#I just don’t want to see this but also I need to grow up

[buckys-wintersoldier]

Hii! If it’s okay, totally okay if not!

Can I please request a TFAWS!Bucky x fem!reader where she is his next door neighbor and they first meet when she’s moving into the apartment complex, and struggling to carry in all of her stuff. Bucky, ever the sweet gentleman he is, offers to help her move in and carries her stuff.🥹 And they spend a lot of time together in her apartment that day getting to know each other. After that they’re best friends (who obviously have a growing love for each other) and often spend time with each other in both his apartment and her apartment. Bucky even starts taking her to his lunches with Yori (who definitely catches on and points out the feeling between the two of them hehe) and eventually introduces her to Sam (who also can see the pair love each other). Many situations bring the two of them closer together, like one day when Bucky saves her from a group of men who followed her home from work, and also another time when Y/n (who now has an extra key to Bucky’s apartment, and he has one to hers) hears Bucky having a nightmare and she goes into his apartment, crawls into his arms, and lays down with him on the floor of his apartment to calm him down🥺 Anyways, they’re both idiots in love and finally confess their love each other after so long of being just “best friends”🥺

Hi! Thank you for the sweet request. This is an amazing, cute, adorable and just lovely request. The way both of them find their way to one another and it just so cute. The end isn’t the best I guess but yeah. I’m sorry it took me so long to write it but I finally finished it! I hope you like and enjoy it.

More than everything | B.B

Your new neighbour helps you to move in but soon he is way more than just your neighbour. Your best friend, the one you can talk about everything, he knows every secret, except one.

Pairing -> Neighbour!BestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Neighbour!BestFriend!Fem!Reader

Wordcount -> 7.371 Words

Warnings -> fluff, lots of fluff, idiots in love, some weird guys, nightmares, love confession

Authors Note -> I want to thank @thevillainswhore for proofreading! Thank you so much, my love! I love you!❤️ All and every mistakes are my own.

Events -> Seasonal Delights Bingo: Types of love | G4 | being calmed down by a familiar person's presence | @seasonaldelightsbingo | Fandom Free Bingo: Book Night Edition | B4 | Baby Just Say Yes | @fandom-free-bingo | Fandom Free Bingo: Frosty Edition | G2 | Wiping away tears | @fandom-free-bingo | Build-A-Bucky Bingo | June | Meddling Best Friend | @buckybarnesevents

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Sweat runs down your face as you lift one of the heavy boxes out of your car. You haven’t even started to move your stuff into your new apartment, yet you feel like you’ve carried an elephant around. The sun is shining a lot today, heating the air and there’s not much of a cool breeze that could help you to cool down.

With a groan, your fingers clutch onto the box tighter. You feel the slow movement of it slipping from your grasp, so you try to squeeze it so it won’t fall down. You’re not sure what’s in the box, but it’s heavy and you can’t have all of your stuff laying around in the ground in front of your apartment.

“Need help?” A rough voice startles you. Spinning on your heel, you turn to face the person who stands there and your mouth drops open while your eyes widen.

The man who stands there with a soft smile tugging at his beautiful plump lips has short brown hair and wears a hoodie and gloves. You secretly wonder if it’s not too warm underneath all those layers of fabric. He reaches out to place his big hands underneath the box you carry and lifts it up like it weighs nothing. You notice the muscles working underneath his hoodie when he holds the carton.

“H-Hi! U-uhm, I would love to accept the offer but I don’t want to interrupt you from whatever you were doing,” you mumble, face palming yourself when the words leave your lips. He wouldn’t offer you his help if he was busy. Instead of judging you he just chuckles, his ocean blue eyes sparkle and his nose scrunches ever so slightly.

“Of course, doll! I’m Bucky, and you?” He asks, looking straight into your eyes and causing your knees to buckle. Bucky’s laugh, his voice — he is just so perfect. You’re not sure if he is just an imagination in your mind or if you’re hallucinating because of the heat and limited drinking.

Clearing his throat, Bucky pulls you out of your thoughts and gets your attention back. “I- I’m y/n. Nice to meet you, Bucky,” you say, smirking softly with heat creeping up your cheeks. You reach into your car once again to get another box out to carry.

“You can place it on top of this one, put two on top,” he says with a grin at you. You narrow your eyes, placing another box on the one he has already in his arms before reaching in to grab another carton.

“It’s heavy to carry that much, Bucky,” you chuckle, but place the third box into his arms as well. With a grunt, he almost falls forward, scaring you before standing straight again. He starts laughing softly, winking at you as you grab a box for yourself to carry into your apartment.

“I once lifted a whole engine for a friend, so your boxes aren’t that heavy compared to a ship engine,” Bucky says. You shake your head, smirking before making your way to the front door and into the apartment complex. “Which floor?”

“Second.” Bucky nods, grinning. As you walk up the stairs and along the floor the two of you walk closer and closer to his apartment, and his smirk grows with every step closer to your apartment.

While you think you embrassed yourself in front of this handsome and sweet man with your stutter and dropped jaw earlier, he only thinks it makes you adorable. There wasn’t someone in a while who looked at him with such softness in their expression — someone who doesn’t seem to know who he was, who gives him the chance to get to know him as the person he is now.

“Oh!” Bucky says when you stop in front of your door to fish the keys out of your pocket. You turn around, tilting your head as he chuckles. “Hi, next door neighbor.”

You giggle. For a moment you’re sure he is making a joke, but he just nods toward the door next to yours and grins even wider. Your eyes widen as you look to the door, then back to him.

“I don’t want to interrupt that sweet little moment where you stare at me and my apartment door because you find out that I live next to you…. But these boxes are going to be too heavy for me to carry soon,” Bucky says and nods at the boxes he is still holding in his arms. You gasp, taking the keys and unlocking the door with an apologetic smile. “It was a joke, I don’t mind carrying those boxes for you all day.”

You roll your eyes playfully, letting Bucky walk into your apartment and follow behind. “You’re the best, thank you so much!” You say as you both place the boxes on the floor.

“Don’t thank me yet, we have a lot more to carry,” Bucky tells you, walking a step closer to you and placing his big hands on the small of your back, pushing you toward the door. Instead of flinching of his sudden touch, you giggle softly, liking the warmth of his soft touch.

The two of you carry all your stuff into your apartment and while Bucky looks like he hasn’t done anything all day, you feel your aching muscles. You sigh deeply when you finally are able to let yourself fall down on the couch.

“How can you still look so— so handsome, so good like you haven’t carried so many boxes and all,” you ask, eyes roaming over his tall body while he stands in front of you. Bucky chuckles, leaning back against the wall behind him. His tongue pokes out, gliding over his lips to wet them and cause them to glisten.

“How about I get some food for the two of us, there is that nice restaurant just a block away,” he suggests and you nod immediately. He pushes himself off the wall, turning around to make his way out of the apartment.

“Wait!” You shout, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn back to you. “Uhm- let me find my wallet.”

Bucky laughs, shaking his head and walking further to the door. “You don’t have to pay me for dinner, and also not for helping you to carry those boxes, so no ‘buts’ here.”

With a sigh, you chuckle and Bucky makes his way to get the food. He already likes you a lot, you’re a sweet and nice person, no judging. He’s sure you wonder why he wears a hoodie and gloves even though it’s hot, but he also appreciates that you haven’t asked him about it, so he doesn’t have to lie to you .

— —

After Bucky came back with the food the two of you sat there in your new apartment, talked and ate. The conversation flowed between the two of you and you feel like you’ve  known Bucky for so long already. He is a sweet and gentle man, taking care of you and making you laugh. Plus his voice and laugh is the most beautiful thing you have ever heard, you could listen to him all day and you would never be tired of it nor him.

The connection between you and Bucky gets stronger with every day. The two of you spend a lot of days in your or his apartment and he becomes your best friend. You know you can trust him, you can tell him everything and he knows it as well.

One night a few weeks ago, Bucky came over in just a t-shirt, asking you if he is allowed to sleep on your couch because he can’t stand the quietness in his apartment. You offered him to sleep in bed with you, knowing that he would never touch you unless you allow him to do so but he shook his head.

“I-I would just love to sleep on the couch, you know,” Bucky mumbled, scratching the back of his head while he looked at you with sleepy eyes. He looked tired, not just because he fell out of his bed, but also because he was suffering from nightmares again.

Your scent is always calming to him. It was his first thought as he was sitting on his makeshift bed for the night, sweat running down his body. Bucky would love to say yes to sleeping in a bed with you, but he knew that his nightmares can cause him to punch something next to him and he didn’t want to risk hurting you.

“Are you okay, Buck? Do you need anything, I can make you tea,” you offered, bushing your fingers softly over his stubble. But again, he smiled softly and shook his head. Your touch was so soft, so loving and he got lost for a moment until you nodded and placed a pillow and a blanket on the couch.

“You know… we can also build a blanket fort,” you suggested with a grin, but Bucky just chuckled and patted  the space next to him.

You sat down, turning to look at your best friend. He smiled, his fingers fidgeting in his lap as you place yours on his and hold his big hands in your smaller ones.

“We don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable,” you said, smiling as softly as possible while you stroked your thumb over the back of his hand.

“I-I would love to… but…” Bucky stuttered, his eyes were roaming over your face, trying to find anything that told him that you judge him. However, he could only find nothing but pure love, affection and understanding.

“I just… you remember what I told you about my arm and my past?” You nodded, narrowing your eyes. Bucky inhaled deeply, bringing one of your hands to his metal arm, letting you touch it. He always let you do it, since the day you told him that this arm is a part of him, it makes him special. But you also told him that his arm doesn’t tell who he is because even though he was the winter soldier and had a metal arm there too — it was a different one plus he was under the control of people who used him. But it wasn’t him.

With that he allowed you to touch his arm, it was even claiming for him because you weren’t afraid of him. You accepted and loved him, with the metal arm, with his story. It makes him feel like home.

“I dream about it, almost every night. But when I fell asleep the last time here, I didn't have nightmares. But-but I sometimes punch something so I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky confessed. You couldn’t help the small quirk of your lips — he felt so comfortable that he doesn’t even have nightmares. But you also couldn’t help the glisten of your eyes; it was awful to know that those dreams made him struggle.

“I’m sorry to hear that. You can always sleep here if you want. And just for you to know… I can take care of myself so if you ever want to cuddle, just tell me, I’m sure I can take care of you and also that you won't hurt me,” you assured him, leaning closer to press a soft kiss on his cheek, causing him to blush softly. He nodded with a thankful smile, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing the back of it with a grin on his beautiful lips.

“Thank you, doll. Now go to sleep, I’m sure you’re tired. I don’t want to keep you awake just because I can’t sleep,” he smirked, letting go of you to let you go back to bed, but you stayed where you were and just let your eyes roam over his handsome face a while longer.

“You sure? I don’t mind staying up with you a while longer if it helps you,” you said but he nodded, assuring you that he is fine. “You can turn on the television if you need some background noises.”

With that, you got up and walked back into your bedroom. Bucky smiled softly, leaning back before getting comfortable and turning on the television. Your scent surrounded him and he fell asleep pretty quick, relishing the first good sleep he’d had in weeks.

That was a few weeks ago and even though Bucky loves sleeping at your apartment, sometimes he is out late and doesn’t want to wake you. Plus he wants to give you some privacy. You’re not dating anyone, but as much as he loves your company, he doesn’t want to scare you away.

With time, you become his everything. You’re the one who holds him when he thinks he falls — you’re the one, his one. And even though his feelings get stronger, he hasn’t told you yet. He’s too scared — maybe you don’t feel the same and he will destroy the friendship you both developed so perfectly.

Bucky knocks at your door. He is on his way to his dinner with Yori but he has to see you. He told the older man a lot about you, but he hasn’t introduced the two of you yet.

In one of Bucky’s hoodies — the one you picked out of his wardrobe when the two of you made a mess in the kitchen — you walk to the door and open it. Your face immediately lights up as you see your best friend, who's smiling softly at you.

“Doll! I’m just on my way to dinner with Yori, wanting to check after you—,”  his voice trails off, looking you up and down. His blue eyes light up as he notices the hoodie you’re wearing, and his nose scrunches with the slight curl of his lips. “Looking good in my clothes, sweetheart.”

You giggle, ducking your head to try and hide the warmth that coats your cheeks. You play with your fingers in front of you, then you look up to meet his intense blue eyes. They look so soft and there is nothing but love and affection in them when he looks at you.

“I’m fine, thank you, Buck. Just came home from work, going to make myself some dinner and then watch a movie, probably,” you say. Bucky narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly and he looks just adorable like that. “Don’t worry, not gonna watch our series without you! Hope you enjoy dinner with Yori, tell him ‘Hey’ from me.”

Bucky nods, he doesn’t want to move, he would prefer to stare at you a while longer — maybe just forever. He knows the two of you are meeting the next day for your movie night, but he wants to be around you all the time. He inhales deeply, looking toward the kitchen — there is no smell of food, yet.

“W-would you like to join us?” Bucky stumbles over his words. “He would love to meet you, and I would love to have you around. But only if you want to of course!” He hopes that you agree and go out with him — even though it’s not a date, but for him it’s pretty close to one.

Your smile widens as you nod. “Sure! But I have to change clothes, pretty fast— at least my pants.” With that you’re walking into your bedroom to change. Your heart races and the butterflies in your stomach go wild — it’s just a dinner with Bucky and a friend of his. But at the same time it's dinner with Bucky, who is going to introduce you to one of his friends.

Within a few minutes, you made yourself ready for dinner and walked back to Bucky, who was waiting patiently waiting for you with a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“We should put some of my hoodies into your wardrobe so you can always wear them,” he mumbles, his eyes roaming up and down your body and taking every inch in. You look stunning — like always.

You don’t have to wear a dress. Bucky loves you in everything, sweethearts and t-shirts or pants and hoodie. For him you’re always stunning. He can’t take his eyes off you, when he sleeps at yours and you get up in the morning — hair messy and you’re all sleepy. You look like the cutest thing he has ever seen.

“Lets goooo!” You giggle, taking your phone and keys and walking out of your apartment. Bucky closes the door behind you, walking next to you along the floor and out of the building.

Bucky has told you a lot about Yori already, they go out for dinner once or twice a week. Always the same bar and always the same food and drinks but Bucky loves the company of the older man. Even if he has been asking him about you pretty often recently. But Bucky doesn’t mind, he can’t seem to stop talking about how beautiful and sweet you are anyway.

The two of you walk along the street, it’s just a short stroll. He asks you about your day, if you had something nice you could tell him, or if someone upset you during work. Your best friend listens to you the whole time, nodding or chuckling with you.

He always asks you about your day, making sure you had something that made you happy and to get rid of the things that upset you. And even if it ends up with him tickling you until you laugh to have something good to say about the day. As much as Bucky loves to hear and see that someone about the day makes you happy, he loves it more when it’s him who causes your happiness.

Bucky opens the door to the bar. His palms are sweaty and he inhales deeply before following you inside, pointing to the bar where an older man sits. He is obviously waiting for someone while talking to the waitress.

“There is Yori,” Bucky says, his voice sounding slightly broken and when you look at him you notice him shifting from one foot to the other. He smirks at you but it doesn’t reach his eyes — you know that expression.

Bucky often looks like that when people are around and he becomes nervous. Or when someone stares at him with a judgemental gaze, mostly when he is overwhelmed.

You stop in your tracks, turning toward him completely so you block his way toward the bar and take both of his hands in yours. “Buck?”

He hums, letting you know that he’s listening. His ocean blue eyes roam over your face, another attempt of a smile on his pretty lips but once again you notice that it’s not letting his eyes light up like his smile usually does.

“Can you breathe with me? Slowly to calm you down. I’ll hold your hands to help you— feel it?” You ask him, inhaling deeply together with him before slowly exhaling. Bucky nods to answer your question, his thumbs running over the back of your hands. He draws small circles, something that always helps him calm down, feeling your soft flesh underneath his rough fingers.

“S-sorry… just- I’m just a bit nervous. You’re my best friend and I told him so much about you already but he always looked at me with a smirk- that looks like he knows more about our relationship than I do.” Bucky smiles at you, removing one of his hands to wipe a strand of hair behind your ear, chuckling softly. “A-And I just can’t take my eyes off of you, doll. You look so pretty.”

“Thank you,” you giggle, holding Bucky’s hand tighter before you slowly walk to the bar where his friend is already sitting. The older man turns around, his eyes widen a bit, just like the grin on his face, as he notices the two of you. Bucky shifts, offering you the place next to the other man before he takes a seat next to you.

“You look just as pretty as Bucky always described you,” Yori says, causing your best friend to choke on his spit. His cheeks heat up and he scratches the back of his neck as you look at him.

“Told you… told you that I talked a lot about you,” Bucky confesses once again. The woman behind the bar walks toward you, a soft smile appearing on his lips. She silently asks the two men if they want to have the same as always. Both of them nod, Bucky doesn't even look at her, his eyes remain on you.

Then the woman turns to you, offering you a card but you shake your head. “The same as whatever Bucky likes, please.” Whatever it is he always orders, you know you will love it. The two of you have almost the same taste in everything and you know what Bucky loves to eat, so you know that he would never eat something that you wouldn’t like either.

The woman smiles nicely before she turns around and leaves the three of you alone. Yori grins at Bucky, wiggling his eyebrows and you have to admit that’s the funniest and cutest thing a older man like Yori could have done. You chuckle, turning to face Bucky, who could win an award against a tomato.

You place your hand on Bucky’s thigh, running your fingers softly over the firm muscle. “Bucky, do you need some fresh air?” You ask, slightly worried that his skin color could be because it’s too hot or the air too thick for him to breathe right now.

Bucky shakes his head. He places his hand on yours and caresses the back of it with his thumb while he looks into your eyes for a moment. “I’m fine, just- just nervous, you know?”

You nod, then you turn back to Yori, who watches the two of you intensely. His eyes are roaming down to Bucky’s thigh where both of your hands are. “So how long are the two of you dating?”

“We aren’t dating. We’re best friends,” you say, narrowing your eyes at the question. Yori’s smile never fades, his eyes glistening. He doesn’t believe the two of you — or maybe he does but then you both are idiots.

“You should ask her out, James,” the older man says and nods toward Bucky. Your best friend's eyes widen but he smiles softly, shaking his head.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to, but you’re just best friends. You’re everything for him, even though he is more than just in love with you, he is scared to ruin everything. Bucky would do everything for you, but he is still stuck in his past, he is over 100 years old — still looking like a mid 30 year old — but that doesn’t change that he is a broken mess.

“She deserves better than the broken man I am,” Bucky says with a soft laugh. He tries to cover the truth, the pain behind his words but you can see through it.

You would like to smack him for his statement. He may be broken and a mess, but he is still the most loving and sweetest gentleman you have ever met. He never judges you, no matter what it is you have his back, you have his love, you have Bucky. You would actually tell Bucky that you don’t want anyone but him but this would lead into a conversation with more confession — something you don’t want to have during a dinner with one of Bucky’s friends in public.

The night goes well, the three of you are laughing a lot. Yori points out often that the two of you have more than just a friendship, that you both have feelings for one another but you and Bucky play it off. You like Yori a lot, you understand why Bucky likes the older man, why he always eats lunch or dinner with him. After saying your goodbyes to Yori, Bucky and you walk back to your apartment complex. Bucky brings you to your apartment, kissing your cheek softly before he makes his way to his own apartment. Your night is filled with a lot of dreams with Bucky and even Bucky himself has a night — without nightmares — but filled with fluffy thoughts of you and him.

You spend almost your whole free time with your best friend, mostly watching movies or just talking about his or your day. You know everything about his missions with Sam and Bucky suggested that he could take you with him to meet Sam. But this plan changes when Bucky knocks at your door after another mission, his smile as bright as always and behind him another man.

You know that Bucky would come home today, you already made dinner for the two of you but you didn’t know he would bring a friend of his. “Hi, doll! I-I uhm… that’s Sam! He asked to sleep here before he flies to his family tomorrow.”

“Bucky!” You say excitedly as you pull him into a much needed hug. You look over his shoulder to see his friend smirking at the two of you. “Hi, Sam. Come in, Bucky has to give me at least five minutes of cuddles before I let go of him again!”

Both of the men laugh and Sam nods before he walks into your apartment. You let Bucky pick you up, you mean that you get at least five minutes of cuddles from Bucky, and he knows that you can be such a grumpy little thing if you don’t get them. He leads Sam into the kitchen, offering him a drink while he refuses to let you down.

“Does he cling to you like that all the time?” Sam asks jokingly. You turn your head to look at him, chuckling softly.

“Why? Isn’t he such a sweet teddy bear around you?” You ask and poke your fingers into Bucky’s cheeks, squeezing his cheeks softly. “He’s my favourite teddy bear!”

“The cyborg being a teddy?” Sam asks, earning a glare from your best friend. “He’s more like a cold, staring machine.”

Bucky growls into your neck, hiding his face while he inhales your scent deeply. He was away for two days but he missed you so much that he can’t let you down just yet. He doesn’t care that he’s carried you around for ten minutes already, he could do it all day and would never be tired of it.

“I made pizza, your favourite one,” you say and run your fingers through Bucky’s hair, making him sigh into your neck. “Sam, do you like cyborg pizza?”

Sam laughs while Bucky growls once again, but it turns into a chuckle almost immediately. You’re just so cute, he can’t help himself, he can’t stop himself smiling  and chuckling whenever you’re around.

“But I get to keep you on my lap,” he mumbles, letting you down for a moment to place the pizza on the table. Sam watches the two of you, smirking at Bucky. He has never seen his friend so soft and not grumpy around someone. But he likes this version of Bucky, the cute, sweet one, that looks so happy. It's like there is nothing that could make Bucky’s mood bad when you’re around, he smiles all the time, even his eyes are bright and shine in the most beautiful blue.

“I do like every pizza,” Sam nods, arranging the plates you placed in his hands on the table. He puts two of them on one side and one where he sits. Bucky grins at him, placing the pizza on the table before he picks you up and lets you sit on his lap.

Your best friend's arm is wrapped around your waist the whole time, you’re deep in talks with both of the men, getting to know Sam but also some secret and funny things about Bucky.

“And once… it was our first meeting, he landed on top of our car and he smashed the front glass and ripped out the steering wheel.,” Sam says before chewing further on the pizza. Bucky hides his face in the crook of your neck, chuckling softly.

“It wasn’t actually me. It was during the time of the winter soldier,” he mumbles. You run your fingers through his hair, calming him. You know that Bucky isn’t ashamed to talk to you about his past but you also know that he is still slightly tense when it comes to it. And your touch, your closeness and softness, is always calming for him.

“My sister and I are almost done with the boat, maybe Bucky wants to bring you to our little party then?” Sam asks, eying Bucky. “My little nephews and my sister would love you! They already love Bucky, and you’re way nicer than the cyborg.”

“Ey!” Bucky grumbles, gripping you tighter and pulling you more against him. You giggle, shoving a slice of pizza into his mouth. Bucky would love to bring you with him to the party, Sam is a good friend of his, and you’re his best friend, his everything. And even though the two of you aren’t dating, he doesn’t like the way Sam talks about you — that you’re nicer and probably sweeter and more beautiful. He isn’t wrong but Bucky doesn’t like to hear someone else saying such things about his babydoll.

“I would love to meet them, if Bucky wants to invite me,” you giggle. Bucky nods, smirking at you with a mouthful of pizza. He chews on it happily, holding you firmly pressed against his broad chest.

“Would love to,” Bucky smirks, swallowing the pizza before he opens his mouth to let you shove the next slice between his lips. You laugh softly, grasping another and shoving it into his mouth as well.

“So, Bucky said you’re not dating one another?” Sam asks, eyeing the two of you. A smug grin on his face, his eyebrows twitching in amusement. You shake your head, running your fingers through Bucky’s soft brown locks.

“No, he’s my best friend! Why does everyone think that?” You tilt your head softly, causing Bucky to almost choke on his pizza. You’re just so adorable and he can’t help himself but with a mouthful of pizza he can’t chuckle or laugh. “Buck! Don’t choke on your pizza! You need to chew before you swallow!”

Sam makes a lot more jokes about Bucky but in return Bucky embarrasses Sam just as much. The evening is filled with a lot of laughter and jokes. Bucky decides to sleep in your apartment on the couch, while Sam gets Bucky’s apartment — on the condition that he has to promise not to sneak around.

The man was more than just curious what Bucky was hiding in his apartment. Maybe a wedding ring already or maybe some really kinky sex toys? But to not destroy their trust and friendship he promises not to sneak around and he surprisingly managed to not do it.

You spend the weekend with Bucky, he asks you out for some ice cream and invites you also to another dinner with Yori. In the evenings you’re wrapped with Bucky into a blanket, snuggled up on the couch while you watch every kind of movie you can find or play some board games.

On Monday, you had to work again. Bucky told you he would make dinner and you can just come over after work. You know he is making your favourite food, he always does when he cooks for you.

You’re currently walking home from work, a few men following you, nothing too exciting because it’s a public street. But no matter where you walk, they follow you, their voices grow louder and you try to speed up. You can’t walk home, you can’t let them know where you live but they come so close.

“Girl, wait!” One of them shoots and laughs. You hear your blood rushing through your veins. The footsteps of the men behind you coming closer with every step and you feel the panic grow. You try to breathe slowly, try to calm yourself down but it doesn’t work. At least not as long as those guys walk behind you.

“I said wait, whore!” The man growls this time, his pace faster than before and he almost reaches you already. His hand is already reaching out and touching your shoulder. You prepare yourself to be thrown around, to be thrown against a wall or on the ground but it doesn’t come.

You walk further, slowing down the moment you feel a cold arm around your waist. The voices are quieter, almost silent. You inhale deeply, noticing Bucky’s scent and only now you dare to open your eyes further to look at your best friend, who presses you into his side. “Hi, babydoll.”

His voice is soft and shushing, you immediately relax in his warm embrace. Your eyes are locked with his — you’re happy he is there, that he helped you with those weird men who followed you.

“Hey! What are you doing here, Bucky?” You ask, leaning your head against his shoulder while he leads you through the street and toward your home.

“I had to go shopping, your favourite snacks were empty and I didn’t want my best girl to eat something she doesn’t like as much,” he chuckles and kisses your forehead softly. His lips are always so soft and warm, you could get lost in the feeling of them against your warm skin.

“You’re the best,” you giggle. Bucky nods proudly. He opens the door for you, leading you into the hallway before you make your way up to his apartment. Bucky prepared dinner already, he just wanted to get your favourite snacks before you were home, and saving his best girl from some weirdos wasn’t a plan, but he did it anyway.

“I know. Now, get yourself a seat, it’s your turn to decide on a movie first and dinner will be on the plates in just a moment,” Bucky says before he kisses your forehead once again. You take a seat on his couch, making it already comfortable and look for a movie. You can smell the food already, your tummy rumbling and you are already excited to get a taste of this delicious food your best friend made.

You almost confessed your love to him after the dinner, the food was so good and Bucky was so close, his lips so plump and soft you wanted to kiss him so bad. But you couldn’t just kiss your best friend, not before you told him about your feelings, not before you knew about his feelings.

You excused yourself and rushed into the bathroom, you needed a moment to breathe, he was just so soft and warm. Your feelings for your best friend went crazy and cuddling with him didn’t do a good job at calming all your running thoughts.

Even though his lips were really tempting, you didn’t kiss him, his presence made you all dizzy and comfortable — just like always — but you two watched the movie and threw popcorn at one another.

A few hours later you went to your apartment and into your bed. That’s where you are now, your eyes closed but you’re still awake, you can’t stop the thoughts in your mind. Bucky is so present in your thoughts, you tried to hide your love — your feelings — for him but the closer you come to him the harder it gets.

You’re so in love with Bucky, just like he is in love with you. You even have the key to Bucky’s apartment, just like he has yours. So when you suddenly hear a loud cracking noise and a wrecked scream you immediately sit up in your bed.

You know that sound too well, Bucky never screamed that loud but you know the way his voice sounds — it’s him. And your heart clenches as you realize that he has a nightmare, again. He told you once that the only way he doesn’t have one is being close to you. You offered him that he could sleep in your apartment even in your bed with you, but he just smiled. He doesn’t want to be a burden, doesn’t want to take away the little privacy you have. Even though you would rather spend your nights with him next to you, you accepted his decision.

You get out of your bed, wearing one of Bucky’s t-shirts — you stole it — and get the keys to Bucky’s apartment before you run out of yours and open the door to his. You already notice the silhouette  of Bucky in the corner of the living room.

He always sits in a corner after a nightmare, his legs close to his chest and his arms wrapped around himself. The wall behind him doesn’t let anyone attack him from behind and from the spot he is sitting at he can see every entrance.

You slowly walk toward him, turning on just a small light to not scare him even more. “Bucky? Hey, it’s me. Can you hear me?” You ask and get on your knees. A bit of distance between the two of you.

Bucky’s blue eyes are widened and sweat is running down his forehead. He nods slightly, staring at you. His eyes drift through the room every now and then, making sure no one he doesn’t want to have in his apartment comes into it.

“Can I come closer?” He nods again, allowing you to get closer to him. Bucky whimpers, tears stream down his cheeks and you feel your heart clenching at this sight. “I got you, Buck. I’m here, you’re safe.”

You crawl closer to him, your hands reaching out to pull him toward you. Bucky’s head falls against your chest, his hands clawing around your back and he breaks down completely. You run your fingers up and down his muscular back, calming him down.

Bucky holds on to you like you would disappear if he dared to loosen his grip just a tiny bit. “Bucky… we are safe here. You’re safe. We are at home, it’s just you and me here. No one is going to hurt you. I will protect you, I love you so much.”

You don’t even notice that you just confessed your love to him, of course you told him you love him but not like that. The seriousness, the love which is visible in your eyes and for the first time since the two of you know one another Bucky looks at you with a shocked but relieved expression on his face. His eyes still widened from the nightmare but your confession gave him hope — hope that someone as precious and sweet as you could really love someone as broken and messed up like him.

He doesn’t say anything, his face is buried back in your chest after you meet his gaze for a few seconds. He wants to believe that you love him, he really wants but something inside of him tells him that he doesn’t deserve your love.

“I don’t deserve your love…I-i…” Bucky stumbles, he whimpers and pulls you even closer toward him. “I-I want you to love me… b-but I don’t deserve your love…”

“Bucky!” You say, gasping at his words. How can someone as sweet and lovely like him not believe to be able to be loved more than everything, that he deserves so much love? “Hey! Listen to me. You deserve so much love! You deserve all the love in the world. You even deserve the world, Bucky. And I don’t care how broken or messed up you are, I love you!”

Bucky looks up at you once again, his fingers digging into your back. He shakes his head, he wants you to love him, so bad, but he doesn’t want to destroy you. He doesn’t want to hurt you, to break you, to make you like he is. “N-no…”

“Yes, Bucky. You can’t stop me, you can’t make me love you less. No one can, no one will ever make me love you less. I pretended that I could be just your best friend but I can’t anymore. I love you, more than everything, I need you, and I want you to see that you deserve love, all the love!” You say, trying to sound serious but still soft while talking to him.

You’re not sure what came over you to confess all that, maybe because he broke down once you wrapped your arms around him? Maybe it was just the last push after the day and half the night laying awake or whatever it was — you don’t regret it, you could never regret telling the love of your life that you love him, that you care for him — that your best friend is everything for you.

“Doll… you can’t… you— I will break you… I will hurt you. You deserve better than me,” Bucky whimpers, he has you already sitting on his lap, refusing to let go of you.

“It doesn’t matter, even when there would be someone better, I wouldn’t like someone other than you. Please let me love you, let me show you that you deserve to be loved just like everyone,” you mumble, running your fingers through his brown locks.

Bucky nods, letting himself fall more against you, leaning into your touch. He closes his eyes, his heart filled with love and affection. He has waited so long to hear those words from you, and now — no matter how shitty this situation is — it makes his heart race and his feelings for you to grow.

“Can you sleep in my bed then?” He whimpers, looking up at you with teary eyes. You can’t help but chuckle at his cute request, then you nod. Bucky inhales deeply, his breath still shaking but everything worked out so well right now, he couldn’t ask for anything else.

Your love will heal him, he knows it because it has since you got to know one another. Since he helped you to move into your apartment. Bucky knows that he never felt for someone before like he feels for you, no matter how broken he is, he knows that it will never stop him from loving you more than everything.

“I love you too, more than everything,” he mumbles, leaning more into you. “You know… I will never let you go. I will hold you in my arms every night, I will make you dinner, I-i will… be the best version of me I can be.”

“You’re already the best version of yourself, Bucky. You’re the most precious man, the sweetest I have ever met,” you smile softly, cupping his cheeks to make him look up at you. His ocean blue eyes shining with adoration and love, no signs of fear to the nightmare anymore. “Can I kiss you?”

Bucky nods with a soft smile across his lips as he is leaning closer already. You giggle at his impatience. But it was just too long to try not to, so you can’t blame him, it was too long to hold back from kissing one another. With a soft smile, you place your lips on his. And they really are as soft and warm as they look. You sigh softly, letting Bucky pull you even closer and hold you as tight as possible against his broad chest. His lips move softly against yours and he relaxes in your warm embrace, with his lips finally touching yours.

He may think that he doesn’t deserve to be loved — but this kiss lets him forget about all the insecurities and worries he has. The only thought left in his mind right now is how much he loves you, how often he wants to kiss you, that he just wants to hold you and tell you how much he loves you — over and over again. That’s what he is going to do, show you his love for you and he will show you that you’re everything for him, just you, only you as long as you’re with him.

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[russo-woso]

Expensive || Kyra Cooney-Cross

Request | Masterlist | Prompt list

Summary You and Kyra go baby shopping and don’t realise how expensive it all is.

“Kyra, please can we go in. Please.” You begged as you walked past a baby shop.

You were currently 23 weeks pregnant and were out food shopping but it wouldn’t hurt if you did a bit of baby shopping at the same time, would it?

You and Kyra had been together since you were sixteen.

You’d both met due to your mums being co workers and immediately hit it off, quickly becoming friends before lovers.

Just before the World Cup, you and Kyra had gone on holiday and she’d proposed to you.

You, of course, said yes, knowing Kyra was the love of your life.

That same summer, it was discussed that you’d be starting a new adventure in your lives:

Moving to England.

And having a baby.

The two of you were young, you knew that, but you both wanted a family.

That’s what leads you to today, 23 weeks pregnant with your baby girl.

“Five minutes, okay? That’s it.” Kyra told you, a stern look on her face which was soon replaced by a soft smile.

You both entered the shop, hand in hand, as you took in all the baby clothes.

“Look how small they are, Ky.” You whispered, taking a baby grow in your hands.

“It’s tiny. I can’t believe she’s gonna be that small.” The Australian said, rubbing your bump.

“I know. Look at these ones, they’ve got flowers on.” You pointed out, also resting a hand on your bump, feeling your daughter kick.

“We’ve got to get them.” Kyra said, placing the baby grows in the basket.

You watched as Kyra wandered, looking at the different clothes, often putting some in the basket.

You smiled, looking at the excitement on her face.

Most people didn’t often see this side of Kyra.

They all saw the side of her where she’d be classed as a pest, where she’s immature and can’t take things seriously.

That’s why most people were shocked when you announced the pregnancy. Everyone thought the two of you weren’t ready for a baby.

You, however, saw the mature side of her. The side where she would do anything for anyone, where she could take things seriously.

“Baby, should we get a car seat too?” She questioned, wrapping her arm round your waist.

“I thought you said we’d only be here five minutes? Getting a car seats gonna take more than that?” You teased

“Yeah, but I figured we might as well get one whilst we’re here.” Kyra said and you nodded, slowly walking over to the wall of car seats. “So where do we start? We’re getting the comfiest one for our princess.”

—

“I think we’re all sorted.” You told Kyra as you looked down at the trolley.

Yes, the trolley, not the basket anymore. You’d ended up getting so much, Kyra had to run and get a trolley instead.

Inside the trolley was piles of clothes, A box containing a car seat, A crib that Kyra insisted she’d be able to build herself, a pump for breastfeeding, bottles, dummies, and anything else that could possibly be needed.

“I think we are.” Kyra agreed, smiling proudly before pushing the trolley to the cashier.

After what felt like an hour of the cashier scanning all the items, the total number of what was due was announced.

“And that would be £632.84 please.” The cashier revealed and your eyes widened.

“£632?” You questioned in shock as the person on the till nodded. “Ky, that’s so…”

“Our princess deserves it all.” Kyra said before you could finish your sentence, pressing a kiss to your temple before paying.

Putting the items back in the trolley, you walked out the shop two hours after when you’d walked in.

“Mama loves you so much.” You told your bump as you waddled to the car.

“I do, I love both of you, no matter how expensive you both are.”

[rabbidbunwy]

🔞 Gojo x reader| Minors DNI| NSFW WARNING 🔞

Needy little things

Sum. You can't get enough of your best friend dick Warnings. fem! reader x best friend roomate! Gojo,hookup, unprotected, riding f!,f! receiving,cussing,praise,petnames,cummin outside then inside,teasing,begging,both the parties being selfish in their own way,two rounds,filling up

i'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia @ponderingmoonlight @satorkive

He chuckled at your words. “Break you? Don’t be dramatic” he said, his hands roaming over your body. He loved teasing you, making you squirm and whine underneath him.

“You’re taking me perfectly well” he continued, his lips finding your neck. Satoru had his fair few hookups in high school, yet he never felt this way around any of them. It felt special with you. He needed you. Only you.

"Fuck Toru, don't come inside" you phanted "fuck,if someone sees us were doomed" He was too caught up in the moment, to lost in you. Your face was flushed pink, your breathing ragged, and he thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“And who’s gonna catch us? They’re all in a mission" he said. His lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind. “No one’s going to find out.”

"Outside Gojo outside" you whined at your friend as he groaned. “You’re a tease.” Satoru did as you say, though, his release ending up on your stomach. “There. Happy, princess?” He asked, his breath panting. He’ll never understand why he does all these things with you. You know he’s supposed to be the strongest and yet here he was, listening to you like a good boy.

"More" you whined as you switched position so you were riding Gojo "Need more" you cooed “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He teases, his hands moving to your hips to help steady you. “Just can’t get enough of me, hm?” Satoru had a habit of getting snappy when he was riled up. “So whiny” Satoru chuckles. “Stop being so cute or you won’t get what you want.” He leaned up, his lips right by your ear. “You know how to play the game, princess. Beg.”

"Mhn please let me come Satoru" you whined riding him harder "I will let you come inside just-mhn" you whined trying to bargain. He could feel you getting needier, and he loved it. Satoru grunted, his hands gripping your hips tighter as you rode him. “Needy little princess, that’s what you are.” He smirked, his blue eyes staring up at you. “And how badly do you want it?”

"Please please,so bad" you ride him hard gripping him "i'm close" He didn’t think you would be so demanding, not with the way you usually act. Even he was a bit surprised, seeing you like this. Though he knew, he knew that he was the one who reduced you into a whiny mess. “Yeah, you’re close, huh?” He says, his voice low. His hands squeezed at your hips, guiding you as you rode him. “You’re being so selfish.”

“Not even gonna ask if I’m close?” He teased, a smirk still on his face. “Just focused on yourself, princess?” Satoru was also close, though he loved seeing you like this. A sweaty, whiny mess with your only thought being your own climax. He was addicted to how you looked when you were like that. “So pretty when you’re desperate.”

“Yeah, you look good like this. Just so desperate for release.” He grunted, his grip on your hips growing tighter. “It’s so cute how you think only of yourself.” Satoru’s breath was growing more heavy, he could feel himself nearing his own release. “Can’t even ask about me, huh?” He teased, his smirk growing. “How selfish of you, princess.” He chuckled again before a moan escaped his lips. “I’m almost there, too, you know.”

You whined as you snuggled on his chest licking it "please come" you begged “There it is.” He said softly, almost lovingly. Satoru smiled as he looked down at you. “That’s what I wanted to hear, princess.” His hands moved up to your hair to pet it. “You sound so cute when you’re asking nicely.”

You gripped him mewling as you both camed "ah ahn T-toru"

His breath was shaky as he came. “Yeah” he whispered, his hands sliding up to hold you. “That’s it princess, that’s it.”

He knew what he was doing wasn’t right, that fucking his best friend was wrong. Yet he didn’t care. Satoru didn’t care if he was being selfish, as long as he had you in his arms.

“You did so good” he said gently as he pet your hair. “So, so good.” Satoru knew he should be gentle with you afterwards, as he usually was. You always got clingy, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it.

You felt his cum around your walls "mhn you had a lot" you whined humming Satoru huffed a laugh at your words. “Yeah” he said gently. “Yeah I guess I did.” He always cum a lot, but he felt a bit embarrassed when you pointed it out. Though that thought was quickly replaced with a smirk. “Maybe you bring that out of me.”

"i know you need more Toru,you're still so hard i can feel it" you moved your hips in a circular motion moaning softly. A gasp escaped his lips as you talked, his hands grabbing onto your hips again. “You really are a tease, huh?” He grunted. Satoru was already hard, even after just finishing. He was trying to keep up his smirk, yet his moans were a dead giveaway of just how much that turned him on. “You’re a little minx, you know that?”

“You just love getting me all worked up, don’t you?” He said, his voice a little shaky. “Playing with fire, princess…” He groaned as you moved your hips. “I’m gonna have to spank you if you don’t stop.”

“Or” he continued. “I could just make you behave right now.” His hands moved over your body, stopping to grab at your sensitive spots. “I know how to make you behave when you don’t listen, princess.”

you whined as he rubbed a certain spot "mhnn Toru,dont do this to your best friend" you teased moaning “Don’t do what?” He asked, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Teasing you?” He smirked before rolling the two of you over, so Satoru was on top of you now. “Or are you hinting that we shouldn’t be doing this?”

He placed a hand on your stomach, his blue eyes looking right at you. “You love doing this with me, princess, I’m just giving you what you want…”

“Just like that” he whispered, his breath warm on your neck. “It’s a good thing we don’t have a meeting tomorrow, huh?” He teased as he started to move his hips with more force. They were going to be at this for a while, though he didn’t mind. Satoru rarely had any self control, and he definitely didn’t when it came to you.

“You have anywhere to be in the morning?” He asked, his eyes locking with yours. “I’m gonna be keeping you up for a while, princess…” "mhn n..no..im free tomoroww morning" you moaned softly holding the sheets “Good” he said, his lips finding your neck. He started to lick and bite at it, leaving behind marks. “I can keep you all to myself then.” He was already leaving hickies on you, wanting to make sure everyone knew you were his princess.

You whined as you felt closer again "Toru.." “Yeah, I know” he whispered back, his mouth up by your ear so you could hear him clearly. “I know you’re getting close again, princess.” Satoru’s hands moved back to your hips as he started moving his hips a bit faster.

“I can tell by how you’re holding the sheets.” He teased gently, his smirk still on his face. “You really are so needy, princess. So, so needy.”

“But you’re cute like that” he continued between his own moans. “I love how you need me, so I don’t mind spoiling you a bit.” Satoru knew he shouldn’t be treating you that way, but his selfishness was so strong. He’d do anything to get a whine out of you, anything at all.

“Come on, princess” he said, his voice a bit softer. “You’re close, I know it.” Satoru began to move a bit faster, feeling himself getting closer as well. “I know you’re getting there, princess.”

“Come on, let go” he whispered, his breaths getting a bit ragged. “Let go for me, princess. I know you can do it.” Satoru’s mouth moved to your neck, biting down a bit harder than before. He was starting to get less gentle with you, but he knew that’s how you liked it.

“There it is” he teased gently, noticing the way you were whining more. “So close, huh?” Satoru’s mouth continued to work on your neck, leaving behind more hickies in their wake. “I love it when you’re so desperate, princess.”

“Can’t even talk” he teased, “just a whiny mess, just like I like you.” Satoru was getting a bit rougher with his hands now, his grip on your hips getting tighter. “You just love being helpless for me, don’t you? Yeah, thought so.”

He started moving a bit harder and faster now, his own groans getting a bit louder. “I’m close too” he mumbled into your ear. “Can’t hold back for much longer, being like this with you.”

“Princess, I’m gonna….” He warned, his mouth still on your neck. “Gonna come….” Satoru’s hands squeezed at your hips a bit harder, as if he was trying to hold back the feeling.

“Do you want it inside?” He asked, his voice quieter now. “Or out?” Satoru honestly would have let you choose either way. He didn’t have a preference, he just wanted you to keep making those whiny little sounds.

“Gotta tell me princess” he added with a smirk. “I need to know where I’m putting this.” His hand moved up to your hair, his fingers tangling with it again. “Can’t decide by myself, can I?”

"Mhn inside" you phanted mewling gripping his back “Inside.” He repeated, his voice even quieter than before. A small shiver went through his body as you told him that, his hands squeezing at your waist a bit more. He didn’t move for a moment, just trying to regain his breath before nodding. “Yeah, okay princess.”

“Gonna fill you up, okay?” He said, his lips moving up to your ear. Satoru was already close, so he didn’t move for a moment until he was ready. “Can’t keep anything from you anymore, princess… You have me wrapped around your little finger.”

“You own me, princess” he whispered, his tone a bit shaky. “All for you, all mine, just like you’re all mine…” He started moving again, his mouth moving to your neck. He was starting to get a bit rougher, almost a bit more possessive of you.

Satoru groaned as he released inside you, his body shaking slightly. “Yeah….” He muttered, his mouth still near your neck. “There it is… good princess.” He leaned back, looking down at you with his blue eyes

“Look at you” he said, his own breath still shaky. “All whiny and messy…” Satoru looked down at your body, noticing how much of a wreck he’d made you. “I wonder if it’ll ever be enough for you… you’re always so unsatisfied.”

“You just want more and more…” he teased gently, his hand moving up to your hair. “My greedy princess…” Satoru let out a light chuckle as he continued to pet your hair.

A small smile spread across his face when you snuggled into his chest, an arm wrapping around you to pull you in closer. Satoru let out a small sigh, the hand in your hair still playing with it. “You’re so adorable, princess…” He whispered as he watched you fall asleep.

“You’re always so cute like this…” he muttered, mostly talking to himself at this point. His other hand moved down to your hip, where all the marks he’d left were. He felt the desire to leave more markings there tomorrow, claiming you all over again.

“You’re all mine” he whispered as he looked down at the marks all over your neck, as well as the hickies on your hip. There wasn’t a single part of your body that Satoru hadn’t marked up, claiming you as his every single time.

He sighed again and relaxed, his arms pulling you even closer to him. He loved falling asleep with you in his arms, knowing you were all his. He let his own eyes close, holding you tight as he fell asleep as well.

[darnell-la]

can we get some nsfw of logan heavily infantilizing reader? i know he's a mean mean man and i want him to make us cry 🥺 just wanna be doted on but also fucked like a beast

note: Logan is a very nasty individual in this story. He’s degrading, calls the reader out of her name many times, fucks rough, is manipulative, possessive, and more…

having Logan Howlett claim you are one of the best-given things that could happen.

———

How do you guys feel about a x men story with reader? Logan being rude Logan at first, then slowly shows small affection towards the reader. Jealousy and things of that sort. They soon hit it off, and after Logan starts acting rude again, because he’s scared of the love he grew for her. It’ll be a long story, but something to read at night. ALL ON WATTPAD! Comment below, please!

———

“You’re so fuckin’ childish, y/n, do you know that!? So fuckin’ childish!” Logan shouted at the girl as he placed her into his passenger seat. The man slammed the door in her face before walking around to the car.

Y/m scoffed as she crossed her arms, knowing she was wrong for what she’d done tonight, but at least she had fun.

Logan treats y/n like she has no idea what the world is like. Wade speaks to him, telling him he should take it easy because is his friend. Not Logan’s.

“Well, if I’m gonna stay in an apartment with two kids, I expect them to have manners and respect. If not, then I’m out of here,” Logan threatened a few months ago when he first got here.

Y/n had come home drunk out of her mind at three in the morning after Logan and Wade had been worried all night.

Her phone had died. She explained that to them, and Wade understood, but when she came through that door smiling, laughing, and giggling with the friend who dropped her off, it triggered Logan.

“I know pay the bills, and the apartment is his, but I’ll kick you the fuck out, kid,” Logan threatened as he got into the car and started it up, ready to get home and rest without stressing about y/n.

“I’m a grown woman, Logan. If I wanna go out and get drunk with my friends, I can!” Y/n turned towards the man just to yell before turning back towards the door, looking out of the window.

“What kinda fun is that, y/n? You’re a college student, you’ve got classes in the afternoon, you need to study, but instead, you’re out almost every weekend, pissy drunk and begging for a man to touch you,”

“What!? I don’t even go out with men! I reject them all,” y/n said, confused about why he even cared about her getting with anyone.

“Sure you don’t. Every time I pick you up or you walk through that door, you’re dressed sluttier. Every fucking time!” Logan yelled, hands groping the wheel as he drove through the city to head home.

“At this point, you’re just stressing yourself out. Let me live my life like I let you, okay? Fuck!” Y/n complained.

“So slutting around is living life now? God, you kids are fucking dumb,” Logan shook his head. “I don’t slut around!” Y/n basically screamed at the man.

“Lower your fucking tone when you talk to me, young lady!” Logan looked her way. The anger in his voice made her back up, trying to keep a straight face, but it was hard.

“Always fuckin’ yellin'. Can you ever shut the fuck up for once? Just do better in life and shut the fuck up — Grow up! Because you’re a-fucking-nnoying,” the man got out.

Y/n looked out of the window in silence, holding back her tears as the man continued.

“Be a fuckin’ lady, and respect yourself for once. For once!” He hit the wheel, making the girl jump. “Respect me!” The man hit the wheel again, but harder.

Y/n wiped a tear from her cheek quickly so he wouldn’t notice, but he did. Once he did, the man laughed to himself. “Unbelievable,” the man shook his head, disappointed in her.

“You can yell at me, but when I start yellin’ and tellin’ you what you look like, you start carrying. Fucking pathetic. Seriously!”

Logan didn’t mean to hurt the girl's feelings. He was just angry. He hated seeing her out and doing things he didn’t want her to do. Why can’t she just listen to him? Why does she need other people to make her happy when she has Wade and him at home.

The rest of the car ride was silent. Y/n wouldn’t sniff here and there, but low so she wouldn’t start Logan up again. She was embarrassed and disappointed in herself.

Right as Logan parked the car, y/n pulled on the handle to get out, but he had locked the door before she could.

“Looks y/n-“ Logan went to say, but y/n cut him off. “Let me out,” y/n said with a stern voice. “Y/n, just hear me out-“ he tried to say again. “Let me out!” She yelled, not even looking at the man.

“Hey!” Logan reached for her arm and grabbed it tightly. Y/n tried yanking herself away, but he was stronger. “Let me go!” Y/n yelled, only angering the man further. He had become obvious to the strength he had.

“Ow, Logan!” Y/n shouted at the man, but all he did was grip harder. “Stay still, y/n!” Logan demanded. “You're hurting me!” She finally said as tears streamed from her eyes.

The way she looked at the man in pain, not just from his grip, but more so from his words. Looking into his eyes, he realized he had gone too far.

“Y/n,” Logan said low as she fought the man, slapping his hand, but he wouldn’t let go. He only loosened his grip. “Let me go!” She could barely yell, only cry.

Logan shifted his body and lifted his other hand to cup her cheek. When he did, she tried shaking her head to get him off, but it wouldn’t leave.

“Please!” She cried, but Logan didn’t let her leave. All he did was let her arm go, only to push her seat back and hover over her quickly, the other hand still on her cheek.

“Baby, don’t cry,” Logan said, but she couldn’t stop. She sobbed as she weakly slapped Logan’s body, telling him to leave her alone, but that was the last thing he was going to do.

“Baby, look at him — It’s okay, just look at me,” Logan said as he placed the other hand on her other cheek, forcing her to look at him.

“I’m sorry, y/n, okay? I’m sorry,” Logan spoke. That was when y/n cried harder with no words. “Aw, baby,” Logan said, trying to wipe her tears away, but they kept rolling.

“All I wanted was for you to be safe, baby. That it. It’s dangerous out here. You can’t just be goin’ out every night, looking the way you do. You just can’t,” Logan said.

“If you wanna drink, we got it at the house. You know that. No more goin’ out, and you won’t look like this anymore,” he said, hoping to manipulate her into staying in the house, and in his sight.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Logan said and kept repeating until she ducked in her cries. It took her a while, but she managed.

“Please understand that I want you safe, y/n. Do you understand that?” Logan asked. Y/n slowly nodded her head with a sniff, making him smile slightly.

“That’s it, baby. All I want is for my baby to be safe — No more goin’ out after tonight. Maybe with me, but I have to be by your side. It’s too dangerous,” he said.

“B-But my friends,” y/n sniffed. “They’ll be fine, baby. They love you and will understand. You want me to trust you and not be stressed out, right? You want me to be? I’m gettin’ old, and ion needa be stressin’ about my girl,” Logan said.

Y/n nodded her head, halfway understanding what he wanted, but not fully. She didn’t ask though. She just knew by the way he always acted that he wanted her in sight and safe with no funny business.

“Good, baby, good,” Logan said, looking into the girl's eyes as she looked back up at him, eyes bloody and eyelashes batting.

“You’re too pretty to be seen without me, baby, and you know that, don’t you? Don’t you, baby?” Logan asked, making her nod again.

“That's right, and you're sorry for disobeying me, right?” He asked. The way he spoke to her, made her feel like she’s actually done something wrong.

“S-Sorry,” she said low. A groan slipped past the man’s lips at her words and voice. She was too sweet to believe she was real.

“Ah huh, and are you gonna show me just how sorry you are?” He asked. Y/n surprisingly nodded quickly, wanting him to know that she meant nothing personal by the way she lived.

“Good girl — Now turn around for me,” Logan said. Her mind wasn’t honking straight, but she did as told, apologizing for her body rubbing on his as she did so. “It’s okay, baby - You’re all good,”

“I’m just a little angry, and you understand that, right? It’s acceptable to why I am, right, baby?” He asked her, making her him with a nod.

“Ah huh, and you’re gonna help me relax, right, baby?” He asked and she repeated what she had done before, but more shaky. “That right,”

Logan began unbuckling his belt, watching the girl underneath him shiver from how drunk she was, the cold air coming through the cracked window, her crying session, and the confusion of this situation.

“Never listenin’ to me, baby. I don’t like that,” Logan said before giving y/n a hard slap on her ass that was covered in her tight thin dress. A whine had slipped from her mouth, only making the man groan.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna bring all this anger right out on and into you, baby,” Logan said as he pulled himself out. “And guess what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna lay here, and take it like the disrespectful little slut you are,”

Y/n whined at his words, feeling shitty for not being respectful towards the older man, but she’ll soon understand to listen.

“Every time I pick you up or watch you walk through those doors, you’re fuckin’ soaked. I just know you’re out and about, waiting for some random man to offer his cock,”

“I know you’re whore enough to take it too, now ain’t you?” Logan asked. “N-No,” y/n shook her head with a whine as he pulled her dress up, revealing her dark wet patch.

“Sure you’re not, baby. You know the drunk sluts always say that, right? Until they’re caught being stuffed and fucked in some bar bathroom,”

Y/n whined again at his comment about what he thought of her as his fingers hooked around her pants. The man pulled his fingers back, causing the panties to rip perfectly.

“You wanna be treated like some dirty slut at the bar?” Logan asked as he put his cock in his hand. “No,” y/n truly spoke, but he didn’t believe her.

The man grabbed a handful of her hair and then pushed her head into the seat. “Are you sure, baby? Because you’re gonna spreading in my passenger seat just like them club whores,”

Before y/n could say anything, the man laughed into her, forcing his huge length through her walls, knowing she would barely be able to take him.

“Logan!” Y/n cried out loud, voice crazy as she gripped and clawed at the seats. “Nah uh, you shut the fuck up!” Logan spat through his teeth as he leaned over and into the girl's ear.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, I know you want this. You always do. Comin’ back from the fuckin’ bar all soaked and full of attitude. I just know you rub that shit in my face,”

“I fuckin’ know you come through those doors wanting me to fuck your drunk ass through my mattress,” the man snapped his hips hard.

“Oh yeah? Can't take it?” Logan asked as the young girl cried in pain and pleasure. “S-Sorry, sorry,” she quickly whined as she back arched.

“No, you’re fucking not. You’re only sayin’ it now because I’m fucking this cunt dumb,” Logan growled in the girl's ear as he tugged on her hair.

“Slutty fuckin’ cunt - Grippin’ me like she ain’t been fucked in the club already,” Logan said, making the girl shake her head.

“N-No,” she managed to say. “Oh yeah? You’re tellin’ me no man has been in this cunt at the club? Fuckin’ you silly in the bathroom as you pass out from the liquor?” Logan asked.

He had already known the answer, but he was angry. He wanted to get everything out. If he could smell how wet she was every weekend, he could smell a man on her, and thankfully for her, he never has.

“N-No,” y/n whined as she came around him without warning. He hadn’t cared that she soaked his leather seats. All he cared about was how could he could fuck he’d. Maybe if he fucked he’d be good enough, she wouldn’t dare leave the apartment again.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought. You don’t let another man touch you. Never!” He pounded, knowing the wind out of her with every thrust.

“I swear, if you do, baby, ima kill him. Ima fuckin’ kill him then lock your ass in my room,” Logan threatened, only making y/n moan.

“My fuckin’ cunt — Mine! All fuckin’ mine and you know it. You’ve been known it, Bub, and because you wanted to play games, I’m gonna teach you what the fuck happens when you do,”

Logan took the seatbelt to the car and tied it around her wrist after pulling them man. The man soon continued his anger by slamming into her until she cried, begging him to stop.

He was rough, but y/n knew deep down that she deserved it. She was disrespectful and didn’t listen to him. He should get what he wants.

“You're mine, right, baby? All mine to use like those I want at the bar and club?” Logan asked as y/n could barely keep herself conscious. “Y-Yes,” was all she could get out.

“That’s my girl,”

[sexilene]

https://www.tumblr.com/sexilene/759818777216024576/can-i-request-a-boynextdoorjj-x

thinking so so many thoughts!!! I love this so much!! I need to know how and what went down when jj showed reader how to touch herself!! I feel like she’s very innocent and jj of course is a dirty boy!

OMG yessss! boynextdoor!jj x girlnextdoor!reader thought ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ (ignore the spelling mistakes sorry lol!!)

your next-door neighbor, the sweet golden retriever of a boy was an absolute chaos demon, and always horny…of course you knew this… but you were surprised when jj had promised not to try anything funny until you were ready, and you two weren’t even official yet!! but of course, you two would do the safe, usual, kissing while grinding and such- but there got to a point where the second he climbs through your window you just want to jump on him and have him help you with the ache between your legs!!

you were thinking about it all day, from the moment you woke up…to now where jj is sitting on the carpet on the floor next to you, “helping” you color a barbie coloring book all messily. you finally smacked your glossy lips together and turned to tell him about what you would like to do…

“jaaaayjay?”

“what’s up babycakes,” jj responds, not looking up from the page he was currently coloring in,

“i have a secret to tell you- and you have to promise not to laugh at me!” your words cause his eyebrows to shoot up, curiosity spiking. he looked up from the coloring book and nodded his head, “hit me.”

“sometimes, when i think of you…i think thoughts…” you speak slowly, dragging out the words, trying to find a way to say it without it sounding too dirty!

“what kinda thoughts?” jj tilts his head, a small smirk growing on his lips and he thinks he knows where this is going….

“like thoughts that make my…you know what get all fluttery and sticky…” jj thinks it's cute how shy you get when it comes to doing stuff like this with him, and he’s more than happy to help you out.

“s’that so? y’know i’m pretty skilled in helping relive that feeling,”

“you are?”

“ohhh yeah, can help you out if you want…no pressure of course but uh- i’ll be here coachin’ you every step of the way.” he stands up and offers you a hand to get you up off the floor as well.

“yes please, not full on sex though right?” your smile also starts to appear, heart beating fast at the thought of doing something so naughty with the boy you have the biggest crush on!

“nah s’perfectly safe, alright you have to take your shorts off for this baby-” jj begins to slide down your pink polka dot cotton sleep shorts and guides you over to your bed. jj takes a seat back against your pillows, he pants the spot between his legs gesturing for you to sit in front of him, back against his chest. “c’mere sit, m’gonna be gentle i promise,”

you sit where he’s telling you- but before you make yourself really comfortable you pick up one of your stuffed animals and whine “wait, don’t want them to look!” jj then licks his teeth before picking up all your little stuffies and practically throwing them under the bed.

“careful please!” you chide- pouting slightly,

“m’just putting these guys under the bed for now, little vacation time for em’ right?” he smiles innocently.

“ohh-ho soaked through your panties honeybunny!” jj laughs- but not in mockery- in complete awe of how bad you soaked through the cotton of your pretty panties, he smooths over the patch of wetness with the pads of his two rough fingers, making you whine and squirm in his hold. “jaaay, please!”

“im getting there hold your horses…” he tuts, you can feel his head shake in faux disapproval from behind you before he begins to slowly press down on your clothed clit and rub. “alright, watch what i’m doing- see just where you feel sensitive, ruuuub it nice n’ slow.”

“mmmphm!” you unintentionally lift your hips so towards his fingers to somehow try and get more friction, more pressure to- “yuuup, now you try.” jj interrupts your hazy thoughts, grabbing your wrist to lead you in rubbing your clit.

and once you begin, under his instruction, you bite your lower lip and apply bits of pressure while you touch yourself. “feels really nice!…”

“want me to keep going?” he whispers,

“yes please!” ”okay now watch angel, move those cute panties to the side n’ then- i’m just gonna use one finger.” jj carefully and ever so gently moves your panties to the side to get access to your dripping hole. then when finally starts to dip his finger in to start, you feel the stretch- slight but still present. “ohmygod!” you gasp, his finger curling up to find your g-spot, you quickly cover your mouth with your hand to keep you from yelling out again.

“s’just one! then move it iiiiin and ouuut-” he reassures you, “feelin’ okay?” and all you can do is nod, hand still covering your mouth. your little noises bouncing off the walls of your bedroom, his whispered praises, the ‘shlick-shlick’ sound your pussy makes with each in-and-out motion of his fingers….“hear that? little pussy makin’ sounds cause she’s all wet-” jj coos, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“can you do another finger pretty please jay?”

“sure can…moving in and out easy breezy baby- and then see with your other hand you keep rubbing on your clit.” he nods his head in approval though he knows you can’t see him, trying to get you closer to your first orgasm.

“i feel like im going on a rollercoaster!” you squeal, your two little fingers focused on rubbing your clit as he showed you while he curls up two of his thick fingers into your warm heat- over and over. “yeah? shit your cummin’ already…squeezing my fingers so tight,” he smiles upon hearing your little moans and feeling how tight your pussy is clamping down on his digits.

“jay!! mphph!” you scream out, his free hand coming up quickly to cover your mouth and muffle your moans as you cum down hard on his fingers. “shhhh sh sh, came down real haaard chickie, atta girl.” he licks his lip and continues to slowly thrust his fingers in and out before he slowly slips his fingers out of your cunt.

“feel like my pussy has a heartbeat…” you breathe out, trying to turn your head to look up at him, trying to re-ground yourself.

“she’s all sensitive-” he smiles down at you, re-adjusting your panties as they were. and all you do is look at him in admiration, feeling so lucky to have him here with you and what kind of a friend would you be if you didn’t help him feel as good too? a small slime graces your face when you get up to crawl away from him and turn to face him.

“thank you for helping me jj, you're always so nice and gentle- i wish there was something i could do to help you…”

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

[sanakiras]

DISTRACTION

PAIRING — xu minghao x reader

WORD COUNT — 1.5k

SYNOPSIS — you can’t help staring at your best friends’s hands. when he pushes you to tell him why, things in your relationship take a turn.

TAGS — minghao in a suit, explicit sexual content, pure self-indulgence, porn with no plot, fem!reader

NOTE — there’s something sooo attractive about a man having long fingers. also i just have a crush on the8. no i will not elaborate. might delete this later bc i don’t like it. oh well. enjoy :o

lately, whenever being around your best friend, you’ve been... distracted.

for some reason, you’ve always liked it when men have long fingers. obviously the best known reason for that is a lewd one, but for you, it’s more than that. long fingers are hypnotizing to you.

of course it was minghao’s face that drew you in first. plump lips, eyes that could both kill and make you melt under their gaze, a strong jaw, dark hair often slicked back with a pair of sunglasses sitting on top.

then you noticed his figure. minghao is tall — long legs, long arms, long torso. what drew you in about him was the control he has over it, alongside his flexibility. his movement is always swift, sharp and coordinated. not one to stumble over his own feet.

he became a close friend to you in no-time. within the first months of meeting him, you developed an admiration towards him, and that continued to grow into a crush you feel nothing if not insecure about.

because despite knowing him well, he’s far from an open book.

he’s not once given you the idea that he likes you the same way you like him, and now that he’s become such a good friend of yours, the last thing you’d want is to lose the friendship you’ve built with him.

so you keep it to yourself.

or, well, you try.

his current outfit makes that ridiculously hard. you’ve never seen him in a suit before.

while you weren’t all that excited for the black-tie event hosted by your faculty, just the sight of him has changed your mood like a whole day’s worth of caffeine.

and when he walks over to you, all you can do is admire him. the fabric suits his body like a glove, with several silver rings adorning his fingers and his frequently worn small hoop earrings to match them. the beautifully subtle black eye pencil brings out the colors of his eyes and styled hair.

“you look like a dream,” is the first thing to come out of his mouth when he steps before you, the tone of his voice as gentle as the smile he gives you.

heat rushes to your cheeks. “so do you. never expected to see you in a suit, but you clean up nice.”

he chuckles at your sarcasm. “thank you.”

as he tells you about — whatever it is, you honestly hardly remember a thing of the conversation — you suddenly come to the deafening conclusion that you’re nowhere near as subtle with your glances as you thought you were, which certainly bursts your bubble a bit.

“you keep doing that.” he muses, tilting his head as he looks at you with curiosity.

“what?”

“staring at my hands.”

“i’m not—i don’t stare.”

“what else would you call it? constant-looking?”

“hilarious. really.”

when you don’t say anything else, he purses his lips, hoping to get a little more out of you. you’ve got to give him credits for his determination. “so, what’s so interesting about my hands?”

with a simple shrug of your shoulders, you pretend to be casual, like he didn’t catch you staring at him. “they’re not interesting, just… nice.”

“nice?”

“can’t we just drop this? and by ‘we’ i mean you.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “we’re friends. you can tell me, i won’t judge.”

“you? not judging anyone? that’d be almost suspicious.”

the retort makes him smile to the point it hurts his jaw. “i won’t judge you.”

a sigh rolls past your lips. “it’s no big deal, i just… like it when people have nice hands.”

“and why’s that?”

“does everything you like need to have a reason?”

"no, i guess not."

a playfulness that stirs doubt in you flashes behind his eyes, and you’re forced to put a halt to the conversation when one of your fellow faculty members walks up to the two of you with a glass of champagne, which you could not be happier with.

all you can do is hope minghao won’t bring up the topic again, the redness in your cheeks betraying you.

unfortunately, he does eventually bring it up again, once he’s gotten you home.

what his exact words were is difficult to remember, but now that he’s pushed you back onto your bed, you can’t find it in you to give a damn.

your brain feels foggy and a thin layer of sweat begins to form on your neck while he uses his hands to unbutton the white dress shirt, his impatience getting the best of him for once.

even though you’re busy pulling your top off, it’s hard to divert your gaze from his hands and chest, which brings him to tilt his head at you. “you’re staring again.”

“if you don’t want me to stare, don’t give me a reason to.”

“oh, so this whole thing is really just my fault?” he taunts, getting so annoyed with the damn buttons on his shirt not working with him that he leaves the bottom half like it already was, only the upper half of his chest peeking through.

once he lays his eyes on your half-naked form, you spot a growing desperation and impatience in his features, which is rare on him.

much to your surprise, he’s eager and quick, refusing to waste a single second. his hands have already pulled you towards him by your thighs before you can even comprehend it.

the thin silver necklace touches your warm skin when he leans down to kiss you, the last thing you’d imagined you’d be doing tonight — and it’s better than you anticipated.

he pries your legs open with a nudge of his knee, and just when you want to look down to his hand on your skin, he pushes two fingers into you, curling it upwards.

your hands immediately fly to his upper arms in response to the sudden intrusion, but it only makes you crave more.

his lips latch onto your cheeks, jaw and neck, placing wet kisses everywhere he can reach while his long fingers move in and out of you.

“just two and you’re already so tight — you can take another one, though, can’t you?”

how sweet of him to pose it as a question, an offer.

you both know damn well he’s gonna keep going either way.

minghao doesn’t know what it is about you that just utterly sets him off. it might be your constant pessimism, your snarky delivery of sarcastic little comments, the way you needlessly tease him all the time — or maybe it’s that whenever he sees you, he wants nothing more for you to get the fuck on top of him, moaning his name.

who knows.

“why don’t you just try me?” you ask rhetorically, accidentally clenching around his digits when he moves them again.

minghao chuckles, baffled that you’ve still got such an attitude, even when you’re at his mercy. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, though. “right. maybe i should just do that.”

a third finger prodding into your hole makes you whine the loudest you have so far. he smirks a little when noticing the way you’re fighting so hard to maintain your composure, and the noise of your squelching wetness begins to become embarrassingly loud.

but it isn’t enough for him.

usually, it’s not at all like him to be insatiable or greedy. but all he can think of right now is that he wants more — to be closer with you, deeper.

he feels his own lust in every motion, every thrust of his fingers, every twitch of his cock. it makes him wonder if he’s ever wanted something, no, someone this badly.

his next move goes unnoticed by you since you’ve got your eyes closed and head back, but then you feel it, and it’s like you snap awake, an electric jolt making you jerk forward.

when you look down, he eagerly runs his tongue up and down your pussy, fingers remaining buried inside you.

“oh my god—” you stutter out, hand clutching onto the pillow but quickly moving down to grab his hair.

lost in your own pleasure, you push his head down, the lower half of his face coated in your arousal — fuck, he wants to do this for hours.

he proceeds to curl his fingers again, and he must’ve hit a good spot, because your legs are beginning to tremble, moans shorter and higher-pitched. “fuck, hao, it’s too much, i’m too close—”

“are you?” he rhetorically asks, pushing his digits as deep as possible, sucking on your clit, hollowing his cheeks. even when you try to close your legs, he firmly keeps them open.

your hips buck into his face when you cum, knees shaking, and he presses his thumb on your pussy, which makes your eyes roll back.

propping yourself up on your elbows, you suddenly feel his fingers slowly sliding out of you, and just that feeling alone already turns you on again. he sits across from you, still between your legs, and his fingers are completely coated in the sticky wetness that’s still dripping down your cunt.

he pushes them in his mouth, licking them clean, some of your arousal remaining on his lips.

“please say you’ll let me do that again.”

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[la2yn0va]

Yo! Can i request some Yandere high cloud quinlet (together) x male reader, that has a habit of not caring at all for his life? Like the reader despite having a good reputantion and has one of the highest potential within the cloud knights. His powers/techniques foes harm to his body. (I Dunno if you seem jujutsu kaisen when Megumi summons Mahoraga, that summoning him cost the user his life? Well put the reader in a similar situation)

CW: Yandere characters, Suicidal(?) Reader

——

“Why are so intent on worrying us?” Dan Feng said as he healed your body with some strange vidyadhara technique. “Whaat? I’m not dead, and I’m pretty sure some random Mara-struck soldiers ain’t gonna kill ME” M/n had refuted, which seemed to tick off the high elder.

“That’s not the point! I’m talking about your technique!” He heaved out with frustration. M/n sighed and rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear the same speech he’d been hearing since he started. Dan Feng looked even more frustrated, grabbing his ear and harshly pulling and pinching

“Owowowow! Fuck!! Wait—!!” “Don’t get sassy with me m/n. This is serious!” He said, not hiding his frustration. M/n continued to yelp in pain. “Okay okay!! You’ve made your point!! Owowowow!!!” Just then, baiheng and Yingxinq walked in seeing Dan Feng harshly disciplining m/n.

They watched with mixed reactions, wanting to step in but also wanting to discipline you for, once again, getting them worried. “Have l?! I seem to remember ‘making my point’ to you repeatedly!! And yet you STILL go on and repeat your previous actions!!” He got increasingly more frustrated and pissed. However, before it could escalate, baiheng and yingxinq stepped in.

Yingxinq stopping Dan Feng and baiheng taking care of m/n’s hurtting ear “Calm down Feng. I’m sure he’s learned his lesson” “Don’t be a fool Yingxinq! How many times have I, Jingliu, and Jing yuan repeated this lecture with him and he has yet to take us seriously!”

“You okay sweetie~?” Baiheng said quietly, not missing the chance to get herself in m/n’s good side. He nodded and was immediately met with a slap on his nape “OW!!” “Are you trying to give us a heart attack!?” She said with worry, before he could respond, Yingqinx left a slap of his own.

“OW!! It’s a force of habit okay!? Plus, it’s not like—!” “What’s going on in here.” A colder voice sliced through m/n’s words. M/n froze as he saw jingliu walking in with jing yuan. “Good luck m/n” Yingxinq said as jingliu immediately walked angrily towards m/n.

“H-heyyyyyy jingliu…….. h-how’re you?” He nervously smiled as her red eyes glared into his. “Ahaha…I-I’m doing good to! I just came back from killing of monsters of the abundance—” “Did you use your technique?” She said, knowing the answer.

M/n stayed silent, nervously laughing and looking around to avoid the question. Jingliu had seen enough, harshly grabbing his other ear that wasn’t assaulted by Dan Feng’s wrath earlier and tugging and pinching his cheek “OWOWWWWWW!!!!!” He yelled as Jingliu DID. NOT. Hold back, making sure to dig it into his thick skull of how unacceptable his actions are.

“Are you actually this fucking dense!? How many times do I have to discipline you boy!!” She didn’t give him time to respond, her strength increasing by the second and managing to make his tear up slightly “OKAY OKAY I GET IT!!” “I DONT THINK YOU FUCKING DO!!”

Jing yuan and baiheng stepped up, both saving m/n from jingliu’s increasing wrath. “Calm down master. There’s a far more appropriate punishment then physical punishment” “Silence jing yuan! M/n needs to be reminded HARSHLY how—” “Let’s just.. hear him out jingliu” Baiheng’s reasonable voice managed to calm jingliu down.

“M/n. As General of the luofu, I’m banning you from the battlefield” “WHAT!!?” He yelled, the pain immediately being neglected as he stood up. Yingxinq keeping him from walking up to Jing yuan and throwing a punch.

“Until you grow out of this habit and change your technique, I will not allow you to rejoin the battle ground, and you WILL be arrested on sight” Jing yuan repeated with seriousness and authoritatively. M/n looked around, seeing that everyone was in agreement with this. “Your fucking kidding!” “Come on m/n. This is a reasonable reaction” “Yingxinq, you can’t actually—!” “I don’t see anything wrong with it” Baiheng interjected.

M/n growled lowly, clearly annoyed before walking away, only to be stopped by jingliu’s hand and Dan Feng’s tail. “Your not leaving our sight” Dan Feng said as m/n struggled against their grip, before giving up, deciding to try and escape later “Fine…”

-The End-

[fatal-thoughts]

A Lovely Exchange

Telemachus x Servant! Reader

Synopsis: Telemachus already fights off his mother’s suitors, but what if he manages to become one? To… one of the palace’s servants?

warnings: slow burn, flustered Telemachus, puppy love, assault, threats

A/N: This is fluffier than what I usually write, but I couldn't help it. I love him sm wtf

Part 1 of ???

You went about your routines as usual—watering the garden, cleaning the halls, fixing any imperfections in the palace, and even helping other servants when needed.

It wasn’t unusual to see you wandering around the palace; after all, you were the queen’s favorite assistant.

No one really knew why or how you and the queen were so close, not even you. But you knew there were both benefits and drawbacks to it.

Including being a target of the 108 suitors now living under the same roof as you.

As much as you wanted to continue your duties as usual, they never failed to hinder your responsibilities.

You were heading toward the palace dining room. Though it was the last place you wanted to go, you had to pass through it to reach the kitchen to prepare something for the queen—who also refused to set foot in there.

So far, so good, until you stepped into the hallway. The once loud and distracted suitors were now eyeing you.

You swallowed nervously, the lump in your throat growing, but continued forward, treading slowly so as not to attract more attention than you already had.

You made it to the end of the hall, believing you were safe, until you felt someone grab your wrist and pull so hard you almost lost your balance. You looked up and saw one of the queen’s most persistent suitors: Antinous.

The man had a proud smirk on his face as he looked down at you, still holding onto your wrist. He’d made multiple attempts to converse with you, all of which you declined, so you weren’t entirely surprised that he’d resorted to these measures.

"Ah, well, if it isn’t the lovely slave herself.”

That pissed you off.

You knew you couldn’t do anything about it, but if you could, you’d have slapped him by now. Instead, you jerked your arm away from him.

But that didn’t stop him. He grabbed you again, this time by the arm, with a much tighter and more painful grip, making you gasp in pain.

“Whoa now, where do you think you’re going? You don’t think you can just run off that easily, do you?” he taunted, leaning closer to your neck, his voice low.

“We want the queen, and since she’s unavailable, I guess we’ll have to settle for you.”

You glanced behind you, noticing all the men in the hall staring at you with intense gazes filled with hunger, desire, and thirst.

Frightened, you hurriedly tried to break free from Antinous’s grip. He chuckled softly, holding you tighter and pulling you closer. You struggled with all your strength until, finally, he let go. But it wasn’t because of your effort.

His gaze had shifted—he was no longer looking at you, but at something, or someone, else.

Backing away from him, you looked behind him and saw none other than the queen’s son, Telemachus.

He was gripping his sword, pointing it at Antinous.

“Leave her alone.”

You were surprised, to say the least. You and Telemachus had never really spoken. He usually avoided you whenever he ran into you.

You never understood why. Every time you saw him, he’d dash away like a startled deer.

But now, here he was, standing in front of you, holding a sword to one of the suitor’s neck.

Antinous raised his hands sarcastically, a smug grin on his face as he glanced between Telemachus and you.

“Alright, I’ll leave her be, little wolf.”

He walked past you, but as he did, he whispered, “Don’t think I’m done with you yet, slave.”

You recoiled instantly as he let out a shameless laugh.

You and Telemachus watched him walk away, and then you quickly exited the dining hall.

Catching your breath, you adjusted your hair and robes, trying to calm yourself. No suitor had ever approached you with such aggression before, and now Antinous had gone to these lengths? It was terrifying.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized Telemachus was still standing in front of you, staring at you like a deer caught by a hunter.

You raised a brow, confused. Did he see something?

“My prince, are you… alright?” you asked, still somewhat shaken. After all, he did just save you. Maybe he was in shock?

“Shit, shit, shit, shit—” was what was running through Telemachus’s mind as he stood there.

He hadn’t really thought he’d get this far. All he saw was you in danger, and his instincts had taken over.

But now that he had actually saved you, talking to you afterward wasn’t part of the plan—if he even had a plan.

He was practically begging the gods that you wouldn’t notice the inconvenient pink hue on his cheeks because that would only make things worse.

He had gone to such lengths to avoid you, to ignore you, to ward you off—foolish attempts, all of them—and now here you were, standing right in front of him.

He waited for you to tell him that you knew. Knew he admired you, probably too much.

His lips quivered slightly as he stared at you, unable to stop himself. Come to think of it, he’d never noticed how beautiful you were up close. The shape of your nose, how perfectly it fit your face. The look in your eyes, with the soft tint of color. And your lips, how pretty they looked, even when they smiled just a little.

“Fuck, I’m staring,” he muttered under his breath, snapping out of his trance.

Which you definitely heard.

You tilted your head slightly. Was he okay? Had Antinous done something to him?

No, he was just a nervous wreck because his childhood crush was standing right in front of him, and he was so not prepared.

If Athena was watching him right now, this was definitely not a battle she had prepared him for.

With a silent, desperate cry, he cleared his throat, trying to make the situation less embarrassing than it already was.

“I-I’m fine. How are you?”

…

Seriously? THAT’S the best you could do?

He stared at the ground, trying to mask his shame. Maybe if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him either, right? Zeus might as well strike him down with lightning.

He was about to punch himself when he heard something.

You were… laughing?

He looked up to see you covering your mouth, short giggles escaping your lips.

Was it bad that he found them so pretty?

Eventually, you calmed down.

“Thank you, my prince, for saving me back there. Truthfully, I wouldn’t know what to do if you hadn’t come to my aid. So, thank you.”

You bowed your head, expressing your gratitude.

“How can I repay you, my princ—”

“N-No! It’s fine, please! I don’t need anything. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you, so just…”

And now he was rambling.

Nice going, Telemachus. Might as well confess to her right here and now, right? Just go for it!

Before he could continue his spiral, both of you noticed a familiar silhouette approaching. As she got closer, you immediately recognized her.

And she did not seem pleased.

“Queen Penelope! Forgive me, I was delayed on my way to the kitchen. I’ll quickly fetch your meal as you requested—”

“No, it’s alright, Y/n. You are not the one I am concerned with.”

Her gaze shifted sharply to Telemachus, her eyes almost piercing through him.

The boy’s soul nearly escaped his body when he saw the way his mother looked at him.

“Son, come with me.” Penelope turned and walked away without another word.

Telemachus glanced back at you, taking in your beautiful presence one last time.

“I…”

“Quickly, Telemachus.”

If there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was anger his mother. He feared her more than any god.

“I’lltalktoyoulaterbye!” he blurted out as he hurried to catch up with her.

That… was something. For a first impression, it wasn’t that bad, right?

Right?

Ah, shit.

He followed Penelope as they walked through the halls, still unsure of where they were headed, but he kept his pace with her.

Eventually, they reached the palace garden. A place where Penelope liked to unwind, where Telemachus often rested, and where you, conveniently, loved to work.

The queen sat beside the marble fountain, and Telemachus followed suit. A comfortable silence fell between them as they enjoyed the peaceful moment. It had been some time since they’d spent time together, and both of them treasured even the smallest moments.

“You like her, don’t you, son?”

…

Wait… WHAT?

So, what do you think?

[solreino]

Swan Song

Chapter 1: Taking Flight

Summary: In preparation for your debut as Odette in Swan Lake, you encounter a few bumps in the road. Little do you know this is just the start.

Pairings: TF 141 x Reader

Word Count: 5.1K

Warnings: Eating Disorders, Toxic Beauty Standards, Creepy/Unwanted Behaviour, Period-Typical Attitudes (1910's), Innacurate Translations.

A/N: I'm not well informed about ballet, I have never danced it before, so I apologize for any inaccuracy regarding terminology. Also, the story is set mainly in Russia, so the reader is presumed to be of Russian origin.

MASTERLIST Next➔

[November 11th 1911, The Bolshoi Ballet Academy, Russia]

"1 and 2 and 3 and 4!”

Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as Mr. Lenkov begins to play Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake Suite, Op. 20a: I. Scene "Swan Theme" for what feels like the sixth time this hour. His nimble fingers dance across the ivory keys once again as the composition presumes its macabre melody.  

To say the last few weeks have been stressful would be a dire understatement. Since taking up the role of Odette in Autumn, you’ve yet to recall the last time you’d had the pleasure of succumbing to the sanctity of slumber, nor rest altogether for that matter. From dawn to dusk, you’ve found the studio becoming a second home to you; like an ever-so gracious host with a tendency for passive-aggressive hospitality, who coaxes you from the front door in promise of warm tea and a place to rest your head, insisting you stay "just one more hour". You know better, well at least you think you do, because beyond the studio door you know there’ll be no rest awaiting you, only relentless recital. Still, you don’t look back as you accept its welcoming embrace. Because- 

Anything but perfection would not suffice. You see, back-breaking discipline; impeccable precision; artistic competence; meticulous dedication, it’s nothing new to ballet and in turn, it’s nothing new to you, either. To be a ballerina means to surrender yourself to the artistry, and let your body become its mindless muse.

The Ballet industry is an anomaly compared to other artistic sectors. Unlike others, it subverges from the ideals of ‘beauty in the eye of the beholder’. Conformity is key. There are strict standards to be met and an unquestionable quota to be completed. Anything but, will not do. It disregards the need to sugarcoat its shallow requirements; skinnier, sharper, prettier, thinner; if it fulfills the requirements, it will suffice. 

Image is everything. It’s a shallow, superficial sentiment that directors set upon budding ballerinas like hounds to hares. From day one, they plant it into the impressionable minds of aspiring dancers. Uncontrollably, self-doubt sprouts like a stubborn weed. Each off-hand comment or direct dig, whether it be about a girl’s weight of en pointe form, encourages the festering parasite to root itself deeper into her mind. Then she grows older - it’s too late - and the parasitic thought has poisoned her once innocent outlook on life and has rotted it right to its roots. For the rest of her tragic life, the girl will only know the number on the scales, the image in the mirror, and the misery in her mind. 

You’ve seen it happen to others. You’ve seen it happen to you, because-  

Ballet has ensnared you - mind, body, and soul. Over the years, you’ve felt its callous claws dig deeper and deeper into your flesh, leaving scars so severe - both physically and mentally - sometimes the pretty pink ribbons you adorn your feet with prove futile in the bid to cover them. Prodding and poking and probing; fingers jabbing mercilessly into your sides, accompanying a doubly ruthless "you'll need to lose this extra weight if you want a spot on my stage". For a sport so vain, you ought to think it would go easy on its victims. A session of self-reflection proves otherwise.

You learn to bear and grin through it all. You don’t have much of a choice anyways. After all, many before you have suffered the same, and those who come after you will too. Because after many years of being a ballerina-

You learn to see beauty in the pain. 

The blood you bleed makes the red roses you receive at curtain call worthwhile; the sadistically sweat-inducing masterclasses make the shining smiles and standing ovations from awestruck audiences worthwhile; the tears make the champagne chutes you get to drink at the expense of your company worthwhile. You chase these highs like you do with stardom.  

All you've ever dreamed of since a little girl was to be a ballerina. Perhaps, it was the beautiful dresses a child of your class could only dream of back then, or how pretty the woman on the front page of your father’s newspaper looked posing on the tip of her toes. You don’t know for certain what exactly it was that enthralled you with it all. Sometimes, you wish you had never boarded that train to Moscow, never bothered with all that came with being a ballerina. It’s a selfish and self-deprecating thought, for you know if you were to stay on that homestead, there was an imminent chance you would have succumbed to the troubles of poverty you had faced back home. Admittedly, there are times you miss your life before coming to the city. None can be done about that, however.

Now, you have to push your body to its limits and beyond. Daily, you trespass boundaries you had once believed your body did not possess the ability to, reciting the same sequences endlessly, over and over again, until you physically can’t pursue your practice further that day. Even then, you find yourself persevering through the pain and fatigue; limbs heavy like lead; a mind strong like steel. If you knew your efforts were futile in the bid to rid yourself of any flaws in your dance, you would be wrong because-    

Ultimately, you knew no matter how much effort you exerted, the Dance Principal; Ballet Mistress; the reputable Madame Orlova would not miss a single thing.

For decades, word has circled Moscow of the cold-hearted, quick-witted, sharp-tongued old woman who ran the prestigious academy with an iron fist. It was just your luck that she had taken you under her wing as one of her pupils. You dare say she had taken a liking to you, though, she did have a tough way of showing her fondness onto others. 

Never a day was there without some sort of mistake to be mended by her recognition. At times you think God had cursed her to be forever unfulfilled in her outlook of life. The others in the Troupe seem to think so too. 

You dread to think of how much Mr Lenkov’s fingers must be hurting from playing the same melody over and over again for this past hour. It wouldn’t surprise you if the composition begins to haunt your dreams like a creaky, broken music box. You’ve never had the pleasure of owning one, though you had seen one in the window of a repair shop one time and-

And, as the Ballet Mistress shouts at Mr Lenkov to cease his playing, you know she has once more found a flaw in your dancing. 

The symphony stops abruptly with a garble of incoherent notes before it can reach its crescendo. Inwardly, you sigh. 

"No, no, no!" She scolds.

Her boney fingers rub feverishly against her temple in frustration. Rising slowly from her chair before you, her walking cane thumps anticipating against the studio’s oakwood floor as she ambles towards you. Wrinkled eyes bore into you; you struggle to withstand the urge not to writhe under the intensity of her stare.

"Your arms,” She begins slowly, her gaze raking over you in scrutiny, “They are stiff.” 

“From the shoulder to the fingertips,” She gestures with her hand down the length of your arm as she speaks. “It must flow, like the wing of a swan.”

She uses the moment of silence as you take on the command to survey your form, prodding and poking your stance to adjust it to her liking. 

“Do not forget this.” She finishes. 

"Yes, Madame Orlova," You nod in acknowledgment, wincing slightly each time her finger jabs into your shoulder blades and readjust your position to better suit her expectations. 

She huffs a breath in what you can only presume is somewhat satisfaction, signaling for Mr Lenovo to resume playing.

“Again!”

The song resumes its somber sound, and you take heed to the Ballet Mistress’ words. Flowing from your shoulder blades to your fingertips, you encapture the essence of the White Swan; melancholy in her mourning of a lover whose heart he had promised to another. She is vulnerable in her virtue, and she shows that in her final flight. Odette longs for the skies, for an escape from the betrayal of who she had held dear, but her wings fail her. In desperation, she flexes and flaps her wings, but alas, she cannot take flight. And so-

You spiral in a presession of slow spins, arms portraying the anguished attempt the Swan Queen takes to take flight for the final time before decelerating into a despairing descent as Odette. The tune tumbles to its end from beneath Mr. Lenkov’s fingers as you complete your practiced plummet to the studio floor, encasing your body with your arms the wings of the white swan, as the grief-stricken creature takes its final breath. 

You raise your head to look at Madame Orlova.

And, for the first time in your decade-long enrollment at the Bolshoi Ballet School, you think you see the infamously stone-faced stone-hearted ballet mistress smile. 

It's a cold evening in Moscow tonight. The winter winds thrash ferociously at the loose and unraveling threads of your scarf. Whilst it does little to protect you from the frigid frost lingering in the air, you wear it anyways as any warmth you can garner to combat the icy environment is, in your eyes, worthwhile.

Snowflakes dust your hair with specks of glistening white, gathering upon the crown of your head where you have neglected to put on a hat. They tickle your nose and gently brush against your rosy cheeks as you tilt your head back. Your face turned towards the sky; watching as the snow twirls and tumbles from the clouds above, gradually blanketing the ground ahead in a pristine carpet of soft white. It crunches as you walk towards the theatre, leaving footsteps on the once-untouched landscape. You take extra caution not to slip on any hidden ice - an injury is the last thing you needed on a day as imperative as this. 

Somewhere in the far distance, the Kremlin bells ring. 

Thirteen mighty chimes thunder throughout the city. You feel the ground rumble in response beneath your feet - a reminder to hurry.

Rushing up the snowy steps of the Bolshoi Ballet Theatre, you quickly let yourself inside in an attempt to escape the chilling temperatures of the Moscovian evening - and to avoid running behind schedule. 

The warm air inside greets you welcomingly. You eagerly pull off your gloves in its presence to soak up the heat it has to offer. Slowly, you begin to regain feeling into your fingers. Sighing a relieved breath, you make your way backstage as the marble floor of the foyer echoes noisily beneath your shoes.

There, you receive a not-so-calm yet begrudgingly familiar greeting. 

Pre-performance is usually like this; congested backstage corridors; a cacophony of frantic demands and directions; boxes of overflowing props and costumes rushed up and down the hall; the deafening pounding of ballerinas breaking in their pointe shoes;  dim lighting making it near impossible to navigate. However today, with your debut as the company’s newly appointed principal dancer just hours away, it feels even more nerve-wrackingly overwhelming. 

You brace yourself as you get swept away in the havoc of opening night, tangled in the rambunctious crowd as it traverses through the labyrinth of backstage passageways.

Despite the absurd amount of people crammed in corridors unable to withstand even a fraction of their current capacity, you miraculously manage to maneuver your way to the dressing room; elbow-to-rib style, ducking under boxes and weaving past those racing in the opposite direction. 

Relief hits you as you swing open the dressing room door, closing it quickly behind you as your eyes blink rapidly to adjust to the bright lighting inside. The much more quieter, yet seemingly livelier chatter of friendly conversation and girlish giggles encompasses you as you move further into the dressing room. You shrug off your coat, laying it to rest on the coathanger and take your seat in front of your dresser.

Tranquility seeps into your bones as you slouch against the chair’s backrest momentarily, soaking up the opportunity of rest no matter how short-lived the moment may be. Mentally, you take the moment to prepare yourself for the evening, and all the chaos and calamity it is sure to bring. 

Sighing, you straighten yourself up in your seat, glancing at your reflection in the mirror as you do so. 

"I didn't know you had a secret admirer.” 

You don’t turn around as the voice chimes up from behind you. You of all people know better than to entertain her playful antics. 

The voice reveals itself from its lurking in the background, resting her chin just above your collarbone and draping her arms over your shoulder. 

Your eyes meet hers in the reflection. She grins back at you.

“Valeria.” You sigh, patting the hand resting around your shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

Valeria, crowned tonight’s Black Swan, is one of the company’s longer-serving principal dancers and has self-appointed herself as your tutor and friend as of late. Graciously, she has taken you under her wing these past couple of months as you have gradually adjusted to your newly bestowed title, joining her amongst the Bolshoi’s most prestigious ranks. 

“You too,” She smirks, a little too suspiciously for your liking, pecking your cheek in greeting before returning to her seat at her vanity next to you. “You too.”

You begin to rummage through your stage makeup, tilting the mirror toward you so you can better see, before laying out your needed products on the desk space. You pay no mind to her mischievous staring as you do so. But, as you have learned over your time acquainted with Valeria, nothing can deter her from getting what she wants. And right now, that is to find out who this supposed ‘secret admirer’ is.

"So tell us then," She drawls teasingly, "Who's the lucky boy?"

The edge of your desk presses uncomfortably into your side as you turn to give her your attention. For the time being, anyways. You yourself are somewhat curious as to what she is talking about. But the sooner you can resolve this suppositious accusation, the sooner you can resume to the real issue at hand - getting ready for Swan Lake. 

Confusion stirs at her question, and you tilt your head to the side, urging her to explain further.

A ribbon-wrapped gift box is pushed toward you. You watch on, confused. 

Valeria’s legs swing idly back and fro as she gazes at you expectantly. The corners of her lips tug further into a grin at the silence that ensues and at the completely dumbfounded expression on your face. When you give her no answer, her Cheshire-cat-like grin falters. 

The girls around you giggle, peering over from their makeup stations to indulge in the drama unfolding. Valeria shoots them a look from over your shoulder, one you cannot decipher, but it quietens them down. 

“For me?” you ask doubtfully, slightly stumbling over your words as you take the generous gift into your hands. “Oh Valeria, you shouldn’t have-”

“Not from me.” She huffs.

“I don’t understand,” you mumble, eyes scanning over the gift as you look for a label, a note, a letter, anything that may reveal the gifter’s identity. “Who could this be from?”

She shrugs indifferently, turning to focus on her reflection in the mirror, transfixed on getting the edges of her lipstick just right. 

“The girls who were here before me said it came delivered to the dressing rooms earlier this hour-” She smiles at her appearance, appreciating her flawless makeup in the mirror. Placing the lipstick tube down with a quiet thump, she turns to focus her attention on you once more. 

She pokes a finger at you in playful accusation. “-Asking for you specifically!” 

It’s your turn to shrug your shoulders, unable to give her the answer she craves, for what reason, is beyond you.  

She eyes you incredulously, before returning her attention to her mirror seemingly unable to neglect her reflection for just a moment longer.

“Well,” She gestures toward the ribbon-wrapped gift with her free hand, playing an unbothered facade. You know full well she is practically itching to uncover this mystery. “Are you going to open it?”

Your eyes dart between her and the suspicious box, almost expecting this to be some sort of ruse, perhaps she had given you a jack-in-the-box and was waiting for you to get the fright of your life; her idea of fun.

Hesitantly, you begin the unravel the sheer ribbon keeping the box from opening. The fabric rubs soothingly against your fingertips, a luxury fabric you have not had the experience of touching before. It was clear that whoever had purchased this was of a wealthy background.  Perhaps, you think, you could make this into a bow to wear. 

You don’t know what you were expecting when you lifted its lid, but you definitely were not expecting a pair of .

“Aye chingao!” Valeria startles as she leans over your shoulder to get a better look.

Nestled between a blanket of draped deluxe fabric, a pearlescent pink, almost winter-white, pair of the most exquisitely crafted pointe shoes lie. You fail to restrain the exasperated sigh of awe at the sight, carefully grazing your fingertips over its silky satin finish as if the slightest touch could possibly damage them. You can confidently say, they are the most beautiful gift you have ever had the pleasure of receiving. 

“No secret admirer,” she says.” Valeria quirks an eyebrow up at you.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's probably just costuming.” You dismiss her far-fetched conspiracies, though, you find it hard to draw your eyes away from the pair of shoes, and the fact that this had definitely not come from the costume department. So who had sent you these?

"Ha, as if Mr. Baryshev would ever allow the budget given to costuming to be used for anything but lining his own pockets!” She laughs bitterly. 

“I’ve been-” Valeria exhales out a frustrated breath, “-trabajando como un burro to afford the means to get wear this!” She growls, her hands gesturing to the coal-coloured feathered fabric of her intricate bodice and tutu. 

You open your mouth to give her your consolation before a knock comes to the door. You, Valeria, and the rest of the room quieten into hushed murmuring - just for a moment. Then-

“On in 30, Ladies!” A gruff voice hollers from the other side of the door.

The room erupts into chaos.

A tsunami of frantic ballerinas surge forward towards the row of dressers, crashing against each other like the tides of a raging sea you had heard many-medal adorning men recount about in tales of some distant land. The only redeeming thing about conducting post-performance business is the stories and tales you overhear; the rest, you are not so keen on.

You take the distraction in stride, shoving the pair of shoes more like semi-worn in pointe hand-me-downs from costuming somewhere under your vanity, and replacing them with your newly acquired gift.

“You’re going to wear them?!” Valeria hisses incredulously. 

You glance at her sideways, smirking back at the priceless expression of amused disbelief on her face.

“Well, they’re shoes, aren’t they?” You jest, grinning at her mischievously. “It would be a shame not to.”

She shakes her head in mock-dissappointment, haphazardously stuffing her stage makeup in its designated drawer before firmly slamming it shut. 

“I fear my mischief is rubbing off on you too much.” She mumbles as she looks up at you, feigning a tone of dismay, only to be betrayed by the growing smirk on her face. 

“Well,” She smoothes her hands over her slicked-back bun of cropped raven hair, "I'll see you out there." 

You give her your goodbyes as she pats you on the shoulder, rising from her chair and making her way toward the dressing room’s door. 

“Don’t let the Director find out,” Valeria whisper-shouts from over her shoulder. “You know what he’s like.”

She ushers the remaining lingering corps-de-ballet girls out of the changing rooms, winking at you as she closes the door gently behind her. 

You listen as the chatter slowly retreats from beneath the doorframe, Valeria’s distinct, accented laughter mingled with that of fast-paced Russian retreating down the echoey corridor ‘till you could hear it no more. A serene silence hugs the now-semi abandoned dressing room; those, including you, who aren’t to appear until later acts remain, a more pacific atmosphere stirs, with subdued gossiping, softer laughter, and a more slowing-encroaching sense of time.

You slump in your chair. 

You have a long evening ahead of you.

The rear of house is relatively quieter now.

You can no longer hear the lively chatter associated with the pre-performance buzz, only the occasional hushed conversation resurfacing through the suffocating silence as people pass by. Walking backstage is always an awkward feat, your pointe shoes make an unpleasantly loud noise against the cold concrete floor with each precarious step you take. 

You had felt bad for having to break them in; they were an extraordinaryly well-crafted pair of pointé shoes, they fit perfectly too, and you were certain the price tag was even more extravagant. You still hadn’t resolved the identity of the mystery gifter, but you’d make sure to thank them profusely for their kindness. For now, however, you have a debut to make. 

Your feet thump rapidly as you semi-rush toward the entrance to the left wing. The further you near, the more people it seems are gathered in anticipation for their appearances onstage. The conversation is greater here than that of in the deeper bowels of the theatre where the dressing room had been. Mingling herds of ballerinas and dancers lean idle against the walls, stretching in preparation for their scenes, and chatting amongst themselves, but done so in more gentle, lower tones so as not to alert the audience of their presence a mere wall away. 

They regard you with reassuring smiles and words of good luck as you briskly waddle by; you reciprocate them with a short-but-sweet smile. 

The music grows in amplitude as you enter the left wing officially; the once gentle thrumming is replaced with an all-encompassing eruption of expertly strung-together instruments. The welcoming embrace of the song is quickly diminished though, much to your dismay because-

The rafters here have always given you the creeps. With no help from Valeria either, who  divulges in gossip of the ‘ballerina’ who had been ‘crushed to death’ by a poorly-secured light fixture on the theatre’s proscenium arch each time she catches you gazing nervously upwards at the looming space. You know it’s mainly just the technicians who lurk up in the rafters, commandeering light cues and stage transformation sequences as the ballet progresses. 

‘You have nothing to fear’, you admonish yourself. 

Still, that doesn’t stop the hair on the back of your neck from standing up as you approach the left stage-side.

Your presence goes unnoticed for not even a second. 

Someone speaks your name in a hushed whisper.

You peer over your shoulder at the source of the sound; the silhouette of a stout-statured man emerges from the left-wing doorway. He seizes you suddenly by the shoulders before you even have time to recognise the overly-touchy-friendly Mr. Ustrashkin.

You stagger at the sudden force with which he embraces you, regaining your balance with an awkward squeak. It is only then do you see the disconcerted look that his face has taken on.

“Mr Ustrashkin?” You begin hesitantly. “Is something the matter?”

“Walk with me, dear.” He requests, but he has already pulled you into motion with the firm grip of his hand on your shoulder.

The two of you trail off to the side to make way for the group of pas de corps, and for the privacy of what you can only assume to be bad news. The ballerinas smile respectfully at you, lowering their heads slightly as they account for your company before skittering off, their ghostly white tutus fluttering by behind them like swirling snowflakes. 

When the last of the dancers had passed by, Mr. Ustrashkin speaks again. You take the small queue of silence to compose yourself exteriorly for what is to come. 

“Something..." He stalls, theatrically contemplating the correct word to use before resuming. "...unexpected came up within these previous hours. A true shame it is, but Fyodor, your dance partner, has sustained an ankle injury. As you can understand, he will be out of commission for the foreseeable future, and unfortunately is unable to perform with you tonight." 

Your heart sinks. It collapses from your chest cavity like a marionette doll on snapped strings; as its puppet master surveilled with cruel glee from above. You wonder what you had done to anger God, for him to administer such a thing onto you. On today of all days too. 

“Oh, um, I-” You stumble over your words in a tangled array of shock, panic, disbelief and uncertainty.  

“None of that now, little swan.” Mr. Ustrashkin tuts, almost as one would scold a misbehaving child. 

You recoil at the unwanted nickname, but are too overcome with internal panic at the newly arisen situation to pay it much mind. Saying anything anyways will get you in trouble, and you have climbed too far into the good graces of the executives of the company to fall out of favour for something so insignificant. 

You struggle to maintain your composure, hanging on the thread of internal and external unbridled alarm. You bite the inside of your cheek to withhold any curses from escaping your mouth.

‘On all days this could have possibly happened on.’ You mumble to yourself mentally. 

“So, if Fyodor isn’t dancing tonight..” Your eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, eyes trailing from Mr. Ustrashkin and the conversation at hand to the semi-concealed view of the stage. “Who is dancing Prince Siegfried onstage as we speak?”

Swan Lake has been going for around an hour by now, but with your appearance not until the second act, you needn’t be in as much of a rush as those in the first. You had spent that time responsibly; the majority of which was in the dressing room ensuring the costuming was to standard and ogling over the anonymous gift. Much to your displeasure, that also meant you didn’t have the pleasure of seeing everyone off at curtain opening, and you hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of this ‘Mactavish’ Mr Ustrashkin had been singing his praises about to you. 

"Do not fret that pretty little head," The plump man quips. Mr. Ustrashkin pats your back, presumably in an act of reassurance, but the force which he uses almost sends you stumbling forward. "His understudy, Mactavish, has taken up his role."

“Mactavish?” Your head tilts to the side as the syllables of the foreign-sounding name roll off your tongue with a questioning implication. 

“Oh yes!” He startles with a cheery smile. “A wonderful dancer through and through. We scouted his talent in London and had him transferred from The Royal Ballet to dance for us instead.” He rambles on in recollection. “Though the two of you aren’t properly acquainted yet, I’m sure he’ll be substantial as a dance partner in Fyodor’s absence.”

All you can do is nod your head absentmindedly, hoping to be relieved of his unwanted presence. And, like all men are, his attention is quickly drawn to another. 

A loud laugh barks out from across in the right wing. 

“Valeria!” The now-agitated man growls lowly, his teeth grinding together as he storms toward her as quickly as his little legs can carry him. 

‘So that’s where she went,’ you think, half-bemused, half-concerned. You also thank her in your head for unknowingly getting you out of a conversation you no longer had any interest in being involved in.

Rolling your shoulders to relieve some tension that had been building up, your eyes search diligently for someplace to stretch before your presence on stage is needed. Finding one, you make sure to apply an ample amount of rosin to the bottom of your shoes before skittering your way over. 

The minutes pass by neither quickly nor slowly, more like a muddled mixture of the two. Your body moves without control, years and years of dedicated practice leading up to this much anticipated moment allowing your body to memorize the moves. Your thoughts, however, are the fore-focus of your attention. They rumble through your mind like a blinding blizzard, burying any logical thought with a suffocating, unmoveable barrier of bleak snow and amounting stage fright. 

The Pit Orchestra unleashes Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, Op. 20, Act 1: No. 9, Finale Andante’s crescendo upon the awestricken audience as such Zeus would do to the land below Mount. Olympus with his thunderbolts. If you dare a glance, you may manage to see Mr. Lenkov strumming his harp melodically, or his musical protégé he can’t help himself but boast about day in-day out. 

The floor beneath your feet vibrates as the composition reverberates deafeningly throughout the auditorium; you would struggle to believe the crystal chandelier that looms overhead is not swinging violently nor the champagne glasses the aristocrats’ cradle has not shattered at the absurd volume. Though, it could just be the nervous shaking of your legs.

You catch fleeting visions of the dancers on stage; their shadows flickering in and out of view like the dimming flame of candlelight. Your thoughts are once again drawn back to Fyodor’s supposed understudy. Not once had you had a recital with him, and so you could only hope he was adequately practiced for his role. 

The melody of Act 1’s final act concludes with the triumphant trill of the violin ensemble. The audience erupts into an oscillating ovation; cheering, clapping, whistling; at a volume so loud it could rival its predecessor. Your doubts about Mactavish’s adequacy are quickly disproven. 

It only brings a sliver of comfort, however. 

You linger in the shadows for a moment, trembling fingers brushing hesitantly against the fabric before you. Then, cautiously, you peer out from behind the safety of the illustrious velvet curtains. Your jittery hands fiddle with their golden tassels as you gaze at the exceedingly large audience. The auditorium of the theatre had never been so full.

You try not to let the sheer amount of people overwhelm you; a thousand thousand faces staring stagebound.

You fail.

And as the announcer commences the beginning of tonight's performance, you also fail to notice the man watching you from across the other side of the stage.

 “Bolshoi Ballet proudly presents Swan Lake!”

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

A race for love p.5

Hii guyss, here's part 5 of the love triangle between Ollie and Franco, if you have missed part 4 here it is.

- Austrian Grand Prix 2023 -

After watching Oliver’s F2 race, your day quickly spiralled into chaos. As soon as you returned, your dad was waiting, immediately asking where you’d been all morning. Before you could catch your breath, he had you helping out at the motorhome for the rest of the afternoon, right through the main race. The hours flew by in a blur of tasks—organizing, assisting the crew, and finally helping them pack up everything for the next race.

You hadn’t stopped once, and though the non-stop activity was exhausting, you welcomed it. Being busy kept your mind off things, though a small part of you felt a twinge of regret for not being able to visit the other paddock to say goodbye to Franco or Oliver. As the day wound down and the last of the equipment was packed, you realized how quickly time had slipped away.

Just as you were about to head back and call it a day, your phone buzzed. Glancing at the screen, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Franco’s name. Despite the whirlwind of the afternoon, that small message from him instantly brightened your mood.

As you open Franco’s message, your heart skips a beat.

"Hey, I looked for you after the race, but you were nowhere to be found. I just wanted to check if you were okay. Also… I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get on the podium today. Really wanted it."

Though the message seems simple, there’s something deeper in his words, a kind of quiet frustration. What you don’t know is that Franco had been determined to impress you today, pushing himself harder than usual in hopes of standing on that podium with you watching. Fourth place had felt like a letdown—not just for the race, but because he couldn’t show you what he was truly capable of.

You smile softly at his concern, quickly typing back:

"I’m so sorry, Franco! My dad asked for my help, and I’ve been busy with the team all afternoon, helping them pack up for the next race. I didn’t even have time to stop by and say goodbye to anyone!"

You pause, wondering how to word your next thought. Your fingers hover over the screen before you start typing again.

"But I saw you race! Even though you didn’t get a podium, you were amazing out there. I really think you have so much potential, Franco. You’re going to make it, I know it."

You hit send, feeling a little shy. To you, it’s just an honest compliment—he’s a talented driver, after all. But Franco’s heart swells as he reads your message. He smiles at the words, the disappointment from earlier easing a little as he re-reads, "you were amazing out there."

For you, it was just a race—another part of the weekend’s excitement—but for Franco, it had been his chance to prove himself to you. Yet, here you are, unknowingly telling him that he didn’t need a podium for you to notice him. That simple innocence, the way you genuinely support him, only makes his feelings grow.

Franco’s reply comes quickly, his usual playful tone shining through.

"I’m glad you think so. I’ll just have to make up for it at Silverstone. Are you coming to that race too?"

You grin, already feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of seeing him again, but you also remember Silverstone is a big weekend for McLaren. Typing back, you reply:

"Yes, I’ll be there! It’s McLaren’s home race, so I’m really looking forward to it. But I’ll definitely stop by the F3 paddock to see you."

The thought of juggling your time between Franco and the rest of the weekend fills you with anticipation, but you’re eager to support both. Franco’s response comes in almost immediately.

"Looking forward to it already. Maybe this time I’ll actually get to say goodbye before you disappear with your dad," he teases, though there’s a warmth in his words.

You can’t help but laugh softly at his message, quickly typing back.

"I promise! No disappearing acts this time."

After a few more playful exchanges, you tuck your phone away, the excitement building inside you for Silverstone. Between the McLaren excitement and the chance to see Franco again, the next race weekend is already shaping up to be even more thrilling.

As the day winds down and you’re helping your dad finish packing, you glance at your phone, already counting the days until Silverstone. Just as you’re about to leave with him, your phone buzzes again. Expecting it to be Franco or maybe a reminder from the team, you casually unlock it, only to feel your stomach drop when you read the message:

"Franco is not who you think he is. You aren’t special."

The words seem to leap off the screen, chilling you for a moment. You blink, rereading the message, confusion swirling in your mind. Who could’ve sent this? And why? You glance around the paddock, but everything seems normal—busy, loud, and crowded with people finishing up for the day. But this message… it sticks with you, a strange and unsettling feeling creeping in.

You try to shake it off as you follow your dad, but the words replay in your mind. What did they mean, "Franco is not who you think he is"? And why would someone send this to you?

With the excitement of Silverstone ahead, the anonymous message leaves a shadow hanging over your thoughts as you walk toward the car, wondering what exactly the next race might bring.

[physalian]

On Hyper Independent Characters (and how not to make them the bad guy)

So many characters with “trust issues” are painted out to be cynical little gremlins who just need to ~open their hearts~ and ~let the love in~ like doing so, repeatedly, has only proven them right every single time, but this one love interest will swoop in and save the day.

The people who write these characters tend to do so in bad faith, as if their fears and trust issues are unfounded nonsense, like they’re wrong and Negative Nellys for being wary.

So!

From experience (thus this is hella biased), here’s some thoughts on writing an independent character with trust issues that isn’t belittling.

1. It’s likely not that kind of trust they have issues with

I said this before a while ago, but “trust issues” paired with an extreme sense of self-reliance isn’t “I think everyone is a liar,” but rather “I think everyone is unreliable”. It might stem from a place of constantly being let down, of constantly having the people in their life drop the ball on major events, but also little things, even something as simple as “hey yeah I’ll totally do the dishes” and then they continue to sit there, forcing the person to be a nag about it, or just do it themselves.

These kinds of personalities tend to grow up surrounded by unkept and empty promises, where, while it might not be every single occasion, it happens one too many times for them to keep giving the benefit of the doubt. Even when people have the best of intentions and mean it when they say they’ll do XYZ in the moment, and they really just forgot, the person they made the promise to is impatiently waiting for them to remember 12-day-old dishes.

2. Why don’t they just remind people to keep their promises?

If you’re in my boat, many people with commitment issues are also narcissists or just mean, who, if you even gently remind them, make you out to be a nagging, impatient brat. And to avoid hearing that again, you just don’t speak up. Too many times where ‘forgetting’ has been from a source of a weird power fantasy, intentionally screwing you over, leaves people sitting in a state of unknowing whether it’s benign neglect or very much on purpose, and afraid to voice their concerns to be proven right.

If you’re not in my boat, chronic “forgetters” aren’t going to change without intervention. So if I ask you to do the dishes once, and you forget, that’s one thing. If I ask you twice, three times, four times, nagging over and over again, then the benefit of the doubt is shredded, and I can’t help but assume that the “forgetting” is on purpose. Either weaponized incompetence or something more benign, doesn’t matter. Even if you have some executive dysfunction, that's an explanation, not an excuse, and the people you live with aren't your maids.

Either way, these personalities might grow up with a whole slew of self-worth issues, and be reluctant to make plans with people, invite friends to important events, or get excited about big milestones, because they’re so used to people they care about “forgetting” or canceling last minute that the only one they can trust to reliably show up is themselves.

3. Why don’t they just communicate these fears?

See the “narcissists” in point 2

4. Isn’t it lonely never letting people in?

Fuck yeah, it is. The thing is, though, that if you spend your whole life learning how to do everything alone—pay your bills, do ‘couple’ or ‘friend’ activities, run errands, take yourself out to places—the idea of having to squeeze in the wants and needs of someone else might start to sound incredibly inconvenient.

If you’re so used to being on your own schedule and reaping the benefits of being a party of 1 in crowded spaces (I just took myself to dinner at a place with an hour long wait, able to be seated immediately at the last remaining barstool), of not having to wait for someone else to confirm plans, negotiate who’s driving, negotiate a time to meet up, food to order, a movie to see, a roller coaster to ride, a game or streaming service to buy—everything is entirely under your control, sacrificing convenience for the chance that the person you invite actually shows up on time and is invested as you are isn’t really worth the risk.

That's not to say I don't enjoy when I get to do things with friends, but I can equally enjoy doing things alone as opposed to whining about it.

Personally, while I can daydream about having a romantic partner, that thought is always immediately followed up by the understanding that they’ll be an inconvenience to my independence. But I’m someone who’s always had to do the emotional labor in a relationship, who’s always the most organized, the most mature, the most level-headed in tough situations. Always been the person in groupwork who does all the work. The idea of being “a team” is a fantasy meant for other people. “Team” to me is “me and this deadweight that I have to drag around”.

5. How I’d like to see this represented in characters

Dropping “the one” into their lives and having this person swept up, broken out of their little pessimistic shell, in some epic romance, as if they only needed to find the right person and nothing at all goes wrong… is bad faith.

It’s bad faith because it minimizes this kind of independence as just a little mood problem that can be fixed right quick, that it’s inherently wrong—what was all the fuss about?

What I’d like to see is examples that prove they’re not crazy. Big and little things. Dishes, and big events. Then, they can meet “the one,” but not without some trial and error. A lifetime of “people suck and are unreliable” isn’t going to be snapped away bibbidi bobbidi boo after one good date. This magical person will have to show up, and keep showing up, and keep showing up, and the one time they don’t, because they won’t, then A and B can hash it out like adults.

6. How this person might act

I’ve never actually met somebody like me and we’d either be best friends or loathe each other. But this person might be the most reliable friend you’ve ever had, because they’re so afraid of becoming like everyone in their life who let them down before. If you ask a favor of them, it gets done with supernatural haste.

This person might also have their own commitment issues, where instead of failing to keep their promises, they punish themselves by keeping promises they hate, showing up out of spite and resentment because they said they would, lest they be called a hypocrite.

They might under-share or not speak up about accomplishments in their life until the time for hype and anticipation has passed, lest they share expecting the same level of excitement only to be met with apathy. They might not show visible excitement about objectively exciting things, because they’re so used to plans falling through that they won’t believe something is happening until they are physically in the location and it’s staring them in the face.

Thus, they might look frequently bored or unhappy and unmoved by something important to you, or something you thought they’d like (especially if you’ve let them down before, trust is a privilege, not a right).

7. What I’d like people to understand most of all

First, that some of us tend to live by the “if you want something done right do it yourself” mantra, so actually asking somebody for help with something is admitting that X cannot be done alone, which makes failure to keep a promise even worse. As in, if A goes out of their way to admit they can’t do F alone and risk being let down to ask B to do this one little thing for them, and B still drops the ball, A is going to sit there and think “this is why I have trust issues”.

Can’t speak for everyone, but yes I do acknowledge that the suffering in silence isn’t helping anyone and am working on it. Counterpoint: Weaponized incompetence is very real and an adult should not have to remind another adult to keep their living space clean, at the bare minimum. Agreeing to do a thing is at least equal responsibility on the inviter and invitee and "you didn't remind me" isn't a valid excuse.

But most importantly, if you have a friend or relative who is fiercely independent, I’d implore you to learn one thing: Do not make promises that you can’t keep. And if shit happens and you have to cancel even when you had the best of intentions, have the decency to tell them and make the best effort you can to reschedule ASAP, instead of putting the impetus on them to do the rescheduling. Make it absolutely clear that you do, in fact, care, and weren’t going out of some apathetic sense of obligation.

I cannot count the amount of times I have asked a friend to do something for me, they eagerly agreed, and then my very real deadlines come and go and they say absolutely nothing, so I have to nag them, and nag them, and then they turn it back on me with a “obviously you can see that I’m busy and you’re not paying me for this” when all they had to do was say “no I can’t help you” (two whole humans; we are not friends anymore).

The ability to be approached with a request for a favor, step back and think about it, and go “No, I don’t think I can do that in that time frame/at this moment I’m going through a lot/with the skill the task requires” is apparently ridiculously rare. I’d infinitely prefer a no upfront than a yes, bank on that yes, and then wait around hoping someone follows through.

Not saying anything is really rude. If you agree to X, the person who asked you is fully expecting you to do X. They shouldn’t have to be lining up backup plans and last minute helpers scrambling to do the job you promised would get done.

—

Not exaggerating when I say it happens in so many areas. I’ve needed very important things like recommendation letters, or actual paid beta readers on a very hard deadline and still scrambled at the last minute to find replacements that sometimes cost real money for rush fees. I’ve been left waiting at an event for an hour minimum only to finally receive a ‘hey I can’t come’ text and then go home. I’ve told people multiple times, “hey, if you’re going to do X, please do it like this and have some consideration for my things that you’re borrowing” and just… be ignored.

As somebody who gets whatever’s asked of me done immediately, no matter how busy I am, man is it hard to keep accepting “sorry I forgot” as an excuse, from multiple people, multiple times.

The nice thing, though, the big benefit of hyper-independence is that I have learned so many skills out of a compulsion to just do it myself instead of gambling with the accountability of another flighty human. Handyman things for my home and my car, but artistic things, too. So there’s that.

[bartycrouchjrisawhore]

Hi, if you're inspired could you please write a wolfstar with possessive Dom! Remus x bratty Sub! Sirius? I would really appreciate it :), thxx

sorry I took so long! I had a massive writers block, but I broke through it. So, here you go.

nsfw

Sirius looked absolutely radiant, but he was too aware of the fact and that’s what got Remus going. All night he was rubbing his body against strangers who had no business being anywhere near him. Remus was beyond angry, and he knew exactly how to deal with his boyfriends attitude. It also didn’t help that Sirius chose to wear his tiniest leather mini skirt that night. Everyone had their eyes on him.

The whole drive home, Remus was silent. All kinds of thoughts ran through his mind, all of them being about Sirius and what he would do to him when they got home. Sirius kept a hand placed on Remus’ thigh, clearly trying to get a reaction out of him, and oh, a reaction was what he was getting from his boyfriend.

Leaving Sirius alone in the car, Remus slammed the door and made his way to the house, not looking back at his lover. Sirius scrambled out of the passenger seat to get into their home.

“Remus, are you okay?” Sirius asked, steeping into the house, the teasing tone in his voice unmistakable.

He got no reply. No, all he got back was a firm look from Remus, a look he knew all too well.

Walking to his boyfriend, Sirius said “what’s wrong, mon amour?”

“You know exactly what’s wrong, brat” Remus’ assertiveness almost had Sirius on his knees in that moment.

Suddenly, Sirius back was against the front door, Remus’ hands holding his waist, keeping him pinned to the wooden surface. Sirius’ hands found their way up to Remus’ chestnut curls but were swiftly taken by a stronger pair of hands and pressed against the door.

“Hmm, who would’ve thought that quiet Remus Lupin could be so dominant?” Sirius’ words were silenced by a thumb entering his parted lips. He brought his teeth down to graze the rough skin.

“Just what do you think you’re doing? That’s not how good boys behave” Remus growled out.

Sirius let out a muffled moan. As Remus said those words, he brought his knee between his boyfriends thighs, rubbing it against Sirius’ growing erection.

“You look so beautiful like this, love. So quiet and obedient for me. But earlier tonight you weren’t this good, and because of that, you need a punishment” Remus pulled his thumb out of Sirius’ dripping mouth and wiped the spit on his lovers cheek. He lightly smiled when a shudder escaped Sirius’ lips.

Remus loved seeing Sirius like this. He loved the effects he had on him. And he especially loved getting to break down the bratty persona Sirius puts on.

Remus brought his hands to Sirius’ shoulders and shoved him to the floor, bringing him to his knees. Fuck. Sirius’ gaze was absolutely breathtaking.

“Are you going to be good for me, Sirius?” Sirius nodded at that. “Use your words, beautiful” He growled.

“Yes, my love. I’ll be so good for you and only you” Sirius whined.

“Good boy” Remus said, undoing his jeans and pulling them down to his ankles along with his underwear.

Sirius’ eyes widened at the sight of Remus’ fully hard cock. His mouth watered as he watched a bead of precum leak from Remus’ cock.

Running his thumb across his boyfriends lower lip, Remus said “Wrap those pretty lips of yours around my cock, love”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Then I won’t fuck you later” And as Remus spoke, Sirius grabbed the back of his thighs and wrapped his mouth around his dick, only taking half in.

Remus threw his head back in pleasure as his lovers tongue circled around his tip. He threaded his hands in Sirius’ long black curls, and forced him to take more of him, causing him to choke and gag on his cock. Glossy grey eyes looked up at him and he swore he could melt. No other sight would ever be as captivating as Sirius on his knees with a cock in his mouth.

He let out a low moan as Sirius started bobbing his head up and down, looking directly at him. The sounds of gagging and moaning coming from his boyfriend had Remus going crazy.He looked wrecked. His cheeks were pink and wet with tears. Sirius’ moans vibrated against Remus’ cock. Remus looked down at Sirius and saw that he was rubbing himself through his leather skirt and lace underwear.

He yanked on his lovers hair, forcing him off his dick and to look straight up at him as he said “Good boys don’t touch themselves without permission”

Sirius whined at that. He needed release. He needed to be touched. Remus wouldn’t let him after the events of that night.

With no warning, Sirius’ face was shoved in front of his boyfriends leaking, red cock.

“Take it, brat” commanded Remus.

Sirius took Remus in his mouth once more, and as soon as he did, Remus brought his hand to the back of his head and started thrusting his hips. Sirius’ moans sent shivers up his spine, he knew he was getting close. It was sensational. Remus’ thrusts became more rough and Sirius’ hands slid up his thighs and clasped his hips.

“You love this, dont you, baby? Love taking my cock. Love being good for me” he growled. He was close to coming, he could feel it.

“Are you wet, love? I bet you’re gonna leave a stain on the carpet, and I know you’re underwater is soaked right now” Remus leaned forward and placed a hand on the door, bracing himself.

“Fuck, Sirius, you were made for this, weren’t you? Made for me. An- and, fuck, I was made for you. Do you want me to come in your mouth, baby?” Remus knew Sirius couldn’t answer, but that didn’t stop him from spilling inside of his mouth.

He let out a shaky moan as he came down Sirius’ throat.

“Swallow” he demanded as he pulled out, and of course Sirius did.

“That’s a good boy” He whispered, stroking Sirius hair.

Sirius slowly started to stand, but stumbled forward as his knees were in quite a bit of pain. Luckily, Remus had caught him and helped him up.

“You ready for more, baby?” Remus asked.

Sirius nodded at his question and replied “please, amour. I need more of you”

Remus smiled softly and picked Sirius up by his thighs and threw him over his shoulder. Sirius’ laugh was like music to his ears. He loved this man and planned on marrying him one day.

(hope I did okay 😅)

[gtwscratch]

Go Home

Summary: Tango and Jimmy are the first ones out in Double Life. They talk for a bit, and Tango says some things he’s going to regret.

This is inspired by @cramblm! She made a comic a while back about these two, and I was (FINALLY) motivated to write something again :D 

This is also part one of a two-part little story!! I’m not sure when part two will be up, but yeah! If you like this one, I hope you guys look forward to the next part!

CW: Team Ranchers angst, that’s about it

Word count: 1,203 words

===============================

Tango looks down at the server, floating above everything. He idly rubs his arm. He can almost still feel the phantom pains of the enderman ripping into Jimmy, and by association, himself.

Huh. So this is what it’s like.

It’s oddly peaceful. Obviously there's still chaos going on below him as the last of the server’s peace crumbles away, but this was… different. Tango had died before in these games of course, but never first. It’s weirdly calm. And lonely.

Tango then hears the sound of rustling fabric, and his heart aches. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is—no one else has perma-died yet. Tango doesn’t want to look; so, he stares forward. They float in silence for several minutes before Jimmy breaks the silence.

“Tango,” the half-avian starts, “I’m.. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“You’re still here.” It’s less of a question and more of a statement.

Jimmy glances away and fiddles with the necklace he’s wearing. It matches the one Tango wears, given to him by Jimmy after the first session. “... Well, yeah. I.. I don’t want.. I, uh, didn’t-” 

Tango cuts him off, his tone coming out harsher than he had intended. “Why are you still here?”

“.. I could ask you the same thing,” he responds quietly after a moment’s hesitation. He looks out at the server and then reaches for Tango’s hand. “C’mon, it’s rough to watch at the start sometimes, we should-”

Tango snatches his hand back, keeping it close to his chest. “We should what, Jimmy? We can’t do anything. We’re dead.”

“We can at least go somewhere that won’t see so much bloodshed.” Despite the tone Tango is taking with him, Jimmy’s own voice remains soft and patient. “We can go back to the ranch.” He sounds a little hopeful. Tango ignores it.

“And then what? Just wait around and welcome everyone as they die? Pretend that everything is fine and that we haven’t just come in dead last?” Tango’s tail flicks angrily back and forth, and the flames in his hair burn a little brighter. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Tango isn’t upset about coming in last. He’s never come close to winning before, and it’s never bothered him all that much. He doesn’t understand why he’s so angry all of a sudden. The blaze-hybrid hasn’t once looked away from the soon-to-be-destroyed landscape. He hasn’t once looked at Jimmy.

Tango releases a heavy sigh. “It’s over, Jimmy.”

They both know Tango is talking about more than just their time in the game.

Tango can almost sense Jimmy tense—can feel the faint panic and hurt spread in his own chest despite their link already being severed and fading. Maybe he just knows Jimmy that well. Maybe Tango doesn’t want to go through with this.

“.. What?? No, Tango, don’t- don’t say that..!” Jimmy raises his voice for the first time. “This isn’t-! I-it can’t be-!”

“It can be, and it is. We don’t know if something like this,” he gestures to the server in front of them, “will ever happen again, and if it does, I don’t see us teaming up again in the future.” What Tango fails to elaborate on is that he doesn’t think he’d be that lucky enough to have Jimmy on his team again.

Jimmy tries to reach for Tango again. “Please, don’t say that. We’re the Ranchers..!”

“NO! We’re not the Ranchers anymore!” Tango finally snaps his head in Jimmy’s direction, the flames in his hair and tail flickering and growing as his emotions do. “‘The Ranchers’ are gone! They were something that the psychos who created these games influenced and forced, and now they’re gone, Jimmy! That wasn't real!” 

But, oh, how he wants this to be real. Somewhere along the way, Tango found himself catching feelings for the half-avian. Despite their situation, he always seemed to be so optimistic and confident. Even when the ranch was burned down and Tango lost it, Jimmy remained (mostly) level-headed and helped get Tango to calm down despite getting burnt by his flames. And yeah, if it had been anyone else he’d accidentally hurt, he would’ve felt bad, but it felt even worse because it was Jimmy. Jimmy, who always found a reason to smile. Jimmy, who always put up with everyone’s crap. Jimmy, who apologized to Tango when they found out they were bound despite Tango being the one to lose their first life and being the reason the two found out they were bound in the first place. Jimmy, who didn’t deserve this kind of fate but received it for a third time now.

Ah, so that’s why he’s angry. Because this cruel, sick game has done nothing but take from and torment this saint of a player.

And maybe that’s why he’d been partnered with Tango. 

Because fire destroys everything it touches, and the expression on Jimmy’s face is proof of that.

Tango quickly looks away. He can’t bear to see the pain and betrayal in Jimmy’s eyes. “Just.. just go home, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s voice wavers with one last attempt. “Tango, please-”

“Go,” his flames flare up once again, and even in death, their temperature rises. Tango’s arms are wrapped tightly around himself now.

Jimmy hesitates for another moment before floating off in the direction of their the ranch, leaving Tango alone like he’d requested. It isn’t until he’s sure that Jimmy’s gone that he slowly lowers to the ground, kneeling in the grass.

He carefully uncrosses his arms and touches the charm on his necklace, a feather carved from iron. It won’t melt with your flames Jimmy had once said, nervously beaming as he handed it over and showed his own charm to Tango (a flame, also carved from iron). Tango exhales shakily, tracing over the ridges on the pendant. He stays there for a long time, just staring at the pendant and desperately wishing that this wasn’t how things had turned out.

Tango doesn’t know how long he’s kneeling there when the second lightning strike sounds, indicating another two members have fallen. He takes a deep breath and hides the pendant beneath his shirt before getting up and floating in the direction of where he heard the lightning strike. Did it come from the Box..? Yeah, that sounds close enough. 

As he makes his way over there, he risks a glance over to the ruined ranch and sees Jimmy sitting at their graves, leaning against Tango’s. Tango looks away quickly, but he stops, hesitating on continuing to the Box. At this point, his anger has subsided and has morphed to guilt and regret. He wants to go to Jimmy and apologize—to tell him he didn’t mean it, but would Jimmy take him back? Would he want to try for something that was genuinely real and not influenced by whoever put them into this mess? What would Tango even say to make up for what he said??

Tango decides to settle on the plan of giving them both some space. He needs to think about how he’s going to apologize, and, if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t want to see Jimmy again so soon. 

So he continues on his way, scared to give Jimmy and the ranch another glance.

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Hope you guys enjoyed :) I worked on this instead of school work haha

[paaopalpoerepr33]

I am always stuck in paralysis especially when there’s something looming on the horizon and rn something so big is looming and all I can do is lie in bed like a dumb sickly waif

[tempestmothstorm]

Ok since Monika still has her admin powers in the side stories you think she could just discover them accidentally or use them without realizing

Anyways au where Monika and friends discover her admin powers but dont know about the wider context of what it means. So they just go around thinking Monika has magic and try practicing with a bunch of silly fun shenanigans because they figure it’s some chosen one bloodline stuff and not like. A product of their reality being a constricted digital science experiment.

This au will not end well

[toddtakefive]

btw todd’s reluctance to join the dps because he doesn’t want to read (which is then accommodated for) and is scared to put himself out there (which is also worked through) being read as todd not wanting to go AT ALL, and thus neil making the proper accommodations (“todd anderson, who prefers not to read, will keep the minutes of the meetings”) and encouraging him to step out of the box that stifles him being seen as ‘forceful’ or like he can’t take no for an answer makes me insane with rage