attacking Tenten post-match, and who prevented this from escalating? Lee and Naruto. two other competitors.

Tenten did not get coached through her match. Gai and Lee made a scene cheering for her at the beginning of the fight, and Lee stepped up to help Tenten when she was incapable of protecting herself, while Gai was curiously nowhere to be found.

next (in relevancy) was Neji vs Hinata. similarly to Tenten, but for arguably different reasons, Neji did not get any sideline coaching or cheering during his match. in fact— again, arguable points to be made here— the greatest extent of Gai’s POV that we get in this fight is him looking at Hinata and thinking “the poor girl can’t even walk now.”

only when Neji intends on taking another crack at fallen Hinata does Gai step in (as do Hayate, Kurenai, and Kakashi). no acknowledgment of Neji’s feelings, no congratulating him on the victory, nothing reminiscent of support for Neji from Gai.

(meanwhile tenten is in the infirmary, presumably by herself, with no one close to her checking on her wellbeing.)

immediately up next is Lee vs Gaara, and we know how this goes. Gai is cheering wildly for Lee the whole time, loudly coaching him from the sidelines during the match, what you’d expect from what we know of Gai at this point when it comes to Lee. specifically when it comes to Lee, because as we’ve seen, it seems Gai doesn’t really care how the other 2/3 of his team performed.

and then Lee gets severely injured. Kakashi outright tells Gai that he took it too far, put too much pressure on Lee, taught him techniques that were inappropriate for his skill level, and was partially to blame for Lee sustaining the injuries he did. Gai accepts this responsibility and blame and vows to do better.

and what does he do next? he devotes himself to overseeing Lee’s recovery.

not Tenten’s recovery— granted her injuries were less than Lee’s, but a snapped spine is still not light business— and not Neji’s training for the finals.

in fact, let’s consider Neji’s situation here objectively.

his opponent is village idiot Naruto Uzumaki, of course Neji’s going to win! except… Naruto has been whisked out of the village to study for a month under one of the three Legendary Sannin. Jiraiya the Toad Sage. probably learning all kinds of incredible new jutsu and training intensely and really preparing for this match that absolutely no one expects him to win.

who’s training Neji? not anyone in his clan, they’re probably furious with him for destroying Hinata. not some Legendary Sannin or anyone remotely close to their skill level. not even his sensei, because gai is so wrapped up in lee’s recovery.

Neji trains with Tenten. Tenten, who KNOWS she’s the weakest link on her team. Tenten, whose defeat in the exams was nothing less than brutal and epic, that she likely had to take considerable time to recover from (much like Lee). Tenten is the only person giving Neji the time of day in the month leading up to his match with Naruto.

then Neji’s match rolls around. his big fight. he’s armed with a secret main branch technique— that he taught himself and refined with Tenten’s help— and the power of youth. everyone who’s anyone is in attendance for these exams, and they’ve all got their money on him.

guess who didn’t even bother to show up until after that match ended. guess who did not go see Neji in the infirmary after his match, or witness his whistleblowing against his abusive family, or once again, offer any sort of consolation or wisdom or support. Might Gai.

with this context, it’s so much easier to understand why there was such an obvious divide in this team beyond “the excitable, lovable ones” and “the voices of reason” often played for comedic effect. Gai clearly played favorites with Lee. aside from each other, Neji and Tenten had no one to go to in those early, formative days.

and that dynamic stuck. that dynamic lasted all the way through the series.

[sinswithpleasure]

The Playgirl (ft. LOONA's Yves) [Part 1] [Female Reader]

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

This was supposed to be a lengthy oneshot, but I wanna have it out as I write, so... here's Part 1! Just so you know, it's futa!Yves, but I won't really mention it until at least Part 3.

Also, this is entirely female reader!

Can be found on AFF and AO3!

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

Everyone knows of Ha Sooyoung.

Most know her by her preferred name Yves, but it is the same either way—the people still have her deeply imprinted in the recesses of their minds. After all, who doesn't know of the campus fuckgirl that only goes for girls?

You are no exception to having knowledge of Sooyoung. After all, she is your seatmate for every class you had, and while she is regularly absent, she is a regular hindrance when present. During lectures, she likes to fling paper balls at unsuspecting classmates, flirt with any female classmate or TA, or play games on her mobile phone loudly. The fact that she is your seatmate only makes it worse, considering she has her feet on the table most of the time.

Now you have to tutor her. The bane of your existence. Ha Sooyoung. Yves. Tutor. Tutor her.

Your look of disbelief meeting your professor's determined gaze melts into a sigh of resignation. You know that no amount of whining or pouting would result in a win for you—Yves had the poorest performance, barely scraping through any of her tests, whereas you aced every test given during your course of study. It would only be natural for you to be tutoring her.

Yves flashes a smirk and wink from the front row of the lecture theatre, giving you a two-fingered salute as the professor leaves.

"Hey, babygirl. Guess you're my new tutor."

"Hi." You cannot help but let bitterness seep into your tone, but you bite down on the bullets you wish to fire.

"You don't seem that happy."

"No, but it's fine. Let's get down to business."

"Uh-uh, not today. I've got a party to get to. How about this, give me your phone."

You hesitantly pass her your phone, and she enters her number in.

"Call me." She flashes another smirk and a wink, pushing her hair back. The phone in your hand displays 'yves 💘'.

-----

When you call Yves, you hear more of the chatter in the background than her voice. However, she is still audible, and that is all you need.

"Hello?"

"Sooyoung. I'll tutor you beginning tomorrow."

"Oh, it's you, babygirl. Sure, see you after class?"

Huh. That was easy.

"Good, please bring along the Calculus textbook—"

Indistinct chatter rings across the line, and you vaguely hear the crowd chanting "Drink! Drink! Drink!" before Yves's voice cuts through the line again.

"Sorry, babygirl, I've got to jet. I ain't gonna win this game of beer pong talkin' to you. See you tomorrow."

Before you can even say anything, the call is cut. You take a deep breath, deciding to let it go. Maybe this would be the only time. After all, innocent until proven guilty, right?

With a long exhale, you throw yourself back into whatever work you were doing.

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

When Yves appears after class, she staggers into the classroom, clutching her head.

"Fuck, I shouldn't have drank that much last night."

She crashes on the chair next to you, immediately folding her arms on the table, resting her head on it. Her eyes open blearily when you request for her to take her Calculus textbook out.

"I didn't bring it."

You halt, frustration beginning to build.

"I thought I told you to bring it."

"Well, babygirl, I forgot. Looks like we can't do this today then." Yves rises, staggering towards the door. Repeated calls of her name fall on her deaf ears as she rounds the corner and disappears.

You take a deep breath. Tomorrow.

-----

[You sent a message:]

Yves

Tomorrow, after class.

[yves💘 sent a message:]

Hey babygirl

I've got a party tomorrow.

[You sent a message:]

You're ditching your grades for a party?

A party in the afternoon?

[yves💘 sent a message:]

Come on, live a little, it's fun to cut loose!

Yeah, I need to go set it up.

Wanna come?

[You sent a message:]

I'd rather spend my time productively, thank you. I expect to see you after class. The same place.

-----

Yves is absent again from class. Naturally, she is absent from the tutoring session. Every call you make to her goes unanswered throughout the afternoon.

You hate this. It wasn't as if tutoring her was a choice you made—the professor shunted the task to you, even after all your protests and reasoning for why you shouldn't take the job. The impression that she gives off already isn't anything good, and the fact that she actively is wasting your time only pisses you off even more.

The fact that Yves is your seatmate only adds to the frustration. Her shoes are all up in your face, the sounds of her games in your ears, her paper balls all over your table. Everything she did just pissed you off.

When you reach home, you immediately drop a call to Yves. Three rings of the phone is all it takes before she picks up the phone.

"Hey babygirl."

"Don't babygirl me. Where were you this afternoon?"

"I told you, I had a party."

"So you choose to waste my time?"

"Sorry, babe." The lack of sincerity is evident in her voice. "This is clearly more fun."

"You prioritize fun over your grades? Are you trying to fail?"

"Yo, yo, chill, chill! Cut me some slack! Take it easy. I've got time!"

"The final exams are less than half a year away."

"Precisely." Yves's smirk can be heard through the phone. "I have time."

"I don't. Stop wasting my time. Come tomorrow."

"Oh, fiery. Just my type." Yves chuckles, before she pisses you off even further. "I'll see you, just not tomorrow."

"Why not?"

"I'll be busy nursing my hangover. Ciao." The call is cut.

You growl in frustration, squeezing the pen in your hand tightly. How easily she dismisses you only serves to fuel your anger. How could someone give no shits about their future?

Yves was basically the opposite of what you stood for. To you, school was an obligation—something necessary in order to move forward and succeed. This meant that people had to possess the responsibility to keep to this commitment so they could succeed in life. The future is uncertain, so you should make every effort to ensure that you can forge a path that is as certain as it can be.

Yves, however, treated school like a waste of time. To be out having fun mattered more—life and the future is uncertain, so if she could afford the time to live in the moment, then she would take the time to. Why pressure oneself to engineer perfection when imperfection is how the world runs?

This was a constant argument between the both of you when Yves was present in school. On the days she came, you had to fight to pay attention to your professor since the both of you would argue. You hated having to defend your point of view against her, since she was deeply set in her contrasting view. You hate how carefree she is. How is it that someone can live without worrying that much?

When you let your vision focus, you take a deep breath and go back to your work.

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

You are ten minutes early for class. Chatter fills the classroom as per usual. When you reach your seat, your ears perk up at a familiar name.

"... you hear Yves took her home last night?"

"... sex … fucked her the whole night … best time of her life …"

You scowl. Even when she wasn't present, you had to hear about her, and even worse, her womanizing and hedonistic lifestyle. Who cares about her?

"Good morning, babygirl."

The bane of your existence appears before your very eyes, leaning over your desk with her signature smirk. You give her a glare, but not before you fail to resist checking her out.

Yes, she is admittedly hot. But insufferable. But hot. Facts are facts.

Her hair slicked back, check. Leather jacket, check. Fishnets and crop top fitting her… appealing chest, check. Tight pants that fit her figure, check. Fuck, she looks so good.

"My eyes are up here." Yves pushes your head up to meet her gaze with a finger. The smug smirk on her face makes you want to slap it off her. "If you want me, all you have to do is ask."

"Why're you here?"

"Someone who places such importance in school doesn't want her seatmate present? I'm hurt, babe."

"Fuck off. Don't touch me." You shift away from her touch, and Yves grins.

"I came to see you, my favourite tutor. You're interesting."

"Put that interest in your studies."

"No, I don't think I will, not when you're this pretty."

You try to fight the blush that appears on your face, but it seems that you fail—Yves's cocky grin only gets bigger when she reclines in her chair, resting her feet on the table.

This is your second year with Yves as a seatmate. The girl next to you somehow managed to scrape past first year, and now here she is, staring at you with an amused smirk, annoying you just as she had since Day 1.

"Y'know, I mean it when I say you're pretty."

"Thank you." You grit your teeth, though how red your face remains betrays your hidden feelings. After all, girls don't really compliment you that often, let alone a hot one like Yves is.

"Mm, you're welcome." Yves smiles, resting her head on her chair. "I'll depend on your tutoring, babygirl. Goodnight."

"You're going to sleep?"

"Yep. I'll just listen attentively to you later, cutie."

"I would prefer it if you paid attention now."

"What, and stare at the prof's ugly mug? Why would I do that when I can take the time to stare at your beautiful face instead?"

"Fuck off."

"Ooh, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Yves's grin shows how little offense she takes at your rebuttal. "I like you, baby."

You decide to ignore Yves. Ignore how she easily infuriates you. Ignore how hot she is. Ignore the compliments that make heat rise from your cheeks and neck.

Insufferable.

-----

Yves takes a long time to rise from her slumber. You try to shake her, but Yves remains steadfastly asleep on her chair.

"Yves. Wake up."

"Mmnnngggh."

"Wake up, wake up."

"Five more minutes."

"No." You heave a sigh. "Wake. Up."

"Fine, fine, babygirl. You're such a killjoy."

"Do not 'babygirl' me. Let's start."

You pull out your Calculus textbook. Yves halfheartedly pulls hers out as well, and you flip both books to a summary exercise.

"Do these. I need to know your current ability."

"Only because you're pretty, babygirl." Yves picks up her pen, beginning to work on the questions.

-----

"How are you getting all these wrong?"

Your tutee shrugs, leaning back on her chair. "Who cares?"

"I do! You're going to fail."

"Aw babygirl, you do care about me."

"Shut the fuck up. There's so much work I need to do with you."

"Meh, whatever." Yves stretches in her chair, leaning back to close her eyes. "Do your magic, tutor. Teach me."

"Fine. Let's begin."

-----

Both you and Yves part ways at the gate of the campus. After a tense session involving multiple arguments when Yves used more of her phone than to attempt learning anything you were teaching, or when she started to look up girls on Tinder, you gave up and halted the session.

"See you soon, babygirl."

"Fuck you."

"Anytime, babe. You just have to ask."

"Fuck off."

"Calm down. It's not like we don't have time."

"We don't."

"Not with that attitude."

"Fuck your attitude."

Yves only grins when she hears your reply.

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

Another tutoring session, another Yves absence. This time, when you call her, you're met with the obscene sounds of Yves engaging in sexual intercourse.

"Hey babygirl."

"Yves. Where are—huh?"

Wet smacks echo loudly through the speaker on your phone. Someone moans on the other side. Regular thumps ring through your speakers.

"I'm a little busy now, baby."

"Wha—what the fuck?"

"As you can hear, I'm busy fucking someone. Bye."

The dial tone that enters your ears almost makes you smash your phone on the table to pieces. You instead settle on smashing your fist against the table instead.

This is the last straw.

-----

The next time you see Yves, you pin her against the wall. Taken by surprise, Yves finds herself in a position she usually puts others into. Smirking, she relents.

"Didn't take you to be so forward."

"This is the last fucking time I'm taking your shit. I've had it with your constant excuses about parties, or whatever. Now, you choose to go fuck some bitch even when you know you have stuff to do. I'm fucking done. I quit."

"Come on, don't be like that, baby." Yves's cocky grin widens. "Maybe I need some more motivation."

"If having your life planned out isn't motivating enough, nothing will work."

"Oh, but I had this wonderful idea…"

You resist taking the bait, but having Yves pinned against the wall fucks with your judgement.

"What?"

Today, Yves is clad in all black leather. Whatever she's wearing doesn't catch your eye—the fact that your face is so close to Yves's flusters you. The same slicked back hair, scarlet lipstick across her kissable lips, a cocky glint in her eye, catching your gaze before traveling down to your lips, then below…

"I've seen the way you look at me, babygirl. You say you hate me, but all I see in your eyes is lust right now. You want me so bad, don't you?"

"Sh-shut the fuck up." You curse at the slight stutter.

"So how about this? I'll be the best student you'll ever have, and if I ace the exams at the end of the year… hmm."

Yves lets her voice trail off, knowing she has your full attention.

"What the fuck do you want?'

"If I ace the exams, I get to fuck you."

You cannot believe your ears.

"What?"

"I said what I said. I'll be the best student you'll have. I'll ace the exams. And when I do, you'll sleep with me."

"Why the fuck would I say yes to that?"

In an instant, Yves flips you around. Your back is now against the wall, your arms held against your will, held down by Yves's grip. Yves leans in.

"Because you think I'm hot."

You subconsciously lean in when you feel her hot breath on your lips, and Yves leans in as well. Something soft presses against your lips. Instantly, she is off you, smirking.

"See you around babygirl. Don't think about me too much."

So you agree.

[angryschnauzer]

Warm Hands

Summary; Its your fourth date with Henry and you still haven’t slept together, so when you arrive at his house for a picnic, you are surprised to find that he needs your professional help as a physiotherapist. But once you get your warm hands on his body, neither of you can hold back much longer.

A continuation of my Henry x Physio Reader story previous part here

A/N This is wholly inspired by Henry’s recent instagram post and the part where he said that no-one needs to see him in his underwear on the kitchen table because I CERTAINLY DO.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Female Physiotherapist Reader 

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, massaging Henrys thighs, sports injury, Henry in his underwear, unwanted erections, unprotected sex, Henry being slightly dom, reader taking control, creampie. 

Unbeta’d, all typo’s are free range and organic. I do not run a tag list but if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, you will get an alert every time i post something new, AND its where you can find my previous works.

Warm Hands

Parking your little car in the corner of the secluded driveway you shut the engine off and chewed nervously on your lip. It was your fourth date with Henry and he’d casually invited you for a picnic ‘in the quiet countryside’, but hadn’t been specific on the end time of your date. What was making you nervous was that you hadn’t actually slept together yet and the vagueness of the end time had you wondering. 

Your first date had been coffee a few weeks after meeting when you’d stumbled upon him injured in the park during your lunch break from the hospital where you worked as a physiotherapist. Second date had been to a rugby game where he’d put too much strain on his injured leg and had ended with him scheduling an appointment with you for some professional physio treatment. Third date had been dinner at a fancy restaurant that had ended with a mind blowing kiss in your hallway but nothing further as he had to get home to let Kal - his dog - out for an evening bathroom break.

So now you were at date number four and you were more than ready to take the relationship to the next level. You glanced at the small overnight bag you’d packed ‘just in case’ with a few essentials. Deciding to leave the bag in the car for now, you got out and made your way to the small kitchen door of the mews cottage, Henry having explained how it was the best door to come to. What you weren’t expecting to see as you looked through the glass section of the door was Henry grimacing in pain as he steadied himself on the kitchen counter. Trying the doorknob you stepped inside;

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?!” slipping your hands beneath his arms as he winced and kept all his weight on one leg.

“Cramp…” he gasped; “... in my thigh…”

Looking down you only then realised he was in just his underwear below the waist, the muscles in his thigh tense and frozen. Just then the steam iron hissed and you saw that he must have been pressing his smart chino’s just before you’d arrived;

“Ok, let's get you rested somewhere… hop onto the table…”

You helped him move the few feet to his massive wooden table that ran the centre of his kitchen, quickly moving a pile of papers on there and setting them down elsewhere, before noticing the switch for the iron and flicking that to off. Returning to Henry you placed your hands onto his cramping thigh, the muscles rock solid where the spasm was in full hold.

“Uurggh ah uuuhhh” Henry moaned, wincing and sucking in a sharp intake of breath as another spasm shot through his muscle. 

You held your hands over the muscle trying to warm it so it could relax, rubbing the skin as he whimpered from the pain;

“Shhh it’s ok, it’ll go. We just need to warm your leg up”

Running your hands around his thigh you attempted to remain as professional as possible, but the sight of his quite frankly enormous thighs under your hands were a sight to behold. Looking up you saw that Henry had his arm thrown across his face as the spasms kept sending waves of pain through his leg, and it was then that as you moved your hand around the inside of his thigh that you felt it. You couldn’t help but to look where your knuckles had just touched, your eyes going wide as you saw the considerable bulge he had packed in there. Another whimper from his lips pulled your attention away from the elephant’s trunk in the room, rubbing your hands over his thigh as it still cramped. 

Nothing seemed to be having any effect, and it was then that you saw his hand was gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were going white;

“Hen… you’re going to have to relax… let go of the table…”

He took a deep breath before finally speaking, his voice small and quiet;

“I can’t…”

“Why?”

“Because if i relax, i won’t be able to hold it back…”

It took you a few seconds to realise what he was talking about before with a dawning realisation hit that he was fighting a hard-on. What you did next surprised him enough to have him pull his arm away and look at you with wide eyed wonder, as you’d climbed into the table and straddled his thighs, your soft summer skirt falling around you. Resting your hands on his chest you nestled your leg right against his, the warmth of your skin starting to soothe the cramp;

“There…” you smiled at him; “Plus now you can relax as everything is hidden by my skirt…”

He glanced down to where you were sitting on him and you watched as he finally let go of the table, stretching his fingers out before with a smile rested his hand on your hip;

“Thank you… and i’m sorry…”

“What are you sorry for?”

“For… well…” he actually blushed, his cheeks and nose a beautiful shade of pink as he looked away bashfully; “I didn’t want you to think… umm, i don’t know really, i didn’t want to pressure you into anything…”

Resting your hands on his stomach you gently leaned forwards, your face over his as you smiled;

“You wouldn’t be pressuring me… i want this..”

At your works you rocked forward a little, knowing there was just the thinnest of lace between you and the jersey fabric that was struggling to contain Henry’s arousal. You watched as his expression change, his eyes grew a little darker and he licked his lips;

“Again…”

This time when you rolled your hips you found his other hand had grasped your hip too, his firm grip adding to the smooth roll as you ground your core against his hardening arousal. 

“C’mere…” he suddenly pulled you flush with his chest, his mouth upon yours as he kissed you fiercely which you eagerly reciprocated. The kiss was fiery, teeth and tongues before he suddenly gasped and pulled away; “FUCK!... The cramp’s back…”

Quickly sitting up you settled your weight over his thigh, the warmth from between your legs immediately soothing the strong muscle beneath you. Henry’s expression dropped and he look liked a sad kicked puppy;

“Its ok… it’ll go soon…” you reassured him

He let out a deep sigh;

“I just… i want to be able to please you…”

“To… please me?... Oh…” you took hold of his hand; “Henry… you will please me…”

“But… if i’m not at peak performance… i wanna bring my best game to our first time, ya’know?”

And just like that the blush was back on his cheeks, and you finally realised why he had been holding back;

“Henry… i really like you… like really like you, to be blunt just this brief grinding on you has me close. You don’t have to be in control all the time” you softly pressed his hand to your chest; “And i’m kinda getting the idea that when you’re in bed with someone you like to be in control, right?”

“Well, you can still be in control even if you’re not on top…”

His hand gently squeezed your breast through your dress as you watched the realisation of what you said sink in, and a mischievous smile crept over his face;

“So… what are we waiting for?” he cocked an eyebrow at you and you couldn’t help but to laugh

“Your leg to stop cramping…”

“Oh… yeah…” he flexed the muscle beneath you and smiled; “Well, it seems ok now…” his other hand started to sneak beneath your skirts and it was your turn to be surprised;

“Henry! Now? Here?”

“Why not... you already said you were close, and as you can feel i’m ready…” he bucked his hips just the tiniest amount and you felt his considerable length rub against your mound.

“On the kitchen table?”

“Yes or No sweetheart…” just then his hand had found your panties and a thick finger was rubbing at your clit through the soaked lace

“Yes… fuck yes…”

You quickly lifted your hips enough to reach into Henry’s underwear and pull his erection free, marvelling at the thick girth and the heat of the silky skin against your hand, just as he pulled your underwear to the side. Rising up onto your knees you positioned him at your entrance and slowly sank down, gasping as his thickness stretched your velvet channel;

“Oh fuck…”

Beneath you Henry growled, his sharp teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he struggled to hold back from pulling you down, knowing that his size was a struggle to take at first and letting you go at your own pace would be worth it in the end;

“That’s it babe… doing so well” he let out a grunt as you took another inch, he could feel the warmth of your thighs as you got lower and was almost there, until he couldn’t hold out any longer and his hand instinctively pulled you down the rest of the way until he was balls deep inside you.

The moans that escaped your lips echoed around the room, your womb trembling from the sheer pleasure that was surging through you as you let your body adjust to his massive size. He rested both hands on your hips as you moved your own to his hard stomach, and with a grin you started to lift your hips and start to ride him.

“That’s it Babe” he praised you as he started to move your hips, to pull you down a little harder each time you would rise up on your knees; “Can feel your tight cunt squeezing me so hard already”

A litany of curses fell from your lips as he took control, moving you as if you weighed no more than a feather and he fucked you from beneath. Your orgasm was growing closer as whimpers escaped your lips, before with a blinding explosion in your mind you came with a scream. 

Henry was seconds behind, the tight squeeze of your cunt around him was enough to set his own orgasm off, pumping you full with rope after rope of his thick creamy seed, the knowledge that you’d be walking around all day with his cum dripping from you prolonging his orgasm even longer.

Henry pulled you down to kiss you, this time soft and gentle as his lips pressed to yours, your bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of your tryst. Resting on his chest you pulled away and smiled at him, his arms holding you tight;

“Do you still want to go on a picnic today? My friend has a hundred acre farm in the Surrey Hills, its beautiful”

“I’d love to” you started to push yourself up to decouple your bodies; “Sounds secluded too” 

“Oh, it is”

Carefully swinging your leg over Henry and climbing off the table, you extending a hand to him so he could side to the floor too;

“Can i suggest something then? Perhaps not chino’s then?”

He glanced at his still creased trousers as they sat on the abandoned ironing board;

“Why?”

“Grass stains” you said with a wink. 

Henry pulled you to his chest, his hand on your ass giving it a squeeze;

“Ooh naughty… good idea, i’ll go get my jeans… this is going to be a picnic to remember”

As he stepped away he called over his shoulder;

“If you brought an overnight bag might be worth bringing it in now, i fully intend on fucking you so much this afternoon you’ll be too exhausted to carry it in later”

Laughing you said ok as you went to your car, glad you packed multiple changes of underwear. As you returned to the house you went to pull a clean pair of panties out of the bag just as Henry was walking in buttoning his jeans and saw what was in your hand;

“No no, you’re keeping those panties on”

“But they’re soaked with your cum”

He wrapped his arms around you, his eyes dark with desire;

“That’s exactly why you’re keeping them on, the only other acceptable attire would to be bare beneath that pretty dress of yours, understand?”

“Yes Sir” you answered with a smirk as Henry grabbed the picnic basket and headed for the door. It was certainly going to be an afternoon to remember...

[rocorambles]

Duty and Responsibility

Pairing: Osamu x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Historical AU, Arranged Marriage AU, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Lactation Kink

Summary: Love can form in surprising places, even in a marriage centered only around duty and responsibility. 

You patiently wait beside Daichi, back straight, gaze downcast and demure, the picture perfect example of a soon to be bride. Only if someone watched with hawk eyes, purposefully looking for flaws in your facade, would they notice the way you stand just a tad too close to the head of the Karasuno clan, desperately trying to cling onto any comfort or courage you can. 

There’s nothing to be afraid of. At least that’s what Daichi says. And you know he would never put you in harm’s way. You trust him with your life and more. After all, it’s he who’s practically single handedly raised you, saving you from guaranteed death as a street urchin, welcoming you and wholeheartedly accepting you as one of his own. He’s the older brother figure you never had. The one who showed you what family and belonging were. 

So if he says that he trusts Kita, the head of Inarizaki, and vouches for Kita’s choice of a future husband for you. Of course you put your faith in his words. But it doesn’t stop the clawing nausea inside of you as you get ready to meet the stranger your life is now forever entwined with. 

Inarizaki and Karasuno have never had much of a relationship before, good or bad. You know of the infamous fox clan, the tales of their notorious twins spreading far and wide. But they’ve always just been stories, pretty words that you couldn’t tie to a warm body. 

Until now. 

You’d be naive to not understand just how prominent Karasuno has become, no longer the laid back humble clan it once used to be. And as proud as you are of Daichi and how his tireless work and dedication have helped the crows fly high in the sky once again, you can’t help but feel a small regretful pang when you remember that carefree life you once had, when you were just a young woman dreaming about marrying for love and finding “the one”. 

But that was just a silly girl’s dream. You know what your duty and responsibilities are and you don’t dare shirk away from them now. Not when Daichi has so deeply instilled those firm beliefs and foundations inside of you both through teaching and example. And it’s the fact that you know, with just a word, he’d completely cancel it, call everything off and risk ruining ties between the two clans, that has you gritting your teeth and standing firm, awaiting your future. 

This isn’t how you had dreamed your happily ever after would be, but for Daichi, for Karasuno, for your new family? You’d gladly die as a pawn. 

And a pawn you are, even if it is a glorified one. 

You can still vividly remember the night Daichi had called you into his office, remember how nervous he was as his eyes looked anywhere other than at you, remember the pain he tried to hide in his voice as he proposed the idea to you. He used gentle words, meandering and rambling around the point, but the message was as clear as a knife in the gut. 

Sacrifice yourself to solidify the union between Karasuno and Inarizaki. 

An arranged marriage with no one other than Miya Osamu. 

You remember how your heart had dropped at Daichi’s words, a sinking feeling churning inside of you only worsened by how regretfully brown eyes looked at you, a gnawing of his lips before he blurted out that you could say no even though both of you know it’s not really an option, certainly not the wiser option. 

Possibly anger and break ties with one of the most powerful clans in the country over a mere woman? 

You knew that an arranged marriage was always a strong possibility. But you had always imagined that it would be with someone you knew from the clans you’re closer with like Nekoma and Fukurodani. Maybe even Seijoh or Shiratorizawa. But Inarizaki? Miya Osamu? 

A part of you is glad that at least it isn’t his wild blond twin, someone whose presence spreads like wildfire, loudly crackling and announcing itself, wreaking havoc in its wake. But if the stories are true, Osamu isn’t much better. More of a volcano than an out of control fire, but just as able to burst and explode if provoked enough. 

So you’re surprised when you lay eyes on him for the first time as the fox clan enters the room, nothing seemingly fiery or volatile about the handsome man politely bowing in front of you. Instead you’re reminded of the moon and its quiet yet hardened radiance and although you don’t know a thing about your fiance, you think that maybe it’s not the worst scenario, especially as his brother’s voice loudly echoes throughout the chambers, already making a scene not even minutes into your two clans meeting.

Little do you know a silver haired man is thinking the same thing as he carefully scans you over.

Osamu has never thought much about marriage or what his future wife would be like. It’s always just been Atsumu, him, and all the trouble they constantly got themselves into. But as Daichi and Kita pass back and forth polite pleasantries, it’s beginning to feel all too real how planned out his future is. Yet looking at you, he can envision it, the picture perfect couple, a picture perfect house, a picture perfect family. It’s obvious that you’ve been raised well, not that he expects any less of someone Daichi himself has taught and raised from the ground up. And although he doesn’t have hopes that you’ll be the love of his life, for Kita, for Inarizaki, for his family, he can be the respectable husband and father they and you need him to be. 

With duty and honor at the forefront of both your minds, you begin to court each other. It’s pleasant, like a well rehearsed performance, both your perfected mannerisms shining and waltzing around each other in perfect grammar, politically correct opinions, and graceful table manners. To any outside eye, the two of you are the epitome of prim and proper, a vision of what an upstanding couple should look like, nothing scandalous or eye catching as the two of you amble around, getting to know each other. 

But that’s all it is, a superbly done play and both of you can feel the weight of the falseness heavy upon your shoulders as you keep your smile from unbecomingly stretching across your face, as Osamu bites back his usual snarky verbiage. 

You’re grateful for the frequent interruptions from both your rowdy clan members, feeling the pressure lift off of you just a bit when Nishinoya comes racing across the field, not a hint of reservation as he excitedly rambles and shouts about the latest gossip he’s heard, when Tanaka comes storming over and manhandles the shorter man into leaving the two of you alone. And as aggravating as Atsumu can be, Osamu is secretly glad when the annoying blonde takes it upon himself to crash most of your outings together, allowing himself the brief leisure of resting his meticulously crafted mask as his twin yaps on and on unhindered to you. 

But his gratitude for Atsumu only goes so far and despite how hard Osamu has tried to keep up appearances in front of you, it was only a matter of time before he lost his composure the more and more his more obnoxious counterpart loitered around the two of you, hogging all your attention to himself. 

Osamu isn’t a jealous person, or so he had thought, but his moral compass has always skewed heavily whenever his twin is involved and he can feel his frustration and temper rise when Atsumu’s interruptions become more than a slight reprieve, capturing your attention, not even leaving scraps for Osamu to work with. 

And maybe, just maybe, he can admit that he is jealous....jealous of how easy it is for Atsumu to always be himself no matter the situation, no matter who’s around, never a care or worry about what others think of him. 

That feeling festers, slowly boiling, temperature rising, until it comes to a full throttle and Osamu can no longer bite back his typical scathing tone he uses with his brother, icy tone ordering the rambunctious man to leave the two of you the fuck alone. 

“Last time I checked, ‘Sumu, you’re not the one getting married. So either go find someone who’ll be willing to put up with you or find another couple to third-wheel with.” 

Of course that’s not the end of it because God forbid Atsumu grows up and lets Osamu have the last word for once and before he even realizes what’s happening, a body is crashing into his and they immediately begin growling and snarling at each other as they wrestle each other, throwing jabs and kicks, completely forgetting the bystander watching the two men in awe. 

But when your roaring laughter fills the air, Osamu freezes, disbelief and curiosity curling inside of him as he turns to see if that uncouth hyena guffaw is truly coming from you, only to be amazed when he sees you practically bent in half, wheezing, face scrunched in giddy lines as you continue howling in amusement. And despite how “unseemly” your appearance is, he thinks you’re the most beautiful like this, something warm growing inside him when he basks in the essence of your pure joy for the first time. 

Unfortunately it’s short lived and he hides the pout forming on his lips when you notice his eyes on you, murmuring apologies left and right as you abruptly resume your typical ladylike stance and countenance, no proof of the genuine beauty he had seen just seconds ago other than the embarrassed look on your face. And like an infection your shame spreads and he scrambles to his feet (slightly getting one last kick in and hiding a smile at Atsumu’s whine), quickly brushing himself off and deeply bowing and apologizing for his own childish behavior. 

But as he plays the ever perfect gentleman, protectively strolling with you and guiding you back home, the cogs in his mind begin to turn, a determined glint entering his gaze. 

You’re clearly not the prim and proper angel he had thought you were and obviously, you don’t mind his more...explosive side, if your mirth earlier as your fiance rolled around on the ground like a fool is anything to go by. 

Forget prim, proper, and perfect. He wants to know more about who you really are hidden underneath the elegant layers you’ve been shielding yourself with, reveal his own true nature to you, marry your flaws and strengths together as you build a life even better than perfect, something visceral, something real, something more tangible than the whimsical dreams of fairy tale romances. 

He takes the first step, his desire to break down your barriers giving him the confidence he needs to be more vulnerable. But even then, there’s slight trepidation as he bustles around the kitchen, wondering what you would think of his cooking hobby, hoping and wishing for your acceptance and approval despite how uncommon, maybe even looked down upon, it is in your society for a man to be rummaging around a woman’s domain. 

But he’s good at what he does. He knows he is. And with that thought, he resolves himself to skillfully molding the onigiri he’s renowned for among his own clan, taking extra pains to make sure each one is perfectly filled, shaped, and decorated, snooping around and subtly asking your clan mates what your favorite flavors and ingredients are and incorporating them. Pleased with the final results, he sends a message for you to meet him in a secluded section of the park the two of you often frequent. 

Used to Osamu coming to your chambers and walking with you right from the start, you’re surprised by the request to meet him and your heart flutters when you realize the specific location he’s chosen is one you run away to and use to hide from the world when you just need time and space for yourself, a location you’ve never told anyone about before, a safe haven and oasis you call your own. You’re surprised by how little you care about sharing this secret place with him, something bubbly and warm eliciting a smile on your face as you hike up your skirts and rush towards your fiance, laughing in the wind and ignoring the chiding from Suga and Asahi to “stop running” and “act like a lady”. 

But as you near your destination, you do slow down, nervously gnawing at your bottom lip as your fingers comb through your wind tousled hair, smoothing out your skirts and making sure there’s no leftover signs of your delinquent behavior. And putting years of etiquette lessons into practice, you gracefully stroll towards the man you’re here to meet. Only to be startled out of your picturesque poise by the gorgeous spread in front of you. 

Candles and lanterns flicker in the soft breeze, encasing and basking the area in their ethereal glow. Luxurious rugs and pillows are artfully splayed out across the floor, turning the grassy lawn into the most wondrous lounge you’ve ever seen and it takes all your willpower not to squeal and pounce in the ridiculously plush field. But what really takes your breath away is how Osamu’s chiseled face radiates in the warm light of the gentle fires blazing around him, a smile dancing on his lips when he takes in your wide entranced eyes, and you can feel your face warm, heart beating a mile a minute when you realize that he’s done all this just for you, a woman he hardly knows. And you quickly make your way towards him, blabbering on and on about how this is over the top, how he absolutely didn’t have to do any of this, how you can’t believe he went through all this trouble for you. Only to be silenced when he cuts you off with a single sentence topped with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. 

“I did it because I wanted to.” 

Stunned and still overwhelmed that almost a complete stranger has done something so lavish, so special, so selfless, just for you, you obediently let him beckon you and guide you to a seated position, sighing in bliss when you nestle among the myriad of fabrics, pleased that they feel just as nice, if not better, than what you had imagined. You excitedly watch as he rummages through the picnic basket he’s packed, realizing then just how hungry you actually are, and once again your jaw drops and you wonder if any of this is real, unsure how it’s possible for him to keep on pulling more and more items from the container until pristine glasses filled with refreshing liquids and ornate porcelain plates heaping with the most perfect onigiri you’ve ever seen entirely cover the empty space of the fabric spread surrounding you. 

Senses still in overdrive, it’s all you can do to mindlessly grab the onigiri he offers you and bring it to your lips. But when your teeth sink into the delicate layers of seaweed and rice, the taste of your favorite filling slamming into your tastebuds, you’re jolted back to reality and suddenly any decorum you’ve learned is thrown out the window and Osamu bursts out laughing, a pleased flush on his face when you begin raving and practically dancing in your seat about how delicious the rice ball is as you simultaneously shove more bites into your mouth, your cheeks expanding not unlike the little chipmunks he sees prancing around the area. And when you realize just how unrefined you appear as the last bits of the onigiri are swallowed, an embarrassed apology on the tip of your tongue, he boldly reaches out to grab your hand, lacing your fingers with his. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m glad you enjoyed them so much.” 

But it’s his turn to be embarrassed when you tentatively sidle up to him, allowing your bodies to touch as you lean into his side, continuing to hold his hand, looking up at him under fluttering lashes as you ask him where he’d gotten the food from. And this time it’s he who quietly murmurs that he had actually made these himself, apprehensive of what your reaction will be to finding out this secret tidbit, only for his own jaw to drop and gape in surprise when there’s not a second of hesitation or judgement as you look at him in awe, begging him to teach you his recipe. 

Needless to say, whispers and rumors run amok as Osamu and you hog and hoard the kitchen at all hours of the day and night, some older and more traditional maids and servants looking on scandalously as Osamu rolls up his sleeves and slaves over pots and pans, the majority of your clan and Inarizaki just rolling their eyes with fond smiles on their faces as they watch the two of you in a flurry or chaos, food everywhere, stains on your clothes when the both of you proudly share your finished products that everyone, even those grumpy old naggers, enjoys.

One day, when the kitchen becomes particularly messy as Osamu accidentally spills flour all over you in his attempt to reach for the highly perched bag, there’s a brief moment of tension when you loudly gasp as white powder swirls all around you and your fiance awkwardly stands in place unsure whether to laugh or be mortified about the mess he’s made of you. But just as he comes to his senses and frantically looks around for a towel or rag to help clean you with, he yelps when something collides with his head, shortly followed by a cold slimy trail slipping down the nape of his neck, whipping his head around to look at you in shock. 

When he sees the bowl of eggs strategically placed next to you, the broken eggshells at his feet, and the smug grin on your face, he stands at attention, meeting the challenging look in your eyes with his own competitive gleam. And then there’s only a whirlwind of commotion as the two of you scream and uproariously giggle, racing around the kitchen, ducking behind cabinets, finding anything and everything to chuck at the other, only stopping when Daichi and Kita finally put an end to the madness, trying to stay stern as they bite back their own laughter and relief at seeing the two of you get along so well. 

The two of you profusely bow in apology, swearing you’ll clean up the mess you’ve made, but the second your two clan heads leave, you simultaneously peek at each other, softly chuckling at how filthy you both look. And as Osamu carefully plucks bits of egg shells from your hair and as you affectionately wipe his face clean of flour, eggs, and everything else that’s managed to get stuck, the two of you feel the stirrings of something more than just duty and responsibility, more than even just friendship or attraction, growing inside of you. 

That feeling expands and blossoms inside the two of you, never ceasing to move and swirl inside both your hearts before clamoring into a resounding crescendo on your wedding day. And as Osamu and you both try to fight back tears of happiness and belonging, tears of everything falling into place, tears of life just making sense when you stand beside each other at the altar, the two of you thank whoever’s listening that you’re bound to each other for all of eternity. 

The wedding is a joyous and rowdy affair and your stomach aches from laughing nonstop, feet sore from never ending rounds of dancing, eyes and hands unable to to be torn from your husband who is likewise as enamored as you. Both of you just stick out your tongues and ignore the teasing gags and hollering from both your clan mates as the two of you remain glued to each other all night. And as the evening draws to an end and Atsumu drunkenly shouts at both of you to get a room, your face heats and your stomach swoons when Osamu just cheekily smiles back and says that the both of you will do just that before swooping you up in his arms and carrying you out bridal style, wishing everyone farewell as he whisks you away to the amusement of your friends and family, raucous encouragements being shouted in your wake while you hide your embarrassed face in the crook of his shoulder, meekly waving goodbye to the cheering crowds. 

But that atmosphere changes when you enter the room set aside for the two of you to spend your wedding night, the first evening of your lifelong union, and it feels like all those moons ago when the two of you first met as slightly trembling hands wrap around each other in a tentative embrace, lips hesitatingly pressing against each other in an inquisitive manner. Fingers brush against buttons, zippers, and ribbons. Fabric rustles as they’re shakily removed and placed aside. And then it’s just the two of you as you are, nothing hiding you from the other as eyes and fingertips gently roam and explore new territory. 

It starts off slow as the two of you take your time mapping every line and curve now laid bare for your greedy eyes and hands, tasting each other, revelling in the little moans and grunts that fill the room as pert nipples are teased, teeth nip at the junction where neck meets shoulder, hips languidly grind and rub against each other. 

Osamu’s head falls back as your fingers curiously wrap around his throbbing shaft, testing different strokes, and he returns your actions by slipping one long finger inside of you, hungrily staring at the way your mouth unconsciously opens, a tiny mewl escaping you from the delicious intrusion. You try your best to keep up your ministrations, gliding your hand up and down the velvety warmth heavy in your hands, but your movements become sloppy as the silver haired minx on top of you teasingly takes his time, painstakingly prepping you and stretching you out, only adding a new finger when your hips desperately shake and squirm in a silent plea for more. 

But even three fingers in, it’s not enough, and you can’t help the petulant whine that leaves your mouth, the wanton begging for your husband to hurry up, eyes practically rolling in your head when he finally presses the tip of his cock against your fluttering and wanting entrance, eagerly awaiting the feeling of his shaft filling your desperate hole. Yet Osamu has different plans and you let out a choked sob when instead he slides the tip of his erection up and down your sensitive folds, patiently watching your building slick coat his mushroomed head, making sure you’re completely ready to take him. 

You snap at him, tears beginning to form in your eyes from the denial and frustration, words coming out more demanding and bratty than you had intended as you order him to get on with it already. But you immediately regret your actions, whimpering when dark eyes sternly stare you down, pinning you in place and forcing you to clamp your mouth shut. 

“Who knew a virgin like you could be such a demanding whore.” 

The demeaning words have no right to affect you the way they do and you only become more agitated, a lance of arousal piercing through you and making you squirm from his tone and choice of phrase. You want him. You need him. And you thrash underneath him, futilely trying to force his cock inside of you, only to sob and submissively freeze at his next words. 

“Stop moving or I’m going to tie you up and tease you all night.”

You feel like helpless prey, no fight left in you to resist, your energy spent obeying him, trying your best to stay put, fingers clawing into the rumpled bed sheets underneath you. And Osamu feels pride swell in his chest at how good you are, how perfect you’re behaving for him as he takes his time, fingers curling and gliding against your gummy walls, scissoring as they go in and out of tight hole, not stopping until you’re literally gushing, leaking juices everywhere, salty watery trails leaking from your eyes as your body shivers from pent up arousal and desire. 

He can’t take his eyes off of you as his cock begins to breach your drenched entrance, enraptured by every flutter of your lashes, every change in your expression as he sinks deeper and deeper, branding every moment in his memory as you allow yourself to touch him, digging your nails into his upper arms as you come to terms with the sensation of being stuffed full. You moan, sinking into the tender kiss he offers as he finally bottoms out, tongues swirling around each other as you soak in the feeling of being so intimately connected.

But Osamu smirks when you make it known that enough is enough and he lightly bites your lower lip in playful punishment when you insistently rock your hips, hissing when you clamp down on his cock and let out whining sounds, too far gone to even verbally tell him what you want. Maybe next time he’ll be stricter about your bratty tendencies, but he supposes you’ve done well considering it’s your first time together and he relents. 

A high pitched keen echoes through the room as Osamu picks up a steady rhythm, neck arching and mouth falling open as his cock drags against your walls with every snap of his hips, drowning in how deep and purposeful every stroke is, panting loudly as his heavy balls slap against your ass. He groans when your legs instinctively wrap around him as he brings a hand to fondle your aroused clit, forcing him closer, deeper, unwilling to leave any space between the two of you. And he’s on the same page as you, his torso leaning down, the new position having him hit new places inside of you that have you gasping, as he takes one of your hardened nipples in his mouth, sucking and watching in dark amusement as your eyes roll back in your head from all the stimulation. 

He swears he could die happy like this, his cock enveloped in your tight wet warmth, your delectable tits in his mouth, your face contorted lewdly as pleasure wracks through the both of you. But you have a lifetime together now, endless time for him to play and ruin you any and every way he wants. So he focuses his attention solely back on you, releasing your nipple with a wet plop before leering down at you, a predatory razor sharp grin slicing across his handsome features, internally cooing at how you tighten around him as you nervously gulp. 

“Your breasts are delicious, love. Can’t wait until I knock you up and your tits swell with milk. Bet it’ll taste so good. Wonder if there’ll be enough for the kids and me. Maybe we can save some for any more baking experiments we try. Would you like that? Want me to turn you into a pretty cow housewife? Maybe I’ll just keep you in the kitchen with a breast pump attached to you when I’m busy with work. Turn you into just another piece of useful kitchen equipment.” 

This time he doesn’t hide his amusement at your expense when you respond by breathily chanting his name over and over again, telling him how close you are between little gasps and mewls as he continues pistoning in and out of your slick pussy, his pace increasing, rhythm beginning to rocket out of control as his own end becomes imminent. 

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t wreck you first and he continues his verbal onslaught, low drawl teasing as he tells you what a slut you are for getting off on his humiliating words, praising you for how amazing you feel and look, like you were made for him, like you were made to be used and fucked by him, only him, for the rest of your life- 

Your wail cuts him off as you tumble over the edge, half screaming and sobbing as you’re forced to delirious heights and depths of pleasure you’ve never felt before, nails leaving wicked red marks in their wake as you claw at him out of pure instinct as he continues fucking in and out of you, losing any control and restraint he had as he chases his own end. Your pulsating walls milk his cock for all its worth and he groans, slamming fully into you one last time as he spills thick white spurts deep inside of you, 

And then there’s only quiet intermingled with the sounds of both your panting breaths as you bask in the afterglow, humming in content as Osamu slowly lowers himself, making your husband chuckle in surprise when you tighten your legs that are still wrapped around him when he threatens to pull out and lay down by your side. 

How can he deny that tired pout on your face as you silently nudge him back on top of you?

So he remains buried inside of you, letting himself be manhandled into laying on top of you and merely rolling his eyes fondly as you treat him like an oversized body pillow, your legs and now your arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly against you, uncaring of how the both of you are still covered in your combined messes. And as he watches you fall into a deep slumber, body exhausted, a blissed out smile on your face, he allows his own eyes to close shut, telling himself that he’d just clean the both of you up whenever he woke up, thankful that of all the people in the world that he could have been married off to, fate chose you.   

[whumpshaped]

Strings

The Institution Masterlist

trigger warnings: forced to perform, dehumanization, threat of punishment, captivity(?), abuse of power

The entire hall fell silent with a single gesture of the conductor. The last cord still lingered in the air, the echo of it ricocheting off the walls before it finally died down. The conductor said nothing for a moment, and the suspense was nerve-wracking. Which section was it?

“Strings.”

Alyson’s heart skipped a beat, and her hand on the violin tightened. She could hear the subtle relief wash over all the other sections, while all the string players shrunk in on themselves, waiting for the inevitable. She caught a glance of Holdyn in the midst of the other cellists, staring at the conductor with wide eyes, his lips slightly agape, his chest rising and falling at such a rapid rate Alyson could see it clearly even from the other side of the concert hall.

Holdyn had been… underperfoming for the past week. As the pressure started to mount, the mistakes followed close behind. He was playing out of tune, he came in at the wrong time, he was a mess both during his private lessons and orchestra rehearsals. They were nearing the end of the week now, and he was one call-out away from being made an example. If the conductor so much as mentioned the word cellos, he was sure to spend his Sunday evening in the very centre of their little artificial town, publicly humiliated by that awful woman in charge of the correction regime.

The conductor scanned the string sections one by one with mild distaste written all over their face. “This is a piece that has power. Momentum. Your playing is flat, weak, and frankly pathetic. You’re dragging. You’re supposed to be the melody, and all I hear is the wind section playing the bass line. Am I supposed to concentrate on that? If I, as a member of the audience come to listen to this magnificent concerto, am I supposed to spend the entire hour listening to the bass line I’m not even supposed to really register? Because you can’t put any effort into your playing?” They turned back to their sheet music, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Especially the cellos, what are you doing?”

Alyson bit her lip and looked down at her lap. This was it. Her and Holdyn weren’t spending Sunday night sneaking around after curfew.

“Only the cellos. From bar 76.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that somehow he would get through it without his name ending up on the board. Maybe he could just play it safe for once, pretend to play but not really touch the strings, hope that his sound would be drowned out by the others. But that would’ve been a suicide mission. The conductor wanted a robust sound.

The passage started, and Alyson raised her head again, gaze fixed on Holdyn’s rigid form. Even his posture looked unnatural at this point, and his eyes looked empty, like he didn’t even see the notes. Like he’d already given up. His usually fluid and graceful movements were jerky, and it didn’t take long before he got a shaky bow. The sound was awful, impossible to conceal, and the conductor stopped the section right away.

“Holdyn.” The boy raised his head to look at the conductor, eyes already brimming with tears. “It’s you again, isn’t it?” Of course it was him. How could it not? Recovering from a week of mistakes with the stakes being so high was almost impossible. “Go back to your room for today. The rehearsal won’t go anywhere like this.”

Alyson watched as he stood up and put his instrument away, before stiffly walking out of the concert hall. His blonde strands couldn’t hide the tears that were now flowing freely from his eyes, and Alyson grit her teeth. The teachers expected them all to play well, to always play with loose hands and a free spirit, while binding their wrists with coarse rope and keeping them locked up. How was this fair? How was any of this fair?

“Cellos. Again. Bar 76. It should sound much better now.”

Holdyn was about to spend an entire night out in the cold, his back twisted into the most correct posture that was humanly possible, beaten with that fucking rattan cane that was supposed to encourage him keeping still. He was going to be forced into practicing way more than necessary, way more than what was even effective, going over the parts he’d continually messed up over the course of the week until he had blisters all over his hand that no one would ever care about. And all that for what? Because that was supposed to correct his disobedience? As if he’d disobeyed on purpose, and not because of the petrifying consequences.

Someone nudged Alyson, and she realized that the conductor was looking directly at her. She swallowed the barrage of insults and tried to let the familiar sensation of fear fill her body, but she found nothing apart from blind rage.

“Is something the matter, concertmaster?”

Yes.

“No, maestro.”

“Then pray tell, why aren’t you raising your violin on cue?”

Because you just sentenced my best friend to a whole night of public torture.

“I apologize, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Wasn’t paying attention…” The conductor stepped off the podium and walked over to where Alyson was sitting, prompting her to sit up straighter and look them in the eyes with silent determination. The conductor slapped her across the face, leaving an angry red mark on her cheek. “Are you paying attention now?”

One day I will stab you with your own fucking baton and play this piece on top of your grave.

“Yes, maestro. Thank you.”

“Good. Let’s finally bring this concerto to life, then.”

[lucy90712]

Wilbur Soot- MCC

Request: Can u make a part two of MCC when ur on ur period I would love to see Wilbur! Also love ur HC!

Warnings: female reader implied, periods and cramps mentioned 

~ I have been looking forward to this MCC since it was announced because I finally get to be in the same team as my boyfriend we have both won separately and the people we are teamed with are also really good so expectations are pretty high which has me nervous. I've been training extra hard as well to try and make my weaknesses less obvious so that the rest of my team won't have to carry me on certain games. All of this training however has made me super tired because I stayed up practicing and streaming last night which was kind of stupid of me but I can just drink a red bull or something to wake me up.

Wilbur has been super excited too because he has wanted to be on a team with me for a while and has been begging Scott to let it happen and he must have finally gave in. I love that he's excited to team with me and not have to be against me but I feel like there is more pressure because he really wants us to win together but its so hard to tell if that will happen. I would love to be quietly confident but there are some really strong teams although we do have George and Phil as well who are both pretty good (did I just make an elite team like imagine adding Dream as well) so we may have a good chance.

He pulled me up in the afternoon after I had been trying to catch up on my sleep to go on a walk before we will be stuck in our offices for ages. Wilbur has his office in an office building but I have mine at home because I like being able to just watch tv or get a snack when I'm working but its kind of good because it means there will be no echo from the both of us talking at the same time but we won't be able to celebrate together if we win.

On our walk my back started to really hurt as well as my stomach and immediately I knew what was up, I'm starting my period. I knew it was due but I was hoping it wouldn't be today because my performance will be even worse if my stomach hurts the whole time which I know it will. Wilbur could tell there was something wrong with me when I moved my hand over my stomach and walked quicker to get back home and sort everything out.

"You ok there?" He asked

"I'm good just cramps" I said

"Aww I'm sorry do you want to go home?" He asked

All I had to do was nod slightly and we were on our way home and Wilbur had an arm around my waist proving a bit of warmth to sooth my cramps a little bit. He has seen me doubled over with pain and sometimes get nauseous with how bad they can be so he knows that MCC tonight is going to be a struggle hence why I don't ever stream when I've got cramps because I will just curl up in a ball in pain if I do. We got home and when I had been to the bathroom Wilbur was waiting with painkillers and a heating pad to make it a bit better and he cuddled with me on the sofa until he had to leave to go to his office.

Once he was gone I needed a distraction so I started my stream to get a bit more practice in while just talking to my chat, they were concerned when I kept wincing after a wave of pain but I assured them everything was fine and I just wasn't feeling my best. Soon enough Wilbur joined the team vc and we interacted on stream for the first time in quite a while, the other joined soon as well and we headed into the main server for the start of the event. MCC is one of my favourite streams to do because everyone gets behind the whole team and cheers us on plus its a good chance to interact with new people, the viewers also love it each time which keeps me going even when its a game I don't like.

Half way through we were doing pretty good sitting comfortably in second place which is right where we wanted to be but next is ace race which is Wilbur's least favourite game and I'm not very good either plus with the new map we are all struggling. Getting into the game I was so nervous because I've been doing really well so far and have been sitting on 4th overall for the past 2 games and I would love to stay there but that probably won't happen. Phil is pretty good at ace race so I tried following him around but I quickly lost him and was going round with Wilbur instead both of us swearing when we couldn't make it through a particular part or our elytras were playing up.

"Fuck sake I hate this stupid jump pad" I said

"You bastard" Wilbur said

If anyone was hoping for a swear free stream then that went out the window very quickly, the combination of me, Wilbur and ace race is not a good one for no swearing. I can't even count how many times we both swore throughout but I imagine it was a lot although in the end it was worth it because I finished in 7th which is the best I ever did and Wilbur was 10th so we did really well. Coming out of ace race I went straight to the build with the leaderboard to see how I was doing and I'd moved up into 3rd in the overall so of course I took a million screenshots and got Wilbur to join some of them.

"You are doing so good I'm so proud of you" he said

"Thank you you're doing good too you're in 8th" I said

The last game soon came and finished and the nerves as we went into the hub to see our final placement were sky high especially because I did awful in survival games because my cramps started to get worse again and I just couldn't concentrate. We all loaded in and looked at the leaderboard and we were still in second, that means dodgebolt which I'm normally pretty good at but its just not going to happen today.

I'm so excited because we could actually win like Wilbur and I wanted but this is the hard part and with me not at my best I don't know how well it will go, people often target me too because I'm good at dodgebolt so I might get knocked out pretty easily. Wilbur was texting me during the break to see how I was doing and was reassuring me through discord that we could do this, he was also ready to come home right away and told me to stay streaming so we could celebrate together if we win and if not just to give the viewers a bit of content.

Dodgebolt got underway and we won the first game with a bit of ease so my confidence was rising as my cramps were getting worse. Game two started off badly when me and George got knocked out pretty quickly with Wilbur following not long after but Phil pulled through and won us the tournament.

"Well done everyone you all did really well" I said

"You did great too" Phil said

"Great job everyone but I'm gonna go home, y/n I'm coming for you" Wilbur said

With that he left the call and was on his way back while the rest of us celebrated and talked to friends on other teams or people who joined our vc to talk. It's been a while since I've won MCC so it was nice to feel that sense of achievement again and my chat are happy which is what I always want. I had a lot of Wilbur's viewers too as they joined to see him when he got back but honestly we share a lot of the same audience so it didn't feel bad only having this amount of viewers because of him because they are kind of my viewers too.

Eventually Wilbur got home and burst through the doors to my office arms wide open wrapping the round me and the back of my chair before giving me a chance to get up and let him sit down. I sat on lap and we talked to chat for a bit while he had his hands on my stomach slightly massaging it to help my cramps which was much appreciated. We celebrated our win together and promised to show off our coins when we get them before ending stream and climbing into bed.

When in bed I laid on top of Wilbur because it was comfy and he was warm while he rubbed up and down my back soothing me until I fell asleep while whispering cute things in my ears.

[voidcat]

– rushed whispers

wc: 1.3k + 0.4k ; warnings: (implied) smut, so,, suggestive at best ig

a/n: ik thats not what the anon wanted w I Bet On Losing Dogs but it was nice to put it on repeat while writing this.

It begins like a faint melody, soft and gentle.

A tone of sadness always lingers, a possibility of what could’ve been and the ‘what-if’s; though it never leaves a bad taste, just… distinct.

Like swaying to an old tune, his breath dances on your skin, your hands fumbling with his vest.

Little words spoken, sounds filling the air, the specifics always blur by the time you cut to the chase. The locations do not matter, neither is picky. It’s spontaneous, exciting, the risks keep it going and making your chest race with the possibilities.

So little spoken out loud when there is much to be said and discussed.

In its entirety, it’s just the noises that fill the air, fingers working ever so quickly; skins touching, tracing, nails sinking and marking. It’s just his breath fawning over your ear and your lips on his neck, words have long lost their meanings, as always.

A wordless agreement of sorts. It’s never discussed, nor planned. One seeks out the other and you begin tiptoeing around each other again. Almost like a dance in the dark, that’s how it feels, with your eyes barely open but never off each other, relishing in the pleasure, it ends as it begins.

And Dazai, he never takes his eyes off you. Yet there’s so little light, so little spark in them. Hints and traces of various degrees of emotions flow endlessly but they look exactly as you feel in such escapes, like a veil pulled over, no room for a source of light. Sometimes you wonder if he even possesses a heart.

It’s silly, how on one hand your minds hazy and on the other you think such things. He might think of the same things for you, for all you know.

But you never will, and that’s exactly the point.

Dazai is good at many things and keeping this strictly as intended is one of these.

Grab the bolo tie and pull him in, he’ll be latching on to you instantly. Teeth and skin, he is everywhere. It’s rushed, it’s deep, there’ll be marks in the evening and neither ever really cares.

Isn’t this the point? To not care, to not be attached. Simply a business affair on pleasure. What better way to ensure your colleague will be on his top performance than to make sure of it yourself?

No feelings or strings, they say, but none of it was ever discussed since the beginning. How could any of it work if feelings weren’t a part of it? Every time a new surprise, be it rough, gentle, attentive or selfish. You suppose it’d never be what they call “love making” but then again, that’s not what either of you are craving.

Love isn’t needed when you get to feel every other emotion to feel there is.

“Hey, would you come out for a sec?” It’s as easy like this to get you outside. And next your back will be pressed against the cold surface. He’s onto you in an instant, his warmth making up for the cold that’s growing. While he is busy with your neck, your hands start with the practiced routine.

By the time the buttons come undone, he moves on from your neck, impatient as ever. Still, he often holds the back of your neck during these, and he is careful with the pressure he is applying, making sure your head never hits against the wall, tilting your head while considering the angles to your comfort.

Your mind grows foggy, such is the effect of Dazai, and despite it, you cannot stop thinking. Of all the small details, gestures, what goes on and doesn’t, focusing on the pleasure is one but this? It’s another.

And he knows, that your mind is elsewhere – you know it too. Again, shouldn’t that be a part of it? To take each other’s minds off of things?

Even when your attention is rarely on him, he doesn’t say much of it, doesn’t demand your attention or care, biting on your neck and sucking on it afterwards, he moves up again.

It’s a way to escape for him too, doesn’t care how much of yourself you’ll give to him. Though this doesn’t change the fact that he likes it when your focus is solely on him.

So you do, one hand to stroke his neck and soon moving to the nape of it, up and grabbing his hair, pulling at the moments you know he’ll like, deepening his biting, the movement of his body, pressed against yours until the both oh you are molded in the shape of one another.

There is roughness and gentleness when it calls for it, but all in all, there is passion in his actions. Knowing your body and his, watching every move and reaction, drinking in the sounds the two of you make, as nothing else matters in that moment.

Until it shatters and the unspoken agreement is back in action. It’s never spoken of until it happens again. The again always comes sooner than expected. He is impatient as he is passionate.

Playing each other like instruments, you like to hear him moan the most. Pulling his hair to make room for yourself and leaving marks on him. Dazai claims he hates pain but loves to chase after it like hungry.

It is a good agreement, though nonexistent.

All the marks remain to remind of the pleasures of the previous encounters. It comes as a bonus, to wake up in the morning and look in the mirror, seeing marks of red and purple bloom everywhere, every square of your bodies. Satisfactory, although a little scary, showing how much you the other has seen.

No rules to abide, no strings to get caught in, and another thing you realize is that you never kiss.

Lips have touched everywhere but the faces, those remain clean, undisturbed. Maybe neither of you got a taste for masks, maybe you fear the implications of kissing one’s face.

But as clear as the sky and bright as the sun, this is one of the things that always remain unchanged.

Then Dazai kisses you. His teeth tugs at your bottom lip, pulling it down, he must be aiming to make it bleed there, you surmise.

He has kissed every corner of your body but your face and now here he stands, body against yours again, one hand to hold your neck, other to pull you by the waist, tugging on your lip as if he always does this.

No word was ever spoken yet it was always in the open. It should be your earlobe he’s tugging right now, what is he doing?,you think and ask yourself, until you find yourself kissing him back.

As always, it’s these moments of indulgence and pleasure where your mind is running fast. His skin looks barer than ever, he seems vulnerable. With how his bandages have come undone, how he lets you every time, never once hands holding yours in an attempt to stop. Layer upon layer, tightened straps of gauze and fabric to hide away everything underneath, every piece of him; and they come undone like nothing.

It becomes too loud in an instant.

Then again, hasn’t this always been the case? Weren’t all the choices and gestures you made, all the touches and caressing louder than words could ever be? Doing what words could never achieve, setting rules in untouchable air, to surround and entail you, claim your spirit and mind.

Perhaps he just knew you’d never ask the questions he won’t answer, or he simply trusts you, to an extent, as you do him.

It’s loud, with all the mixed noises, actions and hushed whispers – his eyes on yours as always, you give in and let the moment take in, your focus only on Dazai in this corner of time, as no one else exists.

Eyes like a hawk’s, it’s the moments when he gets to see you without nothing but bliss in mind that he cherishes the most. This time, it’s different and he is aware the reason behind is his actions. Unlike any other time, it’s not mere minutes where he gets to have you completely, a shift of something in you and until the high of it rises and dies down, you’re his, and all of him is yours.

For now, Dazai ignores the consequences of his actions and lives through what little you get to share until it ends.

‘La petite mort’, what a fitting name, he thinks, and how expected of him to enjoy it.

The clock starts ticking again, your pupils are narrowing.

“We’re down for this time, for sure.” You speak out as your breathing returns to normal, voice a still raspy.

“How so?” Dazai asks in return, his usual smile appearing back on his face, his composure looks far better than yours, in which you poke him for.

“Kunikida was right besides us!” you keep whispering the words, trying not to raise your voice. To anyone else, you’d come off agitated however Dazai knows you by now, just a tad worried, that’s all it is. “Even if he didn’t have suspicions before, he does now. We practically handed him over the proof.”

With a sigh, you lean back and run your hands to check your clothes for any fix-ups.

In return, Dazai leans over and rests his forehead by your face. Nobody pays much attention to the tidiness of his bandages so he leaves them be.

Turning his face to yours, the smile you’ve grown to hate never falters. It’s easier to relax somehow, and if he concentrates he can smell the scent of his skin on you. “Well, it’s not like Kunikida gets a say in who we get to see off the clock,” letting out a breath, his smile softens, “does he now?”

Fumbling with your bracelet as you listen, you perk up at his words. “Dazai, these are the work hours, we are on the job right now.” He can hear the confusion in your voice, he can’t blame you for that.

You never talk about any of these, let alone further implications of whatever this is.

You just assumed it’d end as always, going back to your divided lives, pretending nothing happened.

Up until now, nothing ever happened.

For the moment, he lets you ignore his implications.

There’ll be time to talk about these later.

[anxious-allie-ren]

Hey everyone! I’d like to introduce the new story I am writing! You can find it on both my AO3 and Wattpad. Both of which are linked in my bio. But I’ll also be posting the chapters here for you all. Be easy on me as I haven’t quite figured out how to post chapters on here and create a master list. That is something I will be working on. Alright, now in to the good stuff.

Erota

As the only daughter from a high society family, the pressure is on you to impress the ton and find a suitable match. You hope to find love, but your fate is decided for you. Your marriage is arranged to King Kylo of Chandrila. Pain and tough decisions are soon to follow.

This story is inspired by Bridgerton and regency era.

Hello everyone! I have been dreaming of writing this fic for a bit now and finally gathered the courage to do it! Like I said in the description, this story is heavily influenced by the regency era and the Netflix show Bridgerton. I've done my best to keep it accurate to both the era and the Star Wars world. I hope you enjoy!

The Ton.

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The season has finally arrived. You have officially joined the ton and are coming out into society. The debutantes of higher society are to be presented in court. This now includes you and your family.

You were the only child of the Duke of Selonia. A small territory southeast of Drall within the kingdom of Corellia. It's a quaint little area, nothing to brag about. It was cozy and calm. Many of the families had lived in the area for generations. Neighbors all knew each other. But despite its comfort and kindness it was lacking funds.

Since you had been able to remember, life was very simple. You helped in the gardens, the kitchens, and even with the laundry work. Your family took trips to town often, visiting with the people. Your mother loved to stop at the bakery and buy pastries to bring back to the estate. She told you stories from her childhood as bedtime stories. Coming from a common family and marrying into high society. Your parents married for love and not statues. Many scolded your father for marrying "below his station" but he let their words roll off his shoulders. He was attracted to your mother for her beauty, kindness, and capabilities. Your mother was no stranger to hard work, and she assured you weren't as well.

As you matured, you watched as your home aged as well. Bricks began to weather with time and vegetation started to take over. Farmers had less success each year and businesses were closing. The help your father was once so quick to provide had now dwindled into nothing. There was no help to give. The funding was nearly gone. After your mother's death, the strong and reliable man you had once called your father was gone. What replaced him was a shell of a man. He gave up on his duties as a duke and instead threw his time and money into bad habits. Gambling and drinking had become his crutch.

You lost your mother in your adolescence. Still a young girl so in need of a mother and her guidance. Her death left you confused and in desperate need of comfort. You tried to lean on your father. But in his own grief, he seemed to forget about you. Instead, you turned to your community. The maids and butlers became your family. They ensured your schooling would continue. The men even went as far as to teach you math and science. When you entered your teens, you attempted to take on the dukedom in secret. You went over all the documents and finances, trying to find a way to help your people and restore your estate. It was to no avail. Nothing could be done without your fathers signature. So you were left with no choice but to let it go. You focused on your studies and lessons with the maids. They helped bring you to maturity. Now, it was time to join society as an eligible woman.

Marriage has been heavy on your mind for many years now. The idea of meeting a man and marrying just for statues or titles didn't interest you. Neither of those things mattered to you. A marriage had become something with such a negative connotation. But love, now that was very different. You yearned for a true love match. You craved a deep connection unlike any you'd ever experienced. As a child, you'd developed small crushes on some of the neighborhood children. The butterflies and blushed looks were something you understood. But you'd never felt love before. You loved your family of course. You even loved your townspeople. But that was so different from what you hoped to find.

Becoming a debutante was not something you were looking forward to. Joining the ladies of high society was only asking for drama. But as the daughter of a Duke, it was your duty to join the ton and find a suitable husband. This had become increasingly important as your territory lost more and more money to your father's lifestyle. These thoughts scrambled around your mind as you got ready. You would be heading to the first ball of the season, your entrance into society, in moments. You were dressed in your nicest items. A deep red ball gown embroidered with golden florals along the bottom of the skirt and corset. Your hair was pinned back, allowing your face to stand out. Your maid, Jillian, was helping you put on your shoes as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Jillian had been with your family before your mother passed. She had watched you grow from a pained child to a strong young woman. She was with you every step of the way. Jillian became a motherly figure and your most trusted confidant.

Jillian pats your calf as she begins to stand, finished with clasping your heels. Her touch pulls you from your thoughts. You give her a polite smile and thank her, turning back to the mirror. Your anxiety is growing with each tick of the clock and in typical Jillian fashion, she can sense your discomfort. She comes to stand behind you, adjusting the pins in your hair.

"You know you're prepared for this. There's no need to sit and worry."

You meet her gaze in the mirror, her gentle blue eyes giving you a wave of comfort. You let out a sigh and play with your fingers.

"I felt prepared, but now that it's upon me, I'm not so sure. So much is at stake here, Jillian. The people of Selonia are relying on me to find someone who can help. What if I'm not up to standards?"

Jillian only chuckles at your words and places her hands on either of your shoulders.

"Standards? Now you're just being silly. You are a kind, intelligent, and strong young lady. Any suitor would be lucky to have you as his wife."

You turn to look at her, face scrunched in concentration.

"That's exactly the issue! It can't just be any suitor. They need to be able to fix dukedom and be the love I've been waiting for. What if that's unrealistic? How can I ever find someone to do both?"

Jillian places a comforting hand on your cheek, her thumb slowly stroking your cheekbone. She gives you a small smile before she speaks.

"Is that what you're so worried about? Dear, you're placing too much stress on yourself. Don't worry about the dukedom or Selonia. Go and find your love, everything else will fall in place."

You lean into her hand and smile, her words bringing you peace and a newfound sense of confidence. She pulls her hand away and turns towards your bedroom door. She calls back to you, "Now let's get you going! It's time."

————————————————

The carriage stopped in front of the King's summer estate. Many of the guests were already walking up the grand entrance and making their way inside. Your father hurried around and opened the door for you, holding his hand out and helping you down. Tonight he was doing his best to look and act presentable. You place your hand in his bent arm and let him lead you into the ball. Neither of you had spoken more than a few words to each other in years. You were surprised he even accompanied you tonight. His presence only made you nervous again. You weren't sure what his intent was by coming. Was he finally stepping back into his positions as father and Duke? Or was there some ulterior motive?

You found out quickly as he leaned in to speak to you, just as you were arriving at the entrance of the ballroom.

"I am expecting you to perform well tonight. I want to see gentlemen callers of high status calling on you tomorrow."

You look up at him and furrow your brows in confusion. So this is what he came for? To ensure you schmoozed with the highest titles with the most money? If so, he's going to be very disappointed.

"I'm here to find a reasonable suitor for myself, father. Not a suitor for you and Selonia."

He stops walking at your words, his head turning to look down at you. You can see his clenched jaw and anger in his eyes. His distaste for your words is written all over his face.

"Stop with your foolish girly fantasy of a love match. You're here to do as I say, and I'll be damned if you disobey me."

His words sting your heart. Your father had never spoken to you this way. When you were young, he was always so gentle and loving towards you. Now it seems you're just another pawn to be thrown around his chessboard as he pleased. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your gaze back down. Now was not the time to worry about this. You had more pressing matters.

You allowed your father to lead you to the entrance, stopping to allow the announcer to get your names. You took a deep breath as you prepared to face the ton. First impressions were everything, and you did not want to screw this up. The announcer clears his throat and stands at attention. Everyone in the room stops what they're doing to await the next debutante.

"Presented by her father, the Duke of Selonia, Miss Y/F/N."

You stare forward as your father leads you into the ballroom and towards the King and Queen of Corellia. You both stopped before them, your father unlinking your arms and bowing. You fall into a curtsy, bowing your head in respect. Your father stands back up and looks to the king. You stay still, awaiting the command to move. The king of Corellia rises from his throne and moves to stand in front of you. Everyone holds their breath, watching closely to see what unfolds. He places a gentle finger under your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze.

"Stand up for me, dear. You can relax."

You do as he says and stand quickly, giving him a polite smile as you return his intense eye contact. His finger never leaves your chin. He smiles back at you and begins to speak again.

"You are a true beauty, my dear. You know, they say the eyes are a window to the soul. I can see the love and strength living within yours. Hold onto that, they will be your biggest asset."

Your eyes widen at his words. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face.

"Thank you, your majesty."

With that, he removes his finger from your chin and climbs back to his throne. He turns his attention back to the room and declares, "Let the festivities continue."

Your father grabs ahold of your arm again and leads you away from the thrones. You can feel the crowd staring at you, but you can't find it in you to care. King Luke of Corellia spoke to you! Not only that, but he complimented you. This was a great honor bestowed on very few. You would take his advice to heart.

It seems your father had a different perspective. He leads you to a table with dance cards placed neatly in rows. You begin to search for your name as he smirks and begins talking.

"Compliments from the king will help greatly in gaining potential suitors. You'll be the most desired lady in the ton. Seems finding you a husband of high title will be easier than I thought."

You finish tying the card to your wrist and turn to look at the room. Your father continues to talk as you observe your surroundings. You look up at the elegant chandelier. It shines beautifully in the light, casting sparkles all over the room. You watch as they dance across the guests, creating an angelic and light atmosphere. A waiter comes by and offers you and your father glasses of champagne. You take a small sip and return your attention to the crowd. Many of the ladies are giving you glares or speaking with the eligible men in attendance. You take notice of their attire. Many have much more elegant gowns and jewels on. Their appearance shows how much they have to offer. Your feelings of inadequacy begin to creep back in. You don't even notice a man approaching.

Your gaze stops on a young man across the room. His dark brown curls and bright smile grabbed your attention. He was speaking to another man, seeming to be in deep conversation. His face was so expressive as he spoke, hands moving about to help prove whatever point he was trying to make. You couldn't help but be captivated by him. If there was anyone you were hoping to get a moment with this evening, it was him.

You snap from your thoughts as your father greets him and motions towards you. This man must have been reaching his thirties. Much older than any of the debutantes here. His bright ginger hair stands out like a sore thumb. He makes eye contact with you as your father talks. An uneasy feeling sweeps over you. For some reason, something about this man doesn't sit right with you.

"Y/N, I'd like you to meet the Earl of Drall, Lord Armitage Hux" your father says as he motions towards the man. Lord Hux takes your hand and raises it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. The contact makes you cringe internally. Your father looks at you expectantly and you quickly pull yourself together.

"Hello Lord Hux, it is so nice to meet you."

Your father smiles at both of you and claps a hand on Lord Hux's shoulder.

"Lord Hux here is a good friend of mine. I was hoping to introduce you both tonight."

The uneasy feeling now makes sense. Any friend of your fathers is likely a crook. Not at all the type of man you want to be speaking to. You nod politely, biting your tongue from speaking your mind freely. The men then turn away from you and begin a discussion of their own, leaving you out. You lift your glass of champagne back to your lips and turn your gaze back to the direction of the man you had spotted before.

Instead of finding the curly haired man again, you met eyes with someone else. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back was a raven haired man. He stood tall and broad, much larger than any other man in the room. His gaze pierced through you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. You wanted to approach him, but to do so would make you look indecent.

Your eye contact is cut off by Lord Hux coming in front of you. He holds out his arm to you in invitation.

"Would you do me the honor of a dance, Lady Y/N?"

You wanted nothing more than to say no and go speak to the mystery man. Or even go find the curly haired man from before. But you know you had no choice in the matter. To deny him would make you look bad to the ton. Plus, your father would never stand for it. So you placed your hand in his arm and nod.

"Of course, Lord Hux."

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I really hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you think!

Love,

Allie

[slasherholic]

Michael Myers x Doctor! Reader | The Check-Up

behold, a drabble that went on for 1500 words too long.

synopsis: you are a doctor at smith’s grove administering the patient’s monthly physical exams. your next patient is michael. sadly, there is no world where this ends pleasantly for you.

contains: gender-neutral reader, michael being a toying asshole and giving the reader a nasty scare.

The exam room is small and drab, too intimate a space for work to happen comfortably. Its walls are not thick enough to dampen the noise of shuffling feet and voices passing by outside, and occasionally, the strident yelling of an upset patient will cut above the murmur, making you drum your fingers against the steel countertop with a renewed fervor.

On your sheet, half way down the list, the name is printed innocuously there in blue ink:

M. Myers.

You take a deep breath in and let it out slowly; it does not calm your nerves. Since you relinquished your last patient, the unease has been twisting in your gut like you swallowed a whole eel. Now, it feels almost determined to come back up.

It’s only a physical, you reason. The guards will be right outside. He’ll be restrained.

And such things might have been a comfort, if only “M. Myers” was still just a name on a list with a gruesome reputation to precede him. You are not fortunate enough for that to be the case; you have worked with Myers before. You know what he is like.

Your eyes flit to the clock on the wall while your fingers tap tap tap away on the counter. The guards have been gone eight minutes now. Some patients make a fight out of it every time they are taken from their rooms, requiring transport around the sanitarium in wheelchairs fit with heavy leather straps. Not Myers. In all your time employed at Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, you have never heard of one such related incident involving Myers. He lets himself be escorted without a fuss.

The incidents only happen after he gets to where he’s going.

It is not another full minute before there is a knock at the door.

“I’m ready,” you say promptly. The handle twists to the side. The door opens.

Four guards bring him in, double the standard patient security detail.

They lead him to the exam table while you thumb through your drawer for his file. In the corner of your eye, you watch him sit. One guard produces a key ring. The guard squats. Shortly, you hear the resounding metal “click” of a lock turning into place.

“Alright,” the guard says, standing. “All’s good over here.” After some consideration, he adds, “Want us to stick around for this one?”

“No, but thank you,” you tell him, pulling out the file. “I trust you did your job.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

The guards leave the room, one by one.

“Holler if he gives you any trouble,” the last guard states, closing the door behind him.

The silence in their stead is woeful and everything within it altogether too loud. The clock on the wall ticks. Your stool squeaks sharply when you sit upright. The open drawer screeches as you push it shut.

And you can hear him breathing.

Your heart should not be racing already but it is. You suppose it isn’t too late to call the guards back in, but in the end, it wouldn’t matter much; if Myers is determined to toy with you, he will. Their presence will not deter him.

Clipboard in hand, you swivel on your stool, and face him.

Myers sits atop the paper-sheeted table with an attentive posture. He wears his usual white patient’s garb, canvas pants and a cotton shirt, the latter too tight around the breadth of his shoulders. Short metal cuffs link his wrists closely to his waist. His ankle has been chained to the chipping grey tile; and, despite the elevation of the table, his feet touch the floor with ease.

Alarmingly, he is staring right back at you.

Ice-blue eyes consider you steadily. No hint of emotion occupies his face. The look is somehow effortless, and you are reminded of how a housecat might regard a person of mild interest, intrigued enough by the happenings to observe, but caring not to involve itself further—yet.

Your throat tightens. There have been times during these check-ups where Myers feigns detachment, pretending wholly as if he doesn’t care. Not today. Already, he is casually toying with you.

Your eyes fall to your clipboard as you stand from your stool, eager for an excuse to cast your gaze away from him.

“I’ll be administering a quick check up today,“ you say, depositing your pen in your breast pocket. “Weight, heart rate, blood pressure, nothing invasive.” It is all you can manage if you are to maintain some air of professionalism. Your voice has already begun to thin.

The physician’s scale rests against the wall beside the exam table, wholly too close to Myers for your liking. You feel his eyes following you across the room as you go and stand next to it. Adrenaline surges in your veins at the proximity.

“Stand here, please,” you say, eyes fixed on your clipboard, as though very much involved in your work, and very much not falling prey to your patient’s lingering stare.

For a beat of time that stretches on into discomfort, nothing happens. Michael’s breathing fills the room. You do not look up from your sheet. He doesn’t budge an inch in your periphery. It is as if you had not spoken at all, only imagined it. Perhaps he didn’t hear you. Perhaps he’s decided not to cooperate.

The instructions are almost past your lips a second time when Michael stands. His weight shifts fluidly onto his feet, almost soundlessly, were it not for the clank of his ankle restraint hitting the floor. The scale creaks as he steps on—the length of chain allows it, barely. Your breathing is far from measured now. While you slide the weights along the top of the scale you grip your clipboard tremendously tight.

It is a strange and terrible thing, you think, to exist next to a body that has taken so many lives. Would you lose your job if you were to obey the way your feet seem to want to charge as fast as you are able out of this room? Why, the situation doesn’t seem ethical; your higher-ups, the doctors, the psychologists, all know what dreadful acts Michael is capable of; are you seriously expected to treat this man as though he’s just the next patient on your sheet?

A series of terrible things occur to you all at once; If Michael wanted to, even in his chains, he could hurt you very easily. It is by the mere fact of the building surrounding him that he has not.

Contained in this place, to harm you is to tighten his own restraints. Michael knows this. He knows the keys to the castle must be attained through docility, or at least an act of it, which he is very good at faking. Whether he believes the game is eligible for a second round, now, with so much fresh blood on his hands, he is going to play. In fewer words; only by the grace of brick and cement are you allowed to exist within an arm’s length of this man, and still keep breathing.

On your sheet, you scribble a barely legible 210 lbs in the blank white space next to “patient weight”. In a retreating voice you ask Myers to please sit back down on the table. He decides instead to linger next to you first, broadening his chest with a few more steady breaths; after that, he sits.

The stethoscopes are stored in the stainless steel cabinets above your desk. You set down your clipboard as you dig for one, trying all the while not to think the unthinkable—you have to touch your patient now. You have to touch Michael.

Stethoscope in hand, eyes fixed to a point on the floor for the sake of your own sanity, you drag your stool across the room, its one stuck wheel screeching across the linoleum.

You settle your stool inches away from Myers and put on your best mask of doctorly calm.

“Looking good so far,” you say, not believing that Michael is actually paying attention to your words, only speaking because it seems the comfortable thing to do. “I need to listen to your heart next, so please, don’t move.”

Michael’s towering body doesn’t budge a muscle in response to your new proximity. He continues to breathe in and out, chest expanding beneath his too-tight shirt, and you can see the individual muscles of his torso rising and contracting, ribs filling out, pectorals broadening, their outline obvious beneath his meager layer of clothing.

You install the buds of your stethoscope in both ears and reach out with your dominant hand toward his chest, pressing the circular tool just above his heart.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. The pounding echoes in your skull. You can feel it beating up through his coiled muscle, throbbing so adamantly beneath your touch that you can see his pulse lifting your fingers up and down, up, down, a power which you try to ignore by filling your thoughts with numbers, counting the beats as your task demands.

Touching Michael is nearly unbearable by the fiftieth second. You withhold your heavy swallow as you shove away from him, wheeling back to the safety of the counter where your sheet rests, jotting in his results, which are incredible, but nothing short of expected—Michael has the resting heart rate of a trained athlete.

As you ink in his results in the empty box, it occurs to you that he must be getting some sort of pleasure out of this. Some carnal need of his is gratified by the symptoms of your unease—the miserable tension in your voice, the fact you cannot look him in the eye. Michael is devouring all of it.

You feel suddenly very faint as you reach again above the counter, this time taking a hand light from the cabinets. Two more empty boxes remain unfilled on your sheet; two more tests to administer. Half way done. You suppose that fact should help settle your nerves, but it doesn’t. Instead, a different angle on the matter takes form in your head; a whole half way in, and Myers is still pretending as if he’s only going to sit there and watch.

You leave your clipboard on the counter this time, because it can’t save you. To perform this next part you are going to have to bite the bullet and look Myers in the face.

Distressingly, his expression has not budged a bit. His cold eyes are still upon you.

Keeping your concern off your face seems a losing battle now. You know Michael can detect it in the tightness of your features as you roll your stool across the room, and perhaps you imagined the oh-so-faint dilation of his functioning pupil as you approached, and perhaps you didn’t.

“I just need you to follow this light for me.” You tell Michael, brandishing the hand light in front of you.

His eyes, or you suppose the one good one, survey the thin silver tool in your hand. Nothing on his face changes. He looks back up at you within three beats of your racing heart, apparently ready to comply.

Your thumb meets the little button on the side of the light and it illuminates a harsh circle on his pale cheek. A flick of your wrist aligns it with your target. Michael’s pupil contracts to a pin-point. He obliges your instructions, tracking the light as you move it left, then right, his reflexes behaving beautifully, flawlessly, in fact…

...and you are still contemplating the flawlessness of Michael’s pupillary reflexes when it occurs to you that he is no longer following the light. Instead, he is staring at your face.

You remember seeing tigers hunting on a nature show. You remember that head down, fixed-eyed look, a predator’s unbreakable concentration. That is how Myers is staring at you.

Terror rolls through you, gripping your heart in a cold fist. It makes you smaller and smaller until you feel like turning on your heel and sprinting for the door, away from this ruthless predator, because Myers is so obviously that.

“Follow the light, please.” You barely squeeze the words past your constricting vocal chords. Michael does not follow the light. He looks at you with that same deadly gaze, the darkness spreading to overtake his whole face.

You recoil from him like you’ve been shot.

His cuffed hand shoots out. Chain links rattle as he seizes your elbow. A gasp leaves your throat at the horrible pressure of his fingers digging into bone.

Very quietly, you tell him to let you go.

Michael doesn’t. His hand continues to grip your arm as if cemented there. He meets your eyes with a piercing look that says you are about to die.

Suddenly, the fact of the sanitarium walls surrounding you no longer matter. Your world swings sickeningly sideways. You know only one thing; Michael is going to murder you on the spot.

Tears cascade freely down your face. His grip hurts but the fear hurts worse. You tell him you are going to call in the guards. Michael, unperturbed, holds you, just watching, perhaps even daring you to.

“Please let go.” You are pleading with him now. Pleading with a murderer. Pleading with the monster that has already decided your fate.

The very moment before you raise your voice to scream for the guards, Michael does let go. His hand comes free and you spill to the floor with a yelp, knocking over medical supplies on the counter which clatter loudly as they fall. The doors swing open. The four guards step in.

Michael sits innocuously on the exam table as you heave and tremble on the floor. By all accounts, it would appear as though you’ve fallen due to your own clumsiness.

One of the guards rushes to your side to help you to your feet. You insist in a tight, quivering voice that you are fine; that you only tripped. You spit out that you have everything you need from Myers, and if they would please take him away, and bring in the next patient, that would be excellent.

Michael is still watching you as the guards begin to unlock his ankle cuff. You cannot bear to return his stare. Bending down, you start to pluck a tray of spilled cotton swabs off the floor, trying to occupy your shaking hands, but even long after the guards have removed Myers from the room, your hands refuse to stop their trembling.

[glowingbadger]

You may have a little Lorenz Prompt as promised. As a treat. Here goes~

Lorenz taking thorough notes to surprise his s/o (is it the blog owner? the reader? some random character? It doesn't matter~!) with the most lovely, romantic date imaginable based around everything they like. He wouldn't put in this much effort to TRULY impress someone, but you're worth every step and more.

Enjoy where this takes your thoughts~!

(and pls don't eat it, Tumblr)

Y'know what, I've had a shitty day and I just finished writing some darker content- so I am going to ~indulge~. Normally I try to make my Reader character as broadly relatable as possible, but today we're going with MY preferences and interests because I WANT A NICE DATE WITH LORENZ GODDAMNIT

Lorenz (FE3H) x GN Reader - perfect date

Fluff - SFW

Today simply has to be flawless- the Gloucester heir will not accept any less. Not when it comes to you. Of course, Lorenz holds himself to high standards in all things, but the thought of providing anything less than perfection for you is one that pains him to even consider. Especially now that he'd finally gotten the courage- or, rather, found the right and proper time to ask you to spend the day with him.

You approach him at the Monastery gates not long after noon that day, and find your pace slowing as you eye him before he's noticed you. Without his usual elegant set of armor, you can appreciate the way constant marching and training has toned his slender frame- and appreciate it, you most certainly do. Though he soon turns to face you, and your eyes dart back up from a rather ignoble place to meet his instead.

"You're as radiant as ever, I see," he says with a warm smile. He offers you an arm and you take it, replying with a grin,

"You've already got me for the day, Lorenz, there's no need for flattery."

"'Flattery' implies a measure of falsehood," he says with confidence, leading you towards town, "and I could never bring myself to lie to one so lovely."

As your time together proceeds, you can't help but feel that, some way, somehow, Lorenz has some kind of psychic insight into your preferences. Everywhere you turn, whatever your heart could desire is immediately available and set before you with hardly any negotiation at play. At the first flower stall you find, Lorenz takes a moment to exchange words with the owner while you admire the sprawling array of colorful blooms; and by the time he's returned, he's holding a woven crown of delicate little white flowers. With an admiring smile, he carefully places it on your head, a hand trailing down a lock of your hair as he pulls away to observe you.

With a shy grin, you perform an exaggerated curtsy, prompting Lorenz to laugh fondly and take you by the hand. He twirls you slowly under his arm, watching you all the while, then says,

"They suit you every bit as wonderfully as I'd thought."

"They're my favorites," you reply.

"I know- erm, that is- I know of a superb bakery down the block this way," Lorenz seems a bit red in the face, but you chalk that up to nerves.

He's not wrong though- this bakery is something else. The selection and quality of ingredients is on an entirely new level compared to the Monastery's dining hall, and you find yourself overwhelmed even reading down the list of items posted to the wall. By your third pass over the full range of options, the words are starting to dance in your eyes- but a warm touch at your arm shakes your focus. Lorenz leans close to be heard over the rapidly growing crowd at the bakery's counter,

"Might I make a recommendation?" you nod, and he goes on, "I happen to have it on good authority that there's an item not included on this menu that you may like. It incorporates three different treatments of Brigid cocoa, if that is of any interest to you."

Your eyes light up and you can practically feel the rich sweetness across your tongue already.

"That sounds incredible," you reply, enraptured by the very thought. When you start to ask how he'd heard of such a thing, Lorenz has already turned to speak to the worker taking orders, and your words drown among the crowd of customers. The speed at which he acquires this mythical pastry only fills your mind with more questions. How did he manage to purchase an off-menu item so quickly? Wouldn't the cost of something requiring those many luxurious imported ingredients be astronomical?

But then, Lorenz returns to your side and guides you out of the crowded shop, and the sight of the delectable chocolatey treat in his hands dashes all other thoughts from your mind. He hands it to you wrapped in a handkerchief, and you can't help but immediately plunge in for a bite.

"Mmmm-!" you wear an expression of pure bliss as your mouth fills with sweet, savory chocolate, "Oh- Lorenz, it's so good!"

When you glance up at him, he's watching you with a strangely heavy expression. Once more, his fair complexion is painted a light red. You tilt your head curiously, and he seems to resurface from whatever thoughts had taken him for the moment.

"Here- you should try some," you break off a piece and hold it up to him.

"Are- are you certain? I had intended for you to enjoy it to your heart's content," he stammers out, evidently still a bit flushed.

"I want you to get to have some too. Please?" You hate to resort to puppy eyes with him, but it's hard to argue with the results. He leans forward and accepts the piece of pastry from your hand. You don't shy away from him in the slightest, and so a brief brush of his lower lip along the tip of your finger simply can't be avoided. Lorenz does his best to move past this without acknowledgement, and you two enjoy your treat together as you take in the bustle of the town around you.

The day continues in kind, with Lorenz apparently having painstakingly arranged every element of this date from start to finish. At a local seller of antiques and luxury goods, he secures permission to view and explore rare and dazzling paintings from around the world. Here, he's rather uncharacteristically reserved. Wandering the storage area like your own personal art museum, he watches you with evident warmth as you exclaim at the rich and varied pigments, the innovative expressions of human form, and so on.

After this, he brings you to a tavern at the far end of town, where he's reserved the second floor exclusively for you two to enjoy a quiet, intimate meal together. By this point, you've finally gotten around to considering just how much gold must have gone into this singular date.

"Lorenz," you say cautiously, "are you sure it's okay to go through all of this and spend so much just for-"

He raises a hand to cut you off, then replies,

"I assure you that it is," he takes your hand in his, holding it warmly from across your private table, "wealth has no value that we ourselves do not assign to it, and I have chosen to spend it on your pleasure. I can think of no greater use for a bit of coin."

The rest of the early evening is filled with pleasant chat and the occasional subtle sweet-talk. As you discuss everything you've seen and experienced that day, Lorenz engages you with surprisingly astute comments and observations. He's always at his best when he feels permitted to simply talk with you, as one person to another, free of the pressures and expectations of his birthright that he shoulders without a thought.

The sun is steadily lowering behind the hills and walls of the surrounding town by the time you make your way back together. As you walk hand in hand watching the Monastery gates rise ahead of you, Lorenz clears his throat abruptly and says,

"If I may steal you away for just a little while longer, there was... actually someone I thought you'd like to meet."

"Oh? What an honor," you say with a smile, "Do I get any hints?"

Lorenz gives a good-natured chuckle and says,

"Only that I think you'll get along splendidly."

And of all places throughout Garreg Mach's grounds, you begin to recognize that he is leading you towards the stables. You've met Lorenz's horse before- a lovely mare with a calm and agreeable temperment. If not her, then...

"Eloise?" Lorenz calls out in a gentle voice, "Eloise, come say hello- Ellie? Come now, don't tell me you've chosen tonight to become bashful..." at his call, a svelte black cat with delicate little white paws comes trotting out to meet you. Your heart positively aches and melts at the sight of her eagerly approaching Lorenz with clear comfort and familiarity.

"Lorenz, you... have a cat?" You say with obvious disbelief.

"She's one of the Monastery's strays, to be clear," he says, "She helps with the mice in the stables. Evidently, she had become quite fond of my preferred horse- and so eventually became fond of me as well."

Fond seems an understatement- she very clearly adores him. With a chorus of happy little mews, she circles his legs and rubs against him until he crouches down to offer her his hand. As he does, a shred of parchment flutters from his pocket onto the ground. Eloise targets it like a seasoned warrior and pounces at it with gusto. With a laugh, you kneel down to retrieve whatever this paper she's captured might be.

"Now Eloise, none of that- you must behave genteel-like with guests."

As he firmly lectures the cat, you glance at the paper in your hand. Nearly every inch of it is covered in an elegant, curling script that you imagine must belong to Lorenz. It looks like a... list of some kind. As your eyes scan down the page, you begin to recognize a pattern. Your favorite flowers, favorite desserts, favorite types of books and places around town- plus, to the side, the word "cats?" underlined several times. For a moment, you simply cover your mouth to hold in a snort of laughter. Then, you come to kneel beside Lorenz as he's failing to convince his feline friend to stop swatting at his hair.

"So- you've been taking very thorough notes lately." you say, nudging his arm playfully. He turns to face you with an immediate look of panic. Lavender eyes widen and glance down to the parchment in your hand, then back to you. He visibly deflates and says,

"Goddess- you must find me such a fool-"

You press your lips firmly to his before he can say another word. With a soft noise of surprise, his eyes flutter shut and he leans into your kiss. His lips are wonderfully soft, and the subtle scent of his cologne surrounds your senses as you tilt your head to seal your lips to his more firmly. You're not certain how long you remain like this, but only the dull ache of kneeling on the dirt and the incessant sound of Eloise bapping her paw against the paper in your hand bring you back to your surroundings. When you part from him, you brush aside the silky curtain of his hair to run your hand along his face, and say,

"I had a wonderful time today, Lorenz- and it means the world to me that you put so much thought into this. But next time, you don't have to study so hard, okay?"

For a moment, he seems speechless. Then, he gives a shy chuckle.

"You have bested me yet again, it would seem. How can I ever hope to become a man worthy of you when you are ever more lovely with each passing day?"

Eloise gives an insistent chirp and rubs once more against his leg, evidently tired of distractions from the attention she feels she's owed. Your smile widens, and you scratch her ear fondly.

"I think there's at least two of us who like you just as you are, Lorenz."

[amanda-teaches]

It’ll Be Fun

Marvel Fanfic

Summary: You finally convince Bucky to attend one of Tony’s infamous parties at the compound, but things go south fast when invaders attack, leaving all of your lives in jeopardy. Bucky’s determined to do whatever he needs to do to keep you safe, even if that means putting his own life on the line.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3545

Warnings: Intense situations, shooting, mentions of blood/bodies, injury, suggestive content.

A/N: This is for @arrowsandmixtapes​ Better Love Story Than Twilight Challenge. I hope you enjoy this one, Nic! I also included the prompt “Before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you” which was requested by @adventureisoutthere98 for my Writer + Reader challenge (my last request to fill!).

There was nothing quite like a Tony Stark party.

You attended your first one not long after you started working at Avengers Tower. Tony had invited you himself, walking his charming self down to your office to introduce himself and extend an invite to a “small get-together” he was having for some of the staff. Of course, you were honored he invited you, but your first instinct had been to decline. You would have too if it wasn’t for the other doctors in your unit descending on you, regaling you with stories about Tony’s “small get-togethers” and how they were anything but small. They practically begged you to go, saying you absolutely couldn’t miss it.

You reluctantly agreed, but you hadn’t really believed them until you arrived at the party and saw Beyoncé was scheduled to sing right after David Copperfield performed. 

You made sure you never missed a Tony party after that.

Over the ensuing years, you’d built real friendships with Tony and the rest of the team. You became one of their most trusted doctors, not only providing care at home but eventually venturing out into the field with them as well. When Bucky had been brought back to the newly-established Compound, you’d shifted gears, heading up his rehabilitation under Steve’s watchful eye. Bucky Barnes became your job.

It took a few good months to gain his trust and even more after that for him to start opening up to the others, but he didn’t open up much. It had been almost a year since he’d begun to call the compound his home, and he still spent the majority of his time with either you or Steve. You took it upon yourself to change that.

“Come on, Buck, it’s just a party.”

You plopped down on his bed, crossing your legs underneath you and staring expectantly at Bucky. He was standing with his back toward you, in front of his dresser with the top drawer open, but he stilled the moment you came in. His hands had stopped rifling around in the clothes when you spoke, and he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. At the sight of you on his bed, he shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, sure, Y/N, come on in. Make yourself at home.”

“Oh, shush.” You admonished the sarcasm in his tone playfully, standing up and making your way to step in front of him, pressing your back up against the drawer to capture his view. “You act like I’m asking you to spend a night in jail.”

He raised his eyebrows, a teasing glint finding its way to his gaze. “A Stark party? Sounds like a form of capital punishment to me.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you laughed, pushing his chest with the flat of your hand, although it was about as effective as pushing a wall. “It’s not like it’ll kill you, Buck. All I’m asking for is one party. It’ll be fun.”

“Y/N…” You could hear the hesitation in his voice, so you cut him off at the knees.

“James Buchanan Barnes, I am your doctor, and I’m telling you, you’re going to this party. Don’t make me get Steve involved.”

He smirked, reaching one hand behind you to close the dresser drawer, his chest brushing against yours in the process. “Doctor’s orders?” he asked, his playful gaze remaining fixed on yours, the intensity in his eyes quickly accelerating your heart rate, not that you planned on letting him see that.

“Damn straight,” you directed, taking a breath and pushing him back again. This time he let you, moving back just enough for you to shimmy around him towards the door. You heard him chuckle behind you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you smile in response. “7:30, Barnes. I expect you to be on your best behavior. And, for God’s sake, wear something nice. If you wear a tank top, I swear I’ll kick your ass.”

His deep laugh followed you all the way out the door.

To his credit, Bucky was trying his damndest to make it through this party without killing anyone.

He’d shown up at 7:30 on the dot, dressed in a nice suit you were pretty sure he’d borrowed from Steve, although you’d never call him on it. Taking his arm, you pulled him into the hanger Tony had converted into a party room more than rivaling the one he’d had back at the tower. Bucky stiffened when he saw all the people, but he kept his face neutral, although you knew it must’ve been killing him inside not to turn around and walk right out.

Applying gentle pressure on his arm, you smiled up at him, earning a smile right back. You guided him over to the bar that took up one wall, where Steve was waiting, drinks at the ready. Over the next hour, you watched Bucky resist the urge to grimace and squirm as guest after guest came over to talk with the three of you. Two world-renowned super soldiers were quite the attraction after all, and all of Tony’s high-profile friends were clamoring for a piece of the action. You knew Bucky hated every second.

You smiled and leaned into his side, dropping your voice so only he could hear. “You’re doing great.”

He returned your smile, his teeth gritting a little too hard as his metal arm snaked around your waist. “I’m this close to punching someone.”

“Just a little bit longer, Buck, and then the entertainment starts. Trust me, it’ll be worth it. I heard a rumor Tony’s got Cirque du Soleil lined up.”

“Dear God,” he groaned, his quiet laugh transforming his forced smile into a genuine one. “Nothing like our parties back in Brooklyn. You actually enjoy this stuff?”

“Oh, come on, it’s fun. Watching Tony’s friends? That’s some prime entertainment,” you teased back. “Besides, with these parties, you never know what crazy things will happen.”

He turned his head to look down at you, but whatever words he was going to utter next were lost to the sounds of a large blast from the other side of the room. Thinking it was part of the starting entertainment, you started to twist around, but Bucky grabbed you, hauling you up against him and dropping like a weight down to the floor.

“Buck, what the hell-” you screamed, but he was already moving, pulling you with him and yelling back over his shoulder. You were anchored securely to him, but you shifted your head to find Steve following close behind, his own back shielding you. It was only then that you registered the sound of gunshots echoing all around you and panic began to rise in your throat.

By the time you finally got your bearings, Bucky had dragged you behind the bar, kicking a stool out of the way to clear a space. He plunked you down with a loud thump and reached under the counter, pulling a pistol from its place taped underneath. “Steve, talk to me.”

Steve appeared on the other side of you like a ghost, yanking his own gun out from under the bar top. “I made at least 7, probably more. Came in the south side with a modified explosive device, loaded with semi-automatics.”

They exchanged a glance and raised up at the same time, firing three rounds over the bar top before dropping back down in unison to your side. Bucky glanced over at you. “You ok? You hurt?”

You shook your head slightly, still in shock. “I, I...Wait, how long have you had guns taped under here?”

He smiled at the way the spirit had returned to your voice, shaking his head right back. “Can we talk about that later?” He jumped back up, firing a few more rounds. “A little busy right now.”

Steve drew your attention then, calling Bucky’s name. “I’m going to flank around the back, try to clear the rest of the room, get out any civilians. You got her?”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll cover you.” He stood back up, firing into the open room as Steve ran past you, leaving the cover of the bar and speeding towards the other side of the room. When Bucky stopped firing, he dropped back down next to you, firmly grabbing your shoulder. “We gotta move. I’m out of bullets.”

“What, there aren’t any more secret weapons hidden somewhere?”

He smirked. “Not here. Come on, let’s move. Keep your head low.”

He grabbed your hand and suddenly you were running, trying not to trip in your heels as you all but flew across the room. You could see the carnage of broken furniture and a few fallen bodies behind you, but you shut your eyes tight against the sight, anchoring yourself to Bucky and trusting him to get you out of there. Feeling the shiver course through you, he swept you up against his side, lifting your feet from the ground without even slowing and carrying you the rest of the way.

He made a sharp right at the hallway, adjusting his grip so you were in front of him, shielded from any gunfire, and raced down the corridor, ducking into rooms every time he heard someone approaching. Not that anyone ever got close, because Bucky could practically hear them coming from a mile away. With no obstacles, you quickly made it back to his room where he shut and bolted the door, finally releasing you.

He moved towards the far wall without a word, opening the gun safe you knew he had hidden in a nightstand there. “Buck, what’re you doing? Who are those guys?”

“I don’t know,” he rushed out, pulling two guns out from the safe and tucking one into the back of his waistband. He stood back up and looked over at you, sighing heavily. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me and don’t let anyone in until I come back.”

He started to move past you but you grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Wait, you can’t go back out there. You have no idea what you’re up against. There’s too many of them, you could get yourself killed.”

“It’s my job, Y/N. There’s people out there who need my help. Steve is out there.”

“Buck…”

He transferred the gun to his metal hand, placing the back of his knuckles on your cheek. Gently, he wiped away the tear falling down it, letting his fingertips brush against your hair. Seeing the fear in your eyes, he gifted you with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”

You stepped closer, holding his gaze just as you had that morning, hating the resignation you saw there. “I’ll come with you. I can help.”

His face hardened at that suggestion, and he shook his head resolutely. “No, absolutely not.”

“Buck, I’m not some helpless damsel, I’m a doctor. I can help.”

“No,” he snapped, hard and fast. He closed his eyes at the sound of his own voice and softened his tone. “Please, Y/N. I can’t do this if I’m worried about protecting you. Stay here. Keep the door locked. Please.”

You knew he meant it, that he needed you to agree or he wouldn’t go, so you nodded, reaching out and taking his hand off your face, intertwining your fingers with his. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always am.” He smiled, letting your hand drop from his. He moved to open the door, placing his hand on the doorknob, but before he opened it, he hesitated. Turning back to you, he just stared for a moment, like he was drinking you in, trying to memorize every last detail. “Before I do this, I need you to know that...I have always loved you.”

And, then he was gone, just like that, without another word, leaving you alone and incredibly confused.

What the hell?

What was that supposed to mean, he loved you? Loved you like a friend, a pet dog, what? No, you knew what it meant. No one told you they loved you in the middle of gunfire unless it meant the real thing, the thing the two of you had been dancing around for months, the same all-consuming, heart-stopping love you’d felt for him since the moment he first came to the compound. 

But, seriously, what the hell? Where did he get off telling you that and just leaving, making you stay behind? What were you supposed to do now?

You hadn’t realized you were pacing until you found yourself on the other side of the room, your fists clenched tightly against your sides. You closed your eyes, and all you could see was Bucky’s face, smiling at you as you cried your way through yet another Disney movie or comforting you when you lost a patient.

Damnit, he had no right to do this to you, not like this. You sure as hell weren’t going to let him tell you he loved you and then just go out there to die.

Lifting your foot, you tore one of your heels off, flinging it across the room with the other one following close behind. Stalking over to Bucky’s safe, you punched in the combo he’d taught you months ago for emergencies, pulling out the small .22 you knew he’d left inside. You tucked it into the palm of your hand and moved to open the door, stepping hesitantly out into the hallway, your gun at the ready.

Bucky had taught you how to shoot using a bunch of old cans on the edge of the forest a few months ago, so you felt pretty confident with the gun, but that didn’t exactly mean you were eager to run into anybody. You stayed close to the wall instead, moving slowly and carefully.

The building was all but deserted, and you didn’t see a soul in any of the first few hallways you walked through. That changed as you neared the east side of the compound, where a chorus of sounds and crashes echoed. You stopped with your back against a wall, using it as a shield as you peered around the corner, your grip tightening on the butt of your gun.

It was Bucky, of course. Who else would be crazy enough to be standing in the middle of chaos, one man up against four, all of them heavily armed. The others looked like they had him outmatched, but this was Bucky they were up against. You knew the real odds.

You pitied the others.

He made it look effortless, the way he went through them, as easy and routine as playing a video game. They went high, he dropped low. They came from the back, he spun around to cut them off at the knees. He took three of them down so fast, you almost missed it, but the fourth one got in a lucky hit, slashing him from the side with a knife before he could turn to block it.

“Bucky!” you screamed, and his head whipped around, his eyes making contact with yours and flashing with surprise just before the assailant raised his gun, slamming it down on the back of Bucky’s head. He crumbled, dropping to the floor, and you raised your gun with a shout, firing two shots that made contact with the attacker’s shoulder and neck, killing him instantly.

Rushing forward, you dropped to your knees by Bucky’s side, turning him over and feeling along his chest and stomach for any injuries. “Buck, Bucky!”

He groaned, a whispered string of swear words flying out of his mouth, and opened his eyes. When he turned his head and glared up at you, you realized he was going to be okay and your whole body sagged in relief. “I thought I told you to stay in my room,” he grumbled, blinking a few times to clear his head as he sat up into your waiting arms.

You smiled, taking the opportunity to unbutton his crisp, white shirt and slip your hand inside, feeling the area you’d watched the knife hit. “Yeah, well, I’ve never been great at listening.” Your hand landed on the long cut you’d been searching for and he winced, but you grinned. You knew instantly that the gash was narrow and shallow, easily fixable without needing stitches, especially with his healing ability. Another wave of relief washed over you.

“You really don’t, do you?” he laughed, shaking his head, but he stilled when your hand grazed the bottom of his chin, his breath drawing in with a sharp inhale. You ran your fingers up, tracing the curve of his lip with your thumb before resting the flat of your palm against the stubble of his cheek.

“I do listen to some things,” you whispered, letting the words linger in the air between the two of you. His eyes dropped to your lips, his breaths growing labored in response.

“We should, uh...” he stumbled through his response, clearly growing flustered, but he kept his voice low, gruff. “Find Steve, make sure the compound’s secure, see if anyone needs help.”

“Mhmm,” you muttered, darting your tongue out to lick your lips and relishing the moan you pulled from him in response. “We should.”

“Yeah…” His voice died out as he finally dragged his gaze away from your lips, swallowing hard. “But, later…”

You nodded, your breathing having sped up to match his labored pace. “We’ll talk. As soon as we get a chance.”

Unfortunately, that chance didn’t come for another three hours.

It was nearing midnight, and you were exhausted. You and Bucky had found Steve and quickly split up, with him to handle the security debrief and you to lead the triage effort in the medical suites. You’d been on your feet ever since.

You’d just dismissed the last of your staff and leaned against your desk to close your eyes when the door opened.

“Can I help…” you started, turning to find Bucky standing in the doorway. You smiled in response. “Oh, hey, how was your…”

You never got the chance to finish, because Bucky stalked across the room with four long steps, taking your face in his hands, kissing the air right out of you, and stealing your thoughts right along with it. His lips were gentle, but insistent, and when his tongue prodded at your lower lip, you opened to him, spurring him to lift you up onto your desk, the kiss turning more passionate and unbridled, your hands sweeping into his hair.

When he pulled back, your lips were swollen, your cheeks were flushed, and you were pretty sure if your legs weren’t wrapped around him, you would’ve fallen backwards off your desk. He grinned at the sight of you and ran his hands down your back to rest on your hips. “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“Just all night?” you teased, your laugh echoing throughout the room. “Here I was thinking you’d been thinking about it for a lot longer than that.”

His face sobered instantly, turning serious as he studied you. “I meant what I said earlier. It’s not just physical for me.”

“Me neither,” you whispered, pulling him in for another kiss, this one leisurely and sweet. You remembered vividly what he’d told you earlier, in the midst of the attack, but you didn’t want to push him to say it again. You knew how strongly you felt about him, but you also knew this was very new for both of you, and he’d had a very long night. “You want to have dinner tomorrow night?”

His smirk came right back. “Like a date?”

For a man who’d just told you he loved you and kissed you with more passion than you’d ever felt in your life, he was being awfully cheeky. “Yes, like a date,” you laughed with a roll of your eyes.

Bucky leaned down, stealing one more kiss. “How about breakfast instead? I can’t wait a whole day to hold you again, sweetheart.”

Your heart leaped at the term of endearment, but even more at the sentiment behind it, and you nodded your agreement. Then, you thought of something you knew you had to tell him, just to see his reaction. “You know,” you mused aloud, “I heard Tony was planning another party for next weekend.”

Bucky’s whole face scrunched up in pain, and you tried really hard not to laugh. “Another party?”

You couldn’t resist teasing him. Running your hands up his chest, you pressed your lips against his throat with a smile. “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, his body shuddering involuntarily at your touch, his voice cracking. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Mmm,” you hummed against his neck, feeling his arms tighten with a groan. “I happen to think tonight was very fun.”

“Oh, just wait until tomorrow, baby,” he groaned. “I’ll show you fun.”

“Hey, Buck?” you whispered, raising your head to gesture at the clock behind you. “It’s tomorrow.”

He growled and captured your lips again, picking you up and carrying you out of the room and down the hall.

Seemed like you’d have no problem keeping that breakfast date after all.