#not that she cared about the light in her face

[propertyofwicked]

PROMINENT - LN

based on this request ✧ my inbox is open for requests (or if u just want a chat!) ✧

warnings - smut! MDNI!! unprotected, praising, sorta soft!dom, light choking, hand/arm/vein kink (honestly idk) - NOT PROOF READ

sorry for the inactivity i have been busy with moving out :( but im back!!

masterlist the playlist

she couldn’t help it; her eyes were drawn to them every time. lando’s arms were mesmerizing, each vein a winding path that her thoughts followed into daydreams she’d never dare voice. it started innocently enough, just a fleeting glance when he’d push his sleeves up, revealing the intricate map on his forearms. but it quickly became an obsession, her mind wandering to places she struggled to pull it back from, especially when he was near.

lando noticed. he noticed the way her breath would catch, how she’d flush and her eyes would glaze over slightly whenever he leaned in close. he’d always had a playful side, and this newfound power he had over her reactions was too tempting to resist.

so, he began to tease her, subtly at first. leaning on the counter beside her, stretching out his arms so the veins popped against his skin, he’d pretend to look for something just out of reach, giving her an eyeful. he loved the way her cheeks would turn pink, and how she’d suddenly find something very interesting to focus on elsewhere.

they were alone in the kitchen, her preparing dinner while he looked for a snack. lando sauntered over, resting his forearms on the island countertop right in front of her. she tried to concentrate on chopping vegetables, but he made it impossible. he leaned in further, his breath warm on her neck, and she felt the familiar heat rush to her face.

“need any help?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

she shook her head, trying to keep her eyes on the cutting board. “no, i’ve got it.”

but lando wasn’t one to give up easily. he shifted closer, so close that she could feel his body heat, his veins standing out prominently against his tanned skin. he reached out to steady her hand, and she nearly dropped the knife.

“careful,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand, his arms bracketing her against the counter, “wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“lando…” she started, swallowing hard, but her voice betrayed her, breathy and unsteady.

“yeah?” he smirked.

she turned to look at him, her resolve crumbling under his gaze. “you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“maybe. i just love seeing you blush,” his replied, grin widening.

her face heated further, but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.

“you’re impossible.”

“maybe,” he repeated, leaning in to kiss her cheek, right where the blush was brightest. “but you love it.”

he trailed his kisses across her skin, pecking her lips quickly before cascading down her jaw and neck.

“so, why do you like my arms?” he asked her coyly, though not truly expected a response.

“i think they’re pretty,” she replied quickly, “but i also like the way your veins run along them,” she added, a hesitant finger moving to trace a line from the back of his hand leading up his forearm.

the room fell into complete silence, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of slightly accelerated breathing. lando’s gaze ceased to leave hers as his hands moved closer to her, wrapping around her waist tightly - her brain worked hard to decipher what lando was thinking, however it didn’t need to work too hard as his hips pushed up into hers.

her eyes closed, leaning into the touch of his fingers following the path of her arms, along the skin of her neck till his hand held her jaw, his thumb tracing across her parted lips.

“i feel the same way about your lips,” lando announced, dipping his head to press short kisses along her cheek till they met her lips. he kissed her softly, nipping at her lower lip as she deepened the kiss, her hands moving to tug at the soft curls at the base of his head, “- always look so soft. so tempting. ‘love when they’re wrapped around me,” he added, stepping back slightly and taking her face in his hands as though he needed a better look at her.

she loved his attention, feeling lightheaded any time he touched her so delicately. he moved closer to her once more, kissing her with such intensity till she was pushed up against the counter, back arching into his embrace.

“jump,” he told her, holding onto her tightly as she jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist for him to move them both to the bedroom. her eyes dropped, focusing intently on the way his arms flexed as he carried her, the veins running along his arms seemingly standing out more as they moved into the orange sunlight shining through the windows. he loved the effect he hand on her, knowing she would do anything he said filled him with a sense of power.

he placed her on the edge of the bed, peeling the t-shirt from her body before letting her lean back to rest on her arms, her eyes looking up at him. his body moved to hover above hers, propping himself up as his hands travelled down her body, his lips kissing every inch of uncovered skin till he was knelt in front of her, tugging at her shorts momentarily before removing them fully, her underwear in tow.

“you’re so beautiful,” lando murmured against her thigh, trailing kisses along the skin till he reached her heat.

“lan please,” she whimpered, desperate to feel him all over her, tired of waiting. her broken voice went straight to his cock, straining against his trousers as his hands moved to grip the underside of her thigh, pushing them up to grant him full access.

“needy,” he replied, though he ran two fingers through her folds, feeling how her body responded to him.

“but you love it,” she breathed out, laughing lightly at their full circle moment.

“i do,” he conceded, trailing his fingers down until they reached her entrance, pushing in slowly whilst his tongue found its way to her clit. he started off gentle, allowing her to believe he was taking it slow - however he quickly shattered her delusion by gripping at her thigh harder and eating her like a man starved. he alternated from flicking his tongue over her clit and taking her fully into his mouth, sucking at her sensitivity, his fingers setting an unrelentless pace, twisting inside of her, sporadically connecting with the spot that had her back arching from the bed and her hands reaching to clutch at the curls atop his head. lando grunted into her at the feeling, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her body that had her crashing around him, her legs tightening around his head.

“fuck,” she mumbled, sitting back up on her arms to look down at him, though he wasn’t done. her eyes settled on his arms once more as he pulled his fingers from her, and grabbed at her legs, pushing them back up as his tongue made to clean up the mess she had made. lando crawled back up her body, his form above her was almost intimidating, his pupils darkened with lust as her hands reached out to trace the veins on his arms once more.

his head dropped, kissing and nipping lightly at her neck as she reached to tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling it quickly from his body before he rejoined his lips to her skin.

“such a good girl,” he told her, looking down on her as he stood in front of her. her face was red, and her chest still heaved - though he didn’t have long to look before she was pushing herself up fully, hands reaching out to toy with the zip of his trousers. though she didn’t undo them as he expected - no, she began to palm his bulge through the material, looking at him with a coy smile as she feigned innocence.

“don’t tease,” he warned her, taking her hands in his and directing her fingers to his zip, but she continued to grip his clothed cock. his hands took hers again, pulling them away from him and holding them above her head as he continued to free himself with one hand, “- what did i just say?”

“don’t tease,” she answered him, still smiling sweetly.

“and yet you continued to tease,” he prodded, using the grip on her wrists to push her back to lie on the bed. lando reached for his belt, stripping it from his belt loops and using it to tie her wrists up above her head.

“too tight?” he asked her, watching for any sign that she was uncomfortable, but instead he was met with a shake of her head to which he pressed a short kiss to her lips.

the rest of his clothes soon joined the pile amassing on the floor, and he was standing over her, cock in his hand as he ran the length through her folds. she whined out, desperate to feel him but he silenced her pleas with a kiss, his lips caressing hers gently as he pushed into her slowly. he was taking time to enjoy the moment, trying to memorise every little detail about her - the way she felt, her lips, the way she responded to him. it was something he would never get tired of, something he never wished to forget.

his thrusts suddenly grew erratic, hips slamming into hers quickly, punishingly.

“taking me so well,” lando grunted, his mouth nipping at the skin of her neck as he felt his own pleasure taking over, "look so pretty like this, making a mess on my cock as i fuck you stupid," he added, his praise and the tightening grip that kept her wrists above her making her brain short circuit. her head rolled to the side, eyes staring intently at the arm that held hers, enamoured by the way his muscles flexed with every jut of his hips.

lando bit back the urge to tell her to look at him - usually, he wanted to see her face when he fucked her, but right now, he was obsessed with the way she looked at him, taking in the sight of him working her to a finish. he felt her tighten around his length with every thrust, squirming beneath him as she got closer and letting out strings of pathetic moans that increased in volume and incoherence. he wanted to drag the moment out for as long as he could, thoroughly enjoying the way she surrendered herself to him completely all because his veins were noticeable.

“you look so hot like this,” she told him, panting.

“me? you should see what you look like baby,” lando replied, though slightly distracted by her hips rolling up into his, matching the pace of his thrusts as though she was begging for relief - begging him to bring her to her climax. she looked completely ruined, mascara running down her face lightly as tears pricked in her eyes, her lip gloss smudged - and he was the reason. it awoke something primal within him, an animalistic desire.

“you wanna cum again? huh?” he asked her, slowing the rocking of his hips, choosing to slam his cock deep into her harshly, before slowly pulling out. over and over again.

“please, don’t stop. please,” she uttered, choking on her words slowly as he bottomed out inside of her again. this time, he didn’t pull out. instead, he rolled his hips into hers, the tip of his cock pushing harshly into her spongy walls, teasing her sensitivity. the pleasure was overwhelming, coursing through them, consuming every fibre of his being as her vision began to darken, only able to see starts spinning through her mind.

the knot in her stomach tightened, threatening to snap at any moment, her chest arching as she attempted to pull her hips back, desperately trying to recreate his thrusting motions. lando soon got the hint, resuming his ruthless pace as he slammed back into her. her hands opened and closed, unable to move but overcome with desire to grip at something, anything.

“f-fuck please. please,” she begged.

“i know, angel, i know,” he comforted, feeling her tighten around his length as the two got closer and closer to relief, “doing so good f’me, baby. such a good girl.”

she moaned out his name, mewling loudly in appreciation of the tenderness in his voice, but she needed more. he knew she needed more, but he couldn’t reach her clit without losing his balance and toppling over. so, his mouth found her neck once more, sweet kisses pressed along her flesh until he reached her nipple, his tongue drawing circles around it before taking it into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucked at the flesh. her head dropped to the side again, staring intently at the arm that kept her caged to the bed.

still, she needed more. he manoeuvred himself lightly, pressing his entire body weight on the arm keeping her trapped beneath him, hips still snapping into hers, the tip of his cock intruding her cervix with every thrust. lando’s free hand trailed her body, settling gently on her neck, his fingers digging into the skin of her airway lightly.

“this ok?” he checked, knowing it was usually fine but still needing her reassurance. she nodded rapidly, her hips raising and rolling into his in a sign of approval. if he tried, he could feel her veins pumping blood beneath his fingers - she truly was the perfect woman for him, knowing how much she trusted him flooded his own veins with a strange sense of relief, love and comfort.

"cum for me, c'mon. i want to feel you making a mess on my cock."

his command was all she needed to be consumed by pleasure, the combination of his dirty words, his punishing thrusts and the pressure he exerted on her throat finally pushing her over the edge. her whole body trembled beneath him, pleasure coursing through her body, her legs flinching with every wave.

lando’s movements became more erratic and yet sloppy as he chased his own high, his grip on her neck softening as his mind went blank with his own desire to finish.

“fuck, angel. so good,” he grunted, flows of incoherent praises tumbling from his lips as he let go of her wrist, pushing back to stand and grabbing her thighs to pull her closer to the edge of the bed. he pulled her hips up from the bed, holding her legs tightly around his waist as he thrusted into her relentlessly, using her body to reach his own high. she looked up at him with half-closed, unfocused eyes, lost in the pleasure that still swam around her brain. he looked even better, eyes fully closed, head thrown back and his mouth parted as he moaned out for her.

she felt overstimulated, mentally and physically. her walls tightened around him trying to offset the slight sting and fatigue - the feeling sent him into overdrive. lando came quickly with a grunt of pleasure, emptying his load inside of her and allowing her sporadic tightening to milk him dry, painting her walls in a pearly white liquid. his balance faltered for a moment as his entire body jutted, dropping her body back on the bed harshly and pulling his length from her. he joined her soon after, laying his entire bodyweight on her as he panted, struggling to catch his breath.

“that was hot,” she told him, freeing her hands from their restraint as she moved to stroke his back, her nails softly tracing along his skin.

“feral. it was feral."

[mead-iocre]

Not Like My Mama! | Viviannne Miedema x Wife!Reader

synopsis: a glimpse of Ducky at her football lessons.

warnings: nothing. just pure fluff

word count: 1.0k

———————���————

Viv tugs on the laces of the red and white football boots to make sure they’re secure. She had a strict ritual whenever she tied her boots. She would start by aligning her laces, laying them out flat, ensuring there are no twists. This step is essential to her; any sign of imperfection can unsettle her focus.

Viv would always start with her left boot first. She would pulls the laces tight, securing the boot with exactly three knots. The first knot is a standard criss-cross, pulled tightly. The second knot is a loop, ensuring a firm hold. The final knot is a smaller, tight finish, securing the previous loops. To the Arsenal striker, each knot symbolizes control, strength, and precision. 

But the owner of the little boots she was tying did not care about control, strength, or precision. All she probably cared about was running after the ball, scoring a goal or two, and maybe getting an ice-cream after practice. 

“There you go, Ducky!” Viv pats the little boot before smiling at her little footballer. Her daughter was repeatedly glancing over at the pitch to find her friends, clearly eager to join them. Just like her Mama, Evelyn loved football, and she looked forward to all her weekly lessons where she got to wear her special boots. 

When she notices her slightly distracted daughter, Viv gently palms her cherubic face towards her, chuckling when her daughter whines lowly. “Hey. Look at Mama for a second. I have to go to work soon…”

“Quick, Mama. Ducky go play football!” Evie points a chubby finger at where the rest of her teammates are gathering, shouts of glee and excitement filling the park. Viv can see her wiggling her feet into her tiny football boots in anticipation. 

“Okay, okay” Viv admonishes lightly, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair. Her wife usually did Evelyn’s hair– from pigtails and braids– she was far more skilled than Viv at that department. By some miracle, she had someone managed to tame the little girl’s curls into two, even-ish, pigtails– her preferred hairstyle today. She also managed to attach the little ribbon clips that are the same colours as Evie’s football kit to complete the look. Viv is grateful her daughter did not ask for braids otherwise there would’ve been a meltdown that morning. “Right. Have fun then, Ducky! Mama has to go to work, but Mummy will be here”

Evie perks up slightly, already knowing that she’ll be allowed to run over and join her friends in a bit. “Ducky go now!” 

Viv pulls the very excited toddler into her arms for one last squeeze, raining a few kisses all over her face, and revelling in the sweet giggles she gets in return. With one last kiss to her forehead, Viv stands up on her feet and watches her daughter run onto the pitch and greet her teammates. She turns to you, coming back from buying yourself a drink and a pastry from one of the stalls, and gives you one sweet kiss. You exchange goodbyes and promises to make plans for dinner tonight, and then you watch her walk to towards the carpark. 

————————————

The coach gently rolls a ball towards Evelyn. With determination written all over her face, she takes a few wobbly steps forward and swings her foot at the ball. She misses on the first try but quickly tries again, and this time, she makes contact. The ball rolls a few feet away, and her face lights up. She runs after the ball, her pigtails and ribbons bouncing wildly with each step.

For the next half hour, Evelyn is in her element. She chases the ball, giggles with her friends, and even scores her very first goal. You watch your daughter from the sidelines with a proud smile on your face.

Your little footballer, and your wife's mini me

During a water break, Evie is approached by a new teammate. Evie has never seen the girl before, so she reckons she must be new. 

“My Mama’s good at football” Evie turns to the new girl when she speaks to her. Evie learned earlier that her name is Ashley and she had just moved from up north but Evie doesn’t remember the name of the town. 

“Really?” 

“Mmmhmm. She can kick reeeeally far. Like all the way to the Moon!” Evie tilts her head at that. That sounds very far, but her Mama could probably kick it father than that. “but we only play in the garden when she’s not at the hospital working”

Evelyn makes a noncommittal hum, not disagreeing necessarily but not agreeing either “Hmm. So can my Mama”

“There’s Mummy” Evie points you out amongst the group of other parents. With your sunglasses onto of your head, you were wearing a bright coloured t-shirt so your daughter can easily spot you amongst the crowd. You were chatting with the other parents, but your eyes scanning the pitch, keeping an eye out for her. “But Mama is at work”

“Oh. Just like my Mama! But my Daddy is there” Ashley points to a man who is sitting on one of the benches, chatting to someone else’s parent. “Where’s your Mama?”

“Playing football…” Evie stares at her football boots on her feet. They were red and white and given to her by Auntie Leah. She said she bought them because they were Arsenal colours. 

“Oh! My Mama plays football too! Just like your Mama!” 

“My Mama plays football.” Evie emphasis. Turning her head to find you again, partly for reassurance, and also because she was getting slightly angsty because of her new friend. When you catch her eye, you give her a quick wave from where you were seated, pausing your conversation to focus all your attention on your daughter. When she gives you a quick wave back and turns to her friend, you figured all was fine. “My Mama plays for Arsenal"

Evie looks back at Ashley when she begins to speak again. “Just like Mama! My Mama likes Arsenal too! She likes the colour red very much” 

“No.” Evie stomps her red and white boot once, flattening the grass beneath her boots. She narrows her eyes slightly at her new friend. She didn’t like Ashely anymore. She didn’t get it, she didn’t understand.  

“Not like My Mama. My Mama is Vivianne Miedema”

Short and sweet. I was inspired (and currently have a case of baby fever) so wrote this in like 30 minutes, and have not spelt checked/grammar checked it throughly lol.

next couple of fics will all be leah fics so I wanted to get one more non-leah fic out before I overwhelm you with so much leah w. x reader, so stay tuned for those!

-- butter.

[devoutekuna]

The first meeting

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

He wasn't the best when it came to showing affection or anything emotion really, unless it was something barbaric. So when his daughter came out he was already fighting the nurses to hold her. "Isn't she cute?" Holding your baby in your arms as you checked her out fully, noticing the pink hair standing out against her plush face. She looked just like her father, small dark marks on her face which resembled sukuna's, much to your dismay as you had carried her for 9 months just for her to come out a carbon copy of him. "I guess" he wasn't big on children, he normally ate them. Sat beside you as he watched how you awed over her. "Hold her" ushering for him to take her. "No" he didn't like babies, in fact, he didn't like much people other than you. "Come on Ryo" hands stuck out as you offered her up. Giving in as he knew how you would keep on asking, the small bundle taken into his arms.

Nanami-

Nanami was probably the first one to hold her when she came out, that's how he met her, normally at this time he would be arriving back from work with your favourite food just to give you a massage after missing him for so long. Though, right now he was sat in the hospital cradling his newborn daughter, adjusting her light pink hat so he could see her beautiful face, practically the same as yours. Smiling at the sight of his newborn sleeping, holding himself from grabbing her cheek. "Isn't she cute kento?" Peering down at how low his face was. Nodding in response, normally he'd always use his words unless he was getting emotional, which you had never seen before.

Geto-

"Isn't she a cute baby?" You were barely awake, eyes fighting to stay open just to watch your husband ramble on about his newborn. Today he wasn't reading the room right now, talking too much when he should have shut up hours ago, just nodding along to whatever the man said. "She looks a lot like you." Smiling at you only to face when he saw how tired you looked. "My bad, get some sleep, I'll take care of her!" Placing her back in the bassinet beside your bed as he kissed your cheek.

Gojo-

"Can he walk Y/N?" Not giving you time to answer as he stared to call for your newborn "come here Satoru JR" motioning for him to walk towards him, normally your husband was smarter than this but as soon as he got to take his newborn home he was in an erratic frenzy, completely loosing any sense of logic. "His name isn't Satoru JR!" You were too tired to even argue with the man. "Shh, it's his nickname" giving you a quick peck on the lips to shut you up. "What can he do then?" Sighing how stupid your husband sounded. "Nothing Satoru." "Really?" A bit shocked that his son couldn't do anything other than, eat, cry and sleep.

Toji-

"Can I hold her?" "Are you sure she's not too hot?" "What if she has a big appetite and needs more milk?" Normally he'd never care this much about someone, but he did for his newborn daughter, she was barely a day old and he was already fondling all over her. Fingers underneath her nose to check if she was breathing, two fingers under her chin or on her wrist to catch the faintest pulse. He was awake all night staring at her in case something bad happened. Arms wrapped around your body as he laid awake staring at the little girl, noticing any small movement. Eventually he'd fall asleep in the crook of your neck, breath slowing down as he fell asleep, arms tightened around your body when he slept, it always annoyed you as there was no way to escape his grasp unless he woke up.

[dawnslight-aegis]

and that's a wrap on my tarot series! the upright majors, at least. there may be others sometime in the future if I am seized by a combination of insanity and hyperfixation once again.

you might notice a few cards are a bit (or in the case of the fool and alternate chariot, a lot) different! I did a few retakes for consistency/style.

below the read more I've included a bunch of notes about symbolism and reasoning behind my choices if that interests you!

(tag for individual card posts)

0. The Fool: Ardbert was really the only choice for this one. He's our stand-in, our shard, our mirror. Feo Ul is included partially because of lore (they are my co-WoL's shard on the First) and also because they also fit the themes of adventure and new beginnings and exploration. Most of the cards I played pretty loose on the posing vs traditional depictions, but this one I wanted to hew a little closer, which is why he's on a cliff with a foot hanging over the edge a bit, with his axe standing in for the bindle. This is my second attempt at the card -- the first was in Il Mheg, but I moved it to Kholusia (Ardbert's home) and dawn to more closely symbolize that it's the beginning of something. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 8/10, posing Feo Ul was annoying.

1. The Magician: This card could have had several subjects, chief among them Alphinaud or a more modern G'raha, but I settled on Alisaie a) because the other two cards I had in mind for her (Chariot and Justice) were already taken, and b) the card's focus on physical magic and depicting the "tools of the trade" reminded me a lot of Angelo's creation! So that's why she's here, and why I set the card in Matoya's Relict, among the tools of magicians who came before (Matoya, Y'shtola). I retook the shot because I was unsatisfied with the blurriness/the way the light covered her face in the first one. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 5/10, simple pose but working with Impact's spell effect complicated things.

2. The High Priestess: Another that I never questioned who would appear on it. Y'shtola's arc is entirely about uncovering forbidden, secret knowledge and wisdom, so she fits beautifully. The blue-white orb and the purple staff depict duality between dark and light, and how Y'shtola walks in two worlds, seeing things that are beyond sight, standing before an altar/holy place to the Night's Blessed. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. Premade pose, knew where I wanted to place her -- the only thing was finding a prop for her off hand.

3. The Empress: Hoo boy did Minfi give me some trouble. I knew that I wanted our Antecedent, who provides both authority and care for the Scions, to represent the Empress, but I struggled to find a depiction that wasn't, well, boring. Minfilia is deeply linked with the Solar, and I didn't want to lean too hard into Word of the Mother/Hydaelyn territory, so I settled on a triple goddess-like idea. Attempts: 3. Difficulty: 6/10. Not mechanically difficult, just conceptually.

4. The Emperor: Another one that I knew who I wanted but struggled with the concept. Haurchefant is very much emblematic of the stability, structure, and masculinity provided by the Emperor, but it wasn't until I decided to add his equally-Emperor-coded father that things settled into place. Together, Edmont and Haurchefant evoke the image of father and son as well as king and knight, filling both major male authority roles that the Emperor exemplifies. Attempts: 4. Difficulty: 6/10. Same as the Empress.

5. The Hierophant: this one was one of the hardest to choose a subject for -- the WoL's allies are largely a bunch of revolutionary firebrands, and I disagree HEAVILY with the popular choice of placing Aymeric here. So I landed on Alphinaud -- out of the Scions, he is the one most concerned with tradition and the "right" way to do things, with formal education and structure. He wants to bring Sharlayan into the modern day, not upend the institutions that raised him and that he very much still respects, much like how he still respects his very traditionally Hierophant-coded father. So I placed him in his family home with a sort of smug look since he can be a pretentious little shit sometimes (affectionate). The spell effect is from Kardia, and I paid special attention to having the shapes align perfectly with the lines in the background, to give a sense of stability and order to the shot, especially contrasted with Alisaie's more dynamic and chaotic depiction. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 4/10, entirely in alignment.

6. The Lovers: Hrasevelgr and Saint Shiva are a great choice for depicting the Lovers as two people, but no one does the Lovers in one subject better than Ysayle. Invoking the spirit of a woman who died for love in order to bring harmony to her people, but it truly being her own power and her own choice the whole time... it's great. Her pose is her transformation/summoning pose, turned into a gesture of affection, which I was particularly proud of. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 3/10, posing monsters is always a little funky.

7. The Chariot: This one has two options -- my co-WoL, Marz, and Tataru/Cid/Nero for the NPC variant. All 4 characters share a singular drive and refusal to let anything stop them once they've set their mind to something, and the 3 NPCs have the added benefit of being associated with a literal "chariot" in the form of airship design. Marz's place on Shadowkeeper has some lore associations (Cylva is her shard on the 13th) as well as being a void mirror to Kaede's sin eater shot. For both I wanted to have dynamic poses to evoke the activity of the card. Attempts: 1 (Marz), 2 (NPCs). Difficulty: 3/10 for both, no major hurdles once the lovely @/karoiseka pointed me at an airship in NG+.

8. Justice: The heart of the Justice card is its emphasis on truth, and no character in FFXIV is more committed to truth even in the face of great suffering than Aymeric de Borel. Because of this, the shot is taken at the top of the Vault, where he confronted his father over his concealment of the truth of the Dragonsong War. The card is usually depicted with a woman holding a sword and balanced scales -- Aymeric is holding his sword in a pose used in statues in the Pillars, and the symmetry of the shot/light and shadow split down the middle is meant to give the feeling of balance. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 1/10. I knew my concept, location, and shader before I even went in, and it came out exactly like I wanted.

9. The Hermit: Originally I had Urianger for this card, who still fits well, but when I moved him to Wheel of Fortune, there was a clear second choice: The Exarch. He even resembles the Hermit, with his cloak and staff, holding himself in isolation and possessing secret knowledge with which he guides the party. G'raha has grown out of this role as of Endwalker, but the Exarch fits it to a tee. I wanted to show his longing to return through his body language and reaching out for the portal that shows him the world he is set apart from. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 4/10. Nothing major but did have to do two entirely separate cards lmao.

10. The Wheel of Fortune: The one I struggled with the most, conceptually. At first I had a more abstract choice, with the 3 starting city state leaders and Tataru, in a sort of "fate leads to the Scions" idea. But then I remembered that Urianger is a fortune teller who uses a wheel-like weapon with a literal wheel of cards, and, well. Yeah. The man is intimately associated with fate and choice, and the choice to place him on the moon is intentional, to separate him from his more secretive depictions in HW/ShB. He is the one who prepares our second option (flight) while giving us the choice to make our first (fight). Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 7/10. He's up on a high ledge that's not normally accessible and that's always a pain in the ass.

11. Strength: The one that started it all. The original shot of Kaede contained some layer elements I wasn't happy with so I ended up retaking it to better cohere with the others. Strength is about confidence and inner strength "leashing" power, symbolized by the woman and the tamed lion, and there's exactly one good lion model in XIV -- Forgiven Cruelty. It also has the fun side meaning of Kaede conquering and wielding the light that almost killed her. For Moenbryda's, I went with something simple -- her axe to symbolize her strength, but with her archon mark and the Sharlayan Thaliak statue prominently featured, emphasizing her intelligence. Attempts: 2 (Kaede), 1 (Moenbryda). Difficulty: 6/10. Kaede's was straightforward enough (though I had to wait an annoyingly long time for the sky to shift colors correctly), but Moenbryda's involved me floating her up on a building so i could get Thaliak in the shot correctly.

12. The Hanged Man: Holy moly this one was a PAIN IN THE ASS. I knew from the minute I started this what I wanted to do with it -- Lahabrea holding Thancred's ankle as he reaches for Minfilia. The Hanged Man is one that I felt it was especially important to mimic the iconic pose on the card, and this was how I decided to do it, but it took me over an hour and a half to accomplish. Anyway, the Zodiark idol stands in for the Tree of Life, which I really liked. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 10/10. Absolutely infuriating to have to pose 3 actors in three dimensional space like that.

13. Death: I only ever considered Estinien for this card. It stands for transformation and change, for shedding the old to make way for the new, and I chose to depict that by having his old corrupted drachen mail posed behind him like a shadow or an abandoned husk. He has left the hate and the rage behind, but the helmet is meant to symbolize that he always remembers it, and carries it with him so that he can do better. His lance is also vaguely reminiscent of the traditional Death scythe. That spot in Coerthas is where he challenges you in the early DRG quests while controlled by Nidhogg, as well as being just visually striking. Attempts: 1, but it took a while. Difficulty: 9/10. The ground is very much not flat, the helmet is on a minion, and I had to change angles and locations a few times.

14. Temperance: I briefly considered Hythlodaeus here, but Krile fits very well. Calm, competent, but unsure of her own worth. I chose Eureka Hydatos both for its importance to Krile as well as its easily accessible water -- instead of pouring from a cup, Krile is looking at her reflection. This one came together so quickly and easily. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 1/10. In and out of Eureka in less than 20 minutes.

15. The Tower: Originally, before I reshuffled, G'raha was going to be the Tower simply because I didn't know where to put him, and I couldn't think of an ally who is ultimately a destructive force, but it always bothered me because he truly didn't fit. Meteion, though -- despite her innocence and unwillingness, is THE destructive force within Endwalker's story. This card had the highest hurdles -- I had to get 7 friends to help me queue for Endsinger and then leave, and I almost couldn't get my tools to load Meteion in properly. After that it was smooth sailing, however. I used the whole lockout timer, but this was only the 4th shot I took, and it's one of my personal favorites. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 4/10, purely for queuing.

16. The Devil: Addiction, obsession, and control -- Zenos was the only answer for this card. I included Zero as well, despite intending this to be a primarily 6.0 and earlier set, to represent the humans bound in chains to the Devil, using the way she's pinned between Zenos and the scythe to symbolize that she's trapped. Afterward I realized this exact shot and character choice would have also worked quite well for the Tower, as well, but I ultimately prefer the Devil for him. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 3/10. Came together surprisingly easily, despite the fact that I had to make Zero's hat touch pose myself.

17. The Star: Symbolizing hope and new life, I can think of no one better suited than Ryne and the Empty. Ryne herself was given her own new life when Minfilia passed on her power, and the ability to make her own destiny -- and she used that power to revitalize a barren wasteland. My first version of this shot had a photoshopped in central star, but I decided to revisit the concept with an in game effect for the star instead. Helios provided what I needed, with the fun extra benefit of some additional rainbows (happy pride!). Attempts: 3. Difficulty: 3/10. Nothing crazy beyond trying to find a good angle to get the star in the shot, as well as Eden and the rainbow crystal. Second attempt I messed up the framing and had to redo it again.

18. The Moon: The card of dreams, fear, anxiety, and secrets, Gaia is perfect here (and a lovely companion to Ryne as the Star), though I did briefly consider Urianger as well. I wanted to have Gaia on the sand, with the moon hanging between the crystal walls of the Empty above her, but the angles would NOT cooperate to allow me to get the moon in the shot. So, levitation was the only answer. Fortunately it suits Gaia well, especially the distance that it evokes. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 6/10. I hate midair posing.

19. The Sun: Another card that sprang fully formed into my mind. Joy and fulfillment is symbolized by Lyse enjoying the morning light in a free Ala Mhigo, thinking of Papalymo. It also allowed me to get both of these very different characters into a single card, as they are very much a package deal, though I did consider Papalymo for the Hierophant as well. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. Came together very quickly.

20. Judgement: The last two cards of the Major Arcana are very high concept, with very lofty ideals, so they felt hard to pin down. I thought of doing both my WoLs here, or maybe Elidibus with his three forms for light, dark, and balance. But ultimately I ended up on Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus, as the sort of "final judgement" before the battle with the endsinger, the last step before everything ends. Their literal rebirth, the resolution of Emet-Selch's conflict with the WoL, the not-redemption but understanding reached, our efforts judged worthy -- it all just seemed to fit. The card design is simple but I hope the colors and emotion of the scene carry the weight of the arcana. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. No major roadblocks.

21. The World: At last we arrive at the end, not only the last posted but the last taken as well. I always knew I wanted Venat/Hydaelyn for this card, as she is the literal heart of our world, as well as an Azem who has reached the end of her journey, as Ardbert was one who was at the beginning of his all the way back at the Fool. But when I didn't use Elidibus anywhere else, I decided to add him here as well, since he also served as the heart of the star for a time. Light and dark united together, watching over Etheirys. The one who destroyed our world in order to save it, and the one who saved our world only to try to destroy it. Perfect symmetry, a completion of the circle. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 9/10. I had to stitch together 3 separate screenshots in photoshop, with the fore and backgrounds cut apart so I could control the opacities separately. Probably the card that took me the longest, but it was worth it.

[veltana]

Shared desires

✦ Pairing: Bucky/Fem!Reader, Steve/Fem!Reader, brief Bucky/Steve

✦ Word count: ~4,4k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Canon verse, Wife!Reader, Husband!Bucky, Best friend!Steve, cuckolding, degradation, praise, oral (fem receiving), spit sharing, manhandling, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, angst, hurt/comfort, feels, eventual polyamory, pet names (doll, honey).

✦ Note: NERVOUS! I've never written for an event before, but it gave me the push I needed to finally finish this! For @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar we have Chocolate (a secret revealed) together with Neopolitan (love triangle). Topped with Chocolate Syrup (established relationship) and one could argue a dash of Sprinkles (special event)(it sure is special for them 😂) As always, reblogs, comments, and asks are very welcome ❤️ Enjoy 😋

Masterlist | AO3

Steve’s mouth is hanging slightly open, cheeks red, and eyes wide. "Excuse me?" he sputters. "You're the only one I trust with this, if you don't feel comfortable I get it, but I thought I’d ask.” "But Buck…" Steve begins, momentarily lost for words, then says, "I don't want to cause a rift between you and your wife." "You wouldn't, we've talked it over so many times and honestly you're the only one she's okay with." "Me?" Bucky reaches over to place a hand on Steve's knee, squeezing it reassuringly. "You've been at our side since the beginning, she knows you, and knows you would never hurt us."

Then he leans back with a smirk. "And don't think I didn't see you looking at her last time we went out drinking." Steve flushes even more, looking away, mumbling, "Those pants should be illegal." Bucky laughs in response.

With a sigh, Steve looks at his best friend, his long lost brother, the person he went through hell to get back. If Bucky knew the truth he wouldn't be laughing. For a second Steve contemplates telling him but as he's done for years, he keeps his deepest secret inside and instead says. "Just let me think about it, okay? It doesn't mean it's a no but just… I need to think, okay?" "Take your time," Bucky reassures him.

***

Several hours later you're ordering take-out while waiting for Bucky to get home from the compound. You could cook but your body is jittery with nervous energy and it's hard to concentrate. Bucky asked Steve today and you have yet to learn how it went. Your husband could have texted you, but Bucky often forgets that texting exists.

When the key turns in the lock you can't keep your cool any longer. Running into the hallway just as Bucky kicks off his shoes you don't even pretend to be nonchalant about it. "Well?" you ask.

With a chuckle, Bucky envelopes you in a hug. To be in his arms is the best feeling in the world. Surrounded by his scent and his warmth, knowing you're safe and cared for. "He's going to think about it, didn't say no. He was just shocked." Pulling back you squeeze Bucky's waist. "I understand that. I was too when you first brought it up," you note.

Bucky starts backing you out of the hallway until your back meets a wall. "But now you can't stop thinking about it," his deep voice taunts, making you light up with desire. "Now you want to get fucked while I watch and get humiliated.” The sound coming from your throat makes it impossible for you to deny it.

***

A few weeks later, you’re sitting beside Bucky, across from Steve in your living room. The guys have beers and you have a glass of wine. Steve's cheeks have been pink since he stepped through the door and looked at you. "I understand if you think it's a little… odd," you say to him. "And even if you say yes now, you can always change your mind later."

Steve nods and takes a swing from the bottle. He's not going to get drunk but it eases the nerves. "So, I'll fuck you while Bucky watches?" "Yeah," you nod. Steve puts the bottle down, dragging a hand over his face. "God, I'm going to be honest, I'm scared it's going to fuck up our friendship Buck. What if we do this and it's not what you imagined?" Bucky nods, but his answer is sure when he responds. "Then we'll stop. And there are no hard feelings. The same goes for you, even if we're right in the middle of it and it starts to feel wrong, just say the word and it stops right away."

Steve doesn’t look convinced. Honestly, you're just glad he wanted to come over and discuss it. A little idea forms in your head. You put down the wine. "How about a trial run?" you suggest. Both men turn to look at you but you only keep your attention on Steve. "If you're okay with it, I'll sit on your lap. If that feels alright we can share a kiss while Bucky watches and if it feels wrong it doesn't have to go any further."

Steve thinks for a moment, then agrees. A small groan comes from Bucky, just the thought of it makes him aroused. You kiss him on the cheek before standing up and slowly walking over to Steve. His eyes follow your every move but he doesn’t look scared.

When you straddle him, his hands immediately come to rest on your hips but then it's as if he realizes what he's done and stiffens. "It's okay," you encourage him. "You can touch me." He relaxes minimally and you settle down completely. "You can stop anytime," you remind him as you cup his bearded face. His tongue comes out and wets his plush lips, nodding.

You let your thumbs run along his cheeks, never breaking eye contact and the moment feels so intimate. You’re unsure what to expect, but your pulse picks up as he becomes more confident, moving his hands up and down your sides. A finger slips in under your sweater and brushes your skin. It sends a shiver down your spine and a pleased whimper comes out of your throat. That seems to encourage him and the light touches turn heavier.

Carefully you lean forward, giving Steve time to stop or to pull away. The hesitation on his face from earlier has fled and instead, you see a spark of eagerness. Pressing your lips softly against his, it takes a second for him to return it.

Turns out Steve Rogers is a great kisser. After sliding your lips together he quickly turns bolder, opening your mouth with his and finding your tongue to play with. His touches get greedier too. When both his hands shift in under your sweater to feel your naked skin you whimper again, longing for more of it. Without noticing you’ve started moving, seeking friction for the throbbing between your legs.

"Oh, fuck yes," you hear Bucky grunt behind you. That makes Steve break the kiss, you meet his wild eyes, pupils blown wide from lust.

"Your husband is getting off on you grinding in my lap, honey." You’ve never heard his voice so deep before. "He has his hand inside his pants, stroking his pathetic little dick while you do your best to hump me.” "Fuckfuckfuck," you hear from Bucky. With a whine you press down hard, feeling that Steve is just as affected as you. With difficulty, you stop yourself from going to the floor and beg to suck his dick. Instead, the both of you continue with the heated make-out session, your hands now heavy on Steve’s body, wishing you had his skin against yours.

The sounds coming from Bucky on the couch grow more urgent and it turns you on to know he's getting off to you making out with Steve. It feels wrong and so right at the same time. Steve nips your lower lip before kissing down your neck, saying, "I can't wait to fuck that sweet cunt of yours." Both you and Bucky moan. "Gonna give you a night you've never had before and make sure every time your husband fucks you all you can think about is my dick."

That makes Bucky lose it, a small shout declaring his climax. Steve and you slow down the tempo of your kissing until it's just soft, barely there caresses. Though the need is alight in your body, coherent thoughts start to tumble back in and after a few minutes, you pull back from him. His lips are swollen, and you feel a tinge of reproach for getting carried away with him. Cupping his face once more you ask, "How are you feeling?" He gives a dry laugh, "It's a mix of shame and horniness."

When you frown he grabs your hands to remove them from his face, squeezing them before letting go. "It's alright, it felt good while it was happening,” he reassures you, before asking over your shoulder. “How about you Buck?" "That's the hardest I've ever come from jerking off in my life I think." Both Steve and you laugh as you collapse against his chest. Immediately he starts caressing your back. You get a familiar feeling in your chest, one you usually only get when Bucky holds you.

"How about you, doll?" Bucky asks. "I liked knowing I was doing something to get you off at the same time as it was kind of "wrong"." A moment later you get off Steve, and sit down on the couch beside Bucky again. Somehow it feels weird to be away from him but you chalk it up to the sexual desire still prominent in your body.

“How about another meeting in a week or so? Get everyone to think it through another round and then we can decide on a date and location?” Bucky suggests. You nod and Steve does too.

***

On a Friday, after numerous more talks to plan the evening and all of you getting your STD tests back clean, it's finally time. The excitement is palpable in the hotel room you decide to stay in.

At Steve and Bucky’s request, you're wearing a very tight dress and the smallest pieces of underwear known to man.

Steve is sitting at the foot of the bed, white shirt tucked into black slacks like he's heading out to dinner, not about to fuck his best friend's wife. Bucky is in jeans and one of his henleys, placing an armchair at the side of the bed.

Even though you know what is about to happen, you feel nervous, but also excited to fulfill your husband's kink. When you take your place in front of Steve, meeting his hungry eyes, there is a buzz in your body making you bite your lip.

"Ready?" Bucky asks and you both nod. The moment Bucky sits down you climb onto Steve's lap. The smooth material of his slacks caresses your inner thighs as you settle. Immediately his hands land at your waists and starts stroking your sides, down to your ass, squeezing and pressing you just a little bit closer. Those blue eyes are a storm, filled with lust and need. Your face probably mirrors his and a second later your lips are pressed together.

Both of you moan and Steve fists the fabric of the dress, threatening to tear it to shreds. A soft groan is heard, and both of you smile into the kiss. Steve pulls away, making you pout, but he tsks at you. "Just be happy that I'm the one kissing you and not the shitty husband you have.”

Something in you wants to defend Bucky because he's not a shitty husband. He's amazing in every way! But you know that this is what he wants, it's part of the game. Bucky gets off on Steve's degradation. You can't deny him that.

Then he's kissing you again, heavier than earlier. Your hands grab his head, messing up the semi-styled hair, anchoring you to him. On their own accord, your hips roll against Steve's crotch, pulling moans from the both of you.

A second later he has you flipped onto your back, smiling down deviously as you stare at him in shock. But when he presses his clothed cock to your soaked panties the shock is forgotten. Pleasure engulfs every sense of your being.

"There you go honey, let me take care of you, let me make you feel better than your husband ever could." With a whine you jerk against him, trying to find relief for the ache in your cunt, but instead, he pulls away, taking your panties with him. Without looking he throws them Bucky's way and another groan comes from him when he feels how wet they are. Steve gets off the bed and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Show your husband, honey. Show him how fucking wet you are for me."

With a whimper, you spread your legs. The air feels cool against your heated flesh. You don't dare to look at Bucky but understand he sees what Steve wants him to when a broken moan can be heard through the room.

"Touch yourself," Steve commands, and with shaking fingers you find your entrance, letting one sink it into yourself, wondering if you've ever been this wet before.

Slowly you move it, all while watching Steve get undressed. He's in no hurry. With a thick voice, he says, "One more, but don't you dare come."

With stuttered breath push another finger in. The sound that fills the room is obscene but leaves no doubt about how horny you are. When Steve is down to his underwear he pulls the fingers from you, sucking them into his mouth, groaning at the taste. After licking them clean he releases them with a pop and smirks at you. Then he turns to Bucky and it's the first time you get a good look at him.

His hands are gripping the arms of the chair in a death grip, you're surprised his vibranium hand hasn't done more damage. He's taken off his henley and his cock is out, hard and leaking onto his abdomen. Glassy eyes follow Steve's movements. The blond grabs Bucky's face, forcing his mouth open and tilting his head back. Immediately Bucky sticks out his tongue and from above Steve lets his spit run down into Bucky's mouth.

Bucky's dick twitches and leaks more. "That's the only fucking taste you'll have of your wife tonight. Say thank you." Steve rumbles. As soon as Bucky has swallowed down the mix of your slick and Steve's spit he says "Thank you," in a voice hoarser than you've ever heard before.

Steve comes back to you, pulling your dress off and stepping out of his underwear before settling on the bed and pressing your legs up against your stomach. "Now I'm going to get a proper taste of that sweet cunt," he grins.

"Steve!" you cry and your hands immediately find his hair as he dives in. His tongue travels from your opening to your clit, over and over again, soaking you in his spit until you feel it running down your ass. He sucks and licks, alternating pressure, and speed to make sure you're never quite getting enough to make you come but to keep you constantly on edge. The moment he sinks two fingers into you, you arch off the bed and a high-pitched wail leaves your mouth.

You're at the brink of shattering. The current of the climax is cursing through your body. Incoherent babbling fills the room as you try to urge Steve to take pity on you. Luckily for you, he does and concentrates the movements of his tongue to your clit, as his fingers press against your G-spot. A surge of heat fills your core, making it almost unbearable before it takes you and you come with a shout.

Steve works you through it until you're twitching from oversensitivity, pressing on his forehead to get him to stop. "Almost pushed my fingers right out with that," he muses, twisting them, pumping slowly. "Bet your husband has never made you come so hard."

A groan from Bucky accompanies your whimper. "Now tell me what you need honey." "I need you inside me!" "But my fingers are already inside," Steve makes a point by pressing the two fingers inside against your G-spot, making you lose your train of thought for a second.

"I- I mean…" you try. "Yes?" "More, I need more." "Just say the words." "I need your cock inside me, Steve, please!"

Seconds after his fingers have left you, he flips you onto your stomach, then puts you on your hands and knees right at the edge of the bed, at an angle where Bucky can see you. You're trembling with anticipation of what's coming.

Steve caresses your ass and legs, lightly dragging his fingers over your swollen clit and soaked center. "I can't believe this pretty fucking cunt is wasted on your husband." "Please, Steve!" "I bet you're never this wet for him" "No!" "You want me to fuck your sweet cunt, honey?" "Yes!" "Make it drip with my cum?" "Please!" "Should I knock you up, right here in front of your husband?" "Fuck me! Please!" As you feel the warm head against your cunt your arms collapse, your cheek resting against the bed.

"I love it when you beg for me," his strained voice is deep as he pushes inside. Moans, whimpers, and wails fall from your lips once he starts moving. He's big, just like Bucky, and you love to feel so full. You push back as he thrusts forward, the sound of skin against skin filling the room.

Suddenly there is a hand on your neck, making you turn your head until you see Bucky at the edge of your vision. "Tell your husband how my cock feels!" Steve demands. "Ah! Bucky! It feels so good!"

Bucky is still not touching his cock, his mouth is slightly open, his whole face red as he watches you. "Yeah, doll, you like it?" "I do! I do!" "Is he big?" "Yes! I feel so full!" That makes Steve laugh. "All she wants is a big dick and all she got was you," Steve tells Bucky.

Bucky is about to burst with those words and the armchair creeks in his grip. Then Steve turns your head again so you can't see him anymore. Instead, you're focused on how he's fucking you rough and deep. "You're gripping me so tight honey, it's like you don't want to let me go." You answer with a strangled moan. "Yeah, you're too full of cock to talk, just be a good little wife and take what I give you."

And you do, body going almost boneless as Steve fucks you. Carefully another orgasm starts to build in your lower stomach, and soon it has you wiggling and whining, needing release.

Steve's hand finds your aching clit. "That's it," he groans. "I need you to come on my cock before I fill you up with my cum. Make sure you tell your husband whose dick it is you're coming on, honey. I want it seared into his mind. Every time he fucks you from now on all he's going to remember is how loud you screamed my name." Nodding helplessly you do as he says and as the dam breaks and pleasure rushes through you, you wail Steve's name.

A moment later the telltale sign of Steve's orgasm floods you and he groans your name. For a moment his hips are plastered to you, keeping everything inside. Then he pulls out and the cum runs down your legs. When he lets go of your hips you don't have the strength to keep yourself up anymore. Falling to the side you watch Steve walk over to Bucky, pulling him up and pushing him towards you. "Go fuck my cum back into your wife."

Bucky all but scrambles over to you, ridding himself of his pants in the process before carefully turning you over onto your back and sinking into you. You wrap your arms and legs around him, your lips finding his in a familiar dance.

"I won't last, doll," he confesses. "Don't need you to," you promise with a smile. A second later Bucky’s hips stutter, his orgasm causing him to cry out against your shoulder. It lasts longer than usual and brings a wide smile to your lips, knowing Bucky's fantasy is fulfilled.

When he's done he collapses on top of you, his weight heavy but welcoming, making you feel safe and loved. A moment later you look over at the armchair, expecting to find Steve, but he’s not there. His clothes are gone too and then you hear the door to the hotel room shut.

***

The anxiety in Bucky's chest grows for every dial tone that sounds and Steve doesn't pick up. The whole weekend he’s tried to get a hold of him but he hasn't answered his phone or been seen at the compound. Bucky sent hundreds of texts, all being delivered but none replied to. There is a hole in his chest where his best friend used to live and it feels like he's getting a glimpse into how it was for Steve to find him and lose him over and over again.

Bucky wanders into the exhibition, eyes searching for Steve. This is the last place on his list of where he could be. After this, he's out of ideas. Then Steve might as well have gone to outer space and Bucky shudders at the thought of searching aimlessly through the galaxies for him. But he would do it.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he spots a familiar back. As Bucky steps up beside him, Steve’s shoulders go stiff. "You left," Bucky states. "I know," Steve responds, looking down.

"Why? We agreed to talk afterward to make sure everyone was feeling okay. It's called aftercare for a reason." "I don't know, just seeing the two of you. You love each other so much." "We do. But we love you too."

Steve huffs at that and Bucky's eyebrows draw together. "Am I going to have to beat it out of you, punk?" "Maybe this conversation is better somewhere else," Steve suggests, glancing around. "How about we go to our place? She's worried sick about you." Steve nods and together they leave the museum.

***

You’re going to wear a hole into the floor with your endless pacing. Over and over again you replay the moments after hearing the door shut. The look on Bucky’s face. The scramble to find clothes and run after Steve. Not finding him anywhere. Both of you frantically calling him over and over again.

Then you hear Bucky's truck. And a motorcycle. Your bare feet start running before you know it and you fling the door open to see Steve get off his bike. A heartbeat later you're running across the lawn. He sees you and he’s confused, but when you jump into his arms he catches you without hesitation.

You want to scream and beat him but instead, you cling to him. Bucky says something but you can't hear it and then you feel Steve start heading towards the house.

"Doll, you have to let go," Bucky's soft voice says as Steve sits on the couch. In response, you shake your head like a petulant child. "Yes, you do, come on," It's a little sterner now. "Honey, I'm not disappearing again. I promise." Only then do you slide to the side so you're sitting next to Steve, Bucky on the other side of him.

"We're very sorry we got you into this Steve," Bucky begins right away. "It was supposed to be a fun night for all of us." Finding Steve’s hand you squeeze it to let him know you agree with what Bucky's saying. "We never wanted to hurt you," you whisper.

There is a long beat of silence and you're about to speak again but Steve says, "It's my fault that I wasn't honest with the two of you." His eyes are downcast and he brings your hand into his lap, then grabs Bucky's too. "I should have said something earlier but I was scared."

"Of what Stevie?" you ask softly. "We want you to be happy, you can tell us anything." Steve snorts, weaving all your fingers together. "Scared to tell my best friend and his lovely wife that I care for them more than I should. That when I can't sleep, I wish I could feel their warm bodies beside me. That every time I see them kiss, smile, and be utterly happy together I'm both jealous and delighted. I want the two of you to have a good life. But I also want to be a part of that life, more than just as a friend."

The confession knocks the air from your lungs and you share a look with Bucky. He speaks first. "Steve, I had no idea." "That's kind of the point." "And when I suggested that you join us…" Bucky trails off. "I saw it as the only opportunity to be with the two of you, even if it was just for one night." "And when we were done…" You try to think of it from Steve's perspective. "The way you love each other is so evident. I'll never be able to fit into that. Everything just felt wrong and that I was an intruder. So I left. I know I shouldn't have but I was so disgusted with myself I couldn't stand it."

"Oh Stevie," you lean into his side. Never in a million years could you have predicted this. "I understand if you're feeling like you never want to see me again and I’m truly sorry I hurt you.”

"Hey, Steve, listen." Bucky untangles your hands to grip Steve's face and turn it towards him. "We have talked about a lot of things throughout our marriage. We both agree that even if we're not actively looking for someone else, if someone would come along one day that we both feel would complete us, then we would pursue that person and ask if that's something they're interested in. Apparently, we've both been blind because that person has been right in front of us this whole time."

As soon as Bucky says the words you know they are true. If this weekend has proved anything it is that you and Bucky love Steve just as much as you love each other.

The look on Steve's face says he doesn't believe it. "You've already kissed my wife. Can I kiss you, Steve?"

The disbelief is still evident but he nods and Bucky slowly leans in. Steve's eyelids flutter shut the moment their lips meet and you watch as your husband and his best friend find something new in each other. Steve's free hand comes up and grips Bucky's neck, at the same time and he squeezes your hand. Their kiss is slow and sensual, containing emotions that have been locked away for years. It's beautiful to watch.

As they break apart a blush rises in Steve's cheeks and a smile cracks his face. Bucky grins back at him in answer. Everything isn't solved or worked out but now the ground under you feels more stable to stand on and you know that together with these two men there is nothing the world can't throw at you that you won't be able to handle.

[natsaffection]

Paramedic. | N.R

Paramedic!Natasha x Reader

Warnings: Motorcycles Accident, detailed first aid, Imjurys

Word Count: 2,3k

A/N: I had a dream about this last night and just had to write it. 🫠

The sun was setting, painting the city a warm golden hue as you rode your motorcycle down the quiet street. The wind whipped against your helmet and you felt an intoxicating sense of freedom. But in an instant, everything changed. A car slammed into your path and you had no time to react. The impact was brutal, sending you rolling across the asphalt before everything went black.

When you came back to consciousness, the world was a blur of flashing lights and distant sirens. A sharp and unrelenting pain coursed through your body. You could hear voices, but couldn't make out the words. Panic began to set in as it became clear that you couldn't remember what had happened.

"Hey, can you hear me?" a voice called out, clear and strong. You blinked, trying to focus on the face above you. A woman with red hair, dressed in a paramedic uniform, leaned over you, concern etched in her face.

"Stay with me," she said softly, scanning your body for injuries. "I'm Natasha. You're going to be okay. We'll take good care of you."

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry and the words wouldn't come. You felt the panic rising again, the fear of not knowing what had happened or how badly you were hurt.

"Can you tell me your name?" Natasha asked, keeping her tone calm and reassuring. "Y/N," you whispered, your voice barely audible "Good, Y/N. Can you tell me what day it is?" Natasha's question was met with silence as you tried to remember.

"I... I don't know," you stammered, your eyes wide with fear. "I don't remember.." Natasha exchanged a quick glance with her colleague Sam, her concern clearly visible. "It's okay, Y/n. Sometimes our brains are a little foggy after a shock. Just focus on me and breathe."

When Natasha's team arrived with a stretcher, she turned to them and gave them instructions with practiced efficiency. "We need to remove her helmet, but very carefully. I don't want any further damage to her spine."

Two paramedics were treating at your side, their movements precise and monitored. Natasha knelt next to you and spoke softly. "We're going to take your helmet off now. It might hurt a little, but we have to do it. Just keep breathing for me, okay?"

"Okay.." weakly, bracing yourself. As she began to lift the helmet, you winced in pain, a soft moan escaping your lips. "you're doing great, just a little more."

Natasha could feel her anger bubbling just beneath the surface. The driver who had caused this was nearby and she had to pull herself together not to punch him in the face. Especially now, as she took in your features, absolutely beautiful even in distress.

"All right, Sam, let's put the neck brace on her," Natasha said. "Y/n, I'm going to hold your head completely still. This might be a little uncomfortable, but it's important. Ready, Sam?"

"Ready," Sam replied, getting into position. Natasha gently supported your head and held it completely still while Sam put the neck brace around your neck. "You're doing great, Y/n. Just keep breathing with me."

When the neck brace was secure, Natasha checked to make sure it was in place. "All right, now let's carefully lay you down on the back plate. Sam, you take her shoulders, I'll take her hips. On the count of three. One, two, three.”

They gently lifted you onto the back plate, Natasha's hands not letting go of your body. You winced in pain as Natasha's hands brushed over a spot. She turned to her team. “We need to check her chest. Get me some scissors.”

One of the paramedics quickly handed Natasha a pair of medical scissors. Natasha looked you in the eyes, her expression serious but gentle. “Y/N, I need to cut open your shirt to see what's wrong, okay? This might be a little uncomfortable.”

You nodded and tried to stay calm. Natasha carefully cut open your shirt and exposed your chest. She could see that it was slightly swollen and bruised. Natasha carefully felt the spot, feeling if anything was wrong.

“Does that hurt?” Natasha asked, squeezing lightly. You winced, tears welling up in her eyes. “Y-Yeah..”

“Looks like you took quite a hit. Can you feel this?” She lightly touched your legs, checking to see if she could feel anything. “Yes,” you answered, your voice shaking. “I can feel it.”

“Good, that’s a good sign,” Natasha said, relief evident in her voice. “It’s going to be okay. Just hang in there.” As your eyes wandered, you saw your motorcycle lying bent and broken on the road. Panic flooded through you and you began to hyperventilate. “My bike… oh my god, what happened? W-What happened?”

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Natasha said firmly, taking your face in her hands. “I know it’s scary, but you have to stay calm. Your motorcycle can be replaced. You can’t. You’re what’s important now.”

Just then, the driver who caused the accident tried to get closer, but a police officer held him back. "I just want to see if she's okay!" the driver shouted in a desperate voice. "Stay back!" the officer barked, pushing him away. Natasha glared at the driver and muttered under her breath. "Damn idiot."

Turning her attention back to you, Natasha's expression softened. "We're taking you to the hospital and they'll take care of you." As the paramedics lifted you onto the stretcher, Natasha stayed by your side, holding your hand and speaking in a soothing tone. "I've been in your situation once. I'm a rider too. I know how it feels. But you're strong and you'll get through this."

As they loaded you into the ambulance, you caught another glimpse of your broken bike "I need to see it, please.." Natasha held you in a gentle but firm style. "No, you have to stay still. Your head and neck are injured and we can't risk making it worse. The bike is just metal and rubber. You're what matters."

Your eyes filled with tears, frustration and fear overwhelming them. "But..." Natasha wiped away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. "I promise when you're better we'll sort everything out. But for now you have to trust me. Stay calm and focus on getting through this."

As the ambulance doors closed, Natasha kept her eyes locked on you. The ambulance was a controlled frenzy. Monitors beeped softly and the smell of disinfectant filled the air. Natasha sat next to you, holding your hand and constantly checking your vitals.

"Keep breathing, Y/n," Natasha said, her voice firm and reassuring. "We're almost at the hospital. You're doing great." You nodded weakly, your eyelids fluttering as you fought to stay conscious. The pain was relentless, but the fear was even worse.

Natasha picked up the radio and began relaying information to the hospital. "Unit 3 here. We're with a Y/A -year-old woman who was the victim of a motorcycle accident. Conscious but disoriented. Possible concussion, multiple bruises, and likely broken ribs. Vital signs stable but in severe pain. Estimated arrival in five minutes.”

After putting the radio away, Natasha turned her attention back to you. “How are you?” she asked softly. You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know how to describe the pain, the fear, the confusion. You just wanted it all to stop.

“Y/n, can you hear me?” Natasha asked again, her voice growing more urgent. “How are you feeling?”

“I… I don’t know,” you murmured, your voice shaking. “I… I feel sick.” Natasha’s expression hardened with concern. “Okay, hang in there. We’re almost there. Try to breathe slowly and deeply for me.”

As they raced to the hospital, Natasha continued to watch you closely. She reached out to adjust an oxygen mask on your face and make sure you were getting enough air. "It's going to be okay," she repeated, her voice determined. "Just keep focusing on my voice."

Your eyes fluttered open and closed, your breathing unsteady. "I'm scared," you whispered. "I know," Natasha replied quietly. "But you're not alone. We're here for you and we'll make sure you get through this."

The ambulance pulled into the emergency room and the doors swung open. Natasha and her team moved quickly, transferring you from the ambulance to a waiting stretcher. As they wheeled you into the hospital, Natasha stayed by your side, never letting go of your hand.

"Y/A -year-old female, motorcycle accident," Natasha reported to the emergency room team. "Possible concussion, multiple bruises, suspected broken ribs. She's in severe pain and nausea."

As they prepared you for further examination, Natasha leaned forward and whispered, "Remember, you are strong. You will get through this." Your fear began to fade in the face of Natasha's unwavering support. As you were wheeled away for further treatment, you clung to the promise of those words, knowing you were not alone in this fight.

In the days that followed, you recovered slowly but steadily. You spent a lot of time in the hospital regaining your strength and processing the accident. "Hey," she greeted. "I heard someone is being discharged soon."

Your face beamed at the sight of Natasha. "Yes... What are you doing here?" Natasha pulled a chair next to your bed. "Do you mind if I sit down with you for a moment? I brought coffee."

"Of course not," you replied, your eyes shining. “Thanks for stopping by.” You spent the next few minutes chatting, and the conversation went smoothly. Natasha pulled out her phone and showed you pictures of her own bike. “This is my baby,” Natasha said proudly. “I’ve had it for a few years now.” Your eyes widened in admiration. “Wow, it’s beautiful. What kind is it?”

“A Ducati Panigale V4,” Natasha replied, her eyes lighting up. “I’ve had some amazing rides on it.” You smiled, feeling a sense of camaraderie. “It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been on a bike.”

Natasha nodded sympathetically. “You’ll be getting back on one soon. For now, just focus on healing.” Your smile faded slightly. “I… I’m a little scared, to be honest. What if something happens again?”

Natasha's eyes softened with understanding. "It's perfectly normal to feel this way after an accident. It can be scary to get back on a bike, but you can't let fear control you. Take it one step at a time."

"How did you do it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "After your accident?" Natasha had to smile, "Someone remembers, good." She took a deep breath and thought back. "It wasn't easy. I took my time, started with short rides and gradually built up my confidence. And I always remembered why I loved riding in the first place. It gave me a sense of freedom and peace."

You nodded, taking in Natasha's words. "I guess I just need to find that courage again."

"You will," Natasha assured her. "And I'll support you every step of the way." As they continued talking, the topic changed to Natasha's job. "So, how did you become a paramedic?" you asked, genuinely curious.

Natasha leaned back and sipped her coffee. "Well, I've always wanted to help people. After some time in other fields, I realized that being a paramedic is my true calling. It's hard, but it's worth it."

"I can imagine," you said quietly. "You were incredible to me. I don't know how I would have done it without you."

Natasha reached out and squeezed your hand gently. "You would have done just fine. You're strong, Y/N. But I'm glad I could be there for you."

There was a moment of silence, a pleasant one as they both seemed to reflect on the bond that had formed between them. You looked at Natasha, your eyes filled with gratitude and something more.

You smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through you. "Maybe when I'm better we can go for a ride together?" Natasha had to smile, "I'd like that," Natasha replied, her smile widening. "I'd like that a lot."

Days later one afternoon, as you were preparing for your discharge, Natasha came into your room with a helmet in her hand. "Ready for a little surprise?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.

Your eyes widened with excitement. "Is this for me?" Natasha nodded. "It is. I thought we could go for a quick drive if you'd like. Just around the hospital grounds."

Your heart swelled with gratitude and excitement, but also a hint of concern. "I'm a little nervous," you admitted.

"That's totally fine," Natasha said in a gentle voice. "We'll take it slow. You don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with."

But with Natasha by your side, you felt a surge of courage. "Fine. Let's do it." As they walked out to the hospital parking lot, Natasha handed you the helmet and helped you onto her own motorcycle. The engine roared and for the first time since the accident, you felt a sense of freedom and elation.

You drove slowly across the hospital grounds, the wind in your hair, the sun on your face. In that moment, everything felt perfect. When she stopped, you turned to Natasha with your whole heart. "Thank you for everything, Natasha. You changed my life."

Natasha smiled and her eyes reflected the same feelings. "And you changed mine, Y/N. Here's to a new beginning and many more journeys together."

-

-

-

-

[bangtanficsforyou]

Hello, Love (JJK)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, probable smut (we don't know yet lololol)

Rating: 18+

Summary: You had a plan when you returned home, seven years later. However, falling in love with your sister's fiance wasn't it.

Warning: mentions of drug addiction, familial neglect.

A/N: Based on a movie 😏📸. Also, here's a post explaining why I disappeared.

Playlist | Patreon

“So you’re getting married tomorrow, huh?” the rhetorical question slips from your mouth with a smile. A smile that in every way looks, forced. 

You don’t know what you were thiniking. But a part of you, just wanted to have a conversation with your sister. Maybe you had hoped for it to be like one of those conversations. The kind that you’d see in movies, taking place between two sisters, when one is about to hit a big milestone. 

Maybe a little reminscing about the old days. A little recallation of the past times when you both got into trouble. Joking about the embarassing moments. A little laughter, a few tears and hearts filled with warmth. 

“Yes, I am,” your sister replies without bothering to look up.

You linger at the doorway for a moment and then realise how stupid you were. 

You nod, knowing very well that this is pretty much the end of the conversation–if you could even call it that. You let the door shut quietly and slip out of the room.

Tomorrow, your sister is getting married. Your elder sister, to be more specific. 

She is getting married to the man she loves, to the man she has been in a relationship with for seven years.

The man, who unfortunately happens to be the one you have fallen in love with, in the span of these last few weeks. 

Oh how did you get into this mess and expect it to result into anything other than heartbreak?

SEVEN YEARS AGO

The loud music playing through the speakers tempts you to join the ongoing celebrations. You look at the joyful faces of your family members and a smile appears on your face. Lord knows when you will be seeing them next.

“Please take care of yourselves,” you whisper, knowing very well that you should leave as quickly as possible.

However, your gaze lingers on one person in particular. Your father.  Oh, how you wish you could just hug him once before leaving. But that might not be a smart move. Your resolve might weaken on feeling his arms around you. No, you cannot afford that.

You take a deep inhale and turn away from the wedding celebrations. You march towards the exit gate with hurried steps. Your feet however, come to a halt when you spot one of your friends chatting with some guy near the gate. Shit. You turn away immediately and flee the spot before she can spot you.

Once you’re sure that there is no way for her to see you, you release a sigh of relief. You have no idea how you’d have explained the bags and luggage you’re currently carrying, had she seen you.

The thought of that makes you feel more urgency to leave this wedding venue. You look around frantically hoping that there would be some other gate. You do spot one, however, there stands your father’s uncle’s son’s son, who has seemingly found this to be the ideal smoking spot.

A few moments later, you come to the conclusion that there is indeed, only one way to escape this place. You need to climb over the wall.

You find a quiet place, away from the crowd, that has very dim lighting. You throw your bags over the wall and wait for the thud to confirm that your bags have landed on the other side. Then, you roll the sleeves of your shirt up and get ready for the difficult part; the climbing.

Thanks to your experience with tree climbing, you somehow successfully manage to climb the wall at your second attempt. However, it’s that wired fence that causes you more trouble than you would have ever imagined.

Somehow, it gets stuck to the back of your shirt in such an awkward position that you cannot even grab a hold of it properly. The only way for you to get your shirt unstuck would be to pull the piece of cloth hard enough. But then you cannot do that. It will tear your shirt and boy, where will you go and change now?

Slowly, very slowly, you move the shirt, hoping somehow, it would get freed from the wire.

Okay, so maybe a little this side–a little on the other–no, wait this is not–

“Are you leaving or are you arriving?”

A voice speaks, startling you to your very core. You look up and feel extremely relieved upon realising that this man happens to be someone who’s completely unknown to you.

“Well as of now, I’m stuck,” you trail off, hoping that the guy would catch the hint and help you.

Thankfully, he does.

He gathers a couple bricks that were laying around and tip toes on them for his hands to reach the wired fence. Despite not being able to see how the wire has gotten stuck in your shirt, his hand somehow still manages to do the job smoothly.

Once you’re free, you’re quick to get down. Dusting off your clothes, you pick your bags up. “Thank you, for helping me.”

“Considering that you got down on this side of the wall, I’m going to assume that you’re leaving.” He observes.

You look at him for a moment and then nod. “Yes, I am.”

“Do you need help with the bags?”

A smile appears on your lips at his words, as you think this guy is a little too nice for his own good. “Sure, that’d actually be helpful!”

Nodding he bends down to pick up the bags. He’s surprised when he realises how heavy your luggage actually is. “Damn, these are heavy.”

“I know,” you glance at your watch. “Let’s get going.”

It takes him a split second to process as you start walking immediately after the words are out of your mouth, without so much of a second glance at him. Your quick movements make him trail behind you, as you make your way through the playground which connects to the main road.

Having given up on catching up with you, he looks around and sees a bunch of kids playing football on one side of the ground. While the other side remains occupied with kids playing cricket. The scoreboard catches his attention as it reads “6 required from 3 balls”. That’s intense, he thinks.

His eyes remain fixed on the match as his feet continue to move. The bowler bowls and he watches with excitement as the batsman flicks it for a single. As the strike rotates, the scoreboard now changes to “5 required from 2 balls”.

The second last delivery of the match and much to his surprise, it’s a full toss. The ball connects right to the centre of the bat and goes straight in the air. His eyes follow the ball and he watches with a bated breath as he waits for it to be either a six or a four.

His jaw drops open, when the ball is caught–by you. You aim the ball straight at the stumps and before the runner can reach the crease, the ball hits the wickets, dismissing the bails.

“OUT!” 

A unanimous shout breaks out, celebrating the wicket. The tension breaks as the match is now in favour of the defending side.

Suddenly, the bags aren’t as heavy as they were moments ago and he rushes to catch up with you. “That was such a cool throw.”

“Thanks,” you shoot him a smile.

“Do you play cricket?” He queries, his eyes shining bright with excitement.

“I once used to. Nowadays, I don’t really get the time to play.” You shrug. “I love watching cricket though.”

“Did you watch yesterday’s match?” His excitement heightens.

“No I didn’t, but I did watch the highlights.”

“You missed one of the greatest matches of all times,” he shakes his head, emphasising his point with a dreamy smile on his face.

“I just don’t like watching ODIs,” you comment. “I think cricket matches should be of twenty overs. Four hours and the match is done.”

“I mean sure, T20Is are good, they are explosive in nature,” he agrees. “But nothing beats the longer formats of cricket.”

“Well, i am yet to get the hang of them,” you muse. “Maybe someday, I will get the hang of ODIs.”

“Maybe a India VS Australia match would do it for you.”

“Oh! I live for the sledging in India-Australia matches.”

“But then, the real spirit of cricket is in test matches! Five long days for one match and yet the match might be a tie. It really does test a man’s patience,” he speaks, his hands moving animatedly with each word. “Maybe that’s why they are called test matches, you know?”

“Kudos to the players playing these matches, because I do not have the patience to watch a test match. Can’t imagine playing it.”

“You should try watching a good bilateral series sometime, I bet you’ll like it.”

“Oh, I have definitely tried watching test matches before and I remember in half an hour, the scoreboard changed from 243 to 245. That was pretty much it for me.”

Your words cause him to cackle. “Maybe someday, you’ll realise the beauty of test matches, who knows?”

“Maybe. Someday.”

A brief moment of silence falls between the both of you.

“Who’s your favourite player, right now?”

“Has to be Steve Smith!” You claim proudly, without a second thought.

“Dude has got a bright future in cricket, that’s for sure.”

“I love how smoothly he hits those shots. It’s a treat watching him,” you add, your admiration for the young player visible in your eyes.

He hums and lets the conversation die as you both approach the main road, which is from where he assumes you’re about to take some vehicle to continue the rest of your journey. His assumption is proved right when you start waving at a taxi approaching towards the both of you.

“Airport?” You ask and upon receiving a nod from the driver, you start loading your luggage in the car. Once everything is settled, you get in as well. Locking in the door, you wave at him and ask the driver to get going.

He watches as the taxi sets to motion with a small lingering smile on his face. He is about to turn around and leave when the car stops and you poke your head out of the window.

“You want to tag along?” You ask loudly to be heard through the newly made distance between the both of you.

He is bewildered on hearing your words. “But the wedding---,” he points in the direction where the wedding ceremony is being performed, instead of completing his sentence.

“Are you the one who's getting married?” You answer with another question.

“No,” he shakes his head, eyes wide with confusion. How on earth are you saying this so casually?

“Then come along.”

He cannot see the whole of your body as only a portion of it remains poking out of the window and he has only known you for a very brief moment, but for some unknown reason he feels so sure that you must have shrugged as you said those words. And for some odd reason, with how casually you’re treating the situation, he feels the oddness of the situation fade.

“I cannot just leave the wedding like that,” he replies.

“Okay, then. Have fun.”

You do not sound disappointed at all. You sound just as casual, he thinks.

“Have a safe journey,” he yells, as you retreat back inside the car.

A faint, i will, thank you, greet his ears and he shakes his head to himself. You are something, he thinks with that same smile as he heads back to the wedding.

“Dude, I met a 8.5 outside!” He tells his friend the moment he’s within earshot.

His friend doesn’t look at him as his gaze remains fixed somewhere else. “Forget about an 8.5. Look there, there’s a literal 10 right in front of your eyes.”

He follows his friend’s gaze and it leads him to one of the prettiest girls he has ever seen, in his entire life. A ten indeed.

“Wow.” The breathless one word sentence escapes his lips without his permission.

His friend smirks at the reaction. “She’s the bride’s sister. She’s a model but is soon going to feature in some short films.”

The words barely register in his head as the girl locks eyes with him. Maybe he wasn’t discreet with his gawking, after all. What absolutely leaves him speechless, however, is when the girl gives him a shy smile.

The interaction isn’t missed by his friend as he whistles slowly, before murmuring, “Here’s to hoping you’re smart enough to understand what that smile means.”

[studioghibelli]

who we were | a joel miller x reader

summary: lost in his ways in an increasingly dangerous world, joel miller has accepted his fate: to be a lone ranger, crossing the vast stretch of the continental united states in search of his brother. when you, the daughter of his closest companion and memory of what the world once was, ends up in the wrong place at the right time, joel miller has no choice but to face the past he so desperately wants to forget.

warnings: post outbreak au, dbf!joel miller, loss of a parent, cold & emotionally reserved joel, unspecified age gap, violence, fluff, canon divergence, no ellie, a lot of angst. 18+

note: this is for @pedgito summer lovin writing challenge :) sorry it took me so long to post this yall, i got sick as fuck and had no motivation lol. also not spell checked or betad so potentially a few errors. anyways, enjoy pookies xx

He remembers the stench of burning flesh. The charcoal colored embers flickering up into the air, disappearing into the vast expanse of the night sky. He remembers the aching in his throat as he watched the world of his past rot away, remembers the sound of the tears, the shuffle of gravel beneath sore feet.

Joel Miller remembered the funeral of your father like the scars on the back of his hand. It was seared into his memory, never to be forgotten, another locked vault within the confines of his mind with a key that was now lost.

Each time he saw you, he felt it. The dull, distant, throbbing ache of regret, of pain, of bitterness. It formed in the line of his scowl, the narrowing of his eyes, in the way he would turn his shoulder to you, ignore your desperate pleas.

“What’s gotten in to you, Joel?” You’d ask, cold fingertips reaching for a sleeve they would never feel.

“You haven’t always been like this.” A stray tear, a compressing chest, the sinking realization that the man you’ve known for so long had suddenly begun hating you.

He knew it hurt you. He didn’t seem to care.

You had first caught wind he was going to see Tommy up in Wyoming from Tess on a late night run.

“Leaving in about three days.” She said with a shrug, a sizzling cigarette hanging loosely from her lips. “I’m not going. Done chasing that man.”

It was the night before Joel left that you put your foot down. You walked with purpose, fire right behind your heels, angry and seething and fearful and sad, unwilling to be left behind in Boston.

Lonely, strict, suffocating Boston.

It reeked with the stench of your father, the air of your childhood lingered in the bricks of the street. You would do anything to get away from it all. Every window you walked passed held the ghost of your dad’s face, every vendor spoke with the inflection of his voice.

He was everywhere, and you hated it.

Your fist slammed against the door of Joel’s room. An angry Tess, half asleep and covered in the remnants of a bottle of moonshine, was the fate you faced once the old hinges of the door creaked open.

“He already left.”

“Without saying goodbye” was the fact left unspoken.

When you first began hunting him down, you weren’t sure why. Whatever you felt for him was never something you verbalized, nor was it something you allowed yourself to feel.

It was foreign and terrifying, something you had never had to face before.

And something Joel had never had to either.

The throbbing of your heart against your ribs when his fingers would graze past yours, the way your stomach would turn at the sound of his laugh, the way you’d squeak out a thank you when he gave you an extra piece of meat at dinner- all of those little moments had compounded over time, and you were left face to face with a love that was embarrassingly unconditional.

Unfortunately.

The memories of that man were no more. Whoever he once was not who he had evolved in to, and no matter how many times you told yourself that, you could never manage to move on.

You could remember the summer days, the golden light of your younger years, when your father was still alive and Joel was still illuminated with bullet holes of humanity. When he would take you on runs, when he taught you to shoot a rifle, when he stitched your palm back together after a nasty accident with a rusted piece of boat metal.

Joel was always there. Always.

Your dad’s best friend, his closest companion in a world whose hallway lights were flickering on and off, the power quickly dwindling.

He had been your Joel for years.

The unspoken red string of fate had tangled the two of you together in a whirlwind of something neither of you knew the name of. It fabricated itself through the holding of hands on cold winter stakeouts, in the quiet movement of your eyes- a wordless language only you two could decipher. It ended with a kiss, a fleeting moment of passion- or of weakness- depending on who one would ask.

And after that, Joel hardly spoke to you again.

You wanted answers. And if you had to cross the United States to get them, then by fucking God you would.

It had been three weeks since you left the QZ. Three weeks of tirelessly searching for him, following the track of shoe heels in the mud, fresh tire skids- the way your father taught you to track down raiders when you were young enough to be playing dress up and make believe.

You stole a care from an empty lot that reeked with the imprint of cigar smoke and old bourbon, and after nights of almost falling asleep behind the wheel, you had managed to find yourself in Chicago.

Cities were scary to navigate on your own, with vast networks of clickers and fungi lurking behind every corner. Even more intimidating, however, was the present threat of humans who had forgotten what it was to be, well, human.

Your car, a Toyota built before you were ever born, had given up on you halfway in the city, and you had managed to make your way to the Field Museum. The moment you saw it, you forgot about the danger, you forgot about the ever looming threat of flesh eating creatures and overpowering thieves. All you knew was that whatever wonders of the world were being held in there, were wonders of the world you needed to see.

So see them you did.

For a fleeting moment of euphoria, your mission to find Joel Miller was forgotten. He was forgotten, erased from your mind entirely as you gazed upon the forgotten treasures of the past world.

A plaque describing a 4,000 year old Egyptian boat stood before you, and you stared with wide eyes and a smile that made your cheeks ache. You had almost forgotten how to smile.

You wiped the grime off your hands, pressing your palm to the barrier that separated your body and the artifact, wondering what the wood would feel like beneath your fingernails, wondering what it would smell like to sail it across the water.

It must have been so simple back then, without the apocalypse. It must have been like a slice of Heaven, where your biggest enemy was the neighboring country and not being turned into a mushroom headed cryptid.

Yeah. Must have been nice.

You kicked at a torn, weathered pamphlet that had molded into the floor boards, walking down the long, winding halls. In the distance there was a creak, unfamiliar and gut wrenching. The sound of a boot on wood, the brush of a backpack strap on the wall.

You weren’t alone.

Reaching for your gun you crouched behind a towering Brachiosaurus skeleton, peering through its leg at the shadowy figure in the corner.

What should you do?

If your father were here, he’d know. If Joel was here….

Joel.

You almost felt guilty for forgetting about him momentarily. Almost. You probably would have ached more if he hadn’t forgotten you to begin with.

Your knees ached behind the fading denim of your jeans, pieces of gravel and broken glass digging in to you as you peered over the ledge, watching a flickering flash light inspect the corner you were hiding in.

“Come out!” A deep, guttural shout, a mask of intimidation worn by the other person as your cover was blown. You felt your stomach drop, aflame with the nervousness of what could be.

Would they like you up against the wall, shoot you prisoner style? This man could pin you to the ground, do as he pleased. He could cut off a limb, feed you to a clicker, make your life living hell. For all you knew he could keep you as his prisoner, drag you to some QZ or stake out full of grimy, sweaty, gross troglodytes.

Instead, the flashlight wavered over your face, silence engulfing your bodies as you showed yourself, arms in the air, gun forgotten behind you as you took a slow, meagre step.

“You got me.” Your voice betrayed you, cracking at the seams as the syllables poured off your tongue like gritty sand.

“What the actual fuck?” Your name tumbled off the strangers lips, and soon you realized he was no stranger at all.

He was Joel.

Standing there, lips parted, flannel dirty with the hand of an arduous journey.

He was Joel.

Eyes wide like a fawn caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, flashlight barely held beneath his fingers.

He was Joel.

Looking at you as though you were an exhibit behind glass, an artifact of the past world that had been lost in the harsh tundra of time, forever frozen into the sunken faced, tear stained woman he knew from the funeral of his best friend. The woman he had constantly been pushing away, running away from in hopes his thawing heart would trip and stumble along the way, leaving him alone forever more.

“Joel?” You spoke, dumb struck with the realization of who lingered before you.

“Why…. I-” Joel, for the first time in a long time, could hardly form a sentence, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like a drying cotton ball.

“Came looking for you.” You took a step towards him, slowly lowering your hands to your sides.

“Why?”

“Because I care about you.” Joel went to open his mouth before you cut him off. “Even if the feeling isn’t mutual.” You retrieved your gun from behind the dinosaur exhibit, sniffing to yourself as you holstered it and turning to him. “You left me in Boston.”

“Didn’t have any other choice, kid.” Joel shrugged his broad shoulders, a ripple of air shuddering through his chest as he took in a deep breath.

“Of course you did. There’s never just one choice. You know that.”

Joel scoffed to himself. “In this world, there is. Only choice any of us got it to survive.”

With a roll of your eyes you kicked at the ground, spinning around to meet his gaze once more. “You’re so full of fucking shit, Miller.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me! I said you’re full of shit.” You lowered your voice, mocking his slight Southern twang. “All we can do is survive. Blah blah blah. Fucking barf.”

“Now you’re tryin’ to teach me a lesson or somethin’?”

“Somebody fucking has too! Sure as shit isn’t gonna be my daddy, is was it?” You snarled, picking up a pretty necklace that was draped over a broken glass case. You tossed it at him, the jewels hitting against his chest.

“Dumbass, that was a fuckin’ 3,000 year old necklace!” He held his hands up to shield his face, taking a step back. Even after all these years, Joel was still somewhat of a gentleman. He wasn’t going to throw that necklace back at you- both of you knew that.

“Oh, but I thought only survival mattered?!” You shouted, picking up a rock and throwing it at him.

“That was fossilized dinosaur shit! Stop throwin’ things at me! You fucking psycho.” Joel’s upper lip curved into a nasty snarl, eyes narrowing like an angry pit bull. You narrowed them back, challenging him to do something, anything.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Your voice rang off the walls, and you picked up whatever was nearest to you, putting your shoulder into each throw.

“Stop yellin’, woman! And stop throwin’, God dammit.”

You dropped the fossil in your hand, staring at him.

A long moment of silence passed on by, uncomfortable as it blanketed itself around your shoulders, weighted with the presence of what once was, covered in the fur of the terrible awful thing that had been born and grew between the both of you, festering like an open wound year upon year.

“It’s just us here.” The words were barely a whisper from your mouth, and Joel’s face sunk.

“What did you just say?”

“It’s just us here. Remember?”

He swallowed, thick and sturdy in his throat, blinking rapidly. Joel was half convinced his ears were deceiving him, memories of that night flooding back, rushing through his head like rivers of blood, pounding at his cerebellum until he could hardly stand.

The forest air was thick with trepidation, the browning leaves of autumn shaking through the breeze. A storm was coming, brewing behind the dark clouds.

A twig snapped, pulling you from your thoughts.

Joel stood there, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He held a loaf of bread, tossing it towards you.

“Hey there little lady.”

“Hi.” You smiled up at him from where you say, dropping your gun to walk towards him. When he held you, his arms were warm, thick and gentle around you like a fleece blanket. He held you to his chest, a palm pressed to the back of your head. Joel smelled like smoke and stale bars of soap, like soil and denim.

“Anybody follow you?” Your voice was muffled by the fabric of his flannel, and Joel’s chest vibrated with a short chuckle.

“It’s just us here.”

You nodded, breathing him in. His scent had burned its way in your nose, you knew it as well as your own.

Joel’s hand fell to your cheek, dark, distant eyes swirling with something quiet, something he would never dare speak out loud.

“I gotta tell you somethin’.” His voice was a whisper, softer than you had ever known it to be.

“What is it?”

“I’m goin’ to find Tommy. I want you to come with me.” His face wore a mask of stone, his voice sturdy with a hint of hope. “I can get you there safe, somewhere far from Boston.”

“What about dad?” You furrowed your eyebrows, hand lingering over his rough knuckles.

“Your dad’s gettin’ old. I don’t know if he’d make the trip.”

“We can try, can’t we?”

Joel sighed, stepping away from you. He looked tired. Eyes wrinkled by the corners, lips a thin line across his face. Joel was younger than your father by more than decade, but he knew what this world could do, how it could seep into your bones and gnaw at your life force. He knew how tired he felt at fifty-six, he couldn’t imagine what it was like after seventy. And he knew, although he never dared speak it out loud to you, that your father didn’t have much longer.

There was a crack in the distance, the shuffling of feet over twigs. Heavy boots dragging across the wooded floor. In unison you pulled out your guns, holding them in the direction of the potential assailant.

Uncharacteristically chipper, with eyes shining beneath what little light had swept through the canopy of branches, your dad walked towards you, a sore smile across his face.

“I knew I’d find you two here.” His voice was tired, kindly, the voice you had known your whole life.

“Dad! How did you-”

“I’m not naive, you know.”

Joel lowered his gun, coughing into his hand as he searched for a sentence that would never come. “We-”

“I’m not mad at you, boy. Or you. Just wanted to let you know-”

It happened so quickly you barely had time to comprehend the scene unfurling before you. A stray clicker, a pained scream, spurts of blood covering your body as decaying teeth tore into an artery. Your face was painted in the crimson of the man who gave you life, and as Joel took down the monster, you had never felt a weight as heavy as your lifeless father’s body.

The walk back was torturous. Something unspoken began to rot in the bones of both you and Joel. The silent banshee of resentment.

The museum air was humid, and you watched Joel lean against the wall as he caught his breath, his balance wavering as you made your way towards him.

“Remember?” Your voice cracked as you reached towards his face, your thumb brushing across the height of his cheekbone, swollen from a bruise you didn’t want to know how he got.

“How could I forget?”

“Seems like you’ve forgotten a lot these days.”

Joel scoffed, and your shrugged, taking a seat beside him on the ledge. “It’s true. You forgot me.”

“I didn’t want to put you in any danger.”

“Bullshit.”

He turned to look at you, and your eyes met. Joel sighed a heavy, heaving sigh, pressing his forehead into the palm of his hand. “Fine.” You watched as he stood, pacing in front of you. “Fine. You got me.”

Crossing your arms, you waited for Joel to speak again.

“Watching him…. you know- That could have been you.” Joel crouched down in front of you, his dark brown eyes pleading with your own. His teeth gnawed at the inside of his cheek, his hand hovering against your sides, too scared to touch. “I just want you safe.”

“You were selfish.” You croaked, the back of your hand wiping at your face. “You would rather leave me without saying anything than face the prospect of something happening to me. Because you didn’t want to get hurt. Newsflash idiot, you’re the one who ended up hurting me.”

Joel let his hands fall into his knees, his gaze tilting to the ceiling of the museum as he racked his brain for an answer- for anything, really.

“I grew up in this shit hole. You’ve always kept me safe.”

“And I always kept your dad safe, too. Look what happened to him.”

“He’s gone. I’m not, Joel! You can’t treat me like some- like….. like some fucking museum artifact!” You threw your arms in the air in annoyance, steam blowing from your ears as you stood up. Joel followed suit, and soon you were chest to chest. With a sigh, the palms of your hands found his arms. “I got myself all the way here. Without you.”

He nodded, tongue sweeping across his lower lip. “You did.”

“Let me come with you to Wyoming. Please. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Joel stared down at you, unsure of what to say. What was there left to say? You had made up your mind, and if he knew you, he knew you had always been stubborn. You weren’t going to relent now, especially since you had followed him all this way.

“I abandoned you. I left you in Boston. Why the hell did you come all this way?” He shook his head, partly due to disbelief.

“Because I love you.” You shrugged, reaching for his hand. “Because I’m a fucking psycho, apparently. Because I don’t know when to give up, or when to take a hint.”

Joel’s mouth tugged with the ghost of a smile, and his thumb slowly traced down your cheek. “You are a psycho.”

“So are you. I’ve watched you tear men apart.”

“And I’ve watched you throw priceless Egyptian artifacts.”

You smiled, nodding as he pressed his forehead to yours. Joel held you the way he had always held you, your chests pressed so close together you were sure if it were just a few degrees hotter, your bodies would melt together.

“Don’t leave me again, yeah?”

“I won’t.” Joel whispered, his hands dragging themselves down your back. “I won’t.”

“We can get to Wyoming and figure everything out. Take a breather.” You whispered, your face resting in his neck. He smelled the same. Like old soap and soil, sweat and denim. It settled its way back into your nostrils, the nostalgic sense of familiarity weaseling its way into your chest.

“Why wait until then to figure it out? We’ve got a whole museum to ourselves right now.” Joel pulled away, and his calloused palms held the sides of your head, his umber eyes meeting your own.

You stared at him, unsure of what he was about to do, not quite positive on what his next move would be.

He kissed you.

He leaned down and pressed his mouth into your own, lips molding in to the others as he pulled you close, eyes tight as he allowed himself- for the first time in what felt like ages- to come undone against you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, unwilling to let go, and kissed him back, hungry for the taste of him.

“I love you too.” Joel confessed into your mouth, and you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you.

When you pulled away, that unspoken feeling, that was now very much spoken, glimmered behind your eyelashes.

“I know. You’ve never been good at hiding it. Except for that time you left me in Boston.”

Joel grabbed his gun, slinging it across his shoulder as you took his hand, walking down the dusty hallway together. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Never.”

“I’ll have to make it up to you then.” Joel glanced down at you with a grin, and you nodded in agreement.

“You can start by shutting up and taking me to the Tiffany exhibit. I want to steal a necklace.” You grinned, wiggling your eyebrows as you approached a fading navigation map.

“Gonna throw that one at me too?”

“Maybe. If you don’t shut the fuck up.”

[bitchimasnake-sss]

Hey love ❤️ I love the way you do Zoro angst. I was thinking like Zoro and the reader get pretty drunk at a festival and some guy sweeps her off her feet. Like she's all giggly and blushy and he's miserable about it. I was thinking maybe his perspective. She ends up not going home with this guy cause she knows Zoro's tendency to get lost. He's pissed off but also wasted so he doesn't make much sense. Maybe they argue. Maybe he drunkenly confesses. I think you can pick whether it ends well or not. I like pain.

mwuhahah i thrive off of angst (but i suck at writing it). this also shall have little bit of miscommunication trope (I HATE IT AS MUCH AS THE NEXT PERSON BUT IT MAKES FOR BRILLIANT ANGST HELLO!), and this ends in like unresolved angst and tension (cause i thought that was super funny of me). also a bit of crack included (cause im a jester and a clown and i enjoy making everything a bit stupid).

drunken liabilities ft. roronoa zoro!

set up: check above! the strawhat crew are invited to a celebratory party after saving an island from merciless pirates and somewhere between the drinking and the dancing, zoro finds himself yearning for a certain someone. warnings: dumb people, even dumber plot by me. mentions of alcohol, a fight, random party shenanigans; zoro gets jealous and petty. mutual pining by two idiots. "We're just crewmates" stfu no you're not. nami is the best thing in the universe. yeah, thats about it. wc: 2.7k

zoro saw you.

he saw your smile, and your ability to turn every one of his jabs into a nice, little argument. he saw the way you smiled, all self-satisfactory when you finally shut him up in those arguments. he saw the way you took him on in drinking competitions and how you giggled when he pretended to lose. he saw how pretty you looked, eyes hazy and cheek flushed after each of those competitions.

roronoa zoro saw you, whether you knew it or not.

but now, he saw you swaying your hips with your hands wrapped around a man. a maN?? A MAN THAT WASN'T EVEN HIM?

nami cleared her throat, raising the bottle of beer to her painted lips. she wanted to laugh at zoro's grumpy face, the way his eyebrows were knitted together. but being a woman of honour and virtue, she held back.

"fuck is wrong with him?" zoro muttered under his breath, mentally slicing up that man that was swaying with you. "why is he eye-fucking her?"

"you good?" nami laughed, finally.

zoro begrudgingly shifted his vicious glare from you and that stranger you were dancing with to nami. he gave her a shrug, "whatcha laughin' at, woman?"

"nothing, you're just murdering a man in your head again."

zoro said nothing, finding his words too simple to convey whatever it was that he was feeling. he didn't need to defend himself, after all.

it wasn't jealousy. pfft, ofcourse not.

maybe protectiveness? yeah, thats the word. you were part of the crew. and so, as the first mate, it was his duty to ensure that you were safe and sound from any imminent threat. even if that imminent threat was a man who you were dancing with. now, ofc, the swordsman wasn't a complete idiot. he knew that maybe he had a teeny, tiny-miny crush on you. maybe.

"i don't think it should be this normal for a person to be this casual about murder, zoro." the navigator egged him on.

"we're pirates, who cares." his shoulders slumped downwards as if to showcase his nonchalance about the subject matter.

"we care, we're the good kind."

"yeah, yeah. good kind." the former pirate hunter dragged the bottle to his lips, drinking in the intoxicating liquid as a light thump thump thump built in his head. he closed his eyes and tried to find a second of peace. but the people were singing too loud, and the makeshift lighting too blinding and if zoro recalled correctly, the sake he was chugging on was cheap as fuck. and he had had one too many as always.

typical celebratory things.

"you do know that she's single, right?" nami quipped after a minute, nodding in your general direction, "like, she isn't doing something morally wrong by dancing with a random dude. it's your own fault you're a pussy and can't ask her out."

he cracked open one eye, glaring at the red-head, "yeah okay, do you get paid to be all up in other people's business?"

"no," nami grinned, "but it's fun."

"right." zoro closed his eyes again and ran a light hand through his hair. he tried to guess where the other members of the group were. it wasn't hard to come to a convincing conclusion. he was sure that somewhere in the party, luffy, chopper, and ussop were busy playing some sort of food-related game. sanji was probably busy trying to pick up women. and the others mingling with the townsfolk. but you— what were you upto?

the swordsman's thoughts grabbed him by the collar and shook him like a wet, rabid dog. what if— what if you were swaying along with that man? your head on the stranger's chest, your ass hard against that man. what if that man took you through the unknown alleyways and up to his house and fu—

zoro whipped his face to look to where you were previously dancing. relief washed over his face when he found you on the dancefloor, still intoxicatedly dancing with the stranger.

but now the scene was different.

that guy had lifted you up in his arms. and the people around you (who were drunk out of their pea-shaped minds) hollered and cheered as you burst into a fit of giggles.

"hey, hey easy now." nami gently withdrew the glass bottle from zoro's grasp before he shattered it into a million pieces. the action from the navigator made the green-haired man looked down at his reddened palms in surprise. just protectiveness, right?

when nami spoke up again, she offered her (annoying) crewmate a sympathetic smile, "just go talk to her," zoro ignored the next part of her sentence, "when you're sober, okay?"

and that is how a very drunk roronoa zoro ended up in front of you on the dance floor.

the guy was swiftly carrying you away from the dance floor, to one of the darkened alleyways as you blushed and giggled when zoro approached the both of you.

"hey, i need to talk to ya for a sec." zoro's voice was slightly sluggish while addressing you, but the man turned around and gave him a confused look, "you want something, zoro?"

the swordsman shrugged, dismissing the well-natured man, "wasn't talking to you, was i now?"

drawing out your gaze on zoro, you scrambled off from the man's grip, standing up before answering, "sorry. what is it, zo?"

but it seems like whatever had been on zoro's tongue died within a minute of approaching you and that bastard. he resigned himself to a soft sigh, looking away from you. "nothin'" he grumbled, "nami was sayin that once you're done dancing, meet up with her."

"oh? is that all?" you asked softly, hoping that the stoic man would say something else.

but he was a man of few words, that you knew.

"yeah, well, she says she wants to walk back to the sunny with you. it's unsafe alone." he shrugged, "also, im heading back to the sunny."

"so soon?" and he nodded curtly in response. he gave the man next to you a quick side-eye before attempting to walk away from you at lightning speed.

by now the stranger had almost faded to the background as all your focus fell upon the man your captain called his first mate. as he walked away, his green hair were tousled, his walk a bit jagged up from all the alcohol. the overhead lighting plays with the dips and creases of his kimono and you found yourself following after him.

"hey!! where are ya going?!" the stranger called out after you but his voice faded between the rhythms and thumps of the songs and dances.

"zo!" you called after him, long forgetting the stranger that was spinning you around a few minutes ago. you caught up with him, "you know what? i actually wanna go back too, mind if i walk with you?"

he nodded solemnly, and you didn't mention that it was because you knew he would get lost and get drunkenly passed out on these unknown streets. and you didn't mention that you were worried about him, just because he was your crewmate. that's it.

the both of you walked in uncomfortable silence, as if something sinister was lurking around, waiting to ruin whatever peace remained between the two of you.

"you know." the swordsman voiced as he followed you into a dimly lit street. you were now far away from the celebratory festival, trying to take a shortcut to head back to the ship.

"hm?"

"you shouldn't get that close to a stranger." his words were innocent enough; a cautionary advice from one crewmate to the other. but it was his tone — dashed with a tiny bit of accusation — that made your skin crawl.

"well," you glanced back over your shoulder, finding his drunken form trailing you, "i don't really need you to tell me what to do. i can take care of myself, i know how to fight."

he scoffed, "oh, do you?"

maybe it was his tone. oh no, it was definitely his tone that pissed you off. so, you turned around. crossing your arms over your chest, you stared him down, "what's the problem with you?"

both of you were drunk, and the tension between you two ran high. one slip of tongue, one wayward action and the swordsman didn't know how the night would end— with you in his arms or with your dagger in his chest.

so, he decided not to take his chances. it was too risky, too bold. and the swordsman was never the kind to take uncalculated risks. so, he stifled his words and brushed past you. walking ahead now, he declared into the night air, "nothing's the problem with me, was jus' offering advice. don't take it if ya don't want it."

you followed suit, voice growing agitated, "why do you have a problem if i'm dancing with somebody else. or even making out or fucking them. it's none of your business. we're friends."

now it was his turn to turn around and glare at you, "i know that."

he paused for a second. were you really that stupid? did you not notice that whatever was left of his wretched heart belonged to you? or did you notice and you liked to stomp over it, anyways?

he finally sucked in a breath, steadying his drunken thoughts, "as you said, we're friends. you're part of the crew. and i was just l-looking out for you—"

"—well, you don't fucking have to. i am grown adult, zoro."

and just like that, whatever argument he had died within him. and he looked at you, dumbfounded. then, his gaze hardened and he stepped forward. were you really that stupid? or was he just that good of an actor for you to not see him the way he saw you?

he highly doubted the second one. maybe you were just very dense.

your breath hitched as he walked forward. if you had forgotten how scary the former pirate hunter can be, you were reminded right this second as you backtracked slowly. the two of you moved in tandem till your back was pressed against a solid wall and zoro stood directly in front of you.

towering over you, the menacing first mate said nothing as his gaze bore down holes into you.

"zo—zoro?" your voice was a meek whisper, eyes drifting downwards to avoid looking at him.

and suddenly, he was hyperaware of the situation he had forced you into. the closed proximity of it all, as you looked away from him. for someone who was a swordsman, he was certainly losing his patience. so, he simply pulled back, giving you some space. he sighed, he had clearly drunk too much tonight.

all that alcohol with all that pining was messing with his brain, "you should stay back, i'm going to the ship."

"what are you talking about—"

"—just go, enjoy. you're right, it is none of my business who you see." and with that the swordsman walked away.

"huh?? zoro!" you yelled after him, an unyielding resolve in your voice, "whe- where ARE YOU EVEN GOIN' ALONE? YOU'RE GONNA LOSE YOUR WAY!"

but in his classic avoidant way, he ignored you. taking long steps through the dusty road to reach the ship.

"oh my god, are you GONNA MAKE ME RUN TO REACH YOU?"

but he dismissed you again, clenching his jaw and continuing to walk. and you decided to jog to catch up with him, much to your dismay. he scoffed over his shoulder, fingers dancing along the hilt of his swords, "no need. sorry i ruined your plans tonight."

and that halted you dead in your tracks. to fuck with any apologies you had, who was he to pass around judgement for what you do?

"what's that supposed to mean? fuck you." you spat out, "i'm going back to the crew."

"fine by me." he grumbled, turning around to face you, "have fun."

"will do." you seethed, trying to raise his hackles, "make sure you don't pass out on the streets like a drunkard."

"even if i do, i'd be fine." he was getting more and more irritated, trying to raise your hackles right back, "why do you care?"

"ugh." you stepped forward, jabbing his chest accusatorily, "i was so dumb to leave that super nice guy to come chase after you! all you care about are your swords and your dumb sake."

he pursed his lips. what were you both even arguing about anymore? it made no sense, any of it. he wasn't even sure why the two of you were yelling at each other anymore. the nightly winds were unforgiving and cold. and all he knew was that as you yelled at him, blood rushed to your cheeks and your eyes came ablaze. your brows furrowed and lips fell into a pout as you awaited him to answer you. the gentle caress of the winds washed your hair over your face and you pushed them back in annoyance.

dammit.

zoro never believed in gods, but right now he would curse whatever deity sat above for making you so goddamn pretty. and making him so goddamn stupid.

as if looking at you would lead to his demise, now, it was his turn to look away. slowly drawing in a breath, he muttered, "jus' go back, there's no point arguing."

"fine. i'm leaving."

and wow, there must be some sort of cruel deity above. one who especially had a vendetta against zoro.

because, as if on cue, the man who you had been dancing showed up. he was slightly out of breath, as if he had run to come catch up with you, "hey! uh," he stopped short as he saw the stare off between you and zoro. "sorry, am i interrupting something?"

you turned around to look at the man, "what? no. nothing." you paused, giving zoro a short glace, "what are you doing here?"

"i uh—" the stranger shifted on his feet, a nervous smile on his face, "i- well, my friends forced me to come after you. i— i just... i know you guys are leaving in two days, but i was wondering if you would maybe wanna spend some time with me tonight? i, uh, i would really like to get to know you."

zoro stared at the man in a strange mix of jealousy and awe. was it that easy to confess?

"—it's okay if you're tired!" the man spluttered on, "i mean, i just wanted to talk— only if you want to, of course."

clearly, it was. because you turned away from zoro, giving that stranger a genuine smile, "you're too sweet. and, i was heading back to the party anyways, so might as well—"

"—really?" the man beamed and you nodded, walking towards him, mirroring his smile.

roronoa zoro watched you walk away, not even sparing him a sliver of a glance. and all of a sudden, the night air was too chilly and his headache too annoying and his heart, it ached.

before you turned to next street and disappeared with the stranger, you looked back at him. something in your gaze that begged the first mate to stop you, to call you back to him instead.

but he didn't.

all zoro could do was stand there, stupefied. you turned the corner, taking your gaze off of him with mild disappointment. before you turned, he saw you laughing at something the stranger had said.

zoro had no idea how long he stood there, transfixed at the ghost of you that was once in front of him.

roronoa zoro always saw you, right? well, now, he just saw you leave.

"what are you doing here? lost your way, marimo?" sanji asked as he materialized out of thin air on that street.

"huh?" zoro broke out of his daze, "what are you doing here?"

"hah," sanji looked smug, ignoring his question and blowing out a puff of smoke, "what did i expect from the idiot with no sense of direction."

"oh, go fuck yourself, shitty cook."

now, why did sanji show up at the exact moment zoro got his heart (whatever of it was left, anyways) broken?

the gods above must be laughing at the swordsman.

credits: to @bucciniexe for the format of the header; @chachachannah for the divider above! a/n: i don't know if this was nearly angsty enough, but i really do picture zoro as an avoidant who runs from his feelings for quite a long time. sooo, i hope this was angsty enough. thankyou @screaming-crying-screamingagain for the prompt, hope you like it mwuah <3

[planetception]

Pain and Heartbreak - The True Meaning of Love - Part 2

Summary: You made the decision to finally get back into the dating world after swearing it off, and you manage to get yourself involved with the star guard of the Indiania Fever, Caitlin Clark.

Cw: Begins with angst and ends in fluff, Cailtin being the biggest sweetheart, still asshole Paige

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It’s been about three months and moving on from Paige was one of the most difficult things you’ve ever attempted. It felt as if you saw her everywhere—sometimes with a new girl or surrounded by her teammates, who would give you a sad smile as you walked past. You noticed how quickly Paige moved on from you, as if you had never existed in her life. Surprisingly, you grew to accept it. You learned not to care when you saw Paige passionately kissing another girl at a bar, her eyes locked onto yours with a sly smirk on her face.

Even though you were done with Paige, you still supported the basketball team and you still went to their games. Even if Paige gave you a dirty glare whenever you both made eye contact, you still didn't care. Your ex girlfriend wasn’t about to ruin your enjoyment of basketball, and you weren't going to entertain her little game, she was just a bitter ex who wanted to ruin everything you liked. You just hoped that you weren't fucking anything up between the girls just because you still supported Paige’s teammates and still hung out with them and such.

And that brings us to today. You were somehow in Cleveland (Courtesy of Aaliyah buying you a ticket) to watch the Final Four game between Iowa and Uconn and that's where you truly got to know the star guard from Iowa. After the heartbreaking loss, you were on your way to stand outside the Uconn locker room to comfort your friends after their loss.However, you were stopped in the hallway by none other than Caitlin Clark. She was still in her uniform, though her jersey was missing, revealing her sweat-covered, muscular figure. Despite trying not to stare, you couldn't help but take in the sight. You stood there, feeling like an idiot, worried she might scold you for being in a restricted area. Instead, she smiled as she walked over to where you were standing.

“Hey, you aren’t Paige’s girl are you?” She asked kindly.

“Um no, at least not anymore I guess.” You replied as she gave you a sad smile.

You two talked for a while about various little things, and you explained the situation with Paige, detailing how the humiliating video had made it impossible for you to go anywhere without being questioned about it. One thing you noticed about Caitlin was her exceptional ability to listen. She never once interrupted you, and you deeply appreciated this about her. By the end of your conversation, you had exchanged numbers, just for chatting. Before you knew it, Caitlin had to return to the Iowa locker room to celebrate their Final Four victory.

“Shit, I gotta get back to the locker room before Bluder kills me.” She sighed as she spoke, she really wanted to stay and talk to you but duty calls.

You giggled as she began to run away, but that was before she turned around and ran back to you before giving you a light hug, then she turned back around and began to run before she called out to you. “I’ll see you later Y/N!” She yelled as she ran, her voice was filled with warmth. You were a blushing mess from the hug, one thing you noticed was how nice her hugs felt although she was a sweating mess. But deep down, you knew better. After what happened with Paige, you had sworn off dating, unable to trust anyone with your heart again.

Although Caitlin seemed like a genuinely nice girl, the fear of being hurt once more loomed large. You couldn't bear the thought of enduring another heartbreak. You were brought out of your depressive state of mind by the Uconn locker room door opening, and out came Paige. She looked at you in disgust before scoffing, walking right past you and you could’ve sworn she mumbled something disrespectful under her breath as she walked.You wanted to say something but that was before Nika, Aaliyah, Kk and Azzi came out together as they all gave you a sad smile and you knew that they needed the comfort, sp you hugged all 4 of them telling them that they all played well and that you were proud of the whole team.

Over the next week and a half, you talked to Caitlin almost everyday. You heard a lot of wild stories from her childhood, like the one time she almost killed Colin or the time that she almost got attacked by the stray cat on her street. You grew to enjoy these little phone calls with her and you could’ve sworn that you started to grow feelings for her, but you didn’t want to give in, because you didn’t want your heart to be shattered. However you started to realize that not every relationship was going to be like your last two, you began to accept feelings and you could tell that she was developing a crush as well, you even started to flirt with her and so did she.

Caitlin eventually asked you to be her plus one at the Wnba draft and you just couldn’t help but accept her offer, you thought this would be a great start for a relationship to be. Caitlin managed to buy you a ticket to come out to New York with her as well as some of her teammates that you will probably be meeting at the draft. It wasn’t until you were in New York and that's when Caitlin confessed to you in the most romantic way possible.

While Caitlin came to pick you up from the airport, Kate, Gabbie and Jada helped transform the hotel room into a romantic haven. They put a candle on each nightstand, scattered some rose petals around and on top of the bed, they even spritzed some of Caitlin’s favorite perfume around the room, and Jada dug around in Caitlin’s bag to pull out the box that had a CC22 necklace inside that Caitlin was going to gift to you after she confessed. After they made sure that the room was ready they left and headed back to their room, Gabbie texted Caitlin letting her know that the room was ready and Caitlin quickly texted back a thumbs up.

As you two walked hand in hand to Caitlin’s room, you could sense her nervousness through her increasingly sweaty palm. She flashed you a big smile before leading you into the elevator, and you blushed at her endearing nervousness as you ascended to her floor. When you reached it, Caitlin stepped out first, then turned to take your hand again, guiding you towards her room. Just before unlocking the door, she pulled you into a strong embrace from behind, pressing a tender kiss to the back of your head.

“Close your eyes for me Y/N/N please?” She softly whispered into your ear.

You obliged as Caitlin chuckled before she unlocked the door, she guided you into the room and once again whispered into your ear to open up your eyes. When you did, tears flowed down your face in happiness.

“Oh my god Cait, this is, it’s, fuck its beautiful.” You spoke as you turned around and gave her a tight hug, burying your face into her neck before she once again kissed you on the head.

Caitlin guided you to the bed before laying you down, you two smiled deeply at each other as she hovered over you.

“Y/N, I know that your past relationships didn’t end well, but I saw that you were special when I first met you. I love how you talk to me, I love your clinginess, fuck there’s so many words I wanna say. What I’m trying to say Y/N is that I want you to be mine, I want to proudly show you off to people, make people fucking jealous of the relationship that we have. I’ll treat you like the princess you are, buy you everything you want. Be my girlfriend Y/N?” She confessed as she leaned down to you, lips brushing against each other.

“Of course I’ll be your girlfriend Cait. Can you kiss me please?” You spoke in desperation as her hazel eyes stared into yours.

Caitlin closed the distance between you, kissing you deeply, making the moment feel like a scene from a movie. Her lips were incredibly soft, with a hint of strawberry chapstick that you could taste. The kiss gave you butterflies, and as she caressed your cheek and gently broke the kiss, she gazed into your eyes. Both of you were blushing, and she tenderly cradled your face in her hands, kissing your forehead and wiping away the tears that streamed down your face. She then gave you a gentle peck on the lips before reaching for the box Jada had placed on the nightstand. Opening it, she carefully took out the necklace, ready to adorn you with her heartfelt gift.

“Sit up baby, wanna put this on you.” She said as she showed you the necklace that had her initials and number on it. You smiled as you turned around and lifted your head up as she put the necklace on you, once it was latched she kissed you again, muttering a “You’re mine now princess” in between kisses. She hugged you tightly as you two fell asleep in each other's arms. You finally felt at home with Caitlin and you could finally heal your heart with her.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was finally draft night and it would be your and Caitlin’s first public appearance as a couple. While Caitlin was dressed in all white, you went with an all black fit. You two walked down the red carpet with each other, hand in hand as photographers and reporters were all yelling for attention. You two posed for some photos and Caitlin let you be as clingy as you wanted to her and you were grateful for the way she has been treating you. After finishing up some more photos and interviews, you two made your way into the building and sat down at the table with Caitlin’s family. You guys talked until the actual draft started, Caitlin let you lean your head on her shoulder as she gently rubbed your back.

When Caitlin got drafted, she hugged you and kissed you first before she hugged the rest of her family. You whispered “I love you.” to her as she walked up the stage, shaking the commissioner's hand as she held up an Indiana Fever jersey. You watched her in awe as she started to talk to reporters again and you turned around to meet eyes with Jada, Kate and Gabbie as they all smiled at you. You also smiled at Nika and Aaliyah as they looked so happy of you finally in a healthy relationship. You also felt Paige watching you as she sat next to Azzi, the same look of disgust on her face, but it didn’t feel genuine, however you couldn't care. Azzi smiled at you as you smiled back at her.

As the final chapter of you and Paige’s relationship closed, you found comfort in Caitlin who showed you that being clingy was okay, and showed you what a real relationship looks like and you could’ve never been so happy.

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And there we go, pt two of the Paige fic. Yes I made Caitlin endgame. I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you for all the support and as always, requests are open.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

892 words – trans fem reg jegulus pwp – cw: light spanking, orgasm control, heinous dirty talk about breeding, cum play, creampie <3

@honeybcj

James fastens his grip in Regulus’ curls and ducks closer. He knows the answer for the question before he even asks it. But he wants to hear it. Needs to hear it. He spanks Regulus on her left cheek just to feel her clench around him, then noses at his girlfriend’s ear. “Want me to pull out before, baby?”

“No,” Regulus cries out helplessly, mindlessly arching back into him.

James grunts against the side of her head, mind swimming. “Yeah, want me to cum inside?”

Regulus whimpers deliciously, “Please.”

“God, baby,” James groans, voice rough, “Gonna make a creampie, huh?”

Regulus moans.

“Want me to lick it back out of your sweet little pussy?”

“Ja-mie,” she whines brokenly. Just the deliriously fucked out of her mind quality of her voice is enough to make James twitch inside her. There’s sweat running down her temple, mixing with the tears on her cheeks with how she’s turned her head over the pillow. James licks it up.

“Ngh- gotta be careful not to get you pregnant, love.”

Regulus gives a whole body twitch beneath him, letting out another whine that sounds close to his name. James wants to ruin her in the sweetest way.

He lets his lips ghost over her ear, “Or do you want me to breed you, baby? Huh? Pump you so full, I’ll make it stick?”

Regulus is chanting incoherent pleas, curses and gasping out his name like she does when she’s close. When that delicious pressure is building up low in her gut, about to ring up her spine and shoot into every cell, every far inch of her body. When her whole being is an electric wire and James is about to trigger a short circuit. 

And he’s babbling now, couldn’t hold himself back even if he wanted to, spewing the nastiest things right into his pretty girlfriend’s ear. “Answer me, love,” he taunts.

Reg whimpers and James watches her eyes try to flutter open, so out of it.

James repeats his question. ’Cause he’s nice like that.

He can see the exact moment it registers in Regulus’ brain. A noise slips out of her, involuntary, and then James’ eyes greedily follow her spreading blush as she tries to hide her face in the pillow.

“No, no,” James admonishes, gentle and patronizing. He purposefully aims away from that bundle of nerves deep inside her, momentarily. Regulus makes an obscenely sexy mourning noise. “No hiding, baby. I’m not gonna let you cum before you tell me.”

“Jamie,” she sobs, dark curls falling over her shoulder when she ruts her face into the sheets.

“C’mon, you’ve been such a good girl. Why are you being bad right now?” He spanks her again.

Regulus yelps, followed by a moan. “Mnh, want it- inside.”

“What do you want inside, sweets?”

“You,” she presses out, pushing back onto him, “Your cum, Jamie. Want you to cum inside. Please, please.”

Fuck. 

“Good girl, baby,” James groans, deepening his thrusts again. Regulus immediately dissolves underneath him again. “See, was that so hard, hm?”

Regulus makes an indecipherable sound. James grins.

He brushes her hair to the side, mouthing and nipping along her neck. She tastes like sweat and viscous sweetness. Salted caramel. James wants to put her in a blender and squeeze her into his latte every morning.

“Can I—” Regulus hiccups, “Aah- can I cum?” 

James keeps putting open mouthed kisses on her neck, rutting deep inside her relentlessly, devilishly.

“Please,” his girlfriend sobs, “Please, Jamie. Gotta cum.”

“In a moment, baby,” James pants, letting himself get lost in the slick, silky heat of her, “Hold on for me, just a bit.”

She’s moaning continuously now, whining pitifully and gasping high-pitched breaths back in. Her thighs are shaking, her face scrunched in pure pleasure. One of her hand fists the sheets, white knuckling them. “Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.”

That’s what manages to tip him over in the end. He gasps out a hurried Cum for me and then he’s stuttering through his own moan as his cock kicks and spurts deep inside Reg. She’s loud when she lets herself break on James’ command. Shouting nearly and shaking through it so hard that James feels the pulses of her milk him dry.

“God, fuck,” James grunts when he finishes with one last feeble twitch, still shallowly rocking inside to help Regulus ride it out. 

This one hums breathlessly, a sweet little moan, panting like she’s just done a triathlon.

“Baby,” James mumbles, breathing heavily, making her hair move and tickle his nose.

Regulus makes an acknowledging noise, nodding weakly to show she’s okay.

“Love you so bad,” James utters, kissing her cheek, her ear, the soft spot behind it.

“Love you,” Regulus replies, on a half moan, blissed out and like she’s floating.

He’s still inside and Regulus doesn’t like feeling empty immediately after but James needs to kiss her like- yesterday. He reaches around, prodding at her puffy entrance and hearing her breath hitch when he lets his cock slip out and his fingers in, plugging her up. James maneuvers Reg’s pliant body, making her leg lift, and turns her over onto her back with his finger remaining. 

And then Regulus barely has the chance to blink cloudy grey eyes at him before James is demanding her mouth in a needy kiss, tasting caramel sweet.

[crushribbons]

𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖉𝖎𝖊

summary: Sebastian Sallow should have been a Ravenclaw.

cw: 4.6k words, pining, fluff, very light angst, smut (18+ ONLY), male masturbation *cough*saltburn*cough*, sexual imagery, Sebastian in a towel 😵‍💫

a/n: this if my first HL fic :) feedback welcome and requests are open! req rules here. enjoy xx laney

“Mr. Sallow! Would you care to join the rest of the class in absorbing the information I am teaching? I suspect the grounds will still look just as they do now after the period has ended.” 

The wave of suppressed, tittering laughter fluttered around the room and died quickly as Professor Weasley turned back to the parrot on her desk. Sebastian yanked his head off his upturned palm and away from the window he’d been staring out of. Rain was pouring down in resolute sheets and turning the lush Hogwarts grounds to murky mud. Absolutely no good for a flying match against Imelda, because the witch was so talented at flying in any condition, it almost guaranteed that the outcome of their “friendly” wager would be ten less galleons in his already light pockets. 

He turned his attention, or at least tried to, back to the parrot. Weasley had been droning on for so long that he could no longer remember whether it had started as a parrot or if it had been a picnic basket first. He doubted that in his day-to-day life he would find much use for turning either into either.

“Dreamy dreamer,” murmured a voice to his left, and he swiveled his head still further to catch the eye of the witch sitting next to him. She was balancing her head on her fist and smirking to herself.

Dreamy, he was. The Transfiguration classroom was as cold as the grounds were sure to be, but when he remembered that his favorite classmate was seated mere inches from him, he suddenly found his cheeks to be unbearably hot. 

She had plummeted into his life, in the wake of a dragon attack, nearly three years ago now, and Sebastian had never been so instantly intrigued with anyone before. He was intrigued particularly because she refused to tell so little about her past, her travels, herself, that he couldn’t help but be drawn toward this talented little mystery that demanded solving. 

“So,” he had said, on only her second morning at the castle, sidling up to her as soon as he found her not flanked by Professor Fig whispering in harsh, muted tones. “Entrance, pursued by a dragon, is it?” She had whipped around to face him. Her smile was enough to make his knees crumple and he felt a little taken aback. No one had mentioned that the dragon tamer was ludicrously beautiful.

“I fared slightly better than poor old Antigonus, though, don’t you think?” His breath had stuttered in his chest for a moment. Oh, he liked her already. She introduced herself and asked for his name. 

“I’m Sebastian Sallow, but how’d you get here, after the dragon? And where from? And why do all the professors seem so concern–”

“Sebastian Sallow, I think the Sorting Hat may have missed the mark with you. Only a Ravenclaw could be so curious,” she’d deadpanned with a glint in her eyes that told him she was thoroughly enjoying the obscurity surrounding her arrival at Hogwarts. She gave his Slytherin tie a gentle brush with her forefinger and then she was gone. As she’d clipped away towards the Great Hall for breakfast, robes swishing behind her and the imprint of her finger swiping across his chest still present, his jaw had hung slack. He later inwardly punished himself for calling hoarsely after her,

“N-no, I’m a Slytherin!” Very witty, Sallow.

They became friends quickly after that. When he sat down in the first Transfiguration class of fifth year and found himself elbow to elbow with her, he prayed to every deity he could remember that he could manage not to fuck up talking to her this time. And he didn’t; their chats and whispered estimations as to how long it would take Ominis to fall asleep after lecture started and notes passed to one another were the highlight of his week–no, his year. Before his sixth and seventh years, a well-placed and distracting bottle of port had been enough for him to slip into Professor Black’s office long enough to fix the Transfiguration schedule and ensure those highlights would last.

When she’d first asked him to show her how to get in the Restricted Section of the library, however, he’d realized that this witch was not just adventurous outside of school. It had taken all his nerve and self-control not to stare at her bum as they snuck through the library doors and past Scribner’s watchful, hawkish gaze. Reaching the section unscathed and unnoticed was old hat for Sebastian at that point, but it gave his companion such a thrill that she threw her arms around his neck and squealed in delight. Sebastian remained stiff as a board while congratulating her, so as not to reveal that he was, in fact, stiff as a board.

Now, in the never-ending void that was Professor Weasley’s lectures, Sebastian tore a corner off the ancient copy of Transfiguring the Tedious in front of him and scrawled on the paper with his quill. He slid it along the table to her hand and bumped it against her pinky. The pinky surreptitiously rose to slide the scrap under her palm, her eyes never leaving the demonstration at the front of the class. It was so subtle that he would have hardly believed she’d received his note if they hadn’t practiced this fine art of espionage about ten times already that period.

She opened the note under their desk and read what he’d written. Please, if you’ve any humanity, you’ll kill me and save me from this torture. Her lips immediately pressed together hard to contain a snort. She moved the paper back to the top of the desk and jotted down a response. When the paper landed in Sebastian’s lap, he glanced down.

And leave me here to endure it all alone? I think not, birdie.

Birdie. Birdie, as in, should have been a Ravenclaw; birdie, as in, his favorite thing in the world to be called. Whenever his peppering questions regarding her whereabouts during the day or what she did over the summer break (out in the Highlands exploring and assisting and digging and Merlin knows what else!) caused her to throw down a book with a huff or break into a sweet, clear laugh, she would cry, “Enough, birdie! I swear I’ll get that dodgy old hat to put you where you belong!”

Sebastian couldn’t recall when she’d gone from being an interesting new classmate with a secret she kept under her cloak to the reason he was excited to wake up in the morning. At some point, while they grew closer and he had shared his anxieties and fears for Anne, he had realized that he did not want her to bump elbows and waggle eyebrows at that Weasley kid when she passed him in the hall. He had realized around the same time that he did not want Poppy Sweeting to be the one who took her to Hogsmeade every weekend to giggle over butterbeers. 

The pieces of this puzzle slowly continued to arrange themselves over the years, such as that time in Crossed Wands when she had knelt before his crouched body to make sure the gash on his eyebrow wasn’t too deep. She gripped his forearm to steady them both and hissed when she saw the damage to his freckled forehead. “Come here,” she had murmured, and Sebastian was sure that the stone floors were going to open up and swallow him whole as she lightly traced her wand over the cut and it healed into a dark line. “I think it suits you.” 

“I was looking a bit too soft anyway, don’t you think?” He chuckled, touching the healed scar. 

“If it still hurts tomorrow, I’ll kiss it for you.”

As he rose back to his feet, his brain wanted him to shout “Can I have that in writing?!” but instead he opted for the much more suave option: “I can kiss it myself just fine.” 

He ought to have sealed his own mouth permanently with the binding curse. 

The point was, he finally drew the conclusion that he was madly in love with this woman, for she really had blossomed from a somewhat timid new fifth-year student into a self-assured and confident (not to mention talented and brilliant) young woman. It made Sebastian’s heart glad to watch this transformation over the years. The only thing that could make his heart gladder, he was sure, would be her hand in his. 

In an act of blissful mercy, Professor Weasley ended her lesson at the appointed time she always did. “And remember!” She called shrilly over the din of twenty 18-year-olds rushing to shove books into bags and be done with thinking for the day, “Bird transfiguration will figure heavily into the N.E.W.T.s, so practice as much as you can! I have picnic baskets available for those who wish to borrow them.”

“Are you gonna take one?” Sebastian asked the witch to his left, who was sweeping her parchment and quills haphazardly into her leather satchel.

“No, I don’t think I need to practice much. I’ve already got my own little birdie.” Then she actually pinched his cheek in her fingers. Sebastian’s skin turned bright red at the contact, and his insides took flight in an awkward but not uncomfortable way at her words: My own little…

Was she trying to kill him? This had to be the flirting that Ominis insisted was always occurring between the two of them. Usually, Sebastian had no problem at all recognizing and reciprocating attention from the opposite sex, but something about this particular witch made his head go mushy as the mud they avoided as they walked across the courtyard, robes pulled up over their head to avoid the downpour as they dashed towards the Great Hall.

Her affectionate nickname did sometimes feel like a deflection on her part, an attempt to infantilize him into a permanent position of friendship. He couldn’t bring himself to care though, quite frankly. He adored hearing it so much, although only from her lips. As they splashed through the courtyard, he recalled the time Imelda, hoping to goad him during Quidditch practice, had shouted “Come ON, birdie, and FLY, dammit!” He’d sent a bludger straight at his team’s captain, causing her to careen off course with a fresh string of obscenities. 

And down, deep down, buried in the depths of the shameful part of Sebastian that held all guilt and impurities, he wanted nothing more than to hear that nickname leave her mouth in a gasp as their bodies pressed together in his empty dormitory. His shame at this well-visited fantasy was not eclipsed by his desire for her, however, and he far too frequently found himself rushing back to his bed after their shared classes and repeating her sweet words to himself as he tugged his pants down and slid the curtains of his four-poster shut. He hoped today’s rain might cleanse him of his sins just a bit, because that old routine was currently all he had planned for the evening.

Once they found shelter inside, robes still dripping and hair plastered to their forehead, his friend turned to him. “I’m drenched,” she said cheerfully. Even though it was true, she still looked a vision, her bright eyes shining in the low light and smile always in place. “I’m going to go change before dinner…say, are you still flying Imelda?” She glanced back outside at the deluge. “For your sake, I hope not.”

Sebastian put his hand to his heart, feigning offense. “Are you insinuating that I couldn’t beat the most Quidditch-obsessed witch in the school just because of a little rain?” She pursed her lips, and he could tell she was about to fire back with a witty reply; he felt his head swim a little, as it always did when they bantered back and forth, possibly resulting in a playful shove or tweaked nose that he would think about for hours later. 

Suddenly, the Quidditch-obsessed witch in question came barreling around the corner, eyes fiery, and yelled, “Sallow! Outside, now!” Sebastian groaned, partly because he most certainly did not want to race Imelda right now, and partly because the girl he’d much rather be spending time with gave him a wink and departed to her dormitory with a muttered “Good luck, birdie.”

When he trudged into the Great Hall an hour later, sopping from head to toe and more mud than man at this point, he caught her eye at the dinner table and dropped his broom unceremoniously on the ground. She got up to fuss over him as he plopped down beside her and began eating everything in sight. 

“Did you–?”

“Does it look like I did?” he grumbled around a mouthful of chicken.

“It looks like you challenged the ground to a race and lost, my dear.” 

He may as well have. The second Samantha had blown the whistle to start the race, Imelda had taken off like a perfect missile of pure speed, whipping through the hoops at the other end of the field before Sebastian could even kick off. From there, well…he decided it might save him a small bit of face if he told her he only fell off his broom once.

“Poor thing, poor thing!” She tutted, brushing the grimy locks of hair from his forehead. The food Sebastian was swallowing got caught in his throat at the contact and he choked. Ominis got up from his position on the other side of this accidental seductress and whacked Sebastian hard on the back without looking up from the copy of the Daily Prophet he was running his wand over. Once the food made its way safely to his stomach, Sebastian cleared his throat. 

“I’m a mess, I ought to go clean up,” he said. Truthfully, he knew he needed a wash to clean his body, but his trousers were also becoming tighter and tighter the longer he spent with her. He needed some time in a hot bath with nothing but his thoughts.

She smiled and swiped a line of dirt from his cheek. There was no other explanation–she was trying to kill him. His pulse hammered every time they touched, and especially hard when–

“Dirty birdie,” she giggled, and it was too much for him. Sebastian shoved back the bench he was sitting on and clambered haphazardly to his feet. 

“I’m going to go, er, to, uh, the–see you later!” 

He all but ran from the Great Hall, barely pausing to snatch his broom from where he’d left it. Merlin’s beard, this was getting out of hand. He wanted to spend time with her, but at the rate things were going, all his thoughts would be consumed with the idea of getting her naked and he doubted he’d make for a very good friend then. Adventurous and devil-may-care as she was, she was still a lady, after all. His uncle hadn’t taught him much, but he’d taught him how to respect a woman, and no part of that instruction had included zoning out mid-conversation with that woman and wondering if she cried when she came. Or if he could make her.

“Pull yourself together, pull yourself together,” he grunted as he made his way to the dungeons and told the ornate silver snake at the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory the password it required. Imelda was standing in the common room, engaged in telling the story of Sebastian’s spectacular fall(s), but he didn’t even stop to acknowledge when she called, “And there’s the man himself, the Miraculous Mud-Eater!” He blew past her and the gaggle of Slytherins gathered around the fire, all chuckling at his appearance. Their words fell on deaf ears. The only words ringing around Sebastian’s increasingly empty head were, “My own little birdie…my own little dirty…”

He closed his eyes and swayed on the stairs, gripping the bannister for support. The erection that had been encroaching since Transfiguration was close to blinding him with desire by now. Banging open the door to the seventh-year dormitory, he ignored whomever said, “Alright, Seb?” and snatched up the bath towel flung over his trunk. Then, he was out of the common room as quickly as he’d entered it. 

The nearest bathroom was only a hallway away from the Slytherin dorm, but no one ever used it. Ice cold was the only water temperature available for a bath, and the stone floors were somehow permanently covered in a layer of frost, due to the position of the dungeons underneath the Black Lake. Sebastian sprinted past the door, then skidded to a halt. Perhaps freezing and dingy was alright if it meant quiet and empty, too.

Leaning back against the cold granite of the bathtub, Sebastian finally let out a long sigh. The water had practically given him frostbite when it first came out of the faucet, but after far too long a while, it had warmed to a humane temperature, and he used his wand to heat it until it actually felt good to strip and slide into it. His muddy clothes lay in a heap next to the tub, long forgotten. All that mattered to Sebastian now was the feeling of his hand wrapping around his aching cock and the thought of her voice, sweet and clear and sinful as hell.

It always started the same way. On his first stroke, he conjured the image of her healing his cut in Crossed Wands, only in this version, he actually acted on his instincts and pulled her in by her neck for a searing kiss. Naturally, in this perfect little fantasy, she melted into him with a moan every time, and suddenly, the dueling stage was gone, and the two of them were crashing into an empty classroom and making out furiously. Sebastian pictured the feeling of her, desperate and needy for him, hopping up onto a desk so she could wrap her legs around his waist and grind against him. 

A whimpered and whiny “Fuck, fuck, fuck” left his lips as he tipped his head back against the cold floor. The hand that he wasn’t using steadied him against the bathtub stairs, foamy soap drifting around him and cleaning the dirt from his body. He wondered absently, fucking his hips into his hand, what she looked like when she took a bath. Her clothes falling away, the sight of her ass as she slowly descended into the tub, and the soapy water running down her tits. 

Sebastian was a tit man, through and through, and this latest imagined pornography had him tipping dangerously close to the edge. As he stroked himself harder and faster, water pulsating gently around him, he pictured her swimming over to him and wrapping her arms around his neck (the scent of her hair from when she’d done the same in the library filled his brain). “Little birdie,” she was whispering, and Sebastian swore he could almost taste and feel her. “Aren’t you curious about what it feels like to fuck me?”

Merlin’s fucking sake, of course he was! Back in reality, he swore and groaned as he neared his precipice. A full day of aching for this woman should have had him on the edge of coming almost instantly, but he slowed his hand just for a moment, wanting to savor the idea of her. Her, who he was most definitely sickly in love with, even though she’d had two other relationships since her time here and never expressed interest in him in any other way than friendly ribbing. 

“Oh, baby, Go-oood,” he whined under his breath, because now, in the bathtub of his dream, she was straddling his cock and sinking onto it, her heat wrapped around him like the most perfect silk glove. Then she was moving, bouncing up and down with her arms still clutching his neck and whimpering his name over and over. 

“Seb, Seb, it feels so-s-soo–fuck!” she cried, and Sebastian wished more than anything that his hands were digging into her hips instead of his own as he bit back a groan and panted. Her tits, heaving in front of his face, looked so marvelous that he couldn’t stop his imaginary self from leaning forward and catching a nipple between his teeth. The scream that tore from her lips at the sensation was enough to make him come, and the realization that she’d probably be clamped down on his cock like a vice actually did. 

He let out a hoarse cry, his vision leaving him for a moment, and then his sticky load was being spurted into the water. The relief felt almost better than the orgasm itself, tense as he had been all day. 

He really needed to pull himself together in regards to this witch. 

After he’d regained the ability to think, speak, and move, Sebastian finished his bath as if nothing at all had happened. He quickly vanished his cum from the water so that he could dip below the surface to wash his hair. As he scrubbed his skin with a sponge from the massive carved wooden cabinet that held the bath supplies, the guilt started seeping back in. She was his friend, and that was all, and that was clearly all she wanted. In the wake of finally coming, the words “little birdie” seemed more condescending than sweet. There was no romance behind them; she clearly saw him the same way she saw that first-year Hufflepuff who’d given her a single flower with shaking hands and nearly vomited while asking her to go to the Yule Ball with him. She’d given a very polite, “How sweet you are!” then explained with mock regret that she would be away for the holidays, and would not be able to attend with him.

That was Sebastian: a hapless little boy in love with a girl who was too kind to say anything about it. He mentally added three more layers of clothes to her as he thought of her, out of respect.

When he rose out of the water and looked to where he’d placed his clean pajamas, he saw with a lurch that he hadn’t put his clean pajamas anywhere. A moan of horror escaped him when he pictured them where they actually were: at the bottom of his trunk. In his haste to get in here and rub one out to the thought of his friend, he’d forgotten to grab them.

The only fabric available to him were the muddied and disgusting robes he’d raced in, or the towel currently wrapped around his waist. Sebastian glanced out the bathroom window. The moon over the Black Lake was high in the sky, and his shoulders drooped a little in relief at the thought that most everyone ought to be in bed right now, and he wouldn’t have to walk half-naked through a packed common room. 

Dirty robes safely in the laundry hamper, Sebastian secured the towel around his waist as best he could before poking his head down the hall. It was deserted, the only audible sound the soft whoooosh of the draining bathtub behind him. He exhaled, stepped into the hall, and began half-walking, half-running towards the Slytherin dormitories, leaving wet footprints in his wake.

He had almost made it to safety when the last, the absolute last voice he wanted to hear on the planet, yelped, “Oops!” from behind him. Whirling on the spot, mere feet away from the dormitory door, he locked eyes with his girl.

“What on earth are you doing down here?!” He scream-whispered in indignation, clutching the towel tightly around his waist Her eyes were the size of dinner plates, taking in his tousled wet hair, bare torso that was not at the physical peak he wished it was, and the thin grey towel that was threatening to slide further south at any minute. “It’s the middle of the damn night!” 

“I-I’m…” This was his worst nightmare. Getting caught quite literally with his pants down and the girl of his dreams was stifling laughter at the sight. He turned away from her, determined to lock himself inside the dormitory and never come out. Maybe if he took a draught of living death he could sleep for the rest of the term.

“Seb, hang on!” she laughed, darting towards him as he told the snake his password and lifted a leg to try and clamber inside. He paused and looked back at her, if only because he wasn’t really sure how he was going to gracefully lift himself with only a towel around his waist. “I sent you an owl but never heard back!” she said. “There’s leftover cherry tart in the kitchens from dinner, and I snuck you some.” She held out the tart and his heart twisted into a knot. His favorite. The fantasies he’d made up about her mere minutes ago now seemed doubly inappropriate as he saw the real thing, clad in an innocent nightgown and thick wooly robe. 

“Oh. Thanks.” He took the dessert. They both stood motionless for a second. She was tactfully looking everywhere except at his body. Sebastian prayed for death. “Well, I’m naked, so–”

“Right! I’m sorry! You just darted out of dinner so fast…” She trailed off. Sebastian grunted noncommittally and readjusted his grip on the towel. His head was starting to sweat from embarrassment. “Well, good night, anyway,” she said, trying to muster an awkward smile.

“Good night,” He responded through gritted teeth. “Thanks again for this, it looks great.” With that, he turned around and clambered very clumsily, but fully covered, through the dormitory door. 

As he lay in bed that night, Sebastian replayed the whole fiasco in his head a hundred times. He wondered what she thought of what she saw, or if she would discuss it with anyone. It wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned her seeing him nude for the first time. She certainly didn’t seem impressed. And he’d been so rude to her, when all she’d done was bring him a treat.

He covered his face with his hands and groaned loudly. “Shut up,” huffed Ominis from the bed next to him. He was a light sleeper and the slightest sound could stir him.

“Give me one of your sleeping potions.”

“Fine, if it’ll knock you out so I don’t have to.”

Sebastian got out of bed and quietly opened the trunk at the foot of Ominis’ bed, feeling around for the small cylindrical bottles the Gaunt boy always kept on-hand for sleepless nights. He found one, uncorked it, and drained the contents.

He had just stumbled back into bed, the effects of the potion working through his blood immediately and making his eyes heavy as boulders, when he noticed a small piece of paper on the windowsill by his bed. Undoubtedly, this was from the owl she had sent him. He managed to throw one leaden arm up to snatch it and bring it an inch away from his eyes so he could make out the delicate writing in the near-darkness of the bedroom

A little birdie told me he liked cherry tart, so I saved him some. I’ll bring it to you in a bit. 

Sleep overtook him.

Back in her own bedroom, the letter writer lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t been able to form a coherent thought all night. Poppy had asked her what was wrong, why she was being so quiet. She had shrugged and gone off to bed, but the lingering ache persisted between her legs.

Had Sebastian Sallow always been that fucking gorgeous?

[mrs-k0zume]

~ 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊 || 𝐊.𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄 ~

ʚ ═══･୨ ꕤ ୧･═══ ɞ

“lipstick looks so good on you anyways.”

mtf! kenma x fem! reader

trans kenma, reverse comfort, intended lowercase, pronouns change within the story, slight mention of sex

synopsis : when kenma thought it would be funny to make a video about messing around in your makeup, but who knew that lipstick looked so good on him ~

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 ~

kenma’s fingers held the tube of red lipstick as HE glided the smooth base over HIS lips. the red matte colored his lips a light shade of red, the color complementing the amber hue in his cat like eyes. his eyelashes fluttered with every blink from the mascara, and the eyeliner that he mastered with the first try made his eyes so much more beautiful and alluring that he looked like a walking siren.

kenma placed down your cherry colored lipstick and looked at himself in the mirror for a few seconds. he looked beautiful. he didn’t look handsome or manly. he just looked beautiful. kenma was born with feminine features and the makeup only complimented his femininity even more. kenma felt a wave of confidence wash over him the longer he stared into the mirror. it only left him curious to the point he wondered.

how would he look in one of your dresses? how would he look in a pair of your heels?

he just wanted a little something to complete the look because why not. kenma grabbed his phone to pause the recording so he can change his clothes. he reached in your shared closet and slid your black dress off of the hanger. the silk of the dress allowed him to slip the dress over his skin easily, fitting his figure perfectly. the pair of red bottom heels he bought for you as a gift, waited for him to slide his feet into. and again, the heels fit his feet perfectly. they were a little small but not too small, it was just enough for him to fit into.

kenma felt the best in himself than he ever could. he took a few steps back to look into the body mirror and stared in awe. at this point kenma forgot about the damn video. he had this strange feeling inside him that let him know that he was experiencing an astonishing moment right now and that he could no longer care about playing dress up for his ‘funny’ video he had planned. he was trying to figure something out. why he couldn’t stop staring at himself in the mirror.

it was because he loved it. this new sight of himself, he loved it. this was who he wanted to be but he never knew that until now. he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to even go by he. then he started to think about the what if’s. what if he went by she. what if he, a man, started dressing like a she, a woman. the thought overflowed him with a weird feeling of excitement, but also guilt. why was he feeling guilty if he felt happy? it was because he knew there were people out there who would see this as wrong. he’s a man. he should dress like a man. he shouldn’t be putting on makeup like a woman, he should go back to playing video games or working out because his best friend won’t stop bothering him to, like a man.

but that’s not what he wanted. no, that’s not what SHE wanted. it didn’t feel right for HER. but a thought went through her mind. what about what you wanted? what would you think of kenma, the man you fell in love with? you didn’t fall in love with a woman, you fell in love with a man. kenma could feel her eyes water from the tears that threatened to fall at the thought of you leaving her.

tears slid down her face as she looked up in the mirror once more. the eyeliner colored her tears black and stained her face as she looked at herself. she was scared. scared of losing you. kenma gave into how weak her knees felt and fell to the floor, never taking her eyes off of her reflection as she did so. “y/n…” she breathed out as her soft cries slipped out. kenma couldn’t stop looking at herself.

this is her. this is who she was.

~

cries could be heard from the room you shared with kenma as you were working up a batch of your homemade pudding for the both of you in the kitchen. the cries were so soft, nobody would know how you could hear them. yet you furrowed your eyebrows in worry as you placed down the spoon you were mixing with and slowly made your way to your room, the soft sobs getting only a tiny bit louder as you made your way to the room.

your hand turned the knob of the door as you pushed it open slowly. your heart broke at what you saw. your husband sitting on the floor, in your dress, mascara and eyeliner staining the color of his tears that colored his cheeks. “oh honey..” you wasted no time to go up to him and cup his face. you had no clue what kenma was doing in your dress, your heels, or why was he wearing makeup but you didn’t care. you just wanted to know what was going on since you’ve never seen kenma cry like this. or wear anything like this.

kenma sniffled and softly cried as she stared at the floor, too embarrassed to look into your worried eyes. “kenma tell me what’s going on.” all kenma could do was stay silent as she tried her best to avoid your gaze but the way your hands held her face made it hard to.

you suddenly had this feeling of what was going on after you connected the dots. kenma was wearing makeup, he was wearing a dress, and he was wearing your heels. but he was also crying, so it couldn’t have been a silly joke, nor was it a prank for a video because he wasn’t recording. he was just crying in your dress. and it all made sense to you. “kenma…do you want to be more like a…a woman?” kenma averted her gaze from the floor and to you as her eyes widened. her face was your answer. you hugged her head and ran your fingers through her soft but messy hair. “it’s okay my love.”

“lipstick looks so good on you anyways.”

kenma broke down as your lips met hers. she felt relief, she felt happiness, and she felt passion against your touch. this is exactly what she needed. you smiled against the kiss before you broke away to look at your wife. “you make a beautiful woman, my love.” you softly said caressing her cheeks. kenma smiled at you, her tear stained face still managing to break your heart. you couldn’t imagine what she could’ve been feeling in this sudden realization. “y/n…i love you” she said in an almost whisper, her breath tickling your lips as your faces were still really close. “i love you too. and if you’re really up to this then tomorrow, why don’t we go shopping? buy you some new clothes, some makeup, and maybe even some perfume?” kenma blushed as her head moved up and down to agree to your shopping spree tomorrow.

“…and…y/n i promise…” she squeezed your hand softly, her other hand holding onto your waist, and your hands never letting go of her face. “i won’t get any surgery…it’s just this, i promise.” you couldn’t help but chuckle a bit as you used one of your hands to let go of her face and tucked some hair behind her ear. “you know i don’t mind baby. even if you do get any kind of surgeries i wouldn’t mind. you’re still the same person that i fell in love with, regardless of this change. just please don’t do anything to your face if you do end up getting any kind of surgery done. you’re beautiful.” kenma’s lips formed a smile at what you said at the end and stared into your eyes for a moment before speaking. “plus i really see no point in getting bottom surgery…when two girls have sex doesn’t one girl end up using a strap anyways..?” you’re eyes widened at kenma’s question before you laughed a bit, pink dust spread across kenma’s face and ears.

“kenma…you’re funny. that’s kind of true i guess, but there are girls that don’t do that either.” you shook your head and laughed a little. kenma just looked away in embarrassment, his face fading into a slightly darker color. you saw her embarrassment and grabbed her face once more and kissed her lipstick stained lips, the lipstick smearing against yours this time as you shared a much deeper kiss before pulling away again. “kenma, i’ll love you no matter what.” you whipped more tears that fell down her face “i love you too baby…” you moved to whisper into her ear after kenma’s soft response. your breath tickling her as you spoke softly.

“now why don’t we go to bed? who knew you would look so sexy in a dress…and so pretty with lipstick.”

𝐄𝐍𝐃 ~

- word count : 1503

[bunnyrafe]

𓊆ྀིrafe gets high before you two have very important plans𓊇ྀི

content / warnings -> 18+, MDNI. 600 f / kook!reader, high / mean!rafe, drug use, addiction, toxic relationship, light violence, angst (hurt & comfort).

Truthfully— you’ve never been this angry at him before.

You believe you both reached a new low the second he walked through your bedroom door with shaky hands and blown out pupils, a mere hour and a half before dinner with your parents. Immediately you pout, the light in your eyes dissipates, and then the rage takes over. You stand up from your vanity, finding yourself pointing and screaming before you can blink. You don’t allow him a chance to begin running his mouth or start spewing bullshit excuses you’ve heard one too many times already.

“You promised me you’d be sober, Rafe!”

He doesn’t seem to be bothered by your smaller hands smacking his own away or the tears collecting at your painted lashes. Rafe only cares about himself when he’s high. So he grabs up your waist, attempting to press kisses to your freshly blushed cheeks to calm you down—

“Princess...”

“Fuck off,” you sniffle between the words.

At that, Rafe’s eyes narrow. Fury pools in his irises, forcing a shiver down your spine and fear induced heat to prickle at the back of your neck. Your glossy lips part, staring up at him while he closes in on you. His handsome but contorted features a mere inch away from your own— you can smell it on him— a mixture of chemicals and weed smoke, some bourbon disguised by mint gum on his breath as the cherry on top. His teeth clench as he speaks, “You need to watch that fucking mouth of yours, do you understand?”

“Let go of me,” you squeal. Only for Rafe’s arms to tighten around you, practically swinging you back and forth as you try to escape him.

“I said— fuckin’ stop,” Rafe growls, trying his best to hold you right against his brick wall of a chest. Your squirming and fighting dies down just enough for him to keep you planted there while he continues on, a large hand gripping your jaw and giving your pretty head a little shake that makes a whimper crawl up your throat, “I asked if you understand. ‘Cause if my girl thinks she can keep runnin’ her mouth like that, we’re gonna— gonna have a big problem.”

It hits you then. A wave of shame and regret when you realize how stupid it was of you to ever question him. Let alone defy him… to start something you could never finish with the way you’re wrapped around his finger. You’re full blown sobbing now, sniveling and shaking, “But you promised me…”

Maybe there are a lot of bad bones in Rafe’s body. God knows that's true. But if there’s one complete and utter soft spot he has in this world, it’s you. Watching you so upset, even when it’s brought on by him, makes him nervous. Makes him weak at the knees and nauseous. He’s quick to shush you, whispering out sweet names and squeezing you in his hold while you hiccup pathetic noises.

“Oh, princess.” He breathes out. He’s guiding you to your bed, and you’re now pliant enough to let him lay you down. His fingers mess with the strings on your silk robe. They tug until the garment comes loose, barely covering your trembling body from him so he can nuzzle his face into the soft, perfumed skin of your chest.

“I’m sorry, okay? I-I’ll get ready right now— show your parents that their little girl has the best man, alright?”

You nod once. When you look at him with those tear filled eyes, he feels a dagger through his heart. Your lashes flutter and it slows down the drumming in his chest brought on by the drugs, knocks the breath right out his lungs. It’s enough to have him suddenly acting right…

[kybercrystals94]

Anything

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch | Week 3 | Prompt: "Forget I asked." | Bonus Prompt: "Can you braid my hair?"

Rated: G | Words: 1190

Crosshair wakes to a snuffling sound, and turns over to find his sister standing next to his bed. “Omega? What’s wrong?” 

“I got sick,” Omega mutters, and her breath trembles. She’s crying, softly, quietly. 

Crosshair reaches over and clicks on the lamp, bathing the room in a warm glow of light. But the warmth does not extend to Omega’s face, her skin pale and eyes red rimmed. She blinks rapidly, and a tear escapes, creating another shiny track down her ashen cheek. She does not look well at all. 

Of all the times for Hunter and Wrecker to be gone on a supply trip for the island. 

Sitting up, Crosshair asks, “Got sick where?” He really hopes he doesn’t have to clean anything up. 

“I made it to the fresher,” Omega tells him, “but I still feel awful.” 

“Alright,” Crosshair says, nodding. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” 

He guides Omega out of his room, a hand on her shoulder. Even through her nightshirt, he can feel that she’s unusually warm. Not a dangerously high fever, he decides, but enough to make her feel miserable. The common room has a couch and a chair, and he gives her a gentle nudge towards the couch. “Lay down. I’ll be back.” 

Crosshair goes to Omega’s room and finds her blankets in a pile on the floor, hastily discarded in her flight to the fresher to throw up, he imagines. He picks up the thickest of the blankets and drapes it over his right arm and then grabs her pillow. He notices the red tip of Lula’s ear peeking out from under the bed, and after a second thought, snatches the tooka stuffy up too. 

When he returns to the common room, Omega is laying on her side on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest and shivering. She looks pitiful, and the twinge of sympathy Crosshair feels reverberates deeply in his chest cavity. “Here, I brought your pillow and blanket.” 

Omega lifts her head and lets Crosshair shove the pillow under her. He then drapes the blanket over her, and props Lula beside her. Omega watches him dully. “Thanks,” she whispers. 

“We have tea. It might help with the nausea,” Crosshair says. “Do you think you could take medicine?”

Omega nods. 

Crosshair retreats to the kitchen to try and find where Hunter keeps the tea. He and his brothers are typically caf drinkers; however, housewarming gifts from the islanders had supplied them with enough tea to last several clone lifetimes. He puts some water in a kettle to boil and then spends the next five minutes digging through every cupboard before he finds where Hunter stashed the stuff. Crosshair isn’t really sure what kind of tea helps nausea, so he just chooses the one that smells the best, dropping the teabag in Omega’s favorite mug. 

After letting the brew steep for several minutes, he takes the steaming beverage back to the common room. Omega smiles wanly and pushes herself up to sit cross legged, arranging the blanket over her lap before taking the mug of tea from Crosshair. “You’re pretty good at this taking care of sick people stuff,” she says, putting her nose to the brim of the mug to inhale the steam with a sigh. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Surprised?” 

“A little,” Omega admits with a grin.

Crosshair huffs and leaves to search for medicine. When he returns, Omega looks like she’s going to be sick again. Quickly, he takes her mug and she stumbles to her feet, briefly getting tangled in the blanket, before stumbling back to the fresher. 

Crosshair follows and arrives in time to find her kneeling over the toilet and emptying whatever is left in her stomach. He hesitates a moment before stepping inside and awkwardly gathering up her hair with his left hand, holding it at the nape of her neck. The long seconds drag into several minutes before Omega finally leans back. Crosshair releases his hold on her hair and hands her a towel to wipe her mouth. 

“Ugh,” Omega growls. “I hate being sick.” 

Crosshair agrees with a hum and helps Omega to her feet. She rinses her mouth out in the sink before shuffling back into the living room and collapsing on the couch. 

“Do you want to try your tea again?” Crosshair asks. 

Omega shakes her head. “Not yet.” 

Crosshair nods and sits down next to her, picking up the puddle of blanket from the floor and tossing it over her lap. Omega reaches up and brushes back her hair. “Could you…” she starts, but cuts herself off, frowning and dropping her hands. 

“What?” Crosshair asks. 

“Nothing,” Omega mumbles, “Forget I asked.”

“No, tell me. What do you need?” Crosshair insists. 

Omega sighs. “I was just gonna ask if you could braid my hair, but…” 

Oh. Crosshair had braided Omega’s hair before, back when he first came to Pabu after their escape from Tantiss. Hunter and Wrecker had gone to find Fennec Shand, and Omega had asked if he knew how. With the tremble in his right hand, the braids had been loose and messy; however, Omega had proudly worn them all day.

He stares down at his singular hand, nondominant and clumsy when it comes to more intricate efforts. Besides, braiding hair took two hands, not one and a stump. And while it isn’t his fault the simple request can’t be fulfilled, Crosshair feels like he’s failed. 

“I’m sorry,” Omega says, “I forget sometimes.” 

Crosshair doesn’t like the guilt in his sister’s voice. “Welcome to the club,” he says, hoping to ease the tension. 

It doesn’t. 

Crosshair stands up. “I’ve got an idea…but I’ll need to borrow something.” 

Omega looks at him quizzically. “What?” 

“I might only have one hand, but between the two of us, we have three. I think I can make due.” 

The girl immediately brightens. She tells Crosshair where to find her hair ties and brush in her room, and soon Crosshair is brushing through a tangle of blond locks and creating a careful part down the middle. Under his direction, Omega offers up her right hand to hold whatever strands of hair Crosshair puts in her fingers, as he sloppily weaves a braid down from her hairline. Crosshair’s snippy instructions are taken in the spirit they are delivered, Omega giggling and outright laughing as she tries to follow blindly along, acting as Crosshair’s literal right hand. Crosshair smiles at the sound. 

After nearly an hour of effort, Omega has two lopsided braids, bumps of unruly hair poking out where the coordination effort fell short. 

“Do they look nice?” Omega asks sweetly. 

Crosshair snorts. “They look like kark, but they'll do the job.” 

Omega laughs. “Thanks, Crosshair.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Crosshair says. 

“I think I’m ready for my tea now,” Omega says, “but it’s probably cold.” 

Crosshair heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I’ll make you a fresh cup. Anything else, m’lady?” 

Omega considers. “Maybe some crackers?” 

“Of course, anything for you,” Crosshair retorts, but the sarcasm is muted by a soft smile, and the reality that he really would do anything. 

END

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[theartistisme43]

Chapter Two: The Smell of Copper and Disinfectant

HOSPITAL, BLOOD, PANIC ATTACK, AND GUN MENTION TW:

There was a dense ringing in SMG4’s ears as he floated in a void of numbness, he could hear a distant beep every now and then, and muffled, discombobulated talking…

4 didn’t know where he was, or what was happening… Every time he tried to figure it out, something pulled him into a deeper rest, but he could feel himself getting closer to a light every time he attempted to gather his thoughts.

All he remembered was creating tomato soop, and then… Nothing.

4 tried to get out of whatever state he was in, but he felt trapped and unable to move, as if he was being weighed down by something, almost like…

Sleep paralysis?…

Was he asleep?

The more he thought of it, the more he could hear, the more he could feel, the more he could think.

Just like a knife, memory cut into him.

“I’m sorry, I have to do this…”

BANG!

With a gasp, SMG4 shot up in bed, making Mario almost fall back with a gasp of his own.

4’s eyes refocused as his mind began to process where he was, as they tiredly scanned the area around him.

All of his friends were here, scattered around in his hospital room.

Just as 4 intended to speak, a sharp, horrible pain made him hiss in reaction. He looked down, seeing a gauze pad that was secured by tight bandages wrapped around his chest and back to hold it in place. 4 could feel how tender his skin was under the medical wraps.

“…wh…” He found his voice as he winced hard.

A gloved hand took his, as Mario looked at him with love in his eyes… And an air of sorrow to them too.

“Miei cari Quattro... ero così preoccupata!” The red plumber embraced him, avoiding his wound.

SMG4 enjoyed the hug for a moment, but wondered what all the fuss was about, he couldn’t remember what happened for some reason… Did he have a kitchen accident or something?

“SMG4!” Meggy exclaimed, coming to hug him too. “You’re awake!”

4 attempted to use his right arm to pat her back, but it hurt far too much for him to move it, so he used his left to do it instead.

“What happened?” 4’s question made almost everyone in the room uncomfortable, as a few of his friends avoided looking at him.

Meggy sighed, willing herself to say… Something bad from what 4 could gather from her face.

“SMG4… Do you… Not remember?” She asked softly.

“No, please tell me..” 4 said. “I can handle it, whatever it is..”

“SMG4.” Meggy began, brows furrowing. “SMG3 shot you…”

4 paled, the ringing in his ears returned as his heart began pounding.

Like a train, feelings of grief, betrayal, and heartbreak came hurtling into him.

Now he could remember.

SMG3’s eyes were cold and empty, the way his face looked was like something straight out of a horror movie.

SMG4 tried to brush it off by mentioning his newest meme, but 3 didn’t care, merely raising his gun with the intention of killing 4.

And he shot him.

Watching him bleed out as he lost consciousness…

SMG4 was hyperventilating as he clutched himself, suffering through a panic attack as the previous day’s events became clear.

The very person he had come to trust, come to love, stabbed him in the back. And why? Because he got bored of being good? Because being evil was much easier for him?

“SMG4, it’s going to be okay…” Meggy tried to vocally help him through his attack, but all of the emotions he felt were relentless.

SMG4’s brain couldn’t register anything as a monsoon of thoughts and questions rendered all of his senses useless.

His fingers were practically digging into his skin as his chest heaved, eyes staring into nothing.

All 4 could see in his mind was SMG3’s terrifying expression as he watched him lay there helpless, his own blood pooling around him.

But suddenly… He was encased in warmth, a safe feeling he had felt many times.

Mario held SMG4 close, letting him clutch at his shirt as to not damage himself anymore, like the other times he helped him through past panic attacks.

The meme guardian rode the aftermath of his attack, coming back to reality with heavy yet softer breaths.

“There we are…” Mario muttered. “I got you.”

4 had pushed his body too hard, his ribs hurt slightly from his rapid sharp breaths, and this didn’t help with his still tender injury.

Mario saw something in 4’s eyes fade.. He didn’t know if it was exhaustion, or… Hope leaving him.

As 4 returned to sleep, Mario still held his hand, his heart breaking as he watched someone who was so full of life feel so defeated…

“Gli farò pagare la pena per averti ferito, Quattro, te lo prometto. Non avrò pace finché non lo troveranno..”

Mario had tried to whisper only loud enough for 4 to hear, but his quiet promise was understood by his green brother.

Luigi looked on in concern, as he watched his twin brother begin a tread down a darker path... Grief considered, he wanted 3 to pay for this too, but this just wasn't right... This wasn't Mario.

"Come on guys." Meggy whispered. "Let's let SMG4 rest."

Their friend group had quietly, one by one, left the room, but Luigi stayed put. He joined his brother's side, placing a kind and comforting hand onto Mario's own.

Hurt, angry, tired eyes glanced down, and then up to Luigi's face.

Luigi looked back with a soft and concerned look in his, as Mario silently brought his hand down to his side, away from Luigi's hand.

It would be a fight to get Mario back, but Luigi was willing to do whatever it took to save his brother from his own rage.

"Sono qui anche per te, Mario. Non dimenticarlo mai..."