#He just... hoists him over his head and bolts

[pianokantzart]

What the heck this was so wholesome????

[winwintea]

dreamies meeting their kid for the first time + as a parent

GROUP ↬ ot7 dream x reader (ft. their child)

TAGS/WARNINGS ↬ some angst, LOTS OF FLUFF MY TOOTH IS LITERALLY ROTTING, spider-mark agenda is real, the child is sometimes a cockblock, haechan does some weird michael jackson-sherlock holmes roleplay idk it made sense in my head, jaemin going on shopping sprees, chenle never loses, ji... is ji.... (poor baby)

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ everyone say thank you to @https-lvesick for getting me on that baby fever stuff... like i hate children but i love children. iykwim... anyways this is meeting their kid for the first time, but i can't come up with reasons why they were separated so you fill in the blanks. probably angsty reasons i love angst.

Mark Lee

when you come back through that door with a child holding your hand, it’s him you meet first again, and the tears are already glossing his eyes over before you can say anything.

literally has no words when you smile at him gently, saying it’s his.

mark swallows nervously, before making his way to the both of you, holding the two of you in his arms for only god knows how long.

“i.. can’t wait to live my life with you both, my love,” he mumbles into your hair, ears slightly tinged, only causing you to laugh at his adorable antics.

as a father, he isn’t very strict, and he isn’t all that good in child-rearing, either.

but he tries! give him some slack — you have to keep reminding yourself of this when you see your child holding a sword?! 

and of course mark was in his halloween costume. typical.

“baby.. i can explain,” mark says calmly when you first find the two of them

well actually, three; it seems haechan was in on this little practice, though he quickly bolted when he saw you. good strategy.

“엄마, papa said he was iron man! he teached me how to be a superhero!” your child exclaims, flailing the sword around excitedly as your gaze only darkens.

“well, you see, i meant spider-man, but—” his words die down when he sees your unimpressed face practically dripping with murderous intent.

mark slowly kneels down to whisper something you couldn't make out to your child. the little one nods seriously, slowly putting down the weapon.

then, as seconds pass, mark immediately hoists your child up in his arms, running out of the room as both his laughter and your child’s squeals echo throughout the halls.

“mark min-hyung lee, you are so dead!” you scream, running after them.

“3, 2, 1 — I COULD DO THIS ALL DAY!” the two of them scream back, before bursting into laughter. they’re always in sync. It’s exasperating.

but you love it anyways

Huang Renjun

when you meet him at the door, there's a flurry of emotions clear on renjun's face, but his smile says it all.

“is it too much to say i’ve been waiting for you this whole time?”

regrets the fact that he wasn’t able to be a part of his child’s life for the first few years, literally becomes wrapped around your little one’s finger because of it.

so adorable and happy that he’s blessed with your lovely child, always smiling when he thinks of them.

literally makes the other members question whether or not they want a child too.

bonding time is painting of course!

usually ends up with all three of you cramped in the shower, you scrubbing furiously at the sticky paint on their skin.

“i’m sorry for having you do this all the time,” renjun's soft voice makes you forget why you were mad in the first place tbh.

massages your shoulders from behind you, causing your fingers to halt in their journey of rubbing some stubborn blue paint off your child.

“it’ll take more than that if you wanna make it up to me,” you hum, leaning back into his chest and gazing into his eyes.

your lips were just about to meet, when —

“ma, i'm not clean yet!”

damn. cockblocked by your own child.

you groan, renjun laughing as he picks up the pouting child with their arms crossed.

“don’t give 妈妈 too much of a hard time, okay?” he never forgets to take care of you above all.

Lee Jeno

when you walk through that door once more, nervously telling jeno that this child is his, you’re afraid of his reaction.

and when you finally gather the courage to do it? his jaw drops and he can’t stop staring at you nor the child and you have to help him sit and calm down.

“아빠?” your child asks, staring up at the still slightly panicked jeno as you hold your breath.

he stares for a moment, mouth wide, before finally, finally smiling, albeit a little awkward and rough around the edges. “yes, little one?”

very new to this whole parenting thing and can barely do anything without asking you first, so he feels bad quite often for having to lean on you so much.

plus he barely knows how to handle a sobbing child, nor can he entertain the child very well,

but you find that the both of them are quite content in each other’s presence as is. so that's a plus !

you'll usually find them in jeno's room together, while you need jeno to watch your child while you go out for an errand or something.

but when you see jeno, well, he starts to look ethereal as the sun shines through the windows in his room.

then, a gentle smile gracing his face as he stares at his sleeping child.

jeno utters your name, causing you to look up, only to find him tracing circles around your child’s soft skin. “딸,” he rasps out, cracking a bleary eye open and gripping their wrist softly. Then, he smiles, all sorts of soft and lovely and.. unguarded.

“You two.. are the best things that have happened to me.”

Lee Donghyuck

haechan tries swallowing back the lump in his throat when he sees you standing in front of that damned door, though to no avail as a tear slips.

starts full-on crying when you say that you’re back for good and that the child is his. it's okay, let it out hyuck. <3

“ah, crying like that on our first meeting… don’t you think your fath — i’m a bit embarrassing?” he asks, sniffling as he tries to muster a smile through his tears.

your child giggles, eyes crinkling while grinning. “no! mommy told me a whooooole lot about you, daddy!”

you have to intervene at this point to stop him from sobbing again.

haechan wastes no time in making up for what he’s missed, so he's definitely going to spoil this child every second that he can.

you’d always find the two of them either going out shopping or messing about at home

also probably just chilling in the comforts of his room, doing god knows what.

one day you were curious, so you peeked through a tiny crack of the open door.

genuinely concerned at what you saw.

was that a... trenchcoat on your child? the two of them were engaged in conversation as haechan started nodding with a serious look on his face.

“so, mj, do you think waffles make mummy happier?” your child asks, holding his magnifying glass up like a mic in front of haechan's face.

mj???

haechan strokes his chin for a moment, before answering, “seeing her reaction when we gave her the ones we bought yesterday, i dee-hee duce they do, sherlock!”

sherlock...?

“good deduck – deduction, mj! i thought so too.”

you can't help but snort as haechan grabs his crotch and poses while high fiving your child.

as stupid as this was, your heart literally melts. the two are far too cute for you, you having to calm yourself before walking in with the widest smile on your face. dorks. 

Na Jaemin

“i was hoping you’d be back, my dear.” his perfunctory smile is so smug that sometimes you just want to punch him in the face. “with a lovely little thing in hand.”

“Your lovely little thing,” you say gently, trying to ignore your anger. you were here to show your child to jaemin. jaemin looks at the two of you with surprise, the curves of his mouth inching upwards.

hey jaemin wasn't trying to be possessive... cause that's weird. but the way you emphasized the word 'your' made his breath hitch. we can unpack that later though.

for now, na jaemin is a certified sugar daddy

jaemin is wrapped around the little one’s finger, his rotten spoiling being the effect of not being in your child’s life for a good while, and, of course, his indispensable regret for having you come back to him.

you asked jeno the whereabouts of your lover and your child, only for him to give you the look, responding that they were out yet again, and are probably not coming back without a few shopping bags in hand.

okay something needed to be done about this. so you decided to conduct a harmless experiment.

placing a few coins on one side of his desk, a toy in the middle, and a beloved fruit on the side. after explaining to him that it’s to see what your child’s fate would be — picking between fortune, fun, and, well, snacks, you think — he simply leans back, interest shining in those eyes of his.

but your child pushes all these away in a second, opting to hug the wide-eyed man on the soft armchair behind the desk.

“and what.. does this mean, ma chérie?” fuck him and the words he's picked up from traveling abroad. but jaemin looked honestly confused as his hands slowly wrap around your child’s.

you smile softly, “isn’t it obvious, silly? the little rascal loves you more than anything.”

he laughs. he doesn't get it. preparing for yet another shopping spree. why do you even try at this point?

Zhong Chenle

oh my god. when he first sees you after years with a child, his child, grasping your hand, chenle has to literally take a quick second to calm down cause he’s so angry.

no, not at you, of course, he would never. but at himself.

he wasn’t there for his child, for you, and god, even if he were, would he have been a good father?

“Y/ — 甜心,” he starts, running his fingers through his already messy bed-head hair and staring at you with eyes that practically scream "please hug me, i'm insecure"

“how am i supposed to take care of a child when i couldn’t even take care of you?”

but don't worry, after many reassuring words and warm hugs, chenle's finally okay and back to his normal self, holding your child up and giggling.

maybe this was a wrong idea cause now you have to take care of a manchild and a child.

is surprisingly very gentle with your child because he honestly doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. (just because he has a nephew does not mean he knows how to parent a child.)

also very grounded and doesn’t fall for cute little tricks as much, so out of the dreamies, he’d end up becoming one of the better fathers.

also cause he never loses. and no way is he gonna lose an argument with a child.

“不行。” “爸爸, pleaaase?” “no. 不可以。”

chenle seemed to be holding a chocolate bar high above his head, steely gaze fixed on your young child trying to ignore their pleading puppy dog eyes.

“妈妈说 no chocolate, right?” your heart warms when you realize he remembered you scolding your child yesterday, though you can’t help but to feel a little bad.

“chenle,” you say, both their heads turning towards you. “how about you give the little baby some chocolate and we can eat the eggs i just made in the kitchen?”

the way both their eyes shine almost identically is so fucking adorable.

Park Jisung

??!?>!?!>?>!?@#?>(*#(@*(*#!?!@?

“that’s… mine??” “what?” “… it?” “it?” “the.. child?”

actually malfunctions.

jisung is very flustered, for lack of better terms. he was always considered the baby maknae of dream, but his own child? lord, help him.

you... him.... the baby... it or they.. came out of you??? what.

gets awfully flushed whenever he’s carrying his child around the building. everyone tries to stop and coo at the baby, + chenle and haechan have decided to make his life a living hell cracking up jokes whenever they can.

jisung is surprisingly good at getting your chaotic child to sleep with his bedtime stories, which are usually all his big yap sessions.

“and did daddy get that bruise on his forehead because he slipped while chasing uncle chenle and uncle haechan?” you question the two of them, wondering what they had been talking about earlier.

your child nods, bright eyes sparkling and grinning, “아빠 also said, ‘get back here, you devilish imbeciles!’”

oh fuck.

your accusatory gaze turns towards jisung, who averts his eyes, holding an ice pack to his bruising forehead, trying to shield himself from possibly getting more bruises.

“i-in my defense, they were—”

“one more time, park jisung, and i’m changing their legal godfathers to the two imbeciles you love and appreciate so so much.”

his eyes widen in shock, “you wouldn’t.”

“try me.”

now jisung is a grumbling mess when the two idiots are around his child, but the lack of chasing them around can be counted as an upgrade, i guess.

TAGLIST ↬  @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @ldh0000 @galacticnct @peterm4rker

[seungkw1]

touch me, tease me, feel me up — xmh

💿 love talk - wayv

♡ pairing: xu minghao x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut [18+ mdni], pwp ♡ wc: 1.1k ♡ warnings: unprotected piv sex (don't do this), fingering, oral (f. receiving), choking (f. receiving), size kink if u squint, creampie, cum swallowing, petnames (baby, good girl) ♡ a/n: happy holidays @haologram!!! written as part of @camandemstudios secret santa event - hope u enjoy bestie 🫶 and tysm @miniseokminnies for the banner <3

“Hao… please…”

Your whines fill the air as your boyfriend’s long fingers trace slowly up and down your pussy, the heat of his breath on your exposed cunt sending a shiver up your spine. He’s been at this for way too long, teasing you with the most delicate touches all over your body, torturously dragging out foreplay so long that you feel like you're going to explode. 

“What is it baby? Tell me,” he speaks softly as he plants a slow kiss on your inner thigh. He fixes his eyes on your desperate face, eyelids heavy with a sultry gaze as he gives you another kiss. His mouth is so close to your cunt - but nowhere near close enough. Your clit aches, throbbing against nothing, begging for the relief of Minghao’s touch. 

“Need your mouth on me,” you plead, your voice wavering pathetically. He drags his middle finger in a circle around your bud, causing you to let out a sad-sounding whimper, your hips involuntarily bucking into the air in search of Minghao’s lips. But, he’s quicker, raising his chin enough for his mouth to be just out of reach. 

“Patience, love,” he responds, but you see the glimmer of a smile forming upon his face, relishing in watching you lose composure beneath him. He loves how needy you are, and the fact that he can do the bare minimum and still make you dripping wet in no time makes him incredibly turned on.

Eventually, he can't wait any longer. He presses his plump red lips against your clit, kissing it delicately, making you sigh from the relief of his touch. He flattens his tongue against your cunt, giving you a slow lick; he repeats it again, and again - by the fourth time, you're squirming against the sheets. He wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he swirls the tip of his tongue around your clit, eliciting a moan from deep within. 

“Oh god…”

He drags his tongue back down, pressing it into your hole, again and again until he’s fully tongue-fucking you. His nose grazes your swollen clit, sending an electric shock through you each time. You feel like you're going to cum already - it feels too fast, he just started properly going down on you. But, you can't help it - Minghao is simply too skilled in bringing you pleasure. 

He pauses, raising his head and making eye contact with you. His face is glistening, covered in your juices. Eyes filled with hunger, he grins at you lazily before suddenly hoisting your thighs upwards. You yelp as he shifts your hips, practically folding you in half so he can have full, uninhibited access to your pussy. He takes your clit gently between his lips, suckling on it lightly; with a low groan your head falls back onto the pillow. He unwraps his arm from one of your thighs, bringing his fingertips to your cunt, brushing up and down your soaked slit a few times before pushing his first two fingers inside you. You cry out as he curls his fingers, stroking your g-spot as he suctions back onto your clit. He fucks you with his fingers - slowly at first, but the more you wriggle beneath him the faster he goes, pumping his fingers at the perfect rhythm. 

“Oh my god, Minghao…”

He's never told you outright that you moaning his name is the hottest sound he could ever hear, but he doesn't have to. He buries his face in your pussy, sucking on your clit while his fingers work their magic. You grasp onto the bedsheets, your back arching as your climax nears, closer and closer, until-

“Oh god, I’m cumming…”

You release hits like a bolt of lightning, sending shockwaves of pleasure rolling through your body as your orgasm takes control. Minghao sucks on your clit ceaselessly as you cum on his fingers, making you see stars as your body trembles, riding out your high. Your chest rises with heavy breaths as you start to come down, your body relaxing into the bed - but neither of you are anywhere near done. 

Minghao gives you one last kiss on your pulsating bud before lifting himself up to kiss you on the lips, his hand caressing the back of your neck as he makes out with you lovingly. The head of his cock bumps against your pussy; you lower yourself onto him, your overwhelming wetness taking in his tip with ease. You groan as he slowly pushes the rest of his length into you, his thickness stretching your walls deliciously. He gives you a moment to get used to his size, but you're impatient. 

“Please fuck me,” you whimper, looking up at him with utter desperation. He too can't wait a moment longer - he begins to thrust into you, long and slow strokes, letting his cock feel every inch of your pussy. You reach for his arm, tugging at his wrist - and he knows exactly what you want. He drags his hand up your torso, stopping for a moment to squeeze your breasts, before wrapping his hand around your throat. His fingers squeeze into your neck, choking you as he thrusts deep into your pussy. Your eyes beg and plead him to fuck you harder as gagging noises fill the air - a fire builds in his gut, pounding into you harder and harder, until he can't resist any longer. With a string of deep moans he releases, his cum spilling into your pussy, painting your insides with his hot ropes. His cock throbs against your walls as the last few spurts fill you to the brim. After a few moments, he slowly pulls his cock out. His cum dribbles out of your hole, but he quickly catches it, stuffing it back into your cunt. 

“That’s my good girl,” he coos. “Taking all my cum in your pretty pussy.” 

You whine as he slowly pulls his fingers out; you grab his forearm, drawing his milky-white coated hand up to your face. You wrap your mouth around his fingers, sucking slowly, swallowing all of the excess cum. 

“Oh, wow,” he mutters softly. “My baby is so perfect.”

He wraps his arm around your torso, rolling over onto his side and taking you in his embrace. His skin is hot against yours, dewey with sweat, holding you tight as he presses a deep kiss onto your cheek. You breathe in tandem, warm and safe in each other’s arms, lulling you both into a blissful trance. 

[ddejavvu]

hiiiii! i love ur sirius x animagus!reader collection :)

how about one where the girls dont know that r is the cat they see sirius hanging out with and one of them knits a sweater for sirius' 'cat' and sirius and the boys r just like "shes vicious when it comes to costumes :(" feeling bad for whoever made the sweater but then r like lets them put it on or smth and theyre surprised?

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9

i've sort of twisted your prompt just a teeny tiny bit!! i hope all of the parts you liked most are still in there, though :') // also this one was hard to tag 'cause again technically it's sirius x reader but he's not present and she's not with james either so i used both of their tags just because they're technically the central focus of the overarching story even if this part is a little less defined

--

James thinks it might be the worst day of his life so far, and isn't sure what mischief he could have inflicted upon anyone to possibly deserve this cruel of a punishment.

Lily Evans is standing before him, face kind instead of pinched in annoyance as it so often is at his presence, and she's handing him something. As in, he will take it from her and their hands will brush. As in, her skin will touch his. As in, he's never going to wash his hand again.

"I'm glad I found you,-"

She's glad she found him!

"-I couldn't catch Sirius before he left Potions," She laments, "Could you let him know I made this for his cat, Potter?"

James's stellar brain and above-average intelligence supply him with the phrase, 'Huh?', which might possibly be the least embarrassing thing he's ever said to her, and that doesn't fare well.

"That's Sirius's new cat, isn't it?" She presses on, and James forces himself to tear his eyes off of her ethereal face to glance at you, draped lazily over the couch cushion beside him soaking up the warmth of the fire. Your eyes were lazy before Lily had shown up, but at the sight of what she's holding out; knitwear, they narrow and sharpen. It's an odd shape, not human size, with openings for four legs.

"I thought she might be getting cold now that the snow's started up," She tilts her chin towards the window, glazed over with frost, "And I just figured I could knit her a little sweater."

Not even James's fear of your claws can deter him from accepting the gift from Lily. He takes it - and their hands brush! Just like he'd hoped for! - grabbing you unceremoniously around the middle and dragging you onto his lap.

"She loves sweaters." He fibs, shamefully distracted by Lily's face as he tries wrestling you into the garment. You're well aware of why he's lying to her, because the last time you'd been faced with cat clothes, you'd ripped a hole in his bedspread. But this is Lily, and you refrain from shredding the fabric of his pants as he shoves you into the sweater.

He's clumsy with it, because he's not giving you his full attention, and you let out a disgruntled meow as he smears the fabric of the sweater over your face instead of tugging your head through the hole.

"Now, Mittens," He chuckles tensely, "Just- put your paw through there, don't scratch me-! And- there." He announces proudly, hoisting you up into the air just beneath the joints of your front paws. He displays you to Lily, and you steel yourself as she croons and reaches out to pet you. She's far gentler than the man holding you, and you'd appreciate it at any other point in time, but the sweater she'd knit you is itching against your fur and dragging it against the grain, and you'd like to leave it in ribbons as you bolt up the staircase. For everyone's sake, you won't.

"Look at that," James announces proudly, "She loves it. Thanks, Lily."

She smiles, a soft gesture, but not a weak one. She nods, "James," And takes her leave, heading towards the girls' dorms staircases, inevitably about to find your bed empty and wonder where you are at this hour of night.

"She said my name," James breathes, only after the door to your dorm has been safely shut, and she runs no risk of hearing him. He looks incredulously at you, in your tense, rigid stance on the couch cushions, "She didn't call me Potter! She- you're a miracle." James levels you with an intensely grateful stare, thumbing fondly at the knitwear that's itching viciously at your fur, "You're my wingman, Y/N. I mean it, you're putting that sweater on every day, I'll manhandle you into it myself."

You yowl at him, a sound that typically scares him off, but he doesn't yield, grinning impishly at you instead.

"Whatever you say, Mittens."

[world-of-aus]

Pairing: Cowboy!Bucky x Nanny!Reader

Warnings: None.

Author's Note: I'm honestly still in my cowboy era and have also been wanting to try my hand at making a series so I bring you this little piece! I have it more less planned and hope you all will stick around and enjoy this ride with me! Happy Readings!

The iron gate is warm under his touch, the rising sun low enough in the sky that the iron railing has now begun to cool. He watches his dark-haired boy run around the ‘arena’; lasso gripped tightly in his small hands as he gives the calf chase.  

Bucky chuckles smile pulling at his lips as he calls out to his son, “champ you got to get that rope off the ground if you want to catch ‘im”. The boy all but stops in his track, feet throwin up dirt chocolate eyes locking on his, “the ropes to long daddy, I’m trying!” he pouts.  

Clambering off the rails his feet hit the dirt as he makes his way into the gated ‘arena’ closing the distance between him and his son. He gets down to eye level, pout still adorning his boy’s lips, “you, Uncle Steve, and Sam make this look so easy, I don’t get what I’m doing wrong, I'm doing exactly how I see you do it.” 

“Not doing anything wrong champ, c’mere,” he says pulling his son close. “Put your hand here, and wrap this,” he says adjusting his sons' hands, “right here, make sure it’s tight now, don’t want to lose your grip on it and risk that calf getting away from you now.”  

Grant follows his father’s directions, “alright, now that we got the rope secured let's get it above our heads.” He helps his son get the rope going, “see, you’re getting it, now, I want you to throw it right at that spot over there imagine the calf's just sitting, focus now,” He advises finger pointed to a spot just feet ahead. Bucky watches his son, tongue peeked out of his lips as he concentrates, rope still swinging. It falls quiet for a moment, then the soft thud of rope hitting dirt meets their ears. Grants grin is wide as he snaps his head back to look at his dad, “I did it daddy! I did it!” He mirrors his son’s smile pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug, lips finding the side of his chocolate locks, “knew you could bud, knew you could.” 

“I can’t wait to tell Aunt Tasha about it!” the boy’s excitement grows, “well how about we get a few more rounds of practice in, we still got some time before she gets here.” 

They’re outside in the arena practicing till the sun begins to dip into the west horizon making way for the moon and stars that have begun to decorate the still early night sky. Bucky leads him and his son from the arena, leaving the calf with his mom in the barn before they make their way to the house. Steve’s truck is parked out front, him and Natasha sitting on the porch waiting. 

Grant spots his aunt and uncle first, excitement hardly contained as he drops his dad’s hand bolting to the front porch, his aunt’s name on his lips. Bucky stops by the front of Steve’s truck watching his son, he’s in Natasha’s arms, raving about his day to them, Steve and Natasha hearing him with wonder in their eyes. 

“You’re going to be running circles around the arena in no time bud, put all of us to shame, especially your dad” Steve teases meeting his eyes. 

Bucky laughs, “The day he puts me to shame in the arena will be the greatest day of my life, means I taught him well.’ 

“While we can’t wait for the day he puts ALL OF YOU to shame, I’d like to enjoy my little man while I can, right champ?” Natasha grins hoisting the boy higher on her hip. Grant is taken with his aunt hands curling around her neck as he squeezes her there cheeks mushing together. 

There’s an ache in Bucky’s chest as he watches the scene before him, like the many restless nights he has he can’t help but to think in this moment what he could have done differently, what he could have said to make her stay. He’s her carbon copy, he hates it. She doesn’t deserve to have any piece of him, not after she just up and left without so much as a word. Bucky still recalls the urgent call from the daycare asking if anyone would be coming for Grant. He hadn’t been able to get ahold of her since that day, not that he’s tried much since Grant’s 3rd birthday. 

“Buck - hey pal everything good, you sure you still wanna meet Sam at thirsty barrel?” 

The brunette is pulled from his reverie, eyes falling on his best friend who has since approached him, he shakes his head, “yeah - yeah pal sorry just thinking.” He looks over Steve’s shoulder, Natasha and Grant waving at him, he waves back, “have fun you guys, me and little man are gonna have some fun of our own, isn’t that right!” 

“Make sure he’s in bed by 9, 10 the latest.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever dad, get out of here!” Natasha replies waving them off. 

Steve and Bucky chuckle making sure Natasha and Grant get inside the house before they clamber into Steve’s truck. 

“You sure you feeling up for tonight?” Steve questions him as he turns the key in the ignition. Bucky watches the house, getting a glimpse of Grant through the window, “I’m sure, my thoughts just got the best of me but I'll be fine.” Steve puts the truck into drive, “she’s not worth it Buck, the day she decided to leave, cut all contact with you, with grant that’s the day she stopped being of any importance.” 

“Yeah,” he murmurs eyes drifting out the window as Steve backs out of the ranch, “it’s just I wonder if I had done things differently if she would still be here.” 

“You gave her your all Buck; I don’t think there’s anything more you could have given her to make her stay.” 

And though Bucky knows Steve is right, his words don’t sting any less. 

The thirsty barrel was in full swing, the bar packed to the brim. Bucky, Steve and Sam had managed to snag the last remaining booth, drinks being run to their table as they talked business. 

“So you find anyone to watch little man when we hit the road at the end of the month?” Sam questioned over his drink. 

Bucky sighed, he had forgotten, he had been so busy with Grant, with the ranch that he had forgot to look into a caretaker for his son. Another thing he would have to add to his to do list for tomorrow. He shakes his head taking a sip of his beer, “not yet, been looking around but I haven't settled on anyone yet.” 

Sam tsks, “We have two weeks before we’re needing to head out on the road Buck, and little man can’t come with us because of school.” Bucky places his drink down running a hand over his bearded scruff, “you don’t think I know that Sam, I'm trying, just haven’t had luck, can’t just trust anyone with him either, I need to know he’s going to be safe, cared for.” 

“I can ask Natasha to skip this trip Buck, I’m sure it won’t be a problem, she loves spending time with grant.”  

Bucky shakes his head at Steve, “absolutely not pal, I know how much Natasha is looking forward to seeing you ride, I can’t ask that of you or her – I'll find someone – I will.” 

A damper has been placed on Bucky’s mood despite the change in subject, and he’s quiet for most of the night tuning in here and there when Steve or Sam directs something at him. He’s there, but not really, his mind drifting to the thought of his son. If Sam or Steve notice his absence, they don’t mention it, nor do they push him to converse, they know how hard it's been for him since she left, and they try to do all they can to help him. 

They’re not at the bar long, Sam being the first one to throw in the towel, Steve seconding the notion, Bucky doesn’t argue as they pay the tab, each leaving a tip for their waitress. The trio say their goodbyes outside of the bar, Sam promising to stop by the ranch tomorrow to see grant, get some riding time in with the boy, Steve jumps in to join as well. “Can use all the practice, only got two weeks left,” he chuckles. 

Bucky and Steve see Sam off before they get inside the truck, it's quiet most of the ride home, Bucky appreciates Steve for giving him this. It’s only until they’re pulling into the ranch 30 minutes later that he does decide to speak up. 

“I’ll help you find someone for Grant,” he says putting the truck in park, eyes meeting his friends, “make sure that it’s someone we can trust, the closest to family that we can get.” 

Bucky nods, the fear of that not being possible choking him, Steve reaches a hand out laying it on his shoulder, squeezing, “I promise pal, we’ll find you someone, we’ve got two weeks.” 

Two weeks. 

Two weeks. 

Bucky’s nodding again, “I appreciate you pal, listen I'll go get Natasha for you, know you two have quite the drive, don’t want it getting late for you.” 

Steve gives him his thanks watching him get off the truck, make his way up the steps and to the front door. Bucky disappears inside, returning a few minutes later with Natasha. Steve watches the two exchange a few words before she’s pulling Bucky into a tight embrace more words shared. The two pull away and Bucky watches her as she gets into the truck safely.  

They all wave one final time at each other before Bucky heads back inside, the lights of his home flickering off one at a time. Steve waits till the last light has been turned off before he’s putting the truck back in drive, making his way out of the ranch. 

“How was he?” Natasha questions finding Steve’s hand. 

“He’s not doing good,” Steve answers, “he’s worried about leaving Grant at the end of the month.” 

“I can stay, you know I don’t mind, I can watch you ride anytime.” 

Steve looks over to her, “he already said no, you know he isn't going to go back on his word,” his eyes flick back to the road, “we just need to find someone he can trust; we need family.” 

It goes quiet in the cab of the truck for a moment, Natasha speaks up a few minutes later, “I might have someone, she’s a family friend, I could have her come meet us at the ranch tomorrow.” Steve gives her a questioning look, the redhead rolls her eyes, “Bucky doesn’t keep anything from me where Grant is involved, it’ll be perfect everyone can meet her, see how she fits in.” 

Steve agrees, and he can’t help but hope this works out, he didn’t want to see his friend hurting anymore, and he hoped with help that he might be the Bucky he was before her. 

[am-i-interrupting]

Hide & Seek | Alastor & Child!Reader— OATSH

Summary: You and Alastor play a game of hide and seek on the way to his cabin in the woods.

For @obvitsclaire

You ran through the woods. Your footsteps and the cracking of the occasional branches were the only things that made noise outside the chitter of animals.

You could feel the mud as it squelched between your toes but it was a familiar feeling. This path was a familiar one. You’d walked it dozens of times before.

You threw a glance over your shoulder and could barely see your dad through the thick foliage. You darted behind a bush.

Your knees got covered in mud as you fell onto them. You placed your arms on the ground as well. Your hands wrapped around your head to further bring you down. You tried to keep yourself as compressed and small as you could.

It didn’t take long before you heard footsteps draw closer. You bit your lip when you heard a groan as someone dropped to the ground. He knew you were close.

“Uh-uh-ah,” your father’s voice said and it was followed by a wince. “Don’t try leaving so soon. I’m not done with you yet.”

You placed one hand over your lips to try and muffle a giggle when you heard your dad start humming to himself. An action he often did when he was preoccupied.

“Now, where did that little girl go?” he asked. His footsteps drew further away from you. “Well, she’s certainly not here.” Your breathing halted when you saw him, his back towards you. “But where could she have—“

He turned towards you. The two of you made eye contact. When his smile widened, you bolted up and tried to dash away, squealing as you did. He was too fast though. His long legs gave him an advantage your short ones didn’t give you.

He scooped you up and spun you around.

“Put me down!” you yelled, banging on his arms. “Daddy, put me down!”

“Oh no, I’ve found myself the fairest maiden in all the lands, I shan’t ever let her go!” he said as he came to a stop.

He brought you closer to his body until you rested on his hip. Your laughter slowly decreased as you placed your head on his shoulder and your hand clutched at the collar of his shirt. You were uncaring of the blood on him.

The two of you simply looked at his newest victim on the forest floor. He looked pathetic. He had already suffered a beating and his skin was beginning to bruise. His hands were all jagged, fingers crooked.

“What’d this one do?” you asked.

“He thought it would be appropriate to try to force himself onto Mrs. Betty,” your father said.

You looked up at him, scandalized. “Mrs. Betty who gives you the cookies?”

“The very same.”

“It’s not illegal,” the man choked out. “She’s my wife.”

“Mmm, yes, well, just because it’s legal doesn’t mean it’s right,” your dad said as he leaned closer to the man.

You did your best to wad up as much saliva in your mouth as you could and spit it at him. Your father laughed.

He kissed you on the forehead before he placed you back on the ground.

You wanted to kick the man but you’d learned the hard way that it wasn’t a good idea when you were bare foot. Instead you stepped on the man’s crooked fingers and he screamed as you jumped on them.

Your father just stood back and watched with a proud smile. When you were done, he placed a hand on your back and bent at the hips to get on your level.

“Why don’t you go ahead to the cabin, wash up, and wait for us then you can sit in on an anatomy lesson, hm?”

You nodded excited before you darted off towards the cabin.

“You’re a fucking psychopath, Alastor, a psychopath,” the man wheezed out as Alastor hoisted him up and started dragging him away.

[honeylullaby]

I'm really loving all your Rivals. You write all the characters so damn well! I love your fluffy Rupert ones♥️

I do have a Rupert request if that's alright?

Could you do something about Rupert x reader and horses? (I ride horses so him on/around horses just makes me melt lol)

But maybe they met while out riding or on a foxhunt or reader is a former showjumper as well? These are just ideas so please feel free to take liberty!

hello darling, thank you so much!! it means the world! you know where i am if you ever wanna see anything else 🫶🏽💋 i must say, i have tried my very best but i have 0 knowledge of horses so if i get any equine terminology wrong, pls inform me and i shall wash my mouth out with soap!!! 🧼

“You can ride my pony anytime, darling.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by this sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Whilst out riding his horse, Rupert encounters a woman after his own heart…

Short Work.

18+ FANFIC / Soft 🥹 Rupert 🥹 Reader character aged at 21. As always, request what you wanna see in my ask box for any character 🥰

The utterly pleasant sound of galloping could be heard throughout the secluded bluebell woods of Rutshire village. It was undeniable that your favourite pastime was riding your outstandingly beautiful chestnut Dartmoor pony — truly a thing of regal beauty. The serene surroundings of the bluebells filled you with tranquility. You cackled with laughter as you bolted through the woods, smoothing down the chocolate mane of your beloved pony.

Turning a rather sharp corner, your pony suddenly rears and lets out the most shocking neigh. “Woah, girl, steady.” You belt out, leaning forward and gripping onto her to steady yourself, terrified of being tipped off. Surveying the area ahead of you, you spy the most beautiful horse— an Irish Draught, dappled in white and grey. Atop of him, was a particularly chiselled face that you didn’t quite recognise. “Sorry about that,” The man spoke, “We did rather appear from nowhere.” You learnt forward again to whisper in your pony’s ear, stroking the top of her head and giving her a gentle kiss.

“What’s her name?” He asks, grinning at the magnificence of your horse. “Cadence.” You beam with pride, slipping your feet out of the stirrups and jumping down onto the wooded ground. “Yours?” You question in return. The man takes a moment to stroke his horse’s snowy mane. “Love Rat.” He replies. You snigger slightly but suppress it and push out an uncomfortable cough, realising he was being deadly serious. “Rupert.” He introduced himself, removing himself from Love Rat’s back and slowly making his way over to Cadence, stroking her face softly. You introduce yourself in turn, and watch with a solemn smile at the man’s gentleness.

Taking your opportunity, you make your way to Love Rat and give him a gentle kiss just above his nose. “You’re a gorgeous boy, aren’t you?” You whisper in adoration towards him. “Thank you. I know.” Rupert replies, smirking in self-righteousness. Rolling your eyes at his humourless joke, you tut and hoist yourself up on the stirrups. “Hopefully I’ll see you here again. You can ride my pony anytime, darling.” The enchanting man winked towards you as you clicked at Cadence, bounding off in the opposite direction, your heart twirling something crazy.

[thursdaygxrls]

thin ice — three

part one | part two | part three

summary — the lightning bolts have made it to the semi-finals, and parties are the best way to celebrate. they’re also the best place to run into familiar faces.

pairing — uni hockey player!peter parker x fem!journalist!reader

disclaimers — sadly, i don’t own peter parker and his yummy face

warnings — this isn’t your first rodeo: this shit is unedited, mentions of drinking/being drunk, possible ooc, reader is referred to as ‘kitty’ (finally gets explained in this part!)

Death was approaching, she could feel it. The sickening, deadly vibrations of the music thundered in her ears like a funeral march. Maybe if she’d grown a spine, she would have avoided this all.

“We’re not even inside yet.”

MJ’s voice broke her from the trance she was stuck in. The Lightning Bolts had made it into the semi-finals, meaning they were one of the last four teams standing. Delta Alpha Kappa, home of half the hockey team, decided to throw their (nearly) weekly rager in honor of that. So, of course, Harry invited MJ, and MJ forced her very unwilling roommate to come.

“Being near the door is scary enough.” Her voice squeaked. 

“I didn’t realize you hated parties this much,” MJ giggled, stuffing her hands into her jacket.

“There’s a difference between parties and frat parties,” she responded with a shudder, “You can probably get thirty-five different diseases from just walking inside.”

“I’ll nurse you back to health.” 

Before a retort could be made, they were already hopping up the steps to the front door. There were some people outside the house, littering the grass and porch. At the door was a guy with a grey snapback. He smiled at them as he opened the door, throwing out a ‘hey, ladies’ as he let them in. He was harmless and hadn’t done anything wrong, but she already felt herself getting faintly annoyed at his grin.

The inside of the house was to be expected. Dull neon lights streaking the walls from the Five Below LED machines, unintelligently music rippling through the air and vibrating the floors, the hazy smell of weed that hung heavier the further you moved into the house. There was an open room people were dancing in on the left, a kitchen on the right, and stairs ahead of them. 

“We don’t have to stay here all night, right?” She pleaded with MJ, her voice somewhat lost in the loud music.

“Of course not,” MJ shook her head, “An hour—two tops.”

“And you’re not leaving me,” she said, punctuating her words by grabbing ahold of MJ’s arm. A chuckle bubbled in the redhead’s throat as she returned the grip, though, with less fervor.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she shook her head.

Apparently, she would dream of it, because within a half an hour, MJ was swept away by Harry. It wasn’t MJ’s intention to leave, nor was it Harry’s to strand Kitty—he’d hoisted her over his shoulder and was gone within seconds. MJ had sent her an apology text minutes later, saying they were playing beer pong out on the patio. Part of her wanted to join them so that she wasn’t so alone in an unfamiliar place, but then a couch had just opened up in a deserted corner of the living room. She replied with ‘all good :).’ Things were very much not all good.

The settings of her phone had become extremely interesting. She’d increased and decreased the size of the text on her screen multiple times. Changed her wallpaper. Played with the magnifier. Ran out of lives on Project Makeover. Changed her wallpaper again. The obnoxious music faded to the background of her mind as she tucked herself away. She should’ve just gone to the patio with MJ. A sigh escaped her as she caved, opening her texts.

“Are you stalking me?”

Her eyes shot up from her phone immediately. Of course he was here. Hazel eyes, choppy brown hair, a nearly healed lip that was rosier than normal. His words echoed her own from the last time they’d spoken. She hadn’t had any need to speak to him, really: they’d given an overzealous freshman a shot at handling the sports section, so she’d been taken off the duty for at least another week. 

“You came up to me,” she replied, “And you could still be stalking me for all I know.” Peter grinned, the same grin he’d given her when they met, and when he was being dragged to the penalty box, and when he’d swiped his card for her at the dining hall.

“Not stalking.” He raised his hands in defense, showing off the red solo cup in his grip. He was still smiling that stupid, toothy smile. 

“Then what are you doing here?” She raised her brow.

“Well, uh,” he chuckled, “Not to sound like a dick, but this party is sort of for me—for the team, really. We made semis.”

Hot embarrassment flooded her at the realization. She knew that already. Would it be worse to say that and admit she had actually been watching the game on her laptop late last week, or just pretend that she was a lot more dense than she already was?

“Oh,” she hummed, not quite doing either, “I see.”

“So, can I ask what you’re doing here?” Peter asked. He moved slightly, like he wanted to take a seat next to her on the couch but decided against it.

“Isn’t it obvious? I live here,” she replied, the sarcasm thick on her tongue. He seemed to like it because he let out another one of those throaty chuckles.

“Ah, yeah, should’ve figured,” he nodded. With his free hand, he scratched the scruff of hair above his left ear. Then, he spoke up again, “Mind if I sit?”

“A little,” she cringed internally at her own words. Though contradictory, she scooched a bit, asserting that maybe it would be okay if he sat. He took the invitation.

“Where’s MJ?” He cocked his head.

“Kidnapped by your lovely teammate.” “She just left you alone?”

“It’s not her fault—she apologized and told me where he was holding her captive, but…well, the couch opened up,” she shrugged. Another deep laugh.

“That’s pretty sound logic,” he nodded. The last time they’d been this close, she was interviewing him. Well, she was trying to interview him while he flirted incessantly. Peter held his cup between his knees, taking slow sips every once and a while. 

“Do you live here?” She turned to fully face him, “Are you one of those frat guys?”

“I thought about it, but I just didn’t have enough time,” he shook his head, “I’m actually in an on-campus apartment. I have my own bathroom, so, hey, I’m winning, I guess.” For perhaps the first time, a light laugh was drawn from her lips. It wasn’t necessarily real, more like a confirmation that she heard him, but it was enough to make Peter’s lips twitch into another grin.

“What about you, Kitty?”

And there it was. He had to ruin it. 

“What’s your obsession with trying to call me that?” She grumbled.

“You said your friends call you that,” he replied, acting so nonchalant that it took all her strength not to roll her eyes.

“We’re not friends,” she corrected him quickly. His face fell for only a minute before he was already picking his lips up into another grin.

“Can’t we be?” He asked. His words were so sincere, like he was actually searching for friendship behind her eyes. Maybe he was being sincere. She shifted in her spot.

“I don’t know. I mean, I know I probably came off sort of strong before, inviting you to the game and everything, but you came, so I sort of thought…” he shrugged again, “We’re…friends? Of some sort?”

Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong. She’d shown up. But it was because of MJ, because MJ wanted to go. Yeah, that was why.

“MJ wanted to see Harry,” she disputed.

“But you still came,” he pressed. She still came. A sigh left her.

“Okay, we’re, like, sort of friends,” she finally admitted, “But that doesn’t mean you just get to call me that name.”

“Well then what am I supposed to call you?” He questioned, and her eyebrows furrowed in response. A smile split on his lips, “You never actually introduced yourself to me, y’know.”

Another burst of molten embarrassment. She searched her mind, trying to remember if she’d ever told him her name, but she was drawing blanks. She’d been so pissed off during the interview that she never introduced herself. Her scalp burned.

“Y/n,” she swallowed her pride for a moment, “That’s what you can call me.”

“I sort of like Kitty better.” Now he was just pushing the limits.

“Well, it’s not for you to use,” her voice was sharp.

“Harry uses it.” “Harry is a dick that doesn’t listen to me when I tell him to stop calling me it.”

“MJ uses—”

“MJ uses it because she’s allowed to use it,” she interrupted, “Hearing other people use it is like hearing a stranger refer to you by your family nickname. It’s freaky.”

“Is there a reason for it? The nickname, I mean?” Peter, for as genuine as he was trying to be, couldn’t hide his grin. 

“A stupid one.” Why would she admit that?

“Can I hear it?” He pressed.

“You are just full of questions,” she huffed. Silence settled between them. Beats of unspoken words fell like snowflakes as the dull thump of the party shifted to the forefront. 

“It’s a stupid reason,” she repeated, breaking the seal. Peter looked at her again.

“Is it?” His voice was a little softer than before. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. Why was she giving in so easily?

“It’s because I always land on my feet somehow,” she began to explain, “Not literally. Like, back in high school, I’d have a test I forgot to study for, and I’d ace it somehow. Or when I used to do the professor spotlight for the paper, I would put it off until the last minute and bullshit a whole piece just to be told it’s one of the best things I’ve done. Stuff like that. MJ said I’m like a cat, but cuter, so she started calling me that freshman year.”

Like clockwork, Peter let out a huff of laughter. He looked at her, eyes sparkling with the new information and he curled his lips. She must’ve been getting some second-hand smoke, because her head seemed a little fuzzier than before.

“I thought it was going to be something traumatic,” he chuckled, “Like, you got stuck in a tree or something.”

“It’s just personal,” she rolled her eyes.

“So,” his laughter subsided, “I don’t have Kitty privileges?” “No,” she shook her head.

“Do you mean ‘no’ or ‘not yet’?” His smile was unbearable.

“I mean ‘no’.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you sure sure?” 

She was going to have to physically restrain herself. Instead of arguing, she shuffled in her seat, “I think I’m gonna go see if MJ is still—”

“Hey,” he said softly. His hand landed on her arm in a featherlight touch that had her nerve ending lighting up. Her eyes met his. The softness that consumed the hazel caused her to still. 

“Before you go,” his tone was more subdued now, “Can I possibly have your number?”

The question caught her off guard. If she hadn’t already stopped moving, she would’ve come to a screeching halt. Perhaps what confused her the most was that her instinctual response was to say yes, to reach for her phone and let him make a new contact. 

“I promise I won’t set your name as ‘Kitty’,” he added, “Scout’s honor.” “Were you a boy scout?” She cocked her head.

“Nope,” he replied with that same giddy grin that melted her resolve. Another sigh escaped her as she grabbed her phone. He waited patiently as she created a new contact and handed over the phone. His fingers darted across the screen before taking a picture of himself. Well, more like a picture of his eyes and nose way too close to the camera. He gave the phone back, seemingly proud of himself. The picture was set, and the name he’d chosen for himself was ‘peter :)’. He also sent himself a text so he would have her number.

“I’ll let you go now,” he grinned, “Have fun watching drunks play pong.” She nodded and nearly stood, but was planted back to her seat in a moment.

“How did you know where I was going?” Her eyebrows creased. Peter’s smile fell slightly as his eyes widened.

“Oh,” he coughed, “Well, I bumped into MJ earlier, so, y’know.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, “And I bet you didn’t ask her where I was, either.” He chuckled nervously and scratched the spot above his ear again.

“Nope,” he lied. She shook her head at his tone.

“Right,” she stood, “See you around, stalker.”

“Bye, Ki—Y/n,” he cut himself off, grinning proudly when he noticed his mistake. His smile had to be contagious, infectious, because her own lips began to curl in response.

It was surprisingly easy to find MJ. She didn’t know where the patio was, but luck was on her side tonight: after shoving through a dozen drunks, she found sliding glass doors. The fresh air felt like a cold shower as she stepped out. It was much less loud out here. Only the filtered thump of the music and the buzz of voices could be heard. That was until a light splash and a cacophony of deep yells filled her ears. When she cautiously approached the hoard of people surrounding the beer pong table, a pair of hands wrapped around her in death grip.

“I am so, so sorry!” MJ’s voice eased her nerves immediately, “I’m horrible! I’m the worst! I promised to stick by you, and I bailed! I—”

“Honey, it’s okay,” she let out a small laugh at her behavior. She should be angrier than she was, but she just couldn’t pull herself to get mad.

“I promise I will never ever force you to a party again, and I’ll never leave you,” MJ continued, “I’ll wait outside the shower for you!”

“That’s tempting, but you don’t have to.” Her voice seemed to somewhat quell MJ’s nerves, though the redhead was still on high alert. 

“Are you just acting okay but really you’re harboring a deep resentment for me that will slowly boil into hatred?” MJ scrunched her nose. She was definitely a few drinks in.

“I promise,” she said, and she actually meant it, “I do not hate you.” MJ sighed in relief as she finally let go of the girl in front of her. True to her word, she stuck by her the rest of the night. When they finally made their way back to the dorm—both tipsy—she finally checked her phone. There was a message from Peter; a screenshot of her contact info with the name set as ‘y/n :)’ and a text:

‘scout’s honor’

a/n — OKAY OKAY i know nothing humongous happened in this chap, but we’re getting there 🤭 you guys just wait until peter *redacted* and *redacted* so reader has to *redacted.* also, at the time of posting this, i hit 400!! love you guys so much, you're all my sweet little baby muffins

taglist

@reidslovely @iamliterallyspidergwen @tarzinnia (tarzinnia, hon, i cannot for the life of me remember if you asked to be on the taglist so i added you just in case—let me know if you want off!)

[mossygirl333]

Tf-141 Fluff is so real and I love you (@certainpeachsweets ) for it <3

Tf141 x civilian!reader hc!

TW/CW: mentions of stress and family issues but nothing detailed, established relationship, mentions of periods, mentions of alcohol, a tad bit of crying but mostly comfort and fluff

AN: Sorry for butchering Scottish accents, I'm trying my best, and I changed it up a bit for every character, I hope you still like it :<

John Price:

Your husband John was sitting at his table, hunched over his desk as he rubbed his cheek, the pencil small in his big hands as he scribbled down on his papers.

You shuffled into the doorway, shoulders tense with stress. Your head was pounding and the stupid Adderall wasn't kicking in fast enough and you just needed John.

He looks up, a soft frown pulling on his face. "You okay baby?"

You nod, lower lip threatening to tremble, shoulders shaking just a little. He gets up immediately, his large form walking towards you. The warm scent of his cologne and the bitter cigars that clung to his skin enveloping you. His large arms coming around to wrap around your waist, head tucked against his chest.

"Oh swee'heat...yer gonna be okay. It's okay. What's wrong?" He looks down at you, kissing your forehead softly.

"I don't feel good and I'm just stressed and-" He gently shushes you before you can work yourself up again, cradling your form against his. Rough hands brush away the strands of hair in your face before kissing your forehead.

"That's okay. Let's just cuddle in our room okay? Put on a movie, have some water. Let ya rest up?" You nod quietly, letting him move you to the bedroom. His hands gently hoist you up into bed as he kicks off his boots. You roll over, cuddling under a fluffy white blanket you got as Ross yesterday as John walks off to get some water.

He sets a glass down, rubbing your cheek gently with his thumb before climbing in beside you. His scent and warmth wrapping around you. "Yer gonna be okay..."

You quietly nod, hearing the beginning of a quiet movie start to play. Eyes drooping as you absentmindedly sucked on your straw. Eyes blinking languidly as his hands run over your hips back and forth.

You didn't even notice you fell asleep until John is tucking you in, taking your glass of water to the beside table and mumbling a soft.

"Goodnight baby doll..."

Johnny Mactavish:

You stumbled into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. Exhaustion clinging to your muscles, eyes barely staying open as you suddenly looked down.

Blood.

Shit. Just what you needed. A groan of annoyance leaving your lips as you rip open a pad and stick it on a tad bit aggressively.

You stand up and hear a familiar Scottish voice speak, shuffling from the now empty and cold bed. "Bonnie? Bonnie?! Where ya go lass, bed gettin' feckin' jeelit wit'oot ya!"

You grumble and waddle to the door, already feeling the tightness start in your nether regions. "I started!" You Hollar to him, his form- which was wrapped in your comforter- turned from his position in the hallway.

"Oh shite, poor lass.." He immediately simmers, holding open his arms for you to cuddle into. "Got ta painters in?"

You pout and nod, shuffling over as he wraps the comforter around you both. Resting his chin on the top of your head. "It's like a crime scene in my underwear."

He chuckles. "Ya will be fine, yer a strong lass Bonnie." He maneuvers you back into the bed, setting you down as he rummages into the closet.

"Babe what are you..?" He sets down clean underwear and shorts, dragging a hoodie.

"Change yer clothes hun, gonna run out and buy ya some shite. Heatin' pad in under ta bed."

You nod and he pecks a few kisses to your forehead before bolting out the bedroom door. You plug in your heating pad and snuggle up, eyes closing gently, breathing in the scent of your soon to be husband.

Kyle Garrick:

You sigh, setting down your phone heavily on the kitchen island, rubbing your eyes. A headache was already starting to form behind your eyes and you groaned.

Your fiance stepped down the stairs behind you, staring quietly with concerned yet cautious eyes. "You alright? Is yer ma still okay?"

You turn to him, biting your lip and shaking your head no. "It just keeps getting worse and worse, and I'm just really stressed right now. I'm sorry-"

He shakes his head, moving closer as he gently brushes his lips against your temple. "Don't apologize...never apologize for that baby." The soft smell of his vape still lingered on his tongue, lips soft as they presses against the skin of your face.

"How about you head upstairs...and i'll make you less stressed. Hm?"

You nod, hugging him slightly, his lean muscles pressed against your body. You give a final squeeze before letting go, letting him grope your ass before climbing up the stairs.

You walk down an hour later to the smell of food, delicious food mind you. The lights were dimmed, night falling onto your house. The gentle flicker of candles alerted that something was up. Those candles were mostly for decoration.

You turned and glanced in the kitchen, eyes falling onto your lover. His engagement ring set down beside him, slim hands working through dishes. Scrubbing away the grime you forgot to clean this morning. Humming softly to some sort of love song before your eyes settle on food.

2 plates. 2 glasses of your favorite wine.

You smile softly, meeting his eyes as you gives you a soft wink.

"Made all your favorites. Sit down hun, eat up."

Simon Riley:

Your heels clicked on the white linoleum flooring of your office building. The knots in your back were throbbing, wrapping around to the base of your skull. Rolling your eyes as you scanned your key card, pushing open the doors and landing your eyes on your husband.

Leaned back, his biker helmet still on, his visor up. Crossed arms, veins trailing up and down his tattooed forearms. Eyes crinkle when he gazes on you, he's smiling.

"There's ma girl, what took ya so long?" He tilts his head, tossing your helmet to you.

You sigh, rubbing your face. "Just got told I have my due date had to be cut short and I have to be done in 3 days instead of a week. And I get new work, hooray!" You sarcastically spit out, pulling on your helmet.

He hums, rubbing your back as he helps you onto his bike. "M'sorry baby doll, I know it's stressful." He knocks helmets with you gently. "But you got this. I know you do. And we can go on a little night ride later so ya get a break. How 'bout that? Hm?"

You nod, softly chuckling. "Much needed..."

His motorcycle roars to life, your hands sliding around his thin waist, cheek pressed against his muscular back. Rumbling between your legs his hands rest on the steering.

"Hold on tight, lets get ya home."

[bucksangel]

Milk and Honey ask…

It doesn’t have to be this version of Stucky exactly it could be whatever you want but imagine Bucky and reader surprising Steve by setting up all his art supplies and then them posing for him.

I can imagine Bucky teasing him and being like “paint me like one of your French girls.” 🤭🤭🤭

I know you said Milk and Honey but this is giving me ideas for another au I’ve been thinking about writing, so I hope this is okay😭😭

Pairing: stucky x reader

Word count: 946

Summary: Steve has been in a little rut as to what to paint, so when he comes back from a weekend at DC, his loves have taken it upon themselves to help get him out of it.

Warnings: this is just an overwhelming amount of fluff, titanic references, steve and bucky are retired, hinted smut at the end so 18+ minors DNI

main masterlist | tip jar | commission me

It’s just past three in the afternoon when Steve steps out of his truck, and for a moment, he just leans against it, staring up at his little cottage with a fond smile. He’s just gotten back from a short trip to DC so he could go to a kids' charity event he was requested to be at and he is tired. Now, he could’ve said ‘no’, he is retired after all, but saying no to helping those in need is just not who Steve is. So, even though he had to leave the loves of his life for a few days, the smiles of joy on the kids’ faces when he’d walked into the building almost made it worth it.

As his eyes roam over the newly added fairy lights intertwined with the posts on the porch he hears a shriek of laughter – loud and boisterous and happy. The front door swings open, and a head of dark brown hair pokes out before looking back inside.

“Stevie’s back!”

Steve smiles wider, no doubt sporting heart eyes when the door opens wider as you practically shove Bucky aside so you can go rushing down the stairs. Steve steps away from the truck, opening his arms and laughing when you launch at him – and he’s just glad he’s a super soldier or else you would have knocked him to the ground.

“Hey, baby. You missed me?” Your arms wrap around Steve’s torso and your face tucks into his neck so even though he can’t see it, he knows you’re rolling your eyes. When you simply huff, he pokes your side, then grabs the backs of your thighs so he can hoist you up and wrap your legs around his waist. “I was only gone for a couple of days.”

“So?” Bucky comes jogging up behind you, stopping right next to you. “You can’t say that you didn’t miss us too.”

It’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes, but he quickly closes them when Bucky puts his metal hand on the back of his neck and tugs – pulling him into a kiss. The kiss lasts for about five seconds, soft and chaste before Steve has to lean back and swat at Bucky’s hand that dropped down to grab his ass.

“Of course, I missed you guys,” Steve says fondly, adjusting you to rest on his hip so he can wrap his free arm around Bucky’s waist. In turn, Bucky places his metal hand back on Steve’s neck, and he has to suppress a shiver when he feels the ring on Bucky’s hand.

After five years of marriage, he would have thought the excitement would wear off, that maybe he’d become used to coming home to both of you, or doing mundane things together just as an excuse to be with each other. But it hasn’t, and Steve has never taken for granted the warm feeling in his chest whenever he’s with you, even if you’re together all day or haven’t seen him in a week.

Steve just loves you both more than life itself, he can’t help it, okay?

“My turn,” you whine, lifting your head up and puckering your lips so Steve can dip down and kiss you as well. “Now, c’mon, Stevie. Let’s go inside,” You say happily when he pulls back.

“We have a surprise for you.” Bucky’s smiling wide, looking over at you. When you nod, Bucky bolts into the house, shouting “We’ll get your bags later!” behind him.

Steve is a little apprehensive to go inside. Lord only knows what you two have gotten up to while he was away. But then you kiss his cheek, and the look of excitement in your eyes breaks down his walls and he makes his way towards the house as well.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked through the threshold and into the living room, but it wasn’t this. Most of the furniture has been pushed off to the side, and in its place is his easel, a few canvases, and the cart he keeps all of his paints and brushes in. With the curtains open, it’s perfectly positioned to give him the best lighting. Sitting opposite from the setup is one of their comfiest couches.

“What’s all this for?”

“You’ve been in a rut with painting, so we wanted to try to help with that.” You giggle at Bucky’s response, your face tucking back into Steve’s neck. And he can tell Bucky is trying to hide his mischievous smirk.

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Steve finally sets you down, though you keep your arms around him.

“Well…” You trail off, playing with the short hairs at the base of your husband’s neck. “Remember when we watched Titanic last week?”

Steve rolls his eyes and groans. He knows exactly what scene you’re talking about. And, while he does feel like you both might somehow manage to give him a heart attack with your schemes and pranks, it’s moments like this that makes him think that it’d be worth it.

He’s so loved.

He feels it in his bones, at his core he knows that you and Bucky want him to be happy.

“Come on, Stevie baby,” Bucky says, saddling up behind his husband. “Paint us like one of your French girls.”

Steve can’t help but snort, and he feels Bucky smile into his neck. He takes a long pause, pretending to think it over even though he’s dying to say yes. He scrunches up his face like he’s thinking really hard, and that’s when you poke his side.

“Well,” Steve chuckles. “I guess you guys better get undressed then.”

stucky taglist: @justsebstan

main taglist: @lilyalone | @goldylions | @yeehawbrothers | @buckyssweetheart | @buckysprettybaby | @sushiseoks | @heytheredelulu | @somnorvos | @ozwriterchick | @pxgeturner | @gentlelimerence | @buckysbarne

[eccentricallygothic]

| Teacher's Pet |

Pairing: Professor!Lloyd Hansen | Student!You. 

Warning(s): Puppy kink, hair pulling, m!dom, Daddy kink, mild meanie!Lloyd, allusions to punishment and sex, possible degradation, humiliation, size kink. 

It's exam season.

You hate exam season. 

Lloyd knows it. 

So he becomes just a tad bit lenient towards your tantrums and lash outs during. 

Because he knows you're just a harmless little puppy who is doing way more than they were meant for and the overworking of your baby brain causes you stress.

“Ugh!” You slam your books close and fold your arms before collapsing your head on them, feeling pushed to your extreme.

Lloyd, who had previously been working on his own bigger and less baby-like table beside yours approaches you with a soft smile on his face. 

You are convinced that you could spend the rest of eternity with him and his touch would still force your limbs and senses into all kinds of disarray upon contact. 

His fingers snake through the soft strands of your hair before the digits twist and cause for the locks to curl around them in a serpentine manner. Your heart leaps up and reaches for your throat when you feel the hold gently firm up so to hoist your form upwards.

“Ah, there is that face” you open your eyes to come face to face with the handsome man, the sharp tip of his nose nearly touching yours as that one silver bristle of his otherwise dark mustache becomes all the more visible from this angle. 

“D- Daddy…” You whimper, unsure of your own wishes.

You don't have the time and with him it is always a marathon. One that renders you physically unable to do much, if at all, later. 

But his mouth is so inviting, his breath is so warm and minty, his hands are so manly and stern, his chest is so wide and firm, and your body is so reactive. 

“Who's my good puppy?” You jutt out your tongue on instinct, all sense of dignity escaping your rational faculties like it had never been there in the first place. 

“Ha-ha-ha-ha!” You let out the jagged sighs that you have perfected at this point, your smaller hands appearing next to your face almost instantly, fingers closing into half fists to mimic the paws that he adores and loves to clench into his bigger fists when pushes you deeper and deeper into the surface of choice by the conjunction where your naked sexes meet in moments of depraved passion. 

“And what does my good puppy say?” His pride is evident by the grin that his smile is transforming into. 

“Wuf, wuf, wuf!” And then you continue to breathe the way he has taught you again, going on a limb to glide the blade of your tongue over his nose excitedly although he prefers you not act out of turn. 

His huge form shakes from the mirth. “Tell you what, finish this chapter within the next hour,” his greyish-blue gaze glides over the nearly crumpled pages on your desktop. “And Daddy will give his puppy a nice little reward” although your brain has already descended past the point of intellectual activity, you are yet to realize it. 

The professor smirks as he lets you bolt down to the papers which you overenthusiastically flip and browse while beaming brightly, ignorant of the inevitable.

“But remember, puppy” Lloyd speaks over his shoulder as he turns his broad back to you so he can attend to the coffee machine. “Bad puppies get punished just the same as good puppies get rewards.” 

For he knows you will not be able to finish the chapter now that your mind is no better than a puddle of mush.

Daddy is looking forward to it.

[theres-a-body-here]

First day of work

Fluff

As you fasten the last buckle on your minotaur husband's armor, you can't help but marvel at his broad stature. His horns gleam in the sunlight filtering through the stable windows, and those fluffy ears flick anxiously.

A rare sight—a minotaur in the King's Guard. With pride swelling in his chest, your spouse catches you staring and gives you a heart-melting smile.

"How do I look?" he rumbles affectionately.

It takes all your willpower not to tackle him right then and there.

Giggling like a lovestruck fool, you tug your husband down by his face fur until he lowers his head to meet your gaze.

"Just look at you," you whisper, mesmerized by the sheer size difference between you two.

Reaching up, you gently scratch behind one of his twitching ears. "My handsome, giant hubby."

You lean in, your lips trail warm paths along his cheek, finally reaching their destination—that blunt snout.

The kiss lingers longer than expected, and soon spirals into several more, peppered across his face. You revel in the feeling of bristly fur tickling your face.

Breaking apart breathlessly, you watch as a faint shade of pink colors your lover's muzzle.

Stuttering apologies fall from his lips, "Sorry, love. Late… gotta go… duty… nnghh," he groans as you distract him once more with another smooch, leaving him stumbling over his words.

"One… more…" you murmur against his muzzle before capturing his lips again. This time, his moan vibrates through you both. "Late… mmph… love…" he tries to argue weakly, yet fails miserably as his hands find their way into your hair, holding you close.

Grinding your hips shamelessly against him, you can feel his resolve faltering, his grip loosening. In vain, he whispers your name, voice thick with lust. Every whimper and sigh spurs you on further, making your movements increasingly bolder.

"Oh gods…" he gasps, abandoning all attempts to escape your clutches.

A yelp escapes you as you're suddenly hoisted off the ground. "Oh!"

Your husband practically drops you onto your feet as he turns to place you besides him. You watch as he tries to compose himself, visibly flustered.

Those large brown eyes avoid meeting yours as he clears his throat awkwardly. "Uh… s-see you later… darling." Before you can respond, he bolts towards the front door.

In a blink, he's gone, leaving nothing but a gust of wind behind. A grin splits your cheeks open, bright enough to rival the sun itself.

Totally worth it.

[im-ovulating]

hi, you may have seen my username recently in your notifications, i have gotten reobsessed with the arcana and i love your work.

may i request; the main six with a gn!partner who forgets/puts off taking care of themselves (eating, hygiene, etc.) unless theyre practically dragged off to do it? thank you!!

(A/n: I have and I appreciate all the support!❤)

Word Count: 1,944

Summary: If you won't take care of yourself, your partner will

Warnings: Various forms of self-neglect, Mention of injury/blood in Portia's, Reader's hair is long enough to put into a bun in Julian's

Age Rating: None

The Main 6 x Self Negligent! Reader

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

Lucio:

"Who's a good boy?~"

Melchior flops over for belly rubs as you continue to coo at him, his female counter part having gone to lay down in the shade a bit ago.

"You are, you're such a good, handsome boy, aren't cha? Yes, you are! Yes, you are~"

You're in the garden playing with Mercedes and Melchior as you had been most of the day. Opting to enjoy your rare day of relaxation.

After a few more scratches to his kick spot, Melchior abruptly sits up before bolting behind you. Turning, you're met with the one and only, Count Lucio. You knew he'd show up eventually. He always does. Whether it's to bother you, escape the courtiers, or to genuinely spend time with you, the count always has a bit of time with you each day.

"Y/n." Never learned to properly greet, huh?

He strides over to the tree sheltering Mercedes from the blistering sun, plopping down uncountly to lean against it as well.

"Hey, Luci," You're lucky you're his partner or you'd never get away with calling him as such. "What's it today? Come to pester me about distracting the dogs? Or has Valerius been getting on your case again?"

He places a hand dramatically against his chest as he feigns innocence.

"What? I can't just visit you out of the kindness of my heart? I'm wounded, truly, I am."

"Har har. It was Volta, then?-"

"OH! I just can't stand it! How does she put so much away?? And the chewing noises-" He cuts himself off with a shiver. "Ughack."

There it is.

You can't help but laugh. "She really can out eat the best of them, huh?"

"Speaking of- Have you eaten today, darling?"

Uh oh.

"Yeah, totally!" You lie.

"That's good. The chef really knows his way around a duck," Lucio's hand fall to scratch between Merchior's ear as he rests his head in his lap.

You nod in agreement. "He really does," you hum.

"You know what's funny?"

"What?"

He spares a glance your way before returning his attention to the dogs.

"Lunch was veal, not duck..."

There's a silence before you rush to explain yourself.

"To be fair, I-"

"Uh uh, no excuses." Lucio stands, brushing the dirt off his trousers before offering you a hand up. "Let's go get some food in you, sweet."

There's no arguing with him, so you let out a sigh and let him hoist you up.

"Let's go, then..."

-

Portia:

"Hey, Y/n? Have you seen- Oh my god!"

Portia drops the basket she's carrying as she catches sight of your arm.

She rushes to you as you stand frozen in shock. Her outburst and sprint towards you happening a bit fast to process.

You're snapped out of it when she grabs your arm, gently guiding you to a wicker chair.

"What happened?" Her fingers lightly graze over the cut on your arm.

"I, uh, had a slip up with one of the garden tools."

She looks up at you as she asks, "When did it happen? Some of the blood's dry..."

"I don't know..." You look at you lap, "Maybe 1 or 2 hours ago?"

Her grip tightens. "Why haven't you bandaged it up?? I swear, you remind me too much of Ilya sometimes."

"I had a lot to do, so I figured it could wait." The branches above cast Portia's face in a scary light as she glares at you.

"You put off fixing your sliced open arm because you had work to do!?" Well, when she puts it like that...

"I'm sorry," you whisper, gaze still on your lap.

Her look softens. "Sweetie... I'm sorry for yelling at you. I just-"

She lets out a breath, "I know you forget to take care of yourself and I worry that one day, you'll get seriously ill or hurt and I won't be there to-" She cuts herself off and you don't say anything.

"C'mon," Portia pulls you up with her. "Let's get you patch up, hmm?"

As if she can sense your oncoming argument, she says, "You can finish your work after."

-

Julian:

You wince as your hair is tugged once more.

"Sorry! Sorry, love. I can't seem to get this hair tie out; it's got some hair tangled around it..." Julian says as he tries to pry the band out.

"It's fine. You don't have to do this you know. I should have stayed on top of it and not just thrown it into a bun."

"I know I don't HAVE to but I WANT to. I like taking care of you, which helps since someone-" he reaches around to bop your nose, "-forgets to do it themself."

"Got it!" With one final tug, the hair tie comes free of your tangled strands. "Do you still have the brush?"

You pass it back to him and make yourself comfortable against his legs. You already know it's going to take a while to get all the knots out.

Julain takes the brush in one hand and the best version of a section that he could separate and gets to work. A calm silence settles over the both of you as he works. He starts from the bottom, lightly dragging the brush through the tangles, his movements rhythmic as he moves the brush up bit by bit.

Once the section is done, he runs the brush from root to tip to ensure it's done.

Section through section, Julian combs through your hair, successfully detangling the week's worth of knots. By the time he's finished, you're practically asleep against him.

Brushing through your whole head once more, he finally speaks.

"We're finished, dear," He gently sits you up, laughing when you groan in protest.

-

Nadia:

"What do you mean they haven't eaten in two days!?"

Oh no. Here it comes.

You know she's not going to accept your reasoning, but you really wanted to get this done. So what if you were a bit hungry, you were on a roll and would lose your creativity if you stopped now. You're almost done anyway.

The door to your room opens and Nadia comes storming in.

"Mind explaining to me why the kitchen staff just told me you haven't even touched the food they've been bringing you the last two days?" She stands with her hands on her hips as she waits for your response.

"Um..." You know she knows. she just wants you to say it out loud.

Yielding, you finally say it. "I was working on something... It's for your birthday so I wanted to get it done."

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "As much as that is incredibly endearing, you shouldn't put yourself in dangerous situations for a gift."

You balk. "It's not a dangerous situation though. If I keep working, I'll have it done by tonight!"

"That would make it three days with no food, and I'm guessing no water if we stay on theme." You don't like how she read you so well...

Before you can't respond, Nadia continues. "What if it didn't get done today, or tomorrow, or the next day? How far would you push yourself to get this done? I know how passionate you get about things and that's why I'm so stern about it. You're willing to go 36 hours without food or water for a present; what if it was something bigger? You could, in all honestly, die because of your passion."

She's right. You hate that she's right, but she is nonetheless.

"That's not happening on my watch, petal. Let's get some food in you and then you can go back to work."

Yes! You thought she was going to ban you for the rest of the day.

"Only until dinner, then you're done for the day."

Damn it.

-

Asra:

"I'm going to start a bath, would you like to join me, Y/n?" Asra calls from the other side of the door.

You had been working on perfecting a spell for the last few days. You locked yourself in your old room-turned-study just in case something went wrong; only opening the door to grab the tray of food the magician would set out for you or to use the bathroom.

Unintentionally, you'd put off cleaning yourself, which is probably why Asra was asking.

A bath honestly sounded like pure heaven, but you were so close to getting the spell right.

Another knock sounds out and you sigh. You really should take them up on their offer, but what if you forget how you did it last time?

'That's why you've been logging every attempt,' you remind yourself.

'But what if-' 'No, you need to bathe.' You quickly scan your notes to make sure everything's in order.

Once you've concluded that every thing is as it should be, you call out a 'Coming' to your partner. You know he's still outside the door so you quickly put your things back in place and head to the door.

.

"Fucking hell..." You sigh as you sink into the hot water, leaning back to rest against Asra. The heat doing wonders for your sore back.

"Spending days hunched over a desk doesn't do much good for you, huh?" They tease you.

You simply hum in response as he grabs your favorite soap, lathering it up before massaging it into your tense shoulders.

"Relax, I've got you..." They rub over a particular spot that causes you to go lax. "Would you like me to help with your spell? I think I have some ingredients that might make it easier for it to do what you need."

"At this point, that's all I want," you chuckle.

"Thank you." you turn your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

"Anything for you, love."

-

Muriel:

"Y/n?" Muriel asks as he enters your shared room.

"Yeah?" You respond.

Have you ate or drank anything today? I don't think I've you leave the room today..."

"I haven't, but I'm plan to in a bit, I just want to finish this book first."

"Oh, okay." He turns to leave but pauses, turning back to you. "How much is left?"

"Uh..." you flip to the last chapter to do the math.

"Like, 16? Maybe 18. Why?"

Muriel stares at you for a moment before striding towards you. Once by your side, he gently grabs your book, marking your page and setting it to the side.

"Hey- What are you doing?"

He takes your hands as he answers, hauling you to your feet. "It's getting late, you need to get something into your system."

You're slightly taken aback, you have to admit. Muriel is rarely assertive; always mumbling or trailing off his sentences and just generally lacking confidence in himself. So for him to take the initiative to pull you from your reading with out so much as a stutter is a bit shocking.

"I know, but I already said that I'll do it once I finish my book." You lightly protest as you follow him through the hut.

"...You're not- You're not going to be able to finish it today, though..." Just like that any assertiveness is gone.

It makes you break, allowing him to sit you down and place a bowl of soup and a roll in front of you.

"Eat with me?" you request, taking a bite of the roll.

God, this man can cook. You don't know where he learned it, but he makes some of the best bread you've ever had -it practically melts in your mouth.

He nods, moving to grab his own food, sitting down across from you as you both talk about anything that comes to mind.

[paleprincessturtle]

dad!Harvey playing in the snow with his baby girl 🥺🥺🥺🥺 Im getting so soft for dad!harvey im sorry in advance bc im gonna tell you all of my ideas😋 - @lafantasiaworld

Thank you @lafantasiaworld for the request and please do keep 'em coming! I hope you enjoy this one!

Yes yes yes, I got carried away (again) writing this. But who could resist dad!Harvey?!?!?!

GOLDEN GLOW

"Sunny, still not feeling well?" Harvey caressed the cheek of his sleeping wife. Harvey decided to bring his family over to Aspen for a vacation after the new year. His wife opened her eyes, and Harvey sat down beside her on the bed. "I don't feel too good, but I feel a little better," his wife answered, tiresome lingered in her voice. "I'm sorry, I got sick on our vacation," she continued as Harvey shook his head. "Nothing is more important than for you to get better." Harvey leaned down and kissed the tip of his wife's nose. She giggled, and relief washed over him. At least she could giggle now. A familiar pitter-patter approached the room, about to disturb the silence Harvey and his wife were enjoying. "Daddy!!!" the high-pitched voice announced her arrival before anyone could see the source of the voice. Both Harvey and his wife laughed. Guilt heaved in her heart. They were supposed to go outside and play in the snow. "Daddy, you told me not to bother mommy; why are you bothering her?" the little girl said as she approached the large bed both her parents shared. She wiggled herself around and tried to get onto the bed. The little girl stood on the bed, holding Harvey's face in her tiny arms. "Daddy, answer," she demanded, all serious. His wife laughed at the antics her firstborn always threw. "Daddy was just checking up on me, my sweet girl." The little girl looked at his mom, then looked back at his father. "Do you really?" she questioned her father still. "Yes, my little dove." Harvey grinned as he answered. His daughter was very persistent, much like her father. "Come on!" Harvey hoisted his little girl as he stood up. "Let's let mommy rest so we can go out and play in the snow." His little girl squealed and wriggled out of Harvey's arms. "We really will?" Harvey's heart warmed at the sight of his daughter's eyes, gleaming with joy. "Go on and bundle up. Do you need help?" Harvey offered, as his daughter had already taken off running from the bedroom and heard a distant no.

"Daddy! Why are you taking so long?" Harvey laughed heartily as he heard the impatience of his daughter. Clarice Sophia Specter. A daughter who looked like an exact copy of her father. She acted exactly like her father, but with the eyes of her mother. She made a spectacle even before she was born. Arrived a week early when her mother was in the courtroom, defending a falsely accused man. The moment Harvey looked into the eyes of his newborn daughter, he swore that she would be the death of him. Harvey walked over to his daughter, who was tapping her tiny boots impatiently over the hardwood floor. "You are taking like forever and more, daddy," she pouted, reaching her hand up for Harvey to hold. Harvey took her tiny hand in his. "The shoelaces on my boots were tangled up, Soph." Harvey offered her an explanation as he looked down at his daughter. Sophia then proceeded to look at her father's boots and examine the boots for any further errors regarding the shoelaces. "Be careful, daddy. Don't get hurt," her little eyes wandered over Harvey's. Harvey kneeled over her daughter. "I won't. Don't worry about me, little dove. Thank you for checking up on me." Harvey kissed her daughter on her plump cheek, and she giggled. "You're welcome, but come on, daddy! Let's go play; come on, come on!"

"Sophia! Slow down!" Harvey called as she ran off and bolted out as soon as he opened the cabin's door. Harvey tried to catch up with his daughter. Harvey finally saw his daughter in the clearing of the forest near the cabin they rented. The snowflakes gently danced from the sky, creating a magical scene. Sophia twirled around, arms outstretched, trying to catch the delicate flakes on her tongue. Harvey's heart warmed at the sight of his daughter, so young and innocent. Upon realizing that her father was watching her, she called him, "Daddy, look!" Sophia twirled again, and she ran to Harvey, tongue out. She stood in front of Harvey, pointing at her tongue. Harvey laughed. "The snowflakes have already melted, sweetheart." Sophia pouted, "But didn't you see?" She asked, all excited. "Yes, Soph. I saw all the snowflakes you caught." She giggled upon hearing her father's answer.

Sophia, adorned in her colorful snowsuit, eagerly tugged on her father's hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Daddy daddy, let's make snow angels, and we take pictures and we show mommy!" Harvey couldn't resist his daughter's infectious enthusiasm. He chuckled warmly and agreed. "There, Soph, you go first while I take a video of you to send to mommy." Harvey pointed to a rather flat layer of snow. Sophia pouted as she looked up at Harvey. "Daddy, we do it together." Harvey was touched by her daughter's answer. "Come on then, I'll race you there!" Harvey ran off, earning a protest from the little Miss Specter. Harvey ran slower, letting her daughter win. "Me win, me win!" Sophia danced as Harvey pretended to be out of breath. "Wow, I should tell mommy that Sophia is now a big girl!" Harvey exclaimed as he tackled his daughter to the snow, making sure it wasn't a hard fall. Sophia giggled joyously as Harvey joined her in a fit of laughter. The two of them laid down on the snow as their laughter died down. "Daddy, why is mommy sick?" Harvey looked at his daughter as the pair of identical eyes of his wife stared back at him. "Remember we told you that you were going to be a big sister?" Sophia nodded. "Mommy got sick because carrying a baby is a hard job, Soph." Harvey could see his daughter's eyebrows knit together. "Mommy got sick because of the baby?" Harvey shook his head. "No, mommy was just tired because she has been a superhero for us. Carrying your baby brother, taking care of me and you, and she also has to work." Sophia nodded, satisfied by her father's answer. "I love you, my little dove," Harvey said as he kissed the top of his daughter's head. "No, daddy, I love you more than you love me." Harvey was about to argue when his daughter cut him off. "Now, watch, daddy. This is how you make snow angels." Sophia moved her hands and legs, showing her father how to make snow angels, as if her father were clueless on how to do so. Harvey smiled as he watched her daughter, heart full of love. 

As they strolled through the snow-covered streets, Harvey couldn't help but marvel at his daughter's unbridled happiness. Sophia, however, had a mischievous glint in her eye. She scooped up a handful of snow and playfully tossed it at her father, who pretended to be surprised.

"Daddy, let's build a snowman!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with creativity.

The duo set to work, packing and shaping the snow into a round base. With each pat and roll, Sophia and her father bonded over shared laughter and the simple joy of creating something together. Soon, their snowman stood proudly, adorned with a carrot nose, button eyes, and a colorful scarf Harvey had prepared.

As the day unfolded, Sophia and Harvey engaged in a spirited snowball fight. Laughter echoed through the air as they dodged and giggled, leaving behind a trail of footprints in the freshly fallen snow. Harvey couldn't help but feel a deep sense of contentment, cherishing the special moments spent with his daughter.

The sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the snowy landscape. Sophia and her father, rosy-cheeked and filled with happiness, headed back to the cabin. They kicked off their snowy boots, shedding layers of winter gear.

After Harvey cooked both his wife and daughter dinner and sent his wife back to bed, he walked out of the bedroom with Sophia in tow. "Will mommy be okay?" Worry was etched in his daughter's voice. "Don't worry, mommy is getting better," Harvey reassured Sophia, and she nodded. Hand in hand, they headed back downstairs. Harvey's heart heaved. He never had this much time with his daughter, and now the day is about to end. The next time he knew, Sophia would be 17, going against every single thing Harvey said.

Wrapped in blankets, Sophia nestled against her father, their hearts warmed not only by the crackling fire but also by the precious memories created in the magical snowfluff of that winter day. "I love you so much, Soph," Harvey whispered against Sophia's soft hair. "I know, daddy. I love you much more too," Sophia replied, also whispering.

And so, in the quiet embrace of each other, the father-daughter duo drifted into a dreamland, where snowflakes continued to dance and their laughter echoed in the winter night, creating a timeless tale of love and joy.

MASTERLIST

[sagethegaywitch]

Dimensions: Savanaclaw

Male reader

TW: twisted ankle, knocked unconscious, yandere behavior, memory erasing

Genre: yandere

Here's the link for my other Dimensions: Twisted Wonderland Overblots works.

The story will take place in the Pride Lands of Tanzania, the one from the original “The Lion King” that the Savanaclaw dorm is based on.  As the overblot eats away at the characters, they start to resemble and act more like the Disney characters they are based on.  The reader will be called Y/N and Simba, and they will be a lion hybrid.

f/f = favorite food

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

An uncomfortable heat prickles on your skin as a bright light burns your eyelids.  You groan, but just turn over on your side, trying to shade yourself from the unforgiving sunlight.

You’re only startled awake when a hand shakes your shoulder and a voice says, “Get up.”

You open your eyes and bolt upright as you come face-to-face with an unfamiliar man.  He has sunkissed skin and dark long hair with braided portions, but the most jarring fact is that he has lion ears on the top of his head.  He’s wearing mostly black clothing with a fur neckline and a loose gray skirt with an orange scarf wrapped around his waist (Leona will be wearing his overblot outfit), but you’re also focused on the tail that swishes behind him in irritation and the orange glow of his left eye.

“Gosh, I thought you went ahead and got yourself killed,” he mutters with disdain and disinterest in his voice, but it doesn’t quite match the concern that flashed in his eyes for a second.

You look around to see that you’re at the bottom of a dusty gorge, but you can’t remember how you got there.  You look up at the other male and he just looks at you expectantly, like he wants an explanation.

“I’m sorry, I-I don’t remember what happened,” you tell him as you continue to look around for anything familiar.

You look down at yourself, and you’re dressed in puffy brown pants with geometric orange details and a dark yellow smock that has red designs along the edges.  You feel uncomfortable in them, like they’re not your usual wear, but you brush it off when the other male grabs your chin and makes you look into his eyes.  He turns your head to each side before ruffling through your hair a bit, probably looking for a head injury of some kind.

“There's no lump or blood, but you don’t remember what happened?” he asks.

You shake your head and he nods before asking if you remember who he is.  You scrounge your memory for anything involving the familiar male, but a pounding headache stops you from digging further.  You shake your head and he lets out a low hum before nodding to himself and tells you his name is Leona.

“Well, Simba, we better get you back home,” he says before kneeling on the floor.  “Get on my back, cub.”

You hesitantly approach him and climb onto his back, and he hoists you up before starting the trek up the gorge.  He puts in little effort as he scales the edge, but you’re too concerned about why he called you that Simba.  Somehow you know it’s not your name, but you just can't seem to recall what you used to be called.  When he reaches the top of the gorge, you expect to be let down, but he continues to walk toward a large rock structure in the distance.  As you near the rocks, you can see other animal hybrids, like lions and hyenas, wandering around, but they all pause and make way for Leona as he gets closer.  You almost jump off Leona’s back when a loud voice exclaims loudly by your ear and you quickly turn your head to see a shorter male with hyena characteristics.  You observe him as he laughs at your reaction, and you notice the brown shirt he wears, the black leather jacket, the dark pants, and a seemingly signature yellow scarf around his neck.

“Where were you, Simba?” the newcomer asks as he ruffles your hair.  “Even Leona was worried.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Ruggie,” Leona growls, walking a bit faster to get away from the hyena.

Ruggie laughs again, settling in a steady jog to keep up with Leona’s longer legs.  Ruggie tries to make conversation with you, talking about a blue bird that he tried to hunt earlier to the different animals he saw at the water fountains today.  Leona only starts to slow down a bit when he approaches a very lavish looking white clay mansion.  There are hyena guards stationed at the entrance, but they take a quick glance at Leona and Ruggie before letting them inside.  You're carried through the carpeted hallways of the building, and you get a better view of the town you're in as you pass the large glassless windows that line the exterior walls.  You're brought to a moderately sized room, and Leona unceremoniously dumps you on the soft bed in the center of the room.  The blankets are soft but somehow scratchy at the same time, and you almost go flying as Leona flops down next to you.  He lays on his side and pulls your back to his chest before you feel something wet on your head.

"Ah!  What are you doing?" you exclaim as you thrash in his hold and try to see what he's doing.

"Hold still, you're filthy," he mutters as he holds onto you tighter and continues grooming you.

You only then realize that he's licking you like a lion would a new born cub, but it's also when you realize he's not licking your head.  You jolt upright, startling Leona and Ruggie, who quietly made himself comfortable in the corner of the room, as you grasp at your head.  You feel fluffy ears in your hands and you yelp as they twitch when you poke them.  You quickly grab at your tailbone, surprised to find a wagging tail that lazily swishes side-to-side.

"What's wrong with you?" Ruggie asks, his tone judgemental and teasing.

You don't really know what's wrong.  These people seem to know you, but you can't remember them and you can't recall ever having lion parts attached to your body.

"I-I don't know.  I don't remember anything," you stutter out truthfully.

"Did you hit your head?" Ruggie asks as he approaches the bed and grabs your head to check your scalp.

"I already checked, he's fine," Leona yawns before grabbing you back from Ruggie.  "Let's take a nap, Simba.  You don't need to worry about anything, you're with your pride, we'll take care of you."

His voice somehow calms your nerves as he cuddles behind you, holding onto you like a body pillow.  You manage to slow your breathing and all the excitement from earlier causes you to feel sleepy as you close your eyes and quickly fall asleep.

~

You wake up to someone shaking you awake, and as you sleepily blink your eyes open, you smell some delicious food.  You fully open your eyes to see Ruggie smiling down at you as he pulls his hand away from your shoulder.

"Good evening!  I brought some food," Ruggie exclaims before gesturing to a trolley filled with plates covered with meat.

You're so distracted by the smell that you didn't notice a wolf hybrid wearing something similar to Ruggie standing beside the trolley until he moves and passes you a plate.  You quietly thank him before looking down at the roasted pork neatly placed and decorated on the plate.

"Don't be afraid of him," Ruggie tells you, sensing your discomfort.  "Jack may look scary, but he's harmless."

You nod and offer the much taller male a small smile before Leona's voice behind you causes you to turn your head.

"Oh, Jack, you're back," he comments offhandly, holding out his hand for his plate.  "I thought you were talking more time off to spend at home."

"I did, but that was two weeks ago, my vacation ended already," Jack says bluntly as he hands Leona a plate before giving one to Ruggie and taking one for himself.

"Right.  Well, Jack this is Simba, Simba this is Jack, my bodyguard," Leona gestures as he digs into his meal.

Jack gives you an acknowledging nod before eating his dinner.  You're about to use the knife to cut into the pork, but you're quickly stopped by Ruggie who says that children should not play with sharp objects.

"But I'm not a child," you object, but you're quickly shushed by Leona who also comments you're still too young to properly take care of yourself.

You find yourself watching Ruggie cut your food into bite sized chunks and he helps feed you by holding the fork up to your mouth.  You grumpily take the food, not wanting to starve, but you're still not happy about the situation.  After you've cleared your dinner, Leona asks Jack to take you out to get some fresh air.  Unlike Leona, Jack lets you walk by yourself as he guides you out of the room and down a hallway to an open balcony.  The wind breezes past your face as you soak in the night air.  The sun was scorching hot earlier, so the dark sky feels cool against your skin.  You gaze up at the clearly visible stars, something you know you were unable to do in your past, and enjoy trying to find or make constellations.

"The stars tell the tales of those who have passed one," Jack suddenly speaks, his harsh sounding voice startling you.

He looks at you for approval to continue as he points out a constellation that resembles fire, "That's Falena, Leona's older brother who was king before Leona was.  He passed recently in a wildebeest stampede.  The fire represents his red hair and his bold personality."

You gaze up at the formation again, watching as the stars twinkle and wink back at you.  Jack points out a few more prominent constellations and gives you a brief history lesson before you shiver in the cold air, the smock doing nothing to keep you warm.  Jack notices your shiver form and slowly edges towards you before wrapping you in his arms.  He seemed unaffected by the cold probably because he lives here, but you two watch the stars some more, even catching a few shooting stars before your yawn interrupts the peace.

"Ready to go back to Leona?" he asks and you rub your eyes and nod your head.

You follow him as he guides you back to the room you were resting in earlier to find it empty.  Jack reassures you Leona is probably out doing some kingly business and will be back soon.  He offers you a good night before leaving you alone in the dimly lit room.  You stumble over to the bed and flop onto it, almost falling asleep instantly.

~

In the morning, a random sunbeam from the window shines in your eyes, forcing you to wake up and try to reposition yourself, cuddling closer into your warm blankets.  A chuckle causes you to lazily open your eyes and gaze up at the owner of the sound, and you quickly push Leona away, coming to the realization that he was the blanket you thought you were using to warm yourself.

“Sleep well?” Leona smirks, his tail swishing with amusement behind him.

You nod but look away in defiance as he offers you a rare smile, “Let’s go find Ruggie so we can get some lunch.”

“Lunch?” you ask, wondering why breakfast didn’t come before lunch.

“You slept through the morning.  It’s like 12:45pm,” Leona says.  “But it’s fine, we can do whatever we want.”

You seem hesitant as you get out of bed, worried that your oversleeping might have caused him to miss out on some important king stuff.  You follow Leona through the door and you see Jack standing guard and holding the door open for you.  You give him a thankful nod as he closes the door and trails behind you as Leona guides you down the hallway, somehow still yawning and looking tired.  At the entrance of the mansion, Ruggie is sitting on the stairs, seemingly waiting for something.

“What are you doing here?  I thought you had business this afternoon,” Leona comments, causing Ruggie to spin around and stand up.

“I took care of it this morning,” Ruggie shrugs as he leaps over to you.  “Good afternoon, Simba, I bet you’re hungry.”

You want to shake your head, not wanting to be a burden, but your growling stomach betrays you, causing Ruggie’s smile to grow.

“Don’t worry, I got you covered.  I’ll take you to the Farmer’s Market in town and I’ll buy you something to eat,” Ruggie offers, grabbing onto your hand and dragging you down the stairs.

“Just bring him home safely,” Leona tells Ruggie before pausing to think.  “In fact, Jack, you go with them.”

“Will you be alright by yourself?” Jack asks Leona, but he only receives a shrug as Leona walks back into the building, another servant telling him he has a meeting of some sort.

Jack jogs to catch up with you and Ruggie, and settles into a steady pace a few steps behind you two.  Ruggie rambles about some cool stalls he saw earlier that he wants to take you to after you’ve eaten as you walk past a few other hybrids wandering around town.  Finally arriving at the Farmer’s Market, you can see stalls lined up in a large plaza, colorful signs and banners advertising their products, and people yelling and encouraging the customers to visit their stall for the best sales.  You’re overwhelmed by multiple smells, all of them making your stomach grumble and drool starts to form in the corner of your mouth.  Ruggie laughs at your face before letting you look around the market to see what catches your eye.  Eventually, you find a stall that sells f/f, and you linger in front of it as Ruggie and Jack come back with their own food.

“Want some?” Ruggie asks as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet.

“It’s okay, it’s too expensive.  I’d feel bad making you pay for it,” you let him know as you try to leave the stall and find a cheaper alternative.

“Who said it’s my money?” Ruggie snickers as he goes up to the booth and orders your food.

You look at Jack for answers and he sighs before responding, “It’s Leona’s wallet.  You shouldn’t feel too bad, Leona’s the king, he has plenty of money.”

You still feel a bit guilty and Ruggie skips back with your food and hands it over to you.  You all move towards a nearby wooden table to eat your food, and you quietly look around the market, soaking in the experience.  The noisy environment and the good food reminds you of something else, like a noisy cafeteria or school, but you just can’t seem to pinpoint it.  You all finish your food, and Jack walks off to buy some dessert, returning with some cookies that he lets you munch on as Ruggie shows you around the merchandise stalls.  From clothing, herbs, bags, jewelry, and more, Ruggie makes constant comments about how certain things would look great on you.  Finally, while you’re distracted with holding a gray shawl up to Jack, saying it would suit him, Ruggie sneaks behind your back with a gift in hand.

“You shouldn’t have,” you exclaim.

“Don’t fuss, it’s my treat.  Consider it a welcome back present,” Ruggie objects as he passes you a drawstring bag.

You take the bag and gingerly pull apart the strings to reveal a beaded necklace with a golden lion emblem of dangling from the center.

“Oh my gosh!  It’s gorgeous,” you tell him as Jack helps you put it on.

“I knew you’d look great in it,” Ruggie smiles.

As you admire the necklace for a bit longer in the setting sun, Jack makes a comment that you all should return home soon.  You skip along, in a much better mood and definitely more comfortable with your friends, and you can’t help but to be excited to rediscover this land.  Returning to the mansion, you let the others know that you’re still full from lunch so you won’t be joining them for dinner.  Ruggie nods and runs off to find Leona while Jack offers to walk you back to your room.  You two enjoy a comfortable silence as you walk, and he offers you a head pat and wishes you a good night as you enter the room and close the door behind you.  You feel safe knowing he’s standing watch outside, and you quickly zone out and fall asleep on the soft bed under the warm covers.

~

You're startled awake in the middle of the night by an odd scratching noise.  You sit up in the bed, noting that Leona has not returned, and you sort of miss the warm presence of Leona’s body.  You scan the room, seeing nothing out of place but suddenly, a chair gets pushed forward.  You let out a yelp as you notice glowing blue eyes staring at you from under the moving chair.

“Human, is that you?” the eyes ask.

“Wh-What are you?” you question, your voice barely above a whisper.

“It is you!” the eyes exclaim as they get out from under the chair and under a beam of moonlight.

You can see clearly now that the eyes actually belong to a weird gray cat thing that has fiery blue ears.  It’s not a human-animal hybrid, but it walks on two legs as it hops onto your bed and approaches you.

“What happened to you?  Did they do this to you?” Grim asks as he pokes at your stiff tail and alert lion ears.

“No, I’ve always been like this,” you respond, more confused as the cat continues to talk.  “Who are you?”

“Who am I?!  You’ve forgotten about the Great Grim!” the cat bursts out, but he quickly notices his volume and switches to an angry whisper.  “What is going on with you Y/N?”

Y/N.  The voice rings a bell in your head and you’re suddenly thinking clearer than ever.  Your name is not SImba, it’s Y/N.  You’re also not a lion hybrid, you’re a magicless human that goes to Night Raven College.  You fell into the Savanaclaw dorm when the mirrors shattered during a school-wide overblot event.

“Grim…I remember you,” you start slowly, taking time to process this new information.  “I’m Y/N, and we need to get out of here.”

“Exactly, glad we’re on the same page.  They’ve been tracking me down all day,” Grim shivers at the idea, but he’s happy he’s finally gotten you back.

“We can’t go out the door, Jack’s outside,” you murmur, rubbing your chin as you try to think of another way out.

“I came through the window.  This room is on the second floor, but you can walk across the first floor roof and jump down,” Grim informs you, gesturing to the open window.

You walk over and take a peak, seeing the roof right under your window sill.  You throw both legs over the edge, sitting on the window sill when an abrupt knock alerts the both of you to the door of your room.

“Simba, are you okay in there?  I hear yelling,” Jack’s voice asks as the doorknob starts to turn.

“Go!” Grim urges as he frantically pushes you over the edge and you let out a scream as you slide down.

You barely manage to grab onto the edge of the roof as you almost slide off.  There is an uncomfortable stretch in your arm as you support your and Grim’s weight.  As you let go to land safely on the nearby ground, you make eye contact with Ruggie who has paused in the conveniently placed first floor window right in front of you.

“Simba?” he says in disbelief his eyes wide as he watches you fall.

You land roughly on the floor, feeling a sudden pain in your ankle causing you to cry out.

“Get up, we have to run!” Grim declares he helps you stand up.

You can only take one step before collapsing, the pain in your ankle is too great.  Grim notices the issue and grabs a nearby stick, instructing you to use it as a crutch.  You know you have to leave, so you push through the pain, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes as you try to get as far away from the mansion as possible.  Unluckily for you, Ruggie was able to alert Jack of what was happening, and you’re suddenly tackled to the floor again.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” Jack growls in your ear, as he holds you and Grim down by the back of your neck.

Your face presses roughly into the dry and sandy ground as you hear Ruggie’s frantic voice and angry footsteps come closer.

“Thank the Sevens you’re okay,” Ruggie pants as he crouches down to your levels and inspects you for any major injuries.  “Though we’ll have to take care of that ankle, it’s swelling already.”

“On the other hand, I’m very disappointed in you,” Leona’s voice says as he crouches down next to Ruggie.  “We gave you all you could ever ask for, and this is how you repay us?”

“Just let us go, Leona, we need to fight off the overblot and report to Crowley,” you desperately plead, but Leona shakes his head and reaches for the stick you were using to walk.

“I don’t think so,” he tells you, menacingly hitting the stick into the palm of his hand.  “You’re meant to be Simba, my Simba.”

Those are the last things you hear before the stick comes crashing down on your head, rendering you unconscious.

~

A constant pounding on the back of your head awakens you from a deep slumber, and you groan as you toss and turn in the plush bed.  You open your eyes, momentarily blinded by the bright light that shines through the window.  You try to lift yourself out of bed, but the pain in your head has you crying out and falling back down.  Your noise of discomfort must have alerted the people waiting outside because the door opens and reveals three hybrids.

“How are you feeling?” the wolf hybrid asks, standing at the foot of your bed.

“My head hurts real bad, Jack,” you tell him truthfully, the name flowing off your tongue with ease.

“Well that’s what happens when you take a nasty tumble down a gorge,” the hyena scolds the lie flowing easily as he lifts up the blanket at your feet and shows you your bandaged ankle.  “Plus a pretty nasty twisted ankle.”

“But you’re back home now, you’re safe here,” the lion speaks, sitting down next to your head.  “Don’t worry, we will take good care of you from now on.”

Leona leans down and swipes the stray hairs out of your face before kissing your forehead, “We’ll protect you and keep you safe from all the dangers of the world.”

“Welcome to the pride, Simba.”

[sleepynoons]

DIE 4 YOU BY DEAN – kurapika kurta (hxh) x gn!reader, lovers to enemies!au + canon divergence!au, nsfw / 18+

genre – angst, horror word count – ~4,400 warnings – manga spoilers, graphic descriptions of gore/blood/human anatomy, murder, references to body dismemberment, violence, major character death, slight suggestive content, explicit language synopsis – kurapika's methodical, thorough, determined. there are very few things that can throw a wrench in his plans. for instance, he doesn't expect you to get in his way. at all. notes – i cannot stress enough how dark this fic is - like ao3 dead dove: do not eat level dark. please, please, please read at your own discretion. there's gore, graphic descriptions of said gore and the human body and blood. also, IN NO WAY SHOULD YOU REPLICATE THIS BEHAVIOR IN REAL LIFE. DO NOT MURDER PEOPLE FOR YOUR HOBBIES. the reader is a psychopath and does fucking horrifying things like killing people for the sake of their own interest. i do not romanticize this behavior, nor do i condone it in real life in any shape, way, or form.

Kurapika’s never been happier to see Yorknew City. He should be more alert, with all the people around him, hidden alleyways and towering buildings perfect hiding spots to attack him from afar, but really, he can care less. He defeated Prince Tserriednich, and he’s made it out alive from the Black Whale – he can finally rest, with his brethren’s eyes safely at his side.

He walks up to an apartment complex, a little shoddier and older than the rest. Entering a pin code, the entrance door slides open, revealing a shaky elevator, an antique otis with rusted hinges and grimy metal plating, orange instead of black from a lack of maintenance. He steps inside and presses the topmost button marked with an “R,” and the door closes with an ear-grating screech.

Despite its battered appearance, the elevator flies up, cables pulling and spinning with sturdy force and propelling him upwards to the rooftop. And surprisingly, there’s even a bell that chimes when the elevator comes to a staggering halt. The screech returns, followed by a clang as the elevator shudders in its spot, before the doors split apart. Kurapika scrunches his eyes as he’s hit with a gust of wind. From this height, he can barely see the ground, the crowns of people’s heads no different from dots of paint. He walks to the edge of the box, presses another button that is colored blue, and he hears metal grating against stone. He peers out to see an iron ladder attached to the wall on his left unfolding.

With his right hand gripping onto the door pocket, Kurapika kicks a leg out, propelling and swinging himself out of the elevator so that he can easily catch a rung of the ladder with his left. He steadies his feet on a lower rung and hoists himself upwards. It’s a short climb, and he leaps onto the roof of the complex when he’s close enough. There’s nothing here, except for a tall rectangular unit.

Just like the ladder, the unit is composed of metal walls to withstand the loud currents of wind. Shielding his face with an arm, he paces, resisting the force of being swept away, towards a side of the iron box where there’s a bolted door.

When he steps inside the unit, he sees you sitting on the ground before an easel. Your wrists and forearms are smeared with paint, colors a little stale underneath the glow of the cheap light fixtures around the room. Your hands are wrapped around a thick and wide brush, but you’re not using it, simply staring at the large square canvas sat in front of you. You’re intensely scrutinizing your work, eyes tracing the streaks of azure and black striped over white. It seems you haven’t noticed him, so he simply leans back against the door and patiently waits.

Kurapika probably stands there for at least an hour. It’s hard to tell time in a confined box with no windows, and he doesn’t want to check his smartphone. But it’s a restful, satisfying hour as he watches you diligently work, making a few broad strokes before sitting back down, repeating this process over and over and over again. It isn’t until you run out of paint and you pick up a large tube of azure that he makes his presence known.

You’re using oil paint, there are no windows, and you’re not wearing a mask of any sorts.

He doesn’t want to scare you, though, so he clears his throat first before saying loudly enough, “You shouldn’t use that in here.”

You still startle, shoulders jumping slightly at the sound of his voice. Your head quickly swivels around, and he sighs with a soft smile as you yelp in surprise. Before he knows it, you’ve dropped both the tube of paint and the brush onto the floor and are racing over, arms stretched out above your head.

He catches you with ease as you jump towards him, his hands resting at your waist and under your thigh like always.

“You’re back!” you shout. Kurapika doesn’t respond, simply burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply.

He can smell turpentine, wood, and your shampoo. You wrap him in a tight embrace, leaning your cheek onto the side of his head, and the two of you stay like that, unchanging and unmoving for several more minutes.

But of course, Kurapika has to let you go so that you can clean yourself up.

“You can’t use oil paint in here,” he repeats as he brings you back down to the ground.

You gasp and begin to profusely apologize. “Oh, gosh, you’re so right! Sorry, Kurapika, I totally forgot! I just had this idea last night, and something in me just knew I had to use these new paints I got, and you know, since  I –“

You continue to ramble as he gently guides you to the bathroom. He listens as he helps you rinse your hands, towels them off, leads you back to the living space, and sits down beside you in front of the easel. He enjoys the sound of your voice and your stories even more.

He’ll never say it out loud – not that there’s a need to because you both know –, but he loves you and your brilliant mind. The creative and childish wonder in his body has ceased long ago, but it’s not like he was that kind of person in the first place. But you (your ability to source inspiration from lingering glimpses of your dreams that are somehow at times as grotesque and tortured as his, the coffee shop you frequent every day, even the bare walls of this unit; the way you articulate your thoughts so cogently and transfer them through the languid motions of your palms and fingers as you guide the handle of a brush; the deep-set look in your eyes, because he knows you never stop thinking and imagining and dreaming) are so admirably different.

He feels so light-headed, lulled into delirium by fatigue, the soothing pitches of your voice, the gentle swipes of your fingertips against his forehead when you brush his hair out of the way, and this high sticks with him through the rest of the day. He doesn’t know how he does it, but it’s as if he’s stuck in a trance. The heat of the stove as the two of you cook dinner does nothing to stimulate him awake. If anything, he feels himself sinking deeper into this state as the two of you shower together, condensation and body wash sticking your bodies together, before tumbling into bed, your lips and slick smooth and tacky against his skin. You make his head spin in the most pleasurable and comforting of ways, and Kurapika thinks this is as happy as he can get in this life.

–

Kurapika stirs from the incessant buzzing of a phone. He squints at the light coming from the dining table and realizes that it’s a call from his. With a grunt, he pulls himself out of your hold, upset at the loss of your warmth, and pads over.

HIs annoyance dissipates, though, as soon as he recognizes the caller.

He hasn’t told you anything – you know nothing about his upbringing or his job or his ability to use nen or what he intends to do in the future –, so he has no choice but to slip outside, even if he knows you never wake without incessant prodding. But now that he’s less tired, he can think more clearly, and even in your presence, he can never be too careful.

“Melody, what’s going on?”

Kurapika thinks he’s lucky that the night is relatively still. He doesn’t have to scream just to have his voice heard.

“Kurapika.” Melody’s voice crackles through. “Are you in a good spot to talk?”

“Yes. Did something happen?”

“I know you’re exhausted, but I thought you would want to know as soon as possible.” Melody pauses, allowing Kurapika to brace himself, before resuming, “We looked through all of the prince’s belongings. We’re missing a set of the eyes.”

Kurapika thinks he’s been punched in the gut – no, actually, it feels as if his innards have been torn out of his body, and his tormentor’s holding them in front of his face, laughing hysterically at his shock and despair.

He doesn’t know how he does it, but he manages to croak, “How.”

“I counted multiple times, but there’s definitely one less than what you told me. I’m already looking into where the last set could possibly be.”

Devastation cannot even begin to describe what he feels.

As always, though, he needs to move. He cannot rest until all of his clan’s eyes have been claimed.

“Where are you?” Kurapika asks as he walks to the edge of the rooftop.

Melody sighs. “I’ll find you. Please, Kurapika, breathe.”

–

It seems, right before the Black Whale took its leave, Prince Tserriednich had made one last transaction. Though it’s not clear what he had received in exchange, he had sold a single pair of eyes to an unidentifiable individual.

The transaction was made online with a new user. Despite intense hacking and scavenging, none of Kurapika’s sources could find communication logs between the prince and this user, aside from the prince’s first and only message offering the eyes. That must mean whatever this person wanted to trade was so desirable that even Prince Tserriednich himself would buy it at the cost of two irreplaceable Scarlet Eyes.

Kurapika has been stuck in the same hotel room for days. He’s also been barely eating or sleeping. His haggard state must be significantly more worse than what he thinks because even his always disheveled master eyes him.

It’s been several days since Melody broke the news to him, and he’s made no progress since the discovery of the transaction. Any minute now, though, she should return from where the computer on which the account was made was located, and he’s praying that there’s some lead that he can work with.

The doorbell rings, and Izunavi gets the door on his behalf.

Melody can tell that Kurapika’s not up for any stalling, so even with a gentle cadence, she cuts straight to the chase.

“It was one of the computers located in the chemistry wing of a public library. I asked if anyone frequented there, but I was only able to get a list of high schoolers that attend a nearby school.”

“Interrogate them.” His voice is chilling. He can sense Melody and Izunavi tense at his demand.

His mentor’s the one to intervene. “Kurapika, they’re just kids.”

“You don’t know!” Kurapika yells. “There are children who are professional Hunters – hell, I became one at 17. You don’t know!”

“I already looked into them,” Melody speaks. He can hear the clicks of buckles being undone, no doubt Melody opening her flute case. “They’re innocent.”

He can’t hold back, seal, extinguish the curdling scream in his throat. “Then what do you expect me to do?!”

His anger is sedated by the warm and round timbre of Melody’s flute, a tune soft and slow, an adagio in the face of his collera. Try as he might – teeth piercing lip to draw blood, nails biting into calloused palm –, Kurapika cannot resist Melody’s nen, and he feels his body relax into the back of his chair against his own volition.

Melody does not sway despite Kurapika’s fury. She continues to inform him kindly and gently. “The others have decided to stay back to watch and follow any suspicious visitors. This might take a while, so I suggest” – she rests a hand on his shoulder – “you try to rest. Remember, Kurapika, breathe.”

It seems he’s always stuck in a limbo, the success of his singular, feasible goal always somehow managing to escape him. But Melody’s right. There’s nothing for him here, so he might as well go back.

–

While you know nothing about Kurapika, he knows quite a bit about you. He’s aware that you’re an aspiring artist , you have a distaste for green bell peppers, and you have a weird fascination with colors. In fact, concerning that last point, you’re very specific and precise with your colors. Kurapika’s no art aficionado, so he doesn’t get it at all, but for each painting, you spend most of your time constructing and mixing and swirling the exact palette of hues you plan on using.

This time, when he comes back, you’re on the bed staring at an open notepad and a large color palette in your lap while balancing a graphite pencil with an upwards quirk of your lips. You spot him instantly, so there’s no delay between Kurapika stepping into the room and you hopping onto him.

As always, you cheer. “You’re back!” You don’t comment on his appearance.

And as always, he breathes you in, smelling faint wisps of charcoal, eraser shavings, and laundry detergent.

“What are you working on?” he asks as the two of you pad over to the bed.

Before the two of you sit down, though, you twirl around with a beaming, excited look on your face. “Kurapika,” you yelp, “I’m holding an exhibit!”

He leans over to congratulate you with a kiss on the cheek. “Congratulations,” he says as he pulls away. He glances at the notepad, now sprawled on top of the covers, and says, “I’m guessing you’re drafting then?”

“Yes!” You begin to explain the theme of your gallery, something about how colors are perceived similarly, even by vastly different cultures. You explain how purples are usually associated with royalty, golds with wealth and prosperity, reds with sacrifice – it seems you’re very interested in the psychology that undergirds all of these relations. “It’ll be the central piece of the whole thing!” you exclaim as you gesture with your whole upper body.

“Will you let me come see the exhibit?” he asks once you finish.

You laugh, eyes closed and head thrown back. He loves it when you laugh like this – without a goddamn care in the world.

“Of course! When have I ever denied you?” you giggle. 

After a bit, Kurapika excuses himself to take a shower. On his way to the bathroom, though, he passes by your oil paints. They seem a little flatter. He simply shakes his head, noting to remind you later to not use them inside again.

–

It’s quite rare for him to be at home while you’re out. And recently, you’ve been going out a lot, always leaving with a pep in your step, either going to speak with the exhibit manager or to a studio where you can paint without choking on fumes. There’s been no news from his colleagues either, so really, Kurapika’s never felt so aimless or restless in his life. He considered taking on a few brief missions, but he was sternly told off by Leorio to “just be.” Usually, he has no qualms about defying Leorio’s desperate pleas, but given that his friend really saved his ass on the Black Whale, he has no excuse but to listen to him for once.

Kurapika alternates between sleeping and reading books. He never realized how many books you had in this unit. Now that he thinks about it, this place is practically all yours at this point. He owns this place – bought it as a shelter – but had asked you to move in here out of concern for your safety. At the time, he was still hunting down the Spiders and was afraid they’d target you. But in this bleak, isolated space, you’ve managed to create a brimming sense of life. 

Anyway, Kurapika comes across a row of environmental science textbooks you’ve stored in a cupboard meant for mugs and glass cups. He’s not surprised when he sees all the dog-eared pages and sticky tabs jutting out of it, but it’s strange that you’re reading such things. He never knew you were fond of science.

But there’s nothing better to do, and Kurapika would take any opportunity to learn more about you, so he thumbs through one of the textbooks, spending extra time chuckling over the pages you’ve practically made illegible with your penned annotations and doodles.

–

Melody doesn’t contact Kurapika until three weeks later. Basho had been tailing a man and arrived at a theatre four towns away. Apparently, during Izunavi’s and Melody’s shifts, they also followed separate library-goers to the same place. Though there was never a specific time or frequency at which these visitors came and went, they always sat at the same computer, reading up on the same topic of odorants. After some digging, it turns out the theatre is home to a collective of Fine Arts Hunters.

Kurapika wastes no time in reconvening with his colleagues at another hotel. After thorough investigations, he learns that, though the collective is large and a community for many musicians, artists, writers, and more, there’s a sub-group of members who’d go to extreme lengths to collect their desires, whether that be specific artworks or coveted tickets to ballet shows or even artists themselves. When he learns about this, a chill runs down his spine. Kurapika almost wishes that you won’t make it big, so you won’t ever be in such danger.

The next step then is to find the specific member who placed the transaction. Melody is more than happy to take on this infiltration mission.

“It might help me locate the Sonata of Darkness. I’ll report back soon.”

While it’s impossible for his anger to subside, even by the slightest degree, it’d be remiss of Kurapika to not feel immense gratitude and appreciation for his colleagues. Not only did he drag them into the succession fiasco, but he’s also now bringing them into his personal business. It’s almost ironic, really. Kurapika doesn’t like involving those that are important to him in personal matters, whether that be out of safety concerns or fear of betrayal, but it seems receiving aid once in a while can be immensely gratifying and beneficial.

Kurapika spends the next two days waiting for Melody’s return. As promised, she returns swiftly. Though she has no name, she is completely confident with her information.

“They’ll be at the exhibit.”

–

You don’t expect Kurapika to come home in the middle of the night. It’s not that you usually know when he comes home, but rather, you know he cares for you so much that he’d rather sleep outside than come back in the middle of the night with the risk of disturbing you, even though that’d never happen.

The unit is dark, aside from a single lamp that stands beside you. There’s also a stool placed next to your canvas, the largest that you’ve ever worked with, and your reference placed on top of it. It’s normal – and actually very encouraged – for artists to use references to aid them in their work.

You look at Kurapika’s frozen expression.

“Kurapika! You’re back!”

There’s no jumping into arms or tight holds on each other’s bodies or deep breaths of each other. You realize, then, scattered around you, on the floor, are several uncapped tubes of oil paint.

You scramble and fumble with your apology. “I-I know you said to not use oil paint inside, but you know, my exhibit’s in literally two days, and I’m still not happy with this painting, and –“

“Why do you have that.”

It’s not a question.

You can’t answer, regardless. You’re confused, so instead, you follow his line of sight to your reference.

“Oh, that?”

You drop your brush onto the ground, paying no mind to the smears of burgundy against the stone floor, and walk over.

You’re always mesmerized when you look at it. You mumble, feeling yourself entering an entranced daze, “It’s my reference. They’re really pretty, right?”

You have no idea what’s going through Kurapika’s mind. You’re no longer paying attention to him, so you can’t see the way his face contorts and distorts. You can’t hear the roaring in his ears or the pounding of his heart or the terrified, desperate, furious scream that is itching up from the pit of his stomach, up his esophagus, threatening to spill forth from his pharynx.

All you can think about is the red of these Scarlet Eyes you managed to get and how you want to replicate the same red in your painting.

“You know,” you whisper, hands delicately stroking the canister that holds the eyes, “I can never seem to get the right shade. But that’s because it’s not just red. There’s… gold, some flecks of hazelnut… For once, I can’t even describe a color with words…”

Kurapika swallows thickly.

In as steady of a voice as he can manage – which is not at all, so his voice just sounds low and is only a little louder than a grunt –, he grits, “Why do you have that.”

This time, you look up. Again, you don’t comment on his appearance. “I told you, it’s for my painting.”

“I didn’t know you were a Fine Arts Hunter.”

You startle at this. “Kurapika,” you gasp, “are you a Hunter, too? I didn’t know!”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes!” you chirp. “But just collecting is no fun, you know?”

“What do you mean.”

You shrug. “Well, I’m an artist, too, so I want to create the very paintings I want to collect! It’s a little weird idolizing those of my own kind.” You say the last part in a whisper, as if it’s some inside joke or reference that he’s supposed to be understand.

Kurapika knows he’s no damn artist. Now, more than ever, he’s glad that creative part of him, if it ever existed in the first place, is gone and dead.

“Why do you need those eyes.”

“You’re so interested in them. I can give them to you as soon as I’m done with them!”

He wants them now, but really, he wants them after prying it out of your cold, dead, rotting hands. Kurapika lurches forward, but you jump back in response.

“Hey! If you really want them, you can take them now!”

He lunges again, but you move away just in time again. This ferocious chase continues around the entire unit with you screaming at him to calm down while escaping his every attempt to catch you.

“Kurapika!” you yell, as you leap into the air, almost touching the ceiling of the unit. “I’m going to help calm you down, alright?”

He’s seething, but his combat instincts tell him to pay close attention at this very moment. “What are you going to do!” he shouts, frustrated that he’s missed you once again.

But before you can answer, Kurapika suddenly feels a sharp pain in his head, forcing him to still in his movements. You try to approach, but he backs away with every step you take, even though every movement makes him feel dizzier and dizzier. Eventually, he collides with the kitchen counter, where he can barely hold himself up.

“I’m a Transmutation nen user,” you explain. Kurapika doesn’t understand why your voice sounds so distant, as if it’s muffled by water or several compact cotton balls. But you don’t know that, so you continue explaining, “I can change the quality of air molecules, so I’m going to put you under for a bit.”

Kurapika can only manage to lazily look up at you. You’re chewing on your lip, guilt evident on your face. “That’s why it never really bothered me to use oil paints here because I studied how to neutralize the turpentine.”

That’s the last thing he hears before collapsing.

You scream in terror, running to catch him. But it’s too late as the side of Kurapika’s head collides with the sharp edge of the stone countertop. You hold onto his shoulders, preventing his unconscious body from slipping further down onto the floor, and you take off your apron to dab at the blood trckling down the lines of his neck and ears.

But that’s when you notice it. Or rather, that’s when it clicks.

You’ve always been annoyed at yourself for this, but Kurapika loves this about you. You’re so inconsistent, inspiration only coming in waves and bouts, but when it does hit you, you’re on a roll until you’re done. It’s frustrating, especially since becoming a professional artist usually necessitates having to consistently produce bodies of work to make a living, but it’s never been an entire hindrance.

Truly, though, you’ve never had as big of a revelation until now. You heave Kurapika’s body over to the lamp that is now lying on its side, most likely having been knocked over by your game of tag earlier. You swipe at his blood again, this time with a crumpled sheet of notepad paper, and you watch as the color blooms and spreads through the corner.

It’s not like you’ve never used blood, or the human body for that matter, before in your work. Now that you recall, the one who gave you the Scarlet Eyes made you create a series of artworks out of some dismembered body parts he had. You crinkle your nose at the recollection, having remembered how horrible of an experience it was given that man’s fetishes.

You come back to the thought of Kurapika’s blood, and you know that he’s what you need. Your artwork lacks the haunting depth of the red in the Scarlet Eyes, and no amount of blue or purple or brown can fix it. Kurapika’s blood, though, is already so vivid and striking against the cream of the notepad, and you have no doubt it will blend beautifully with the snow white of the canvas, as well as the other colors you already have painted on.

You make a mental note to check how blood reacts to oil paint. It shouldn’t change much in color or smell, you hypothesize, but you’ll have your friends look it up for you like always.

You lean down, kissing Kurapika softly on the lips.

In a loving, gentle whisper, you say, “You know, Kurapika? You’re always so kind and helpful to me.

Even in death.”

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