#red.✒

[prettyiwa]

I do not authorize the translation or reposting of my work

Relationship: March x NB!Farmer Rating: SFW Content Tags: March POV, Alcohol Consumption, Slight Jealousy, Light Flirting/Teasing, March is March (aka emotionally constipated), 2-Heart Event, Developing Feelings, 4-Heart Event, Incidental Shooting Star Festival, Referenced fear of the sea, References to March's parents (spoilers?) Summary: March lets it slip that he wants the farmer's attention, so they deliver. Word Count: 9.6k

A/N: The first two seasons for my Fields of Mistria fic. I have much more planned, but I figured why not share this while I have it finished? I'll be waiting until I have the first year finished before sharing to AO3, but in the meantime... Special thanks to @owoasis for letting me drone on about March at length (and for reading over this again and again with me). Also to the metalsmith who helped me for a throwaway line because March would know better than to try and craft a usable silver sword. (Header credit)

SPRING, Year 1

Laughter is in abundance, bouncing off each surface as nearly everyone sports a smile of some kind, grateful for the promised return of Saturday Markets. Ryis finished repairing the bridge only yesterday, and so this is the first weekend in months that everyone has felt hopeful about the future of Mistria. March is no exception, unable to keep his smile contained as he loosely listens to Valen and Juniper talk about wines, Hemlock’s brew keeping him jovial. The buzzing beneath his skin is pleasant, dulling the edges of the world in addition to his inhibitions.

The doors open and in walks you, drawing his focus effortlessly. There’s this glow about you as you move—or perhaps that’s just the alcohol and the warm lighting of the inn—, grabbing a beer from Hemlock before checking in with Eiland and the others. Their greetings are brief, engulfed in the game Eiland is overseeing (that doesn’t stop Holt from offering you no less than three puns, judging from your awkward smiles). Reina passes you by, delivering a pizza to their table before she stops to say hello, drawing an easy smile from you before you two lean in toward each other in a fit of laughter.

Each time you greet someone, they give you a wide smile and a warm welcome and something shifts. His quiet pleasance is interrupted by a subtle aching that occurs each time they brighten in response to you, a low throbbing beneath the skin that alcohol won’t quench.

His lips shape into a pout and he feels his brows stitch together as this twisting desire travels down his arms, settling into his fingertips. Making your way around Olric, March feels like he’s about five seconds from calling out and demanding your attention like a petulant child, the impulse stifled only by the small frown you give Errol.

Landen asks March something and the latter takes a swig from his beer, pretending like he was half-listening by the time you circle around the table. Ryis turns to greet you as you lean forward to look at his cards, your faces close enough that it cools the heat in his belly. Almost as though you can hear the words March has yet to breathe, you look up, meeting his stare, smile faltering. It falls before reshaping, turning playful, daring, demanding reciprocity.

As quickly as you cooled him, you heat him up, warmth spreading across his cheeks once more, and the hand holding his beer raises without thought. Your name is called and it takes a moment before he realizes it was his voice doing the calling. “Hey! Come sit with me!”

Something sparks within him when your smile grows, offering the silent promise of your company. As you straighten, you raise a brow, turning away only to offer Ryis a quick goodbye in the wake of the chorus of groans leaving his table.

March realizes a moment too late that there isn’t an extra stool for you to sit on (he himself is leaning against the edge of the bar, not having bothered grabbing an extra bar stool from the corner), but that doesn’t deter you. Instead, you sidle up beside him, shoulder bumping his before you wave down Hemlock for another beer.

It grows hot with you by his side, the faint scent of lavender and lemon invades his senses as you lean in, tilting your head to look past him. Your eyes meet his and your smile doesn’t fade like he expected. He’s left staring like an idiot as your mouth forms the words, “Scooch over, why don’t you?”

He complies, satisfaction settling across his chest at your proximity, at the way you shift, too, staying loosely pressed against his side. Hemlock returns with fresh beers, replacing the empty bottles. Before he can taste this new drink, you clink the neck of your bottle with his, offering a wink when he catches your eye. The light flavors of the beer soothe the burning of his cheeks.

“So? What’s up?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand to give him your undivided attention.

There’s all sorts of things he wishes to say to you, but all that comes tumbling out of his mouth is, “You’re always so busy during the week. Why don’t you stop by more?”

His words catch him off guard, tiny thoughts he keeps tucked away coming to life for both of you to hear. Your eyes widen and your lips are shaped by surprise before your smile returns, albeit different than before.

“What’s this? You want me to stop by more? And here I thought you wanted me to keep my distance.”

He snorts, trying to hide his embarrassment, a tiny seed of shame for the assumptions he’s made. “No, I mean… You can stop by. You’re always running around town, talking to everyone else and…”

The way your cheeks lift with your smile makes him freeze, and he starts to understand why everyone likes talking with you so much.

“My, my. Is it possible that you’re jealous?” you ask, eyes following the obvious flush of his cheeks. “I only steered clear because I thought you wanted your space, but if you want me to come around, I can do that.”

March is mesmerized by the emotion dancing behind your eyes, something bright that steals all coherent thought in conjunction with the weight of the promise on your tongue.

“Y-yeah. No, wait, I’m not jealous! I want—”

“It’s fine,” you say with a laugh, something just for him. “You want me to come by? Yeah, okay, Red.”

The name stills him before setting him alight like wildfire as you lean in. His face burns, as does the rest of him, and he’s temporarily overwhelmed by lavender. “What—? What’s with the nickname?”

Your eyes drink him in, again lingering on his cheeks before meeting his gaze. Unable to stand the intensity of your attention, he turns to his drink, catching sight of the way your right hand inches closer. When you don’t answer, he ventures a glance your way.

“It suits you.”

Monday rolls around and Friday is a distant memory if only because of how much booze he consumed. The air is thick with anticipation of a storm, wind picking up and carrying the distant scent of petrichor every now and then, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

With the bridge repaired, Balor was able to deliver twice as many ingots than March had anticipated, giving him plenty of work this week, the first of which is crafting a new hammer for Ryis. With the town depending on Ryis’ repairs, he can’t let him continue using something so worn. It feels good to work with more than the bare minimum, than whatever could be melted down. Even if it means working in the rain, he’ll keep at it.

Something moves in the square, catching his attention, and he realizes it’s you, hurrying toward the manor. Eiland heads down the steps and you two exchange a few words as you pass something off—he can only assume it to be a relic of some kind. You smile, offering a wave, then turn your head in March’s direction. Up until now, you’ve… you haven’t necessarily avoided him, offering chipper hellos as you blow through, but you don’t give him the same attention you do everyone else.

Except this time you wear a smirk that promises a headache for him. He tries not to look, tries to make it look like he wasn’t looking—nothing more than a cursory glance, that’s all—busying himself with the hammer.

“Heya, Red,” you say so casually he wonders whether you’ve hit your head.

Heat rises within him at the name, a stark contrast to the chill that the wind brings, and his swing falters. Catching himself before causing injury or ruining his work, he looks up at you. His eyes narrow as he takes in the dirt that stains your clothes, the gloves tucked into your pocket, the ax hanging from your work belt. He could comment on any of them, but one thought above all demands answering.

“What did you call me?”

Your lips curve freely, reactionary if he had to guess, and it fills him with a simmering anger. “‘Red?’ Oh, c’mon. Don’t tell me you don’t like it now.”

“Now? When have I ever given you the impression that I liked it?”

Vague memories of Friday hit him, namely the weight of you on his side and the shape of your smile, different from the one you offer him presently. His flush intensifies until he’s certain his ears are burning, too.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you drawl, stepping back to lean on the side of the shop. “Last Friday you didn’t seem to mind.”

Part of him wants to protest if only because it’s you, but another part of him, the part of him susceptible to flattery, likes it. Red is his color, and he can’t fault you for noticing. It's... not the worst thing you could call him.

Rather than linger on that, on the conflicting feelings rising beneath his ribcage, he changes the subject, returning to the hammer to relieve him from the fire in your gaze. “Whatever. What are you even doing here? Don’t you have dirt to shovel?”

He tries to drown out the sound of your laugh with the clang of his tools, but the sound bounces between you both, settling somewhere on his anvil.

“Oh, sure. But that’ll have to wait till tomorrow. I’m not in the habit of ignoring when my body tells me to stop. Don’t want to hurt myself when there’s so much to be done.”

If he knew any better, he’d say it was a pointed jab, a harsher reminder than his brother’s to stop pushing himself at all hours of the day. But he doesn’t know better, and neither do you.

“Besides… I thought you’d appreciate my company.”

Again, he wavers, looking up at you like you’ve lost your damn mind. “The hell makes you think that?”

With dramatics to rival Elsie, you give him the fakest sigh he’s ever heard, setting his teeth on edge. With a shrug, you close your eyes and shake your head, failing in your struggle to keep a smile off your face. Opening your eyes again, there’s something mischievous that he can’t stand (he can’t stand a lot of what you do). “I don’t know. It’s probably something I picked up about the same time I first called you Red.”

He needs to start cutting back on beer come Fridays.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he says, looking away.

“I’m sure I won’t.” He can hear the smile that colors your voice, and you make no move to leave, sticking around for another twenty minutes, even if you two scarcely exchange words after that.

“What do you mean, you won’t go into the mines? You love the mines! Think of all the rocks you can pick up while you get us some ore!”

“Bro. You don’t understand. Errol told me that since they’ve condemned the mines, he’s heard all kinds of noises in there! And Eiland was telling me that the cave systems around this area used to be home to all kinds of monsters and other magical creatures. What if they came back? I can’t go in there. It’s super creepy now!”

The sigh that escapes March is one belonging to someone who has been alive much longer and has experienced much more than he, full of exasperation he didn’t even know he contained. There’s a throbbing in his temple that warns him of an impending migraine as he reviews the letter from Balor detailing the delay in his copper shipment.

Given how Errol was singing your praises to Terithia at the inn last night, he knows the mines are reopened, though he can’t fathom how you possibly helped. Ultimately, he can push back some of the projects until he receives the bulk of the shipment, but he can’t—won’t—fail to get Juniper the copper pipe she needs for the bathhouse on time.

While he doesn’t have the necessary experience to deal with the creepy-crawlies that may inhabit the mines now, he knows at least a couple of qualified candidates who should, including you. Unable to face even the idea of being turned down and having to resort to you, he scribbles his request, leaving it on the bulletin board by the mill.

The day carries on and he does what he can with the limited materials he has, but he starts worrying when he sees Balor and Errol around town and no sign of you. It’s not until the sun starts setting and he’s making his way to the bathhouse to inform Juniper of the delay that you call out to him, jogging to catch up.

“Red. Hey,” you say, voice unusually strained, offering a nod instead of a wave. “You needed some ore, right?”

Sliding off your pack, you shift to open it, allowing him to see roughly ten times the amount of ore he needed.

“What—? You completed my request?”

He knew it was a possibility (a probability, honestly), but still. Of all the things you could’ve been doing, this is how you’ve spent your day?

Giving you a once over, he takes note of the pickax barely visible behind your back, the soot that coats your clothes, the scrape across your cheek. The scratch begs his attention, the dried blood that makes him wonder whether you were just clumsy or the mines really are as dangerous as Olric said they would be.

He can’t seem to take his eyes off the red that stains your cheek, something uncomfortable unfurling near his core. Looking up, it seems you’re looking away, avoiding his gaze for the first time since he’s known you. The muscles in his jaw clench and he reaches forward, seeking to relieve you from the weight of your bag, surprised at how easily you surrender it.

“C’mon then. Let’s get your reward.”

Constantly importing metal has left his savings running dry, so he can’t possibly pay you for everything you’ve mined, though it would surely be a boon to receive even a fraction of it.

Still sure he doesn’t know you by any means, he finds it odd, the way you don’t say anything. He’s grown used to your quips (as used to them as he could possibly get with fleeting meetings lasting no longer than fifteen minutes at a time), so the absence of them as you follow behind is almost startling. If anything, there’s a quiet nag in the back of his mind about what you went through to complete his request (and then some), but he’s not ready to give it credence.

“You didn’t have to get so much, you know,” he says as you two pass the fountain.

Hearing your sigh, he glances over his shoulder, catching sight of the way you look down the street toward the inn. “Not the way I see it.”

Annoyance burns his cheeks and he rolls his eyes. “And how do you see it?” You shouldn’t have pushed yourself into getting hurt. With how abundant those mines are, tapping one vein would’ve been enough. There was no need for you to be gone all day fulfilling his stupid request.

“You and Ryis are the reason Mistria’s hanging on. Yeah, Adeline and Balor deserve credit for keeping things organized and making sure you’re connected to the world, but… you two are the reason buildings aren’t falling apart. And…” The sound of your footsteps ceases and he half-turns, meeting your eyes as you watch him, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “I dunno. If you two need anything and I can do something about it, I want to be able to help.”

The nag grows, catching in his throat as he continues toward the shop, fingers digging into the canvas of your sack. Pushing past it, he’s glad to hear you fall in step behind him. Your words tumble in his mind and the clawing sensation starts reaching for his heart.

It only intensifies when you take your payment but start emptying the copper.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is yours. Take it with you.” He doesn’t need your handouts.

Without so much as looking over your shoulder, you simply say, “Tomorrow’s your birthday, right, Red? Think of it as an early birthday present. Dunno if I’ll have the energy to stop by after my farm work, so.”

It seems you won’t give him a choice, nor can he seem to find any words to refute your actions here. Adeline doesn’t give him much opportunity to formulate a response, finding one for him in the form of an impromptu smithing lesson.

He remains stupefied throughout the rest of the evening, crafting the pipe he can now deliver on time. His thoughts continually return to you, turning over your words again and again as he considers everything you did to fulfill his request. As time moves forward, he grows all the more uncertain how to proceed.

The following morning he comes out to find a perfect copper ore on the doormat with a note beneath.

Forgot this was in my side pocket till I was handing things off to Balor. Thought of you when I found it. Happy Birthday, Red. —Your favorite farmer

As March stares at the perfect copper hoe, freshly crafted, irritation bubbles within him, rising from his chest and up his throat. Crafting it was an impulse brought on by a sleepless night and ruminations thereof. At some point, he started imagining an infusion for the hoe and he knew then it was too late.

The minutes he spends in the shop, awaiting your arrival, seem to drag on, knowing you would’ve received his stupid letter, knowing you’ll come when called. With how much running around you’ve been doing, he can’t see any way you’ve actually made meaningful progress with your farm, and he has no interest in seeing that.

The bell above the shop door rings and his heart immediately kicks up, an involuntary reaction that pisses him off. Turning, he sees you meandering forward, hands stuffed in your jacket pockets as you look around. You stop in front of the ax he has on display, eyes tracing the metalwork.

Without looking at him, you say, “Morning, Red.”

In your inattention of him, he’s allowed a moment to appreciate your appearance. Instead of your ax or the shitty hoe you’ve been using, you have a sword at your hip, looking beat to shit. His palms start to itch and he makes his way from the drafting table to the counter.

Stopping on the other side, you finally give him your full attention. “Got your note. What’s up?”

He rolls his tongue between his teeth, trying to remember what exactly he wanted to say to you before whim wins out.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

“What?”

“In Mistria. What do you think you’ll achieve? You come here with no experience as a farmer or a carpenter or blacksmith and you think that, what, you’re going to luck your way into running a farm?”

Tilting your head, he watches as your brow furrows, as your easy smile is nowhere to be found, replaced by a frown. Taking your hands out of your pockets, you place one on your hip and the other on the hilt of your sword. A different image flashes before him, one of an adventurer determined to get the job done, whatever the stakes rather than the facsimile of a farmer he’s met so far. As you shift, his eyes catch on the head of your pickax, again tucked between your back and your rucksack.

Aside from the challenge clear in your eyes, you offer no retort, and he takes it as his cue to continue. “Despite all this, everyone’s talking about you like you’re the one who’s going to fix up the town, like it’s you who’s the award-winning blacksmith.” He’s tired of everyone dismissing all that he and Ryis have accomplished for the town in the wake of the earthquake, talking like you’re going to save Mistria when even you recognized who’s actually putting in the work. It wouldn’t be so bad if people hadn’t left, if they had the extra hands they once had, but—

The memories he’s tried pushing aside start to arise and he snaps. “The second things go to shit again, I bet you’re going to ditch Mistria and all its problems.”

You’re just the same as the adventurers who came before, standing in the exact place you stand now. Better to get you to turn tail and run before people start actually growing attached to you. Things are looking up, especially now that the mines have reopened and the bridge has been fixed. They can take over from here—you can scamper off to wherever you originated.

Rather than meeting his anger with your own, you smirk, dipping your head before he hears what he believes to be a laugh. With a short exhale, you roll your neck, looking away before meeting his glare. Your smile lacks its usual familiarity, matching the silent taunt present in your eyes.

“Are you feeling okay, Red?”

“What?”

“You don’t have a fever or anything? Don’t need me to double check? I’m a little worried. Jealousy is such a nasty disease; it packs quite the punch. I’m a little afraid you might be infected.”

White hot anger flashes behind his eyes, culminating in his hands, reminding him of the heat of the forge during the peak of summer. It gags him, steals his response away so all he can do is gawp at you while you wait with sickening patience. Unwilling to keep up this staring contest, to be tortured with that expression, he turns to his desk where the hoe awaits.

“You think you’re going to stick around? Fine.” His fingers wrap around the handle, half wanting to give it to Balor to sell instead. He walks it to you, meeting you in the center of the shop, thrusting it forward as though it’ll burn him if he keeps it any longer. “Take it. I won’t be responsible for your failure.”

The judgment in your expression is slow to evaporate as you assess it in his hands, fingers brushing against his when you take it. A shock runs through him, originating from where you two touched, but he refuses to react in the face of your indifference. Your eyes flicker to him as you turn the hoe in your grasp, feeling its weight.

When you properly turn your attention to him, he wants to squirm, though he can’t place why. You stare at him intently, eyes squinting imperceptibly before relaxing, your lips slow to shape into a smile once more, missing the sardonic edge this time.

“Thanks,” you say, seemingly genuine in your gratitude before it’s replaced with something indecipherable. “Is that all?”

Do you need more?

At his silence, you turn on your heel, stopping just shy of the door. Before you turn, he realizes he’s uncomfortable allowing you to have the last word.

“Who knows. Maybe you’ll surprise me.”

As you look over your shoulder, his eyes catch the quirk of your brow, the parting of your lips. “You can bet on it. I take it that you mean to keep an eye on me, so in the interests of your new hobby and presumed diligence, I’m gonna go ahead and leave this here,” you say, lifting the hoe and wagging it to grab his attention before placing it on the window ledge. “I planned on making my way through the mines to get more ore, and I’d hate if anything happened to your quality handiwork.”

Not giving him a chance to answer, you slip through the door, leaving him feeling chewed up and spat out.

SUMMER, Year 1

There is no relief to be found from a summer breeze as the sun bears down upon him, even in the evening. Between the heat of the forge in the early morning and the weight of the sun on his back all day, he’s had no reprieve from this week’s heatwave.

Ryis and Reina are both preoccupied, leaving March alone in his trek to the beach, not that he’s complaining.

As far as he can remember, he’s always found comfort in the sand, in the briny scent heavy in the air. Even now, in his approach, he feels better simply for the whiffs of sea that waft over the trees near Sweetwater. It’s always been this way, but he doesn’t know whether it’s tied to the natural presence of the sea or if it’s some enduring association with his dad he’s tried forgetting.

Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, he’s made it his own.

Breaking through the tree line, the heat turns blistering, the last bastion holding on as the sun hangs low in the sky, blinding in its descent. He raises an arm to block out the light, eyes scanning the shoreline in search of someone (anyone). There’s a figure seated at the docks, looking out to the west, and he heads in their direction.

Not until he’s coming down the steps from Terithia’s does he realize that it’s you, though, again, he’s not complaining.

Despite his hard words when he gave you the hoe, you’ve lingered, almost constantly in his peripheral. Both Olric and Ryis talk about you, the latter more than the former. Since he unleashed on you in the spring, you’ve ensured a steady supply of fresh produce, helped restore the mill, and are currently working with Ryis to renovate the general store. That’s not mentioning the ore you give Olric to give to March. Can’t really complain about someone who’s chipping in.

His boots knock against the pier and you half-turn in acknowledgment, face mostly hidden between the wide brim of your hat and your sunglasses. Adorned in a loose-fitted button up and shorts, your boots sit to the side, allowing you to dangle your feet above the flow of the rising tide.

“What’s up?” you ask, keeping your eyes on the horizon. Do you know who’s at your side?

A wave comes, larger than those before, reaching your feet. With a kick, you splash the water, the subtle lift of your cheeks telling him of your mood. He removes his own boots, tucking his socks within them, and joins you on the edge, bumping your shoulder on his descent.

“Trying to escape the heat,” he answers, ignoring the urge to look at you (made infinitely harder when you start at the sound of his voice, turning to face him with obvious surprise). 

“Ah. That makes sense. I don’t know how you can handle the forge for as long as you do.”

“You get used to it. An artisan such as myself can’t afford to stop just because of a little heat.”

With a snort, you return your attention to the horizon, allowing him to sneak a glance. Your shirt’s unbuttoned, bringing a new heat to his face—he can and will blame it on the sun if asked. But more than that, he’s drawn to the curve of your lips, the serenity in your smile.

“Oh, of course,” you say, sarcasm drawing out your words. “I guess I’ll just have to spend more time at the forge. Maybe then the rest of summer will be bearable.”

“Are you really such a wimp that this is too much for you?” As far as you’re concerned, this heat is nothing to him (even if there’s a part of him currently wishing he could venture further into the sea than his calves). 

Rather than bristling like expected, you laugh, loud and uninhibited. “Jeez, only you.” Wiping tears from behind your glasses, you say, “Beaches up north are cooler than here. Never liked the heat of the capital, either. Maybe I am a wimp.”

You’re completely at ease, more than he’s seen from you sober, though it’s probably just the atmosphere.

The sun hovers near the line of the horizon, turning the sky. Calm azure meets the copper that bleeds from the sun. Salt kisses his skin as the tide ebbs and flows, lapping at his feet, and a breeze finally begins to blow.

“Say, Red?” Leaning back on your arms, your voice lifts with an impending proposition. “You wanna share a beer with me?” A quick glance around confirms a distinct lack of beer around. Anticipating his question, you add, “In exchange for my imported beer, Terithia let me use her cooler.”

“Imported—? Hemlock’s brew isn’t good enough for you now?”

“Ah, you’ll see.” The sun its your face just right so he can see past the shade of your sunglasses as you turn, allowing him to admire the crinkle of your eyes with your grin. “I’ll be right back.”

Grabbing his shoulder, you pull yourself up, the water from your feet splashing where they land. With your back to him, he’s free to watch as you run toward the shack, not minding your bare feet on the hot planks.

He closes his eyes to the sky. What the hell is he doing? The longer you spend here, helping folks, the tighter his chest grows, wary you’ll leave like all the others. It’s only a matter of time.

The padding of your feet brings him back, though he doesn’t turn to look away until you’re only a few feet from him. The bottle you hand him has a black label, some brew he doesn’t recognize (he didn’t expect differently). As he goes to remove the cap, he realizes it’s not a twist-off.

“How am I supposed to open this?”

Settling down beside him, a few inches further than before, you look up. “Hm? Oh. You don’t—? That’s fine. Gimme,” you say, wagging your fingers at him.

Passing over the bottle, he watches you line up both bottles in the same hand, the edge of his lid above yours. Bringing both down against the wood, his cap goes flying backward, clattering against the dock. When offered, he accepts his bottle, trying to hide the sliver of awe he feels.

He brings the bottle to his lips, watching as you pull the knife you keep on your belt, using it to leverage your cap off. Feeling his stare on you, you meet his eyes again, offering a wink and a lopsided smile. Warmth spreads from his neck as he turns away and you laugh as he takes a swig from his beer. It’s smooth as it goes down with a pleasant crisp that lingers on his tongue.

“Nice, right?”

Grunting in response, still a little bitter that you winked at him, he takes another sip. 

“That’s what I thought.” He can hear the smile on your voice. “It’s from home, a little town in the mountains. One of the only things I miss from there. Like it better here.”

You probably liked “home” at some point, too, but you still left. 

“It’s alright,” he mutters.

Laughing again, he glances over, catching the way you hold your tongue between your teeth. “Yeah, okay.”

Silence falls between you both, the horizon catching fire with the sun almost gone, a last flicker of flame before night takes hold. It’s gorgeous, accompanied by the steady wash of the waves against the shore, the occasional cry of a seagull. He savors the citrus of the beer as the wind grows persistent and his muscles begin to relax.

Giving into impulse, he shifts to watch you.

Stray hairs fall from under your hat, framing your face. You’ve taken off your sunglasses, hanging them from your shirt, allowing him to watch as the remnants of the sun reflect in your eyes. Your smile never falters and he envies you for it.

Without so much as a glance in his direction, you say, “I’m not going anywhere, Red. I like it here. I like my farm. I like working the land. I like helping Ryis and Adeline and Hayden. I like being useful.” Lifting your knee, you rest your cheek, eyes flitting across his face before meeting his gaze. “I think I could even come to like you, too.”

The slow lift of your lips gives away your tease, the reluctant press of the corners of your mouth as though you’re trying to repress your smile that causes his blush to blossom across warm cheeks.

Part of him, and he doesn’t know how large a part, wants to believe you. But he’s heard those words before from another adventurer who once settled down. That didn’t stop them from leaving. Words don’t carry as much weight as actions, not even pretty words like yours, so he’ll wait and see.

He lays back, eyes catching on the stray clouds scattered across the twilight sky. A stronger breeze blows through, combining with the chill of the sea at his feet, sending shivers down his spine. A chuckle escapes you, the sound pleasant, different from the others he’s heard before. Propping himself up, he notices the clouds that gather to the south, beyond the sight of you. Following his line of sight, you sigh, the sound forlorn, though he can’t imagine why.

“Juni gave me a crystal ball that predicts the weather. With how hot it was today, I didn’t want to get my hopes up about its prediction for tomorrow.”

The rustling of your movement draws him to you once more, watching as you start to pick yourself up. He lays back down as you bend over, your sunglasses almost slipping lose as you reach for your shoes.

“We shouldn’t stay here much longer.”

Can’t argue with you there, but he can’t quite find it in him to move. Sensing this, you tuck your empty bottle into the shaft of your boot, freeing your hand to offer it as help. If not for the beer, he’d otherwise smack it away. As it is, he’s already pulling his feet out of the water and reaching for your hand.

Calluses litter your palm, different from his, solidified after years of blacksmithing. His thoughts travel to the life you lived before, the one that gives you experience with your sword, the one that created the habit of keeping a knife on your belt. Did your calluses develop then? Or are they from your first few months here? 

Effortlessly, you pull him up, and he feels a little dizzy. The moment he registers the warmth of your hand still wrapped around his, he lets go as though you’re metal fresh from the forge. 

As he goes to pick up his boots, his attention remains on the incoming clouds, blotting out the stars as they grow in volume. Before he can ruminate, before memories of the past can pick up, you distract him.

“You haven’t seen the farm yet, have you?”

“You need a chaperone to make it home?”

His shoulder jolts as you push him, clicking your tongue. “You wish. I actually wanted your input on some plans I’ve been drawing up. It’d be easier if you knew what I was working with.”

Yeah, right.

“Ryis is the one you want to talk to about things like that,” he says, denial settling in his chest.

You start walking backwards, urging him to follow if only so you don’t trip over the edge of the docks. That’d be a nightmare—you, finding out he doesn’t swim on the off chance you fucking fall into the sea.

“Please. Can you look where you’re going?” His arms come out, ready to grab you if you fall, though you never do.

Oh, if only he could wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.

“Worried about me? How queer.” Despite your tease, despite your glowing smile, you comply, turning, allowing his heart to slow. “If you don’t wanna come, don’t worry about it, but I meant it about wanting your input. I’ve been trying to hone my blacksmithing skills so you don’t have to worry about orders from me, too, but I think I might be out of my depth.”

Of course you are. “What do you mean, so I don’t have to worry about you? Do you think I can’t handle it?”

This sigh is exasperated, tired, making your cheeks fall. “That’s not what I meant. You think I want to hand you yet another order for nails? I’d rather commission you to craft my next sword. That seems more worthy of your skill.”

Oh.

He’s left watching as you finally bristle, rolling your eyes before turning toward the shore, leaving him to follow in your wake. In the silence that follows, he reflects on your words, letting your sentiments replay in his mind. The walk to Sweetwater takes on a different tone until something strikes him.

Reaching the edge of the ranch, he stops you.

“Don’t tell me you’re still using that rusted piece of garbage when you go into the mines.”

You’re still the only person daring enough to enter the mines in any meaningful fashion, and each time he sees that rusted junk attached to your hip, he becomes dangerously close to having an aneurysm.

“Yeah. I miss my old sword, which is why I wanted to commission you for a new one. Among other things.”

“What happened to your sword? What kind of adventurer loses their sword?”

You pause, eyes widening imperceptibly, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s properly asked about your past—up until now, everything he’s learned about you has been against his will. A slow smile appears, your previous irritation falling to the wayside, and you say, “That’s a tale for when I have a few more drinks in me. Doesn’t really matter since I don’t have it though. The way Balor spoke of this place, I didn’t think I’d need it. A little hamlet in need of hard work? Somewhere he felt comfortable staying for a time?” You chuckle at some memory, lost to him. “Imagine getting here and being handed a rusted piece of shit instead of a scythe.”

He’s not sure he wants to hear the story, something grating in the back of his mind at your words, but he does know that the mention of crafting a sword has his mind working overtime. It’s been so long…

“So. Final offer: wanna swing by the farm? Or should I just come and bother you later this week?”

“Olric doesn’t like when the weather gets like this. I should head back,” he says, not looking at you. “But you know what? Come by the shop tomorrow. We can talk about that sword.”

The smile you reward him with is blinding, causing his heart to hiccup at the sight. For as long as you’ve lived here, he’s never been on the receiving end of it, and he’s not quite a fan of the fluttering it causes beneath his skin.

“Hell yeah,” you say, your smile never fading. “In that case, I’m gonna head home.” He watches as you turn, heading toward the path he’s never taken. After a minute, you look over your shoulder, that smile still there. “I had fun hanging out with you today, Red! Thank you for sitting with me.”

Yeah, he really doesn’t like that fluttering you leave him with.

“Eighty tesserae for each ingot? Are you sure?” March asks, eyeing the crates loaded onto Balor’s cart outside of the inn. “That’s… that’s amazing!” 

“It is, isn’t it? That means I was able to get quite a bit more iron than we had originally agreed upon for the same price,” Balor says, pride heavy in his voice. “The problem is, I injured myself loading all of it beforehand, so I won’t be able to help unload. I’ll cut another five percent off the price if you and Olric take care of it yourselves.”

“That’s… You’re joking.”

“I am not. I’d like to get to Valen before my next excursion, but I can’t do that until this is taken care of.” While Balor’s smile hasn’t faltered, there’s an edge to his voice that March would rather not test.

He’s in no position to complain, nor can he pass up the opportunity to save tesserae where possible. Factor in his current workload and there’s no time to complain.

“Right. We’ll handle it. Let me get Olric.”

Balor’s response is lost to him as he hurries down Main Street, eager to not let this deal go to waste. He’s grateful, not just for the discount, but for the extra ingots which will be useful in the coming weeks. With fall around the corner, the rush for repairs will compound his workload and the additional iron will allow him to get a head start.

Rounding the corner, he calls out to Olric, apprising him of the situation, only for his eyes to fall on you. 

You’re slipping on your blacksmithing gloves and his first thought is that you’re here to try and work on your own projects, comfortable in your skill to handle them without help in the immediate.

“What are you doing here? Not trying to use the forge, right?” he asks, though it comes out like a bark.

Olric chimes in and March realizes what happened. The traitor. As March readies himself to dismiss you, he’s reminded that Hemlock asked if he could craft the inn a new cauldron, something he wished to deliver tonight.

Fuck.

“Fine. Stick around and help if you think you won’t slow us down.”

Your eyes narrow, but your lips curl into a wry smile, asking, “When have I ever genuinely slowed you down, Red?” Olric shifts beside you and your eyes flicker to him. “Alright, what do you need, Boss Man?”

Another—? “First: Olric— no, wait. First, don’t call me that.” Olric’s worry lines disappear at the sound of your laughter. “Second: Olric, I need you to start carrying over the shipment. Balor has it at the inn. You,” he commands, finding you annoyingly attentive, “get the forge fired up.”

Olric disappears from view and March follows as you prepare the forge, something akin to pride flaring in his chest at how easily you take to it, remembering the lesson. With the fire going, you look over your shoulder, smiling when you find him already watching.

“So you have a problem when I call you ‘Boss Man’ but not when I call you ‘Red,’ eh?”

Heat crawls up his neck, settling across his face and he rolls his eyes. “Shaddup, will you? Let’s just get this done.”

“You got it, Red,” you say with a wink, laughing when he turns around.

Working alongside you is different than when you watch him in the afternoons or he watches you in the evenings. It’s different when you move around him before he can ask, when you’re quick to take direction (and you’re so easy to direct). Unlike when he works alone, you’re largely silent, offering little more than the occasional wink or small nod as you two work.

About halfway through, you step back, slipping off the glove on your right hand to grab your canteen. His eyes are drawn to the bob of your throat as you drink, to the trickle of water that escapes your lips. With your forearm, you wipe away the sweat gathering on your forehead.

“Think you were one hundred percent right, Red,” you say, removing your second glove. He pauses, openly watching as you pull your hair up.

“Of course I was. About what?”

“I am a wimp when it comes to the heat. I’m more than a little impressed that you can do this everyday.”

“Then why even come? Your plan of avoiding the forge until the evening seemed to be working for you.”

Grabbing your gloves, you start slipping them on again, teeth biting your bottom lip before that grin breaks free, wide and carefree. Your eyes meet his and he can’t look away. “And miss out on the opportunity to do all this?”

There’s something in the way you say it, something in the way the words drop from your lips like honey. Is there more that you’re not saying? Your following wink seems to support that (you need to stop).

“S-stop joking around.”

Returning to the barrel hoops, each strike of his hammer seeks to suppress the creeping flush, the image of you burned so thoroughly into his retinas that he sees you without looking. Venturing a glance, he sees you hard at work, focused on your hands, smile still present.

When Olric returns from speaking with Adeline, you grow chatty, cracking jokes and telling anecdotes of your life in the city. Then come the compliments. Compliments to Olric, to his patience and strength. Compliments to March, to his efficiency and concentration. Things neither would even think of, things he doesn’t believe to be deserving of attention as they’re simply facts of his work, but the way the words come make him pause. They make him fluster.

Which is stupid.

He doesn’t need your supposed praise to know he’s doing a good job or that his work is the best around. There’s no reason for him to be heating up at your words. Even if he finds himself getting into the zone a little easier. Even if the weight of the work before him seems lighter. Even if, for all intents and purposes, he’s starting to have fun.

You say as much when the work is finished, when the three of you are sweating and tired from everything you’ve accomplished. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you almost look like you belong here.

The moment it crosses his mind, he feels on edge, eyes shifting to Olric who looks all too pleased by the outcome of everything (of course he would; he’s the one who invited you in the first place). As possible as it is that Olric only invited you here to lighten the load, it’s possible there was another reason for his actions, some quiet wish he hasn’t voiced to March. 

Whatever that could be…

It’s suddenly all too hot and he’s entirely too aware of you and Olric to think.

“I… I need to cool down. I’ll be inside,” he says, rushing past you to the shop. As his hand wraps around the doorknob, he turns to you, spotting the slight pout of your lips. That’s— “I’ll need time to recover from all the work we did today. Come by again on Sunday and we can talk more about your sword.”

Your tongue laves your bottom lip before you offer a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. Okay. See you then, Red.”

The door shuts behind him as the nickname leaves your mouth and he presses himself against it, trying to catch his breath. That he has to catch his breath at all is—

maddening.

Crickets begin their song along the path leading to the Narrows and the moisture that hangs in the air adds to the weight of the swing of his hammer. March’s clothes stick to him as he works, partly because of his refusal to stop working, partly because of the insufferable humidity lingering from last night’s storm.

Harsh clangs ring throughout the square in time with his strikes as people start making their way to wherever they’ll be viewing the stars. Every strike of his augments the irritation that’s been building since this afternoon, your noted absence making it worse.

He’s seen scant trace of you since you helped out on Thursday, barely catching sight of you at the inn on Friday. Even if his appointment with Vera ran long yesterday, he expected you to stop by in the evening as you are prone to doing. But there has been no sight of you. The heat has come and gone, the shadows have danced across the ground until swallowing the world, and still no sight of you.

It’s not as though you two have a lot of history making plans—you come and go as you please—but the two times he has asked for you, you’ve been punctual. Hell, when last he asked you to stop by and talk about your commission, you were waiting in the rain before the shop even opened. It…

It shouldn’t bother him. He shouldn’t be bothered by your absence. (If anything, he should feel relieved). (If he is bothered, it’s only because he asked you to come and you agreed). The longer he ruminates, the more irate he grows, blaming it entirely on you because it’s your face he sees when his hammer makes contact and sparks fly.

Laughter rings out near the fountain and he looks up, catching the amethyst of Juniper’s hair as she leads Valen. They turn their heads toward the anvil and Valen offers a wave. As March nods in acknowledgment, Juniper adopts her usual haughty smile, heading down the steps toward the inn. If he concentrates, he thinks he can hear Balor and Hayden. Are you caught up with someone else in town, readying yourself to look at the stars with them?

Something ugly starts gnawing behind his sternum and he rolls his eyes. Footsteps approach from the woods, and he assumes it’s Olric with one last ditch effort to get him to watch the sky.

“I already told you, I’m not interested.”

“Oh, but Red,” he hears you say, making his heart pick up in his chest, prompting him to look over his shoulder, “I think you will be.”

You’re dressed in a thick cotton blouse and jeans, though they’re torn just above the knee. Blood stains the fabric and there are light scratches littering your forearms. Either you’ve done him the courtesy of hiding that rusted abomination, or you went into the mines unarmed. A flash of heat flares in his chest at the thought, and you smile knowingly, eyes twinkling in a way that promises nothing good.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks, fist clenching around the handle of his hammer before releasing it, letting it clatter against the anvil as he turns around.

“Did you want to spend more time with me that much?” you tease, oblivious to the anger that must be radiating from him as you shuffle out of your sack, positioning it for easy access. He steps forward and your eyes flicker up, flitting across his face. The edge to your smile softens as you turn your eyes back down. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” you start, unexpectedly earnest. “I justified it by telling myself I wouldn’t be too long and that we never agreed on a time and…”

You’re rambling. You don’t ramble. Do… Is it that you feel bad for what could ostensibly be considered standing him up? (That makes it sound like a date, which this is very much not).

Deft fingers pull at the leather straps of your rucksack, pulling the flap to reveal the familiar sheen of silver.

“I found silver.” There’s pride in your voice and something that sounds almost conspiratorial. His anger begins to dissipate as you loosens the strings, letting him slip his hand inside to grab a piece. 

Its weight is familiar, sitting differently in his hand than the copper or iron you’ve brought him thus far. It’s been over a year since he was able to work with silver. Rotating it in his hand, his thoughts drift to Josephine and Valen, to much needed silverware and medical supplies. 

“You found silver.”

You beam at him, the same smile you shared with him when he first promised to do something about your sword, and the back of his knees start to feel weak.

“It’s all yours if you forgive me for being late.”

“Not a chance. It’s not like you know what to do with it otherwise,” he bites, not quite ready to free you from his ire. He hasn’t taught you how to work silver, but that lesson isn’t too far away.

Swiping the silver from his hand, you say, “I could give it to Balor with explicit instructions to sell it outside of Mistria.” A hollow threat if ever you’ve given one. With how much you insisted upon a silver sword, you wouldn’t relinquish it so quickly. “And what, you’re gonna make something for me if I gift it to you?”

“You wish,” he says, eyes narrowing. Truth is, he’s tired of the orders he’s been working on and he’d need to re-familiarize himself with silver before undertaking an order from Josephine or Valen. The silver you give him now will likely go to something you could use if only because he knows you’d be quick to bring more.

But you don’t need to know that.

(Even if he suspects that you already do).

“Yeah, sure,” you dismiss, bringing your bag to his work bench. He follows, watching as you unload your silver delivery until the bag is empty. Reaching into the front pocket, you pull out what he can only imagine to be food, wrapped in the butcher paper from the inn. Glancing at him as your fingers begin to pull at the wrapping, you ask, “You mind if I eat while we talk? I haven’t sat down since I got up this morning.”

“Would you stop if I told you I minded?”

Your fingers stop pulling at the tape, the hint of a smile disappearing before you bob your head. Guilt pulls at his throat, not expecting you to take his rhetorical question seriously.

“It’s fine! Eat if you’re hungry! Should’ve taken a break earlier.”

Without missing a beat, your finger slips under the tape to undo the wrapping, revealing a lobster roll. He watches as you tear the sandwich in half.

“Share with me?”

You pose it like it’s a non-issue, like you couldn’t care either way, but he has a feeling you do. As he prepares to turn you down—it’s your food and you just said you haven’t rested since you got up—his stomach growls, betraying him.

“... Fine.”

“It’s Reina’s, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s fine,” he says, taking the offered roll.

You follow his lead, coming to sit at the edge of the steps of the forge, arm’s distance from one another.

Just as he’s about to take a bite from the sandwich, you say, “So. About my sword…”

He closes his mouth, lowering his sandwich before looking at you. “You want it to be silver?”

“I do! I know what you’re gonna say: steel will last longer and work better. But silver’s great against monsters.”

Rolling his eyes, he sighs through his nose. Hunger wins out over the urge to rehash this argument, so he tells you, “Go ahead. Make your case while I finish.”

“I mean, what’s there to say? Silver weaponry always works better against monsters, and considering that’s all I’m using my sword for, I think it’s for the best. I don’t know if you’re aware, but the magic here is overwhelming. Silver just… cuts through it all. It’s not like I’m fighting people in Mistria, so silver will protect me just fine. Any other situation, hell yeah, I’d defer to you, but I’m gonna be a little pushy here. And before you even say it, I do trust you as a professional, but I’m asking that you trust me as a professional, too. You’re the best blacksmith I’ve seen, so I don’t want you to think that I’m discounting your opinion.”

Swallowing, he wants to suppress the heat that crawls up his neck. “I’m the only blacksmith you’ve seen.”

“In Mistria? Yeah,” you laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re certainly my favorite.” Glimpsing in your direction shows your cheeky grin. “I could always commission you for a steel sword after we get the blast forge built?”

“I’ll charge extra.”

“Worth every tesserae.”

Outside of Balor, you’ve certainly the most experience with monsters (perhaps the only one with genuine experience). He’s unsure about all this magic talk, but he’s coming to trust your experience as an adventurer. As you eat, he weighs your words, eyes dancing across the scratch on your leg, the nicks across your arms. 

“I’ll get started on your silver sword.”

“Thank you, Red,” you effuse, your smile audible.

The sincerity of your gratitude eats at him, making his skin tingle, and he can’t stand watching you. Beside him, you turn your face upward. It’s a moment before you nudge his shoulder. When he looks, your free hand is extended, pointed toward the sky.

“Hey, look.”

Stars shoot across the sky, vibrant against the backdrop of the cosmos, one right after the other. He’s mesmerized by the way they move, unable to look away.

“Did you know this was tonight?” Reverence drips from your tongue, so strong he wants to watch you instead (he doesn’t).

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal.” Even as he says it, he’s not so sure anymore. He never felt like he was missing much when he skipped this night every year for the last couple decades.

“Wow, they’re so clear here. I’d watch them when I was in the capital and sometimes at home, but they never looked like this.”

The urge to look at you grows, demanding his attention be torn from the sky and be placed upon you. Uncertainty grows at the revelation and he keeps his eyes trained on the sky, even if he’s otherwise focused on you. Even if he wants to meet your eyes when you turn to look at him.

“Did you ever hear about the legend surrounding tonight?”

“No. I… never cared about the festival.”

“... That’s fine. It’s just a story anyway.”

Something in his chest aches and it feels almost as though something is crawling under his skin at the thought of asking you to clarify, so he doesn’t. You’ll probably share it with him one day anyway.

A/N: Tried posting Summer separately three times and Tumblr kept hiding it from the dash/tags so I figured I'd just tack it on to the original. The rest of the fic will likely be hosted only on AO3 if Tumblr doesn't fix itself </3

[thesam-manselfshippingblog]

CONNIE NO

”… what is going on right now”

“Who knows…”

[anovelpair]

[NSFW] TIED HIM DOWN..

✒ . nanami kento x reader

✒ . in which your husband gives you a birthday gift !

✒ . a/n: tied him down 2 my queen beddd

“quite the unique birthday gift you’ve chosen, my love.”

you bit your bottom lip, muffling a giggle as you observed your work in front of you. tonight, your lovely husband, nanami kento, allowed you to do whatever you wanted with him for the night, a special treat for your birthday. and, in your classic mischievous fashion, what better way to celebrate it than to tie him up with a cute pink ribbon?

”i’m surprised you’re so calm about this,” you said, leaning in to plant a string of butterfly kisses down his neck. slyly, you raised your gaze up to find him looking down at you with—well, a soft gaze,—but an overall expression that was most unimpressed. “don’t look at me like thaat. you promised whatever.”

”that, I did,” he conceded with a sigh, “I suppose I can’t go back on my word now, hm?”

”absolutely not.” you lowered your gaze towards his toned body, her fingers ghosting across his torso, relishing in the way his chest heaved with every lingering touch. you began trailing downwards with your kisses, aaall the way down to his lower body, where you stopped in front of his shaft—red, angry, leaking with pre-cum. you licked your lips like a starved woman, contrasting how you started off with gentle kitten licks all the way up to the head of his cock, where she then opened her mouth and took the tip in,

he threw his head back against the headboard and groaned—loud, shameless—his body instinctively relaxing at the feeling of such warmth. “is this what you’re gonna do to me, pretty girl?” he chuckled dryly, unable to hide the blush that creeped onto his cheeks, and hell, his whole body. “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was my birthday.”

you responded to his cheeky remark by sinking your head deeper, taking in more of his length until the tip hit the back of your throat, making those mild gagging noises you just knew he loved. it wasn’t until now did he realize the struggle of being tied up like this—well, it wasn’t tight enough to hold him at all, but he didn’t want to make you upset by breaking it just so he could grab a fistful of your hair and have his way with you.

as for you, you were noticing how boring it was to be in control. you would, without fail, bend to his every whim and lay on your shared bed, taking all of him like a good girl, a loving wife. he scanned your face—tried to look past the gloss in your eyes and the way you drooled all over his thighs—and seemed to recognize genuinity in your furrowed eyebrows.

“my poor girl,” he chuckled lowly, “you don’t know what to do, do you? that’s okay.” he assured, restraining himself from breaking free and gently stroking your hair. “i‘ll tell you, how about it?”

a small hum in your throat was enough of an answer, the vibrations going straight to his cock and making his breath hitch.

“start moving your head, up and down, beautiful.”—when you did as he said, he groaned out softly. the heavy breathing, the way he stared down at you with fluttering eyes made you feel so warm inside—“mhm, just like that. hollow your cheeks, baby— fuck, there you go.. such a good girl for me.”

you whined quietly, lips stretched out around his girth. everytime you willed your head down, you gagged, and it drove him fucking crazy. the way you looked up at him with those teary, doe eyes.. how upset would you be if he actually tore the ribbons and claimed you, pumping your throat and cunt so full you would be left a twitching mess on the bed?

guess he’ll have to make up for ruining your gift some other time—after all, you’ve still got valentine’s day.

[whateverloomis]

Lick me like a lollipop ✒︎ Billy Loomis x GN reader

Warnings: SMUT, Infidelity, Stu is annoying (lol), oral (male receiving), edging, size kink if you squint, unedited.

Note: Afab or amab people apply for this <33

Readers POV | Word count: 1.4k / Part 2

-

It was Tatum. She had gotten me addicted to freaking lollipops after I told her I have an oral fixation. Apparently she did too, and Stu was very happy about it, if you know what I mean.

It was Friday after last period, I was at my locker with Billy, Stu and Sid putting away my books -- with a lollipop in my mouth, of course -- before we all left to Stu's house to get ready for movie night. It was a routine at this point. Every Friday night after class we'd go to Stu's house to wait for Tatum to get out of practice and bring Randy over from work. He'd bring a scary movie to watch and criticize all night long until one of us got too tired to continue the pointless debate.

"Stu, we watched that one last Friday!" I said for the third time, patience long gone. That was the fourth week he suggested to watch Halloween.

"But it's Jamie Lee Curtis, man! She's hot as fuck! I bet Randy would be on my side here, you guys are no fun." Stu replied with a huff.

"Yeah, because he has a weird obsession with her too." I replied, rolling my eyes as I pulled the lollipop out of my mouth, it releasing a soft pop sound.

There was a brief pause, Stu smirked at my actions and shamelessly looked at my lips when I pulled the sugary bulb out of my mouth. Billy was staring too, but he was subtle. His eyes raked from my own, down to my lips, lingering a tad bit more than usual before he took a deep breath and glared at Stu. "Shut up about it will you? We're watching Psycho. It was decided last Friday, dumbass."

"Can we all leave this argument for tonight? It's too early for this." Sidney said, closing her locker before we walked out of college and made our way to Stu's house.

-

Once everyone arrived at Stu's house, we didn't take long to settle and start debating about the movie, because Stu couldn't keep his mouth shut. His argument was that Psycho wasn't even that good because you couldn't see the red color of the blood, therefore it wasn't scary. Randy and Tatum were practically arguing about the topic while Sidney laughed at their unnecessarily serious discussion.

"All I'm staying is; what makes a movie scary is the blood, man!" Stu commented.

"Stu, it's a classic black and white movie. Plus, horror isn't all about the blood and gore." Randy countered, and Tatum agreed. "See? That's what I've been telling you doofus!" She told Stu, and he laughed at her anger.

I decided to pitch in and attempted to cut the conversation to continue watching the movie. "Guys, it's not that serious. Stu is clearly too basic with horror movies-" - "Am not! I bet you haven't watched nearly as many horror movies as me and Billy!" Stu cut me off, and I pointed at him with my third lollipop of the day. "Not fair! Two people versus one person's movie knowledge? That's not how it works, Stu." I countered and Billy placed his beer bottle on the glass table loud enough that it caught everyone's attention.

"You guys are being idiots and I need a refill." The boy said, and I quickly stood up from the couch as I put the lollipop in my mouth, following Billy to the garage.

When we arrived at the door, Billy opened it before me so I could climb down the stairs first. I pulled the lollipop out of my mouth before sending him a small smile of appreciation. His eyes scanned my lips before he caught my gaze and smirked at me. As I climbed down the stairs I could feel his eyes on my back so I purposefully walked a bit slower, adding a bit of swing to my hips.

When I opened the fridge and bent down to look for the beers, I felt one of Billy's large hands on my lower back. "Need help carrying those?" He questioned, following my gaze as I stood up to face him. Placing some beer bottles on the table next to the fridge, I took the lollipop out of my mouth again to answer "yes." He visibly tensed up at my actions.

"You really need to stop doing that." Billy said, voice lower than usual. I looked at him questioningly, and before I could pull the pop out of my mouth again, he did it for me, putting it in his mouth before pulling it out a second later. "This." He said.

I raised an eyebrow and smirked, took the lollipop out of his hand and repeated his actions before I discarded the candy in the trash next to the fridge. "Can't handle your urges, Loomis?" I asked teasingly and he took a step forward, towering over me. A tense silence washed over both of us before he closed the gap and kissed me softly, placing his hand on my hip as he pressed me against him.

"Billy, Sidney is upstairs. We agreed not to risk it like this..." I said, reminding him that our ongoing affair could've cost us a lot.

"I don't care... You've been driving me crazy all day sucking on that lollipop." He replied and kissed me again. This time more desperate and needy. It didn't take long for us to start playing with each others tongues, tasting the sweetness off the candy we had been savoring earlier.

I pulled Billy's hair softly with my left hand and grabbed his shirt with the right, pulling him impossibly close to me. We continued making out hungrily and then he broke the kiss. I leaned on the edge of the table and he pulled me towards him, parting my thighs with his leg so I could rub myself against him.

As I continued kissing Billy, he moved my head towards his neck and I knew what he wanted instantly, so that's what I did. I kissed his neck and made my way down his body, kneeling down in front of him. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans for me before pulling his throbbing cock out. I opened my mouth for him. Billy smirked at me and tapped the head of his cock against my tongue a few times before sliding half of his length in. I started bobbing my head up and down slowly, moaning softly around his length while looking up at him with the most innocent look I could give him. That drove him crazy, so Billy grabbed the back of my head and started to thrust into my mouth, slowly picking up the pace.

We moved together in unison, never breaking eye contact. I moaned and whined around him while sucking, pushing him closer to his orgasm. As I felt him getting close, I slowed down my movements, edging him. Billy loved it. He hissed at the sudden change of speed and bucked his hips so his cock penetrated deeper inside my mouth. I pushed his length all the way inside and then pulled my head away, opening my mouth with my tongue sticking out. I licked the tip of his cock as if I were licking a lollipop, then I sucked, and licked, and sucked, and licked, and;

"Fuck, baby... Open up." Billy said and I did as I was told, sucking a few more times before opening my mouth for him, tongue sticking out for him to cum inside me. I chuckled at his attempt to keep quiet while the orgasm washed over his body. I swallowed his load in front of him, licking my lips and biting them afterwards.

"Oooh fuck..." Billy moaned. The sensation of his most sensitive spot being overstimulated was enough to get him close again. I noticed the tension building and giggled at the neediness he was displaying. Taking him all the way inside my mouth, I continued bobbing my head like I was before and looked up at him once more observing how he panted and threw his head back in pleasure.

Standing up in front of him, he kissed me and tasted himself on my lips. "You're so good at giving head, my God." He said and chuckled, before zipping his pants up along with his belt and fixing his hair.

"I know." I said, smirking at him before pulling another lollipop from my pocket and putting it in my mouth.

"Leave your window open tonight, we're not done here." He said and kissed me one final time before picking up the beers from the table and joining the group as if he hadn't gotten the soul sucked out of him a few minutes prior.

[sagesskies]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʀɪᴠᴀʟ (ɪ)

✒ ʙᴜᴍʙʟɪɴɢ ʙᴇᴀꜱᴛ

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ: ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴍᴀɪʟɪɴɢ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴇx, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴛʀᴇꜱᴘᴀꜱꜱɪɴɢ, ᴛʜᴇꜰᴛ, ᴠᴏʏᴇᴜʀɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ɢᴀʙᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴄʀᴇᴇᴘ. ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏ!

Yandere Rival, who is used to being second place in everything. It came with being Richard Shepherd's brother, even if the ass didn't even get to go to college, and it sure as fuck was a guarantee with having Raphael as his twin brother. But with Raphael gone, he thought: Hey! At least he'll be at the top now. They won't like him as much as they'd ever like Raphael, the thought would keep him up at night occasionally, but that’d be easy enough to get used to. 

And that was the case for most of second year, where people respected him a bit more and stopped looking at him as just the stupid, brutish brother and now as the stupid, brutish, ‘King’ of the school. There were certainly other, more well liked people, but they didn't have the same control like Gabe did, simple as that. 

Yandere Rival who is able to keep this status till the third year. What was meant to be his year, is now yours. 

“Who even is this guy?” Gabe slams his food tray to the table with the force of the anger building beneath his skin, some of the fries jump off and land on the metal surface, “He's some new kid, and yet-” 

Gabe is interrupted by the sound of laughter, he grips so tightly onto the side of the tray that he thinks that if he held it a bit tighter there'd be dents. 

“Sam,” He takes a deep, shaky breath, “Tell me. Is it from his table?” 

“Uh, I don't think you'd want to know..” 

“Samuel Moss,” Gabe feels the anger inside him weaken from satisfaction when Sam flinches, “You don't want to test me right now. Tell me, right now.”

“..Yeah.”

Gabe strikes his fist against the table, the harsh sting only serving to piss him off further, “Damn it!” People stare, but he can't bring himself to give a single fuck. Besides, Luke is here to glare at them hard enough for them to look away. 

“Apparently, this guy's from the city,” Sam explains, “They're all probably just fascinated ‘cause he's a city boy, they'll move after a week or two.” 

Gabe is still staring at him. He's surrounded by people all around the lunch table, they're all laughing, smiling, having a real laugh. 

Gabe digs his nails into the skin of his palm, ignoring the pain when he draws blood. The humiliation from earlier today during gym class is still there. He can't believe it. Bested in dodgeball by some kid from the city. 

He recalls their brief conversation, and he can feel his face grow hot with anger. 

“Like what you see?”

“What are you? Are you gay or something?” 

“I could ask you the same thing. Maybe you shouldn't stare so much. You're sending the wrong message.”

“You'll be fine bro,” Luke claps him on the back, foolishly oblivious to the irritation in Gabe’s eyes when he whips his head around to scowl at him, “This [Name] guy, I bet he won ‘cause of dumb luck. I mean- he had that loser Todd on his team and that guy has absolutely zero hand-eye coordination.”

“You know the word coordination?” Sam paused, a single inch away from taking a full bite from his sandwich.

“Shut up, asshole,” Luke scoffed. 

Gabriel tunes out their bickering, and focuses back on [Name]. 

He was like Raph in a sense. The two of them shared what seemed to be a natural finesse when it came to communicating and speaking with others, as well as an aura that attracted people to them like moths to a flame. But that was where the similarities ended. 

From what Gabe saw earlier, [Name] was cunning, a bit more quick witted than Raph who, while he was pretty smart, was no match for [Name]. 

[Name] glances at him, and their eyes meet again like they did back in gym, and [Name]’s already present grin seems to widen.

He mouths something, it takes Gabriel a few moments to process what he said before turning red once more, and swiftly turning away.

You're staring. 

Well, he was definitely not. 

Yandere Rival who you clearly don't take seriously, at all. After all, why would you waste energy caring about some dude who was a bit too obsessed with you, when you were too busy with everything else going on in your life? 

Yandere Rival who always felt like you were one-upping him on purpose. Oh, Gabe led the football team into winning against the school’s rivals? Well, [Name] was the MVP in a basketball match against the previous state champions. 

Yandere Rival whose thoughts are consumed by you. You're just so infuriating! You're so cocky, arrogant, and stupidly handsome that it's distracting him even more. There's an unexpected side effect to this, which is Gabe pulling out his dusty sketchbook, and drawing you in various unfortunate situations just to try to vent his anger. 

There's a drawing of you being burned alive. A drawing of you being eaten by crocodiles. A drawing of you getting hit by a semi-truck. A drawing of you… smiling after a match… based off a photo of you he cut out from the school paper… and pasted on his wall. 

The last time Gabe put a pen to paper was before Tommy left. Tommy set him aside, and asked him to make him something he thought he couldn't draw.

Gabe did it, only because Tommy looked jittery, and when he showed it to Tommy, his older brother told him, “Well, see? You can draw it after all.” 

Tommy took that drawing with him when he left, and Gabe never felt like using his sketchbook again after that. 

Now he's the age Tommy was when he left them, and amidst his childhood art is the face of his most hated rival. 

From the slant of [Name]’s nose, to the shape of his lips, to the very length of each individual eyelash, Gabe had somehow captured a scary amount of detail of [Name]’s visage. 

He hates to admit it, but he has been staring at [Name]. But it's not his fault when [Name]’s appearance is just so naturally distracting.. He needed a way to get the image of him out of his head, and he believed that drawing would be a good way to just… eject the guy's face out of his mind. 

So here he is, bent over his desk, sketching out every little piece of [Name] and breathing life into the images of him in pain. Gabe grips the pencil with a tense hand, and drags it across the paper to make the final few strokes… and then, he’s done. 

The pen falls from his hand, and he looks at the image. It’s of [Name] in sportswear nursing a sprained wrist. A realization hits him and he scowls.

“Fuck, not again.” Gabe buries his head in his hands and groans. This was the fourth time. The fourth! The fourth time that he’s drawn [Name] from real life. [Name] had sprained his wrist because of an accident during practice and Gabe saw him outside the school infirmary in the same exact outfit with an icepack on his wrist. 

His heart aches for a moment, and he curses once more. 

No matter how much draws [Name] in pain, he doesn’t feel any better. Not one bit.

There is none of that satisfaction that he had gotten with Raphael. Although the night it happened, there was a hollowness that carved itself inside of him, there was also a side of him that was pleased at the sight of the dirt and blood beneath his fingernails. Proof that he’d done what he needed to. That he’d taken care of his problem like a man, and saw it through.

And while Gabe wasn’t the kind of guy to sit around and.. Ugh, ponder about his feelings, he did have to admit that it was weird hurting [Name] didn’t seem to sit as well with him as it did when he got to beat up whatever dickbag stood in his way. 

If he couldn’t bring himself to use his fists, then maybe he could try to use his brain this time. 

With a deep breath, Gabe picks up his pencil and starts to write. 

How do I ruin [Name]? 

Yandere Rival who tries many things. He makes vast, elaborate (not really) plans that he executes to varying degrees of success. Sometimes he plans to sabotage you during basketball practice. He tries to defame you through his ex who’s part of the school paper. One time he placed laxatives in your water bottle… except it was your teammate’s water bottle. 

The only thing all plans had in common was that they all failed.

Honestly, he starts to lose hope. There's just so many schemes a guy can attempt to pull of before realizing that maybe he's not meant to be an ideas guy, and more of a physically assault and attack kind of guy.

But then…

Yandere Rival who, one day, he's coming out of the showers after practices and racking his brains trying to think of another plan, he hears the sound of your voice as soon as he steps foot into the parking lot. You're in Coach Jones’ car, a hole in the window from when the last year's seniors threw a rock at it, and you're unbuttoning his shirt. He's unzipping your jacket. And…

Yandere Rival who had to restrain himself from charging straight at the car, practically tear the door open, and drag Coach Jones out of the driver's seat and pound his face to an unrecognizable mess with his fist. That disgusting old geezer, Gabe knew something was up with him. And you…! You… Fuck. He's too pissed off to string together a single sentence that could describe what you were making him feel right now. 

Yandere Rival who has shit grades, who can barely focus during class, and is as calm and as patient as a bull in a China shop. But he's not that stupid, okay? Because as much as the rage threatened to swallow him whole, it clicked in his head that he could use this, exploit this little vulnerability of yours. 

[Name] was hooking up with the coach! 

Yandere Rival who tucks himself into bed for the night, but can't sleep. Seriously, he can't get the sight of you in the coach's car out of his head and it's burrowing itself deep inside his mind. It bothers him more than it reasonably should. He didn't question it earlier because it was so shocking, but now that he's had the time to stop and think about it.. 

Why were you in the coach's car to begin with? Surely, if you were gay, you'd at least have the standards to fuck somebody that wasn't, you know, the sleazy coach. Somebody your age, with a better body, and who wasn't a huge pervert.

Yandere Rival who is so busy pondering why that he doesn't get any sleep, and he's occupied by it even when he's watching Sam and Luke beat up the little loser Marty Kaye and steal his camera. The question grows louder, echoing further when he's finally managed to catch you and the coach again. The leaves and branches inside the bush scratching at his letterman jacket, the camera light flashing red as he takes a picture of the two of you at the school parking lot late after school, nobody around except the athletes who are preoccupied with practice, the coach has his nasty lips on yours and he's pawing at you like a desperate animal. The entire time he ignores the way the front of his pants starts to tighten.

Yandere Rival who develops the pictures himself in the school's darkroom, and makes as many copies as he'll need. He makes ten, he takes one and keeps the rest in a shoebox beneath his bed marked with a simple ‘DO NOT OPEN’. Before he goes to bed one night however, he ends up taking one of the photos out of the box and as long as he didn't look at the coach... He would never admit it but you looked fuckin' hot.

When it's just the two of you alone in the locker room after gym class, he corners you after your shower and waves the picture in front of your face with a cocky smirk that grows as your eyes widen and your face grows ashen with dread. 

[Name] tries to snatch the photo from him but Gabe dodges easily, stepping backwards and sticking it in his pants for good measure. An image pops in his head, a desperate [Name] tackling Gabe down to the floor and digging through his pants to get the picture. His hand brushing against his clothed crotch. The thought has his cheeks heating up for some reason.

“Fucking-” [Name] grits his teeth and his hand balls into a fist, “How'd you get that?”

Gabe hikes his pants up, hoping that [Name] can't see that he's blushing, “That doesn't really matter now does it? You should be less worried about how I got the picture, and more about what I'm gonna do with it.” 

That shut [Name] up quite well, the other teen bites his lip before clicking his tongue. He crosses his arms, and has the nerve to let out a scoff, “Huh, okay. Tell me then,” He leans back against the tiled walls, “What's your great plan then? For your sake, I hope it works better than the previous ones.” 

Gabe hates it, but in that moment he can't help but flinch, whatever gravitas surrounding him dissipated, “You knew-”

[Name] barked out a laugh, he throws his head back only for it to come down as he shakes his head and sighs, “I'm not an idiot like you. Jesus Christ, you couldn't be more obvious if you tried.”

The tip of Gabe's ears turned red. This was fucking embarassing, not only did each plan fail spectacularly, but [Name] knew, he didn't do anything to interfere in them, yet they still failed regardless. 

“Whatever,” Gabe clears his throat and avoids making eye contact with [Name], who is now the one sporting an amused expression, “Anyways- Aren't you wondering what I'm gonna make you do?” 

When Gabe was imagining how it would go down in his head, he envisioned [Name] panicked and visibly distressed. Practically sweating buckets as he rambled on about how he would do anything for Gabe, as long as he didn't reveal his secret. 

So far he was getting what he didn't want. Apathy. 

Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. [Name] didn't look bored, but he did look irritated, and Gabe was getting the inkling that this was the closest he'd get to an emotional outburst from him. 

“Honestly, Shepherd, no offense but I just don't think you have the mental faculties to come up with anything that isn't extortion,” [Name] pauses for a moment, before his lips curl into a wicked grin, “You do know what the word extortion means, right?” 

“I know what it means!” Gabe has to remind himself that he can't yell, so he settles for hissing out the words between gritted teeth. 

[Name] laughs, “Ha, yeah… sure,” He smirks, “So… was I right?” 

“...” 

Honestly speaking, Gabe hasn't thought much about what he'd do. He was so caught up in figuring out how to use the camera, then how to develop the pictures, then making the copies… that he hasn't really stopped to think about what he'd actually do to [Name] when it came down to it. 

[Name] could probably tell, since he rolled his eyes, “Whatever.” He adjusted the towel around his waist, but before he could actually take another step Gabe grabbed him by his arm. 

“Hey, I didn't say you could leave-”

“Shepherd, unless you wanna see my dong, then I'd strongly suggest you let me put my clothes on.” 

“Oh,” Gabe lets go of him. He can feel his own dong start to harden for some reason and he tries to will it to settle down, to no effect.

“Yeah,” [Name] snorts, he turns around before he can see Gabe's buddy perk up, as he leaves to go change he mutters under his breath, “That's what I thought..” 

The sound of [Name]’s footsteps grow farther, Gabe can eventually hear him open his locker and the faint muffled sound of him digging around for his clothes. 

Gabe slumps back against the wall. He glances at the clock on the wall. 

12:11. 

He'd have the entire lunch period to think of what to do with [Name], if he couldn't right now.

“Fuck,” Gabe mutters under his breath. 

Why didn't he think of what to do last night?  

His cheeks burn red. 

Oh right. 

He was doing… that. 

Gabe drags his fingers across his hair the same way his mother used to when he was young. For some reason, it was always able to settle his mind. Perhaps it was the repetition of the sensation that calmed him. 

Nonetheless, it got the job done. But now all that was left in his mind was the quiet and the quiet was making Gabriel tap his foot against the floor and rub his palms together restlessly. 

“Oi, [L/N],” Gabe finally calls out in the silence, but when he gets no response he immediately straightens. He looks at the clock and curses. 

12:18. 

Gabe walks swiftly to the lockers, trying not to slip, and groans when [Name] isn't there. 

He kicks a locker and ignores the sharp pain that follows. 

“Bastard!”

Yandere Rival who confronts you after school, he waits for you outside the lockers after the basketball team’s practice ends and doesn't waste a moment before he drags you back to his own car; Heedless to your protests. 

He's had the time to think, and he's decided on what he wants you to do. 

“You're gonna be my henchman.”

“...What the hell are you on, Shepherd?”

Yandere Rival who uses you as what we would call a PR manager. You're a tool yes, but a valuable one. 

Yandere Rival who only has what can be called a proud smile on his face when news spreads around school that Gabriel Shepherd and [Name] [L/N] were now ‘best of friends’. Meanwhile the expression on your face can only be described as ‘bitterly resigned to the fate of spending your senior year as Gabe’s fake best friend’. 

Yandere Rival whose reputation grows significantly once he has you in his circle. You're practically his right hand man at this point, and you may as well be. You're certainly better at planning than he is, and you definitely have a better understanding of other people and what makes them tick. 

You come up with many, and I mean many ideas about how he can make people like him more and honestly they work.

Yandere Rival who starts hosting more parties, using the large land that encompasses the non-farm part of his home when his dad is off on a business trip, and hosting parties at either Sam or Luke's when his dad is around. Never yours though, strangely enough. But forget about that. The parties. Oh lord, the parties. Good alcohol, good music, everybody who is anybody at the school is present, and really, you're the one to thank for how well they always go. It makes Gabriel more popular, yes, but it also increases your own popularity, which is an unfortunate side effect. 

Yandere Rival who, for the sake of keeping up the facade that the two of you were the absolute bestest of friends, does his best to attend all your games. Heck, he even has Sam and Luke bring along a banner they made the artsy geeks make to support you and waves it around while practically bellowing out: “Go [Name]!” The entire time. Does he enjoy it? …Maybe. There's a small part of him that has fun going to these games and cheering you on. There's an even smaller part of him that he makes sure to ignore, a part of him that enjoys carrying out all your creative plans not just because they improve his standing, but also because… it's just fun doing them with you. Even if you’re an ass. 

Yandere Rival who pulls off more wild things with you than merely throwing fun parties and sometimes pulling pranks on the teachers. 

The weekend before the big football championship, you and Gabe, accompanied by Sam and Luke, take a trip to two towns away where the school’s biggest rival is located and by nightfall, the four of you break into the building to steal the school’s ‘lucky charm’: The Spirit stick. 

The four of them had climbed over the chain link fence near the track field, Luke catched Sam and Gabe catched [Name]. The air was chilly, and the earth was soaked and muddy from the rain. 

“Let’s go through under the benches, we don’t want to be tracking mud on the floor,” [Name] tugs the hood of his jacket further down his head.

“Alright,” Gabe places a hand over his eyes, clicking his tongue when droplets of rain manage to slip through. 

They make their way to the double door leading inside the school, unfortunately there are chains around the handles of the door and a padlock holding them together.

“Shit,” Luke grunts, “What now?” 

“Should we go back?” Sam turns to Gabe. 

“Nah,” [Name] is already crouching, he pulls a jackknife out from his jacket, “I’ve got this.”

Luke snorts, “Ha. What are you gonna do? Cut the chains?” 

[Name] stares at him blankly, only to pull out each individual part of the jackknife, exposing that it had a lockpick set inside. 

“Ah…” 

[Name] raises a single brow, completely unimpressed, “You were saying?” 

“Whatever man, just get to it.” 

Gabe has done many things since he’s become… ‘friends’ with [Name]. He drank alcohol, did a bit of weed, and snorted some coke. Hell, he nearly hit a deer when the two of them were driving them back from visiting [Name]’s dealer in the next town over. 

Let’s just say that Gabe was a bit (just a bit!) distracted. 

([Name]'s lips, plush and wet, parted slightly with a joint stuck in between, just a bit of tongue exposed between the gap) 

But that was all small stuff. This? This was most definitely a crime. Not like he was going to complain. Nah, he had Sam for that.

“Dude, are you sure we should be doing this?” Sam’s eyes kept flashing back and forth, warily watching, waiting to see if anybody was around to catch them in the act. 

“Aw, you scared Sammy?” Luke cackled, he was leaning against the wall, covering [Name] on his left, “You’ll be fine, your daddy’s the damn chief of police.” 

“Fuck off Luke, don’t be a dick-” 

“Shut it,” Gabe was covering [Name] from view on the right, you can say what you want about Gabe, but you can’t deny that he’s got a good glare, “Both of you.” 

Luke rolls his eyes, yet concedes. 

Sam lowers his head, “Sorry..” 

[Name] glances at Gabe out of the corner of his eye, and Gabe can see there’s a small smile on his face. A silent thank you. 

Gabe scoffs, but he can’t help the smile that creeps on his face. 

The more time he spends with [Name] the more he finds that the guy isn’t as bad as he thought he was. Seriously, sometimes he forgets why he even hated [Name] so much. He was a good guy, all things considered, except for all the drugs, alcohol, and now this. 

Nobody has done something like this for him before, not Sam or Luke, not even any of his brothers. It was strange knowing that somebody was willing to commit an actual crime for his sake. Gabe isn't even sure if they're friends, they shouldn't be, but it was hard to think that considering everything they've been doing together. 

Gabe still can't forget what happened at the last party. Every time he blinked he would remember the sight of [Name] with his wet shirt sticking to his chest, absolutely drenched after diving into the pool on a dare. But that wasn't what mattered. Nah, it was what happened later. It was clear that [Name] was still a bit drunk, and when he went to get a towel, but took longer than he should've to come back Gabe…. got worried. 

He thought [Name] slipped or something, and so he went to look for him, only to find the guy dozing off near the laundry machine below the cabinet the towels were in. 

Gabe tried to wake him up, but instead through a series of events, he ended up bringing [Name] up to Sam's bedroom and tucking him in. He wasn't even allowed to go back downstairs because [Name] would stir and glare at him sleepily every time he even took another step towards the door. 

It was annoying, but… it was good. 

He felt needed. 

Before he could think about it further, the lock opens with a click, and falls to the ground with a weak clang. 

“You actually did it!” Sam gaped, “How the hell do you know this stuff?” 

[Name] smirks, his chest puffed out, “A magician never tells his secrets. Now come on,” He removed the chains and then held the door open, he grinned and gestured for Gabe to enter, “Ladies first.” 

Gabe glared, but merely rolled his eyes. There was no time to waste after all. However, before Gabe could enter Luke grabbed his shoulder. 

“What is it?” Gabe huffed. 

“Dude, our shoes are wet. Use the scraper mat first,” Luke points to it, and demonstrates by using it himself. 

[Name] beams, “Smart. Nice job Luke.”

Luke chuckles, “What can I say? I try.” 

Gabe rolls his eyes, “Wish you could try using your brain more during practice, maybe then we wouldn't be having to do this shit.”

Luke frowns, this was a sore spot for him, Gabe knew that, “Don't be a dick man.” 

Gabe clicks his tongue, “Whatever.” 

He ground his feet on the scraping mat instead of actually, you know, scraping, but it worked. 

The familiar sensation of hot, stuffy anger burning at the center of his chest appeared but Gabe didn't know why. Usually he could pin down what triggered it, what triggered him, but right now he had not a single clue. 

When all of them finished drying their shoes, Sam and [Name] even go so far as to squeeze the remaining water out of their clothes, Luke shuts the door behind them and Gabe takes out two flashlights he bought on one of their fuel stops. 

He tosses one to Luke who catches it easily, and turns it on immediately. After a few failed attempts, Gabe smacks his own against his palm one more time before it finally turns on properly. The two beams of bright light illuminating the hallway and the surrounding lockers. Their walls were lined with green banners, festive posters, and small flags with the school’s name and mascot on it. All in the school colors. Probably the school celebrating their ‘certain victory’. 

“Alright genius, where do we go now?” Gabe turns to [Name]. 

“Well…” [Name] claps his hand, “I guess we’ll find out together!” 

Sam’s eyes practically bulged out of his sockets, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

[Name] simply pats Gabe on the shoulder, and before Gabe can do or say anything else, he takes the flashlight from Gabe’s fingers with the deftness of a practiced pickpocket, and walks further down the hall and deeper into the school, barely making any noise. 

“He’s not serious is he?” Sam glances at Luke. 

“Don’t look at me man,” Luke shrugs, “Let’s get going before he leaves us behind.” 

The three of them catch up to [Name], though it is only Gabe who matches his pace. The two of them walk beside each other, [Name] flashing the light around, still searching for the Spirit Stick, [Gabe] on the other hand is sticking close to [Name] and not thinking about much else. Really, the only thing on his mind right now is how nice it is to be around the warmth that was radiating off of [Name], how comfortable it felt to just be beside him. 

“So…” [Name] breaks the silence, his voice is low enough that it was clear to Gabe that the conversation was not meant for the four of them, but just for them, [Name] and Gabe, “Are you mad?” 

Gabe’s brow furrows, “Huh?”

“Don’t act like you aren’t,” There’s a trace of a grin on [Name]’s face, but Gabe has come to understand that grinning is merely a reflex for [Name] at this point.

“Why would I be?” Gabe whispers back. 

[Name] opens his mouth but before he could speak Luke speaks up in a volume that Gabe never heard him speak in before, “Pst, guys! How about we split up? 

[Name] looks like he’s about to protest, but Gabe cuts him off, “Alright, let’s meet up here in… twenty minutes?” The four of them were standing at a crossroads, south led the way they came, north was further down to where Gabe assumed the cafeteria would be, and then there was the west and east which Gabe assumed would be where the classrooms were. 

“Yeah, that should be good,” Sam nods, “Luke and I will take west, you guys take east?” 

“Hey wait-” 

“Sure,” Gabe grabs [Name] by his arm and is already dragging him along despite [Name]’s protests, “Let’s investigate the north side if we don’t find the spirit stick.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” Luke playfully salutes him with a goofy grin on his face, before giving them a wave goodbye as he and Sam went down their own hall. 

Gabe and [Name] got farther down the hall before [Name] shook Gabe’s hold off of him with a very heated glare.

“Gabriel,” [Name] hisses, “Why did you do that?” 

Gabe shrugs, “I don’t want those two idiots overhearing our conversation.” 

That was a lie, a big boldfaced lie. Gabe would rather die than admit it, but he felt like Sam and Luke were sort of like… third wheels. Guh. He wished there was a better way to describe it, but Gabe’s limited vocabulary left him with only that term. Additionally, he didn’t like how buddy buddy Luke was getting with [Name]. 

They weren’t meant to be friends. Really, Gabe, Sam, and Luke shouldn’t even be doing this with [Name] at all. Period. But at least Gabe had an excuse, he had an image to maintain. What reason did Luke have? That’s right. Nothing. The oaf was better off sticking with the other oaf.

[Name] rolls his eyes, he focuses the flashlight straight ahead and starts walking, “Why are you such a dick to those two guys?” He glances at Gabe, who was steadily keeping pace with him, “I thought you guys were friends.”

Gabe chuckles, and for the first time he got to see a confused expression on [Name]’s face.

“Oh, you're not joking,” Gabe halts, “Well… we're not. They stick around because I'm the only popular guy they can actually tolerate.” 

And not to mention what happened with Raph. But well, that was just one of the… more important factors. Still, at the end of the day it was just one of the bullet points on the list of reasons why it was good for them to hang out with Gabe. 

“Dang.” 

“Cat got your tongue [Name]?” 

[Name] shrugs, he peeks around the corner and flashes his light down the hall, “Tsk, still nothing…” 

Gabe sighs, he doesn’t appreciate the sudden change of subject much, but fine. He can admit when there were more pressing matters to attend to. The longer he stayed inside the school the more he got creeped out. Since he was young Gabe had a fear of the dark that got better as he grew older, but as the two of them continued to walk down the dark halls, lined with metal lockers, and decorated to show school pride, the more Gabe felt like something was staring at him.

“What’s the Spirit stick even look like?” Gabe doesn’t want to, but he squints into the darkness anyway. 

[Name] glances at him from the corner of his eye, and the half of his face that Gabe can see in the barely illuminated darkness is giving him a very deadpan look, “Your girlfriend literally carries the damn Spirit stick for the pep rallies.” 

“She’s not my fucking girlfriend,” Gabe glares at him, “We just fucked once.” 

[Name] smirks, “Not yet at least. A little birdie told me that she really likes you-”

“[Name],” Gabe stops walking, and stares [Name] down with an expression that, based off [Name]’s flinch and sudden folding in on himself, does exactly what he intends it to, “She’s not. My. Fucking. Girlfriend.” 

He didn’t like to think of her. Not that the sex was bad, really it was decent. Mediocre at worst. Nah, what made it hard to think of her was the memories of what he had to do to win a place beside her in bed. He still can’t look her brother in the eyes sometimes. 

Besides, he didn’t want to talk about her. Not in front of [Name]. For some reason, him talking about Gabe’s sexual escapades just… made him feel weird, when he’d usually be raring to boast about it. 

[Name] rolled his eyes, but his shoulders were noticeably more tense and his grip on the flashlight seemed to grow tighter, “Fine. Whatever. Sorry, I guess.” 

The rest of the walk was spent in utter silence, broken only by Gabe’s occasional request to you to flash the light in a specific direction, before once more being enveloped by the heavy blanket of an awkward silence. 

Eventually the two of you did find the spirit stick. Near the school trophies, right outside the principal’s office, encased inside a glass box, that was unfortunately locked. However, Gabe had you, and you had already displayed an unusual prowess at picking locks and this was no less easy. The two of you meet up with Sam and Luke at the agreed upon time and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. 

Yandere Rival who, when he gets home, can’t sleep. Seriously. The earlier conversation was still playing in his mind and he just… God, he was so stupid! Why’d he have to snap at you? You were just teasing him like you usually did. Why did this bother him so much? It shouldn’t. Yet it did and- Grah. 

Gabe spends the night tossing and turning in his bed, his mind is restless as the image of [Name]'s hurt expression plays itself over and over. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees him; lips pulled down into a frown, his brows knit in a pitiful expression that has seared itself into his brain like an unwanted tattoo.

He grabs his pillow and buries his face into it and groans.

"I'm such a dumbass," Gabe mutters.

Gabe closes his eyes and tries once more to go to sleep, but when five minutes pass and his mind is showing no sign of settling, he kicks off the blanket, and gets off his bed. He makes sure to keep his footsteps light so nobody can hear him moving around at- Gabe glances at his clock- two in the morning.

He opens his drawer slowly, and pulls out his sketchbook. Flipping through the pages of his childish drawings and his sketches of the man that's keeping him awake, he pauses when he catches sight of his barely legible scrawl.

HOW TO RUIN [NAME]

Gabe can't help but scoff. Technically he did succeed. He had [Name] under his thumb after all, didn't he? But it was undeniable that [Name] was far from ruined, if anything he seemed to be doing even better than before.

He's about to go to another page, when his eyes land on a drawing of [Name] smiling wearing a t-shirt and basketball shorts. Gabe remembers the reference he had for it. He didn't do a live sketch, no, it was all just his memory.

[Name] was hanging out with his friends, carefree and genuinely happy, and Gabe just so happened to be driving by the town's community basketball court where they were playing a game. He simply glanced outside the window, doing a bit of people watching since the road was clear, and the sight of [Name] had him rolling his eyes and he was about to turn away, but then he smiled and he was taken aback by it's brightness.

So taken aback that he stopped driving altogether and was now in the middle of the road, straight up staring at [Name]. He was snapped out of it when a car behind him honked and the driver was waving his fist at him angrily.

Gabe chuckles, it was funny now in retrospect, but it wasn't so funny that it distracted him from how embarrassing the situation still was. He takes a deep breath and exhales, feeling the air release itself in how the tension in his shoulders seem to lessen.

An idea pops into his head as his gaze continues to rest on the drawing. Gabe chews on his bottom lip as he thinks about it, before finally opening his drawer and taking out a pencil. He turns on the table lamp, and guides the pen on the paper to draw the look that's been keeping him awake.

Gabe wonders what [Name] means to him at this point. He didn't hate him anymore, at most he felt a bit irritated when [Name] would tease him. He liked him, but not in the way that he thinks a friend should like a friend. His version of like is a little crackling fireplace in his heart that's keeping it warm. He doesn't know if it's normal, if that's what being friends with somebody felt like for everybody else.

But [Name] wasn't everybody else.

Maybe this was just a special kind of like that only Gabe could feel, and he thinks he's fine with that.

☏ - ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇᴍᴀɪʟ: [ɴᴀᴍᴇ], ɪ… ᴊᴇꜱᴜꜱ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛ. ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ. ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ.. ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ʀɪɢʜᴛ?

[harbinger-of-enmity]

Delicate . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Trans Sunday x GN Reader 🪽

✒︎ Notes; Transmale Sunday (usage of words p-ssy, c-nt and c-it), gender neutral reader, dom reader, sub Sunday, face sitting, hint of overstimulation, short work… Let me know if I missed anything!

✒︎ Vincent’s Ramblings; Repost because Tumblrs being weird and hid this for a bit on my other accoubt, lawl. sorry if the endings poor, i never know how to end my works 🫶😭

Sunday felt you press your hands into his hips, pulling him closer to your face, a shrill cry escaping him when your thumb dragged over his swollen clit.

Here you had Sunday, the powerful head of the Oak Family, sitting on your face, crying as you bullied his pussy with your mouth. You didn’t quite know how you ended up with Sunday riding your face, but you did know the sweet sounds the man released were like a drug.

Your hands squeezed the supple flesh of Sunday’s thighs, his pale skin taking on a red hue as you did. Sunday moaned, hands pawing at anything he could reach, “[Name]- ‘S too much! Ahh ha—“ Sunday uttered these words but pressed himself further against your face, gasping as your tongue sunk deeper into him.

His thighs squeezed your face, Sunday’s knuckles turning white from how tightly he balled his fists. Sunday’s wings flapped as you pulled your tongue in and out of his body, frame trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I’m gonna cum! I— Oh, Aeons!” Sunday’s hands curled around his headboard, back arching. You felt his cunt squeeze around your tongue, and you purposely pressed it against his walls, ripping a cry from him.

You felt the bitter, almost sour, taste of Sunday’s fluids on your tongue but couldn’t help the need for more, more of Sunday on your tongue. Pulling your tongue along his most sensitive places, hearing a sweet mewl escape his lips.

Sunday felt that familiar pain bubbling up in his belly, lips parting in a gasp at the feeling, “Ffhh— [Name],” He croaked out, lifting his hips off your face. Your gaze met Sunday’s, the hazy look in his eyes barely processing your face, “Thank you..” Sunday murmured weakly, sitting himself atop your chest.,

The little wings on the sides of his face puffed a bit when you grunted at the feeling of his weight landing atop your body. He squeaked out a quick apology, still within his pleasured haze, too dumb to process the world around him completely.

You reached up to cup Sunday’s face, chuckling as he leaned into your touch, “You okay, birdie?” You asked softly, Sunday nodding against your hand in response. He shifted off your torso, laying beside you, tucking his face into your neck. You could only laugh in response, running your hand through his soft hair.

It wasn’t long until you heard his snoring in your ear, the soft rasp filling the quiet room. You continued to pet Sunday’s head until you yourself fell asleep, holding the Halovian close to your chest.

[sokoviansimp]

Control

✒ Pairings: dom!wanda x subAgent!femreader

✒ Summary: Tension builds when Wanda and Y/N, who hate each other, are sent on a mission with Y/N's best friend, Natasha, and her wife Maria. The mission doesn't exactly go to plan.

✒ Tags and Warnings: 18+! Mature themes, kidnapping, chemicals, hospital, bickering, enemies to lovers, slow burn

✒ Author's Note: not proofread, because I'm really high rn and want to get this out because it's been in my drafts for like a month but I've been so busy with moving, and working 2 jobs, and just life changes.

✒ Word Count: 9523

✒ Read Time: 24 minutes

Masterlist : Socials : Series Masterlist

The dimly lit, high-tech briefing room at the SHIELD headquarters buzzed with anticipation. Agents of all kinds filled the seats, their eyes trained on the enormous screen at the front. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, stood at the head of the room, her signature poise and confidence emanating from her.

You sat nearby, attention locked onto the screen. You had earned your place among the elite Shield agents through sheer skill and determination, graduating early from the academy. Your sharp mind and lightning-quick reflexes made you one of the best in the business. 

Natasha, after glancing over to her wife, Maria, began the mission briefing. "Our intel suggests that a rogue group of Hydra operatives has obtained a dangerous chemical compound. We need to secure it before they can use it for any nefarious purposes. We’ll be sending a small team in to infiltrate, if all goes to plan we should be in and out within 2 days. Y/N, you’ll partner with Wanda, and Maria will come with me,” Wanda couldn’t help but roll her eyes and let out a small huff at being paired with you, “The tac team will meet us on day 2 by the south entrance to secure the base. Everyone clear?” Nat finished as she looked around the room to see a bunch of heads bobbing in confirmation. 

Once everyone had filed out, you and Wanda hung back to discuss infiltration plans with Maria and Natasha. Nat explained that the trek to get to the area undetected would take a day, you would sleep at a small cabin safe house on the outskirts of the forest, and then the next day you would stealthily breach the border to the Hydra base and seize control of the chemical before letting the tac team in to finish up. 

“Sounds like a plan, but why do y/n and I have to be partners on this?” Wanda added trying everything she could to get out of being stuck with you by her side. 

“Now, I know you two love to bicker, but we’re all adults here. I’m sure you two can push your differences aside for 2 days.” Natasha explained as she shot Wanda a pointed look. She knew the brunette had her grievances about you and, as much as Nat loved you, she also knew how annoying you could be on the surface, but you two were also the ones Nat trusted most, aside from her wife, to have her six.

“I don’t see that being a problem, do you Wanda?” you confirmed with a smug smirk on your face, knowing you would have ample time to get under Wanda’s skin. Bickering with the brunette was something you would never admit you actually enjoyed, but you did. You loved getting her going and sometimes you could even imagine the smoke blowing out of her ears from how much you drove her crazy. You found herself drawn to Wanda's reactions, the way her cheeks would flush with annoyance, or her lips would curl into a sly smile when she caught on to your teasing. You unknowingly reveled in the attention it garnered from Wanda.

Wanda’s gaze shifted back to the screen as her brows knit tightly together forming a slight furrow in the middle of her forehead, “Guess not, when do we leave” she asked tightly pressing her lips together.

“Wheels up in 30” Nat informed as everyone filed out to pack. 

You leaned against a nearby table, eyeing Wanda as she adjusted her gear. "Wanda, are you sure you're ready for this mission? I mean, it's not as easy as manipulating some red energy."

Wanda shot you a withering look, her scarlet eyes flashing. "Not everything can be solved by punching first and asking questions later, Sprints. Some of us have to use our brains."

Wanda had given you the nickname, Sprints, one day when you were training in the compound with Nat. Shield agents don't typically train at the compound, but your close friendship with Natasha made you an exception. This day, you had been bragging about setting a new in-house record for the 100-meter dash.

You chuckled, unfazed. "Brains, huh? Well, I'm glad one of us has 'em."

Wanda smirked, her accent lacing her words with a hint of sarcasm. "And I'm glad one of us doesn't rely solely on brute force."

You couldn't resist a playful jab. "True, but at least when I hit something, it stays down. Can't say the same for your mind tricks."

Wanda's lips curled into a wry smile. "Wanna test that theory?" she said pointedly as she raised her hand and her magic swirled around in her fingertips. 

Just then, Nat entered breaking up the standoff between you and Wanda, “Knock it off you two, the jet is taking off in 5, get loaded up,” Nat instructed as she watched Wanda walk by you and slightly nudge your shoulder as you innocently raised your hands toward Natasha, “Now.” she said firmly causing you to scurry off with your bag in Wanda’s trail. 

As the quin-jet roared to life, and with Nat and Maria both in the cockpit, you couldn't resist the urge to tease Wanda. You knew how to push the right buttons, and her playful, sometimes very real, annoyance was on full display.

You leaned across the narrow aisle, grinning mischievously at Wanda, who was quietly reading a book on her tablet. "Hey, Wanda," you began, your tone a touch too cheerful, "since we're going up against Hydra today, maybe you can use your mind tricks to make them forget they ever messed with us."

Wanda glanced at her with a bemused expression, clearly unimpressed. "Y/N, my powers don't work that way, and you know it."

Y/N pretended to ponder this for a moment, tapping her chin with a playful smirk. "Hmm, shame. It would've made our job so much easier. But hey, don't worry. I'm sure you'll find some other way to be useful."

Wanda sighed, shaking her head as she shifted her focus back to her book. She was clearly unamused by your antics.

As the quin-jet touched down in a remote area, nearly 10 miles from their target location, the four of you gathered your gear and prepared to embark on your covert trek. The evening was closing in quickly and with the loss of the sun, it would start getting cold soon.

Natasha, the team leader, huddled the group together for a final briefing. "Remember, we need to reach the cabin undetected. This is a highly secured area, and any alert could jeopardize the mission. Y/N and Wanda, I need you two to put your differences aside and work together. Our success depends on it." 

Y/N exchanged a begrudging glance with Wanda but nodded in agreement. "Got it, Nat. I'll try not to annoy Wanda too much."

Wanda rolled her eyes but remained silent, her focus on the task at hand.

The team set out on their trek, moving silently through the dense forest, their footsteps muffled by the fallen leaves and underbrush. Y/N and Wanda found themselves side by side, each step of the way requiring them to cooperate and coordinate their movements to avoid detection.

Every now and then, an armored personnel carrier would drive by causing the team to utilize nearby ravines, trenches, and coves to avoid detection. At one point, they hid out in a culvert for a few minutes waiting for the oncoming trail of vehicles to pass. A crinkling sound eventually made its way to Wanda’s ears and her head snapped to you as you tore open a granola bar, “Really, is now the best time for that?” Wanda whispered, trying to keep quiet as she scolded you, “Oh yes, you do not want to see me when I’m hangry,” you quietly responded as Natasha hushed you both to keep quiet. 

Despite your earlier banter and rivalry, you and Wanda fell into a rhythm as you navigated the challenging terrain. You took point, your sharp instincts and knowledge of the wilderness guiding the path. Wanda, with her enhanced senses, scanned for any signs of danger or hidden threats.

As you moved deeper into the night, the initial tension between the two of you began to dissipate. You began communicating with subtle gestures and exchanged information about the terrain and possible obstacles. Gradually, a sense of unity began to form between you two, as you realized that your success truly depended on your ability to work together.

Hours passed, and the mission team finally arrived at the remote cabin where they would be staying for the night. Nat and Maria thoroughly cleared it to make sure there were no unexpected guests. Once it was clear, you and Wanda made your way in. The cabin was rustic, with only two bedrooms, and it quickly became apparent that accommodations would be tight.

Natasha and Maria, who were married, naturally gravitated toward one of the bedrooms and claimed it as their own. They exchanged a knowing look, then turned to the rest of the team.

Wanda, ever the enigmatic one, made her preferences clear with a cool, unwavering stare. "I'm not sharing a room with Y/N," she stated firmly.

Realizing the implications, you tried to defuse the situation. "No problem, Wanda. I can sleep on the couch or even on the floor. It's not a big deal."

But Natasha, always the pragmatic leader, stepped in. "Actually, it is a big deal. We need both of you at your best tomorrow. We can't afford any tension or lack of rest. You two are sharing the other bed, there’s plenty of room."

Wanda's lips formed a thin line of irritation, but Natasha's word was final. She begrudgingly agreed, her tone laced with annoyance. "Fine, but I'm taking the left side of the bed."

You nodded following Wanda to the other room, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "Works for me, Wanda. I promise not to steal the covers."

With the sleeping arrangements decided, the team settled into their respective rooms, though the atmosphere in the second bedroom was palpably tense. You and Wanda each occupying your respective sides with a noticeable gap between. Tension hung in the air, and you both lay stiffly under the covers, each determined not to give an inch.

The initial discomfort led to a silent battle for the covers. Your fingers twitched slightly as you subtly attempted to pull the blanket your way. Wanda, sensing the movement, tightened her grip on the fabric. This quiet tug-of-war continued for a while, neither of you willing to relinquish control.

But as time passed, exhaustion began to take its toll. The temperature in the room dropped, and the comfort of the covers became increasingly irresistible. Unbeknownst to either of you, both of you gradually drifted into a fitful slumber, with both your subconscious minds seeking warmth and comfort.

In the dead of night, your bodies shifted ever so slightly. In your sleep, you unconsciously turned toward Wanda, your back now touching Wanda's side. Wanda, still asleep, feeling the unexpected contact, hesitated for a moment but soon found herself subconsciously gravitating closer to your warmth.

Your movements continued to synchronize in the depths of sleep. Slowly but surely, the gap between you vanished as you instinctively nestled into each other. Your arm draped over Wanda's waist, and Wanda's head nestled into the crook of your neck. The covers you had fought over earlier now cocooning you both, providing warmth and security.

Though you had started the night as adversaries, the quiet intimacy of your subconscious movements told a different story. In the stillness of the cabin, with the moonlight filtering through the curtains, you and Wanda had found an unexpected source of comfort in each other's presence. It was as if you two were pieces in a puzzle that fit perfectly with one another as your exhaustion-riddled bodies melded together after a long day. 

The morning sun filtered through the cabin's curtains, casting a warm and gentle glow across the room. As you and Wanda began to stir, you each gradually became aware of your compromising position. Your bodies were entangled, limbs intertwined, and faces mere inches apart.

For a brief moment, your eyes fluttered open and met Wanda’s gaze, your heartbeat picked up nearly drowning out any source of sound for you as your cheeks reddened, you knew you should want to move, should be upset, but you froze like a deer in headlights, like if you stayed still then she wouldn’t notice and would stay as well. For a moment, you enjoyed the comfort of the witch’s grasp. That was quickly replaced by your mutual disdain from the previous night as the tension resurfaced with the disgusted look Wanda shot over to you. You locked eyes, both startled by the proximity and the realization of how closely you had been clinging to each other in your sleep.

Wanda quickly pulled away, her cheeks coloring slightly with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. She shifted to her side of the bed and cleared her throat, avoiding your gaze. "This is... not how I expected to wake up."

Equally flustered, you hastily withdrew your arm and adjusted your position to sit on the edge of the bed, cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "Yeah, well, it's not exactly my ideal morning either."

The tension that had momentarily dissipated during the night returned in full force. Both of you were acutely aware of the compromising position you had awoken in, and it only served to highlight your ongoing rivalry and mutual discomfort.

As you both jumped to get out of bed and prepared for the day ahead, your distaste for each other remained palpable. The events of the night had not erased your differences or any of the underlying tension, and you were both eager to put some distance between each other and the uncomfortable intimacy you had experienced in your sleep. Was it really uncomfortable though? You couldn’t deny, it was the best you had slept in weeks. No, it was. Just remembering the look of pure disgust on Wanda’s face puts the bad taste right back in your mouth.

“You two are up early, figured I’d have to come in clanging some pans the way you two like to sleep in.” Nat teased as you and Wanda entered the kitchen, “How’d you sleep?” 

“Goo-” you began but were cut off but the louder brunette beside you, “TERRIBLE” she groaned in response, not wanting to re-live what she woke up to. 

Nat glanced at Y/N knowingly, “What was that, Y/N?” she continued to tease as she poured the coffee that she had just made into 2 mugs in front of her for each of you. 

“Yea, grossly bad. Just- what she said” you stammered to get out, trying to remember what exactly was so bad about it. Then you remembered the look on Wanda’s face full of disgust again, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty that she felt that way toward you. 

Once you were all geared up and ready to leave the cabin, Natasha went over the plan one more time before you all stealthily headed back out into the forest. The weak spot that you were looking to infiltrate was about 5 miles from the cabin and you thanked whatever gods may exist that it wasn't winter yet. The air was cold against your cheeks, enough to tinge them a slight red from the wind burn, but not so frigid that you were shivering or unable to focus. 

Wanda, on the other hand, curled in on herself any chance she could in order to keep warm and ward off the shivers that threatened to take over her body. As you were waiting in another culvert for a line of trucks to pass by, you noticed from the way Wanda was curled up that she was struggling. Knowing you could survive without the jacket you were wearing, you went to offer it to the witch, “Cold?” you whispered softly and placed your hand on her shoulder to get her attention from behind. 

Her eyes snapped over to meet your gaze and she pulled her arm away from your touch like you were a deadly disease, “I’m fine,” she whispered back icy and dismissive, making a mental note to hide her discomfort better. Her disgust for you was clear, little did she know, you were only trying to help.

Taken aback by her response, your initial concern became clouded with frustration. All you wanted to do was see her light up in your direction and yet everything you did caused her to hate you more. If she’s going to act this way, may as well give her a reason. Two can play this game, “Oh right, I forgot you’re made of tougher skin than the rest of us peasants,” you mocked, keeping your tone low so as to not give up your position. 

The look that Wanda shot back your way sent shivers down your spine, “Should’ve come more prepared, like me,” you say flaunting your jacket and digging the metaphorical knife deeper as Nat waved an ‘all clear’ signal.

“There it is,” Wanda snapped back at you,  “every chance you get to be a coc-“ Natasha cut Wanda off, silencing her, before she could finish her point.

You caught Wanda’s gaze as it happened and pointed at your ears tauntingly. Her jaw tightened and her anger brewed as she continued to move through the culvert, following Nat and Maria’s lead.

As the team made its way out of the culvert and trekked along the route, you noticed Wanda was no longer shivering, all the pent-up anger toward you providing her warmth that would last at least a couple of minutes as you smirked to yourself.

Once inside, Natasha and Maria took point in clearing a path and disabling guards with precision and stealth. You and Wanda had been tasked with obtaining the chemical agent that had been noted on the radar. The crucial task brought you both further into the facility, and as much as you each had trouble being in one another’s presence, you put your differences aside to work well as a team.

As you moved deeper into enemy territory, you settled back into the unspoken language of signals you had used the previous day together. Wanda was easily able to disable the camera feeds with her telekinesis while you took out any remaining guards and covered your tracks.

Soon enough, you both came to a secure-looking door, its lock was intricate and seemed heavily fortified with barometric readings and sensors. Without hesitation, Wanda focused her energy on the lock’s mechanism, using her powers to manipulate the gears and pins. You had her back, keeping watch on the corrodor, as she fell vulnerable to an attack from behind with her mind focused elsewhere.

A stray guard came out of a room down the hall making his way in your direction as he began to yell and pull out his gun, “Don’t lose focus Wanda, I got your back,” you assured her as you swiftly disabled the guard. As much as Wanda may hate you, she knew deep down that she could trust you and kept her focus on the door.

Once you settled back beside Wanda, you couldn’t help but let out a snarky comment as she was otherwise engaged with her powers, “You know, Wanda, it’s almost like having magic hands comes in handy on a mission like this,” 

Wanda shot you a side-eye glance with just a hint of a smirk on her lips, “Oh, so now you like my powers, huh?”

Grinning, you responded, “Let’s just say, I’m starting to see the perks.”

With that, Wanda was finally able to get the door lock to yield to her magic and open up. With the granted entry, you both slipped into the room beyond, only to be met with dozens of eyes from scientists working in the lab you just entered, “What’s up fellas, I heard you’ve been playing with a new toy,”

The scientists, startled by the sudden intrusion, immediately recognized the threat and reacted swiftly. They shouted in alarm as you charged at them causing one of them to activate a security alarm, triggering a set of reinforced doors to slam shut, attempting to neutralize the largest threat they saw, Wanda.

Before she could react, you pushed her out of the way, finding yourself locked inside a sealed chamber, cut off from Wanda and the rest of the room. Panic coursed through your veins as you realized the predicament. Seeing that you’re in no position to look out for Wanda any longer, you began pounding on the glass door, shouting for her to get out, but the scientists weren’t done quite yet.

In a desperate bid to incapacitate you, originally Wanda, and prevent any further interference, one of the scientists had activated an aerosol dispenser in the sealed chamber. A fine mist of the chemical agent you had been tasked with retrieving filled the air around you. All you could do was gasp as the toxic substance began to take effect. Desperately trying to hold your breath and shield yourself from exposure, your focus shifted from escape to self-preservation. Your skin became overrun with a dark crystalized rash, similar to obsidian growing like a vine on the side of an unkept building, scaling up and down your arms as it spread out. 

On the other side of the sealed door, Wanda fought to free you from your captors, her powers surging as she attempted to disable the security measures and reach you as quickly as possible. She knew the amount of time it would take her to break through the mechanism would be fatal for you, so she desperately took to screaming at the scientists to unlock the door and sending a wave of magic knocking them against the wall when they wouldn't cooperate. The scientists, however, were determined to keep you separated and eliminate the threat they posed to their operation. The mission had taken a treacherous turn, and you were left alone in a race against time to survive the effects of the chemical while Wanda fought desperately to save you. 

As the seconds flew by, your vision grew hazy and Wanda knew you were reaching critical condition as the rash spread to your face. When brute force failed, she surged into the minds of the scientists standing before her to figure out how to disable the chamber. Once she was deep enough within their mind to bend their bodies to her will, she was finally able to free you.

As soon as the doors opened to allow Wanda to reach you, she rushed in without a second thought, her magic almost working subconsciously to move whatever was left of the chemical in the air. You laid on the floor hanging onto any bit of consciousness you could grasp onto as you faded in and out, just hoping to make it out alive. 

The witch scooped you up and darted for the exit, “Nat, we have an emergency situation here. Need medical evac NOW!” Wanda said over the comms. Her sprint turned into a quick glide through the air as she found it easier and quicker to let her magic take you both through the base and toward the exit. 

“Roger that, contacted HQ for the tac team and medical. 10 minutes out.” Nat responded, “What hap-” 

“Fuck- 10 minutes? I don’t know if she has that long,” Wanda responded with worry, as she looked down at you shaking in pain as you drifted in and out of awareness, “Y/N, hey look at me, can you hear me?” Wanda spoke gently but with urgency, as you met her gaze briefly before your eyes rolled back slightly in a blur, “Medical is on the way, you just need to hold out for 10 minutes, I’m going to get you there, just- hang on” Wanda stated as her grip on you tightened and her magic quickened in pace. 

Within minutes, Wanda met up with a medical team that arrived on the scene. They assessed your condition and quickly realized the severity of the situation. You were unconscious, struggling to breathe, and not only displaying signs of chemical poisoning but also a rash they had never seen before.

Working together, Wanda and the medical team carefully stabilized your condition as best they could on-site. They administered oxygen and provided preliminary treatment to counteract the effects of the chemical agent.

Recognizing the urgency of the situation, the medical team made the critical decision to transfer you to a nearby hospital equipped to handle chemical exposure cases. They carefully loaded you onto a gurney and rushed you onto an awaiting helicopter.

During the tense journey to the hospital, Wanda rode alongside you holding her hand and offering silent reassurance, while Nat and Maria stayed back to work with the tactical team. The situation remained dire, but they were doing everything they could to give you the best chance of survival.

At the hospital, a team of specialized medical professionals took over your care, working tirelessly to detoxify your system and stabilize your condition. The chemical exposure had taken a toll on your body, and even after all this time, your prognosis remained uncertain.

Wanda, exhausted and fraught with worry, refused to leave your side. As if every reason she had to hate you flew out the window, she was determined to stand by her partner throughout this ordeal, hoping and praying for your recovery. 

Wanda was pulled from her spiraling thoughts in the waiting room as she heard a nurse utter, “She’s stable,” in a very neutral tone, so neutral that maWanda was unsure if it was actually good news, “but she’s not out of the woods yet.” she warned as she motioned for Wanda to follow her in to be by your side once again. 

The brunette stood to follow, “Is she awake?” 

The nurse shook her head, mentioning that she doesn’t expect you to wake up for at least 12 hours. They needed to ensure that your body has flushed out the toxin before allowing it to exert any more energy. 

Wanda took the seat by your bed and notified Natasha of the situation. She was hopeful, knowing you're a fighter, and Wanda tried to be optimistic as well, “It should’ve been me, Nat,” Wanda stated full of guilt and regret. Nat did her best to assure Wanda that she would’ve done the same and your situation was in no way her fault. Deep down, she wonders if she actually would’ve done the same. 

“You better wake up, Sprints, or I swear. How dare y- why do you have to be the best at everything?” She sighed as her body trembled and a tear spilled from her eyelid.

After two long and agonizing days of unconsciousness, you finally began to stir in the hospital bed. Your vision was hazy at first, and you struggled to regain full awareness but as your senses gradually sharpened, you slowly became aware of the sterile hospital room that surrounded you.

The first thing you noticed was Wanda, sitting by your bedside. As your eyes met Wanda’s, your heart skipped a beat, you could see her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and relief. It was unlike her, but you couldn't help but smile weakly, your voice hoarse as you croaked out a greeting. "Hey there."

Wanda's expression softened, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. "You're awake," she replied, her relief evident in her voice until it starkly changed to anger, almost like a mask, “Don't ever do that again!” she warned, brows furrowing.

“Wow, not even a thank you.” you teased as Wanda bit back to reiterate, “I’m serious y/n, I could’ve protected myself.”

“Yeah, but I protected us both,” you snarkily replied letting the brunette build up steam as you dug further.

“Protected? You almost got yourself killed, for nothing! God you're insufferable!” she exclaimed, not even wanting to be in the room with you anymore. Remembering just how annoying it is to even hold a conversation with you.

“Didn’t realize you cared,” 

As your eyes continued to scan the room, you spotted Natasha and Maria entering the room with a tray of coffee and snacks, “Coffee anyone? Oh Y/N, you're awake!” 

You smiled in response as Nat took the coffee from her wife with a smile, letting the tension built between you and Wanda disipate as they took over the conversation. 

“You gave us quite the scare there, y/n,” Nat noted, as much as she worried for you, she knew you were a fighter with the best medical team in the country. 

“Aw, you were worried?” You teased, knowing Nat to always keep a stone cold exterior to most, only letting ones that she was close to, like you, really get to see her emotions. 

“Not one bit,” she lied and everyone in the room knew.

As Nat and Maria took over the conversation, Wanda sat there brewing. Not only could she not understand the emotions she was feeling for you, but they just kept brewing as he sat in silence. Anger, relief, annoyance, worry, it all swam around in a confusion pool of questions. Her abrupt departure was without a word and you looked to Nat as she left, “Guess she’s tapped out on me for the day,”

Nat knew that you and Wanda had a rocky relationship but she felt that the brunettes behavior was quite uncalled for given the circumstances, “mm, I’ll talk to her,” Nat hummed as she got up to leave the room in pursuit of Wanda.

“And then there were two,” you joked with Maria. 

Nat found Wanda in the hallway walking toward the exit of the hospital, she was headed back to the cabin as that’s where the 3 of them have been staying while you were stuck in a foreign hospital until you were ready to be transferred back to New York, “What the fuck was that?” Nat aggressively shouted in Wanda’s direction. 

Wanda quickly snapped her head around to the familiar voice, eyes landing on the angry Russian, “Not now Nat, please.” She dismissed as she stayed on her path. 

“No, Wanda, you don’t get to pick and choose. Y/N was practically on her deathbed to save you and this is how you want to act? What’s so terrible that you can’t even spend more than 5 minutes with her?”

“I didn’t need her to save me, she just made it all even more,” Wanda paused before bursting out, “DIFFICULT!” 

Nat could tell this was about more than just getting you to safety after the mission. She knew Wanda had dealt with a lot and always had a hard time getting her emotions in check. Instead of pressing further, she decided to switch up the metaphorical cards in her hands, “well all she wanted was to make sure you were safe.” With that, Nat turned to head back to your room. Wanda stood there watching her walk away, knowing she was right.

Before Wanda could decide what to do next the ground began to shake. It was subtle at first but soon, the items lining the walls and the structure of the building began to tremble along with it. Nat turned back to Wanda, who was still standing behind her, “Is that you?” She raised her brow, knowing the answer would be no, but hoping that it was by chance as that would make their job much easier. 

Wanda shook her head, confusion written all over her face as Nat turned again in the direction of your room in a full sprint, Wanda following Nat’s lead closely behind. Nat easily put the pieces together that the chemical agent you were exposed to would have effects that they could not predict. 

When they made it to your room, they were met with Maria trying to calm you down as you shook and writhed on the bed in pain. Your skin felt like it had just been dipped in lava causing your temperature to rise so much that you could visibly see a slight red tint on your face. Inside was arguably even worse as the uncontrollable shivers caused you to feel lightheaded and nauseous. 

Nat tried calling for a doctor through the hallways as the building began shaking even more. The worse your condition became, the more aggravated the building shook. They had to do something before the hospital filled with hundreds of innocent people became rubble. Wanda came to the side of your bed opposite Maria, shock prominent on her features as she watched you squirm, not knowing how to help. 

Maria could tell that Wanda was struggling with how to help, honestly, she didn't know exactly what to do either, but she did know that they had to get the building to stop shaking, and she was sure with Wanda’s magic, they would be able to help you somehow, “We have to neutralize the seismic waves emitting from her somehow,” Maria told Wanda as she kept her eyes on you, trying to figure out a solution. 

With that, Wanda was snapped out of the frozen state she was in as her eyes lit up red and she dove into your mind, trying to get answers. Near instantly her body began to tremble as a whimper fell from her mouth at the pain that radiated from you, “Y/N you have to calm down, the whole building is about to collapse”

“I’m not doing anything,” your thoughts fighting to make sense of the situation, “I-I can't control it! H-HURTS!”

Wanda’s balance faltered as the building’s shaking became more intense, her grip on the railing of your hospital bed tightened, and it became clear to her that her best option was to sedate you. She reached her hands toward your temple and let the red tendrils of her magic flow freely toward your skin as they rooted themselves within your mind. Taking hold and lulling you into a calm state of peaceful sleep. Slowly but surely, the building stood still again and soon after, a doctor came in to assess the situation. 

“About time,” Natasha spat with clear irritation towards the doctor.

Wanda, felt a growing unease as Dr. Scholt entered the room. His icy, judgmental gaze fell onto you as he began to examine your medical chart and machines. It was clear to Wanda that his discomfort with powered individuals was not something he could easily hide.

Ignoring Nat’s comment, Dr. Scholt made his way over to assess your condition eventually swaying from their original plan of keeping you until you were stable enough to be transferred, “I've seen too many of their kind, causing nothing but chaos and destruction. We don't have the resources to deal with creatures like this in our hospitals,” unaware that one of the most powerful enhanced individuals was standing right beside him, his disdain for you was clear with his tone and judgmental words. 

With a mixture of anger and concern, Natasha’s eyes narrowed, and her voice carried a hint of impatience as she retorted, "We're here because we need medical assistance, Doctor, not a lecture. Y/N's condition is the priority, and I expect her to receive the same care as any other patient. Your personal opinions have no place in a hospital room."

Before the doctor had the chance to respond, Wanda cut in, “No, it’s fine. He made his stance awfully clear,” she quarreled with a head tilt toward the doctor before turning back to Natasha, “We’ll take it from here,” 

“Great, I’ll get her prepped for transport,” the doctor mentioned as he attempted to grab sedatives to administer to you for the ride. However, Wanda wasn’t going to let him or his team lay another finger on you after the display he just made, knowing even from his thoughts, that his ill intentions may get the better of him. 

Before he left the room, Wanda caught his attention, “Maybe I wasn’t clear, Adam,” refusing to use his doctorate title, “we will take it from here.” she precisely articulated in a sharp manner, “Our transport team is on the way, You and your team are not to lay another finger on Agent y/l/n. Are we clear?” she flared, starring daggers into his soul. 

“How do you know my name?” he bit back as if that was the most important thing that Wanda said. 

“Are we clear?” Wanda repeated, without any explanation for the extra information. The doctor quickly took the hint as he nodded and scurried out of the room.

Wanda’s gaze shifted to meet Nat’s gaze who stood by the door as she watched the doctor walk past her to leave the room, “All that for someone you hate, can’t imagine what you're like when you actually like somebody,” she teased. 

“I don’t hate her,” Wanda defended as she tried to hide the growing smirk on her face, “She’s just the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” she added to keep her position on you clear and she couldn’t have anyone thinking she likes you in the slightest, “But he wanted to do more to her than prep her for transport,” She informed the two other agents that stood with her in the room around your bed. 

“Well, Y/N’s lucky to have you in her corner, once Fury hears about this, Mr. Sholt can kiss his doctorate goodbye,” Maria reassured as she took a seat beside your bed to wait for the transport team to arrive in a couple hours. 

Once SHIELD’S medical team arrived, they administered sedatives to keep you unconscious during the flight and prepared you for the jet before you woke up. Wanda was instructed to be by your side as an extra precaution, in case you somehow woke up or your unhinged powers started going haywire in your sleep. 

The ride back was tame with no real issues, at one point Wanda could sense your consciousness creeping back in but she was able to quickly lull you back to comatose with her magic. Once the jet landed, they quickly got you set up in the med bay at the compound in Upstate New York. This was not typical protocol for the team. Since you were not an Avenger and merely a Shield agent, proper protocol would be to take you to the medical facilities at SHIELD headquarters. Natasha wouldn’t allow that to happen though, under her authority, she made sure you were overseen by the best team available and close enough to keep watch on.

In a matter of hours, the team ran all the tests they deemed necessary, concluding that the chemicals you came into contact with ignited something that laid dormant in your DNA. The gene acted as a sponge for the toxins, without it, the poison would’ve continued to spread and shut down every part of your body slowly and painfully. Instead, the contagion was absorbed into the gene strand, which was subsequently sent into its next phase. Without the toxin, this gene could’ve laid dormant within you forever, instead, it entered a new stage, triggering your new abilities. 

“Was anyone else in contact with this chemical?” Dr Cho asked out of an abundance of caution, knowing that if they had been, they probably wouldn’t be in such good condition.

Nat looked to Wanda for a response, knowing she was the one in the room with you when it was released. Wanda’s gaze fell to the floor for a brief second before she began, “No, they meant to expose me but Y/N pushed me out of the way,” Wanda explained as she recalled the events from a couple of days prior. 

Dr. Cho nodded slightly in acknowledgment before responding “It’s a good thing Y/N was the one affected by this in all honesty. Without running tests, there’s no way to know whether the rest of the team has the gene structure to survive such an attack. She got real lucky,” Dr. Cho explained as she went over the results of the tests. 

Wanda struggled with this internally. Part of her was thankful things unfolded the way they did because if they hadn't the situation could've been a lot worse, but the other part twisted it to figure that you must have just been trying to 1-up her. You never do anything nice without something in it for yourself, at least in her eyes. This wasn’t anything new when it came to the way she thought about you. It was often that your intentions were competitive and came off abrasive, but she tended to use that model of thought for anything you did in her presence. Shaking every bit of sincerity off for a hidden agenda, and refusing to see any good in you. Deep down, maybe she didn’t want to see the good in you, it was so much easier to be closed off. Afraid that once she starts to unravel you, she’ll have no more walls to hide behind. No more armor to keep her from falling for you, to keep her safe from the pain she’s always known to follow. So, she doesn't think too deeply about it, instead, she lets her thoughts protect her. 

It was easier for her to paint you as an asshole than to deal with the mixed emotions she felt for you. Blaming everything on your lack of empathy acted almost as a shield for her, enabling her to bury other emotions so deep that she could forget about them. After replaying the events over and over in her head on a loop, she was able to spin the story in her head and concluded that you must’ve known about your genetics. You had to go through genetic testing to be a field operative with such high clearance, surely that’s how you knew. So the only reason you even pushed her out of the way was to look like the hero, to make it look like she needed saving, knowing full well you’d make it out just fine. Ugh, you’re the worst. 

With that, it was like a switch in Wanda flipped. As if her emotions were immediately shut off, she stopped visiting you at the medbay and was happy to go about her daily life without a care in the world of your condition. 

You spent the next few weeks recovering. Natasha was by your side every step of the way, acutely aware of who visited you and who didn’t. Wanda never did. Tony came by a few times, you two weren't very close but he felt the need to show face at least. With nothing much to talk about, Tony always defaulted to talking about work when he was nervous. He didn’t find himself in too many situations without anything to say, but when he did, he attempted to claim the room with his confidence as he always had in his career. Almost as a nervous tik, he defaulted to talking about things that he knew a great deal about, even if the people around him didn’t. 

To his surprise, you were easily able to keep up with his shop talk jargon and follow along with the schematics he propped open as examples. The two of you quickly began bonding over your love for science and math. Nat noticed the uptick in visits from Stark and was happy to see you making more connections with the people she called family. 

Some of the other Avengers made their way down to the medbay as well after Nick encouraged it in a meeting. He knew how good of an agent you were, following your progress ever since word spread about you during your time at SHIELD Academy. It was practically unheard of for an Agent to graduate early, only 2 had ever done it before you. Since then, he made sure to check up on your progress every few months, hoping you’d grow into a top agent so he could use you on one of his special teams. With your new onset of abilities, he figured that eventually, you’d fit right in as a new addition to the Avengers. 

Fury rarely leaves anything to chance though, including your development. In order to get you comfortable with your newfound abilities, you’d need a mentor. Someone who has gone through a transition like yours before. After giving it some thought, there was only one other person on the team who could relate to you in that sense. 

Thor, while he did have to prove he was worthy to his father and himself in order to unlock his full potential, his powers always belonged to him. There was nothing unexpected or confusing about it. He has always wielded his power with knowledge and confidence. Similarly, Steve’s transition was also foreseen and he was able to quickly and seamlessly get a hold of his powers. 

Bruce on the other hand, still struggles to keep the beast inside of him under control. While he may be able to relate to the situation you’re currently experiencing, he wouldn’t be the right fit to mentor you with the way he is still trying to figure things out for himself. 

It was clear that Wanda could relate to your situation most closely. While she may have volunteered in the experiments carried out by Hydra, the outcome was something she never could’ve expected. For a while, she struggled to come to terms with what her body was capable of. Fearing that she would lose control and hurt someone unintentionally, and deep down the fear always lingers, but she has learned how to control it; and while she may not believe it herself, her team trusts her and her ability to keep her powers in check. 

Fury knew the two of you were far from besties, but he hoped this mentorship could double as a bonding experience to help get you more acclimated to the team. Wanda would need to get used to you being around more often, whether she was okay with it or not, he hoped this could help nudge her in the direction of welcoming the transition. 

“No. Not a chance in hell.” Wanda argued as she stood from the chair opposite Fury in his office. Nick didn’t offer a reaction, instead, he kept his face neutral and waited for Wanda to come to terms with the arrangement. 

Noticing that Fury was not giving in, Wanda broke the silence to add, “Why me? I have nothing to teach her, she’s insufferable. This seems like more of a Rodger’s job.”

“The arrangement isn’t negotiable, Maximoff. Y/N has a lot to learn from you and I’m sure you’ll be a great teacher once she’s back on her feet.” Wanda scoffed, anger beating off her, as she went to leave the meeting.

“Oh, one more thing,” Nick added causing the brunette to pause and turn by the door, “Y/N will not know about this arrangement of ours, and I intend to keep it that way, are we clear?” without giving a clear response, Wanda rolled her eyes and stormed off to the gym, wanting to let her anger out on something meant to be hit before she ended up taking it out on the nearest wall.. “Oh, and I expect an influx of visits from you to the medbay!” He shouted towards her retreating form down the hall.

Straight from Fury’s office, she stormed into the gym with a palpable aura of frustration and anger. Her usually calm and composed demeanor had given way to an agitated energy that practically crackled in the air around her.

Nat, who happened to be in the gym working on her own training routine, turned her head as she sensed Wanda's arrival. The room seemed to darken with Wanda's stormy presence, and Natasha knew that something had clearly set her off.

Wanda didn't waste a moment. She approached one of the punching bags, her eyes flashing with a mix of determination and anger. Without saying a word, she unleashed a series of powerful punches and kicks that sent the heavy bag swinging wildly.

Wanda's frustration reverberated through the gym as she relentlessly pummeled the punching bag, each strike carrying the weight of her annoyance. The ferocity of her strikes was a clear indication of her irritation. Natasha, noticing the intensity of Wanda's training session, decided it was time to address the obvious tension. Wanda's training strikes were powerful and precise, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil.

Once Nat felt that Wanda had gotten out her initial anger, she approached her friend cautiously, waiting for a break in the flurry of punches before speaking. She knew better than anyone that sometimes words were not enough, and physical exertion was the only way to cope with intense emotions, "Wanda, what's going on?" Natasha asked, her tone laced with concern as she held the opposite side of the punching bag sturdy for Wanda to continue laying on punches.

“Fury.” She growled, “He wants me to.” *PUNCH* “mentor y/n” *PUNCH* “he won’t let” *PUNCH* “Steve do it.” *PUNCH* “He wouldn’t listen” *PUNCH* “ugh!” the punching finally stopped as she left a hand on the punching bag for balance while she caught her breath.

Natasha peeked around the bag that she held steady for Wanda to give her opinion, trying to approach with caution, knowing Wanda wouldn't like what she had to say. 

Natasha didn’t know what triggered it, but she noticed the stark change in the way Wanda went from caring about you in the foreign hospital to completely shutting herself off from you as soon as you got back to New York. 

Nat took a step back from the bag to gather her thoughts, “Let me get this straight, you’re throwing a fit because the girl who just saved your life is going through life-changing trauma right now and Fury is asking you to help her through it because you have experience and have been through a similar situation?” with one eyebrow slightly raised, she shot Wanda a pointed glare. 

With her frustration rebuilding as she processed Nat’s words, Wanda pushed the bag away and turned toward the door, “Oh, here we go again. Poor Y/N she’s always the victim,” Wanda marched toward the door, not wanting to hear another person defend you. In her eyes, you were conniving and everything you did was calculated, other people just couldn't see past your charm to expose how much you actually tormented her. They couldn’t see how she was so clearly the victim in this circumstance. They couldn't see how twisted you made everything. She could though, she saw right through you. 

Nat wasn’t letting her get off that easy. She chased after the brunette trying to storm out and grabbed her shoulder, turning her around to be face to face. Against her own desire, Wanda’s feet stayed planted to see what Nat had to say. 

“Are you serious? You two may not be friends, but she saved your fucking life. She was there for you, the least you could do is offer her some support and show a sliver of gratitude! You need to take a good hard look at yourself, this isn’t the Wanda I know.” Nat scolded 

Seething, Wanda bit back through gritted teeth, “I didn’t ask her to.” without giving Natasha the opportunity to speak, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the gym. 

Natasha stood there nearly dumbfounded, wondering what had gotten into Wanda to make her so heartless and cruel towards you. 

From the gym, instead of wallowing alone in her room, Wanda decides to leave the compound for a walk around the grounds. As she walked alone with her own thoughts, she desperately tried to calm the anger within. Spending more time with you was the last thing she wanted to do, especially after coming to the conclusion that your heroic act was just a ruse. 

As she strolled, she went through countless scenarios for ways that she could get out of this whole situation. There wasn’t a single one that she thought was good enough to change Fury’s mind. 

What if I broke my hand? No, I'm sure he’d still make me teach her. What if the compound mysteriously caught fire? That would probably only delay things. What if there was an Avenger’s level threat? He’d probably just make me do it when I got back. What if I became evil and left the Avengers to take over the world or something? That could work, though it’s a bit dramatic and I don't even want to take over the world.

Knowing that Nat was on your side about this already told her that everyone else at the compound would share Fury’s opinion. Out of the whole team, Nat was the one most likely to take Wanda’s side for anything. She always knew that if Natasha’s opinion differed on a subject, the others were bound to as well.

Wanda took the rest of the day to decompress and attempt to accept that she’d have to mentor you. The next day during breakfast, she heard Tony and Thor mention they’d be visiting you once they finished their meal. Knowing she’d have to see you eventually, Wanda’s ears perked at the opportunity to tag along and not go alone, “Can I come?” Wanda’s eagerness came as a shock to the two men sitting across the counter from her, but also to everyone else within earshot who wasn’t involved in the conversation. 

“Come to see y/n?” Tony clarified, not sure if Wanda had heard them correctly but she nodded in confirmation, “ye- yea of course.” he confirmed, surprised Wanda had any interest in visiting you.

The hum of medical equipment filled the medbay as Tony and Thor entered, their presence bringing a dynamic shift to the room. You were still in the process of recovery, looking up with a mixture of surprise and gratitude as the two Avengers approached and Wanda trailed behind. She didn’t say anything as the two of them greeted you, and instead, she took the furthest seat in the room from your bed. 

Tony, always one for theatrics, struck a dramatic pose. "Fear not, citizens! Iron Man and the God of Thunder have arrived to grace you with our formidable presence."

Thor chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Indeed! We heard tell of a valiant warrior in need of cheering, and so we have descended."

You couldn't help but smile at their playful entrance, a welcome distraction from the monotony of the medbay. However, as the three of you continued the banter, Wanda lingered at the periphery, sitting leaned back with her arms crossed and a subtle expression of indifference on her face.

Not letting her get away with sneaking in unnoticed, you broke the silence that lingered between the two of you, “Wasn’t expecting you to be here, Wanda. Did someone force you to be here or something?” You saw right through her, but before she could lie through gritted teeth and say that she was there of her own volition, Tony spoke up instead, “Believe it or not, she actually asked us to come,” Tony defended. 

Riding along Tony’s explanation, Wanda forced a smile to sell it. She was grateful that he had beat her to it, she was never much good at lying. You weren’t fully convinced that there wasn’t some underlying explanation for her presence but you accepted it with an impressed look on your face, “Wow, no hidden agenda?”

“Actually there is one,” Wanda clarified as she began to explain, “I’m going to mentor you.”

“Mentor?” You were taken aback. Why was Wanda suddenly interested in mentoring you and what made her think you wanted to be her mentee?

“Yeap, we’ve both been through similar experiences and you have a lot to learn about controlling your new powers,” she added with passive aggressiveness dripping from her words. 

You wanted to question her further, but you also didn’t want to push her to rescind her offer. Truthfully, you were kind of excited at the thought of Wanda teaching you how to wield your newfound abilities. You knew that she went through a similar situation while she was with Hydra and the thought of spending more time with her, though you would never admit it, made you excited, “oh- okay.” you accepted. 

Wanda expected more of a fight with you about this but was relieved to get it over with easily.

“How exciting,” Thor announced, “I know a thing or two about using powers myself if you need help or anything.”

“I’ll be sure to give you a call if I find a magical hammer,” you teased making the other two chuckle. 

Taglist: @marvelogic @esposadejoyhuerta @ju-maxi89 @gingiesworld @simpforlizzie @bigbattygyal585 @cakechan123 @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

[juan-francisco-palencia]

Lindas sus publicaciones Sr. Palencia. Tengo una curiosidad, usted es el mismo que publicaba en Vk, Google + y era "amigo" de un personaje llamado Laura Null? Y la señora Amanda, y "el argentino" LOJEK.? O son todas las mismas personas.? Porque recuerdo que el argentino tenía hasta perfiles de mujer siendo hombre. Toda una mafia literaria. Todos sabemos bien de esos mentirosos personajes. Usted es el mismo, verdad???

Agradezco mucho su afán, la curiosidad, el gusto e interes a mi persona y publicaciones. Si es verdad hace algunos años estuve ahí motivado por una gran mujer y escritora de Portugal a publicar en Google atravez de un foro de expresiones llamado G+ (más tarde por política de dicha empresa fue desaparecido.)  Pasó algún tiempo y de manera particular; luego fui alentado a ir a la plataforma rusa VK y publicar atraves de una comunidad considerada literaria. Mi participación fue corta pues eran constantes desavenencias que se volvió un lugar hostil, ignoro lo que usted dice; hacerca del comportamiento de esa persona que señala y demás personajes que nombra. Y por lo que fue así que decidí abandonar de acuerdo a mis convicciones esta comunidad. Ignoro si en la actualidad exista, de ser así mis mejores deseos para cada uno de ellos. Le comento que más tarde; no se porqué causa o razones mi blog fue eliminado, perdí el interés y jamás volví a crear otro. Ahora a la fecha sólo estoy aquí. En esta gran empresa y red social Tumblr. Donde me siento en casa y mantengo gran empatía. Aquí he encontrado nuestras de amistad de todo el mundo por lo que al igual que a usted gentil persona anónima les estoy de forma inconmensurable agradecido.

From. Berlín Germany.

Thx. ✒ . . . ⚖

[ladylaviniya]

𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬™ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞, “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞.”

White shirt now red, my bloody nose: suspect files

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.���

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ suspect file: Ah Sing (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ suspect file: Madam Irene Adler (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ suspect file: Miss Ivor (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ suspect file: Mrs Pennicott (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ suspect file: Dr Dyer (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

Sleepin', you're on your tippy toes: Playlists ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Sherlock's play book: Playlist (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

Creepin' around like no one knows: drabbles ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Zoo time fun (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Moodboard: Mysteries (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Moodboard: An Unorthodox Marriage

Think you're so criminal: locations! ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Bakerstreet (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Mayfair Row: Doves Club (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Scotland Yard (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Ah Sings Opium Den (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

Bruises on both my knees for you ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

Wails of Wedded Bliss || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

Don't say thank you or please: updates ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

last update: April 2024

I do what I want when I'm wanting to - design credits ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ baby carriage dividers – @ladylaviniya

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ masterlist layout inspiration – @lilacevans

My soul? So cynical - taglists: ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Wails of Wedded Bliss Taglist. (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ The Ultimate Taglist.

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: midway through writing this, i realized it got too romantic, and then i changed my writing music and it suddenly all became clear looool here's your smut (even though i initially thought this fic was going to be way smuttier)

part 15: the king and his queen

word count: 2,831 tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread | @rubyxx16 | @immyowndefender

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Tommy sat in the office of the Garrison, cigarette in hand, staring at the reports spread across his desk. His expression was unreadable, but the sharp set of his jaw betrayed his tension. The fire at your bookshop had been days ago, but the fallout lingered like smoke in the air, thick and suffocating.

The door creaked open, and Arthur, John, Finn, and Michael filed in, their faces unusually grim. Arthur carried a small red notebook and what looked like a charred photo in his hand.

Tommy barely glanced up. “How bad was it?”

“There wasn't much we could do, Tom,” John said, his tone unusually subdued. "There were some books in the back that were saved, but the structure is lost."

Tommy’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing. “What else?”

Arthur stepped forward, dropping the photo and notebook onto Tommy’s desk. “Thought we might find somethin’ useful, but a lot of it was gone.” He hesitated, his usual bravado replaced with an uneasy edge. “Found this instead.”

Tommy reached for the photo first. It was warped at the edges from the fire, but the image was clear enough. He studied the man's features. Photographs usually told so little, but from this small glimpse of a face from your life—one he assumed had not resurfaced since your time in Birmingham—he found himself retreat. His usual firm hold on his emotions faltered at the sight of a man who could have meant so much to you.

Finn, standing off to the side, muttered, “Guessin’ that’s someone she cared about.”

Michael crossed his arms. “We found it in her desk. Buried under a pile of papers—like she didn’t want to see it but couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.”

Tommy turned the photo over, finding a date and a name scrawled in your handwriting: Ezra—1919.

“What else?” Tommy asked, his voice calm but commanding.

Arthur put his hand on the red notebook and slid it forward. "Haven't opened it yet, but it's hers."

Tommy ran his fingers over the leather. The temptation to pry it open and dive deeper into your thoughts coursed through his arm, but he resisted. He placed his hand down firmly on the journal with a heavy sigh. The last time he pried into your life, you met him head on. Unlike then, you wouldn't have expected anyone, let alone him, to see into the very depths of your soul. He didn't know why, but the thought unsettled him. He wondered when it had become such a priority to consider your privacy as something of importance.

Michael leaned forward, his voice sharp. “Should we try to find him?”

John tapped the photo. “Whoever he is, he meant something to her. For all we know, he's the cause of all this. Maybe he's involved.”

Tommy stared at the picture again, his mind working like clockwork. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s the reason she’s running.”

Finn frowned. “Think he’s dead?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the man—Ezra's face until the features had solidified in his mind. He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, standing up and pocketing the photo. “I’ll talk to her.”

Arthur scoffed. “And if she doesn’t tell you?”

“She will." Tommy’s eyes were cold as steel. "In time. Don't tell her what you found. She's still healing.”

As the others filed out, Tommy stayed behind, his hand brushing over the photograph in his pocket. Whoever Ezra had been, whatever happened to him, Tommy knew it held the key to understanding your past. And perhaps, at last, everything would finally unravel.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The early evening light filtered through the tall windows of Arrow House, bathing the room in a golden glow. You sat in a plush armchair near the fire, a book balanced on your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in some time. Your wounds had closed, and what remained was the budding presence of scars, ones that wouldn't soon fade. The physical wounds may have mended, but the ache beneath the surface lingered, more persistent than you wanted to admit.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Tommy always walked with a deliberate purpose, a rhythm you’d come to recognize.

“Come to regale me with another story of a good day at the race?” you said without looking up, your voice tinged with dry amusement.

“Not today,” he replied, stepping into the room. “If those stories don't interest you, I will tell Arthur to stop.”

You chuckled, just loud enough for him to hear. “If that is what enthuses Arthur, then who am I to stop him? Better than him trying to watch me like an injured bird trying to take flight.”

Tommy moved to stand near the mantle, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they studied you. The photograph of Ezra still lay safely in his pocket. He continuously tucked it away, convincing himself that now wasn't the right time to ask you. Eventually, it became routine to slip it back into his pocket in the hopes that it was finally time. His fingers toyed with its edges, the presence of your past trying to escape into the open.

But he couldn't. As the days past, you looked more and more at peace. You'd settled into a new routine. Finn brought books back to Arrow House, and while none of them knew what it actually was that you liked to read, they all started to recognize your true glimpses at contentment. Whether it was a book or a conversation that had no hint of duplicity, there was a part of you that was perfectly capable of what some considered to be a normal life. The possibility of shattering this and bringing you back into his world weighed heavier on his shoulders than he would have ever imagined.

Eventually, you grew used to his presence. You sighed from your place by the fire, gently massaging your shoulder. With one hand, you unbuttoned the first few inches of your shirt and eased the collar down to reach the ache. Tommy's eyes drifted to the newborn scar, but then his gaze wandered to your chest. Your breaths were soft and steady, a tempo that matched the ticking of the clock behind him.

“You're healing well." He broke the silence. Your eyes flickered up to him with a soft smile in acknowledgement.

“Like I said before,” you replied, closing the book and setting it aside. “I do not control how a body heals, even less so, my own.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. With the slightest movement of your shoulder, Tommy found himself staring at the scar again, and, as if it were a reflex, he reached for his own. Now a part of his chest, he realized it was just like yours. Tommy’s eyes lingered on your face, searching for something beneath your composed exterior. You tilted your head to the side, eyes fluttering shut with a melodic hum.

No—not now. He couldn't ask you about Ezra now. This moment was so fleeting, and the second he asked, it would be gone forever. If only for today, he wanted to savor this—you both peacefully existing in the same room without any threats from the outside. It was a selfish decision, and he readily accepted that it was his own.

Tommy didn't know what he was doing when he approached you and reached for the scar, but as if sensing this was a gesture of curiosity, you let him. His fingers were warm and almost soothing as they ran over the fresh patch of skin like he was studying it.

For the briefest second, you tensed, your hand brushing absently over your side where the second wound lay tucked away. Tommy quietly retreated, but before he could step back, you grabbed his wrist and stood.

You let out a heavy breath, eyes shutting again in thought. Still holding his arm, you guided his hand to the buttons that were still clasped and nodded.

"You were a gentleman then," you nodded, mostly to yourself. "Telling Arthur and John to leave. I already felt... Exposed. Naked—just from the wounds alone and being seen like that. But, still, you told them to leave, so it wouldn't be so bad. Don't think I didn't notice, Tommy."

Tommy's fingers stayed on the top button like he was still processing if the gesture was an act of repayment or the giving of permission.

"If you need to see it for peace of mind, then you can," you whispered. The usual confidence in your tone dampened into a soft pitch.

He told himself he was doing this because he needed to see if you were telling the truth—that the wound had actually closed and was now just another scar. In reality, he didn't know his intentions. It could still have been a need, but it was one with weak conviction.

Tommy undid the rest of your shirt and parted it just enough to see the second scar. Your arms stayed relaxed at your sides, your face still but forlorn, as he touched the wound gently enough to make you shiver. He pressed the palm of his hand against your waist, firm and steadying.

He stepped closer, and your lungs filled with the scent that had accompanied you to dreams for many nights, always by your side. Tommy looked down at your as if he was silently seeking permission. Though, in truth, he didn't know what he was asking for.

As if seeing the war raging in his head, you reached for his neck and pulled him towards you. You rested your lips against his with a sigh—at last, feeling what you denied yourself weeks ago. Just a taste of him was enough, you told yourself. Just one.

Unlike then, he didn't move with urgency. He simply waited for you to make the decision. If it was just a kiss, then that's all it was. For once, he accepted this was out of his control.

You pulled back, eyes bearing into his with a seriousness one only experienced in the face of a choice that would not soon be presented again—or at all.

"Listen to me, Thomas Shelby," you whispered. Your stare commanded his to never tear away from yours as you spoke, insisting without words to hear you clearly because you wouldn't repeat yourself again. "I am not something to be won because I am earned."

Tommy's breath flitted across your skin as you spoke, and in your words, you showed him that your guard could go up at any moment. But for the moment, you were letting him acknowledge the mask of pain and power, one that only you possessed and chose to grace him with. The burden of understanding you wasn't not something easily given.

"If I give myself to you, I'm never taking any of it back." You spoke so firmly, the weight of your words forcing him to listen. "And if you give yourself to me, I am never letting you go."

He told you once that your purpose of being here would come out whether you dared to say it out loud or not. While you couldn't bring yourself to say this gently, you said it regardless.

"Every mistake you've ever made until now means nothing to me. But if this is a mistake—one you will come to regret, then tell me now. Tell me what you want." Your grip on his neck intensified with the slight twitch of your fingers. "That's why I'm here. That's why I made my choice. It scares you to crave, but it terrifies you to need. If you tell me now that I am a passing craving, then you've proved a point—that this was just business. But if you need me, all I want is for you to say it. And mean it."

It wasn't a threat. This was a declaration of self-preservation over the fantasy of possibilities.

For a moment, Tommy stayed silent.

He'd loved before, loved countless times to the point where it all might have been meaningless—just fleeting moments where he felt love, but it never lingered. And now, with your intentions finally out in the open, he understood. Your goal was to force him to experience it all—the pain and the loss. To be loved and respected. To choose to be alone no longer, and to understand what it meant to choose someone because he needed them and not because he wanted them for the moment.

You wanted him to face the inevitable—that loving someone wasn't a choice. But to love someone who was truly good for him, who didn't just love the idea of what he could be—that was a choice.

And he made his decision.

Tommy gripped your waist, sliding your shirt over your shoulders until it fell to the floor around your ankles. With a solitary sigh, he kissed you again, still as gentle as the first.

"I need you."

The words rang in your ears like an autumn breeze numbing summer's heat. And all at once, his lips found you again. His touch was tender, methodically moving in a way that still treated you as fragile beneath his fingertips. He carried you to the bed, his lips trailing down your neck, peppering you with kisses until all you felt was the need he'd suppressed for so long.

You sat up, taking his face in your hands. His eyes searched yours for permission, and with the soft nod of your head, his hands wandered your body, discovering and adventuring across your skin. He slipped his shirt off, and your eyes landed on the scar on his chest.

You reached for it, seeing in a different way how similar you both were. This was not an attempt to put the other back together, but a way to hold the broken pieces to the light and admire the sunlight between the cracks. To love the other earnestly and honestly, and to hope in desperation and the fear of never loving again.

Tommy watched you as you straddled him. You eased him into you with a long drawn out sigh, pressing your forehead against his. With one hand, he steadied your waist, guiding you as your hips moved, and with the other, he held your cheek with the gentle stroke of his thumb.

He sighed against your neck, groaning every time he slid inside you, the full length of him feeling the warmth of your walls. He admired you as you grinded into him, the last of your defenses crumbling down at his touch. There was no more need for words. Tommy let you take him in whatever way you desired. He didn't care if you were using him for your own pleasure. All that mattered was that you accepted his need, reciprocated with your own carnal desire to claim him.

Slowly, the mood changed. Your eyes darkened as it suddenly settled in that, together, this was something new. It wasn't just romance. It was the molding of the power you both held. Others only alluded that together, you and Tommy could set the world on fire—if that was what you desired. He held the match, and you soaked it with gasoline. At your command, he would set the world ablaze and build you a throne from the ashes and debris.

Tommy laid you back down on the bed and lowered himself in between your legs. He gripped your thighs, taking pleasure in how you writhed from the motions of his tongue. He hummed against your core, his mouth moving with an urgency that mimicked his need and hunger. You threw your head back with a gasp as his tongue plunged deep inside you, curling and pulling you against his face.

He pulled you closer, lapping up the dampness dripping down his chin. You gripped his hair, urging him to keep going until you felt that tug in the pit of your stomach. Your legs clenched, and with a guttural moan, you came until you twisted onto your stomach, riding the high as you spilled out onto the bed. Tommy positioned himself above you and slid back into your pulsing core. He eased himself inside you, taking a hold of your chest and holding you against him. He panted against your neck, his tongue dragging against your skin like no amount of your taste was enough. With a final thrust, he collapsed, his hips still grinding against you to draw out the ecstasy.

You panted, keeping a firm grip on the sheets until he was gentle once more. He kissed your shoulder with a sigh. Tommy's lips curled into a knowing grin, and you met his expression with equal satisfaction.

The game has changed with an entirely new board. The King has his Queen, and it was only a matter of time before the world would feel the ground rumble beneath their feet.

[prettyiwa]

AO3 | Mature | Playlist

STATUS: In Progress WORD COUNT: 9,665 March 2025 -

Relationship: March x NB!Farmer Rating: Mature 18+ Content Tags: March POV, March is bad at feelings, Getting Together, Canon Compliant-ish, Slice of Life, Incidental Shooting Star Festival, Eventual Smut, Unresolved trauma, Alcohol Consumption, Farmer is GN but wears a skirt (once) and has a vagina, (Slight) Jealousy, Profanity (much less than I'm known for), Injuries (non-graphic depictions of cuts & blood) Summary: “You want me to come by? Yeah, okay, Red.” The name stills him before setting him alight like wildfire as you lean in. His face burns, as does the rest of him, and he's temporarily overwhelmed by lavender. “What—? What's with the nickname?” Your eyes drink him in, again lingering on his cheeks before meeting his gaze. Unable to stand the intensity of your attention, he turns to his drink, catching sight of the way your right hand inches closer. When you don't answer, he ventures a glance your way. “It suits you.”

SPRING, Year 1 | SUMMER, Year 1

FALL, Year 1 | WINTER, Year 1

SPRING, Year 2 | SUMMER, Year 2

FALL, Year 2 | WINTER, Year 2

Misc Fandoms Masterlist

[miyamoratsumuu]

JAMAIS VU

✒ pronounced as ja-mais vu,

meaning the experience of feeling unfamiliar with something that is very familiar to you.

✒ an h.iwaizumi smau + written series

✒ decades have passed and in another life, they've found their way back to each other's arms. could they finally get the happy ending they missed out on years ago? now that he got his second chance, hajime would do anything it takes to spend forever with you.

✒ reincarnated lovers/romance, friends to lovers, red string of fate (just a small reference of it), pining

✒ swearing, characters may be ooc, modern and "of age"/vintage/1950s au (alternates in chapters), extreme lovesickness especially when iwa's writing letters, oikawa mattsun and makki being wingmen

✒ taglist: open (send in an ask or reply to be added<3)

✒ status: ongoing

(✎) for written chapters

00. the heading (prologue) ✎ letter: unsent HIS SALUTATION 01. then 02. and now THE BODY 03. then 04. and now

navigation ✉ haikyuu masterlist

a/n: a (hopefully) short iwa smau so I could indulge in iwa some more 🙋🏻‍♀️

[bye-shou]

𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵… ୨୧

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦ ♪ ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

☾ ✒ rest well, dear ~ ☾

⌕ ✒ smut + aftercare, nsfw content ahead, mdni ~ ꕥ

☀︎ ✒ ship : sub!shu yamino × dom!gn!reader ~ ᰔᩚ

☁︎ ✒ side/mentioned characters : n/a ~ ꨄ

⚠︎ ✒ warnings : nsfw content / hand job ~ ✮

✧ ✒ summary : shu looks so handsome when he came home from a haircut. and you just couldn't resist him… ~ ∘•∘

✉ ✒ notes : his new outfit raah so pretty (sorry it's shorter) ~ ⌨︎︎

⇚ ↺ ⇛

you were doing an assignment, when you heard the front door open. you went to check it out, and you were met with shu, your boyfriend, who had a haircut.

“shu? you got a haircut?” you asked, walking over to him. he simply nodded, showing his cat-like smile.

“do you like it?” his eyes basically had sparkles right now, and it was impossible for you to say no.

“of course I do. you look so handsome~” you tease him, leading to a slightly flustered shu. he just giggled & muttered a quick ‘thank you’.

and you weren't lying. not even an ounce of lies. he looked amazing, gorgeous even.

you thought about flirting with him, so that's what you did.

“hm, you're so pretty…” you say, stepping forward to stroke his hair gently. he just hummed, blushing a little.

…

you didn't expect to end up in this situation, but here you are, pinning shu against the bed while his face turns red.

you look at him, asking for consent, to which he nods and looks back at you.

you carry on, taking off his belt, then pulling down his pants, along with his [I'm not typing that].

he blushes even further, his face is matching with the color of the ruby necklace he had gifted you. you told him that you didn't need it, but shu insisted on giving it to you anyway.

you take out some lube, pouring the cold liquid on your hands.

before you carry on you look at him one last time, making sure he agrees to what you're about to do, and he nods again.

you place one of your hands on his throbbing dick, which is twitching in your hand. you move it up & down, stroking his cock.

he moans, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. you keep sliding your hand on his dick, while shu moans louder & louder as you fasten your pace on him.

you could practically feel yourself dripping at how adorable and… slutty? your boyfriend is.

the sight of him blushing from the ears down to his neck, and his skin hot to the touch from all the pleasure he's receiving is arousing.

too aroused by the overwhelming pleasure, he eventually releases a load, letting out cute moans and whines along with the sticky cum that stains your hands and shu's cock.

you figured that he might be quite tired, so you decided to stop and pepper his body with kisses. on his neck, his torso, his face, wherever.

you then went to the bathroom and ran a warm bath, so shu could relax while you washed his body with some soap. your hands gently ran over some marks that you left on him, making him feel a little embarrassed.

when you were done, you helped him get dressed in some comfortable clothes, as you led him over to your shared bed and cuddled together.

⇚ ↺ ⇛

✉ ✒ notes : there's something about the word “dick” that I cringe at ~ ☏

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦ ♪ ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

୨୧ 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

[whateverloomis]

✒︎ Scream 1996 Masterlist

Originals:

🖤 "Lick me like a lollipop" (Billy Loomis x GN reader) || "Lick me like a lollipop" (Part 2) - AO3 link

🖤 "I told you they were witches, man" Scream (1996) x The Craft (1996)

🖤 "I dare you to kiss my Tatum" (Stu Macher x Tatum Riley x Fem Reader)

🖤 "Why me?" (Billy Loomis x Stu Macher x AFAB reader)

🖤 Modern Billy Loomis and Stu Macher concept

🖤 Phone sex with Billy Loomis || Modern Scream concept (AFAB reader x Billy Loomis)

🖤 "PAINting" (Billy Loomis x Stu Macher x AFAB reader ft. Art the Clown)

Requests:

🖤 Poly!Ghostface - Knife play 🗡️ with Billy Loomis and Stu Macher

🖤 Goth reader x Billy Loomis and Stu Macher

🖤 Fem reader who's protective over Billy Loomis and Stu Macher

🖤 Virgin reader x experienced Billy Loomis

🖤 After sex mushy attention for Billy Loomis

🖤 Rough sex with Stu Macher

🖤 Vampire!Billy Loomis and Stu Macher

🖤 Fem reader discovers that Billy Loomis and Stu Macher are the killers

🖤 Fem reader gets Billy Loomis tattooed on her hip

🖤 AFAB reader babied by Billy Loomis and Stu Macher

🖤 Period sex with Billy Loomis

🖤 NSFW Bloger: AFAB reader x Billy Loomis

🖤 You find out your best friend, Stu Macher is the killer, (ft. Billy Loomis)

🖤 Kissing Stu Macher with lipgloss on (ft. Billy Loomis)

Dilf!Billy Loomis and Stu Macher:

🖤 Stepfather!Billy Loomis ft. DILF Stu Macher:

Part 1 | Part 2

🖤 Dilf!Billy Loomis kidnaps AFAB reader

🖤 "Sleepwalking Hitchhiker" Dilf!Billy Loomis x AFAB reader

Drabbles:

🖤 Dilf!Billy Loomis (1)

🖤 Getting fingered by Billy Loomis

🖤 Dilf!Billy Loomis (2)

✒︎ Mini series

🩸Red 🩸 (Complete)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Scream (1996) meets "X" (On hold)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

✒︎ Pørn Masterlist

[sagesskies]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴇᴏ

✒ ᴍᴏɴᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʙᴜʏ ʏᴏᴜ

✉ - ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ - ʜᴇʏ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ! ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱɪᴄᴋ ᴄᴇᴏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀ ɢɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴘ ʜᴇ ꜰʀᴇQᴜᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ɢᴏᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ? (ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ ʀɴ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇ, ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴅᴀʏ/ɴɪɢʜᴛ ♥)

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ: ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʀɪꜱʜ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀꜱ, ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ (ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛɪᴇꜱ, ᴍɪʟᴀɴ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ʟᴀᴛᴇ 30ꜱ), ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴅɪꜱᴏʀᴅᴇʀ (ᴍɪʟᴀɴ), ɪɴꜱᴏᴍɴɪᴀ (ᴍɪʟᴀɴ), ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴜɴʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ (ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ), ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ɴᴇɢʟᴇᴄᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛꜱ, ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟꜱᴇ!

Yandere CEO who first met you at your job in your friend's family bakery. Young, bright, and full of life, wearing a baby blue apron. You eagerly greeted him with a smile, and asked how he was doing. There was nothing forced about your mannerisms, it was all genuinely, purely, you. 

Yandere CEO, despite knowing it'll all end up flushed down a toilet, comes in everyday ordering the different pastries you recommend. After his seventh visit, you jokingly ask him if he's got any cavities yet and he blushes. Not that you notice. 

Yandere CEO who gathers the courage to talk to you beyond simple good mornings, and responding to your questions of: “How are you Milan?” or “So that'll it be for today, eh?” and stammers out things like, “N- Nice weather today, huh?” and even, “Uh.. How- How long have you been working here for?” It's all simple, nearly no substance, but it's exceptional progress for somebody like him who barely even speaks to his secretaries beyond plain Yes's and No's. 

Yandere CEO whose fair face turns a furious red whenever you tease or compliment him, calling him things like adorable and cute. Never has he been called anything like that before. People see him, with his bodybuilder-esque physique and stoic face, with it's fierce features, and are too intimidated to treat him with anything other than with a  respect that is borne out of fear. 

Yandere CEO who knows this is wrong. He's 38 years old, and you're only what? 23? This is wrong, this is taboo, this is predatory. But his heart can't help but beat furiously for you each time he steps inside the quaint little bakery. Your bright smile, your gentle eyes, your warm voice. You are like the sun, and he is your ever-devoted Icarus, who will crash and burn if he tries to even fly an inch closer.

Yandere CEO who is unable to sleep at night. He's used to this, he's had insomnia since he was a teenager in highschool, but never like this before. Where previously it was paranoia and anxieties that kept sleep at bay now it was you, the scent of pastries and bread, and your warmth. 

Yandere CEO who unconsciously starts to act like a teenage girl. Doodling your name in the margins of his paperwork, writing (Name) x Milan over and over again in the empty pages of his journal, which was previously used exclusively for tracking his expenses but was now being used for more personal entries. 

July 17, 2009

Today [Name] remembered it was my birthday, and bought me a slice of chocolate cake using his own money. I tried to keep it down, but unfortunately my body is too used to emptying its stomach whenever I eat too much. 

September 7, 2009

[Name] asked me if I've been sleeping well recently, and even if I told him I was okay, he still gave me a box of teabags. He told me it helps him sleep at night, and hopes it'll be able to help me too. He's so kind, and too good to me. I can never tell him it's him who's the cause behind these sleepless nights. I think it'll devastate him. Sometimes, I hope it will.

February 13, 2010

[Name] asked me if I was going to buy somebody any pastries for Valentine's Day, and if there's anybody I'm hoping to receive any chocolates from. I wanted to tell him I hoped to receive chocolates from him, but that would be inappropriate. Then he told me he hoped his girlfriend would remember to give him some.

[Name] has a girlfriend. 

Yandere CEO who doesn't show up for multiple days after you reveal this to him. He goes back to old habits, the following days occupied by work, work, and work. He sleeps rarely, and wakes up late. He eats even less than he usually does, and forgets to go to the gym. 

The only thing that Yandere CEO does outside of that? Pay private investigators to learn as much as possible about you, no matter how dirty or well kept the secret is he will know. 

It's unethical, a violation of all your rights, but he thought you two were close. That you were friends. A kind of relationship he barely even knew. All he knows is distant families, cold business partners, and shallow imitations of friendship. He thought you were different, you were so real, but if he didn't even know you had a girlfriend, then what else was he unaware of?

Yandere CEO whose father calls him, and tells him his secretaries have told him about how he's been acting, and advises him to take a break. Perhaps he should try to hit the dating scene? He'll have to get married eventually, and he's not getting any younger. 

Yandere CEO who goes to the blind dates his mother arranges for him. Daughters of her friends, sometimes even granddaughters. Women who are sometimes a decade younger than him. Women who are his age. He never told his parents he was gay, and now he has to suffer through this. 

Yandere CEO who is thinking of canceling the date on the spot when she takes him to a familiar bakery, the familiar bell rings as the door swings open and you're still there, wearing your baby blue apron, and the polite smile you flashed his date immediately widens when you see him. 

Yandere CEO who freezes up, and then stammers out a greeting, face flushed. His date, who has so far only experienced the cold and stoic front he puts on, is surprised that what has broken down the stone walls he's put up is the cute, young, male baker, who has a bright grin on his face. 

“Milan!” You practically chirp, “It's been so long, where have you been man?” 

You were wondering where he was? You missed him? You missed him? Milan? He couldn't believe his ears, he felt like he could faint.

Milan clears his throat, averting his grey eyes away from you, and avoiding Carrie's burning gaze. 

“I have been preoccupied with work,” He explains, it's not a lie, he's just exaggerating how much work there was for him when it was basically just him doing paperwork and attending meetings every once in a while, “I apologize if my absence has bothered you…” 

You chuckle, “I'm just glad to see you again.” Milan can't help the small smile that forms on his face, but he restrains it from widening into a grin. He's in front of Carrie, a friend but at the same time a business partner, a marriage prospect, an unwelcome intruder into what could've been a moment between you two.

You glance at Carrie as if remembering that she was here, “Ah, sorry, you must've been confused on how I know him, but I'm a friend of Milan,” You smile kindly at her, “Name's [Name] [L/N], nice to meet you!” 

Carrie forces a polite smile on her face, “A pleasure,” Her eyes are filled with a cold fury, though Milan knows it's not directed to you, “My name is Carolyn, Carolyn Deveuraux. However, you may call me Carrie.” 

Milan fakes a cough, “Mhm, anyways.. I'd like to have the usual… and Carrie you'll have..?” 

She hums, “I'll have a cinnabon.” 

You glance between the two, noticing the obvious tension between them, “Oookay, I'll have that prepared for you two in a jiffy,” Milan hands you his card, and savors the slight brush of your fingers, before your warmth is teared away and you slide it back to him when you're done.

He glares at Carrie for scaring you away, but she doesn't even look at him, her eyes are fixed on you. Milan wants to gouge her eyes out, she doesn't even deserve to look at you. Not when she barely knows you. Not like him, who knows every single thing about you that his money can buy for him.

You head into the back to prepare the goods, and Carrie goes back outside where there are tables and chairs. She sits on one, and crosses her arms. Milan settles on the one across from her, posture straight, arms on the table, eyes… decidedly not looking at Carrie. 

“So, you and that man… [Name], was it?” Milan nods, she continues, “You know each other, do you?” She taps one carefully manicured nail against the arm of the chair. Tap, tap, tap. 

Milan does not simply know [Name], he practically lives underneath the younger man's skin, but instead of verbalizing this he nods once more, “We have known each other for two years.” 

“Hm,” Her eyes narrow, they are blue, like ice, “ And how old is [Name]?”

“Twenty-four years old,” Milan tells her, “He had just gotten out of college when we first met.” His eyes trail to the window into the bakery, you still haven't emerged. Why were you taking so long? 

“Does he know?” Carrie’s tone is sharp and frigid. Milan glances at her, if he is not careful then he could be caught up in an inescapable storm. 

“He does not,” Milan admits, “And I'd prefer to keep it that way.” You still have your girlfriend, and he's content with your secrets and the stolen pictures. 

Carrie glares at him, “Why him? Is it his mind? His personality? Or is he simply a pretty boy you like to ogle at?” She's angry, and Milan, for his lack of proper socialization, has been taught to read people, every single shift in expression or body language has a hidden meaning, can tell this fury stems from something personal. 

“That is none of your business,” Milan had known Carrie for a while now, since his 30th birthday party where his father invited all his associates, and Lewis Deveuraux had brought his 28 year old daughter Carolyn, but they were never friends so much as allies in the cutthroat world of capitalism, and she was crossing a line. 

“I can tell your father.” 

“Have you ever heard of the saying, ‘Snitches get stitches’, Carolyn?” Milan asks, “You tell him, and I'll be doing so much more than giving you stitches.” 

Carrie doesn't even flinch, “Not much you can do when stripped of your position at your father's company,” She doesn't get a chance to continue, not when you arrive with a tray carrying the warm pastries. You set the plates down, as well as the complementary coffee. 

“Here you go…” You glance between the two of them, “It's been nice seeing you again Milan,” You smile at Carrie, “Great to meet you too, Carrie, hope to see you around some more.” 

Milan digs a nail into the skin of his palm hard enough to draw blood, if only to stop himself from punching that smirk on Carrie's face off, “Thank you, [Name],” Her voice is pleasant, light and airy, “It was a pleasure to meet a… friend of Milan today.” 

“Same here,” You grin. You wave goodbye to the both of them, then head back into the bakery. 

Carrie's polite smile is gone as soon as you're out of the vicinity, “Let's talk about this later,” She reaches out and places a well-manicured hand on top of Milan's larger one, and her lips curl up, “For now, enjoy the treats your little crush has made for us.” 

Yandere CEO, who since that reunion has started coming back more often. Happy to finally be able to bask in your presence again, thoughts of your girlfriend are dashed from his mind when he saw your smile again after two months of being deprived of it. 

The only downside? Carrie is there as well. Chatting you up, using her charm to lower your guard down. She's a snake, or a wolf in sheep's clothing. Yandere CEO knows she's trying to break you two apart, but he won't let her. 

Yandere CEO who can't stand watching you smile at her, keeping up with her bright mind in ways he knew you could but had never seen before. He didn't know it was possible, but he's become even more enraptured. Handsome with not only a good personality, but also intelligent. God, you were perfect. 

Yandere CEO is able to himself with an endurance he didn't even know he possessed. He's not used to the rage that has been gathering inside him, but it's not that similar to managing his fear and paranoia. He can't do anything to Carrie, not when you two have practically become the best of friends.

Yandere CEO who decides that he can't let himself fall behind, he was here first you know. He's known you for two years while Carrie was only for a few weeks. He musters up the confidence he often uses in meeting rooms, trying to look suave and cool, but instead making you laugh.

“Haha… you're seriously so adorable Milan,” You tease, “What're you acting so serious for?” 

After that, Yandere CEO decides to just act how he did before, it's clearly more effective as you've even invited him to eat with you in the park near the bakery during your lunch hours. Something you haven't done in the two whole years you've known each other. 

He realizes that in a sense, you are like him. Despite his stoicness, and your expressive features, his assertive aura, with your laid back vibe, both of you have an appreciation for genuine people. It makes his heart beat faster, for some inexplicable reason.

Yandere CEO who listens to you attentively as you start opening up to him more about your life. Your struggles with paying off college debt, your inability to land a higher paying job, and how you don't have enough money to pay for your rent. He already knows about all of this, but is happy nonetheless to be able to give you a comforting hug or pat on the back. One time, you actually cried and he got to feel the warmth of your tears as they raced down your face, they soaked into the skin of his palm as he wiped them away and offered you words of comfort.

Yandere CEO who abides by the law of equivalent exchange, and opens up to you more as well.  He's heard before that the more imperfect you make yourself out to be, the more attractive you were for it was a sign of humanity. So what's more human than sharing his past as a bullied fat kid, and the whiplash he got once he had bulked up and attracted admirers like they were flies? Maybe it's the insomnia, the social anxiety, and the knowledge that he's surrounded by shallow people. Whatever it is, it works. 

Yandere CEO who has started to feel genuinely close to you. Where before, it was akin to a celebrity having to deal with an awkward yet starstruck fan, now it felt like you two were old friends having a good time together. This is the first time he's had a relationship like this and he'd rather have his company go bankrupt and end up homeless on the streets than lose it. 

September 12, 2010 

[Name] is not meant for me, he is young, full of potential, and with a girl that he loves. But he tempts me with his warm eyes, beautiful smile, and those kind words of his that has had me wrapped around his finger since the very first day I met him. 

It is wrong, it is dirty. I am too old, too broken, worn out like a hand me down toy. However I cannot help myself. He is like the sun, bright and comforting, yet he burns me so. 

[Name]

[Name]

[Name] 

Even just writing his name has me weak at the knees, it makes me feel alive. Like I can face the day without wanting to retreat back to my bed and refusing to get out till I am dragged by my feet. Just the idea of being able to catch a glimpse at him, gives me the energy to get up and do a marathon. 

[Name] is too charming for his own good. He’s such a sweet boy, not knowing how much he tempts me to do such despicable things every single time I see him talking to customers or laughing with Carrie. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. 

I should be leaving him alone, and never speaking to him again. He is fine, he is perfect, he is like God. But I am nothing but a filthy sinner who shouldn’t even be within his sights. Better kept away, far far away. But I want nothing more than to touch him, to hold his feet in my filthy hands and press my cold lips to it. His foot alone is worth more than my entire career. His life? Priceless. 

However if I were to distance myself from him again, I’d become a shell. No better than a living corpse. My father and mother would be concerned for the business, and they’d keep on trying to figure out why I’m in such a state, till they eventually trace it all back to [Name], and I can’t have that. I don’t want them knowing about him. It is bad enough Carrie knows. But my own parents? 

I cannot accept that. I will not share him. They would take him away from me like they took away everything else good that could’ve happened to me by being my parents and birthing into the life that I’ve led. His warmth would be engulfed in their cold gazes and harsh words, and soon he would be no better than I am, and that cannot happen. 

He may not be meant for me, but I will make sure nobody else can have him. 

Even that girlfriend of his.

☏ - ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇᴍᴀɪʟ: ᴍʀ. ꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴘᴇɴ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ.

[canonrpfinder]

21f seeking a long-term writing partner to fulfill some of my favorite ships/fandoms! a little about my preferences: i’m a multipara/novella writer who HEAVILY prefers discord, though we could definitely chat about tumblr rp if we get along super well! prefer quick replies so if you can only send a little bit that’s perfectly fine too! only looking for those 18+ to write with, and am super open to writing smut as long as the thread is not completely pwp. have no preference writing either character for ships, and top/bottom are both totally fine with me! i love being friends, making spotify playlists, pin boards, etc.; so bonus points for that!!

ships i’m into writing/most looking for as of now (exclamation points is highly sought after):

• carmen berzatto/sydney adamu (!!) (the bear)

• art donaldson/patrick zweig (challengers)

• katniss everdeen/peeta mellark (the hunger games)

• coriolanus snow/lucy gray baird (the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds and snakes)

• jake seresin/bradley bradshaw (top gun: maverick)

• tom kazansky/pete mitchell (top gun)

• michael myers/laurie strode (halloween)

• stu macher/billy loomis (scream)

• arthur morgan/john marston (!!) (red dead redemption 2)

• arthur morgan/charles smith (red dead redemption 2)

• tyler owens/kate carter (!!) (twisters)

• any and all euphoria ships (but preferably me musing nate jacobs)

• ellie williams/dina (the last of us)

• sokka/zuko (avatar the last airbender)

• thorin oakenshield/bilbo baggins (the hobbit)

aaand probably a million more!! if you’re interested at all like this post and i’ll message you! :) thanks for reading my uber long blurb!!!

✒