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oscpstri · 3 days ago

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born to ride | grid

ft. verstappen, norris, leclerc, sainz, piastri (fem!reader)

the perks of dating a formula 1 driver was that they had an arsenal of cars at their disposal and they knew how to drive them. but what if you took the wheel this time?

INCLUDES: fluff, its funny ok please laugh, use of y/n, use of endearments for certain drivers, they're cute, not proof read

NOTE: born to ride or wtv lana said. I GOT CARRIED AWAY W MAX AND LANDO SO IF YOU WANT MORE DRIVERS ILL GET TO IT IN ANOTHER POST !!!! these were the first ones i did before it got WAY TOO LONG

( masterlist | more grid )

★ MAX VERSTAPPEN

You should've known better.

Your boyfriend being a Formula 1 driver had its perks, one of them being the fact that you had a personal chauffeur whenever you had anywhere to be.

Ever since you and Max started living together, you had created a schedule to follow during the summer breaks. The both of you would run errands on Saturday morning, cook lunch together, then cuddle all day until the sun falls over the horizon. Simple enough.

Today was different, though. It was the first day off of the summer break and Max had spent the entirety of yesterday getting as much training as possible before putting his phone on Do Not Disturb. Because of this, he got home quite late and was absolutely exhausted. Poor guy didn't even get a chance to properly change out of his clothes.

You felt bad having to wake him up early, so you did what you thought was best. You took the car keys off the wall and started heading out as quietly as possible. As you turn the car on, you scroll through your phone to try and find the best music to fit the vibe. You were so lost in trying to find the perfect playlist that you didn't notice the blue-eyed blondie walking towards your side of the car.

A knock is what brings you out of your trance. You jump in your seat, startled at the sound before snapping your head towards your door. You could only sigh in relief as you saw the familiar face of your beloved in a hoodie.

He opens the door before you could even put your phone down, a deadpan look on his face. "I'm driving."

You stay frozen in your seat for a beat, before getting up and heading to the passengers side of the car. By the time you had settled in to your usual spot, Max immediately brings the car to life.

The both of you drive in silence for a few minutes. You would glance every so often towards your boyfriend but he only looked straight ahead.

You slump in your seat, a tinge of disappointment coursing through you as you start overthinking if you had fucked up. Max seems to notice this as he leans over to grab your hand from your lap, intertwining your fingers like you always do.

"I'm not mad. Just wake me up next time," he comments, glancing over to you with a gentle smile. You nod at this, muttering a 'sorry' in return.

"Schat, I literally drive for a living," he starts. "No matter how tired I am, I will always drive you. Always. As long as it's you."

"I'm sorry," you muster up, throwing him a sheepish grin. He smiles warmly at this, rubbing his thumb over your hand.

"No need to be sorry. I'm sorry if you thought I was mad." You chuckle at this, bringing your connected hands to your mouth and planting a kiss on top of his knuckles.

"But seriously, you have a four-time world champion at your service and you decide you want to drive yourself?" he starts, energy slowly coming in. "Schat, I literally won at driving. Four times!"

★ LANDO NORRIS

You had accepted the invite to your boyfriend dragging you around while they filmed for Quadrant all day. It was always a rare occurrence whenever Lando would be free to join in on his company's shenanigans, so you decided to come along.

It was lunch time and everyone was scattered around the area, munching away and socializing with the team. Although Lando had urged you to eat earlier on, you just didn't feel like eating anything. It was that time of the month and your appetite was never much for actual food during it. So while there was a good buffet in front of you fit for the whole team, you wanted cupcakes. But not just any cupcakes, Cecil's Cupcakes. This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that Cecil's was an hour drive from where you were filming, and with only 20 minutes left before they start production again, you knew you couldn't drag Lando to drive you there.

So what did you do? You silently grab his car keys, sneak out of the huge building, and trudge towards the car park. It wasn't until you reached the door when you notice someone following you. And it wasn't until they got closer when you realized that it was the lovable face of Lando Norris doing so, one hand still holding on to his plate of food and the other shoving nutrients into his mouth.

Your eyes narrow upon seeing this, Lando stopping in his tracks when he notices that you've seen him. A boyish grin creeps up onto his face, still chewing on his food. "Where are we going?"

"We? You have to film in," you glance at your watch before looking back up at him. "15 minutes."

He swallows harshly, throwing away the plastic plate and utensils. "So? Not like they'll fire me."

You scoffed at his response, "Unbelievable."

Lando seems to hear this, walking towards the drivers side and stopping beside you. "So... where are we going?"

A smile creeps up onto your face, shaking your head in disbelief. "Cecil's."

Lando's eyes go wide at the bakery, stealing the car keys from your hand. "You were about to drive an hour to get cupcakes by yourself?"

He places his hands on your shoulders, pushing you towards the passengers side. You giggle at his actions. He opens the car door, pushing you down on the seat while muttering something under his breath. You couldn't make out what he said, but you heard the phrase 'did she forget?'

When Lando plops down onto the driver's seat, you laugh at the sulky look on his face. He looks at you like a hurt puppy before bringing the car to life. "Have you forgotten what I do for a living?"

You try to stifle your laugh, looking forward. "Lan, I didn't wanna disturb—"

Out of nowhere the car comes to a halt, your eyes go wide as you grip the seat. You turn to look at your boyfriend who was already looking at you with a crazed expression: eyes wide, mouth agape, "Is this your way of telling me I suck?"

Your facial features fall. You exhale loudly at the antics of your boyfriend, blinking at him with a deadpan look. "Seriously?"

He purses his lips, putting the car into drive again as you make your journey towards fluffy cupcakes. "I don't suck..."

"No you don't, my love."

★ CHARLES LECLERC

"Oh my god!" You get up from your position on the couch, head shot up from Charles' arms. He looks at you with both eyebrows raised, both concerned and shocked from your excitement.

You turn to look at him, shoving your phone screen in his face. "It's open! It's here!"

Charles raises an eyebrow at your happiness, taking your wrist and adjusting the screen so he could read what you were showing him. It was an Instagram post from your favorite coffee shop back in Spain. You and Charles had discovered the place when you went with him for the Barcelona Grand Prix and you were constantly praying for the day it would open a chain near you. And it finally did.

"Do you wanna go get some right now?" Charles asks, an endearing look on his face as he watches your eyes light up in delight. "Yes! Yes please!"

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, and before he knew it, you bounced off the couch and went to go get ready. Charles stayed on the couch, scrolling through his phone when he looked up as he felt your presence near him. When he met your figure though, his eyes went wide and it was his turn to bounce up off the couch.

"Why are you holding that?!" He exclaims, snatching the car keys that you were twirling around your finger. You blink in confusion, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"I'm gonna drive, duh." You said that like it was a given— like it was the most obvious answer in the world. This situation could have passed immediately, but Charles needed to be dramatic.

"What?! What do you mean drive yourself?!" He grabs you by the shoulders, eyes still wide like a crazed person. "Do you forget what I do for a living?!"

You laugh at this, shaking your head in disbelief. "You're seriously going crazy over the fact that I offered to drive?"

Charles shakes his head profusely in reply, grabbing your hands in his. "Mon amour, when I'm around, I drive."

"But you drive all the time!"

Charles starts stuttering, head still shaking like this was the stupidest concern in the world. "And? I drive. No questions asked."

You giggle as he grabs your hand, heading towards the door. "I drive. I always drive. I drive all the time. You should never drive."

"Charles, I get it—"

"I always drive you! Never do that ever again!"

★ OSCAR PIASTRI

You and Oscar had gotten home from the airport early and jet lag hit you two like a rocket. So as soon as the both of you got home, you dropped everything and headed straight to bed. Early enough that the sun was still setting and the two of you were already halfway to dreamland.

Here's the thing— you two never had dinner. So when you woke up at midnight, stomach grumbling like a lion, you weren't exactly surprised. You weren't surprised either that your boyfriend was still asleep next to you, the different time zones affecting him more than the lack of food.

You slowly got out of bed and trudged sleepily to the kitchen. Your eyes were barely open and your hair was the standard definition of bedhead.

You rummage through the refrigerator like a mad man, trying to find anything that could satisfy you. Upon finding nothing, you slump into a chair, head in your hands as you try to fend off both the sleep and the hunger. You thought that this was it, you were about to fall back asleep at the kitchen table in the dead of night, until a glint of silver catches your eye.

Oscar's car keys.

It lay perfectly by the end of the table, shining in all its glory. It was practically calling out to you, screaming your name, directly hit by the kitchen light like it was put there for you.

So what did you do? You got up and took it. You pocketed it in your pajama pants and headed back into the bedroom, making a beeline for the first hoodie you saw lying about. As you put it on, you could instantly tell it was Oscar's.

You thought you were being quiet, pacing around the room trying to find a clip, hair tie, anything to make your hair not look like it was ran over by a train. But apparently you weren't, because as you turn around to open the door and leave, you stop dead in your tracks when you hear—

"Y/N?"

You turn on your heel, slowly taking in the tired appearance of your boyfriend on your bed. He was sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking at you with a worried expression.

"Where are you going? It's—," he reaches for his phone, blinking profusely when the light from the screen practically jolts him awake. "It's midnight."

You walk over to him, sitting on the bed. "I'm hungry."

He blinks, eyebrows furrowing. "Okay. Is there nothing in the kitchen?"

You shake your head in response. Oscar starts getting out of bed, also pulling a hoodie on. He takes your hand and you follow as you both head out. He seems to notice that his car keys weren't where they usually were. He doesn't say anything, probably not to alarm you, but you already knew he was panicking deep down.

You fish the keys out of your pocket, poking his arm and dangling it in his face. He blinks comically, "You were about to drive yourself to get food?"

Now it was your turn to blink, a sheepish smile now on your face. You lower the car keys, nodding slowly. "Yeah?"

Oscar was surprised, you knew that for a fact. He was normally the one that drove you around. He treated you like a queen— never letting you even touch the steering wheel like his life depended on it.

He nods slowly, "Okay."

The both of you stand there for a minute, not really knowing what to do or say. You shift uncomfortably under your boyfriend's gaze, not exactly knowing what he was feeling in that moment.

"Do you want to drive?" He softly asks, taking your hand in his. Your mouth is slightly agape, barely stuttering out a reply. "Yeah. Why? Do you wanna drive?"

"No, it's fine," he shakes his head, pulling you closer to him. "Well, that's my job but... you can do whatever you want to do."

You smile softly at this, looking up into his eyes.

"But," he starts, piquing your interest. "Can I come with you?"

You laugh at this, resting your forehead on his chest. "Of course."

★ CARLOS SAINZ

Carlos insists that Monaco is too chaotic for you to be driving yourself and that you're too pretty to be doing any hard labor. Which is why no matter the time and the date, he always insists on driving you everywhere.

Until today.

You were getting ready to go out. One of your close friends was flying into Monaco and you were going to give them the privilege of showing them around. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend was out training so you had to drive yourself. This wasn't really ever a problem, Carlos just always made it out be one.

You had texted him an hour ago about the arrangements you had made. You informed him that you would be gone for the day and not to be surprised if he came home to an empty house. He was busy so you weren't surprised that he never replied.

You grab your car keys on the way out and take one last final look in the mirror. As you open the door though, you're surprised to see the love of your life standing outside. Your eyes go wide at this, mouth slightly agape. Why was he here?

"Amor?"

He smiles when he sees you. His eyes drop down to what you were holding and his eyes narrow. "Ay, you're not supposed to be holding this."

He takes the keys from your hand and replaces it with his hand instead, grinning at you from ear to ear when you look at him with a done expression. "What are you doing?"

He perks up at this, heading into the house and closing the door behind him. "I'm driving you, of course."

He says it like it was an obvious answer, immediately darting to change out of his sweaty clothes into a fresh set. You follow after him, shaking your head at your boyfriend's antics.

"Seriously, Carlos? You dropped halfway through training to drive me?"

He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you, a mischievous smile on his face. "Of course, cariño."

"Your trainer is going to kill me."

He walks up to you adjusting his shirt and bends down to plant a kiss on your forehead. "He'll have to get through me first."

You're weak in the knees from his actions, accepting his hand as he drags you out of the room. "I can drive myself, you know?"

He stops when you reach the living room, turning his body to look at you. "Eh? Drive yourself? Your hands cannot be damaged by hard leather."

You quirk an eyebrow at his words, "Hard leather?"

"Yeah," he smiles. "Of the steering wheel, duh."

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the smile that forced its way onto your face. Upon seeing this, Carlos smiles even more. He squeezes your hand before leading you both towards and out of the door.

"Road rage does not suit you, amor. Let me handle the driving."

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dodger-chan · 2 days ago

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Inspired by this post by @0nemorestranger Hopefully close enough to what you had in mind

Lost Media

Steve didn’t realize he’d been humming along to anything until the music cut off suddenly and looped around to start over. The opening riff played for about three seconds before it cut off again.

“Wait, who’s humming?” The question came from one of Steve’s younger co-workers. A part-timer working his way through college. Steve couldn’t remember his name.

“Uh, that was me. Sorry,” he tacked on the apology as an afterthought.

“You know that song?” the kid asked. He sounded like Dustin.

“It’s called Plane of Shadows. I think it’s a DnD reference,” Steve answered. “Band’s Corroded Coffin. Haven’t heard them in years.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Every once in a while, Steve would play the tape he still had. Think about that one summer he’d spent as an unpaid, unofficial roadie. Daydream about what could have happened if he’d known himself a little better back then.

Not too often. Steve wasn’t that much of a loser.

The kid came over and plopped down in Robin’s empty chair. She was out sick today, getting over the flu Steve had picked up last week.

“It is. A DnD reference, I mean,” the kid said. Steve probably needed a better thing to call him; he was probably Erica’s age. “Shit, one of my friends posted that clip to this metal bulletin board. We've been trying to identify it forever. How do you know it?”

“They’re from the same small town I am. We all went to highschool together.” Not that Steve had known their music in highschool. “I don’t think they ended up with a record deal, but they did have an EP they used to sell at concerts. I can bring it tomorrow if you want.”

*********

Steve brought the tape, along with the souvenirs he’d saved from that summer. A couple of photocopied flyers. An ad clipped from a local Bloomington paper for a concert. A wristband from a bar that had marked him as too young to drink. Also his Walkman. Steve wasn’t sure if kids still had cassette players now that CDs were everywhere.

“This is so cool,” the kid - Brian, apparently - gushed when Steve handed him the shoebox he’d brought it all in at lunch. “Is it alright if I scan these? And can I borrow this tape? I want to digitize it and share the full song with the board.”

“You can do that?” Steve really needed to learn more about computers. Just not from Dustin who couldn’t teach anything without turning into a condescending asshole.

“Yeah, just record from the Walkman like it’s a mic. I’ll burn you a copy of the whole EP. That way you won’t have to worry about wearing out your tape,” Brian offered. “I would never have guessed you were such a metal fan.”

“I’m not, really,” Steve admitted. Brian blinked at him, surprised. And, well, it wasn’t the eighties anymore, and they weren’t still living in Hawkins. “Massive crush on the lead guitarist.”

“Oh, uh, thanks for telling me.” Brian leaned over and patted Steve’s shoulder. “So you and Robin aren’t-”

“Strictly platonic.” Maybe Robin was right and they should get signs for their desks.

*********

It was nearly a month later when Brian grabbed Steve at the water cooler and dragged him over to his desk, saying “You’ve got to see this.”

This was a post on the Brian’s metal bulletin board:

Crazy to hear from a buddy that our old band is a minor Internet sensation. Thanks, all. If you guys had been around back in the day we might have managed a full album. Or maybe not. Gareth’s parents would have killed him if he dropped out and Jeff actually wanted to go to college, so maybe we still would have broken up in ‘87. Regardless, we’re all thrilled our music is bringing joy to today’s metal heads. As the primary songwriter, and with the agreement of the rest of the band, I grant permission to upload and download the entire EP. We think any money we might potentially have made on it is worth less to us than the value of preserving what could have been lost media. Just make sure to credit us if your garage band turns one of our songs into a hit. Anyway, if you guys have any questions about Corroded Coffin, or the songs, reply to this post and I’ll do my best to answer in a timely fashion. Aside to OP: Is your preppy co-worker who had all our stuff a handsome former jock with spectacular hair? Because I’d love to get back in touch with our old roadie. -EM

“Oh my god,” Robin squealed, leaning over Steve’s shoulder as he read. “Please, you have to give Eddie Steve’s email. Or get Eddie’s email to give to Steve. Or both. Both would be best. That way at least one of them will have the balls to reach out first.”

“Eddie’s already reaching out,” Steve said. “And I thought you said it was anti-femminist to use testicles as a proxy for courage.”

“Stop quoting me when I’m being right, Steven.”

“So I should get his contact info for you?” Brian asked.

Steve hesitated. Real life was not some romantic comedy where attraction was always mutual and true love overcame all obstacles in the end. But it wasn’t like he’d spend the last decade pining. Even if it was nothing more than getting a friend back, it would be good to get in touch with Eddie again.

“Sure,” Steve answered. “Why not?”

#short ficlet #stranger things #steddie #well pre steddie #(in theory they could just end up friends)#(but we all know they're going to start dating)#my fic #i'll try to get this up on ao3 tomorrow but for now

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why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat · 2 days ago

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I grew up being as poor as can be imagined. Often times I only got to eat a meal day, and those were school lunches. A favorite childhood snack is angel hair pasta. Uncooked because we couldn't afford the pasta sauce or ingredients needed to make it, so I'd eat the noodles straight from the box. For two years as a small child (specifically between the ages of 6-10) I had to survive off of the catfish I caught with my sperm donor for my family to eat when we couldn't afford the hot dogs (without the buns or condiments, because we couldn't afford those either. Then our microwave oven broke so we started eating them straight from the packaging as well).

One of my formative memories was when I was around five years old, I woke up during pre-dawn because of how hungry I was. It was during Winter, I had on a pink ballerina night gown and I was staring into the empty food cupboard wishing I had something to eat.

I think it was around then that I started eating whatever, whenever, because now that I'm in my 20s I joke with my friends about the standards I have for eating food. Rotting, moldy, fell on the floor, covered in stuff, stale, burnt, expired, bad taste, possibly tampered with, I'll eat it if I think my immune system and digestive tract can handle it.

Another reason why I abhor any food waste is because I've been forcibly starved twice. The first time(s) was over weekends from my sperm donors now ex-gf when I was at his place over a period of months for about a year or more when I was between 11-12. The second time I was in quarantine and the people delivering my food kept forgetting about me so it wouldn't be uncommon for me to not get a meal a day. There's technically a third but that was voluntary, and was to save the family some extra money when I was a teenager.

I could get into more, but I think I might have ranted and scarred anyone who reads this enough. Sorry for the trauma dump, but I really do hate it when food waste is shown. At least save the food instead of throwing it away . . . it's one thing that I will always scrutinize, who the fuck just chucks food into the trash?! Well, I can guess who might, but most of the time the characters doing it don't have EDs written in, and if they do they usually don't suffer from it anymore. Sorry for another rant, I'll leave this off here though. Thanks for humoring me if you've read everything

people in books and tv shows are always getting so upset they throw an untouched meal in the trash. that would never be me. i'd receive the worst news of my life and still be like Let me put this in the fridge.

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orellazalonia · 18 hours ago

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Hey!! I would like to request a Bucky Barnes x reader fic where their daughter shows up from the future. Bucky and Reader aren’t dating or really even know each other that well yet (maybe they share mutual friends on the team or are friends but just dancing around each other a bit??), so this could be a surprise to them. You could have it that she keeps saying she can’t share information about the future but then accidentally drops information like they have a pet cat named alpine and she has three siblings (Bucky deserves a big loving family) without even totally realizing it. Idk if this is even a great idea, but I like your writing and thought this could be a fun request. Thank you for sharing your writings with us!! <3

Hello there, dear! This was such a cute request, thank you for it! I do admit it was a challenge figuring out how to seamlessly combine each element. So, I hope I did well and that you enjoy! Happy reading!!! ♡

Out of Time, Into Our Lives

Summary: A teen girl suddenly appears at the Avengers compound claiming to be from the future. While she tries to avoid revealing too much, she accidentally and subtly drops hints about her life, her siblings, and the deep bond she shares with you and Bucky Barnes both. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist

It started like any other morning at the Avengers compound. Quiet, a little too quiet. You were nursing your first real cup of coffee, leaning against the counter in the common room kitchen while chatting lazily with Wanda about her latest attempt at baking banana bread.

Bucky entered halfway through your sentence, nodding politely at you before making a beeline for the fridge. You and he had been doing this little dance for a while now. Friendly, respectful, always a step or two away from crossing into something more. You liked his dry humor, the way his voice softened when he asked how your day was. But neither of you had made a move. Not yet.

Just as you took a sip, FRIDAY’s calm, robotic voice interrupted:

“Alert. Temporal breach detected. Unauthorized presence in the compound.”

You and Bucky both straightened at the same time.

“Temporal breach?” He muttered, already halfway to the hall. You followed.

It wasn’t often something genuinely strange happened anymore, but what you found in the hallway outside one of the research wings made your breath catch in your throat.

A girl stood there, around seventeen. Messy hair pulled into a loose braid. Her clothes didn’t look particularly futuristic, but there was something… off. Like she didn’t belong. She wasn’t panicking, wasn’t aggressive. She was just staring at a portrait of the original Avengers lining the corridor wall, head tilted slightly.

When she noticed you, her eyes widened but it wasn’t fear that passed over her face. It was recognition.

Her gaze locked onto Bucky first. Then shifted to you. And something in her face softened.

“Oh,” She breathed. “It’s earlier than I thought.”

You frowned. “Do we know you?”

“I’m… not supposed to say anything,” She said quickly, straightening. “I mean, I can’t. It would mess with… everything. I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I didn’t mean to come through. The rift just kind of… swallowed me.”

“Rift?” Bucky echoed, stepping closer.

The girl put her hands up, showing no threat. “I know how this sounds. But I swear, I’m not dangerous. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I just need help getting back.”

You gave her a once-over; she didn’t seem injured, but she looked like she hadn’t slept in a while. Underneath the brave exterior, she seemed a little lost.

“Okay,” You said gently. “We believe you. Let’s just take this slow. What’s your name?”

She hesitated. “I can’t tell you that.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” She insisted. “If I tell you who I am, it could screw up the timeline. I mean, it already is screwed up if I’m standing here. But I really can’t afford to make it worse.”

Wanda appeared in the doorway, her expression unreadable. “She’s not lying,” She said quietly. “She’s scared. But not of us.”

The girl nodded quickly. “Thank you. I’m just… trying to wait it out. The breach will reverse itself. Probably. Eventually.”

You crossed your arms. “So what are we supposed to call you?”

“Uh. I don’t know. You can give me a fake name?” She offered with a shrug. “That feels safer.”

There was a long pause, awkward. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but she beat you to it:

“Is Alpine here?”

You blinked. “Alpine?”

Bucky looked up sharply. “How do you know about Alpine?”

The girl’s face went pale. ��I mean. I—uh—I read about her? In the files. Maybe. Probably.”

Bucky’s frown deepened.

She let out a tiny groan and rubbed her face. “I told myself not to say anything specific. Ugh. Okay. Look. I’m just going to sit in a corner, be very quiet, and not ruin anything else, okay?”

You sat beside her, slowly, noting how carefully she avoided looking at Bucky too long. Not out of fear, but something heavier.

She tugged her sleeves down over her hands. “This was easier when you were already married.” The words slipped out of her mouth like a quiet sigh, too casual for how much they weighed.

You and Bucky both stiffened.

He stared at her. You weren’t sure he was even breathing. “What did you just say?”

She blinked, realizing. “Oh. I mean, I didn’t mean it like that. I shouldn’t have said anything. Please ignore that.”

You frowned. “Wait… what do you mean, already married?”

“I’m not answering that.” Her voice sharpened slightly now, trying to backtrack. “Sorry. I really can’t say anything else. Like, actually can’t. This isn’t just me being dramatic, it's literally against every single future protocol. I’ve already said too much.”

Bucky stepped forward slowly, his tone low but steady. “You said you came through a rift. Do you know how that happened?”

She looked grateful for the change in subject, nodding. “I was working with someone back there, on uh, stabilizing temporal energy. I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the live field, but things got weird. And loud. And then everything just… cracked.”

“Cracked?” You asked.

“Yeah.” She hugged her arms around herself. “Like a window splintering. I fell through. And now I’m here. Too early. Way too early.”

You tilted your head. “Too early for what?”

She looked at you, then at Bucky, and something softened in her expression. Like she knew the two of you better than you knew yourselves. Like there was something unspoken that pained her to keep secret.

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she whispered, “I shouldn’t even be talking to you yet.”

FRIDAY’s voice interrupted gently. “Should I notify Director Fury?”

“No,” Bucky said sharply. Too quickly. Then he glanced at you. “…Not yet.”

The girl looked surprised. “You’re not sending me to a cell?”

You offered a faint smile. “We’re not monsters.”

“And you’re not dangerous,” Bucky added, quieter now. “At least not yet.”

She snorted. “Wow. Thanks, I guess.”

Wanda stepped closer, watching her closely. “You’re scared,” She murmured. “But you’re also… relieved. Why?”

The girl didn’t answer right away. She just looked back at the wall, where a photo of the original team hung in a dusty frame. After a long silence, she whispered, “Because I missed this. Seeing it again. Seeing you all… before everything changes.”

Her voice cracked on that last word. You saw it, just barely: the tension in her jaw, the sheen in her eyes she was trying to blink away.

“I can’t stay long,” She said, turning her face away like she didn’t want either of you to see the emotion creeping in. “So just… let me be here until the breach resets. Then I’ll be gone, and this’ll be nothing more than a strange footnote in someone’s mission report.”

You looked over at Bucky. His brow was furrowed, mouth slightly open like he had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue but no idea how to ask any of them.

She noticed, smiled a little, sadly. “You always look like that when you’re overwhelmed.”

His lips parted, but she cut in quickly, raising a hand. “Nope. Not answering anything. I’m very good at not answering.”

A long silence settled between the three of you.

Then she yawned. A real one. Unfiltered. She rubbed her eyes like a kid, her exhaustion finally catching up.

“Can I… take a nap somewhere not surrounded by broken lab equipment?”

You smiled despite yourself. “Yeah. We’ll figure something out.”

Bucky’s voice was low. “You hungry?”

She paused, like she hadn’t considered that. “Kinda. Do you still make those-“ She caught herself. Froze. “…Never mind.”

But the warmth in her eyes didn’t fade. She didn’t say it. But it was already there, written in every look she gave the two of you:

She knew you. And she loved you both.

Even if she couldn’t say it.

The girl slept for twelve hours straight. You'd offered her the spare room near the east wing, technically meant for visiting guests, but it had soft blankets and a window view, which she seemed to appreciate.

You sat outside her door for most of the first hour, just in case she tried to run or vanished the way she arrived. But she didn’t.

Bucky checked in at least three times too, though he pretended he was just “walking by.”

When she finally emerged the next morning, hair sticking out in wild directions and wearing one of your old sweatshirts you’d left folded on the chair, she looked younger. More like a kid playing dress-up than a displaced anomaly from the future.

She padded into the kitchen barefoot and blinked at you, rubbing her eyes. “You’re making eggs.”

“Good morning to you too,” You said with a grin. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” She yawned and flopped down at the counter like she’d done it a hundred times.

Bucky entered a moment later, nodding to you both. “Morning.”

She perked up when she saw him, then quickly forced her face back into something neutral, like she’d caught herself.

You passed her a plate. “Toast, scrambled eggs, hash browns.”

She dug in immediately. “Thank you. Food here’s just as good as I remember- I mean, as I hoped it’d be.”

You bit back a smile. “Smooth.”

She glanced at Bucky nervously, but he didn’t press. He just poured himself coffee and sat across from her, watching her with quiet curiosity.

“So,” you said lightly, “What should we call you?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Call me…” She looked around the room, clearly stalling. “Jules?”

You tilted your head. “Is that your real name?”

“Nope.” She smiled a little too innocently. “Which makes it perfect.”

Bucky took a sip of coffee, eyes never leaving her. “Alright, Jules. Mind if we ask a few things?”

“As long as it’s not timeline-altering, catastrophic, or classified by future standards, maybe.”

You exchanged a glance with Bucky. “Okay,” You said slowly. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” She answered, mid-bite. “Chronologically. Time-wise… eh. Don’t ask.”

Bucky leaned forward slightly. “Do you have a family? In your… original timeline?”

Her chewing slowed just a little. Her expression flickered. Then she nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Silence fell again. After a moment, she added, “It’s… a big family. Messy. Loud. Someone’s always yelling, someone’s always drawing on the walls, and someone’s always pretending they didn’t start it.”

You smiled softly. “Siblings?”

She paused, eyes widening like she just realized what she said. “I didn’t—wait. That wasn’t—I mean—”

Bucky raised a brow. “You have siblings?”

She groaned and put her face in her hands. “Dang it.”

“How many?” You asked, voice careful.

She peeked through her fingers. “Three.” Then flopped back dramatically in her seat. “Ugh. I knew I’d slip up. You two are too nice. It’s disarming.”

Bucky chuckled quietly. “You don’t have to tell us anything else.”

“No, it’s fine,” she mumbled. “At this rate I’ll blurt out the entire family tree before lunch.”

“Do you like them?” You asked, curious.

A slow smile spread across her face. “Yeah. I love them. They're chaos. But the kind you miss when it's quiet.”

Bucky studied her like she was a riddle. “Are they older than you?”

She looked down at her plate. “Some. Some younger.”

And that was it. She shut down after that, turning her attention fully back to her breakfast. You let her. The moment felt like something private, like she’d tugged back a curtain for just a second and now needed it closed again.

But later, when she wandered into the rec room to find Alpine curled in a sunbeam, she sank to the floor and whispered something to the cat that made Bucky freeze in the doorway.

You didn’t catch the words. But you caught the tone: nostalgic, fond, like she’d said it a thousand times before.

And when Alpine, notoriously selective, climbed into her lap without hesitation, she just stroked her fur like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she belonged.

The days that followed were strangely easy.

She, Jules, settled in like a half-remembered song. Not quite a stranger, not quite someone you knew, but comfortable. Familiar. You found her sitting on the kitchen counter in the mornings, legs swinging as she ate cereal straight from the box. You caught her once talking softly to FRIDAY, as if the AI were an old friend she’d grown up with.

Bucky never said much. But he was there. Quietly hovering, checking if she was eating enough, if she was sleeping okay. They started watching movies in the common room, not speaking much, but it was something. The space between them had stopped feeling like distance. It was anticipation now. Recognition.

And then there was the night Bucky found her on the roof.

You followed the scent of cold air and firewood up the metal stairs and found them sitting side by side, backs against the railing, stars overhead. Jules was hugging her knees, wearing one of Bucky’s jackets now. It was too big for her, sleeves past her fingertips. But she looked warm. Safe.

You stayed back, watching quietly from the door. Listening.

“I didn’t think I’d meet you like this,” She admitted softly. “This early. I wasn’t ready.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away. Just nodded once, slow and heavy.

“You remind me of her,” She glanced up at the stars. “Not just the way you look at people, but the way you don’t. The way you… hold back. Like you’re always waiting for someone to decide you’re worth staying for.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “And did they?”

She looked at him. “Mmm, maybe.”

He turned toward her. “Did I?”

There was a heartbeat’s pause before she whispered, “You never left.”

Then she flinched, realizing again what she’d said. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

But Bucky didn’t press. He didn’t need to.

The silence that followed was full of things neither of them could say.

You all started tiptoeing around the inevitable after that. Jules hadn’t poofed back yet, but every hour felt borrowed. She stopped sleeping as much. Kept checking corners for changes in the air. Listening for that hum she said she’d felt right before the breach opened.

On the fourth day, it happened.

You were in the kitchen, scrambling eggs again, same as the first day. She was mid-laugh, telling you something vague and harmless about a prank her “friend’s little brother” pulled once involving holograms and Steve’s shield. You didn’t even notice the shimmer at first.

Then Bucky’s face changed.

You turned and saw it. A distortion in the center of the room. Like heat rising off pavement, but colder. The air around it began to swirl. And her smile fell away.

“It’s happening,” She said quietly. Not surprised. Just… resigned.

“No.” You stepped forward. “Wait! We didn’t get to-“

“It’s okay,” She said, standing quickly. “It’s time. I knew I couldn’t stay long.”

Bucky took a step forward, fists clenched at his sides. “You said it would reset eventually. You didn’t say it would be this fast.”

She smiled at him, eyes glassy. “You never like goodbyes.”

You were about to speak, to say something, anything, but the light started pulling at her edges. Dust and static flickering around her limbs.

She looked at you both, eyes shining now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I just… I wanted to see you. Before everything.”

“Before what?” You asked, your voice trembling. “What changes?”

But she only gave a tiny, knowing smile. And this time, she didn’t say anything else.

She just looked at Bucky one last time and softly said, “Don’t wait too long.”

And then she was gone. No flash, no thunder, just a breath pulled from the room. One second she was there. The next, empty air.

You stood frozen in place.

The bowl she’d left still sat on the table, cereal soggy in milk. Her mug still half full of cocoa. One of Alpine’s toys, she’d apparently been hoarding them in her pockets, sat on the floor near the couch, a little mouse with a frayed string tail.

Bucky picked it up slowly, didn’t say a word. You looked over at him and could see it in his face now, what she saw in him. The cracks. The strength beneath them.

Later that night, you and Bucky hadn’t said much since she vanished. There wasn’t much that needed saying. But the silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was full of what came next. Neither of you quite knew what the future held. But now, you both knew who it held. And someday sooner, maybe, than either of you thought, you’d meet her again; for the first time.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fic #marvel fic #thank you for the request!#thank you for the ask!

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izzih22 · 16 hours ago

Text

Chapter 5

The Day Everything Changed

Note: last chapter… hope yall like it!!

The apartment was quite a different kind of quiet.

Not lazy or tired. Not even peaceful. Just… still.

Azzi sat on the edge of the bed in one of Paige’s oversized UConn hoodies, hands resting on her belly like she was holding something sacred. Which she was.

Paige was brushing her hair from behind, slow and careful, like if she moved too fast, she’d miss something important.

“I don’t think I’m gonna sleep,” Azzi murmured.

Paige smiled gently, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “That’s okay. I’ll stay up with you.”

“You’ve been staying up with me.”

“I’ll stay up forever if I have to,” Paige whispered. “You’ve carried our baby for nine months. I can carry some lost sleep.”

Azzi turned to look at her. “You don’t say it often, but I know you’re scared.”

Paige didn’t pretend otherwise. “I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never wanted something so much in my life,” Paige said softly. “I’ve never loved someone the way I love you. And now we’re about to meet the person we made — the person you grew. I just… I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.”

“I might cry more than the baby.”

Azzi smiled. “You will.”

They lay down together, face-to-face. Paige’s hand never left her belly. Azzi’s legs tangled with hers. They talked about names again. Paige changed her favorite five times. Azzi told her to stop picking things like “Rebound” and “And-One.” But Paige just loved hearing Azzi laugh knowing she was only kidding.

And sometime around 3 a.m., Paige whispered, “We’re ready.”

Azzi nodded. “We’re ready.”

⸻

It Broke with a Splash

7:41 a.m.

Azzi’s gasp jolted Paige out of the deepest sleep she’d had in weeks.

Then came the sound.

A soft splash, followed by “Oh my God.”

Paige bolted upright. “Was that—”

Azzi was standing near the bed, frozen, hand resting protectively over her bump.

“My water just broke,” she whispered.

Paige stared. Blinked once. Then—

“OH MY GOD. IT’S HAPPENING. IT’S HAPPENING. THIS IS REAL.”

She jumped out of bed, nearly slipped, caught herself, sprinted for the hospital bags, then spun back around.

“SHOES. DO YOU HAVE SHOES? DO YOU NEED A TOWEL? DO WE CALL THE HOSPITAL OR DO WE JUST GO? DO I DELIVER THE BABY MYSELF IF THEY’RE LATE—”

“Paige!” Azzi called, steady but amused.

Paige skidded to a stop, eyes wide. “Yes?”

“I need your help.”

That was all it took.

Paige was at her side in an instant, her hands on Azzi’s hips, her voice quiet now. “You okay? Is it starting?”

Azzi breathed through a tightening cramp. “I think so.”

“Okay. Okay.” Paige grabbed her phone with one hand, held Azzi close with the other, and opened their Family Group Chat:

PAIGE: HER WATER BROKE

PAIGE: THE BABY IS COMING

PAIGE: I REPEAT—THE BABY. IS. COMING.

AZZI’S MOM: We’re getting in the car.

PAIGE’S MOM: I’m already crying.

GRANDMA: Bringing banana bread.

AZZI’S DAD: I’m driving and praying.

Then she flipped to the UConn Girls Chat:

PAIGE: IT’S TIME

PAIGE: THE BABY IS COMING. AZZI IS A WARRIOR.

PAIGE: I’M LOSING MY MIND

CAROLINE: Y’all better name the baby after me

ICE: I CAN’T BREATHE

NIKA: DO YOU NEED US TO COME NOW

KK: OMG OMG OMG

PAIGE: JUST SEND PRAYERS AND ENERGY. I’LL UPDATE. GAHHH

⸻

It Climbed in Waves

They got to the hospital with time to spare but the adrenaline didn’t slow down.

Paige was pacing the delivery room like she was about to coach a national title game.

Azzi was in bed, calm but focused, working through each contraction.

And Paige? Paige was chaos in a hoodie.

“She needs more water. She likes it cold but not too cold. Can you lower the lights a bit? She hates the buzz from those kinds of bulbs. Also, don’t forget her birth playlist. We made a playlist. It has SZA and Luther Vandross on it—”

Azzi grabbed her hand.

Paige stopped talking immediately.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open. “You’re doing amazing.”

Paige blinked. “Me? You’re literally in labor.”

“And you’re right here.”

Paige kissed her forehead. “Always.”

⸻

The first contraction caught Azzi off guard.

It wasn’t gradual. It slammed into her like a truck.

She doubled over, clutching her belly, face twisted in pain.

Paige was right there, holding her arm. “Breathe. Breathe through it. Just like we practiced, Az.”

Azzi tried, but her voice came out a sob. “It hurts, Paige.”

“I know, baby. I know.” Paige wiped her forehead gently. “You’re doing amazing. Just hold onto me.”

As the hours dragged on, the pain worsened. Azzi stopped speaking between contractions. Her body shook. Her grip on Paige’s hand turned desperate. Raw.

She couldn’t even form words at one point just broken sounds, moans, cries.

Paige held her.

Through every breath.

Through every scream.

She didn’t leave her side for a second.

“Paigey— I can’t—” Azzi sobbed through another one, her back arching. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Paige said fiercely, her voice breaking. “You are doing it. You’re so strong, baby. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever seen. You’re everything.”

Azzi shook her head. “It’s too much—”

“I’ve got you. Just look at me,” Paige begged, brushing sweaty curls from her face. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not for a second. I’m right here.”

She gripped Paige’s hoodie and cried into her chest. Paige held her, whispering over and over, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

⸻

Her heart broke watching Azzi scream. Watching her body shake. Watching the woman she loved fight to bring life into the world.

And then—

After what felt like forever, the doctor’s voice came through the fog: “Okay, Azzi. One more push.”

Azzi cried out.

Paige squeezed her hand harder than she thought she could. “That’s it. That’s it, Az. You’ve got them. Bring them home.”

And then—

A wail.

A tiny, raw, perfect sound that cut through the room like lightning.

The room blurred.

Paige blinked.

Azzi gasped.

The doctor held up a tiny, wriggling, red-faced baby crying her lungs out, already fighting.

“She’s here,” someone said. “You have a daughter.”

Paige crumpled.

Just folded into herself and sobbed.

Not soft tears. Not a sniffle.

Real, full, body-wrecking sobs.

She leaned down and kissed Azzi’s forehead again and again, whispering through her tears, “You did it. You did it babygirl.”

Azzi was crying too. Quietly. Just watching Paige hold their baby for the first time, watching her hands tremble as the nurse gently placed the swaddled little girl into her arms.

Paige looked down at the baby, her eyes still flooded.

“She looks like you,” she whispered.

“She has your mouth,” Azzi whispered back.

Paige sat on the bed beside her, holding the baby in one arm, Azzi in the other.

“I love you,” she said, voice shaking. “Both of you so much.”

Azzi leaned into her. “I know.”

⸻

Later that night, the room had quieted. Visitors had come and gone. Their moms had cried. KK and Ice had FaceTimed, screaming. Caroline had made an unofficial godmother speech.

Now it was just them.

Paige. Azzi. Their daughter.

Paige cradled her against her chest while Azzi slept, exhausted but peaceful beside her.

She looked down at the baby girl in her arms tiny, warm, perfect.

“You don’t know me yet,” Paige whispered. “But I’m yours. Completely. You and your mama… you’re my whole world.”

The baby squirmed.

Paige smiled.

“I’m gonna mess up. I know that. But I’ll love you more than anything, and I’ll never stop showing up. You’re safe here. You’re so, so loved.”

She glanced at Azzi.

Still beautiful. Still the love of her life. Still the girl who changed everything.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For her. For this. For being mine.”

The baby sighed in her sleep.

Paige pressed a kiss to her tiny forehead.

And just like that… their story began again.

Not as two.

Not even as three.

But as everything.

Together.

Forever.

#pazzi fics #paige x azzi #pazzi #paige and azzi #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #azzi fudd

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mercurial-chuckles · 3 days ago

Text

Blissful Summer Bruises

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x F!Reader WC: 2.6k Warnings: Established relationship | Domestic fluff | Cavity-causing Fluff | Language | Hot supersoldiers alert | Protective Supersoldiers| A bunch of cheesy pick-up lines | Allusions to naughty times | Poly relationship | Unbeta'd | This is a buffed post from earlier, originally written for Essie's 300 follower celebration with the prompt: Why's it...sticky? | Lemme know if I'm missing anything. Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!

Indulge Away!

You picked up some seeds at the Farmers' Market last week, planning to sow them in the garden. This morning, you decided to wake up early and get to work before it got too hot.

But your men had other plans.

You didn't wake up to the alarm. No. It was Steve's relentless rutting into your ass and Bucky's sharp nips at your neck that woke you up.

Well, your morning turned into a very different kind of plowing. Not that you minded AT ALL.

Safe to say, you were famished after falling apart so many times. Bucky, determined to feed both you and Steve something delicious, had decided to prepare a special lunch today.

Never one to deny him the pleasure of any kind, you both agreed to let him take over the kitchen.

Not that Bucky gave you much of a choice, "Stay away, or I'll spank that fine ass," he'd said earlier when you sauntered into the kitchen to prepare something.

Like a good girl, you complied. Though you were itching to test him, you didn't, mostly because you were starving, and your body was already overstimulated from the morning session.

Despite Steve's longstanding reputation as the better cook, after you, of course, Bucky had been devoting himself to learning both cooking and baking. To your surprise, he was definitely starting to outdo you both.

So you let him be and decided to just watch. And boy, was he a sight for hungry eyes. He looked practically edible in those shorts and a faded blue, short-sleeved t-shirt.

That man could seduce you just by chopping vegetables.

Sadly, your hungry worshipping got cut short when Bucky insisted you leave since you couldn't stop staring at him.

Such a buzzkill!

You groaned, hopping off the island and heading out to see where your other man was.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, pretty girl," Bucky called out loudly.

You flipped him off, which only made him chuckle.

The sun was glaring down on your lakefront home. It was hot, but all the luscious trees cast cool, calming shadows. You lived far away from the city, just a few miles away from the compound, which made life much easier for the three of you.

You looked around for Steve and found him on the boat, most likely cleaning. You and Steve had bought the boat as a surprise for Bucky's birthday three months ago. It was the best decision ever. The three of you often took it out on the lake at night to stargaze or just relax during the day.

You walked onto the pier and tried to join Steve, but he denied you outright.

"Sit your fine ass down, relax, and gimme a nice view," he said, kissing your lips and squeezing your ass. You squeaked and obeyed.

That was fifteen minutes ago.

Honestly, you didn't mind being pampered. Who were you kidding? You needed it after all the inhumane hours you'd been putting in over the past few weeks. That was why your men had forced you to take a break from work. Tony had vehemently agreed, reasoning that you were getting more spiteful with all the lack of sleep.

And right now, lounging on your favorite chaise on the porch, a book in your hands, and the peaceful sounds of nature around you, it really did feel like a great idea.

The occasional trilling of the birds, married with the sounds of wind chime put you in a happy trance, and you were quite immersed in the book you were reading.

It was Bucky's grunted huff that broke your reverie.

He placed a bowl of freshly cut fruit with a fork beside you on the small table, a deep frown on his face as he stared at Steve.

"That punk," he mumbled, and you raised your brows in confusion. Bucky turned to you, his expression softening.

He placed his left hand behind you at the top of the chair and hovered over you, pulling your chin up with his warm hand. You felt the familiar heat spread through your entire body as he rubbed his thumb along your jaw and pulled you in for a kiss.

You moaned happily into his mouth. But he broke the kiss too soon, and you whined at the loss of his soft lips.

Placing a kiss on your cheek, Bucky winked at you, "You've had enough for today. You need sustenance," he smirked, tugging at your thighs and suddenly pulling you down. You collapsed haphazardly onto the chair, your book falling to the side.

"BUCKY," you yelled, trying to smack his stomach, but he dodged away quickly.

"I hate you," you mumbled, trying to use the armrests to straighten up in the chair, but Bucky gently picked you up and set you upright.

"No, you don't. Eat up. Food'll be served in an hour," he said, pecking your forehead. You grinned, placated for now.

"Now, I have a mission to get to," he added, pulling something from the windowsill. He glanced at you, lips twitching as he held up the sunscreen.

"Good luck," you snickered, already anticipating what was about to unfold.

Bucky chuckled, walking purposefully toward Steve.

Steve was just coming out of the garage with the mower, looking sinfully gorgeous in his black track pants, which hung a little too low for your sanity. Such a slut! He'd discarded his white shirt on the porch banister near you a while ago, and you'd folded it and set it aside on the swing.

As soon as Steve spotted Bucky from a distance, he visibly withered.

Far more interested in the scene unfolding before you than the story in your hands, you let the book rest on your lap, the cover felt pleasant against your skin.

You watched as Steve rolled his eyes and took a step back.

"Bucky," Steve groaned, glancing toward you for help.

You blew him a kiss and pulled your book up to cover your face, just peeking. Steve scoffed, shaking his head before turning to the menace walking toward him.

"Buck," he tried again.

"Come on, Steve," Bucky said exasperatedly.

"I'm fine. I don't need it."

Bucky shook his head, stepping closer. "You say that every fucking time, and then you suffer and bitch. Just let me do it."

You tried to stifle your laughter as you watched the back and forth. Gosh! They're fucking adorable.

"Don't test me. I WILL tackle you, punk," Bucky warned.

Steve held his arm out, stopping Bucky, "I can do it myself."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, "Yeah, because you did such a great job last time, right?"

Steve Rogers hated sunburns and loathed sunscreen. It was funny, really. For a supersoldier, he sure whined a lot about sunscreen.

Not that his sunburns lasted more than a few hours- thanks to the serum- but boy, did he bitch about it, making you and Bucky coo and soothe him. The last time you went out on the lake, Bucky had gotten so irritated when Steve avoided sunscreen and ended up burned. So now, he'd taken it upon himself.

"Fine, but make it quick," Steve huffed, turning around reluctantly and muttering under his breath. Bucky squirted a generous amount of sunscreen, starting on Steve's shoulders.

"And he faced Thanos," you added gently, wiggling your eyebrows. Bucky sniggered with you.

"This stuff is sticky and smells weird," Steve grumbled, wincing slightly as the cold lotion made contact with his warm skin.

"We bought the unscented one," you told him.

"Oh, but I can still smell it, sweetheart," Steve retorted. Bucky smacked his ass, winking at you.

"Of course, you do," you muttered playfully, fully aware he heard you just fine.

You did forget you lived with super soldiers. In the domesticated bliss, you three fell into such a natural rhythm that their super strength felt entirely normal.

"You want to smell like burnt skin instead?" Bucky teased, his hands moving expertly over Steve's back and front, ensuring every inch was covered.

"Buck, you're using too much," Steve whined, his voice muffled as he hung his head.

"Shut up," Bucky shot back, "Besides, I'm almost done. Quit being such a baby."

You couldn't stop giggling, watching Steve squirm.

Steve sighed dramatically, glancing over his shoulder at you with a pleading expression. "He's using too much, isn't he?"

"No, he isn't. Come on, Stevie. You got this. You can do this all day, can't you?"

Steve rolled his eyes, and after a beat, he added, "You know I could do you all day."

Well, facts!

Though his remark shot straight to your core, you laughed. So did Bucky.

"You have a really dirty mouth, Captain," you exclaimed.

"But you love it," he replied smugly.

You did.

Bucky pulled Steve into his arms, hooked his fingers in the waistband of Steve's joggers, and tugged him closer before planting a smothering kiss on his lips.

"That's for being a good boy," Bucky said, and proceeded to smack Steve's ass again, "And that's for whining."

"BUCKY!" Steve roared after him mirthfully.

"Can't really blame him, Stevie. That's one fine ass!"

Bucky simply laughed and headed inside to check on the food.

It was always so endearing, seeing how much they loved each other. You were so frickin' lucky.

You caught the faint blush dusting Steve's cheeks. Biting your lip, you tried to keep your own laughter in check as you absentmindedly turned a page in your book.

"Cut it out," he guffawed, when he caught your gaze, before getting back to mowing the lawn.

You finished the last of your fruit and decided to get up and tend to the garden because if you stayed in that chair any longer, you were definitely going to fall asleep.

"Oi, Rogers," you called out, setting the shovel aside and grinning wildly at him as you stood and dusted off your hands.

"Are you a garden? 'Coz I'm diggin' you."

Steve shook his head and gave you a mock glare. You'd been catcalling him with the cheesiest pickup lines, and though he was clearly amused, he was doing his best to hide it.

"Okay, wrap it up. Food's almost ready," Bucky yelled from the kitchen window.

Steve gave him a nod, and you threw up a thumbs-up.

"That means shut up and get inside," Steve said, smirking.

"Oh, come on, Steve. You love them, and you love me," you giggled.

"Only one of those is true," Steve mumbled playfully.

"I love you too! Okay, I've got another one: are you a campfire? Because you're hot, and I want s'more!"

"That's it," he said, stepping toward you.

You squealed and took off running toward the porch, only realizing too late how stupid it was to think you could outrun him. Steve was on you the very next second, cornering you at the far end of the porch.

"C'mere," he said smugly, hands on his hips.

Not thinking it through at all, you jumped right off the banister, landing on your ass with a thud a good three feet down.

"What the hell, sweetheart?" Steve's face morphed from amused to horrified as he rushed toward the railing.

You giggled, hardly believing you'd just done that, and took off running again.

"Oh, you little shit! Get back here," Steve laughed, shaking his head as he vaulted off the porch with far more finesse.

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see him right behind you. You picked up your pace, laughing as you went. Steve, meanwhile, was barely jogging, clearly letting you think you stood a chance at outrunning him.

"You've been teasing me all day. Do you need something? All you had to do was ask," he drawled, closing in.

You gathered your wits, barely, and shot back smugly and quite breathlessly, "I don't need anything. Besides, I don't like to beg." You shrugged.

Lies. All lies. You were just baiting him.

"LOOK OUT!" Steve shouted suddenly.

You realized too late you were about to crash straight into a tree.

Steve reached out quickly, placing his large palm on your forehead, and pulled you into him to soften the blow. Still, your right knee slammed into the bark.

"Ouch," you winced, the pain flaring instantly.

"Jesus!" Steve immediately pulled you into his arms, carefully taking the weight off your legs. He carried you back to the porch and sat you down in a chair. Then he knelt before you, lifting your leg onto his thigh to inspect it.

"It's sticky. Why the fuck is it sticky?" you hissed, eyeing the bruise.

"Where did you trip now?" Bucky appeared, mostly disappointed, slightly amused.

"Oh, she fell twice," Steve said, and you flicked his forehead. That didn't really stop him from narrating the whole thing anyway.

Bucky squatted beside Steve, eyeing your knee.

"That looks like tree sap," he said, blowing gently to ease the sting.

"Yeah, I figured," you pouted.

"Should we take her to the hospital? Is that stuff poisonous?" Steve asked, glancing at Bucky.

Your heart warmed. Gosh! How much you loved him. Steve was smart as a whip- linguist, strategist, and blessed with an elephant memory, but when it came to you or Bucky, he worried about things as small as paper cuts.

You rolled your eyes just to tease him, sharing a look with Bucky, who chuckled and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Steve's temple.

"You're adorable," Bucky teased, winking at him.

"Don't patronize me," Steve scoffed.

"I'm not," Bucky answered. He slid one arm under your knees, the other behind your back, and lifted you effortlessly.

"You are," Steve muttered as he followed you both inside.

"He is," you chimed over Bucky's shoulder.

"Shut up," Bucky groaned, biting your nose.

"Hey," you yelped, swatting at him.

Bucky set you on the couch.

"Let's clean that wound," he said. Steve was already back with the first-aid kit.

The oven timer beeped.

"I got this," Steve said, as he settled sideways on the couch before you, pulling your leg over his.

"Buck, just hand me…" Steve didn't even get to finish, and Bucky already handed him the isopropyl alcohol and cotton swabs before walking back into the kitchen.

Steve cleaned it gently with so much tenderness, and it made your insides flutter.

You knew exactly what he was thinking.

Gawd! This man!

"Steve. Stop worrying, will ya? I'm not that hurt," you told him, your voice gentle but firm.

"But you did get hurt, and I didn't catch you in time, doll," he muttered.

"Steve." You sighed.

There was no use arguing with him. Distraction it was then!

"Where's your shirt?" You asked playfully, eyeing his bare, sweat-slicked chest.

"Where are your pants?" he asked, blue eyes gleaming as his large hand rubbed your thigh in slow, soothing strokes. It was sweltering outside, and all you had on was an oversized T-shirt and panties.

"Touché." You chuckled.

"Food's ready," Bucky announced, walking back to the couch happily and leaning his arms on the back.

"Damn. It smells delicious," you said, smiling widely at Bucky.

"I can't smell anything over this stupid sunscreen," Steve mocked. Bucky and you rolled your eyes in tandem.

Steve huffed, applying the ointment now. You hissed loudly, gripping the back of the couch. Bucky pulled your hand into his warm one, placing a kiss inside your palm. You smiled up at him.

"Hey, Buck," you called out.

He leaned in. "Yes, pretty girl?"

"Did you just come out of the oven? Because you're too hot to handle," you said with a straight face.

Steve groaned.

Bucky looked at you, deadpan, and shook his head.

"Whaaat. That was soooo good!" you exclaimed, throwing your hands up.

"Where are you getting these lame pickup lines from?" Steve asked, squeezing your calf.

"theknot.com disagrees with you, Captain," you told him smugly.

"Why do you need pickup lines?" Bucky frowned, gently pulling your jaw up toward him.

Such a possessive little shit. Yours, though.

"Calm your horses, old man. I've been doing some research for Darcy. She made an account on a few dating apps."

"Good," Bucky breathed against your lips before placing a kiss.

"Oh. Oh. Steve, this one's for you. Do you have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knee falling for you," you grinned proudly.

Both your men scoffed in sync.

Steve chuckled, pulled out a large Band-Aid, and exaggeratedly rolled his eyes before placing it over your knee.

"You both are tasteless! Ugh!" you faux-scoffed.

"Tasteless? That's not what I heard you moaning this morning," Steve winked at you.

Bucky laughed, smacking Steve's shoulder proudly, and you teetered off the couch, blushing. He quickly steadied you.

"I dare you not to fall for one whole day," Bucky challenged, looking into your eyes intently.

You frowned at him.

"Yeah, not happening in this lifetime, Buck," Steve said, pulling you into his lap and kissing your frown away.

It didn't matter if they groaned at your pickup lines. You were going to test every single one on them anyway, mostly for your own amusement and partly for Darcy.

Blissful was an understatement.

Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!

Well? 🤭 Did this tickle your fancy?

Psst...I might be a hopeless case myself, but just so you know, I make a pretty good wingwoman. 🙂‍↕️😆 Just an unnecessary piece of info about me for your cache.

Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨

If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.

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naamahdarling · 1 day ago

Text

I'm in the US, for context.

It's the retirement account comment that sends me over the edge, here. I agree with OP, but that one thing...that one thing says so much.

Here's the truth.

$7k is nothing. It would change my life, but it isn't protection against the future. At all. Absolutely not arguing that. My goodness, no.

Someone with a savings account with $7k in it isn't rich but they have a significant advantage over someone who is literally not allowed to have more than $2k in assets, like someone on SSI.

Past that, on the solidarity with the middle class thing, yes. Absolutely.

But the middle class as a whole is at best ignorant of the dynamics of poverty and at worst pretty fiercely terrible towards poor people. Many are lovely people, but as a group they demonstrate very little solidarity with us. They say nice things, but vote for policies that punish and oppress because they believe in the value of hard work and think that giving people like themselves the choice of showing the virtue of charity is better than supporting structural change that benefits everyone automatically. They want better things for us but in an abstract way. At my most wounded, it feels like they want better for me in the way I wish people would feed the ducks at the pond better food.

This doesn't mean I won't support them in their struggles to survive, which are so often just fucking awful, make no mistake, but it does mean they say and do and believe careless shit that make things worse for me and they do it all the time.

If I opened a retirement account and it had over $1k in it, my government would force me to spend it down (because my regular payment would put me over by about $1k every month). I'm not going to do that just because I should have a retirement account. And if someone can open one without constant surveillance, they ARE lucky. I don't hate them, they have what everyone should have and I don't resent that, but also, yeah, there is some bitterness I have to choke down when people complain that they needed to move some things around to afford a modest home repair. They make $110k and had to raid their $35k retirement account to get a couple thousand dollars' worth of emergency plumbing done? That genuinely sucks. But also, $35k is, like, 3 years of income for me. Them and I should be allies but we are not the same. They have a head and shoulders above the quicksand, even if they never go any higher. I am not ALLOWED to crawl to the surface unless someone else is willing and able to take complete financial responsibility for me. That is incredibly unlikely to happen to me given my current circumstances.

We both will wind up fucked in the end unless things change, I am VERY scared for them, I do not WANT them where I am, and also, they are human and good, so I stand with them, I know that their fortune could turn in an instant and they could be homeless within a few months if just one thing goes sideways. But I wish I had what they have but don't appreciate enough. I wish they knew how important their life is considered, relative to mine. It isn't enough, they deserve so much more than they have, but I'm considered a net drain on society and my government actively champions policies that will kill people like me first. It'll come for them too, but I probably won't have to see it and won't be there to help.

It isn't just the money, the not being able to save. It's the dehumanization. I can't afford to get married, unless my partner magically starts making about $30/hour. I figure I'll have a friend get ordained and do it in the hospice when one of us is literally expected not to live another month. Hopefully they can wheel the bed outside? Married people are lucky to be married.

The middle class is profoundly lucky in ways they do not appreciate when compared to the deliberately impoverished who have no chance ever of escaping it. I support them. Where are they, as a group, for people like me? Bitching about the homeless on Nextdoor, mostly. I will not eat them, but I think I can be forgiven for being really, really frustrated with how blithely they talk about life-changing sums of money as an inconvenience.

And compared to people less lucky than me? I'm just as bad. I try not to be. I fight even though I know I don't fully understand. I know I am lucky, from the point of view of someone worse off, to have utility bills. But I only have a home because three relatives died just rich enough for my inheritance to pay for a down payment, and my dad pays the mortgage. When he dies, which will be soon, I don't know for sure if I will be able to stay. $110k sounds like a fucking miracle to me.

trying to explain to tumblr that the Middle Class in not their enemy

#gonna ruffle some feathers with this one but i don't have to read comments so whatever #op is absolutely correct #i do want that to be clear #but this still rubbed me wrong #im not overly conditioned #i live here

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imstillalexcomic · 1 day ago

Text

At first, I wasn’t sure that I was going to have much to say regarding being transgender in relation to this strip, but I realized after making it that it has a ton to do with my transition.

We all have issues in our lives that need addressing. Like anyone else, I’ve had more than one thing to deal with over the course of my life (and still do and always will!). Also like anyone else, I can only tackle so many things at once and I have to make decisions on what to prioritize.

There have been other things I’ve dealt with in the past that I chose to address before my gender issues, and at some point I would like to publicly address them as I work on my comfort with being openly vulnerable.

To the degree I want to talk about my social anxiety today, I want to say that having a public avenue of expression in my twenties and early thirties with Corpse Run was immense for me to learn to be comfortable with not being comfortable.

It’s weird. I’ve always been a ham, but I’d only be a ham if I felt I was in a safe space to do so; it felt like I needed permission to be silly. I’d lack the safe feeling so often that in the moments I did feel comfortable being the silly person I am, I’d go overboard.

Corpse Run allowed me a safe space to be silly. It allowed me to talk to total strangers and get to know folks beyond my immediate orbit. It took a decade, but it helped me become infinitely more comfortable in social situations and going to a party full of strangers doesn’t feel like a terrifying prospect anymore, it sounds fun!

Corpse Run was a major player in the series of events that helped me become the person who was ready to transition.

I may have started hormone replacement therapy just last year, but really, I’ve been transitioning for decades.

And it’s wildly incredibly cool and humbling to see that there are so many of you who remember me from my Corpse Run days. You’ve all played a part in helping me learn to love and respect myself, and ultimately guiding me to become someone who was ready to take the next step in her self care.

Thank you, truly.

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slowfuckintheafternoon · 3 days ago

Note

Can I suck your dick?

Hmm.

Johnny MacTavish who notices you’re in a dick sucking mood.

He can tell by the extra shine in your eyes, the way you keep glancing at him, absorbed in the motions of his hands as he downs a few beers with the other guys.

You often get that way when you’ve been drinking. Not drunk, per se, but definitely feeling warm and buzzed.

That’s when his attention feels so irresistible, when you can’t think about anything but getting between his knees.

He’ll get you home while you’re still in the warm bubble of it. Make some excuse, and escort you back to your car with a firm hand on your lower back.

Dick, dick, dick, that’s what’s rolling through your mind, and you both have done this often enough that he knows it.

He gets you safely home, gets himself comfy on the sofa, and spreads his knees wide to accommodate your body. You’re already on him, running your hands up his thighs and blinking innocently, as if you have no idea where this is going. As if your oral fixation isn’t screaming at you to get something in your mouth.

Johnny lets you play with him, when you’re like this. He knows you need it. Lets you think you’re in charge while you plant kisses and licks up his aching length, tease him by running the tip between your lips.

You’re very cute when you think you’re in charge. He loves to watch.

He’ll smile at you so pretty. He’ll make those low, happy noises, and run his hand up your arm, around the back of your neck, trail down your bare skin and play with your nipple. The kind of attention that makes something blissful buzz to life in your chest, in your pussy. You love sucking him off because he loves you.

Eventually it’s not enough, though. Eventually you start getting desperate, wanting more and more of his noises, and those involuntary twitches of his hips. You start testing the limits of your gag reflex and taking him earnestly in your mouth, in the hopes that you’ll get your reward.

If you love me, you’ll cum, your eyes shine up at him, with your lips wrapped so pretty around his cock.

That’s when he pretends to change his mind, acts like he wants to fuck you instead. Wraps his hand around your jaw and tries to lift you off him and deny you your treat.

Probably because he likes when you get angry.

You frown at him and dig your fingernails into his legs, taking him so deep that water springs to your eyes and your throat constricts with the need to gag. Surely he can’t expect you to stop now, not when you’re doing so well and you want it so badly.

He “gives up,” because he’s a very nice man. Groans and arches his head back, rolling his hips up into your face and letting himself orgasm on your silent command.

See? Was that really so hard?

You got what you wanted, and the dopamine washes over you. You sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth on your hand and blinking happily up at him while he works to catch his breath.

“Got some claws on you,” he’ll gripe, running his palms over the tingling marks from your nails.

“Sorry,” you’ll lie, pressing your thighs together when you feel your pulse in your clit and realize how much you need something else from him now.

“Will you touch me, Johnny?”

He lets out a breathy laugh, tugging the last of the mess off his soft dick. “After all that? You didn’t get what you wanted?”

“Only half.”

He does love you, so he does give you what you want. Perhaps a bit meaner than usual, with your clit getting some friendly nips and your ass getting some good natured slaps, but you get what you want.

Namely, a delicious, syrupy orgasm, with his fingers pressed up tight to that spot inside you and his mouth sucking on you just right. And cuddles, of course. About five seconds of cuddles before you both pass out.

#john soap mactavish #cod soap #call of duty #mdni #x reader #fem reader #chewchewchew

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pandapetals · 2 days ago

Text

Sunlight & Sawdust

A Collection of Drabbles

Summary: A collection of drabbles that take place after the series. All of them are sweet and fluffy, mostly with Ellie. Check out the series here.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

Content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, AU setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

Fix-It Joel

“Shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes,” Joel grumbled confidently, glancing up at you from where he was half under the kitchen sink, flashlight clenched between his teeth and a wrench in hand.

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Mm-hmm. That’s what you said about fixing that door hinge last week. Pretty sure that took two hours and a trip to the hardware store.”

Joel shot you a look, pulling the flashlight out of his mouth. “That wasn’t my fault. Your door was crooked.”

You grinned, stepping a little closer. “Or maybe you just like finding excuses to hang around my house.”

He smirked, shaking his head as he tightened a bolt. “I don’t need excuses, sweetheart. I could just show up and you wouldn’t kick me out.”

“No, but I might put you to work,” you teased, leaning down and brushing a kiss to the top of his head.

Joel stilled for half a second, grumbling under his breath, “See, this is why it’s takin’ longer. Can’t concentrate with you hoverin’, distractin’ me.”

You straightened, grinning wider. “I barely did anything.”

“You kissed me.”

“A distraction that good deserves a break.” You reached for the coffee pot, pouring him a fresh cup and setting it by the edge of the sink.

Joel sighed, sitting back on his heels, wiping his hands on a rag. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said sweetly, taking a sip of your own coffee.

He reached out, snagging your wrist and tugging you down into his lap, your laughter filling the kitchen as he kissed you, slow and teasing.

“Faucet can wait,” he murmured against your lips.

“Told you it’d take longer than twenty minutes,” you whispered back, your smile pressed against his.

Joel just chuckled, tightening his arms around you. “Worth it.”

After a long stretch of kissing, Joel finally pulled back, his breath warm against your lips. His hands stayed on your face, rough thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

You opened your eyes to find him already watching you, that soft, quiet look in his gaze that he rarely let anyone else see.

He gave a small, lopsided smile, one corner of his mouth ticking up like he was half-afraid of what he was about to say.

“Y’know…” he started, his voice low, a little rough, “you could just move in with me.”

The words hung there, not rushed, not said like some casual afterthought, but honestly.

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise. “Joel…”

His fingers slid down, cupping your jaw, his gaze steady on yours. “I mean it, darlin’. I’m always here. Ellie’s got her space, you got yours. Hell, it already feels like you’re half livin’ at my place anyway.”

You smiled, the kind that made your eyes sting a little, warmth blooming deep in your chest. “You sure about that, Miller? I’m a lot of woman to deal with.”

Joel chuckled softly, leaning in to brush his lips against your forehead. “Sweetheart, I’ve been dealin’ with you since the first time you smiled at me in that damn diner. Can’t imagine not havin’ you around now.”

You bit your lip, heart twisting. “I’ll think about it.”

He grinned, brushing another kiss to your temple. “Good.

Stealing His Flannel

You’d dropped Ellie off at school, locked up the flower shop for your lunch break, and on a whim, decided to surprise Joel at work. It wasn’t something you got to do often—the man was notorious for skipping lunch, claiming he was too busy or almost done with this one thing, which somehow always turned into three more hours.

So, when you made your way through the dusty construction site, dodging piles of lumber and stacks of drywall, you weren’t at all surprised to find Joel and Tommy bent over a makeshift desk outside, frowning at a blueprint like it had personally offended them.

You grinned, raising your hand in a playful wave. “Hey, handsome!”

Both men looked up at the same time.

Tommy smirked immediately, elbowing Joel as his brother’s eyes went wide.

Because you were wearing one of Joel’s old flannel shirts—the soft, worn one in that faded forest green he loved, sleeves rolled up and the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs.

Joel’s jaw flexed, his gaze dragging over you like he wasn’t sure whether to be flustered or march over and haul you behind the nearest stack of lumber.

“Well, shit,” Tommy laughed. “Ain’t she somethin’, big brother? You let her steal your clothes now?”

You shot Tommy a grin. “Borrowed is the word you’re looking for.”

“Borrowed, my ass,” Joel muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face like he was trying not to smile. “You dig that outta my drawer without askin’, didn’t you?”

You stepped closer, leaning your hip against the table and arching a brow. “Maybe. You gonna do something about it, Miller?”

Tommy let out a low whistle. “I am beggin’ you to keep this up, ‘cause this is the most fun I’ve had at work all week.”

Joel just shook his head, finally letting a crooked grin tug at the corner of his mouth. “You’re trouble,” he murmured, reaching out to tug you close by the belt loop of your jeans.

You leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “And you love it.”

He chuckled, squeezing your hip. “Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I do.”

Poppies & Proposals

“This movie is so boring, Joel,” you teased, your voice soft as you leaned against his shoulder, grinning up at him.

Joel let out a low chuckle and gave your thigh a playful swat. “Watch your mouth, darlin’,” he muttered, eyes never leaving the screen.

Before you could retort, Ellie whipped her head around from where she was curled up at the other end of the couch, shooting you a fierce little glare. “Mom, this movie isn’t boring! It’s so cool.”

You blinked, caught off guard by her sudden defense of Joel’s pick, and couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you.

Joel looked over at you with a smug grin, his chest puffing up just a little. “See that? Kid’s got taste,” he said, throwing an arm over the back of the couch, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder.

“Oh, sure,” you teased, nudging him. “Like an eight-year-old should be watching some cheesy, over-the-top, 80s action flick with terrible one-liners and way too many explosions.”

Ellie rolled her eyes dramatically, snuggling deeper into the blanket she’d swiped from your bed earlier. “It’s awesome,” she mumbled, her eyelids drooping even as she stubbornly tried to keep them open.

Joel smirked, his gaze softening as he watched her fight sleep. “She’s tryin’ so hard not to miss the big ending,” he murmured, voice low.

You shifted closer, your thigh pressed against his, warmth seeping between you. “She won’t make it,” you said quietly, and right on cue, Ellie let out a little sigh, her head tipping to the side as sleep finally claimed her.

Joel chuckled under his breath. “Told ya.”

You smiled, watching the peaceful rise and fall of Ellie’s chest. “She loves this,” you murmured, glancing up at him. “You. Nights like this.”

His jaw worked for a second, and then his hand found yours where it rested on the couch cushion. “Yeah,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “Me too.”

You moved to stand, ready to scoop Ellie up and carry her to bed like you always did, but Joel was already ahead of you. His hand landed gently on your thigh, giving it a reassuring pat.

“I got her,” he murmured, his voice soft and steady.

You smiled, something tender curling in your chest as you watched him carefully lift Ellie into his arms. She curled against his shoulder without a sound, her little hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel carried her upstairs, and you followed a few steps behind, lingering quietly in the doorway as he gently laid her down on her bed. He tucked the blanket up to her chin and placed her stuffed giraffe in the crook of her arm, brushing a stray curl off her cheek.

Just as he started to straighten, Ellie stirred. Her lashes fluttered, her voice thick with sleep as she mumbled, “Are you gonna marry my mom?”

Joel froze like a man caught in a trap. His hand hovered midair, his breath visibly catching in his throat.

You stiffened, feeling your heart lodge itself somewhere between your ribs.

Joel glanced back at you, eyes wide and startled in the dim glow of Ellie’s nightlight. For a long second, neither of you spoke. Then Ellie let out a tiny sigh and turned over, already lost again to sleep.

Joel ran a hand over his face, chuckling under his breath, though it sounded a little shaken. “Well… kid’s got timing,” he muttered.

You let out a quiet, nervous laugh, the tension breaking just a little as you stepped into the room and smoothed Ellie’s blanket.

“She loves you, you know,” you murmured. “More than she lets on.”

Joel’s gaze softened, the hard lines in his face easing. “Yeah,” he said quietly, voice thick. “I love her too.”

You both slipped out of Ellie’s room, the soft click of the door behind you swallowed by the quiet of the hallway. You lingered there for a moment, heart thudding too fast in your chest, hands twisting together as you searched for the right words.

“She… she didn’t mean—”

Joel was in front of you before you could finish, his hands gently cupping your face, his rough thumbs brushing over your cheeks in a way that made your breath catch. His eyes were so steady, so open in a way they hadn’t always been.

“It’s alright, darlin’,” he murmured. “Ain’t like I haven’t thought about it.”

Your breath hitched, lips parting in surprise. “Oh,” you whispered, a shy, nervous smile tugging at your mouth. “Joel… we just moved in together.”

“I know,” he chuckled, leaning his forehead against yours. “I ain’t rushin’ nothin’. Not gonna spook you.” He smiled, so soft and fond it made your chest ache. “Just… figured you should know that it’s crossed my mind. More than once.”

A warm, fluttering laugh bubbled up from your throat, and you reached up, resting your hands over his. “You’re terrible at being subtle, you know that?”

Joel grinned, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Good thing you like me anyway.”

You smiled widely, heart feeling a little too full as you tilted your head to kiss him right there in the hallway. “Yeah,” you whispered against his lips. “I really, really do.”

Rainy Day

You let out a quiet, contented sigh, burrowing a little deeper into Joel’s chest. The soft patter of rain against the window filled the room, steady and soothing, mixing with the gentle hum of some show neither of you were paying attention to.

Joel’s fingers moved lazily over your arm, tracing shapes and idle patterns against your skin. You could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, and it calmed something restless inside you.

“This is nice,” he murmured against the crown of your head.

You smiled softly. “Yeah,” you whispered, eyes slipping closed. “It is.”

“I used to do this with Sarah,” he said quietly, almost like he wasn’t sure he should.

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t move. You stayed right where you were, your hand resting over his chest, waiting.

“When she was little, she’d crawl up onto my lap on stormy nights,” he continued, his thumb brushing gently over your shoulder. “Always claimed she wasn’t scared of the thunder, but she wouldn’t leave my side ‘til the storm passed.”

You smiled faintly, a lump forming in your throat. “Sounds like she was smart.”

Joel let out a soft, fond chuckle. “Yeah… smarter than me, that’s for damn sure.” He was quiet for a beat. “She loved the rain. Used to say it made everything smell clean. Fresh. Like the whole world got a do-over.”

You tipped your head back to look at him, catching the soft, faraway look in his eyes.

“I never told anyone that before,” he admitted, eyes flicking down to yours. “Guess I… just needed to say it out loud.”

Your fingers laced with his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for telling me.”

Joel leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, and held you a little tighter.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, sweetheart,” he murmured.

You swallowed, heart aching and whole all at once. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Grocery Store Shenanigans

“Why is it so damn busy in here?” Joel grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he navigated the overly crowded produce section. Ellie pushed the shopping cart ahead of him, the cart far too big for her small frame, but she was determined, practically standing on her tiptoes to steer it.

You chuckled, nudging Joel with your elbow. “Honey, it’s a Saturday afternoon. This is prime grocery shopping hour. It’s always like this.”

“That’s why Mom says we should wake up early and go before they open,” Ellie called back, giving Joel a pointed look over her shoulder like she was delivering ancient wisdom.

Joel snorted. “Not everyone’s a mornin’ person, kiddo. Some of us like to sleep in.”

“Old man,” Ellie muttered under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You covered a laugh with your hand, while Joel narrowed his eyes, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, that’s it,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Think you’re faster than me, do ya?”

Ellie’s eyes lit up instantly, sensing a challenge. “At everything.”

Joel leaned down conspiratorially, gesturing to the nearly empty cereal aisle. “First one to the end and back wins.”

“You’re on,” Ellie grinned, already climbing onto the front of the cart like a pro racer.

You raised a brow. “You’re gonna get kicked out of here.”

“Worth it,” Joel shot back, and without waiting, he took off after Ellie, one hand on the cart’s handle as he jogged down the aisle.

Ellie shrieked with laughter, nearly tipping the cart as she raced him, and you followed at a safer, slower pace, shaking your head fondly.

An older woman in the bread aisle gave you a disapproving look, but you just shrugged, your heart warm at the sight of Joel letting loose like this, chasing a giggling eight-year-old down a grocery aisle without a care in the world.

“Old Man”

“Ellie’s in bed?” Joel called, his voice echoing from the kitchen as you sprawled across the couch, a trashy reality show buzzing in the background.

You nodded, not looking away from the screen. “Yeah, she wasn’t feeling great. Said her stomach hurt. She’s out cold.”

Joel appeared in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck with a low, tired grunt as he made his way to the couch. The sound earned a quick smirk from you.

“There it is again,” you teased, eyes sparkling as you turned toward him. “God, you groan like an old man.”

Joel shot you a look, lowering himself onto the edge of the couch with another soft grunt as he stretched his back. “I ain’t groanin’. That’s a normal sound a body makes after a long-ass day.”

“Sure it is, Grandpa,” you snickered, reaching for your drink on the coffee table. “Next thing you’ll be yellin’ at the kids to get off our lawn.”

Joel’s brow arched, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Careful, darlin’.”

“What? Just statin’ facts.” You grinned, leaning back with an innocent shrug. “Pretty soon I’m gonna have to help you with your slippers and get you one of those pill organizers.”

Joel huffed, shaking his head like he was letting it go, and then, without warning, he lunged.

You yelped as he grabbed you around the waist, hauling you right off the couch and over his shoulder in one swift, unfairly strong motion.

“Joel Miller, put me down!” you laughed, pounding your fist lightly against his back as he strode toward the bedroom.

“Not a chance,” he chuckled, voice smug and teasing. “If I’m such an old man, guess I better show you how spry I still am.”

“You’re gonna throw your back out.”

“Worth it.”

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt, and when he finally tossed you onto the bed, you caught the way his grin softened, that familiar warmth in his eyes. He leaned down, brushing a kiss to your temple.

“Still think I’m old, sweetheart?”

You smiled up at him, heart fluttering. “Yeah. But you’re my old man.”

Joel just chuckled, shaking his head as he climbed in after you.

Old Wounds

Whenever the world felt too heavy, and the weight of the day clung to your shoulders like something you couldn’t shake. You found yourself drawn to Joel’s woodworking room. It wasn’t something you talked about, but the room smelled like him, carried the quiet steadiness of him, and sometimes that was enough to pull you out of your own head.

Today was one of those days.

After Ellie had disappeared into her room with a stack of books and her stuffed dinosaur, you’d wandered in, closing the door softly behind you. The room was scattered with wood shavings and half-finished projects, and the scent of cedar and sawdust was in the air. You sat down in Joel’s chair, letting your fingers trail absently over the worn armrests, feeling the calm settle in your chest.

You didn’t mean to, but your eyes drifted to the small wooden box on the shelf—the one you’d discovered a long time ago. The one filled with memories, Joel rarely spoke about. Photos of Sarah. A few of him and Tommy as kids, grinning and wild-eyed. And nestled between the pages of a worn old journal, the pink tulip you’d worn in your hair.

You opened the box like you had a dozen times before, fingertips brushing over the edges of an old photo of Sarah—her smile so bright, so alive it ached to look at.

“What are you doin’ in here, darlin’?”

You startled, the familiar rasp of Joel’s voice pulling you out of your thoughts. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, brow furrowed, though his eyes were soft.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, guilt rising sharp in your throat. “I—I didn’t mean to… I just… sometimes I come in here when you’re not home. It… feels like you.”

Joel was quiet for a beat, then stepped inside, crouching beside the chair. “I know,” he admitted, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve seen the way you leave that pillow all messed up.”

You let out a watery laugh, your chest tightening. “I wasn’t trying to snoop.”

“I know that, too.” His gaze dropped to the photo in your hand. “She was a good kid. Funny as hell. Brave, too.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “She looks so much like you.”

Joel chuckled. “She was better than me in every way that counted.”

“I think about her a lot,” you admitted. “Even though I never knew her.”

Joel’s hand covered yours. “And I love you for that.”

You blinked fast, fighting the sting in your eyes. “I never wanted to replace anything… or anyone.”

“You didn’t.” Joel’s voice was rough, but certain. “You gave me somethin’ I didn’t think I’d have again. It’s different… but it’s good.”

You nodded, your thumb brushing over the edge of the photo before tucking it carefully back into the box. “Grief’s like that, isn’t it? Never really leaves. You just learn how to carry it.”

Joel exhaled, his fingers squeezing yours. “Yeah. You just find people who’ll help you carry it.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. There was nothing to fix, nothing to explain. Just the steady beat of his heart under your ear, and the ache of old losses mingling with the warmth of everything you’d found together.

Best Family Ever

“Surprise!” Ellie beamed, practically bouncing on her toes as she held out two messy, glitter-smothered cards made of bright construction paper. There was more glitter on her than on the cards themselves — it clung to her cheeks, her fingers, even the ends of her hair.

You grinned, taking one of the cards while Joel accepted the other, his brows lifting in mild alarm at the sheer amount of sparkles clinging to his calloused hands.

“Open it!” Ellie urged, her grin wide enough to crinkle her nose.

You flipped yours open first, a laugh catching in your throat at the sight of three stick figures drawn in neon marker — one tall with a beard (clearly Joel), one with a floral dress (you), and one small figure in between holding both their hands (Ellie, of course). Beneath it, in big shaky letters, was written: Best Family Ever.

“Aww, Ellie, this is so sweet,” you said, your heart swelling as you pulled her in for a hug. “I love it.”

Joel glanced down at his card, pretending to scowl, though you could see the tug of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “A whole lotta glitter, kiddo. Might have to burn my work jeans after this.”

Ellie giggled. “You love it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but his voice was too soft to sound like a real complaint. He gave her hair a gentle ruffle. “Thanks, kid.”

Later that evening, while you were putting Ellie to bed, you caught sight of Joel slipping out to his work shed with something tucked under his arm. Curiosity got the better of you.

You cracked the door open just enough to watch as he stood by his workbench, squinting at the card like it might fall apart if he wasn’t careful. He cleared a little spot on the wall between an old license plate and a crooked photo of him and Tommy as kids, then carefully tacked Ellie’s Best Family Ever masterpiece right in the center.

He stepped back, hands on his hips, staring at it for a long moment before a slow, almost shy smile crept across his face.

Your heart squeezed tight in your chest.

You quietly closed the door, leaving him there with his glittery sign and that unguarded softness he never quite showed the world except for you and Ellie.

Ellie’s First Soccer Game

You grinned when you spotted Ellie out on the field, hair pulled back in a crooked ponytail, her little face set with fierce determination as she kicked a ball back and forth during warmups. It was the first time she’d ever joined a team, and you were proud of her for giving it a shot — even if she still scowled every time you tried to snap a photo.

Tommy had suggested it months ago. Ellie had surprised you both by not instantly refusing.

Still, you worried.

You glanced toward the parking lot just as the game was starting, searching for Joel, and there he was — sauntering up alongside Tommy, both of them still in their work clothes, sawdust clinging to their shirts and jeans. Joel’s expression was somewhere between reluctant and resigned, like he’d rather be anywhere else, but he was here for Ellie and you.

“We made it,” Tommy announced, smirking as he gave you a quick one-armed hug and plopped down beside you on the bleachers. Joel gave you a look, like this is your fault, then eased himself down with a grunt.

“It’s packed,” Joel grumbled under his breath, scanning the crowded bleachers.

“It’s a kid’s soccer game, Joel. Not a warzone,” you teased, bumping your shoulder into his.

He huffed. “I ain’t good at sittin’ still, that’s all.”

But you saw it. How his gaze found Ellie out on the field immediately, the way his face softened for just a split second before he caught himself.

You knew what this reminded him of. You could see it in the tension in his jaw.

The whistle blew, and the game kicked off. The kids ran after the ball in a chaotic blur of ponytails and too-big jerseys. Ellie was scrappy, elbows out, chasing the ball with that determined glare you’d seen a hundred times before.

And despite his grumbling, Joel got invested fast.

“C’mon, kiddo!” Joel shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Get in there!”

Tommy let out a sharp laugh, nudging him. “Thought you hated this stuff, old man.”

“Shut up.”

When Ellie stole the ball from a kid twice her size and bolted down the field, Joel was already halfway standing, yelling louder than anyone else in the stands.

“Atta girl! Go, Ellie, go!”

She fired the ball toward the goal, and it hit the net with a satisfying thud. The tiny crowd erupted into cheers, parents clapping and whistling. Ellie turned, beaming, searching for you in the stands. Joel was on his feet, grinning like a fool.

“That’s my girl!” he hollered, raising both arms in the air.

You reached for his hand without thinking, your heart damn near bursting.

When he finally sat down, wiping his face on the back of his hand, you caught the suspicious shine in his eyes.

“Dust,” he muttered.

You smiled. “Sure, Miller. Sawdust from all the way out here.”

He shot you a look, but it softened at the edges. “Don’t start with me.”

Dinosaur Drawing Contest

“Draw whatever dinosaur you want, but it has to be made up. Not a real one,” Ellie instructed, standing at the head of the kitchen table like a tiny, glitter-streaked dictator. She jabbed a finger at the pile of crayons in the center. “And it’s gotta be colorful and have an awesome name.”

Joel let out a dramatic, long-suffering grunt as he dropped into a chair, eyeing the crayons like they personally offended him. “I build houses, kid. I don’t do arts and crafts.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re old,” Ellie teased with a grin.

You stifled a laugh, already grabbing a purple crayon and starting on something vaguely resembling a dinosaur. “C’mon, handsome. Don’t be a sore loser.”

Joel shot you a glare, then snatched up a bright orange crayon, grumbling under his breath. “I’ll show you sore loser.”

Twenty minutes later, the table was a mess of crayon shavings, abandoned snack wrappers, and three finished masterpieces. Ellie clapped her hands together, bouncing on her toes as she examined your drawings like a seasoned art critic.

“Okay, okay,” she said, pointing to yours first. “Uh… Mom… what is that?”

You blinked down at your drawing — a pink dinosaur with uneven spikes and a sun wearing sunglasses. “That’s a… uh… Spiky Mamasaurus. She… dances.”

Joel snorted so hard he nearly choked on his sip of beer.

Ellie moved on to Joel’s. He’d drawn something orange and lopsided, with antlers and what might have been a tail coming out of its head.

Joel cleared his throat. “This here’s a Texas Horned Firebeast.”

Ellie stared at it, then burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “That’s so bad!”

Joel feigned outrage, placing a hand on his chest. “Bad? That’s a work of art, kid.”

“Mine’s better,” Ellie announced smugly, holding up her own picture — a green-and-blue dinosaur with wings, a crown, and what looked like a tiny lightsaber in one hand.

Joel raised a brow. “What the hell’s that called?”

“The Queen of Dinosaurs,” Ellie declared proudly. She grabbed a scrap of construction paper, quickly folding it into a lopsided crown and plopping it on her head. “And I win.”

The Accidental Slip

“Ellie!” you called, standing beside Joel as he finished packing up the back of his truck, hauling the cooler in with a grunt. The little girl was still down by the lake’s edge, throwing tiny rocks into the water, completely ignoring you.

You huffed, hands on your hips, trying not to smile. “Eleanor!”

At the sound of her full name, Ellie’s head snapped up. She caught your expression, her eyes going a little wide as she scrambled up the grassy hill toward the parking lot.

“Sorry, sorry! I was just—”

“It’s alright, kiddo,” Joel cut in, voice gentler than his words as he shot her a look. “But you gotta listen when your mom calls, alright?”

Ellie nodded, sheepish but grinning, as you opened the truck door for her. She clambered up into the passenger seat, flopping dramatically across the bench.

A second later, her head popped back out of the open window. “Wait—where’s my giraffe?”

Joel chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag before reaching into the cab behind the seat. He pulled out the worn, stuffed giraffe. The same one she’d had since she was a baby, with one floppy ear and faded spots.

“Can’t leave without this, huh?” he teased, holding it out to her.

Ellie grabbed it eagerly, hugging it to her chest. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Thanks, Dad.”

The word landed so casually, so easily, that it took a second for anyone to react. Joel froze mid-step, his throat working around a lump he hadn’t expected.

Ellie didn’t seem to notice, already turning, and chattering to the stuffed giraffe about how it missed out on the water.

You stood there, heart catching, watching the way Joel’s face shifted. His jaw clenched, his gaze softened, something aching and grateful flickering there all at once.

Then, quietly, he managed a small, rough smile. “Anytime, kiddo.”

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batsandbirdbrains · 2 days ago

Text

So Damian in the comics currently like wants to be a doctor or smth right? I want every single member of the Batfamily to find out and immediately start lobbying for him to become a physical therapist

“Dami, my favorite baby brother, it’s such a noble profession!”

“Go away, Richard, I have no interest in physical therapy”

“But Dami, please!” Dick whines, actually folding his hands and pleading, “I need someone to just like pop my pelvis back into place every so often. It’s so fucking annoying Damian, please.”

“Well maybe don’t contort yourself like a pretzel every time you sit down, and your pelvis won’t pop out so much!”

“But it’s so comfortable!”

“Clearly not, if it’s, and I quote, so fucking annoying to deal with.”

You have Tim following him around one day like, “But it would be so good to have a PT in the family, think of all the good you could do!”

“I can do more good in a field of medicine I’m actually interested in.”

“But my carpal tunnel-”

“Wouldn’t be so bad if you actually put your phone down for longer than ten minutes at a time and didn’t sit like a goblin at your computer 24/7.”

“I do not sit like a goblin-”

“Your posture is terrible. Your wrists are always bent at horrid angles. You sit there for three hours, get up to get a Red Bull, then sit back down for three more hours.”

Tim is so offended, and a little weirded out at how accurate that is, that he just leaves.

“Come on, brat, I need someone to fix my shoulders.”

“Not my problem.”

“Not your problem? It is if my shoulder locks up and a goon gets ahold of me and your precious big brother dies again-”

“You’re not the only one who’s died, you’re not special. You’re literally the founder of the Dead Robins Club, you can’t use being dead to guilt another member into something.”

“What, since when?”

“Since right now. I’ve just made it a new rule.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Actually I can. I’m Secretary and in charge of the club’s by-laws.”

“I thought Dick was the Secretary?”

“I’m Vice President and Event Coordinator, actually,” Dick says, climbing in through the window, startling Jason. “We switched up roles like two meetings ago, remember? There was a vote! Anyway, did you convince him to become a PT yet? Because my knee is doing that thing-”

“No, he hasn’t!” Damian tells them both. Then he turns on his heel to exit the room, muttering under his breath, “I hate this fucking family.”

When Bruce actually comes into his bedroom and smiles at him, Damian rolls over on his bed and groans into his pillow.

“Not you too,” he begs.

“It’s just my back, you know, ever since Bane-”

“That’s not fair!” Damian practically whines.

“It just would be nice if we had a PT we could trust.”

“You have a whole network of them through the Justice League, use one of them!”

“It’s not the same, Damian.”

He just groans even louder, kicking his feet and whining. He will have a full on tantrum if it gets his father to leave him alone.

It does work.

Until he gets three texts in a row with schools that have good physical therapy programs.

Damian throws his phone across the room.

#Damian Wayne #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #Tim has never actually died right? Damian purposely blocks Tim from joining the dead robins club #Stephanie is a proud member though. she’s head of fundraising. she bought them all matching sweatshirts that they sometimes wear on patrol

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written-in-flowers · 2 days ago

Text

Secrets and Desires: Rafe x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Rafe x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, enemies to lovers,

Word Count: 5k

Summary: When the world's worst person discovers your secret, you have two options: give into your hidden desires or risk utter embarrassment and shame.

Tags: dub-con, consensual non-consensual (shifts from dub con), blackmail, force relationship, enemies to lovers, mutual pining, forbidden romance (sort of?), public sex, outdoor sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, nipple play, spanking, spitting, name calling, hair pulling, doggystyle, dom!rafe, sub!reader, sex worker!reader,

****

“You’re sure you don’t want one of us to go with you?”

“Yeah, you’d be walking into enemy territory, YN.”

Pope and JJ stared at you with concern, both of them carrying plastic grocery bags in their hands. You walked alongside them with a small case of beer in one hand and another bag in the other. You should have expected their natural chivalry to come into play.

“I’ll be fine, guys,” you insisted with a soft laugh. “Really, it’s not like I’m walking through the club. It’s the golf course. It’s all old people who aren’t concerned with what I’m doing there.”

“That’s not always true,” said Pope. “That place is crawling with Kooks, and they look for any excuse to mess with us.”

He wasn’t wrong. The thought did cross your mind when you initially agreed to help deliver goods across the island. Pope’s father, Heyward, obtained things from the mainland and sold them to people. He usually employed the help of his son’s friends to get things out to the customers. This time, you offered your own help. Just because you’re a girl didn’t mean you couldn’t handle a bit of manual work. The case weighed close to nothing, and the bag felt light. While JJ and Pope got places closer to where you all lived, you’d been given The Island Club on the other side of the island in the Figure Eight neighborhood.

You didn’t particularly care for the elite families of the island. All of them were arrogant, spoiled, entitled brats who had more money than they knew what to do with. They looked down on working class people like you and your family. While your mother cleaned houses and your father slaved away on a fishing boat, they sat in their fancy waterfront homes without a care in the world. It stirred up a resentment that neither side backed down from. Fights often broke out between them. It only took a few rude words, and suddenly fists went flying. You’d argue Kooks often went after Pogues, since most of your kind didn’t bother with them. They’re too busy grinding to care what a bunch of losers in loafers and polo shirts thought of them.

“Look,” you stopped to look at them once you reached the street, “I promise you guys I’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I can take care of myself pretty well, I think. Besides, I need money so I kind of don’t have a choice right now.”

“Haven’t you been doing housekeeping with your mom though?” asked JJ. “You said you were making a killing off of it.”

You hesitated for a moment. You’d forgotten you’d told the gang you’d started cleaning houses with your mom when they noticed the cash in your wallet. A voice in your head told you that telling them how you really got it was a bad idea. The boys would tease you and Kie would be disappointed that you’d stooped to ‘selling’ yourself. You had the argument prepared in your head: you aren’t physically giving anyone anything; you only take pictures or videos for horny lonely men. Modesty aside, men did flirt with you and if life gives you lemons, you make them pay to see you naked.

“Yeah, but most of that goes to our house and bills,” you said. “I want some spending money of my own.”

“At the risk of, you know, having to deal with Kooks?” asked JJ.

“Yeah, and remember Rafe.”

The name alone gave you pause. Immediately, a picture of a young man with dirty blond hair and a sly grin came to mind. The Kook Prince took up space in your head in a way no other guy did, and you hated it.

“Rafe’s not a problem,” you said quietly, forcing out memories of every interaction from your head.

“Um, he is? The dude sticks to you like fly paper whenever he sees you,” JJ continued. “He’s always…like, all over you and flirting with you. Sure, you’re usually with us so like he doesn’t try anything but what if he catches you on your own? He’s bigger and stronger than you.”

You could hear the insinuation between the lines. Guilt and shame kept you from muttering, ‘Oh, if only somebody would’.

“I can take care of myself, you guys,” you said instead.

“We know you can, YN,” JJ said worriedly, “But Rafe’s different. The dude’s a fucking psychopath. He isn’t going to care that you’re a girl.” He then made a final decision when you got to your car. “I should go with you. You know, protect you.”

“You have your own deliveries to make, JJ,” you said softly. Something deeper than friendly concern lingered in JJ’s bright eyes. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Be careful,” he warned.

“Will do!”

While you found their concern endearing, you didn’t see the real problem. Sure, Kooks liked to give Pogues a hard time whenever they shared a space, but nothing particularly bad ever happened to you. The worst you’d gotten was rude comments or cat-calls from boys, which you dodged and handled perfectly fine. You weren’t scared of a bunch of rich kids in bermuda shorts and boat shoes. Starting your old, beat up car, you drove towards the Island Club. Mrs. Norton requested the food be taken to the club’s kitchen, and she’d have somebody pick it up from there. God forbid she interact with a Pogue. It worked out for you since Linda and Susan might sneak you a plate when you show up, and you wouldn’t have to deal with Mrs. Norton’s annoying yapper of a dog. The possibility of running into any Kooks you knew was low, and that worked out for you just fine.

‘But Rafe’s different. The dude’s a fucking psychopath. He isn’t going to care that you’re a girl.’

JJ’s words of caution came back to you during your drive. Like a fly around spilled soda, Rafe Cameron constantly hovers over you until shooed away. This left you rattled at times. Rafe never actually touched or did anything inappropriate to you. He never threatened to hurt you or even said anything particularly nasty. But, he didn’t have to do that to annoy you. Him being a Kook and you being a Pogue, you’d think he’d have no interest in you outside of the usual bullying. At first, you believed his shameless flirting as a joke to get under your skin. A guy like Rafe couldn’t possibly really be interested in you. Yet, certain times made you think otherwise.

‘Go out with me, YN. I’d treat you like a princess.’

‘Ditch those Pogue losers and hang with me. I got some good shit you could try.’

It struck you as odd when this happened. He’d sound so sincere. You’d notice a certain light come over his eyes when he spoke to you. Like JJ said, he gravitated towards you when you came into contact. You caught the sense that once he saw you, nothing else mattered. Suddenly, you became his entire world and he only wanted to be around you. Oftentimes, John B, Pope or JJ told him off for talking to you. When you thought about it, there wasn’t much harm in simple conversation. You bet plenty of Kook girls would love his attention. Every time, you deny your interest and make an off-hand comment about him. But, every once in a while, the guy weaseled his way through and lived there rent free.

Because, Kook and Pogue rivalry aside, Rafe was good looking. You never admitted this to a soul, not even Kie. To say it out loud was to admit that you desired somebody you should hate. Rafe tormented your friends constantly. He bullied them and beat them at times. He’s a psycho who hurts people to make himself feel more powerful. You should not want him or even think about him. But, he snuck into your head whenever you made content. Him and his strong arms and large hands came to you while you squirmed and wiggled around on your bed. The fantasy brought you to the hardest of climaxes, then doused you in ultimate guilt.

‘He’s a creepy jerk,’ you heard Kie, another friend, say in your head. ‘Do you see how he looks at you? It’s weird.’

Yes, you did know how he looked at you. Sometimes, he stared with fondness and longing in his eyes, and other times with pure lust. Both left you shaken and aroused at the same time. Did you sometimes wonder what it's like to be a Kook and have financial security? Yes. Was Rafe Cameron sometimes in those daydreams? Also yes. It intrigued and sickened you, like watching a car wreck or seeing a particularly violent scene on television. You could not stop thinking about it regardless of how you felt. But, you knew better. You came from different worlds, and truly, he lusted after you, not loved you.

How would you feel if he did, though?

Driving in through to the Figure Eight, your phone buzzed in the cup holder. Taking a quick moment to look, you smiled at the notification.

‘24 new comments, 23 tippers, 17 new subscribers!’

Curiosity got the better of you while you waited at the light. Honestly, when you first created your OnlyFans account you didn’t think you’d make much money off of it. You’d seen people much better looking than you flounder in numbers, but you’d learned that had to do with mid-level content and poor promotion. After much trial and error, figuring out your niche and what worked, you started doing surprisingly well. Not only on OnlyFans, but on your other secret socials. While you did used to worry somebody might figure out it’s you, you learned with heavy makeup techniques, wigs, and angles, you could hide your identity pretty well. The money and comments came pouring in right after that.

‘You look so pretty all tied up!’

‘Let me ruin you, baby.’

‘I have a gun I could stick up that slutty cunt.’

Every picture and video further cemented the idea that this must stay a secret. It’s one thing to merely be taking suggestive photos. It was another to make videos choking on large dildos until you cried or photos of you naked with dirty words written on your body. What you’re into might shock people, and you cringe with embarrassment when you think about their reactions.

You pushed it from your mind as you continued your way to the country club. You thought about ideas for your next spicy bundle when you started walking through the golf course. A long expanse of hills and sand dunes, the Kooks could rest and relax while hitting small white balls into holes. You didn’t see many people, and those you did see were too far away. Good. You didn’t want any of them invading your creative process.

‘Maybe I should do something with a gun,’ you thought as you trekked down a long sandy path alongside the course. ‘But where would I get a fake one? Costume store? Perhaps a knife is better?’

“Hey, can I have one of those?”

Of course fate put him in your way today. Absent his usual gang of friends, your guard went even higher when you saw Rafe. Perhaps you should have let Pope or JJ walk you after all.

“No,” you said, trying to hide your shaky voice. It was uncommon to find Rafe alone. The Kook Prince was rarely ever without his lackeys. However, you saw him golfing solo. “These aren’t for sale.” You tried moving past him, though in vain.

“Not even one?” He said, getting in your path. “You have so many, and I’m parched.”

“They’re not mine,” you replied, glancing around for signs of another person. Nobody. The closest person was too far away and engrossed in his golf game. “Somebody’s already paid for these. The club is right over there. I’m sure they’ve got plenty for you to drink.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he blocked you with his golf club. Long and thin, you didn’t want to think about what he’d do to you with it. “Can’t you just give me one? It’s not like they’d notice.”

“I’m sorry, but no. Can you please-”

“-What’s a cute thing like you doing making deliveries anyways?” he cut you off, getting closer.

“Pope is my friend and Heyward pays me,” you answered, stomach churning. Surely, he’s here with somebody. Kooks travel in packs like wolves. “I need the money.”

He scoffed, eyes scanning over your tanktop and jean shorts. You saw the lust building in the pale blues, stripping you down to nothing. “I know a few ways you can make some extra cash, sweetheart,” he said as he lifted your chin with the club, voice low and sensual. “I’d be a regular for sure.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hissed, pushing his golf club away and starting to walk off.

“You know,” he came up beside you, walking backwards to keep his eyes on you, “If you were my girl, you wouldn’t have to make deliveries. I’d take care of you.”

“I don’t need taking care of. I’m not a baby,” you retorted. “Besides, you’re a Kook and I’m a Pogue.”

“Okay, and? I’d make an exception for you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Come on now,” he moved in step with you, getting closer than he should, “Just imagine it: you and me.”

You wouldn’t. You shouldn’t.

“I’d buy you nice things-” he began casually.

“-I don’t need nice things-” you forced yourself to say.

“-We’d go out to fancy places-”

“-I hate fancy places-” Not entirely true.

“-We’d go on vacations together like to Aspen or Nassau-”

“-No thanks-” a vacation did sound lovely after working so much.

“-And I’d spoil you because my girl only gets the best,” he finalized. He stepped in your way again, staring at you almost lovingly. “Not to mention, I’d fuck every coherent thought out of your head whenever you wanted.”

This statement struck something in you that you buried deep down. “You just have to make it lewd, don’t you?”

“I can’t help it when I’m looking at you,” he winked with a laugh.

“You’re so…” you shook your head, laughing softly in disbelief. Walking ahead of him, you said, “Why don’t you go back to playing golf or whatever spoiled rich boys like you do and leave me alone?”

You let out a sudden yelp when something hooked your shorts and dragged you back. Beer case and bag falling into the sand, you stumbled back and hit his hard chest. Golf club trapping you by the waist, he held your jaw with his gloved hand. All breath left your body, and you tried getting it back in quick breaths through a tight windpipe. You pushed against the club pressing into your stomach, but he was so much stronger than you. Like you always imagined in your dark fantasies.

“I wouldn’t make you do anything you haven’t done before,” he said in your ear, a caress in his voice as he spoke. “You fuck those Pogues in The Cut. Why won’t you fuck me, hm? You think you’re too good for me?”

“Let me go,” you whimpered, struggling against him.

“No,” he grunted, “Not this time. You’re gonna pay for being a fucking cocktease.”

He clapped his hand over your mouth before you could scream. Your body flushed in a cold sweat as he dragged you into the dense shrubbery near the path. Heart hammering in your chest, you prayed for salvation but ached with anticipation. A cocktail of arousal and fear stirred as his body pinned you to one of the thicker trees. In the dark shade of the small woods, you wouldn’t be seen from the empty pathway a few yards away. Rafe discarded his golf club, confident that you wouldn’t escape him, and grinded his hips to your ass. The dark desire lingered in your lower gut, snaking its way to the center. You felt his lips press to your shoulder, kissing from the curve to your neck.

“Rafe,” you wriggled in his hold, fingers gripping the bark of the tree and sandals sliding in the dirt under you, “Stop it. Please.”

“No. Not when you got me this worked up,” he groaned, hands going under your top. The contrast between the two hands tempted that desire more. The ungloved hand felt smooth, while the glove lightly scratched across your side. “You look so sweet and cute all the time. I can’t help it.” You cried out when the two hands caught hold of your breasts, making you struggle. “I can’t control myself when I see you.”

That tense pressure you knew well started building once his hands fully cupped you. The thin cotton bra did nothing to hold back your stiffening nipples, or shield them from Rafe’s thumbs. You clenched your jaw to fight it off. You can’t allow this to happen. You can’t give into him so easily. Lord knows what he’ll say when he’s finished. He’d go and tell all his friends you’d given it up to him without a fight. He’ll tell them you threw yourself at him, portraying himself like the self-proclaimed king he is. But, his hands continued stroking your arousal, the sensation purring like a spoiled housecat. He knew exactly where to touch to disarm you. You swore he knew your body better than you did. Your tanktop lifted over your tits, Rafe tugged down your bra beneath them and groaned softly in your neck. The supple flesh filled both his hands, molding to their grips and squeezes like dough. The different hands worked together to entice the desire lurking within you more. It brought shivers down to your core, making you writhe against him. You couldn’t stop yourself from memorizing his touch. His rough thumbs constantly rolled your nipples and the palms that cupped them so nicely. You wondered what his mouth felt like on them. You’d do anything to feel it.

“So much better than I imagined,” he moaned in your ear, digging his erection against your ass. Big. You could tell from the length sticking between your cheeks.You forced yourself to not grind back into it. “If only we had more time,” he kept one arm across your chest while the other went further down, “Then I can play with them longer.”

“No, no, no,” you cried, trying to escape him despite the growing need. “Rafe, let me go.”

“But we’re having such a good time, baby,” he said, “We can’t stop now.”

You clenched your thighs to keep his hand out, though there was no need. He went for the button and zipper first. You shook your head and tried pushing his hands away as they worked on the button. Fingers hooking around the palm, you forced it off you though this hardly worked. His strength worked against yours easily, hands managing to overcome your own. Images of what he had planned lined up with videos you watched at night. Helpless girls with duct tape on their mouths and wrists crying as a masked man uses their body how he pleases. Girls weeping and pleading before a hard cock is forced down their throat. Every time you wished it was you being treated that way. You mirrored a lot of them in your own content, knowing how much your subscribers liked it. You told each one you pictured them doing it to you, but you really only saw Rafe.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting me this much,” he said, easily undoing the button and ripping down the zipper. “Isn’t this what you like? Isn’t this what turns you on?” He pushed the side of your face into the tree, holding you by the neck as he yanked down the waistband of your shorts to your thighs, “Or should I have brought duct tape and thrown you in the back of my truck instead?” He laughed when you stopped moving. “You really thought nobody would ever know, huh?” He hungrily kissed up your neck to your ear, “You shouldn’t wear your normal clothes in your videos. Somebody might recognize them and realize it’s you, and then where would you be?”

No way. No. Fucking. Way. Dread kept you frozen in place, the fear taking you out of the moment right away. How had he known? You studied his words and realized what he meant. Your Hello Kitty shirt. A magenta sleeveless t-shirt that hung from your shoulders, you’d worn it the other day to a party at The Boneyard. Rafe had been there. He’d seen it. He’d even commented on it, telling you how it’d look better on his bedroom floor. Was that when he made the connection or was it later on? He knew this secret that your friends did not. He’d hold it over your head now.

“What? You didn’t think your little double life would stay a secret forever, did you?” he asked in your ear, hand running down your back to your ass. “I’m there surfing the CNC tag on Twitter, right? Just minding my business, my dick in my hand, and wanting to see a sweet girl get wrecked by a total stranger,” he gave one cheek a smack, sending ripples through you, “When I see this one video from a profile I didn’t know. No face, but she was on her knees, only wearing that cute shirt while riding a big dildo.” His gloved hand started pinching your nipples again while the other groped your backside. “She was crying and saying it was too big. She said cute things like ‘stop it hurts’ and ‘don’t make me keep going’. She kept looking off camera as if somebody behind it was making her do it. I don’t think I came so much before.”

You knew what video he was talking about: a teaser for a story video you’d filmed. In it, you pretended as if someone behind the camera was making you film the video. It’d gotten tons of views and pleas for similar videos.

“After I came so hard I couldn’t see straight for a second, I realized I knew that girl,” he pulled your panties aside to reveal your wet sex. “I recognized the shirt. I knew the voice even though she tried disguising it by talking in a higher pitch. It was you.” He kissed the space beneath your ear, thumb rubbing your nipple, “My YN. I then found out that you had an OF and Pornhub account where you posted more stuff like that. It’s almost embarrassing how much I spent on your content.”

Rafe held you by your hair, ponytail wrapped around his hand as he forced you to arch your back. You tried shimmying away when his hand cupped your sex, fingers rubbing the pooled wetness there. The thought of Rafe spending his daddy’s money on you did give you a stroke of pride. You bit down on your lip when he slid two fingers between the lips, caressing the button hidden inside.

“I know I got the biggest hard on when I realized it was you,” he said as he stroked your throbbing clit. You heard him spit to make you even wetter. “Sweet, innocent YN whose so soft spoken and dainty,” he smirked when his rapid touches made you shift against the tree, “Taking pictures of herself doing the naughtiest things imaginable. I never would have guessed that of you.”

“Rafe, just stop. You don’t have to do this,” you wept, moving around on his hand and moaning softly.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned in satisfaction, “Say that again. Beg me to stop. Tell me it hurts and you want me to stop.” He shoved a finger deep inside, pressing right up into you and you tightly gripped the tree. “I want to hear you beg.”

“Please,” you said, adding a whimper for the extra effect. “Rafe, stop,” you made a futile attempt to push his hand away which made him chuckle. “Take it out. I won’t tell anybody, please, stop.”

You forced yourself not to focus on how his finger massaged your walls in each push or how he reached right up inside you. Plenty of guys did this before. It didn’t make him special in any particular way. But, as his gloved hand groped your breast and his other hand sunk a second finger inside, you swore it became mind bending. He didn’t move with the delicate, gentle touches of other guys. They always treated you like a porcelain doll, handling you gently and treating you nicely. They listened to what you wanted, which you guess you liked sometimes. Unlike them, Rafe didn’t seem to care much for tenderness. His finger went fast and deep, palm slapping your ass in each move. The entire experience pulled you out of reality. You always imagined it, but didn’t think you’d ever do it or it’d happen to you.

“I think someone is about to cum for me,” he groaned in your ear, tweaking your nipple and fingering you faster. “Are you about to cum, baby? Hm?”

“No-No,” you said, eyes closed as your orgasm approached.

“You’re right, you’re not,” he said, “Because you’re cumming on my dick first.”

“No! No, Rafe, please!” you gave a panicked voice that you knew aroused him more.

“Shut up,” he smacked your ass hard, earning another cry, “You’re getting this either way, so you just stay put and take it.”

You let out a pitiful whine when he removed his fingers. A sudden emptiness came before something thick pressed to your pussy. Rafe rubbed and tapped himself on your clit, the tip lightly kissing the nub each time he slid over it. You hated how wet he’d made you with almost no effort. You hated knowing he’d likely hang this over your head whenever you met. Logic told you to scream out for help or force him to stop somehow. Yet, the heat flaring in your cheeks and radiating between your thighs argued against that. It yearned to have him fully inside. You’d wanted this for longer than you’d care to admit. It’s why you stayed still when he fully sheathed himself in your cunt.

“That’s it,” he said, keeping you against the tree as he continued the pace of his hand. “That’s it, slut. Take all of it. Take every fucking inch of me.”

“Raf-Rafe,” you wept, embarrassment mixing with your desires, “Please…”

“‘Please’ what? ‘Please fuck me like the slut I am, Rafe’? Is that what you wanted to say? Hm?” he asked, giving your ass a harsh slap. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna do that. I’m gonna fuck you like this all the time.” He held you by your hair, his fingers keeping a good grip on you, “Because this is mine now, you understand?” He spanked your ass again, the sound loud and the sting sharp. “Your holes are mine to fuck whenever I want. You could have made this easy and just been my girl; let me take you out, treat you nicely, be a good boyfriend to you, and all that but no. You didn’t want that. You wanted to be treated like the slutty Pogue you are, so that’s what you’re getting.”

His shaft stretching you out, the length filling you completely drove you crazy with need. You thought your entire body might have been electrified with how his tip brought constant pangs of pleasure. The hand in your hair moved back to your throat, fingers grasping each side as he cut off a bit of air. Soon enough, the only sounds either of you heard were his hips slapping against your ass and your restrained moans. The head of his cock kept pushing right to your g-spot, as if it knew where it was the entire time. Each time they met, you felt yourself getting closer to your climax. Your eyes kept casting over to a breakage in the foliage nearby. Anybody walking by might hear you two and peek inside. Would you call out for help if they did? Buckets of pure bliss poured into you as Rafe changed angles and went deeper, nearly bouncing you on his length. You didn’t want him to stop despite your weak pleas.

“Please, no, stop…Rafe, please stop…”

“But we’re both so close, baby,” he said, free hand starting to work on your clit. “I can tell by how you’re squeezing my dick. Cry all you want; I know how much you’re loving this right now.”

“No, I’m-I’m not,” you tried squeezing your thighs together to keep out his hand but he managed a finger. You sobbed when it began flicking the small pearl up and down in time with his cock. You made weak attempts to push him off, even though you needed him closer. “I’m goin-going to tell some-someone.”

“Who would believe you?” he challenged, his voice bringing you to the edge. “Who’d believe a slut Pogue over me? Peterton would take one look at you and know you wanted it. Because you do,” he started going faster, moaning along with you as he grew closer, “Deep down you’re a little whore that can’t get enough dick.”

“I’m going to tell her and you’ll get into a lot…a lot of trouble…”

A sudden sensitivity hit your clit as your orgasm came. Your entire body quaked, and you lost feeling in your legs for a moment, unable to stop as it rushed over you. That singular pulsing in your body became your only focus, followed by the way his finger kept teasing your clit as you came. You couldn’t recall the last time anyone made you cum this way. His grip on your hip tightened, and you felt him start giving a few final thrusts.

“Don’t,” you wept, shaking your head as you knew what he was going to do. “Not inside. Please, Rafe, not inside.”

You tried pushing him away but it was too late. With a few low groans and hard shoves, that thick warmth started shooting into you. You felt him stiffen right behind you, his warm body pressed up to yours. Giving whimpering cries, you hid your face in the crook of your arm. Rafe did not even stop once he finished. He withdrew just to rub over your oversensitive clit, gathering up leaking cum to push back inside. You didn’t want him to stop. You barely scratched the surface of what Rafe Cameron was capable of doing to you.

“You did it inside,” you said, voice muffled by your arm.

“You’ll get a mouthful next time,” he breathed heavily, head resting on your shoulder.

Finally, he withdrew and released you. You stayed against the tree as if it were the only stable thing left. Shame once again filled your gut. You didn’t want to think about what your friends would say if they learned what you’d done. They’d be shocked to say the least. Yet, even with the embarrassment, you felt satisfied. More than with any other guy.

“This is what you’re going to do now, slut,” he said in your ear, keeping you trapped in his arms, “You’re going to delete your little OF account. You’re going to take down your Twitter and Instagram.”

“I can’t. I need the-”

“-I don’t care. You’re my girl now, and nobody sees you naked except me,” he forced you to turn around and face him. He put his hand back between your legs, rubbing your sore sex gently. “You only take your clothes off for me. You only get on your knees for me. You only let me touch you,” he whirled his middle finger around your clit again, making you tremble, “In exchange, I don’t tell the entire island how YN Hanes, neighborhood darling, is secretly a horny slut that posts nudes of herself on the internet for money. I mean, I think it’s a pretty good deal, don’t you?”

Two sticky fingers found their way in your mouth, sliding sweet and salty goodness on your tongue. Your eyes stayed on his as you cleaned his fingers of your combined juices. Letting the digits dragging out of your mouth, you made sure he saw your tongue flick to the end. By his heavy eyes and parted lips, you knew he wanted more.

“You couldn’t just ask me out like a normal guy?” you smirked, reaching for his waistband to bring him closer.

“Why? This was much more fun.”

He sealed your lips with his, the kiss soft and warm before he deepened it. His mouth stayed locked to yours as he lifted your shorts back over your panties again, buttoning them for you. You hummed, kissing him back passionately while he fixed your bra and top back as they were. His hands massaged your lower back and sides, soon going underneath to lift you up. Being in his arms blocked out the rest of the world. In this special place, neither Kooks nor Pogues existed. It was you and him. What he’d done might be terrible by most people’s standards, but you couldn’t wait for him to do it again. Your legs wrapped around his waist, arms slung over his shoulders, you stayed firmly in his embrace as you both kissed.

How many times in your life will you meet someone who does what Rafe just did?

****

A/N: yaaay my first Outer Banks fic! Of course I pick Rafe because I can't help myself when there's a hot villain around. I hope you guys enjoyed this juicy little slice, and I look forward to doing more <3

#rafe cameron #outer banks #drew starkey #obx fanfiction #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fanfic #outer banks season 1 #outerbanks s1 #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut

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stick-wizard · 2 days ago

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hello from an autistic medieval reenactor sensory issues! as soon as I started wearing medieval garb, it became more and more clear that not only did my body look and feel significantly worse in modern [see; synthetic] clothing, but that the amount of energy being unconformable without knowing why was costing me in day to day life was a pretty darn significant amount. I began to sneak linen and wool garb into my daily wear more and more, and I'm at a point now where I no longer own other clothes. Now, I know not everyone can do that exactly because of work, but you can buy linen and wool modern suits and dresses also. although one thing I learned is that mostly no one cares half as much as you think they do, I wear mine to my cubicle job at a bank and it's a non-issue.

Some highlights of the EXTREME benefits of wearing linen in warm weather and linen with wool over it in cold weather-- linen is not only breathable and very soft, but instead of becoming weaker when wet like many fibers do it becomes stronger, and therefore can take an amazing amount of harsh laundering which makes it excellent as an under layer so you don't have to wash your wool clothing very often. additionally, linen clothing is usually sewn to a higher durability and is ready to repair and *the* easiest fabric to sew with by far.

Wool is not only a by product of sheep that keep producing wool continually without having to kill them [seems obvious but there are people who aren't aware of that], but it's naturally antimicrobial and water resistant, and can be aired out or brushed to clean it which further reduces the need to wash it. when you do wash it, soak it in a cool-to-lukewarm tub of water with a lanolin wool wash and do not scrub, then rinse and hang dry. but you should not need to do this more than once a season or so unless you're not wearing underthings or you get fish guts or pee on it or something really stinky. when you do wash it, it becomes more soft and water resistant than before. Wool has the nearly unique property that when it does become wet, the wetness does not reduce it's capacity to keep you warm [think about wearing a wet cotton shirt in the wind. brr] and also wool can hold 30% of it's weight in water before it begins to feel damp. however, most properly cared for outerwear the water does not penetrate and rolls off the outside long before it reaches skin.

now a lot of people find wool itchy-- this has a couple of factors. yes, poor quality wool blended with polyester IS extremely freaking itchy and no undershirt is going to help. 100% poor quality wool is slightly better but still bad, but washing it with lanolin soap to reintroduce some of the softening oils helps a lot. buying from places who have a reputation for selling wool garments is ideal, but you can also find good quality wool fabric from Britain or New Zealand or even Canada, and sewing isn't nearly as hard as you think either.

which brings me to a side point-- making clothing for yourself is really incredibly freeing and satisfying. you get to choose what you want, how long you want it, what fabric and color, what buttons, what size, what kind of pockets and where, etc. and there is no number size associated. you can use a commercial pattern but I just trace a clothing I have already that fits and then edit the shape and put it together. that's a while other post but I wanted to mention it, because it's really a lot easier than people make it out to be.

AND THE BIGGEST POINT-- natural gives are ALL 100% biodegradable and doing your laundry and existing in your clothes doesn't add more micro plastics to the environment or your body!!

The closest experience I've ever had to discovering "the vitamin" was buying a 100% wool outfit and wearing it in the winter.

Not only was I not freezing anymore, I was not sweating and overheating either. The horrible sensory nightmare of winter clothes disappeared.

In particular, I bought a pair of wool pants. They were a thrifted pair of fancy dress pants like you would wear at an important office job, and they were easily the most comfortable pair of winter-appropriate pants i'd ever worn. I wore them Every Single Day.

From that point on I realized a lot of my clothes were making me feel bad, and the common thread was polyester. Especially polyester blends.

It's a trap because the polyester clothes are the ones that always feel sooooo silky soft when they are in the store, whereas cotton, linen and wool can feel comparatively rough and scratchy. But when actually wearing them for hours throughout the day, it's the natural fibers that feel more comfortable.

Maybe the secret to sensory comfort is not about the presence of softness, but the absence of overloading sensations. Or maybe the sensory stress and agony is not triggered by texture of the fabric, but by how it breathes and regulates temperature.

Then there's the problem of clothing life span: polyester blends, no matter how soft they seem at first, become rough and scratchy and covered in hard, itchy pills after wearing them 10 or 20 times, whether or not they have been tumble-dried or even washed at all. (I tested it!) Linen and cotton become softer and more comfy the more you wear them, polyester but ESPECIALLY polyester blends become a constant stressor. Polyester blend t-shirts I used to love for their softness now feel bristly and irritating.

So now I'm trying to change my wardrobe to as many natural fibers as possible, and the more natural fiber clothes i have the more I realize that the plastic fibers stress me out. It's so easy to overheat or freeze in them and they're always degrading and becoming less comfortable and it sucks.

#fabric #natural fibers #linen #wool #clothing #historybounding #history bounding #medieval #medieval reenactment #medieval clothing #historical clothing #autism #sensory issues #actually autistic #autistic

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this-acuteneurosis · 3 days ago

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One thing that struck me when I started dlb was the care that is taking to putting focus on female characters' internality in a way that is so rare in fandoms like star wars. So often I see writers try to compensate for a series' misogyny by portraying women as flawless BAMFs while still not really putting any effort to make them feel like real people with interiority and complexity. In particular it really stood out to me how Shmi is written in relation to themes of motherhood, how she is not the perfect blank slate angelic mother figure but someone who has been through deep trauma that informs her relationships with herself and her children, and the things that motherhood means to her. You're a wonderful character writer and I'm so excited to see more of this fic.

Inviting me to talk about the portrayal of women in Star Wars is very risky business. I'll skip most of my thoughts and head straight to: the women were the whole point of this series.

The plot for Don't Look Back was thrown together one night while I was talking at my friend while she was cooking dinner, as I ranted about how (in the fics that I'd encountered) there were basically no stories that centered politics, and when they did, they did not center the female characters who were actually politicians in the story. This was infuriating to me because--especially in the time travel fix-it genre--it made no sense to me that no one really wanted to address the complexity of saving the Republic as a failing government entity. I don't really have much if any love for the sequel trilogy, but the fact that it basically said "And 30 years later defeating the Sith did not save the government from descending right back into authoritarianism," was the most horrifyingly on point, accurate direction they could have taken things. Minus, you know, whose fault that was. I ranted for probably a solid hour and a half about what I would do to rewrite Padmé Amidala back into being an actual politician, because she needed to be way more politically and diplomatically savvy if the Republic was going to be saved. The Jedi, even if the Order was completely changed, were in no position to do it. And, most importantly for all the characters and organizations, no one could do anything alone.

Sitting on the couch and weaving that narrative into Leia's story of grief and recovery, I was so excited to tell a nice little tale about the importance of community and cooperation. My ideas about good and evil in the Star Wars universe, about power and the Force, all revolved around these two things. No individual's power was a substitute for them. The very nature of the Sith was to eliminate connections, to cut people off from help. And Palpatine was a master at luring people to the edge and making sure there was no one there to catch them once they realized they were tipping over.

Sure, this was a little ambitious. But I felt confident I could write a decent, moderate length fic on the subject. The narrative threads were right there. How could I not write this story? And what better place to start than preventing Shmi Skywalker from being cut from the narrative? Someone who knew, down to her bones, how important helping others was, and how it had to be done in a community, because it was so easy to make an individual powerless.

Anyway, the whole thing obviously grew way out of control and five years and (oh dear mercy) 750k words later we're still not done yet. But yes. We are here for the ladies. We are here for Shmi's buried anger and Leia's escalating grief and Padmé's long held resentment and Ahsoka's courage and enthusiasm and Satine's compassion driven hypocrisy and Shea's detached ethics and Jamillia's kind and decisive political maneuvering and Jobal's fears for her too-brave daughter and Bo-Katan's reckless determination and Adi Gallia's overwhelming and conflicting duties to the Force and to the Order and all the handmaidens trying to maintain their sense of self while recklessly offering themselves up as sacrifices for Padmé and Naboo.

We're here for the other characters too. But yeah. There's a reason this series was named after a line from Shmi.

#Don't Look Back #writing #Star Wars fic

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wackapedia · 2 days ago

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The Brontosaurus Of Pittsburgh

Jack Abbot x resident reader

Life is tough and you've been a ghost of yourself. Your attending notices. And you notice him back.

Word count: 1,576. No warnings. Lots of commas and run-on sentences to terrify my grammar teacher. Sorry, I just needed to get this out of my chest bc i feel like i've been floating this week at work, I'm so glad its over. Please enjoy. Comments and reblogs are appreciated <3 I hope someone out there sees you too. You're not suffering alone.

You were the kind of resident who would shove the curtain aside, look at the sobbing child with an injured leg knee, and say, "You're not dying. Please sit still."

All while Doctor Jack Abbot strolls in behind you with a half-drunk coffee, nods to the parent and says, "What she means is: you're gonna be fine, buddy."

You roll your eyes. "That is what I said."

You're not cold. Just cool, and calibrated for crisis. A little lower on the John Shen chill scale. When a patient crashes, you're the first to move, and you never panic. But with that detachment comes blunt delivery, which terrifies families and patients alike.

Kids cry harder when you walk in. Grown-ups would have a higher pulse when they see you approach.

Jack picks up on this. At first, he assumes you're just rude. But the more shifts you do together, the more he sees the cracks, how you'd avoid the waiting room after bad news, how you'd stiffen at the mention of incoming vehicular incident patients, how you'd rarely, if ever, celebrate when you save someone… you just walk away.

Jack, in his quiet, world-weary way, starts translating you for others.

One night, a kid cries when you tell them they need stitches. You walk out, feeling confused because this kid's parent still hasn't come in.

“You could try not sounding like a Bond villain.” Jack sighs, patting the boy's back.

“I said exactly what was needed. No sugarcoating.” You state plainly.

“Right. But maybe, next time, don’t start with ‘this’ll hurt like hell.’”

Every so often, a child comes into the ED with a serious injury. This one's a deep gash on the forehead, hitting it while climbing the kitchen counter, trying to watch his mom make dessert. You take the lead, fast, efficient, no sugarcoating. The kid is crying, the wound looks worse than it is. He doesn't stop squirming even after you gave him something for the pain.

"If you stop squirming, this’ll take five minutes. If not, I’ll need to stitch around the movement, and it’ll scar more.” You try to sound reassuring, but his mom picks up on it. She's quite young, sleep-deprived, panicked, and already on edge. She snaps.

“You think threatening my kid is medicine? What kind of monster are you?”

The shouting escalates, fast, getting in your face. And then Jack steps in. Not loud. Not violent. Just firm.

“Step back, or we're gonna need security here.” His firm voice cuts through the tension. The kind that’s been used in warzones, not classrooms. He steps between you and the parent, calm but unshakable.

“She’s the one who’s going to stitch your child up. You want the best, you let her do her job. You want a punching bag, I’ll call security and let them handle you.”

The parent, rattled by Jack’s presence, backs off. The kid’s still crying, but the room quiets.

Jack turns to you once it’s over.

“You okay?” He asks, gently touching your arm.

“Yeah. Thanks. I... I don’t need saving, by the way.” You keep your head down, peeling the gloves off your hands.

“Didn’t say you did.”

You kept replaying the moment throughout the night. Jack stepped in not because you needed help, but because it felt like someone chose to step in for you, not out of pity but out of respect. He, above all people know this.

The kid comes back for a follow-up, waddling in with their teddy bear bandaged too. He sees you and runs up to you to show his bandaged teddy bear.

“Doctor y/n! I told my class you’re the coolest doctor ever!"

Hmm. That's new. You look down at this tiny, wide-eyed, sticky-handed creature, looking at you like you're a magic rainbow glitter fairy, and you have no idea what to do. Your hands hover awkwardly, unsure if you should pat the kid on the head or on the back. Maybe pat his teddy. Okay. Pat pat. The boy giggles.

"Doctor y/n, I wanna be like you!" He blurts out after you check on his stitches, handing you a sticker. His mom smiles. "He insisted on buying it, said he'd give it to you today."

Jack chuckles, observing from the hub.

"You alright?" He asks the next time he catches you.

"A child said they want to be like me. That's... a design flaw in the universe."

"Nah. That's hope." He says. "That's admiration. You earned it."

You don't say anything. Just a nod like you're accepting court summons. The sticker is lime green and sparkly. You clutch it awkwardly for the next hour, trying to figure out what to do with it. You pocket it. Take it out. Stare at it. Frown at it like it's a medical chart you can't read.

Eventually, during a lull in the chaos, you peel it and stick it right on your badge, next to your name. You don't make a fuss. You don't mention it. But Jack catches it.

"Hey! That a new credential?" He chuckles, mentioning it after handling an allergy case.

"Oh. Yeah. Certified Pediatric Scarecrow." You shrug.

John Shen chuckles. "Title suits you."

A couple of days later, Another pediatric patient came in. You and Jack take turns looking after her. You observe how gentle he is with children. He whispers: “Now, you’re gonna be just fine. But when you come back for your follow-up, I’m gonna need you to bring a sticker for Dr. Y/n. It’s part of the healing process.”

The little girl gasps. “What kind of sticker?”

“Dealer’s choice. But make it a good one. She’s a real collector.” He winks.

"She collects stickers too?!"

“Oh yeah. You’ll make her whole day.”

A month later, you figure someone's been telling patients about stickers because suddenly every kid who comes back is clutching some sparkly piece of nonsense and whispering to the nurse, “Is Dr. Y/N here? I brought her something.”

By the sixth one, you manage to corner Jack near the coffee machine.

“Doctor Abbot, What did you do?” You show him the pink My Little Pony sticker.

He barely looks up. “Built you a fanbase. You're welcome.”

Eventually, your ID badge is cluttered with rainbow frogs, stars, pokemon, and one aggressively patriotic bald eagle. Jack knows you act like it's a nuisance, but you never peel them off.

Jack stood near the edge of the rooftop one morning after a difficult shift. Not close enough to be reckless, but near enough that the wind tousled his scrubs and whistled past his ears like a breath too big for the world to hold. His hands were in his pockets. His stance was casual, his right side bearing more of his weight. His eyes were heavy, somewhere far away.

He didn’t hear the door creak open. Didn’t notice the click of your trainers on concrete until you were already beside him, just behind the railings, arms folded, eyes scanning the skyline as if you too had questions for it.

They stood in silence.

Minutes passed like hours.

“It’s not a cry for help,” Jack said eventually, his voice quiet, gruff around the edges.

“I know,” You replied, not looking at him.

He breathed through his nose. The air was colder than he expected. "I just...sometimes I need to see that the city is still there. That life didn’t just... stop."

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers dug into your own sleeves. “Nah, it didn’t stop. It just got louder.”

He let out a short, humorless breath, sensing a similar suffering under your own sleeve. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled sticker. A brontosaurus. Big-eyed, blue,and smiling like it had never known loss.

"Here. A brontosaurus. The brontosaurus doesn’t need the rooftop because it’s already tall enough to see above the wreckage."

You shrugged. “My badge is full of stickers, Figured maybe you would know what to do with it.”

His smile was slow, reluctant, real. He was also shaking his head in disbelief. There's going to be a sticker in his badge. Finally, he's earned one.

And then you sat, side by side, on the right side of the ledge. The sky was beginning to brighten up, The city stretched before them, all its pain and promise laid bare.

You gave head pats now. Light ones. Just a tap or two to a kid's hair when they'd been brave through a procedure. It made them giggle. Sometimes it made them cry. One kid hugged you once and refused to let go until his mom pried him off. You gave thumbs-ups to adults who looked like they'd been through something. "Good job not dying," You'd say, deadpan. Then smile, just a little, as they blinked at you in surprise

Jack noticed the way you spoke slower when explaining things. The way you asked the hard questions, but waited for the answers. He noticed the way you caught his eye across the trauma bay, the tiniest nod between you when something went well. Or when it didn't, and you both just have to carry on anyway.

Sometimes he'd find you on the rooftop, hands in your coat pockets, eves forward. You never stood near the edge. You didn't need to. The city was still there. So was the suffering. But so was the sky, and sometimes, that was enough.

#jack abbot x reader #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #abbot x reader

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