#I tried something new and it seems to work the way I wanted

[sqgeism]

Can I ask for something related to an Anaxa with a reader who gets nervous easily? An already established relationship.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 feeling like i need something | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; feeling like i need you . amphoreus men (anaxa, mydei, phainon) with a nervous reader !

love mail — thank you anonnie for a request, i'm happy to write for you :D not much to say here, just working on a quick reqs (*ﾟーﾟ) does this count as a layout change again (;゜0゜)?

anaxa wasn't entirely sure how to help with your shyness, he was a blunt man, never afraid of confrontation or anything of the sort. but something he noticed was that you had a tendency to fidget, as a fellow professor who taught a major class, sometimes you grew frustrated with your nervousness before teaching a new lesson and possibly messing up (you never have, you're a top teacher and anaxa finds it a little humorous).

but in the faculty, you'd be going over your notes and powerpoints for the students, mumbling and picking at your fingertips. of course, not wanting you to hurt your poor fingers any longer, anaxa makes his way to your desk and pulls his chair next to yours. you look at him, furrowed brows and downturned lips, and he sighs. "here." he holds his hand out to you quietly. "i don't want you picking on your skin anymore. if you so.. need it. use my hand instead. i'll be alright."

now he has you in a loop. he knows you don't want to hurt him, even if it's something as significantly painless as picking at his skin (he gouged his eye out ..), you still don't want to hurt him. so he watches as you poke his knuckles, tug on his fingers, and just use his hand as a little fidget toy.

the morning break for teachers comes to an end, and professors part ways into different classes. anaxa, knowing you were the second teacher in his first class, decides he wants to leave you a surprise. "you'll do great, dove." anaxa murmurs as he presses a kiss to your hand, soothing your worries.

once your second class comes along, you see him exit the classroom and smile at you, holding the door open for you to enter. "how oddly cheery." you think, walking in and placing your material on the teachers desk, until something catches your eye.

"ease your worries, my dove. you're the smartest person in the room, never hesitate to speak that brilliant mind of yours."

a letter, simple as it is, you know it's from the heart. anaxa had long left, likely not wanting to be late, but your chest swells with pride.

you receive a commendation later that day, the students have all passed their homework early and had been genuinely invested in your class. <3

mydei is gentle, but still urges you to try and come out of your comfort zone. taking you to meet the children, long strolls to ease your worries after a long day, all of those little things. something you seem to particularly shy away from, is eye contact.

now mydei knows he's a bit.. on the intimidating side, but he finds it funny that you can't look at him too long or you'll turn away.

so he's made some sort of 'training' for you. which is really just staring into his eyes. sometimes (all the time) he makes it harder by caressing your cheek, or brushing hair away from your face, simple things that fluster you with ease. it's funny, he won't lie, but he wants to help you. eye contact is important during conversations (and he wants to see your eyes when he talks to you).

one day, after a few weeks of this, mydei had called you over to ask you for something. unfortunately, the warrior had 'completely forgotten'. and you two stared at each other as he tried to figure it out. the entire time, you held eye contact, even smiled at him in a baffled manner. only for him to lean down and press a kiss to your lips right after.

"you did great, sweetheart" is all he says before going on his day.

phainon doesn't mind your nervousness. he'd want to help you try and move past it, but he'd hate for you to feel pressured. so instead, he makes you laugh! whenever something makes you feel a little anxious, he cracks a joke or pulls you closer, wanting to stray you away from that experience or moment. his goal is to eliminate the cause of your anxiety, but he knows he can't always do that. so he makes due with words of encouragement, getting your spirit and confidence high as he cheers for you like he's been on a cheer team for five years. probably your biggest supporter, he's sure of it.

if you struggle with stuttering, he's sure to guide you through it. he's serious the entire time you practice a script or a presentation, helping you calm down every time you start to stutter from the pressure or grow frustrated with yourself when you forget a line.

"hey, hey, baby. you're doing great." phainon's holding down your wrists kindly because he knows you'll sometimes hit your head out of annoyance with yourself. he doesn't want that. "try again, slowly. the world isn't ending, honey. take your time."

you eventually memorize the presentation and phainon jumps out of his seat and cheers, wrapping you in a bear hug and exclaiming how proud he is of you to the aeon's.

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

The Hoodoo Apprentice

Summary: Amelia packed her things and took a train to Clarksdale Mississippi to reunite with an old friend, Annie. Annie promised she’d teach Amelia the art of Hoodoo. After a month, Smoke and Stack return with a plan to open a Juke Joint.

Warnings: SMUT

Part One

Rose of Jericho.

Fixed candles, keeping her altar awake and alive, never wanting the energy to go cold.

Prayer books.

Smudge sticks and herbs.

Mortar pestle.

Tarot decks.

Plants from the garden behind her shack.

Annie stood before her working altar, her sacred space. She began praying over her altar, talking to it, shift the energy over it.

All with intention.

It felt right. Serene. Personal to her.

Across from her, watching her intensely beyond the billowing smoke, was her apprentice named Amelia. Amelia wore an olive green, floral, feed sack dress with a ruffled collar. The dress stopped an inch below her knees. Doe eyes concentrated on Annie as she spoke, teaching Amelia all about hoodoo. Something Annie promised her after Amelia’s grandmother passed away.

The South is haunted. Amelia often referred to her hometown New Orleans as the “Land of the Dead,” for so much blood has been spilled in and over her city that death seems to permeate the air. It can be both suffocating and invigorating. Mistakenly thought of as a place time forgot, New Orleans is a town that accepts the presence of the dead and their influence on quotidian life. The presence of ghosts that bring discomfort to the living; the waves of terror and trauma manifesting as deep melancholia.

Amelia remembers her encounter with a medium back in New Orleans that told her dark spirits lived on her porch, and that her grandmother was protecting her beyond the grave, keeping the spirits out. That gave Amelia a sense of pride. She longed to understand the ways of hoodoo, but her mother for as long as she could remember, refused her of any affinity with it. Her mother married a Christian man and Amelia was left with questions more than answers.

She wrote to Annie, remembering her from childhood. Annie was ten years older than Amelia and offered Amelia a chance to visit her in Mississippi sometime if she wanted. Annie was very close with Amelia’s grandmother, so Amelia trusted Annie enough to take a train to Mississippi. She packed two trunks and carried them with her, one heavier than the other and containing all that she could bring that reminded her of her grandmother.

“Ashe…”

“Ashe…”

Annie recapped her Florida water.

“Longer lesson today. You did good, Amelia.”

Annie gave Amelia’s hand an affectionate squeeze. Amelia’s big grin and bright eyes caused Annie to smile.

“A month in and I feel I’ve learned so much,” Amelia studied a rattlesnake root, “I still cling onto the stories my grandmama used to tell me about an old root worker named, Mother.”

Annie nodded her head, “Yeah, she was called Mother as a sign of respect. She was from South Carolina and had great spiritual powers,” Annie says.

“My grandmama would talk about her for hours…her extraordinary ability to control the outcome of situations…”

“That’s why we have to keep the tradition going. This is the tradition of our ancestors…they tried to make us forget…but we ain’t forget our shamanism…” Annie added.

Annie blew out her candles and slipped away from the altar. Amelia followed Annie out of her shack, heading towards the goats. Annie picked up a tin bucket filled with feed and began feeding the goats. Amelia separated towards the back of the shack to tend to the chickens. Dandelion and Pussy Willow circulated around her while she fed the chickens.

Afterwards, Amelia walked down a small dirt path leading to a pond. She stood beneath a willow tree, watching the ripples in the water. One hand slipped into the pocket of her feed sack dress to retrieve a folded letter from her lover back in New Orleans. She reclined against the willow tree, eyes gliding across the wrinkled paper.

To my sweet Amelia,

I’ve waited for you to return to me. I know that our relationship is forbidden, seeing as I’m still married to Odessa. It hurts my heart that you ran away to Mississippi. I want to love you. I want to make you my wife. Odessa won’t divorce. I’m left wondering if we will ever be…

She’d read that letter five times. Still, she refused to continue being with a man that couldn’t give his heart to her completely. Amelia balled up the letter with a tight fist. The sound of footsteps against rocks caught her ear. Amelia perked up, facing the source. Annie was seeing right through Amelia.

“That letter got a hold on you sum’ fierce.”

“What do I do? He was my first…”

Annie tilted her head, “You gots to free yourself from him, Amelia. You let go. Don’t let this weigh down ya’ energy.”

Amelia exhaled, “Am I ever gon’ find love?”

Annie gave Amelia a compassionate smile, “No one is ever gonna love you the way ya’ love yourself. No one is ever gon’ think as much of ya’ as ya’ do yourself. When we think that they are, we build ourselves up to be hurt.”

Annie’s sullen voice as she spoke those words told Amelia that she had to speak that into existence for herself as well. Amelia never pried, but she knew of Smoke.

“Come on, let’s clean up shop and head on back to the house.”

Annie draped an arm over Amelia’s shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s very important to think highly of yourself, to really love yourself. Spirit listens to what we think. It’ll begin to believe that that’s what ya’ want in life. It’s so important to love ourselves, Lia. Ya’ understand me?”

“Yes, Annie,” Amelia leans her head on Annie’s shoulder.

After closing the shack for the rest of the day, they take the twenty minute walk down to the house.

Shaded and hidden, Annie’s home was a comfort zone. You could feel the protective energy the moment you stepped foot on the property. Behind the home, copper stills used to produce moonshine were empty and untouched. Prohibition was still ongoing, so Amelia assumed Annie’s husband, Smoke, was using the stills to make the illegal drink and selling it.

A screened in back porch had an enormous, heavy–duty, galvanized steel tub, a sitting area, and beyond that into the yard was a garden full of produce, greenery, flowers, and herbs. To the left of the garden were clothing lines and several washboards and basins. On the right were the copper stills.

The inside of the home was small and intimate. Annie and Amelia would take turns doing open hearth cooking with cast iron pots and pans, lodge deep fryers, dutch ovens, long utensils, and various mits. Cranes and trammels were used to suspend the kitchenware when it wasn’t being used.

A round, elm wood dining table with four matching chairs sat in the center of the room and towards the entrance of the home were two rocking chairs, a throw rug, and smaller wooden chairs reclined against the brick wall for guests. A small fireplace held photos and sage. While Annie disappeared into her bedroom, Amelia lingered. Beneath the setting sun, Amelia folded her arms against the fireplace mantel and rested her head against her shoulder. She studied a photo of Smoke and Annie.

Amelia ran her pointer finger over the edge of the brass frame. Smoke sat proud next to his wife. Annie stood tall, one hand draped over his shoulder. Somehow, the power of their love seemed to reverberate from the photograph. Amelia could feel the strength of their bond. She craved a bond like that. Needed a taste of what it was like. Even with Smoke gone, Annie knew he would return. She knew he’d be back for her.

to favour you, like you, hire you, love you, marry you, stay with you, return to you, reconcile with you, give you a written recommendation, give testimony in your favour, decide a legal issue in your favour over another…

“Figured we could make a pot of gumbo…add in some fresh okra.”

Amelia turned her attention to Annie. She was tying a half apron around her voluptuous waist. One final look at the photo, she separated herself from the mantle to join Annie.

“Gumbo sounds good, Annie. I can make us some rice to go with that if you like?”

Amelia plucked an extra apron off a wall hook. She brushed past Annie, the flesh of her arm grazing against hers. Annie’s magnetic gaze turned on Amelia.

“Sack of rice is on the back porch. I’m a grab some butter from the ice box.”

Amelia scooped up enough rice for the both of them. Annie returned with butter and other ingredients she needed. A wooden chopping block was covered with vegetables and meat. Annie grabbed a bottle of wine and filled two mason jars with it.

Time passed and the aroma of spices filled the room. Annie kept the back door open for some fresh air since the back porch is screened in. Amelia helped herself to more wine while Annie removed the gumbo from the open flame. The sweat on her skin felt wet and cool as it evaporated. The salty taste of sweat covered her lips. Annie’s rich, dark skin glistened like polished onyx within the low lit room. Her bosom sat up high like a shelf and bounced every time she flounced back and forth.

“You know, you never told me the beginnings of a love story between a Big Six and A Conjur Woman.” Amelia said with an enticing lilt.

Annie flashed Amelia a meek smile, “I didn’t, did I?”

“No. Tell me.”

Annie wiped her hands on her half apron before grabbing her wine. She took a sip before taking a seat at the table.

“When me and my mama came to Clarksdale from Baton Rouge…I was afraid. Afraid to make a new life fa’ myself. I was seventeen. It’s like she knew about Smoke before he even opened his mouth to talk to me, ya’ know? We sort a…found each other. He tracked down the girl lingering outside of her mama’s shack…the shack that became mine when she joined the ancestors…his quiet yet strong presence…”

Annie continued after another sip of wine, “I was…innocent then,” She laughs, “Being with Smoke…I found my voice…with him away…I’ve learned to love myself…I have so much belonging here…my daughter’s grave is here…we share so much history…ain’t no man like ‘em.”

“Wow,” Amelia released a shaky breath, “The hairs on my arms are standing up.”

“Don’t flatter me, gal!” Annie said.

“Serious! It’s beautiful! What’s a girl gotta do to get that typa’ love?! Make a honey jar?!”

“Oh, Lia. Trust me, gal, what me and Smoke have isn’t all glitz and glamour. We have our problems…”

Amelia twirled her empty mason jar. She peered up at Annie with a light–hearted smile.

Annie slapped her hand on the wood table, “Let’s eat us some gumbo.”

Amelia stood from her seat to grab bowls and spoons. Annie stirred the pot of gumbo, and Annie filled the bowls with rice. With two generous servings, they situated themselves at the dining table. Amelia carefully scooted in to avoid scuffing the floor. The first spoonful reminded Amelia of home. She hummed with joy, swaying her legs beneath the table.

the combination of a richly flavored stock, the use of a roux, and the integration of aromatic vegetables, spice, and meat of choice. The dark, deeply browned roux, in particular, contributes a rich, nutty flavor and a creamy texture.

“Like a gris–gris, everything in that pot of gumbo is put in it with intention, all ‘da way down to the roux.” Annie said.

Amelia scraped the side of her bowl with her spoon, “Have ya’…ever…sweetened a situation?”

“‘Course I have! I do it to represent me. So I’m kinder and more loving. I…” Annie ran a finger over the edge of her mason jar, “I wanted to make the love between me and Smoke stronger. Another form of protection.”

“Ah,” Amelia lightly chuckles, “I see.”

Annie grabbed the bottle of wine and shook it gently.

“Empty. I can grab us another bottle, put it in the icebox.”

Annie stood from her seat and stretched her arms. Amelia’s eyes did a quick sweep of Annie’s frame before standing up herself. Amelia thumbed away sweat from her brow before grabbing their empty bowls.

“I’ll clean, you gon’ on a wash up first, Lia.”

“Sure?”

“Yes,” Annie replied with a laugh, “Go on out there.”

“Let me grab my things.”

Amelia walked towards the room she occupied.

She grabbed her wash rag and a linen towel then turned on a kerosene lamp to give the room more light. Amelia began to undress. She stood in front of the wardrobe and reached behind her to unzip the feed sack dress she wore followed by unhooking her cup bra. The cool evening breeze brushed across her tacky skin perking her brown nipples and giving her goosebumps. Amelia shimmied her hips while slipping off her panties with a lace trim.

Amelia wrapped the linen towel around her body before leaving her room. Annie was busy scrubbing the kitchen clean with a brush. She paused as Amelia slipped out into the yard to wash. The minute she stepped out, she dropped the towel from her naked body and proceeded to step into the tub. Amelia used soap that Annie made herself. The scent of lavender and honey filled her nose.

Annie entered the back porch to dry the cookware. Amelia used a bucket to rinse her back, the soap suds glinting against her skin beneath the moonlight. Water dripped from her nipples like the dew on the edge of a leaf. Amelia got the sense that she was being watched. Her doe, brown eyes locked with Annie’s. Quickly, Annie diverted her attention to cleaning.

Neither of them acted on their unspoken desire.

No matter how hard Amelia tried to hide it, Annie always succeeded when it comes to making her heart flutter. It could be the smell of her perfume, a strong botanical character, vibrant and dark, with floral and animalic touches, enlivened with a spicy touch. An olfactory symphony of white, green, brown and red tones, ready to stimulate and connect with internal feelings such as hope, resilience and desire.

The way she walked or her smile. Whatever it is, Amelia gets caught in the rapture every time.

Annie had never been with a woman. Never thought to be with a woman. Amelia has this lustful innocence to her, which is contradictory in nature. A hungry tongue beneath a sheepish grin. She couldn’t explain why Amelia made her feel this way. Whenever she’s near, Annie’s guaranteed to feel warm all over. There is no doubt she’s under Amelia’s spell, effortlessly.

“Annie, could ya’ fetch my towel?”

Amelia stood, the bath water streaming down her body sensually. It continued to cascade as the water within the tub sloshed beneath her feet.

Annie reached for Amelia’s towel and held it open for her to walk into. Ample breast that sat heavy yet firm. Slim but not wasp–like waist. Generous hips. The epitome of an hourglass shape. The breathtaking curve of her plump butt was simply stunning.

“It’s getting a little nippy out here,” Amelia felt the towel encase her body from behind, “Your turn,” She whispered softly.

Annie scanned Amelia’s body before walking away.

Her eyes couldn’t help but to reveal her sexual desire.

Amelia caught it.

“Let me?”

Amelia worked on removing Annie’s blue blouse. A row of buttons down the spine. Amelia undid each one with a methodical touch. Annie shut her eyes and her lips parted with longing. Amelia slithered her fingertips beneath the fabric and guided it over Annie’s broad shoulders. Annie’s hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“You know, Annie…I haven’t thanked ya’ enough for givin’ me a place to stay. For takin’ the time to teach me…”

“You mean a lot to me, Amelia. And I made a promise.”

Amelia began unhooking Annie’s bra. Annie’s pulse quickened. Her body temperature rose as sweat trickled down her spine and between her full, sagging breasts. The air felt heavier. Like the frequency on that porch changed.

Annie turned to face Amelia, her fat titties mouthwatering and inviting. Amelia clutched the front of her linen towel with a searing sigh. Annie undressed from the waist down, belly, hips, and rotund ass revealed. She slithered past Amelia for the tub, leaving her standing there at a loss for words.

“I…I’ll go get dressed,” Amelia held the towel against her tighter, “Enjoy ya’ bath.”

Annie sank into the water, using her hands to drench her breasts. Fiery eyes lingered on Amelia.

“I will, Lookin’ forward to that wine. Nice and chilled.” Annie teases.

Amelia gawked at Annie for a second before gathering herself to enter the house. Back in her room, she cracked her door. Amelia attempted to calm her racing heart. She sat on the edge of her bed and began applying coco butter to her skin from head to toe. A rose pink chemise was folded neatly beside her. Amelia slipped it on.

A soft knock to her door caused her breath to hitch.

“Decent?” Annie called out from the other side.

“Yes,” Amelia opened the door, “How was your bath?”

“Soothing.”

Annie wore an ivory night gown with a scarf on her head. Her skin was also slathered with cocoa butter. She displayed the bottle of wine covered in condensation and dripping water from the icebox.

Amelia gave Annie a radiant smile, “Where to?”

“Drawing room,” Annie turned away, “Come on.”

The phonograph played a Bessie Smith song while Amelia and Annie danced circles around each other with their mason jars full of wine. Tipsy and giggling, Amelia showed Annie how to Lindy Hop. They held hands and twirled and waltzed.

“Oh, come on, Annie! Show me whatcha got! Hips on you I know you gets down!” Amelia exclaimed.

Annie bent over and shook her rump, cheeks bouncing and swallowing the nightgown she wore. Amelia smiled wickedly before shooting Annie a wink.

“Lawd!” Annie fans herself.

“I bet you give Smoke a run for his money,” Amelia’s hands went into her hair to fix it. Curly tendrils fell into her face, “I’m right, ain’t I?”

“He ain’t marry me fa’ nothin’.”

Annie took a seat on one of the chairs against the brick wall. Adding more wine to her mason jar, she watched Amelia dance. She did a solo slow drag with an exaggerated movement of her hips. Annie crossed one leg over the other lip resting on the rim of her mason jar while her eyes were on Amelia. Amelia threw her arms up and twirled, back facing Annie now while she brought her hips low in a forceful manner.

Her rose pink chemise would roll over her ass each time she brought her hips back up and Annie caught a glimpse of Amelia’s pink slit from behind. Hips moving so purposefully, opening her up from behind. Annie exhaled, a knowing look on her face. She could feel her clit pulsating between her generous thighs.

“Lia,” Annie sat her mason Jar down beside her foot, “C’mere.”

Amelia pressed a hand to her stomach, a cunning look in her doe eyes. She stood before Annie. Right between her legs. Annie crooked her head in a way to entice Amelia.

“Turn ‘round.”

Good–natured, Amelia did as she was told. Annie reached out a shaky hand, lifting Amelia’s chemise from behind. Amelia gasped. Two heavy–set ass cheeks.

“Bend over.”

Amelia shifted her feet to widen her legs before bending forward. She grabbed onto her ankles.

Annie sat back in the wooden chair. She toyed with the Santeria beads around her neck with anticipation and slack–jawed. A patch of pubic hair sat above bare pussy lips. Pussy lips that glisten beneath the kerosene lamps. Rosey pink like the satin chemise she wore. Annie spent time studying Amelia in that position. Soon, she found herself sitting on the edge of her seat.

Annie spread Amelia apart. Held her apart with a firm grip. Her sweet pheromones wafted her nose. Annie nibbled on her bottom lip. Amelia huffed when Annie thumbed her pussy lips apart so wide she could feel her clit stretching.

“Oh, Annie…”

The soft lilt of her voice drove Annie to her feet.

“Go to your room. Go.”

It was an order. The conjure woman meant business.

Amelia scurried towards her room. Annie entered soon after. Amelia faced Annie, the thin strap of her chemise dangling from her left shoulder.

“Go ‘head. Take it off. ‘Dats whatcha want, right?” Annie taunted.

“…I do.” Amelia confessed, “And so do you, Annie.”

Amelia wasted no time undressing.

“You ever been wit’ a woman?” Amelia asked.

“No. You?”

Amelia shook her head real slow. She walked to the bed with a purposeful switch of her hips before kneeling on it. Amelia looked back at Annie over her shoulder.

“I’ve heard you…in the nighttime…pleasuring ya’ self, Annie. Smoke’s name on your tongue…”

“Been a long time for me. And then here you come…dragging in your sexy energy. Capturing me wit’ those eyes…and that sweet drawl…”

Annie stood behind Amelia.

“Bend over, Lia. I wanna taste you.”

Soft mewling echoed across the room.

Amelia’s knees experienced discomfort from the thin material of the mattress over the metal frame. Annie was on her knees, nightgown down and around her hips while her greedy lips feasted on Amelia from behind.

Annie sucked.

Annie licked.

Annie nibbled.

Annie kissed.

Amelia had never experienced cunnilingus. Not even with her lover Nathaniel. Annie’s crude slurping and the wet thrashing of her tongue over places that had Amelia clenching up filled the room.

“Annie, yes, feels so good,” Amelia moans, “Please don’t stop priestess…”

Annie with her hooded eyes and lascivious mouth.

She scrunched her face up with arousal whenever some of Amelia’s pussy juice dripped. And boy, was she dripping. Annie cradled her clit between her lips and sucked. Amelia reached around to grab Annie’s wrist.

“I think I’m cummin?”

The sweet and innocent way she spoke those words let Annie know she never experienced such a thing before. Whatever Nathaniel THOUGHT he was doing, wasn’t what Annie was giving her. Pleasure beyond words.

Amelia gripped the sheets and trembled in Annie’s mouth. A trail of her own release dripped like honey to the bed. Annie delivered soft sucks and Amelia exhaled a shaky breath. Annie wasn’t through.

Amelia felt Annie’s lips release her folds. She reached out for her, craving that feeling again. Annie grasped her hand.

“Turn over, I’m not finished. I promise.”

Amelia moved to her back. Annie pushed her thighs open with force. Amelia eyed how Annie’s face was soaked. Her breasts sat on the bed just beneath Amelia’s ass. Annie locked eyes with Amelia and started eating her coos some more. Amelia plucked her nipples.

“Annie, shit…”

Annie worked her tongue, causing Amelia’s hips to arch from the bed.

“Don’t run,” Annie buried her face in it, “Sweet pussy…”

“Unh!”

Amelia snatched Annie’s scarf from her head and grabbed her by the hair. Annie rubbed her hands all over Amelia’s ass lovingly, dragging them down the back of her thighs. Amelia creamed, and Annie twirled her tongue in it to clean it up.

“YES!”

Amelia seized. Annie looked at her, all while slurping on her pussy cat hungrily and with so much vigor.

“ANNIE!”

Amelia sat up on her elbows. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Annie didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. If she could sleep with her mouth latched onto Amelia’s pussy she would.

Amelia gasped when Annie sank two fingers in her.

“So wet,” Annie smiles, “You nasty girl…I’m a give it to you whenever I want it…this pussy mine, hear me?”

“Yes, yours, all yours, take it, fingers so deep—”

“Look at ya’…all this mess…”

Amelia didn’t have to look. She could feel it. Smell it. Hear it. A gushy, sweet release. Annie pressed her lips against Amelia’s while her fingers pumped.

“Annie, Annie, wait, Annie, I’m a pee!”

“Oh, yeah?”

Annie kissed down Amelia’s chest and started sucking on her nipples. Amelia watched Annie’s fingers and she couldn’t believe how drenched down to her wrist she was. That sensation came back again, and Amelia couldn’t hold back. Liquid gushed onto the floor. Amelia watched with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“Fuccccckk!”

“Keep cummin’ good girl…”

Annie rubbed her fingers up and down Amelia’s clit while sucking each nipple. The dual sensation had Amelia nibbling on her bottom lip, fighting back tears.

Annie’s fingers rubbed from top to bottom, slick with her wetness. Their lips collided, wet–smacking and tongues thrashing.

“I wanna taste it…”

Annie reluctantly removed her fingers. She watched Amelia clean them off with a smile.

“Can I taste you now, Annie?”

The desperation in Amelia’s voice.

Amelia dropped her eyes to Annie’s breasts. She grabbed one, lifting it to her mouth. Annie helped her by lifting them and pointing them towards her mouth. Annie shifted her body, keeping her legs wide open, and started sucking on Annie’s nipples. Between licks and sucks, Amelia would release a sensual sigh.

“Their so big, Annie…”

Amelia kissed around Annie’s areola. Annie licked her lips. She couldn’t believe how slick her inner thighs were. Amelia’s pouty lips on her nipples sent chills down her spine. Annie stood, propping one leg on the bed. Amelia took one look at Annie’s bushy twat and dropped to her knees.

“Get in there good, Lia…”

Amelia spread Annie open. She was hit in the face with a pleasant musk that made her smile.

“Damn, Annie…”

Amelia buried her face in it. Annie ground her hips down. She palmed a breast with one hand while controlling Amelia’s head with the other. Amelia circled her tongue over Annie’s clit to bring it out before sucking on it.

“Lia…”

Annie couldn’t see past her belly, but she could feel Amelia’s fervent tongue deep inside and all around.

“Eat this pussy!”

Annie sat on the edge of the bed and with her hand in Amelia’s hair, she shoved her face between her legs again. Amelia lapped her up like a good little bitch on all fours. Annie’s titties touched her stomach and her toes curled when Amelia started sucking up and down.

“Workin’ for ‘dat cum, huh?!!”

“Hmmmm,” Amelia hummed.

Annie smacked her breasts together and brought a nipple to her mouth.

“Fuck, Lia, baby, babyyyyy!”

Her orgasm came crashing down on her. Annie’s eyes bugged out and her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Amelia kissed Annie’s clit before coming up for air. Annie grabbed Amelia by the neck and stuck her tongue in her mouth. Their heads swayed as they battled for dominance. Annie reached around to pop Amelia on the rump. Amelia thumbed Annie’s nipples.

All night.

All night long.

They ate each other’s pussies.

Annie made Amelia ride her face.

Amelia begged Annie to let her eat it from the back.

Sweat, the funk of sex, and pleasant giggles.

Until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The chirping of birds woke Annie. The sun peeked through the window, laminating her rich, ebony skin. Amelia was sound asleep next to her, sleeping on her back. Annie sat up, breasts defying gravity. She could still taste Amelia’s pussy on her lips.

Amelia stirred awake. Annie turned in the bed, her breast pressed against Amelia’s back. Amelia glanced over at Annie with sleepy eyes. She looked radiant. Skin a chestnut brown. Annie dragged her fingertips over Amelia’s arm.

“Good mornin’.” Amelia said with a sleepy eyes–laden voice.

“Mornin’ Lia.”

Annie hooked Amelia’s chin, leaning in for a kiss.

“What a night,” Amelia beamed.

“Mhm…”

They rubbed noses before kissing again. Annie palmed Amelia’s full breast that sat up like melons. She twirled her left nipple between her thumb and pointer finger.

“You’re makin’ my pussy wet…”

“That’s what I want,” Annie nibbled on Amelia’s bottom lip, “Let me look at it.”

Annie situated herself on her back. Amelia climbed up reverse cowgirl. Hair in her face, giving her a glamorous look, she looked back at Annie. Amelia rolled her hips, arching her back like a feline. Annie pulled Amelia closer to her face.

“Bounce ‘dat pussy on me…”

Amelia teased Annie’s tongue with her pussy. While Annie slapped her cheeks around, Amelia thrust two fingers in her.

“Annie, you’re so messy,” Amelia moaned, “Such a fat ‘ol pussy…”

Annie ate Amelia to her hearts delight. Tongue all in her pussy, lips all over her clit, slit dripping down her chin.

“Cum for me, Lia, please…”

Annie was desperate for it.

“I’m a drown you, Annie!”

Amelia wiggled her hips and rode Annie’s face hard. It was a sight to see. She looked so beautiful. So majestic. Breathtaking. Annie and all her voluptuous glory with her thighs wide open and toes pointed to the sky. Two sexy, black women delivering pleasure to each other.

“Annie! Oh, Annie!”

Amelia frowned her face as she climaxed.

Annie was close. Amelia climbed off and buried her face in between Annie’s big thighs.

“Uh–huh! Uhhhhhh.”

Annie combed Amelia’s hair from her face so she could watch her lick her button while fingering her wet hole.

“Oooo, Lia!”

The bed dipped from the force of Annie’s release. The metal headboard banged against the wall loudly.

“Damn! That’s good!”

Amelia resurfaces and straddles Annie. She cupped her face and kissed her deeply. Annie wrapped her arms around Amelia’s waist, pulling her in tighter.

“All that cummin’ got me hungry.” Annie said.

“Grits?” Amelia asked.

“You know I don’t pass up on grits now.”

Amelia climbed off of Annie. She found her rose pink chemise and pulled it over her body. Annie watched her with a smile.

“I’ll get the fire goin’!”

Amelia skipped off in orgasmic bliss.

Annie busied herself with getting dressed. She left to the outhouse to relieve herself and then returned to find Amelia mixing grits and adding cheese.

“Smells good,” Annie situated herself next to Amelia, “Grits damn near perfect.”

“Thank you,” Amelia replied with a coy smile.

“Afternoon, Annie! Amelia!”

“Hello, Miss Ruby.” Annie replied.

“How you, Miss Ruby?” Amelia asked.

“I’m well, came to grab me a little devil’s shoestring.”

“Of course,” Annie slipped over to where she kept her herbs.

Annie scanned the shelves twice.

“Shit, Amelia, I forgot to grab the devil’s shoestring from the yard, mind grabbing me some?”

Amelia climbed down from a stool. She smoothed out her khaki dress that fit her like a glove.

“You know I don’t mind, Annie. Anything for you.”

Amelia drank Annie in while discreetly licking her lips. Annie’s breath hitched. Amelia smoothed past her, reaching behind her to palm Annie’s ass out of sight before leaving out the back door of the shack. Amelia made the ten minute walk back to the house. She sang a jazz tune to occupy her time, picking dandelions along the way. In the distance she could see two little girls running towards the shack with pigtails and laughter.

Amelia walked around back, careful not to step on Annie’s plants. She found the devil’s shoestring, grabbing what she needed of it. Amelia placed it over her apron and cuffed the bottom to keep it in place so she could carry it back to the shack. Amelia squinted her eyes against the Mississippi sun, singing the words to a country blues song.

Was in the summer,

One early fall,

Just tryin' to find my

Little all and all

Now she's gone,

An' I don't worry.

Lord, I'm sittin' on top of the world…

“That was fast.”

Amelia handed over the devil’s shoestring. She went over to wait for Miss Ruby to pay.

“Might be back later, Annie. How long are you open today?”

“Depends, might stay til about four.”

“How much?”

“Five cents.” Amelia said.

Miss Ruby paid her bill.

“You ladies have a good one—oh! Lookie!”

Two little girls entered the shack. Amelia waved hello and offered them a lollipop. Annie and Amelia’s eyes met and both of them smiled knowingly at each other. Scenes from last night still vividly remembered.

“You girls behaving?” Annie questioned with a hand on her hip.

“Yes, Miss Annie!”

“That was way too orchestrated,” Amelia teases, “ya’ll sure?”

“We’ve been good!” The eldest of the girls said.

“Mhmmm.”

Amelia finished stocking and placed the wooden stool away.

The sound of a vehicle approaching caught their attention. Annie peered out of the front door, squinting her eyes to see if she recognized whoever it was. Amelia watched the little girls picking out of the candy bowl again. Amelia swept her eyes over Annie, noticing a visible change in her body language. Curious, Amelia walked over to a window to see who was there.

Her eyes fell on the back of a man crouched down before Annie’s baby’s grave. He dusted it off and placed flowers there, and then he raised his head, staring at Annie situated in the doorway. A pause filled with tension followed by strained silence formed between them. As Annie descended the short stairs, she approached the man carefully, her features guarded. The man stood tall, wearing a tailored, charcoal grey tweed suit with padded shoulders and a blue button down. He placed his blue scalley cap on his head as they spoke.

After they exchanged words, Annie turned her back on him and entered the shop. Amelia quickly turned away from the window, the man followed behind her and Amelia froze.

“Just this, Miss Annie…and a pinch of high John…”

Amelia watched the man while she stood behind a counter. She tried to busy herself with rearranging old books, but her eyes couldn’t stray away from him. His presence commanded attention. Stony expression, he grabs a pipe from a hook on the wall. Quiet, imposing, at first glance not too friendly. His eyes snapped to Amelia and she diverted her gaze to the little girls leaving the shop.

“I can’t believe you taken this make believe shit—”

Annie pulled a straight razor on Smoke. Amelia’s eyes widened.

“Smoke you betta gimmie my money for I cut yo black ass—”

“Put that blade away, woman,” Smoke reached in pocket, withdrawing cash, “Take ‘dis—”

“I don’t want yo’ money.”

Amelia felt she was in the middle of something she had no business witnessing. Smoke’s arrival threw Annie off. Amelia remembers Annie mentioning that he’d be back any day now.

“Yo’ money come wit’ blood.”

Amelia stumbled against Annie’s alter on her way towards the back of the shack. Annie focused on her after accepting the money back from Smoke that the little girls gave her. She averted her gaze before clearing her throat to speak.

“Amelia, ‘dis here is my husband, Smoke.”

“…Hello.” Amelia greeted him timidly.

“Nice to meet you,” Smoke surveyed her with a curious expression.

“She’s my apprentice.” Annie revealed.

Amelia shifted her gaze to Annie putting on a smile.

“Apprentice of what?” Smoke questioned with a quirked brow and his lips poked out in annoyance.

“Rootwork. She’s been wit’ me for a month. Came all ‘dis way from New Orleans.”

Smoke eyed Amelia from head to toe. Amelia tried her best not to cower beneath his fierce gaze.

“Welcome to the Delta, Amelia. You in good hands wit’ Annie.”

An awkward silence blanketed them. Smoke looked between Amelia and Annie with a sharp gaze. Amelia felt exposed beneath his onyx eyes. She flinched slightly, spooked by his presence. She didn’t have to know everything about him to know he was ruthless. It was palpable. Radiated from him like the scent of cigarette smoke, elemi, sensual hints of jasmine and lily of the valley.

“I’ll go check on the chickens, Annie.”

Amelia disappeared out the back door, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

Did he sense that Annie and her had sex? The way he looked between them…

Amelia stilled her shaky hands enough to feed the chickens. The fresh air seemed to calm her nerves. She could make out their voices, subtle but clear. After she finished, Amelia sat on a stump and released her long, curly hair from its pinned updo. Her eyes fixated on the shack, deciding to wait a moment before returning. She had to get herself together. Amelia didn’t want to put a wedge between Smoke and Annie.

But the way Annie made her body feel…

Amelia shut her eyes, the wind picking up to cool her skin set ablaze by the images playing in her mind. The sweet tang of Annie’s phat pussy lips against her mouth. The firmness of her lips and the slickness of her tongue. Her moans.

Her moans…

Amelia stood. she crept over to the back of the shack. Amelia peeked inside, keeping herself hidden as best as she could.

“Ton corps ne m’ a pas oubliée…”

Amelia knew exactly what she said. And the visual before her eyes caused her to clench her thighs and gnaw on her bottom lip to conceal a whimper of pleasure. She clung on to the edge of the doorway, grip so tight she could feel the splintered wood prick her fingers.

Smoke bent Annie over, lifted her skirt, and ripped her panties off in one motion. He released a dick so big Amelia’s knees buckled. Smoke used one hand to spread Annie’s abundant cheeks and tapped her wet pussy with his tip. Amelia could hear it. She could hear how wet Annie’s pussy is.

Smoke thrust up into her, Annie releasing a strangled cry. Her face frowned up at the invasion. That pussy needed to be broken in. It’s been way too long. Smoke had a hold of her big hips with his feet planted firm. He looked down on Annie as he delivered sharp, powerful thrusts. His thrusts were slow and precise. Annie’s eyes crossed and her mouth hung open like her jawbone lost its anchor.

Smoke’s expression showed just how much he missed her. Missed that pussy. Missed those hips. Missed the way she tugged on his big dick. Amelia felt her cheeks grow warm. She couldn’t look away. The love making was too intense. Too consuming. Too spell bounding. Amelia’s forehead pressed against her hand. Her free hand gathered the bottom of her dress.

“I missed being in my pussy…”

Amelia whimpered.

She slipped her hand inside her panties. Amelia had to bite down on her hand to keep from moaning, but her body was having a visceral reaction to how soaking wet she was. Amelia wasted no time sinking two fingers knuckle deep. She felt herself drooling over her hand. In and out, in and out, she hiked her leg up on the steps and went to town on that pussy. Creamy sound so loud that if it weren’t for Annie’s moans they probably would have heard it.

Smoke flipped Annie around, picked her up, sat her on the table and threw her legs over his arms. Annie lined him up and Smoke thrust forward, filling her up again with all that dick. They locked eyes and didn’t look away from each other.

“Smoke! You beatin’ it up so good!” Annie cried.

“Tight…so tight,” Smoke ripped the front of Annie’s shirt and tugged the cups of her bra down, “Big tits…fuck…fuck I miss this body…big ass tits…gushy pussy…Annie…”

He attacked her breasts with so much gluttony. Amelia bucked her hips against her hand, the palm of her hand stroking her clit.

“E-Elijah…”

The quiver in Annie’s voice when she said his name before cumming all over his dick…

Amelia focused on the way his thick rod speared her pussy to no end. He kept the same stroke, mouth full of titty meat and his bulging biceps curled around her thighs.

Annie had to grip the edge of the table. Smoke was up in that thang HEAVY.

Amelia covered her mouth when the sudden wave of release washed over her.

“FUCK!”

Smoke slammed into Annie twice more before cumming deep inside of her.

He lowered her legs and Annie pulled him into a deep kiss with her hand around his neck. Amelia gently withdrew her fingers from her pussy and she fixed her dress before sneaking away to wash her hands off in the pond. Still having aftershocks from her orgasm, Amelia had to brace herself against the willow tree in front of the pond.

She crouched down and dipped her hands into the warm water. When she finished, she wrung her hands out before wiping them off on her apron. Amelia heard footsteps near the front of the shack. Peeking around the tree, she noticed Smoke puffing on his pipe. He was situated minus his suit jacket. Smoke circled around just as Amelia slipped from behind the tree.

He watched her closely as she avoided his attention, making her way towards the back of the shack.

“Amelia?”

Annie called for her.

Amelia found herself back inside. The air reeked of sex. Annie had changed into a new top. She lit an oil diffuser with a match. Immediately, the scent of lavender perfumed the room.

“Where’d you go?”

Annie smoothed down her hair and walked with a noticeable limp.

“I went down to the pond…wanted to give you two some privacy.”

Smoke returned, hanging his pipe on the hook near the door again. Amelia’s skin prickled with desire the moment Smoke entered. He adjusted his dick in his pants boldly. Amelia’s eye lids fluttered. He was still as hard as cast iron and almost as thick as her wrist.

“Amelia…you stayin’ wit us?”

Startled, Amelia spoke, “I am,” Amelia glanced over to Annie warily, “If that’s alright.”

“It’s more than alright,” Annie reassured her.

Amelia got the sense that Smoke wasn’t too keen on that.

“I’ll be back tonight. Gotta head into town to meet wit’ Stack…”

Who’s Stack?

“Where he stayin’?” Annie asked.

“Our old home. Fixin’ it up.”

Smoke slipped his cap back on. He walked up behind Annie and kissed her neck several times before slapping her on the ass. Amelia clenched up as if Smoke was spanking her.

“See ya’ later, baby. Amelia…”

Smoke tipped his hat at her as a goodbye.

“Bye for now,” Amelia bid Smoke farewell with a wave.

She had to get it together.

@eggnox @blackisy2k @thickeeparker @theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @alexbabyyyy @readingaddict1290 @thedondada05 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @sug3rco0k1es @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @blossom3010 @kykylovesblog @desthefanfc @jeurden23janise @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @goddessofthundathighs @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @mynameisnikkinik @girlsneedlovingfanfics @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @pinkprincessluminary @rissa21405 @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @massivewolfslimeturtle @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @intellectualassholee @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @mysteriouslycertaincherrybl-blog @syko-jpg @inkdrippeddreams @rolemodelshit

[mandoalorian]

if this is war, i surrender — prologue

Revenge had a price. You just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

Pairing: New Avenger!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Synopsis: You wanted revenge. He became the reason you hesitated. He was the ghost from your past—the one who took everything. But getting close to him meant playing a dangerous game. And somewhere between hating him and pretending not to care, you forgot the one rule you swore you'd follow: don't fall for the enemy.

Word Count: 2,700

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for eventual smut - and there will be a lot of it, mentions and descriptions of abuse (both physical and emotional), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, death of a family member, Sam/Bucky aren't friends.

Author’s Note: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* (and is tagged accordingly) — as promised, a brand new fic series for our beloved New Avenger!Bucky. And it's an Avengers Tower fic! I am so excited for this. If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Masterlist | next chapter [coming soon]

You’d lived your whole life feeling what others couldn’t hide.

Anger that simmered beneath polite smiles. Grief was tucked behind practised charm. Lust, hatred, envy—emotions wrapped in flesh and bone and lies. Most people were predictable once you knew what they’d do before they did it.

It wasn’t magic. Not really.

It was you—something twisted into your blood long ago. You could read them. Sense the weight of a person by the colour of their aura, the heat of their intent. It made the world feel like a game of chess, you were always five moves ahead in.

And still, somehow, you’d lost everything.

No family. No justice.

Just a face burned into your memory—cold, unfeeling, and soaked in your brother’s blood.

The Winter Soldier. 

You’d read all the self-help books and spent years in counselling and therapy. God, you had tried everything to get over it. But you remembered it like it was second nature, so much so that your Void Room felt like a nightmare you’d been used to for the past twenty years. It wasn’t reliving trauma, because you had never left. You were only a small child when it happened. You remember the fear that outlined your brother when he was cornered by the Winter Soldier, and the Soldier’s aura? Nothing. Like he was cut off from the world. Not an ounce of feeling or emotion. 

But how could that be possible?

They said he was reformed, that he was out in the city under a government pardon, trying to live a ‘normal life’ after the Battle of Earth. There were traces of his presence a few years ago, working alongside Captain America to disassemble the Flag Smashers. And since then, a brief stint of being Brooklyn's Congressman.

Seriously, who would vote him into power?

You had been waiting for the world to hand him a spotlight, a new beginning, because that always seemed to happen to men like Bucky Barnes. 

A fresh start. Forgiveness. 

You were okay with waiting because a plan like this had to be made with precision, and precision took time. You couldn’t fight him with fury or fire. 

You’d get close. You’d make him trust you. And when the moment came, you’d watch his world fall. 

But for now, you worked at McCready’s bar in Lower Manhattan.

The neon lights outside the bar flickered in a lazy rhythm as you wiped down the counter for the umpteenth time, the stale smell of spilt whiskey and cheap beer lingering in the air. It was a Tuesday, but the bar was packed — a sea of half-drunk faces and the kind of conversations that never mattered. You hadn’t expected much from the job, but at least it kept you afloat. Barely.

The tips were inconsistent, the hours long, but it was all you had. Living in New York City wasn’t kind to anyone who wasn’t swimming in money, and you weren’t even close. You’d gotten used to the way the city hummed around you, indifferent to your struggles, just another face in the crowd. At least you weren’t completely alone. Shane was always there, hovering in the background like a constant reminder of the life you were stuck in.

He was your roommate, sure — but the lines had blurred long ago. It was more than that. You couldn’t leave him, not because you loved him, but because you had nowhere else to go. Shane had a way of turning everything he touched into a mess, and you were caught in the fallout. He was just… volatile, always drunk, always angry. His mood swung like a pendulum — when it was good, it was fine, but when it was bad, it was a storm. And you were always the one caught in its path.

Tonight was no different. His eyes were bloodshot, his speech slurred, but you knew better than to challenge him. You knew the look, the one that came just before things went south. You had learned how to move quietly, how to keep your head down when he raged. It wasn’t the first time he’d lashed out — and you hated yourself for staying, for letting him control so much of your life. But you couldn’t leave. The apartment was cheap, and it was better than being homeless. The city wasn’t kind to women on their own, and you weren’t naïve enough to think you’d be different.

So you endured.

The clink of glass broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the bar. Another customer. Another drink to serve. You plastered on your best smile and handed over the next round, trying to ignore the ache in your chest, the one that never went away. The ache that was there every time you realised you were stuck in a life that wasn’t yours to begin with, with a person who only made it harder to breathe.

But then, he crashed against the bar when your back was turned.

You felt it before you saw him.

A tight heat in the centre of your chest, like a warning flare under your skin. The aura rolled in a moment later—dark, pulsing red, bloated with alcohol and laced with something sharp. Bitterness. Rage. Shame. It wrapped around you like smoke, familiar and suffocating.

Shane.

You didn’t even need to look up. The aura was unmistakable. Predictable. He always came into your orbit like this—loud, drunk, and looking to pick a fight he could pretend wasn’t his fault.

You braced your palms against the sticky bar top and sighed.

“Didn’t think you worked Thursdays,” his voice slurred from your left. He leaned heavily against the counter, already swaying.

“I switched shifts.” You kept your eyes on the glass you were drying, steady and detached.

Shane scoffed. “Of course you did. Probably duckin’ me.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned in closer, breath hot and sharp with whiskey. “You can’t keep avoiding me, babe. We’ve got things to talk about.”

You turned to face him. “We broke up.”

His jaw twitched. You saw the spike in his aura before he even moved. The humiliation—how quickly it curdled into fury.

He slammed his palm down on the bar. “You can’t just cut me off like that! I still have your stuff!”

“And I’ll pick it up tomorrow when I get off work.” You spoke calmly, but your fingers curled against the wood.

“You act like I was the problem. Like you’re so perfect.”

You felt his emotions boiling up, the weight of everything unsaid pressing into your ribs. Your powers made it impossible not to feel it all—the guilt, the desperation, the jealousy eating holes in his brain.

He reached toward the shelf behind you, fingers clumsy and quick.

You saw it in a flash—his intention. The movement. The bottle. The shatter.

“Shane,” you warned, voice low.

But he grabbed the glass anyway.

And when you didn’t flinch—didn’t react—he hurled it at the far wall. The sound of shattering exploded through the bar like a gunshot.

Conversations cut off. Heads turned. The bartender at the other end shouted something you didn’t catch, but you didn’t move. You stared him down, heart steady even as your powers screamed with the heat of his spiraling aura.

“Get. Out.” Your voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.

Shane scoffed again, as if that might somehow make him look less pathetic. He backed up with slow, jerking steps, flipping off the room as he staggered toward the door.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered, just before the door slammed shut behind him.

The silence he left behind was louder than the glass.

You let out a breath, realising you’d been holding it. Then you grabbed the broom from behind the bar and swept the shards into a dustpan, the sharp scrape of glass grounding you.

Your skin still tingled from the contact with his rage. You hated that you felt it all—the fear before it turned violent, the hurt beneath the anger. You hated that your powers made it impossible to just forget someone.

But maybe that was the curse of being who you were. You always saw what was coming. You just couldn’t always stop it.

As the last pieces of glass clinked into the bin, you finally straightened. The bar had settled again. Conversations resumed. The music picked back up.

“Rough night?”

The voice came from the far end of the bar—smooth, level, edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You looked up. Black hoodie. Cap pulled low. Sunglasses indoors. He didn’t look dangerous, but he looked like someone who could be.

“Getting there,” you replied.

He offered a small nod. “Water, please.”

You poured it and slid it over. “You don’t seem like a regular.”

He chuckled. “I’m not.”

There was a pause. You watched him closely, brushing your senses over his aura. It was… quiet. Centred. Strong in a way that didn’t shout. But frayed at the edges. Worn. Heavy. You sensed something simmering—like a soldier forced to sit still while a war started without him.

“You handled yourself well earlier,” he said, not looking up.

You blinked. “You saw that?”

“I saw enough. Most people don’t know when to walk away. You did.”

You tilted your head, wary. “You following me?”

“No. Just watching.”

That didn’t make it less strange. But your instincts didn’t scream danger—only mystery.

You turned toward the corner TV to anchor yourself—something normal. Background noise. Distraction.

Instead, your stomach dropped.

You hadn’t meant to keep watching.

The TV had always just been background noise—old games, muted news reels, the occasional infomercial to fill the gaps between orders. But tonight, the screen was impossible to ignore.

A navy-blue backdrop. Stark white letters:

LIVE: O.X.E. GLOBAL INITIATIVE PRESS CONFERENCE

At the podium stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sharp in her suit, that perpetual half-smile like she knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

“Today,” she said, “marks the beginning of a new era.”

You barely noticed the sound of glass clinking behind the bar as someone restocked. The world had narrowed to that screen.

Val continued, cool and poised. “A world in chaos needs structure. Direction. Accountability. O.X.E. was founded for that purpose—and now, I’m proud to announce its greatest achievement yet.”

The camera panned as she lifted a hand, gesturing to the five figures standing just out of frame.

Your heart skipped once—no reason. Just instinct.

“Earth’s new protectors. A team not built on nostalgia or outdated legacies. But on precision, strength, and experience.”

The screen cut to a slow pan across the group.

First: Yelena Belova.

You recognised her instantly—shoulders squared in sleek black tactical gear, expression unreadable. There was something fiercely restrained in her stance. A storm with a chokehold on itself.

Next: Ava Starr.

Ghost. Gloved hands in her pockets, hood half-drawn. She looked like she wanted to vanish right through the floor. Her energy vibrated through the screen—quiet, unstable, barely contained.

Then: John Walker.

U.S. Agent. Chin high, arms crossed like he was daring someone to challenge his spot. The smugness rolled off him like oil.

After that: Alexei Shostakov.

The Red Guardian. Smirking like he thought this was a stage play. You remembered his face from news clippings—over-the-top patriotism paired with brute force.

And then—just as the camera reached the final spot—

You felt it before you saw him.

Cold steel wrapped in guilt. A storm buried under a thousand locked doors. It hit you like a tide and settled in your bones.

Bucky Barnes.

He stepped forward into frame, silent. Dark clothes. Gloves on. That familiar stare—the one you’d only ever seen in flashes, or in the brief security footage you weren’t supposed to find. The one from twenty years ago.

Your grip on the counter went white-knuckle.

His name appeared below him in bold, unmistakable letters, sub-titled with the words Team Leader. 

The world faded around you. The bar. The people. The music. It all disappeared.

There he was. Front and centre. Standing tall like the past never happened. Like the blood on his hands had been scrubbed clean.

Leader. Hero. Forgiven.

And just like that, the plan began to form.

Because if he was back—if he was leading this new world—then this was your chance.

You’d get close. You’d get answers.

And you’d finally make him pay.

“Mind if I use your phone?” The voice cut your thoughts off with a sharp snap.

You hesitated. “Landline’s under the register. Doesn’t do long-distance.” 

“That’s fine. He’s local.”

The man in the cap dialled quickly, voice low as he turned away from the bar. You stayed close, listening despite yourself.

“Yeah. It’s me.” Cap said. That was the nickname you’d given him. It felt fitting. You read his aura, and found it laced with anger. But it wasn’t like Shane’s anger. It wasn’t volatile or red, but instead, it was muted and hurt. Betrayal.

A pause.

“No, I saw it. They didn’t clear it. Val went public without warning.”

Another pause.

“No, he didn’t tell me. Look, Torres. He knew— he knew about my plan to restart the Av—”

His jaw clenched before stopping mid-sentence, aware of his audience.

“Just be ready. If this gets worse, we’ll need to act fast. I’ll call him tonight.”

He hung up. Didn’t say goodbye.

You crossed your arms. “You talk like someone important.”

He gave you a look, unreadable behind the glasses. “Depends who’s asking.”

You lifted your chin, refusing to back down. “I’ve had enough people lie to my face tonight.”

For a beat, he said nothing.

Then, with the tiniest smirk, he pulled off the sunglasses and tucked them into his hoodie.

“I’m Sam.”

Your breath hitched.

Captain fucking America.

────✪────

Bucky’s phone lit up the second the press conference ended.

Sam Wilson.

He stared at the name a moment longer than he needed to, then answered with a clipped, “Yeah.”

Sam didn’t waste time.

“You really let them use the name.”

Bucky leaned back against the edge of the hotel desk, jaw tight. “It’s just a name.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam snapped. “It’s our name. You think you get to let some corrupt agency parade it around like a branding tool? Like Steve’s legacy didn’t mean a damn thing?”

Bucky said nothing.

“You stood up there like it was nothing,” Sam continued. “With Walker. With Val. You think this is what Steve would’ve wanted? You think he’d look at that team and—”

“Don’t,” Bucky cut in, voice suddenly cold. “Don’t bring him into this.”

Sam didn’t flinch. “Someone has to.” 

Bucky exhaled, short and sharp. “I didn’t choose the name. I didn’t write the headline. I chose a mission. That’s it.”

“Yeah?” Sam snapped. “Well, congratulations. You just handed the Avengers legacy over to a bunch of government puppets.”

Something burned behind Bucky’s eyes. He clenched his fist.

Bucky’s silence was answer enough, and Sam could feel his partner’s stoic glare through the line.

Sam exhaled, like he was holding back something worse. “You think this is justice? You think you’re fixing something?”

“I’m doing what I can with the mess that’s left,” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “Same as you.”

“No, I’m trying to honour what came before. You—? You’re just trying to outrun it.”

That struck a nerve.

Bucky stood straighter, voice low and clipped. “You think I give a damn about your approval? I don’t need your permission to do something that matters.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam snapped. “Since when do you care about legacy?”

The air between them tightened, stretching thin with unspoken names and unforgiven history.

“You’ve got no idea what I care about,” Bucky said coldly.

Sam paused, just long enough for it to sting. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Click.

Bucky hung up first.

The fourteen months that followed weren’t peaceful.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

Fic taglist: @ruexj283

[theosang3ls]

Crawling back to you

inspired by Hozier’s version of “Do I wanna know?”

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

summary: Mattheo is your new neighbour who quickly becomes obsessed with you and finds rather creative ways to talk to you

warnings: mentions of blood, fluff

A/N: in my mind every single song by Hozier is Mattheo coded. I had so much fun writing this! English is not my first language! Hope you enjoy reading this!

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You stood quietly over Mattheo, his left palm bloodied and trembling ever so slightly beneath your touch. The harsh scent of disinfectant clung to the air between you as you dabbed at his wound with a cotton pad, each movement slow, deliberate, and tender. Your fingers moved carefully, reserved in their precision, as though he were made of fragile porcelain and might shatter under the weight of anything more. The sting of the antiseptic hitting his torn skin made Mattheo hiss under his breath, his jaw tightening—but the pain barely registered compared to the storm of emotion twisting in his chest.

He couldn't take his eyes off you. There you were: utterly focused, lips pressed into a firm, concentrated line, your brow slightly furrowed as you worked. Your hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, a few loose strands falling across your cheeks, catching the light in a way that made you seem almost otherworldly. You were breathtaking, ethereal, and completely unaware of just how beautiful you looked like that—lost in the task of patching him up with a quiet determination that made his heart ache.

Since the moment Mattheo had first seen you, since his gaze had landed on your soft, unassuming figure in the hallway of your apartment block, something inside him had shifted. You had smiled at him— just a polite, neighborly smile—but it had been enough to snare his thoughts entirely. He hadn't believed in fate, not until the day he realized he'd moved into the unit just two doors down from yours. And now, sitting on your worn-in couch, his injured hand in yours, it felt like the universe had led him here with purpose. You were kind, graceful, quietly radiant— a walking contradiction to the chaos that often lived inside him. And he wanted to stay in this moment for as long as you'd let him.

"You're all patched up," you murmured, voice soft as you smoothed the final fold of the bandage over his palm. Your touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, gentle and warm. Then you looked up at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Can I get you anything else?"

Mattheo's heart stuttered. That smile—god, that smile—was enough to make him weak. He felt something in his chest unravel. "Just a glass of water," he replied, offering a smile of his own, the kind he didn't give to many. It felt unfamiliar on his face, but it bloomed easily in your presence. You nodded and rose from the couch, heading toward the kitchen, your silhouette briefly disappearing into the dim light.

As you turned the tap and filled the glass, you finally summoned the question that had been sitting on your tongue since he first stepped into your apartment. "You want to tell me how you got that?" you asked, voice casual, but laced with curiosity as you leaned your back against the counter, arms crossed.

Mattheo hesitated. His mind spun quickly through the easiest lie, one that wouldn't spark more questions. "I broke a jar," he said finally, tracing absent circles over the bandage you had so gently applied just minutes before. "Tried to pick up the glass, tripped a little. Guess I wasn't being careful."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and offered him a look that made him simultaneously want to laugh and squirm. "Nice story," you said, chuckling slightly. "Now tell me what actually happened."

Mattheo pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense, his features twisting into a playful expression. "Are you implying that I'm lying to you?" he asked, tone exaggeratedly wounded, though there was amusement glinting behind his eyes.

"That's exactly what I'm doing," you shot back, your smirk deepening, your eyes dancing with the challenge.

And just like that, something unspoken passed between you—a shift in the air, a charge that neither of you fully understood, but both of you felt.

"What makes you think I'm lying, hmm?" Mattheo asked, his voice smooth and low, edged with amusement. He cocked a brow, a smug little smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth—a smirk you'd seen far too many times in the hallways, in the elevator, in passing glimpses at your mailbox. You hated that it affected you the way it did. Hated how your pulse picked up every time you caught sight of him. How your breath always stalled for just a second too long.

There was something about him—something magnetic and consuming. Maybe it was his unwavering confidence, or the lazy way he always seemed to lean against doorframes like he had nowhere to be, like he had all the time in the world just to look at you. Maybe it was those dark curls, often tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed, or those impossibly deep brown eyes that made it hard to look away. Or maybe it was the small scar on the bridge of his nose—a subtle imperfection that made him all the more perfect. Whatever it was, he left you flustered in a way you hadn't been in years. You weren't the type to get distracted by someone so easily—but Mattheo was an exception, and your thoughts betrayed you constantly because of it.

You pushed yourself off the edge of the counter where you'd been leaning, suddenly aware of how close he still was, and walked over to hand him the glass of water. As you did, your fingers brushed his, sending an uninvited jolt of electricity through your veins. "One," you began, coolly, forcing your voice to remain steady. "I didn't find a single shard of glass when I was cleaning your hand. Two, that cut's far too straight to have come from a broken jar. And three..." you looked up at him, your gaze unwavering, "we live close enough that I would've heard something shatter in your apartment. But I didn't."

Mattheo's eyebrows rose, genuinely impressed. He hadn't expected you to pay such close attention—to every sound, every detail, every flicker of inconsistency in his words. God, it only made you more irresistible. The way your voice held firm, the way that one loose strand of hair curved down your cheek—he was hopelessly enamored. "Aren't you a bright one," he teased, the words curling out of his mouth like a purr. His gaze locked onto yours, heated and steady.

You tried to hold it, really, you did—but the intensity in his eyes was unbearable. It made your stomach flip, made your throat tighten. You hummed in response, barely audible, before quickly turning away and heading back toward the kitchen. You didn't need anything from there—not really. But the nearness of him, the way your skin still tingled where his hand had touched yours—it was too much. You needed distance. Space to think. Space to breathe. Because if you stayed too close, for even a moment longer, you might do something stupid— like lean in and kiss him.

"Care to explain how it really happened?" you asked, your voice a little quieter now as you fiddled absentmindedly with a spoon left out on the counter.

Silence.

You glanced over your shoulder, expecting a response—but he was still watching you, like he was drinking you in. Your heart jumped at the intensity of his stare, and something twisted in your chest. You narrowed your eyes slightly, thinking through the details. That kind of wound—clean, precise—it hadn't come from glass. It looked like the kind of cut a blade would make. But... how the hell did someone slice the inside of their palm like that?

And then it hit you.

"Oh my god..." you whispered, eyes widening slightly as you turned to face him fully. "Did you... cut yourself, Mattheo?"

Your voice softened on his name, barely more than a breath—but it stopped him cold. The way you said it, laced with concern and a quiet, blooming anger, made something primal shift in him. He could barely handle how it made him feel.

He grinned, far too casually for what he was admitting to. "Only so I could be taken care of by my favorite neighbor," he replied with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your cheeks flushed instantly. Heat rose to the surface of your skin, betraying your every effort to remain composed. You hated how easily he disarmed you—hated even more how much you liked it.

You didn't respond. Couldn't. Your body betrayed you with silence, and that was all the confirmation Mattheo needed.

"Are you turned on?" he asked, letting out a quiet, breathy chuckle that wrapped around your spine like silk. "What? No!" you blurted, your voice too quick, too defensive.

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk growing. "Now look who's lying."

And then he stood up.

You should have stepped back—your mind screamed at you to create space, to run before it got worse—but your body stayed rooted in place as he crossed the room in long, confident strides. Each step toward you made the room feel smaller, warmer, heavier with unspoken tension.

His hand came up gently, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing a featherlight path across your skin. Your breath hitched. Your heart pounded. You looked up into his eyes—god, those eyes—and felt like you might melt right there.

"Tell me," he murmured, leaning in closer, his voice dipping into something low and intoxicating. "What is it that turns you on, hmm?" Your gaze faltered again, flicking downward in a futile attempt to escape the intensity. But his other hand rose, cradling the other side of your face, holding you in place with a kind of softness that made your knees weaken. "Don't shy away from me now," he whispered, eyes searching yours.

And for a moment —just a moment— the world stopped spinning. You couldn't breathe. Or maybe you were just too aware of every breath, every inch of space between your bodies—what little was left of it. His hands framed your face with such reverent gentleness, as if you were something sacred, something fragile. His thumbs moved slowly across your cheeks, tracing invisible paths that left your skin tingling in their wake. And his eyes... god, his eyes were devouring you—full of heat and curiosity and something deeper, something almost tender.

He leaned in just slightly, just enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your lips, and it took everything in you not to close the distance.

"I mean it," he said softly, voice low and husky, as though the air between you wasn't already heavy enough. "Don't look away."

You didn't. You couldn't.

Your heart thundered against your ribs, your lips parted ever so slightly, and time stilled around you. The kitchen disappeared. The world fell silent. All you could feel was his touch and his gaze and the way every part of you leaned toward him like a tide being pulled by the moon.

"Say something," he whispered, his lips barely inches from yours.

But you didn't need to. Because in the next heartbeat, you closed the space between you.

Your lips met his—tentative at first, like a question you didn't know how to ask—but the moment they touched, everything else unraveled. His hands tightened ever so slightly on your cheeks, pulling you closer, grounding you in the softness of his mouth against yours. He kissed you like he'd been waiting forever—slow, deep, savoring every second like he never wanted it to end. You felt his breath hitch, the way he exhaled into the kiss, like you'd stolen the air from his lungs and he didn't mind one bit.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto. And maybe you did—because kissing Mattheo felt like falling. Like diving headfirst into something dangerous and beautiful and completely out of your control.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he'd thought about this a thousand times and none of those daydreams came close to the real thing. His hands slid down, one settling lightly on your waist, the other brushing the small of your back, anchoring you to him.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your foreheads touched, and your noses brushed. His eyes were still closed for a moment, as though committing every second of the kiss to memory.

You didn't say anything right away. Neither did he. You just stood there—hearts pounding, breathing each other in. "I knew it," he murmured finally, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "You were turned on." You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," he whispered, tilting his head slightly, brushing his lips against yours again in a teasing ghost of a kiss, "you kissed me."

You didn't argue.

Because you already knew you'd do it again.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A/N: this was so cute I loved writing it! Hope you loved reading it as well!

!Reblogs, Likes and Comments are highly appreciated¡

masterlist

…until next time lovelies💋

[slut4thebroken]

Handyman

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Emmett x reader

Summary | You seduce your new neighbor.

Warnings | Smut, dubcon?, filthy filthy oral, cheating, deep throating, seduction, throat pie, pre apocalypse, mechanic!Emmett, idk lol.

Words | 3k

Notes | There’s not as much smut as I would’ve liked tbh :/

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

You usually weren’t an overly social neighbor… but you decided to greet your new neighbors after you spent an afternoon watching a man carrying boxes into the house. His sleeves were short enough to show off his bulging muscles every time he lifted something, and you even caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his bicep. 

You decided to wait a couple days for them to get settled before heading over and knocking on the door. The man opened the door and you watched his eyes flick down to your body for half a second before going back to your face. 

“I saw that you just moved in and I wanted to introduce myself.” You gave him your name and held your hand out for him to shake. 

“Emmett.” He replied, almost curtly, as he reached out to shake your hand. 

“Who is it?” A woman called out from inside the house. Emmett cleared his throat and you tried not to smirk. 

“The neighbor. She came over to introduce herself.” He answered, then a second later the door was opening wider. You gave her the same greeting and found out her name was Nora. 

“I would’ve baked you some cookies or something but my oven’s been on the fritz recently.” You said, almost sheepishly. “I’ve been meaning to call someone about it,”

“Honey, why don’t you help with her oven?” Nora suggested, looking at Emmett. 

“Oh that would be amazing. I’m going out right now, but I’ll be home the rest of the week if you don’t mind stopping by.” You said innocently. You wanted more time to “prepare.”

“Sure.” Was all he said and a wide smile took over your face. 

“Thank you so much. If either of you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” You said sweetly. Nora smiled, seemingly buying your whole innocent act. 

You cleaned up around the house, shaved, made sure your makeup was perfect and your hair was styled just right. Emmett didn’t show, but the next day, after following the same routine, you got a knock on your front door in the evening. You opened it, wearing only a silk chemise with a matching robe, and smiled at the sight of him.  

“Thank you again for this.” You said earnestly, letting him inside. He nodded and grumbled out a response as he made his way to the kitchen, tool box in hand. 

“So what’s wrong with it?” 

“It turns on and I can set the temperature and everything, but it doesn’t heat up.” He slid the oven away from the wall, then sat down on the floor behind it and got to work. “Where did you move from?” You asked curiously, trying to make conversation. 

“The city. It was cheaper out here.” You would’ve thought he was being dismissive if he didn’t add, “You live here alone?”  

“Oh, no— I’m married.” He nodded in acknowledgement, then processed your words, then turned to look at you. 

“You’re married?” You held up your left hand to show him the diamond on your ring finger— he must not have noticed the first time you met. “Huh..” He said, turning back to the oven. “So why can’t he fix this for you?”

“Because he can just pay someone to fix it.” You said amusedly. “Plus, he doesn't even know it’s broken.” He glanced at you questioningly, so you continued. “He travels a lot for work— is usually only home a couple days a month.” 

“Just you in this big house? Sounds lonely.” You smiled a little when his voice started to soften, sounding less guarded. 

“It’s not so bad. I have company over quite often.” 

“I guess in a town this small it must be pretty easy to make friends.” He commented and you chuckled softly. 

“I never said they were friends.” It seemed like he was focusing really hard on not looking away from what he was doing. After a beat of silence you decided to get yourself a glass of wine. “Do you want anything to drink? I don’t have beer, but there’s whiskey— or water,”

“Water’s fine please.” You filled a glass with water and walked it over to him, receiving a small “thanks” in response. Instead of going back to your spot on the other side of the kitchen, you stayed close to him, leaning against the counter as you watched him work. 

“So, how do you know how to do this anyway?” You asked, taking a sip of your wine without looking away from him. 

“Well, I’m a mechanic so I’m good with my hands, but I always try to fix stuff myself first before getting help, and our oven stopped working a couple years ago.”  

“Nora’s a lucky girl.” You said playfully, mostly referring to the comment about him being good with his hands. As you watched him work, you couldn’t help but imagine his hands squeezing and groping your body, or his fingers curling against that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back. 

“Yeah, well.. it’s expensive not knowing how to fix stuff yourself.” 

“I take it being a mechanic doesn’t pay much?” 

He scoffed a laugh at that. “No, not exactly.” He said dryly, glancing at you for a moment before looking down at his tool box to switch out his tools, then turning back to the oven. “What do you do?”

“Marry smart.” You said simply. You liked your husband, but you’d be lying if you said money had no part in why you agreed to marry him. “It’s not so bad. I still let him fuck me whenever he comes home so it’s not like he doesn’t get anything out of this either.” 

“He gets laid once a month and he’s fine with paying for this house and your… lifestyle?” He glanced at the diamond bracelet on your wrist, no doubt having noticed other things around the house that suggested you had expensive taste. 

“He’s allowed to fuck other women.” You shrugged. “And trust me, my “lifestyle” barely makes a dent in his salary.” You paused to take a sip of wine, then added, “Plus, he’s old fashioned— likes being the breadwinner.” 

“How old is he?” 

“40.” That made him turn toward you. 

“How old are you?” 

“26.” 

“Jesus.” He said through a breath. An amused smirk took over your face at his reaction. 

“I like older men.” You said simply. “Most of them like me too.” You added and he scoffed quietly. “Actually most men in general like me. Especially the married ones.” You swirled the wine in the glass a little, waiting for his response. 

“I’m sure they do.” Was all he said, sounding a little too dismissive for your liking.

“I’m only speaking from experience.” You shrugged, watching him carefully. “The married ones with kids are usually the ones chasing after me. Something about their wives not having any time or energy anymore.”

“And you just voluntarily help them cheat on their spouses?” He asked rhetorically, his tone getting sharper. 

“I don’t ask about their personal life. It’s none of my business.” You said plainly. “Plus it’s not like I’m seeking them out, I just don’t stop them.” You shrugged. 

While you rarely sought anyone out, occasionally you’d come across a man like Emmett— someone who was slightly better at resisting temptation. Someone you craved. Once you had your sights set, there was barely a possibility it wouldn’t happen. 

You didn’t get a response from him though. Just as you were about to add on, he suddenly stood up. You watched him turn the oven on and then pack up his tools, waiting for it to heat up. After another minute, he opened the oven, then closed it and turned it off. “It works now.”

“Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver.” Your voice already had a hint of playfulness. 

He cleared his throat and nodded stiffly in response, making you smirk a little. You thought it was cute the way he tried to avoid looking at you. 

“How can I repay you?” Your voice turned a little more sultry and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed. What he did right now would decide how this would go. Either he’d make his way to the door and try to leave before anything happened, or he’d stay in place… When he didn’t move, you bit back a smirk. “I can give you money…” You offered innocently. “But I usually prefer more… creative forms of payment.”

“It’s fine. It was just a favor for a neighbor.” He shrugged, still not looking at you. Or moving. 

“Right… Are you sure? I’d hate for you to not be rewarded for all the hard work you just did for me.” You set your wine glass on the counter and took a step closer to him. “C’mon, you deserve it.” You purred, continuing to step closer until you were just inches away from him. He turned his head to the side when you placed your hand on his bicep. You bit your lip, enjoying the feeling of his hard muscles below your palm. “Look at me, Emmett.” You ordered sensually. He clenched his jaw, but forced himself to look at you again. 

“You don’t have to feel guilty. Services are usually paid for, aren’t they? It’s not like… you came over here expecting anything…” You trailed off, making it clear that you knew that wasn’t the case. If Emmett wasn’t here for that, he would’ve left by now. “Right?” He swallowed audibly and you bit your lip again, never breaking eye contact. Your other hand landed on his stomach and slowly trailed down until you reached his belt. 

“You deserve this.” You whispered, stepping impossibly closer. “I watched you carry all those boxes inside. After moving and then helping me… I’m sure you’re a little pent up, aren’t you?” He clenched his jaw again and closed his eyes, no doubt in a last ditch effort to resist temptation. When you moved your other hand from his bicep to his belt, letting you unbuckle it, he looked at you again and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when you slowly got down on your knees. 

“Just relax, Emmett.” You cooed, hesitating for only a moment before slowly unbuttoning his jeans. He turned his head to the side and it almost seemed like he was looking out the window facing his house. “You deserve to feel good… and since you’re here right now, I’m assuming you’re not getting the release you need at home.” You said softly. 

You pulled the zipper down slowly, giving him a chance to move away or tell you to stop… but he didn’t. So you pulled his pants and underwear down just enough to free his half hard cock. You practically salivated at the sight and quickly took it in your hand, giving an experimental stroke. He let out a shaky breath and gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles blanched. 

Even though you wanted to ride his face and feel his cock stretching your pussy, you knew that in order for this to happen again, you’d have to blow him away with your skills— literally. 

You kitten licked the bead of precum, then wrapped your lips around the head with a low moan. He was completely frozen as you suckled on the tip of his cock, flicking your tongue over it to add stimulation. When you pulled back, his hips flinched forward a tiny bit, making you smirk. 

“You deserve this.” You reminded him, your voice a husky whisper. Not bothering waiting for a response, you took him in your mouth and started bobbing up and down, keeping your hand at the base. 

It didn’t take long for him to get fully hard and when he did, you moved your hand to his thigh, then went all the way down until your nose was buried in the tuft of pubic hair at the base. He let out a choked moan and his hand instinctively flew to the back of your head. You would’ve smirked if your lips weren’t stretched so wide around his length. 

His hips bucked forward before he could help it when you pulled back to start bobbing up and down again. If he took over, you wouldn’t stop him, but you enjoyed showing off your skills. 

You always loved how impressed a man would get as you effortlessly throated his whole cock to the base, and the way his brain would short circuit when you stuck your tongue out to lap at his balls while his cock was still in your throat. When you did that to Emmett, he finally let out a low, gravelly moan and gripped your hair in his fist. 

“Jesus-” he choked out, his hips gyrating slightly as he struggled to handle the overwhelming pleasure of his cock in your esophagus with your tongue lapping at his balls. After a few seconds, you finally needed air so you pulled off, looking up at him through your lashes, stroking his spit soaked cock. 

“See? Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

“I- I’m not going to last much longer if you keep doing that.” You bit back a devilish smirk at his confession. 

“They usually don’t. I’m sure you have to be home soon anyway though.” With that, you were back on his cock, bobbing up and down to the base a few times. He wasn’t trying to move you yet, but you started to notice some resistance each time you pulled back, so you relented and throated his length to the base again. 

“Please,” he gasped, making you stick your tongue out to flick over his balls. Emmett grunted loudly and his hips bucked as his other hand joined on your head, holding you down. “Fuck- that’s so good…” 

Lifting one hand up between his legs, you gently cupped his balls and brought them closer to your mouth. His head fell back with a moan and you would’ve smirked if you weren’t trying to open your mouth impossibly wider… When you finally managed to slip his balls past your lips into your mouth, his grip on your head turned bruising and he leaned over slightly to have a better hold on you, pulling you even closer to his pelvis. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He muttered, getting lost in the sensation. You could already tell this was going to be something he’d never forget… “Fuck— I’m gonna come.” He choked out. 

You moaned around him in response, not able to do much else, and moved your fingers back a tiny bit more to gently massage his taint, forcing another gutteral sound out of him. His hips were rutting slightly, but never pulling back enough to fully dislodge his balls from your mouth. Even when they drew up into his body, he just pulled you closer as he finally fell over the edge. 

His sounds were almost pained and you moaned again, the vibrations making his hips flinch forward. You could feel scalding hot come making its way down your throat into your stomach and you gagged, but forced yourself to stay in place, not wanting to interrupt his clearly much-needed pleasure. 

After another long moment, his grip on your head gradually started to loosen as his body relaxed. You waited until his hands fell back to his sides, then slowly pulled off, a thick string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. 

Both of you were panting heavily and Emmett moved one hand back to the counter to support his weight while the other dragged through his hair. You cleared your throat, ignoring the prominent ache between your legs in favor of ending this properly— something that would be essential in planting the seed that would make him want more. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, Emmett?” You asked, your voice a little hoarse from the abuse on your throat. 

“Fuck- are you kidding?” He scoffed a breathy laugh and you smiled up at him, carefully wiping away the spit from your lips. 

“Hand me some paper towels, will you?” He obeyed, grabbing a wad of paper towels from the counter and passing them to you. He hissed at how sensitive his cock was when you started wiping up the mess, making sure you got rid of the smudged lipstick at the base and around his balls. “You might want to just shower to get the rest of it off.” 

“Y-Yeah.” Was all he said. Emmett just watched as you carefully tucked his softening cock back in his underwear, then pulled up his pants and buckled his belt. 

“Good as new.” You smiled, holding your hand out. He got the hint quickly and grasped it, helping you to your feet. “Thank you again for all your help.” You placed your hand on his bicep and bit your lip slightly, hearing him swallow audibly in response. 

“Um— Should I…” He trailed off, his gaze shifting to your hips.

“Don’t worry about it. You deserved a treat after all your hard work.” The smile never left your lips as you looked up at him through your lashes, already thinking up ideas of how to get him alone again. “I just hope you finally feel a little more appreciated for all of your hard work.” 

“Yeah, I- I do… Thanks.” He said awkwardly, clearing his throat. 

“Well,” you finally said, taking a step away from him and dropping your hand back to your side— he almost seemed disappointed… “If you ever need anything, you know where to find me, neighbor.”

[aventurineswife]

Dan Heng with a creative and crafty Reader (drawing, painting, embroidery, ceramics, etc) and one day Reader makes for him a scented nudibranch/sea bunny plush that smells like lotuses, water lilies and rain. Something cute and huggable whenever he isn’t sleeping well or just wants something to hold onto. 😊

A Whisper of Lotus and Rain

Summary: Dan Heng struggles with sleepless nights haunted by the past. Noticing his restlessness, you—an introverted and creative individual—decide to make him a special, handmade plush of a sea bunny that smells like lotus flowers, water lilies, and rain. The plush is meant to offer comfort when Dan Heng is unable to sleep. While he is hesitant at first, Dan Heng quietly acknowledges the gesture, finding solace in the softness of the plush and the thoughtfulness behind it.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Scented Plush, Quiet Moments, Thoughtful Gifts.

The Astral Express was quiet, the usual hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the train’s frame settling in the background. The crew had gathered in their usual spaces for rest after a long journey, but tonight was different. Dan Heng sat by a window, staring out at the passing stars, his spear leaning against the seat beside him. His quiet contemplation was his usual refuge, but lately, he’d been struggling with more than just his responsibilities.

There had been nights where sleep seemed impossible. Thoughts from his past would creep in—unwanted, unsettling—and he couldn’t push them away, no matter how much he tried. He would wake in cold sweats, the weight of his past and the darkness that trailed him pulling him into restlessness. But no one knew. No one but you.

You had seen him struggle, though he never openly confessed to it. His demeanor was always calm, but the subtle exhaustion in his eyes didn’t escape your notice. You’d always been the creative sort, your hands busy with things that brought you peace—drawing, painting, and lately, embroidery. Your talent for crafting was something you took pride in, and it was your way of expressing everything you felt but couldn’t put into words.

One evening, as the train rolled into a new, unfamiliar station, you decided to create something just for him. It was your way of offering comfort in a way you knew best: with your hands.

You spent the next few days working in your small corner of the train, sketching designs, picking out fabric, and weaving threads into a creation that would be small enough to fit in his hand but meaningful enough to offer the comfort you thought he needed. Your creation would be a plush—a soft, cute, and huggable sea bunny, a nudibranch, with the colors of ocean blues and the pale whites of lotus petals.

You wanted it to smell like peace—like the serene beauty of a quiet lake after the rain. You found the perfect scented oils—lotuses, water lilies, and rain itself. With each stitch, each step of the process, you poured your thoughts into it. You imagined him holding it in the night, something to comfort him, to hold onto when his thoughts wouldn’t let him rest.

When you finally finished, you carefully placed the small plush on the seat near his usual resting spot. It sat there, soft and delicate, its hues offering a subtle warmth. You hesitated before calling out to him.

“Dan Heng?” you said softly, standing near the door of the cabin, your heart racing a little at the thought of his reaction.

Dan Heng looked up from his seat, his usual calm gaze shifting to you. His eyes narrowed slightly, perhaps noticing the uncertainty in your voice, but he didn’t say anything.

You gestured toward the plush. “I made this for you. It’s... just something to hold onto when you need it.”

His gaze shifted to the plush, then back to you. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, his expression unreadable. But then, slowly, his gaze softened—just the slightest shift, a flicker of emotion he didn’t often allow others to see. He reached out, picking up the plush in his hands, his fingers tracing the soft fabric.

“It smells like rain...” he murmured quietly, his voice quieter than usual. “Lotuses... water lilies.”

You nodded. “I thought it might bring you some peace when things get... heavy.” You shifted a little, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to say anything. Just... if you need it.”

For a brief moment, he said nothing, simply holding the plush in his hands. His fingers gently pressed into it, as though testing its softness, as though deciding whether or not he could allow himself to find comfort in it.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice soft but sincere. “Thank you.”

His words were simple, yet the weight behind them was something you hadn’t expected. He wasn’t one for overt displays of emotion, and this quiet acknowledgment felt like a rare gift.

“I’ll keep it close,” he added quietly, his gaze softening as he stood up. “It’s... nice.”

And with that, he walked to his sleeping quarters, the small sea bunny plush clutched in his hand. You stood there for a moment, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

Later that night, you could hear the gentle sound of Dan Heng’s door opening and closing, but there was something different about the way he walked past. He no longer seemed as weighed down by the usual tension that hung around him. You smiled softly to yourself, knowing that somehow, you had managed to give him something to hold onto—something that could help ease the weight of the past, if only for a little while.

The next morning, when you checked on him again, the plush was placed on his pillow, the scent of lotus and rain still faintly lingering in the air. And for once, Dan Heng had managed to sleep soundly.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hurricane - Part 7

{“Emma.” Her head snapped in the direction of her name being called. She was surprised to see it was GP. “Go make sure he’s okay, yeah?” Emma bit her lip, eyes bouncing between where the engineer stood and the door that Max had just stormed out of. “Are you sure?” GP nodded, removing his headset and placing it on the counter beside him. “You’re probably the only who he’ll see right now. He needs you.”}

warnings/notes: no warnings that i can think of. as always, thank you to my writing therapist @lestapiastrisgirl. in the interest of transparency, this one is going to end here, for now. i feel like this is a good place to pause since i'm feeling a little...wrung out...creatively. i don't think emma&max's story is done quite yet but i also need to take a pause. i'll put together a little update post later this afternoon in case anyone is interested in what my summer plans are. OKAY! onto part seven!! word count: 6.8k

hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

The low hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware filled the trendy Miami restaurant that Charles had chosen. If it had been up to Max, he’d be back in his hotel room stewing over the fact that it was now Friday evening and Emma was still avoiding him. He picked at his fish, the Michelin starred chef’s excellently seared salmon tasing like ash in his mouth. Across the table, Charles was droning on about…something. What it was, Max wasn’t quite sure but his friend’s usual charm filled the space that Max couldn’t be bothered to worry about. Because Max was distracted, he was only catching snippets of the conversation, his attention constantly flitting to his phone that was lying face-up on the table beside him. 

No new messages. Not a single text from Emma since before sprint qualifying yesterday, and even that one had been a cool and even toned ‘they’re waiting for you in the media pen.’ She’d been the epitome of professional since they’d arrived in Miami but there was a slight edge to it now. It was still the same Emma that he’d come to know: competent, organized, ensuring that his schedule was strictly adhered to but there was something missing. The easy banter, the shared smiles, the comfortable intimacy that had begun to blossom between them since Emma had joined him in Japan had seemingly vanished overnight. 

She’d excused herself early again tonight, saying the jet lag was hitting her harder for some reason and that she’d wanted to get some sleep ahead of the sprint race tomorrow morning. Max hadn’t pushed but her icing him out had the panic building in his chest. The memory of falling asleep with Emma wrapped around him, the smell of her floral shampoo comforting him in a way he wasn’t familiar with was like an ache that he couldn’t make better. She hadn’t seemed uncomfortable that night, hadn’t seemed like he was pushing her too far. Maybe he had read it all wrong though because the memory of waking up alone that next morning was sharp and painful, blotting out the way he’d felt with Emma in his bed. 

He’d tried, of course, since they’d arrived in Miami. A few casual remarks during the pilates class on Thursday, an inside joke cracked softly amidst the bustle of the garage in between practice and sprint qualifying earlier in the day. They were desperate attempts to bridge this awkward chasm that Max was seemingly responsible for creating but nothing had worked. He’d been met with bright, almost brittle, friendliness that felt more like a shield than an invitation. 

It was driving him insane. 

Charles’ laughter faded as he noticed Max tapping his phone for what felt like the fiftieth time that night. He leaned forward slightly, something like concern playing on his face. “Everything alright? You seem a bit preoccupied tonight.” 

Max forced what he hoped looked like a nonchalant shrug, picking at a stray piece of potato on his plate. “Fine.” He clipped. “Just tired. Long day of dragging that car to places it doesn’t belong.” 

A wry, understanding smile ghosted across Charles’ face. “You usually handle that shit like it’s a walk in the park. You’ve been…” He pauses, looking at his friend thoughtfully. Charles had known Max for a long time, since they were children, so he was fairly confident in his ability to read the moods of the Dutchman. “Off since you got here. Did something happen earlier this week?” 

Max knew he was asking specifically about Emma. His jaw tightened, the muscle there fluttering as he tried to choose how to evade giving Charles a real answer. Charles senses that there’s more behind Max’s silence and he lets the question hang in the air between them for longer than he normally would. Lifting his wine glass, Charles takes a sip, casually observing Max over the rim. 

“It just seems like there’s tension there. Between you and Emma, that is.” He stated it like it was a fact, not a question. Max hated how easily Charles was able to read him. “She’s usually around during media day and in the garage. I don’t think I saw her leave Red Bull hospitality all day.” 

Max finally meets Charles’ gaze, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “She was just working, Charles. Catching up on things. Race weekends are busy, Miami especially.” 

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Emma is never that quiet in the paddock, you know that. Even when she’s working, she’s usually lobbing sarcastic comments at Lando. Those two bicker like brother and sister most of the time. I think Ollie and Kimi were a little lost without her. They both asked me twice if I’d seen her and if I thought that she was mad at them.” He pauses again, choosing his words carefully. He knows Max and his propensity to shut down if challenged too hard. “You’re different too. You’ve been quieter than normal, distracted. Anxious even.” He leans closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Everything okay between you two?”  

Max hesitated for just a beat too long and Charles saw the walls crack open. He took a long sip of water, the cold doing little to cool the heated anxiety rising in his chest. He trusted Charles, more than most, and the weight of the anxiety that had been sitting in his stomach like a ball of lead for the last three days was unbearable. 

“Nope.” He admits, letting the singular word hang in the air like a confession. 

Charles sets down his wine glass, look of concern etched on his face. “Alright, what happened then?” 

Max scrubbed a hand over his face, unfamiliar with this level of vulnerability. But he was going crazy living in his head over this so he knew he needed to get it out. “Do you remember that storm we had the other night?” 

Charles nodded, but remains silent otherwise. 

“She is apparently terrified of storms and she kind of…ended up sleeping in my bed.” He paused. “With me.” The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the implication of what he’d just said. 

Charles blinked, brows rising slightly as a flicker of surprise crossed his features. He’d seen the way the two had interacted around each other, anyone with eyes could see the steady undercurrent of something more than just a professional relationship wanting to form. What Charles hadn’t realized was the depth of it. “With you?” 

Max nodded, a small, almost reflexive smile touching the corner of his mouth at the memory. “Just slept, nothing more.” 

“And?” 

Max nodded again, “And I liked it. More than I should have. It felt right. Natural almost. Like she belonged there.” His smile faded then, replaced by a frown. “And she’s been avoiding me ever since. She’s being professional. Polite. But it’s not the same. Like she regrets what happened or something, like I crossed a line and she’s angry I took advantage of her or something. This whole week she’s been distant.” He pulled out his phone again, his thumb brushing over her name in his contact list. Sunshine. “I keep waiting for her to text me, for some sign that she’s not completely regretting it, or me.” 

Charles watched him as he rambled. Spiraled, really. He could see the turmoil on his friends face, the unguarded vulnerability in his eyes. “Have you talked to her about it?” He asked gently. “About what happened, how you feel.” 

Max rolled his eye, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. “I haven’t had the chance. Or I haven’t taken the chance because I’m afraid of the answer. I thought we were going in one direction and suddenly, she’s made a u-turn and I’m left trying to follow her lead. I don’t want to push her, she’s been through a lot already but this is driving me insane. I don’t know what to do, Charles.” 

“You need to talk to her, my friend. This is just going to fester and if you’re not careful, it’s going to effect your performance this weekend.” 

Max heaved a sigh, picking at the last bits of his salmon. He knew Charles was right. Of course Charles was right. He was being a coward and needed to suck it up. Emma meant more to him than this and he was allowing her to drift away. He didn’t want to lose her but from the way she was retreating from him already, Max knew hew as already headed that way. He needed to make a move and needed to make it fast. 

Picking up his phone, Max opened up the string of messages between him and Emma and typed out a quick text and hit send before he could second guess his actions. 

Hey Sunshine, I think we need to talk. 

********

The early morning sun hung low over the skyline, barely breaching the high rise buildings at Emma’s back. She sat near the water’s edge of a quiet stretch of beach, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. The text message she’d woken up to this morning stared back at her like a snake poised to bite. 

The green and white striped beach towel she’d nicked from the hotel pool was feather soft beneath her as Emma stretched out on the sand, toes pointed in a delicious stretch that she could feel beginning to burn. The beach was quiet at this time of the day, the only ones taking in the serene setting was Emma, a couple walking down the beach hand in hand, and a few seagulls. 

Emma leaned back on the palms of her hands, fingers digging deeply into the warm sand beneath her. 

As she stared out over the water watching the white tipped waves roll in over and over, her mind kept flickering back to the text message Max had sent last night. He’d called her Sunshine again and she hated the way her heart fluttered at the nickname only Max used. She’d never asked why he’d picked the nickname, just preened under the attention every time he’d used it. And then he’d said they’d needed to talk. Her stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought. Was he regretting what had happened? Was he rethinking the whole arrangement they had? Did Max want to fire her?

 How had this gotten away from her so quickly? One moment she was dealing with her anxieties the best way she knew how and the next, Max was there, trying to take care of her like no one had ever wanted to. She couldn’t be falling for Max. It just wasn’t a good idea. He was her boss. Her boss that also happened to be her best friend’s older brother. 

It was so messy. 

Emma hated messy. 

But with the mess came contentment. It had felt so right. So easy and natural, to just curl up in Max’s bed beside him, tucked into his side like she had belonged there all along. How could it be messy if it was what was supposed to happen all along? 

Emma wasn’t built for this kind of vulnerability. Not after a lifetime of self-reliance and independence. Vulnerability was terrifying and something that was for other people. She couldn’t afford it and she didn’t want to risk the only stable thing in her life. The ingrained fear of history repeating itself, of this fragile connection she’d developed with Max shattering like glass, was a constant source of anxiety for her ever since she woke up the morning before.  

She rubbed at her temples, the bright sunlight beating down on her from the height of its daily trek across the sky, doing little to help the spiraling she was doing. 

Enough. 

Enough of this overthinking. 

Emma knew herself well enough to know that she needed help to get out of this hole she was digging herself deeper and deeper. She couldn’t go to Max. And her mother was out of the question, she still hadn’t spoken to Gloria since the day she had accused Emma of sleeping with Max (ironic, considering the position she was in right now). She reached for her phone and begun to scroll through her contacts. Her finger hovered over Victoria’s contact. Could she go to Vic for this? She’d always been there for Emma in the past, when her overthinking had gotten the best of her. But this was about her brother of all people. There was no way to pretend she was spiraling about another person, Vic would see right through her. 

You’ve got to trust her. A small voice whispered in Emma’s head as she debated what she should do. Vic is your best friend. It’ll be okay. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Emma hit Victoria’s contact before listening to it ring. 

“Bestie!!!” Victoria picked up on only the second ring, voice cheerful and happy. It had been a while since the two had been able to catch up and Emma grinned at the sound of her best friend’s voice. “How’s Miami?” 

Emma leaned back on the beach towel, closing her eyes. “Hot.” She groaned. 

“I bet. I don’t know why the FIA thought Florida in May was a good idea.”

“Especially after two straight weeks in the Middle East too. Like, have some mercy on us.” 

Victoria chuckled. In the background, Emma could hear the sounds of her 2 boys playing together. “So, how are things going with Max? Is he being nice to you?” 

Emma had to tamp down a laugh at the sheer absurdity of the question. “He’s fine. More than fine, actually.” She said, voice shaky. 

That seemed to pique Victoria’s interest. “Oh?” 

If there was one thing that Victoria was good at, it was letting Emma talk at her own pace. She could tell there was something there, something deeper going on that had prompted the call from the way Emma ended that sentence but she knew better than to push. Victoria knew that pushing Emma on anything would only result in her shutting down. From the way her voice wavered when she had answered her question, Victoria knew that this was going to take a little cajoling. 

“You know how we got that really bad storm in Monaco Tuesday night?” 

“Yeah. It sounded pretty crazy from your texts. You’re not the biggest fan of thunderstorms, are you?” 

Emma chuckled, dragging a single finger through the sun-warmed sand. “Not at all.” 

“So…” Victoria prompted again, patiently waiting for her best friend to spill. 

“Once we stopped texting, I was all alone and I started to get really anxious. So anxious that I started baking.” 

On the other end of the line, Victoria winced. She knew Emma stress-baked while she was anxious but it usually had to be pretty bad for her to switch the oven on that late at night. She idly wondered where her brother was going to come into play in this story. 

“And then Max found me in his kitchen at 2 in the morning.” 

“He did? Was he sleepwalking? Usually once that man is asleep, he is out for the night.” 

Emma was surprised to hear this because she knew how quiet she had been that night. It made her wonder why Max had woken up in the first place. She had just assumed he was a light sleeper and that she had been too loud. 

“No, he was wide awake. I think the lights in the kitchen woke him up or something.” 

Another beat of silence. Victoria was clearly trying to piece things together. Emma knew she was dragging the story out far too dramatically but she was seriously reconsidering what she was about to confess. “And then what happened?” Victoria asked softly. 

Emma hesitated, the image of Max’s concerned face in the dim kitchen light flashing through her mind. “He…he was really nice about it, Vic. He didn’t make fun of me for being scared, didn’t say I was being stupid or say my baking was a dumb or anything. He just, sort of stayed. And then the storm got worse and…” Emma draws in a big breath, closing her eyes. “And by then it was nearly 3 in the morning and we had a flight to catch, so he wanted me to get some sleep but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep so he asked if I wanted to try sleeping with him…” 

The last bit of the story comes out in a hurried rush and Emma shuts her eyes tight as soon as the truth is out in the open. For a moment, Victoria is quiet, like she was trying to figure out how to respond. “You slept with him in his bed?” 

Emma can’t read her best friend’s tone so she just replies with a simple “Yeah.” Before she squeezes her eyes tighter. Here it comes. The anger. The explosion. The accusal of betrayal. 

A longer silence stretched between them. Emma could practically hear Victoria’s mind racing all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. 

Finally, Victoria was able to form a proper sentence. “Well, it’s about damn time.” 

“Wait. What?” Emma’s head spins. “You’re not mad? Worried? Disappointed?” 

“Mad? Oh my God, Em! I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen between you two since like, day one. Disappointed? Why on earth would I be disappointed? My best friend might be finally be realizing what an amazing guy my incredibly stubborn brother is!” 

Emma let out a shaky laugh, the butterflies in her stomach settling into something almost manageable as she realized her feelings for Max might not cost her her best friend. “It’s so complicated though, Vic! He’s my boss! I could lose my job. What if it was just a one time thing? A pity snuggle, if you will?” 

The laugh that bursts out of Victoria has Emma laughing uncertainly herself. “I’m dying at the term ‘pity snuggle’, please. Max hates being touched, hates people in his space so the fact that he allowed you to sleep in his bed? That man is down bad for you.” 

“I don’t know, Vic. What if I’m reading way too much into this? And I ruin our friendship? I don’t want to lose him in my life. I don’t want to mess this up.” 

“Okay, hold on. Breathe.” Victoria says firmly. “First of all, you’re amazing at your job. There’s no way he would ever fire you, the entire senior leadership team at Red Bull would riot. You’ve whipped that man into shape quicker than anyone on staff has been able to. Secondly, my brother may be a stupid idiot, but he’s not cruel. If he didn’t have feelings for you, he wouldn’t have had you in his bed, he wouldn’t have comforted you like that.” Victoria pauses for a moment, as if she wants to let Emma absorb everything that she’s saying. “And third, I know you have your reasons to be caution and to not trust someone’s intentions but Max isn’t them, Em. He’s a decent guy when he’s not yelling at GP about how shit his steering is.” 

Emma snort laughed at that but found herself nodding along. “I know.” She whispered, willing her head to go along with the logic that her heart was already trying to follow. “He texted me last night. I didn’t see it until this morning but he wants to talk.”

“Okay! This is good!” Victoria started. 

“Good? Vic! No one ever started a good conversation off with ‘we need to talk’. Never!” 

Victoria hummed, “See, normally you’re right but this is Max we’re talking about. He texts like a 70 year old most of the time, he probably just thought this was easiest.” 

Emma squinted at the horizon. That didn’t quite sound like the Max she knew. He was always texting her. Stories about what Helmut was bitching about that day, questions about her day, quick check-ins. But, she reminded herself, this was Victoria’s brother so she probably knew better. 

“Just see what he has to say and then go from there. Because I’m guessing that you’ve spent the last however many days spiraling in your head.” 

“I hate how predictable I am.” Emma grumbled, rolling her eyes. 

Victora chuckles, “Please for the love of all that is holy, my dear, stop overthinking everything that happens. It’s okay to maybe allow yourself to want this, Em.” 

And that was the exact problem, wasn’t it? Because if Emma started to want this thing between her and Max to take root in her heart and grow into something, that meant opening herself up to a new level of hurt she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to ever come back from. 

********

‘Yeah, I think we do. After the sprint today though. Focus on the race, k? 

Max stared down at the text Emma had sent him a few hours ago. He’d been at the track early, preferring to spend the morning of a race day alone, getting into his head. Sometimes Emma drove with him but more often than not, she found her way to the track on her own. Max hadn’t even bothered asking her if she wanted to come with him because his text had gone unanswered last night. Anxiety had churned in his stomach until well past midnight. He assumed she had just fallen asleep early but the ‘what ifs’ played over and over in his head until the sleep had finally swept him under. 

The reply had come just as he was walking out of his hotel room, the relief of Emma finally answering him had felt like a cold splash of water in the middle of the Miami heat. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to focus on anything other than finally getting everything out in the open though. If he’d had his way, Max would have gone right over to her room that morning before leaving but he knew he shouldn’t push her. 

He knew Emma’s routine on a race weekend by now and as he checked his watch for what felt like the fifth time in sixty seconds, he frowned. She was late. He scanned the Red Bull hospitality suite looking for the familiar shock of long blonde hair, listened for her laugh but…nothing. 

“Hey, Laurie, have you seen Emma?” 

The PR intern that Emma was particularly close with swiveled her head in Max’s direction, cheeks going a bit pink. “Oh! Um! No, not this morning. She was still getting ready when I had to leave so she said she’d grab an Uber.” 

Max frowned. It was nearly time for him to get in the car for the sprint race. It was pouring rain, a random storm popping up wasn’t unheard of in the spring but the torrent of rain that beat against the windows was going to make the sprint race interesting for sure. They were already talking about a delay. Max was hoping the rain would hold though. He drove his best in the wet and he’d need every ounce of luck he had to pull out a decent finish today.

“It’s going to take her forever to get here, what with the traffic and now with this rain.” He murmured, more to himself than to Laurie, who looked like she didn’t quite know how to respond. His eyes flicked over to the brunette, seemingly suddenly realizing that she was still waiting for him to talk. “Will you let me know if she shows up?” 

Laurie nodded, a smile touching her lips before she turned around to continue on her way. 

Max glanced at his phone again. He needed to get changed and then over to the garage for some last minute prep. He couldn’t hang around the hospitality area for much longer but there was something twisting in his stomach at the thought of not seeing Emma before he got in the car. It made him uncomfortable, not knowing if she was going to make it or not. Not knowing what she was going to say after the race. She could be prepared to end it right then. Maybe that was why she was late, she was busy trying to find a flight home or figure out what she was going to do after she quit. 

“Max, you’ve got to start getting ready.” Rupert appears over his shoulder suddenly, tapping at his watch. 

Max nodded, glancing at the door one last time. “Yeah. I’m going. Hey, if you see Emma can you let her know I’m looking for her.” 

Rupert nodded, “Of course. She’ll be here soon, I’m sure.” 

Max started towards the stairs that led to his drivers room as he pulled out his phone to type a message. Everything okay? You’re usually not this late…am I going to see you before I get in the car?

Three dots appeared almost instantly and then disappeared. Appeared again for a beat and then a message: traffic is a fucking nightmare. I’m so sorry I’m late, I’m trying. 

Max shucked off his team kit before slipping into his fireproofs and race suit. As he started out towards the garage, he replied: Not mad, just be safe. 

He tucked his phone back in his pocket, anxiety somewhat calmed knowing that Emma was on her way and wasn’t trying to flee the country. Max was finally able to switch into racing mode for what felt like the first time all day. He was meticulous about it, his preparation. Check in with GP, talk about setup, take a look at track conditions (terrible) and the weather (even worse), and then it was helmet on and time to focus. 

There was still a bit of his attention that was elsewhere. Out of the corner of his eye, every flash of blonde caught his eye, tricking him into thinking it was Emma but as Max slipped on his racing boots, listening to GP talk about final setups he was still looking for her. 

“Alright, lets get onto the grid. The race will probably be delayed because of the rain but they want us out there now.” GP said in his ear, yanking Max’s focus back to what mattered. 

He’d have to get into the car without seeing her and it was driving him insane. 

And then he saw it. 

A flash of blonde hair followed by the voice that he could pick out of a loud room with ease. Emma. She had just jogged into the garage, gauzy white maxi skit swishing at her feet. She was flushed and slightly out of breath, like she’d run in from the paddock. Max was surprised to see one of his team jackets around her shoulders, a few sizes too big for her petite frame. 

He was already half-way into the car, there was no way he could get out to go see her without causing a scene, something that he knew she wouldn’t like. So he settled for eye contact and a wink, both of which drew a small smile from her and it was enough to allow Max to focus on the task at hand. 

And then the race went completely sideways. 

*******

Emma watched in horror from the garage as Max’s race fell apart. 

A pit lane mistake. 

Damaged front wing. 

Ten second penalty. 

The sight of his name tumbling down to the bottom of the timing tower. 

Everything went so bad so quick and Emma had to just sit and watch the entire thing play out in front of her. She had flashbacks to Bahrain, how angry Max had been with the team and himself afterwards. This was going to be worse. The mistake by the crew was inexcusable and from her spot in the viewing area in the garage, she could practically see steam pouring out of Christian’s ears. 

She watched at Max got out of the car, do his post-race check-in with the FIA, and then make a beeline out of the garage. He didn’t even stop to say anything to GP, didn’t take his helmet off, nothing. She’d never seen him this angry and she didn’t quite know what to do. Part of her wanted to go running after him but Emma didn’t quite know her place here. She was his assistant, not family. She didn’t know if he’d want to see her, talk to her, especially with this thing they had hanging heavy between them. Now wasn’t the time to bring up personal shit, she knew that. Especially when she knew Max was going to have to regroup in just a few hours and somehow put together a good qualifying session. 

“Emma.” Her head snapped in the direction of her name being called. She was surprised to see it was GP. “Go make sure he’s okay, yeah?” 

Emma bit her lip, eyes bouncing between where the engineer stood and the door that Max had just stormed out of. “Are you sure?” 

GP nodded, removing his headset and placing it on the counter beside him. “You’re probably the only who he’ll see right now. He needs you.” 

Emma’s heart thudded at GP’s words. She didn’t know if she trusted her instincts here but she trusted GP, he’d known Max for years. Emma nodded, something in her chest clicking into place, a surge of nervous energy cutting through her. She didn’t hesitate, turning and practically jogging towards the door Max had just disappeared through. She knew the layout of the paddock well enough to know that he was probably on his way back to his drivers room at the back of Red Bull’s hospitality. 

Getting through the crowded paddock wasn’t all that difficult and before she knew it, Emma was standing outside the door of Max’s drivers room, her hand hovering over the cool metal handle. A thousand things raced through her mind. Was there anything helpful she could say in the moment? Was GP right, did he need her? Would he even want to see her? Would her anxieties be proven right and would he fire her on the spot?

She needed to stop spiraling. Victoria’s words played in her head: Max wasn’t cruel. He didn’t do things that he didn’t want to. He cared about her. She wanted to badly to believe that, to know that on the other side of this door, she’d find the Max she’d begun falling for the moment he came to her rescue at Victoria’s request. 

Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly, so softly she barely made a sound against the door. Without waiting for a response, her anxiety and need to put eyes on Max, overriding any sense of propriety, she pushed it open and stepped inside. 

The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the relentless Miami sun. Max was standing at the window, his back to her, and his shoulders were slumped in a way she hadn’t seen from him since Bahrain. The air in the room was thick with raw frustration and disappointment. 

He didn’t turn around immediately and for one heart-wrenching moment, Emma wondered if she’d made a mistake. Maybe he did want to be alone. Maybe GP had been wrong and she’d overstepped once again. Her mother’s voice started to sound in her head. She’d made another mistake and this one was going to cost her. 

“Max?” She called softly, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

But he did. Max’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. He remained still for another beat and then slowly, deliberately he turned. 

The sight of his face made Emma’s heart clench. His usual sharp, focused gaze was clouded with a raw mixture of anger and hurt. Jaw tight, there was a muscle twitching in his cheek, he looked lost. Heartbroken. Defeated. Vulnerable in a way that Emma knew no one else got to see. 

When his eyes focused on her, when he realized who it was that was in his room to see his despair though, something shifted. The anger didn’t completely vanish, but a flicker of surprise, then something softer, warmer, replaced some of the harshness. It was like a dam had cracked, allowing Emma a glimpse of the vulnerability he usually kept so fiercely guarded. 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the clock that hung above the doorway behind Emma. Max’s gaze searched hers, a silent question in his stormy blue eyes. And in that moment, standing in the dim quiet of his drivers room, surrounded by the remnants of a disastrous race, all of the carefully constructed walls they had both erected to keep each other out since Monaco crumbled away like sand castles at high tide. 

All that was left was the raw, undeniable connection that had sparked between them on a sidewalk in the middle of a Monegasque neighborhood. A connection neither of them could, or would, deny any longer. Emma searched Max’s face for confirmation that she wasn’t the only one feeling the seismic shift between them. That she wasn’t alone in the way she felt the air turn warm, anticipatory almost. What she saw in Max’s eyes wasn’t the anger or frustration that had been so plainly laid across his face just moments before. No, that was gone. What she saw was a deep, almost desperate longing, a desire that she hadn’t ever seen turned in her direction in her entire life. 

In that moment, Emma knew. Emma knew so profoundly and certainly that GP had been right. Max did need her. And more than that, she realized that she terrifyingly, desperately, needed Max too. Needed him in a way that she had never let herself need someone before because she’d never been allowed to need someone in the way that she needed Max. It was almost a need on a molecular level. A magnetic level. 

“You came.” Max said roughly, almost a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the fact that she had come after him. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, that was evident in the tightness of his jaw, but the surprise of seeing Emma there in his drivers room, still tucked into his jacket, had momentarily eclipsed it. 

Emma’s heart clenched at the need in his voice, the statement that was so raw and vulnerable. “Of course I did.” She replied softly, her voice trembling a bit. She took a small step further into the room. “You needed me.” It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement of fact, finally a recognition of the bond that had formed between them over the last weeks they’d spent together. 

With one statement, one look, the professional boundaries, the carefully constructed walls, meant nothing. All that mattered was the fact that both Emma and Max were finally ready to admit there was something raw and real between them, something that couldn’t be denied any longer because it was making the both of them miserable. 

A flicker of something that looked a lot like relief washed over Max’s face, softening the harsh lines of the lingering anger. He took one step. And then another. One last one and he had closed the distance between them. His eyes searched hers, a silent plea for reassurance. He didn’t want to make the same mistake as before, didn’t want to push her into something that she regretted. But something in Max’s heart told him that the night in Monaco that he’d held her until she’d felt safe enough to sleep wasn’t a mistake, it hadn’t been something she regretted. 

Without another word, without hesitation, he reached out, his rough hands framing the softness of her face. His thumbs brushed softly against her cheeks, the touch sending a delicious shiver down her spine. Emma’s breath caught, her own hands rising instinctively to capture his wrists, fingers gripping him tightly. 

His gaze dropped to hers for one single, fleeting moment and a silent question passed between them. They both knew that there was no going back after this. If they crossed this line, everything was going to change. Everything would become real, the feelings that had been simmering just below the surface would be out in the open. No take backs. Nothing. It was a prospect that both terrified and thrilled Emma as she let her eyes dip from Max’s intense gaze down to his lips and quickly back up again.

And then, Max closed the remaining distance, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was both desperate and tender all at the same time. It wasn’t a gently brush like the almost-kiss in Monaco. This was a calming kiss. A release of all the pent-up emotions, the fear, the longing, the unspoken connection that had been simmering between them since the moment Max had rescued her in his green Aston Martin. 

Emma met his kiss with a fervor of her own. All of her anxieties and uncertainties melted away the moment Max’s lips pressed into hers, warm and unyielding, demanding and gentle all at the same time. The world outside of the room they stood in ceased to exist. The disastrous race, the difficult season, the weight of a difficult family situation. It all fell away and the world around them quieted. 

The kiss deepened, the initial urgency softening into tender exploration. Max’s hands tightened slightly on Emma’s face, his thumb stroking her cheek gently as his lips moved over hers with a sort of reverence she had never felt before. Emma leaned into the kiss, her own hands sliding up his arms, the rough fabric of his race suit scratching against the palms of her hands. The lingering scent of burnt rubber and motor oil clung to him but none of that mattered to Emma. All that mattered was that Max was kissing her and she had never felt like this in her entire life. 

His lips parted slightly, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips and Emma opened for him, sighing with relief at the feeling of having him so close. Her hips tipped forward, desperate for their own friction and Max dropped a hand to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer into his body. He needed to be closer to her, needed to feel how she responded to him, how she opened for him in a desperate attempt to show him how much she needed him, wanted him. 

The anxiety that had been a constant companion to them both over the last few days began to recede, replaced by a warmth that shimmered between them. Something clicked into place and it was like this was how it was always supposed to be. Emma’s arms instinctively circled his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. The nearness of him, the solid feel of his body against hers, it all felt like coming home. It was a sense of belonging with someone, to someone, that Emma hadn’t realized she’d been searching for. 

The kiss finally softened, their lips parting with a soft sigh. A breathess silence hung between them for a moment, the weight of the past few days lifting with each breath. Emma’s forehead rested against Max’s chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm. 

A small smile tugged at the corner of Max’s lips. “Well,” He murmured into her hair, voice still husky. “That definitely wasn’t in your job description.” 

Emma chuckled, pulling back slightly to look up at him, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. Max decided then and there that shade of pink was his new favorite color. “Hmm…” she mused, grinning wickedly. “Maybe I should add ‘proficient in stress-reducing strategies’ to my resume now. Think HR will approve?” 

Max’s grin widened, the tension that had been clouding his features since Emma had walked through the door finally easing. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, the warmth of his mouth on her skin sending a shiver down Emma’s spine. 

“As much as I’d like to thoroughly discuss the finer points of that particular skill set,” He murmured against her skin, “I think the FIA might have something to say about me me missing the entirety of my media duties if I don’t get into the media pen in the next ten minutes.” He pulled away slightly, a wry smile on his face. 

Emma shook her head, “Who would’ve thought it would be you reminding me about being on time to media duties.��� 

Max rolled his eyes before turning to grab his water bottle from the couch behind him. When he faced Emma again, his heart clenched at the sheer happiness sitting brightly on her face. He decided then and there that he’d spend the rest of his life making sure Emma always looked like that when she looked at him.

 “Come on, Sunshine,” He started, holding his hand out to twine his fingers with his. “We don’t want to keep the media waiting.”  

[hidden-poet]

Outlaw

Summary: After nearly a year of mystery presents, your gift giver finally reveals himself to be none other then the outlaw Billy-the-kid.

AN: Okay, you caught me, I don't know how to play poker.

It started one morning with a pair of beautiful gloves left at your doorstep. They were still in the box that the shopkeeper sent the purchaser home in. But when you went to the convenience store, Lewis the owner would not tell you who left the gift. 

Who knows, he said, lots of people buy gloves. He cant keep track of every purchase. He would not look you in the eye, nor was he unable to keep himself from his work. 

With clear intent he did not want to talk to you about it, you left him. He was clearly worried about something, you shouldn’t have bothered him with such a silly task. It was a nice gift. You should focus on being thankful for it. 

You made a point to wear them often to let the gift giver know you liked them. No one ever stepped forward to claim such a nice gesture. 

The next gift was from out of town. A gold wrist watch. 

Lewis would never stock anything so grand. Not for the small town of Westfield. 

It gave you another clue to who the secret gift giver could be. 

Still no one sprang to mind.

Every month a new gift would turn up. On your twentieth birthday, a note was finally left. ‘Happy birthday’ it read. You could tell whoever wrote it did so with care. The writing was messy but there were clear attempts of trying to be neat. 

You knew no one with such handwriting. The daming clue only confusing you further. 

The letter came with a gold bracelet and field picked flowers. You recognized the flowers from the meadow just over the hill. The person must have come east. 

It drove you crazy not knowing who it could be. More so, that they visited often and yet you had never caught sight of them. You tried staying up. But you never knew when the stranger would come, and they always seemed to know when you were asleep. 

You put the bracelet on, keeping the note in the draw of your vanity. Your father wanted you to sell the gifts to help pay for things on the farm but you refused. You would never disrespect the gift giver in that way. 

You would hide the gifts from your father. He only knew about a few. You would wake early to ensure that he never saw anything too valuable. He would soon stop demanding and just start taking. 

Seeing as you got no gift from your father, he offered to allow you to accompany him to the tavern for his nightly drink. Although you knew you would sit there for hours with only one cup of tea, you agreed to go if only for an excuse to wear your new bracelet that you kept hidden under your riding glove. 

Your father was a tavern regular, nearly everyone knew him as he entered the doors. 

A few said hello to you in passing as you made your way to the bar. Your father carried on without you going to the private booth where his rowdy and drunk friends were stored away. 

You had hoped he would first buy you a cup of tea before disappearing but he had to wait for you to clean up after dinner and get ready which made him late in his usual routine. 

The bartender greets you but you hop away from the counter so he could serve people with money. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see William Bonney staring at you from his card game. Joel Humprhy sat across from him who you knew well from your school years. 

A familiar face was a pleasant sight so you bee lined over to him, and away from the other men who had begun to draw closer. 

“Miss Y/n”, Billy greeted, rising from his seat, and pulling out the wooden chair next to him so you could sit, “how are you this evening?”. 

“Very well, thank you” you smile at him as you sit, and he returns one back almost shyly. 

“Gentlemen”, you greet the table, “Apologies for interrupting your game”.

“Good evening, beautiful”, Joel greeted, tilting his hat towards you. 

“Would you like to play?” Billy asked. 

He throws his cards in the middle like it was already decided. 

“Redraw the cards, Henry”. The men at the table groan, but submit the cards back. 

“Thank you, Mr Bonney but I will watch. I’d prefer to waste my money on a sweet then lose it to you on a card game”, you say. 

“Come on, I’ll put in for you”, he offers. 

“Thank you, Mr Bonney, but I must really turn down your offer. I solom follow the game”

Billy ignores you, throwing two lots of coins into the pot. 

“Deal won’t you, henry”, Billy spoke in a soft voice. 

He shuffles his chair closer to you, his leg almost touching yours.

“I’ll help you”, he offers, “better you’re here next to me then over by the bar by yourself”. 

He nods for you to pick up your card, and you do, showing him the hand you had been dealt. 

“Fold”, the man to you left called, throwing his cards down. 

“Bet”, Joel declares. He winks at you as he throws two more coins in the middle. 

You look at Billy, wondering what it all meant. You couldn’t remember the hierarchy  of cards.

‘I’ll fold, you keep going” Billy orders. Watching him turn his own cards in and yet throwing more money down rose your anxiety levels.

“Well darling”, Joel drawled from across the table, “what now?”

“She aint your darling”, billy shot back. He shuffles closer and gently organises your cards in rank. 

“We’ll get rid of these two”, he whispers in your ear.

The two cards on the end are tugged from the deck and given back to the dealer who gives you two more. Billy organises them once more while Joel makes the same move. 

Joel whistles upon receiving his two new cards. You feel Billy’s breathy chuckle against your shoulder. 

“What do you say to a rise, Billy?” Joel asks, “three for three”. 

Billy eyes turn from the cards to you. You never realised how blue they were. 

“What do you think, darling? Can we take him?” Billy asks in a playful manner. 

You turn back to your cards. Three of a kind. You were pretty sure it wasn’t a bad hand from memory. Joel’s whistle threw you off, it was perforative.Merely a joke to get Billy to laugh. 

You felt shy under the mens stare. The red of your cheeks burning as you slowly and unsurely nodded your head. 

Billy reached for his pile and threw three more coins down. 

“Alright, show em’” the dealer demanded. 

Joel whistled once more, slapping his cards down on the table with a grin. 

Billy forces your hand down on the table and you examine the difference. 

“Flush!” Joel announces. 

“What does that mean?”, you ask Billy. 

“It means, Joel is a god damn cheat”, he says looking at his friend with a smile before turning back to you, “and you’ve lost”.

“Oh”, your cheeks turned red from embarrassment. It was a quick defeat and Billy’s money was now being scooped into another pile. 

“It’s alright”, Billy tells you, “just part of the game”. 

He throws the cards back and they are reshuffled and distributed once more.

“Oh no” you tell Henry who plays you a hand. 

You go to push them back to the dealer but Billy’s hand comes down and flattens over yours. 

“Game aint over yet”, he says. His tone was almost disappointed. 

“Yeah”, Joel agreed from across the table, “You aint going anywhere while Billy’s money’s on the line”.

Joel laughed, slapping the table with so much force it shook from his thumping. 

“Shut up now would ya”, Billy growled.

“My father is due shortly. I’ll just watch”, you state. 

Billy’s hand remained on top of yours, refusing to budge as you tried to push the card back. 

His blue eyes bore down at you making you feel unsteady. 

“Okay”, you tell Billy in a soft voice, “one more round”, you relent. 

His hand almost instantly lifts off yours. It was a relief when his eyes went from you to his cards. 

“Alright boys, and the fine Miss Y/n” Joel tilts his hat in your direction as he spoke, “Lets hear what ya got”. 

“Damn you, henry! Thats the second hand”, the man at the table complained, throwing his cards down. 

“Vern, a royal flush wouldn’t help your ass”, Henry argued back, “Now if you’re folded sit there and be quiet”. 

The man grumbles but does as he is told and the table places their bets. 

Joel raises once more with the same smirk. Billy undeterred meets the bet. He then takes a peak at yours, three of a kind. 

“She’ll play on”, he announces to the group, adding money to the pot for you. 

Joel pushes his hat up from his head, and sits up straighter at the news. 

“Yew, that’s what we like to hear”, Joel cheers now more focused on his cards. 

The men trade in cards, and you follow suit taking the two odds from your deck and passing them back to Henry. 

“That’s right”, Billy praises. 

Two more cards are given back to you, but they make no difference to your hand. 

 Joel, however, is pleased with his. Making a large gleeful cry and raising the bet. 

Billy scoffs, unbothered by the mans display. 

“Hope you brought your purse tonight, Billy”, Joel hollard. 

“You ever shut up?” Billy playfully asks, throwing more money in, “Your big mouth gives you away. I’ll raise two sheilings”. 

It signaled your turn, but you were unable to make a play. 

It wasn’t your money wasted. You think about folding, Billy wouldn’t be forced to meet the best, but his last two raises would be lost. 

As if Billy could sense your hesitation, he drew closer, necessarily bending so his head was at shoulder height while he stared at your cards.  

“Raise” he told you. 

The men around the table looked at you expecting the answer from your own lips. 

“Raise” you re-affirmed. 

Billy threw more money into the centre. The clanging sound making you shudder at the wealth that could be lost. 

“God damn you, Billy” Joel threw his card down, his actions speaking for him, “fold”. 

Billy smiles, from the corner of his eye you see him look at you before scraping his chair along the floor and angling himself across from you. The last two players of the game. Only one with knowledge of what they were doing. 

“Well Miss, what will it be?”, he asks you, pulling his cards close to his chest. 

Billy already knew what cards you had. You thought his question was a joke. 

“Raise” you joke. 

The men at the table laugh but Billy lets out a low whistle, looking at his money on the table. 

“How much?” he questions. 

“It all” you jest again uninterested, but Billy refuses to take it as a joke. 

‘Well what would that leave me to counter with?”, he asks. 

You eye him. He had his gun kept firmly on his hip. He wouldn’t give that up even as a joke. Your eyes travel up from his boots and cotton pants, over his faded blue shirt and overalls, to the hat he always wore. 

“You hat” you announce, “throw your hat in the pot if you think your cards are that good”. 

You attempt to laugh it off with the rest of the group but Billy’s hat lands in the centre. 

“Alright, honey, lay them flat”, he demands. 

You roll your eyes and lay your cards down for all to see. 

Billy doesn’t show his, instead just throws them face down and drags the pile towards you. 

His hat is placed on your head, falling just over your eyes. 

‘‘Think about all the candy you can buy with that”, Billy calls as the money stops in front of you. 

The men hollar at the news, drawing the attention of the saloon. 

Your father pokes his head out from the private booths to see you sitting at the poker table. It ended the night in an instant. Your father storms out, not bothering to bid goodbye to his friends. 

You throw Billys hat in his lap as you stand quickly. 

Billy rises also, coming face to face with your father. 

“Sir, it was my fault”, he got out before your father could say a word. 

Your father was always strict. He had a sure tell of anger, his neck would turn a bright red color as it did now. 

Your arm is taken in a harsh grip. Billy’s eyes darken and his face stills into a scowl. 

“What are you men thinking involving a young woman in your games”, your father scolded. 

“Ah, we were just keeping her entertained”, Joel reasoned. 

“A poker table aint no place for women”, your father fought. 

“But the bar by herself is fine”, Billy now said. His fierce gaze aimed at the old man. 

Your father is silent as he gains the attention of Billy. There were rumors about who he was before Westfeild, that your father would rather not be put to test. 

“I’ll be taken my daughter home now, gentlemen”, your arm is pulled away from the table. 

You glance behind you as you make your way from the bar. Billy had not returned to his game like the others, but remained stagnant in his anger. 

Your father gives you an earful as he pulls you through the tavern. You knew it would be a while before he invited you back again. It would be only farm work and walks to town for supplies until he forgot your trespass. 

The grip on your arm is left as your father unties the horses from their stake, but his mouth remains reprimanding you while his hands worked. 

A reprieve was given when the bar keeper yelled out of the back door to your father that he had forgotten his hat. 

Your father didn’t bring a hat, but the bar keeper would not let him go without getting it first. 

Your father relents after a series of back and forth, leaving you to mind the horses while he went back to the booth for his imaginary hat. 

The night was warm so you didn’t mind standing out in the near dark by yourself. You pat your horse, knowing you wouldn’t be allowed to ride him for at least the next week. 

Your father could be mean in his scritness. Some of his consequences didn’t relate to the crime. 

You wondered why your father got so upset. Women often watched men play poker. The wealthy women sometimes played. It was hardly scandalous. 

As the backdoor shut after your father, a dark, tall figure emerges from the side of the taven, coming across to you. 

At first it frightened you, but as he got closer you recognized the figure as Billy’s. A harmless creature. 

“Miss y/n, are you alright?”, he asks as he approaches. 

You smile at Billy, just faintly making him out in the dark. 

“Fine, Mr Bonney. Thank you. My father can sometimes be over protective”, you explain, “Ever since my mother died, I am all he’s got left”.

“He still shouldn’t have grabbed you like that”, Billy reasonsed, “you weren’t doing nothing wrong. Just having a little fun. I wouldn’t have let them take advantage of you”.

His familiar way of talking was surprising. You had spoken to him a few times at church, smiled at him in passing, but nothing to warrant such a friendly way of talking. You wouldn’t count him amongst the strangers but certainly not amongst the friends. 

“Thank you for your concern, Mr Bonney, but it’s unnecessary. My father-he”, you think about finishing the sentence. 

He wasn’t always like that? He has a heavy hand but not always cruel? He was your father and could treat you how he saw fit?

“Is your arm okay?” Billy redirects you from your topic. 

“Fine”, you breathe, although you were sure to wake to find bruises. 

You saw Billys head nod in the darkness before he reached into his pocket and pulled something from it.

“Your winnings” Billy accounces, holding up a small purse.

You laugh at him when he takes his hat from his head and offers it out to you alongside the money. 

“To take a mans’ money and hat would leave him with little else. No, I shall leave you with both, Mr Bonney. Thank you for letting me play”. 

“Well”, he says, opening a purse and taking a few coins out, “at least take enough to buy yourself tea and cake, for your birthday”. 

He holds out the coins between his fingers but you don’t take it. 

“How did you know it was my birthday?’, you question him. 

“I must have heard your daddy say it”, he says after a pause. 

“Go on, take it”, he urges, stressing the money in his hand. 

You open your palm to him and the coins drop in. A few coins would be helpful.

“Thank you, Mr Bonney, that’s very generous”, you praise. 

“Would you stop calling me Mr Bonney? I aint that much older than you”, he protests. 

“If you stop calling me Miss”, you conter. 

Billy places his hand on his belt, you could see a faint smirk across his face that revealed itself when his head raised while nodding. 

“I reckon I can do that”, he agrees. 

“Billy!” the tavern keep yelled out the backdoor before quickly disappearing back inside. 

You now realise Billy was behind the hat debacle. 

“I was hoping to see you again”, Billy admits. 

 “I am not too sure my father will allow me out of the estate for a while”. Your blood now raced thinking about your father catching sight of you with Billy. The tavern had yelled out a warning he was coming. 

“Well I can come to you”, Billy pushes. 

“Billy, my father”, you urge. 

He takes a step back from you, retreating further into the darkness. 

“I’ll be taking my leave then. Goodnight, Miss Y/n. Happy birthday”, his voice was low and quiet.

You wanted to reassure him that if it was up to you things would be different. To somehow spare his feelings after he had been so kind to you. 

But as your father emerges from the back door, Billy disappears into the darkness. 

Your father is in a better mood, carrying a hat that did not belong to him. 

You never mention Billy to him, but as you go to bed that night, you clutch his coins in your hand. 

The next month a brand new hat, and a pouch of sweets are the gift left at your doorstep. 

It crosses your mind that the gift giver could be Billy. He had given himself away by giving a gift so personal. Or could your gift giver be someone else who overheard you at the tavern?

Who else? Billy has been so friendly towards you as if he knew you better than he actually did. Could the mystery be solved?

You leave the gifts on the doorstep. Suddenly, it all felt scary. Billy had come to Westfield for a new life, but his reputation preceded him. He was still wanted for murder in three cities. He would be hunted and hanged if not for his gun skills. 

Westfield had accepted him after proving his usefulness in running off the unwanted. His kind and gentle nature often had people forgetting that the name Billy- the -kid held more weight then an anecdotal nickname. 

You had not forgotten. Billy was handsome but for a husband you wanted someone placid and meek. The opposite of your father. 

You now felt silly for allowing him to continue for as long as you did. You were blind sided by the gifts, and now you have placed yourself in a tight situation. 

You decide to sell the gifts and give the money to your father like he wanted. It now felt wrong to keep the gifts given by an outlaw. 

Lewis the shopkeeper was glad to take them off your hands. Your father was glad to have the money, and in turn, was less harsh with you. 

Your punishment was over, and you were now allowed back your freedom. 

You took it with liberty. Glad to be away from your home estate. It was late afternoon when you were returning home. Your father would complain about a late dinner. But perhaps with his new wealth, he may have taken to the tavern and would leave you in peace. 

The sun was setting past the mountains, you quicken your pace before dark but as you race past the school, you feel an arms snake around your waist, and a large hand clamp around your mouth. 

Before you could react you were pressed against the wall of the school, hidden out of sight. 

Billy stood in front of you, keeping his forearm across your chest to keep you in place. He looked angry but spoke in a calm manner. 

“Making me buy them twice was rude”, he criticized, planting the new hat that was left on your doorstep on your head. 

“So it was you”, you confirmed. 

“What were you doing selling the gifts? They were for you”, he scolded. 

His face was mere inches from yours. With his hand now free from the gift, he repositions himself so either hand was on the wall by the side of your face. 

“My father is expecting me”, you say instead. You attempt to free yourself by going under his arm but he pushes you back to the centre. 

“You think I give a fuck about your father”, his hand lands back against the wall, his fingers so close, they almost brush your skin.

“You know how many times I've thought about killing him?”, Billy admits. You try to avoid his gaze but he follows your head with his own. 

“Every night I left those gifts, I thought about just walking up those steps and killing him while he slept. How easy it would be to find you in the next bedroom. Why?” he accuses in an angry tone, like his feelings were your fault, “I aint that sort of man so why when it comes to you. Do I feel that way?”.

“I know exactly what sort of man you are. You should ask the towns gossips, they can paint you a pretty good picture of Billy- the- kid”, you provoke. 

You felt angry that you had been fooled. That so many of the townspeople had been fooled too. You believed people could change, you were kind to Billy at first for that reason. While others shunned his background, you encouraged people to  allow him to redeem himself. Now you realise people change but their nature lies in wait.

“I want to be your man”, Billy admits softly, “I can take care of you. Take you away from your father. He wouldn’t lay a hand on you again”. 

You avoid looking at him, casting your gaze to the street in hope there would be someone passing by that you could call to. 

Billy didn’t like this, taking your head in his hand he yanks your face back in his direction and plants a deep kiss on your lips. You push against his broad shoulders and he wraps his arms around your waist once more to bring you tightly against him. 

When he breaks the kiss, he keeps his hold on you so you are still pressed against him. 

“Y/n, I cant keep doing this. Watching from the shadows is driving me crazy. I can’t live like this. I won’t allow you to call on anyone else but me”, he declares. 

“Billy, let go of me”, you tell him, trying to yank yourself from his grip. 

“I aint letting you go until I get the answer I want”, he demands, “say you’ll marry me”. 

“No”, you resolve. Your husband will be gentle and kind. Not a brute and not a murder. 

“Say it”, he demands through gritted teeth. 

“NO” you scream back in his face. You raise your knee into his manhood and he drops his hold on you. 

You stumble forward, attempting to break into a run but your wrist is caught, and Billy slips in pain, tugging you to the ground as he falls. 

As soon as you hit the ground, Billy is crawling on top of you and pinning your hands to the ground with his own. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright”, he tells you over your screaming. 

You kick, attempting to buck him off but he is too heavy. 

“I told you, I aint taking no for an answer. You want Billy-the-kid, alright, well here he is”. 

The click of a gun next to your ear stilled you. You could think of few worse deaths than being shot in an alley. 

“Now get up” he asserts. 

With his body weight slowly peeling off you, you follow him into a standing position with your hands raised in surrender. 

“Billy”, you try.

‘Shut up. Just shut up” he spits, “I’ve watched your father treat you horribly for the past year. Now I couldn’t save my mother from men like him, but I can save you, so just shut up and do as you are told”.

He takes your arm in his spare hand and leads you to the back of the school house where his horse was waiting.  It was a relief when he holstered his gun to untie the reins. He takes the hat that is half falling off your head and shoves it in the side saddle.

“Billy, my father has never hurt me”, you reason with him. He may be a little heavy handed at times, and irresponsible with his wage but to call him someone you needed saving from was a stretch. You wondered if Billy even believed it. 

You watch as he leans against his horse with his eyes closed. His hold no longer on your arm. 

“Get on the horse, Y/n. Or I swear I will, and I’ll ride to your father's house, and kill him where he stands”. 

You pull yourself up on the saddle, and Billy follows suit, taking the reins into his hands and directing his horse out of town. 

You notice the bags tied around the horse, and your belly knots to think that Billy does not intend to return. 

“Billy, where are we going?” you question, as he rides too fast past the boundary of Westfield. 

He doesn’t answer you, causing your mind to race. What would your father think? Would Billy hurt you? Why did he need to leave town?

Your tears pool and drop from your eyes. You had been so stupid to think accepting those gifts would have no consequences. Billy continues riding until he reaches the clearing that would lead to the next town over. At that point he slows his horse to a walking pace and notices your crying. 

“Hey”, he says, placing both reins in one hand so he could brush your tears away. You push your head further away from him, moving away from his touch. 

You could feel him move behind you, reaching down to pull something from his side saddle. 

“Here”, he announces, thrusting a wanted poster in front of you. The sketch of the man was ugly and mean. Scars littered across his face, one directly across his big bushy eyebrow. 

A hefty reward boasted across the bottom and top of the page, speaking of the mans danger. Wanted dead or alive, it said. 

“Montvile. We are going to Montvile”, Billy said, “I have a reliable source who said he passed through there last”.

“You’re going after the reward?”, you gasp. This man was wanted for a series of murders and robberies. The price on his head was a warning more than a incentive. 

“Figure we use the money towards a house. Anywhere you’d like. A few cattle and sheep. That money could give us a new start”.

He takes the poster out of your hands and places it back in its place. 

“Why take me? It’d be quicker to go alone”, you say. 

Billy stops the horse to give weight to his words, “Because I could bear the thought of leaving you. Not for as long as it takes to find him. When you sold my gifts to lewis, I knew it wouldn’t matter if I took you now or when I returned. It was always going to be this way wasn’t it?”.

“Billy, I am sorry”, you cry, “I didn't know it was you”. 

“It’s alright”, he tells you. 

You feel his hands twist you in the saddle, you try your best to follow his wordless hands until you are fully turned around facing him. 

He pulls your hips down back into the saddle and close to him.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he wraps your arms around his torso. 

He takes the reins back into his hands and the horse begins to trot again. 

Your hands dig into the fabric of his vest. Facing backwards meant you were unsteady and although Billy's arms guarded either side of you, you were worried about falling off. 

The feeling of riding forward but looking backward left you feeling sick so you dug your face into his neck to ease the queasiness. You could smell the sweat on his skin. 

“Just rest now. Everything is going to be alright”, he says.

The journey remains like that until night falls completely. You had no idea where you were but Billy seemed to know the path well. Navigating it despite the dark. 

You see nothing for miles, until you come across a small church house with candles lighting the inside. 

Billy halts his horse once more, and unwraps your arms from himself so he could jump down. He reaches up for you and you are grateful to get down. 

“Why are we here?”, you ask him. Would you sleep here tonight under the presence of god?

“Old friend owes me a favour”, he responds. 

You wonder if you could get help. Surely, there would be another apart from Billy’s friend. 

To your dismay, there was only a single preacher, knelt down in prayer. 

Billy greets him in spanish. The men returns in the same. 

He eyes you curiously as billy speaks, making you wonder what Billy was saying. 

The tone of the conversation turns from confused to bewilderment. The men argue in a different language and you stand there hand in hand with Billy trying to figure out what was being said. 

Billy hand goes to his gun, what must have been a warring escapes his lips and the preacher man turns to the alter, grabbing his bible from the podium. 

Billy follows him, dragging you along behind him. 

“What’s going on?”, you say loudly. 

Billy brings you to stand in front of the Preacher next to him, and the man begins to recite something in spanish. 

By the time you figure out its wedding vows, your window to stop it was narrow. 

You step back wanting nothing more than to flee to the exit. Billy yanks you forward again. 

You fight with Billy trying to free your hand from him. When you twist it free, Billy latches on to your arms with both his hands. 

“No, stop it”, you protest. 

You shove him harshly, trying to twist yourself from his hold. The Preacher man continues as you struggle in Billy hold. 

Billy brings you tightly against him so you have less wiggle room. You drop your weight in response and he follows you to the ground where the fight continues. 

The preacher stumbles upon his words but finds them quickly. 

‘Stop” you beg him, reaching out to touch his shoe. 

Billy's hand clamps down on yours and forces it to your chest.In an attempt to break free, you elbow him in the stomach which offers you more movement but no real chance of freedom. 

Billy uses his strength to flip you on your back where he could pin you under his weight. Your hands are pressed into the wooden floor by his hands on your wrists. 

“Está Hecho?” Billy shouts at the Preacher. 

“Si, si”, the Preacher man appeases. He does the sign of the cross. A blessing over yours and Billy's marriage. 

Billy turns back to you, smashing his lips against yours in a quick kiss. Word would circulate through the county. The Preacher would put your names in a log book for all to see. 

The Preacher tries to speak to you in spanish. An apology you guessed from his tone and posture. 

Billy spoke for you while you sobbed on the ground. A marriage under God was binding. Would God recognise a marriage under duress? People would. A preacher had made a vow for you in front of God. you were now bound to Billy. 

“Gracias, Amigo” were Billy’s last words before he picked you up from the ground and carried you out of the church. 

 He jolts you slightly by tensing his arms up and then releasing back into a more comfortable stance. 

“Please stop crying. I aint that bad” he says. 

He lowers you back onto your feet so he could help you back onto his horse. He swings up first and then hoists you up into the same awkward position as before. 

You bury your head into his vest to quieten your cries. What would you tell your father? He would never believe you. 

“Just a few more miles and then we’ll set up camp for the night” he kisses the side of your head before continuing, “Mrs Bonney”. 

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐢 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 (𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭) | love and deep space men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; kinda mad that i didn't take a stab at it ! lads men (zayne, xavier, rafayel) and the habits they've built because of you.. oh, and you broke up (＾＾；)

love mail — added synopsis !! lads debut lads, debut :3 my favey is zayne so if it looks obvi ignore that... (author hasn't played since release be warned for inaccurate depictions.) also i'll be writing for caleb and sylus soon! i just wasn't playing on their release so i wanna do the og three! (^_^) also i'm finally home so layout coming back soon!! love you all :3 do we like the new pfp or do we go back?

zayne hasn't seen you in weeks.

why would he? even if he wishes upon every shooting star that passes by his lonely, office window, you aren't coming back. the hunters already transferred you to a new doctor, he won't be seeing you till he closes his eyes and prays someone up there is kind enough to let him dream of you.

it's selfish, he knows. but who will be around to judge him? the house is empty, his bed is cold, and he can't do anything to change that. he aches, he yearns, though zayne has long sealed his fate. he knows he can't have you, not in any universe where the curse follows, which is every single one.

he still looks, despite this. every cafe, every cat in a tree, drawn to check out every dangerous situation in hopes to catch a glimpse of you. when a client came into his office, they asked about the photo of you he still kept on his desk, proudly on display — even though it shouldn't. it's is only way of seeing you, and he needs it, desperately so. the only thing that kept him sane all this time was the way you glowed so effortlessly. he misses that shine, the light of his life, but he'd rather drown in darkness than let you worry about his curse ever again. his worsening winter inside is nothing compared to the coldness in your gaze towards him now.

xavier doesn't know how to stop making space for you. god, he wishes he'd stop, but he can't. it breaks his heart every time he wakes up alone in an empty bed or couch, expecting to see your pretty face, only to stare at the reminder that you're gone.

he loathes waking up, getting out of bed, just to see your face at work but it isn't as sweet. it's got that sour look when you look at him, and he can't handle it. he wants to see you smile again, he misses being the reason for such a beautiful expression.. but he isn't anymore.

he can pretend well, wear that face of nonchalance and aloofness like it's all natural. everyone in the agency and on enemy sidelines can't read him if they tried. but you can, you always have. and you can see it all in just those eyes.

despite sleeping to escape his reality; xavier is still clearly exhausted. it's more than drowsiness, it's akin to despair. he can't handle this ache that comes with breaking up. but he knows it's for the best, even if he keeps making space for someone who will never fill it again, he stands firm on his decision. no matter how much it kills him.

"there's nowhere else to put these", is the excuse rafayel pulls when thomas worriedly checks on him. in his studio, on every canvas and paper; it's you. every photo of you imaginable is painted and hung on his walls, like a painter trying to remember a distant muse, cause he is. when rafayel began to slowly lose his perfect depiction of you in his head, he painted in a frenzy, uncaring of how long it took, or the care he neglected, he couldn't allow himself to lose it.

you became his muse at his darkest time, needing something to give him a *real* a heart in his work. and how is he supposed to ever pick up a brush when you were gone? sunsets are now dull, flowers seem to be empty no matter how vibrant, and everything beautiful didn't seem so anyore. not when he's seen how you looked under the moonlit light, under his sheets and steady in his arms. rafayel can't name a single part in his oceanic or luxurious home that could ever compare to you.

he noticed that you still came by his gallery sometimes, but word of mouth is that it's only to check if his very first painting of you still stands where it's always been, the heart of all his pieces.

watching you stand there, in what he can only assume to be a growing bitterness to the painting every day it still stands, hurts him. he's glad he's completely shut himself out, locked doors and closed curtains back at home, because he doesn't want to know what you'll react if you figured out he still paints you every day like you never left.

[fall0utmind]

Dovquez 20

on ao3 here - enjoy

November 2027.

Marc knows that he should be happy. He has everything he could ever want in life: a successful career, friends and family who love him, ten world championships in the sport he loves, and, supposedly, a loving partner.

But said loving partner is acting weird, and it’s setting Marc on edge.

He can’t pinpoint when it started. Just that at some point he began to notice that Dovi was acting differently - more skittish and sometimes even distant. It was so unlike anything Marc had seen from Andrea.  At first, he thought maybe he had done something to upset him, missed a birthday or said something stupid which fucked things up. It wouldn’t be the first time. But usually, it was brought up and set right fairly quickly. This time, Marc tried to get Dovi to talk about it to no avail. The other man constantly reassured he was ‘okay’, and then continued acting strangely.

Marc still can’t understand why.

They've been together three years. Three unbelievably happy years which saw Marc reach unprecedented levels of success. Since the whole situation in 2024, things have been easier in the sport. Marc now has more support on the grid, having cultivated actual friendships with the likes of the academy boys and some of the youngsters who are advancing through the ranks. Moving to Ducati had relit Marc’s ambitions; the team provided him with a bike capable of winning championships, so Marc did just that. Dovi followed him across the world, at his side throughout it all. His support was warm and loving - he never once complained. He wasn’t jealous or bitter. Dovi was the perfect partner, who held him high after success and sat with him in sadness or anger when things went wrong.

It doesn’t make any sense. Marc counts his lucky stars every morning and says I love you every night before bed, even when they’re arguing. They have the ideal relationship. They always communicate well and try their best to be understanding. it’s one thing Marc loves about them. Even when they’re having a spat.

 (“Why can’t we paint the walls blue?” “It doesn’t match the rest of the house.” “Not everything can be greyscale, Marc”)

They always eventually work it out. They set aside time to discuss things for god’s sake.

(“Fine, we can do it blue, but I’m picking out the shade. And we’ll have to put blue in other places. Maybe some new furniture or art”. “Thank you, I love you”)

So, Marc is confused. There isn’t a second that passes when he isn’t overwhelmingly worried about Dovi’s sudden change. It’s like the older man is keeping secrets, hiding something from Marc. He tries not to think about it too much. He still has a season to finish, and although the championship is wrapped up, he would rather not fuck up the last races.

Yet Marc flinches every time Dovi’s face shutters, every time he mutters a half assed excuse for where he’s been. And, it hurts. More than anything. Marc was so sure that they had something good. He thought they were forever. But now he isn’t so convinced.  

It comes to a head in Portugal. Marc has late meetings at the track on Friday night, discussing some last-minute tuning on the bike, mainly for Pecco’s sake, before qualifying tomorrow. His teammate is still fighting for p2 in the championship, desperately trying to get the bike under his control so that he can collect as many points as possible before Valencia.

(Marc will win the race, so Pecco can only hope for P2)

When they are eventually dismissed, he and Pecco quietly walk back to the motorhomes together. It is a strange routine they have found as teammates, but Marc relishes it every time. They wish each other goodnight and part ways once they reach the red Ducati section; Marc knows that Pecco will most likely disappear to the Honda section, to Luca, soon after. They have a sweet relationship, the quiet and steady kind that seems unbreakable.

Marc frowns at Pecco’s receding figure before shaking himself out of it and unlocking his door. He creeps back into his motorhome soundlessly, worried that Dovi might be in bed already.

Instead, he hears his boyfriend's distinctive voice from the bedroom, muttering in rapid-fire Italian. Marc assumes that he is on the phone, he doesn’t know who to – can’t work out who it would be at this time in the evening.

Marc is about to call out, but something stops him. The motorhome is small, and Dovi is loud enough to fill the space, meaning that Marc can hear every word.

“No, no, Saturday next week. Yes. Please. Don’t tell Marc, okay? I don’t want him to be suspicious”

Marc freezes.

“Okay, yes, yes-”

Marc stops listening. He turns on the spot and escapes the suddenly suffocating room. It is a miracle that he gets out without running into something or sending an object clattering to the floor, but he manages to. Marc holds his breath until the door shuts softly behind him and he can inhale a lungful of the cold night air. Then he flees, leaving the motorhome and Dovi far behind him.

Blood rushes in his ears. He feels sick.

He can’t help the way his brain leaps to the worst. What else is he meant to do?

Marc knew something was wrong. He had asked and asked. It got to the point where he thought he was going crazy.

He isn’t sure what to do next, so he does the only suitable thing.

He googles it.

“What do you do if you think your partner is cheating?” he types, blinking rapidly against the burning in his eyes.

The internet does not help him.

The most popular answer is to confront your partner, which isn’t really his prerogative. Marc isn’t a shy guy, but the thought of talking to Dovi terrifies him. What if he’s wrong and Dovi breaks up with him for the insinuation? What if he’s right and he has to listen to Dovi say that he’s found someone new, someone better?

Marc feels distraught.

Maybe he could just ignore it?

But every day that passes makes him feel more stressed, his fingers itching to reach out and pull Dovi back from wherever he’s gone. To have his attention again.

Marc puts his phone away and walks further from the motorhomes, even though it’s late. Numbness spreads through his bones, drowning out his sense of the world. He automatically meanders to the track and finds comfort in the asphalt under his trainers.

It is only once he’s out there that the pounding in his ears diminishes and his thoughts slow. His face is wet. He furiously scrubs his cheeks, rubbing away the tears.

Is he not good enough for Dovi? He thinks. Has it finally caught up to him that Marc isn’t worth his time, his effort?

Marc knows he isn’t always the best partner. He gets it. He’s stubborn and reckless and, frankly, an absolute idiot sometimes. He’s childish and silly, whilst Dovi seems so adult.

Dovi always lectures him about safety. He always says that he loves Marc to bits, but thinks he will give him a heart attack one day. Marc wonders if he’s had enough of lecturing, enough fear.

Marc has always pushed and pushed, until it falls apart. He has learnt how to put things back together and try again – his bike, his body, his heart, his life. He can’t do that with a relationship.

He wonders if he is too broken for Dovi, too bruised and battered. His heart sinks.

There are footsteps not far away, he shrinks into himself. It is too dark to make out a figure, but Marc knows he is not alone.

“Marc?”

Valentino's voice, recognisable anywhere. Marc squints into the darkness, picking out his lanky frame.

He sighs. Vale moves closer - Marc can decipher his face now, pinched in concern.

They are cordial these days, friends perhaps. Not close, but enough that they talk, much to the delight of most fans. Marc is happy that there is no animosity between them; secretly, he feels too old to cope with that. It was awkward to begin with, but now they seem to get on fine.  Forgiveness was not easy. But Marc thinks he’s got there.

“Vale, I was just going back.”

Valentino looks unconvinced; he frowns at Marc but doesn’t comment.

“What are you doing? Are you ok?” Valentino queries.

Marc shrugs, plays it off, “I could ask you the same” 

Valentino’s answering look is shrewd; he sighs, his shoulders slumping in acceptance.

“Too antsy. It’s Luca's highest start in years, and there are rumours about where you’ll be going next year. I don’t blame you, of course, but I do not want him to lose his seat. We both know the importance of these races for him,” Valentino admits.

Marc blinks, shocked by such a candidate admission. Of course, he knows all about Luca’s seat. He also knows it's safe, because although Marc will be going back to Honda eventually, it will not be Luca’s seat he's taking. He can’t say that to Vale.

He just nods.

For a fleeting moment, he worries that he made the wrong decision years ago. He pushes the thought away.

“Your turn”, Valentino urges.

Marc shakes his head.

“It’s nothing. Just paranoid. Some things are difficult right now.”

“Dovi?” Valentino asks, not even trying to be mild about it.

Marc grimaces and nods.

“You want to talk about it?” the older man asks. Marc’s jaw almost hits the ground. Valentino has never tried to engage with Marc much beyond civility. This feels huge.

Sometimes, he wonders what life would be like if he and Vale had never fallen out, or if he hadn’t picked Dovi. Different, he thinks. Not necessarily good.

Marc doesn’t want to talk to anyone about this. He shakes his head slowly.

Valentino nods, seemingly unsurprised.

“That man would move mountains for you. Don’t worry too much, he would do anything not to lose you, and he isn’t stupid enough to do anything else.”

Marc clears his throat, awkward now. Suddenly, he feels exhausted and just wants to sleep. He nods at Vale's words, thanks him and begins his slow shuffle back to the motorhome.

Marc tries not to think too much about Valentino as he leaves the lone shadowy figure in the dark of the racetrack.

Dovi is in bed when he gets back.

“You're late,” he calls,

Marc tries to smile. It falls flat.

“Data for quali, they don’t want Pecco to lose to Bezzecchi.” He replies, his brain elsewhere.

Dovi kisses his cheek, draws him in.

“What’s wrong, you’re somewhere else tonight”, he asks.

Marc opens his mouth, then clicks his jaw shut. He looks away and then pulls Dovi into a heated kiss. He hopes the other man doesn’t notice the way his hands grip his shoulders like a lifeline, begging him to stay. Marc tries to push everything into the kiss, all his love and devotion. As if he could kiss Dovi hard enough to make this all go away or to make him want to stay.

He pulls away softly and hides his face.

“Let’s go to bed”

They don’t say much else, but Marc stares at the ceiling until the early hours, contemplating how his life has got to this point.

*

Two days after the championship finishes, they fly to the Caribbean. Dovi was insistent this year, said he wanted to go back. Marc didn’t complain.

Things haven’t gotten much better. If anything, Dovi seems to have become more nervous, weirder. He jumps when Marc enters a room, and is definitely hiding something on his phone. Marc has been too miserable to even consider confronting Dovi or calling it quits. Just one more break, he tells himself – one more slice of paradise and then he’ll end it, or work it out. Something. Anything.

Things are almost normal as they arrive in the Dominican Republic.

They have booked an incredibly pleasant resort, right on the edge of one of the most exclusive parts of the island. Their villa is spacious and bright, complete with its own pool. They have a cart to get down to the beach, which borders the most beautiful turquoise sea, straight out of a postcard. The sun is hot, and for moments at a time, Marc can convince himself that they are happy: as they stroll hand in hand down the beach front or when Dovi snaps candid pictures of him beaming at the camera, about to go for a swim in the midday sun. They eat gorgeous food, laugh, soak up the sun, and make love to each other.

Marc feels like he’s pretending.

It gets worse at the end of the third day.

Marc calls Alex in a fit of panic, almost in tears. Dovi has become even more distant, constantly checking his phone and running off at random times. He swears that something is up; he feels like he’s going crazy. They’re having fun, sure. But it isn’t right, there is something that Marc is missing.

Alex picks up after three rings.

“Marc?” he asks, curious and concerned.

“Alex. God”, Marc breaths. His voice breaks.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think he’s cheating on me, and I don’t know what to do. At first, I thought I was imagining it or going crazy but there’s just too many things now and I feel like it’s breaking me apart trying to pretend that everything is okay when he is so clearly hiding something from me – but- but – I love him so much and I don’t want him to leave me and I just wish I had the answers and instead I am so confused and it hurts. So much”

It comes out in a tumble of words, like a dam has been broken. His breath catches in his throat as he chokes on the syllables. Afterwards, he listens to his brother’s even breaths, waiting for a response.

Alex sighs, “Have you spoken to him?”

“No…”

“Marc, do you trust me?” “Of course”, Marc answers, before the worst word falls from Alex’s lips.

“Okay, I need you to have confidence in me here. It is all going to be okay. I trust Andrea, he is a good man. I am sure whatever is going on is just a misunderstanding, yes? He loves you so much, Marc. I know it. Maybe he is feeling the same way? Hm? Just try to enjoy your time there and we can talk more when you are back, yes?”

Marc breathes. It isn’t the answer he wanted, but he trusts his brother with his life. He reluctantly agrees and sets his sights on acting normal once he returns to Dovi on the balcony.

*

24 hours later, Dovi is leading Marc down the beach front, his eyes screwed shut as the sun sets on the horizon.

Marc’s skin is aglow, golden against the white sand and aquamarine sea as Dovi nudges him into position.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” Marc asks, ever inpatient.

Dovi laughs, “Yes, mi amor”

Marc opens his eyes and gasps.

They’re standing on the beachfront in a heart drawn on the sand, facing the horizon shoulder to shoulder. It has been a beautiful day, and the sky is clear as the evening light paints the sky hues of crimson and vivid oranges, with brush strokes of rose. The few clouds which litter the skyline are ablaze in a golden glow, giving the whole place an ethereal feeling. The crystal ocean mirrors the heavens, with radiant colours that flare across the serene surface, broken only by the peaks of gilded waves.

Marc is mesmerised.

He reaches for Dovi’s hand and squeezes.

For the first time in weeks, his mind is quiet.

Marc doesn’t notice Dovi loosening his grip and letting go of his hand. He doesn’t consider how they are the only people on the beach, or how conveniently picky Dovi had been over Marc’s outfit this evening.

He blinks at the rich scene, finally noticing the absence of a warm grasp.

Marc turns.

His jaw drops.

There, in the sand, on a beach in the Caribbean, is Dovi, on one knee, a ring box clutched in his hands as he stares at Marc in wonder.

“Marc. I have loved you for enough of my life to know that there will never be anyone else like you. Every day is the happiest day of my life as long as you’re by my side. Every breath you take fills me with life, every tear you shed rips me apart, and every success raises me. I want to walk by your side for the rest of eternity. I want you to piss me off and scare the crap out of me and make me laugh every single day until we are both old.”

He chokes off on a watery laugh.

Marc can feel the tears in his eyes, his hand has come up involuntarily to cover his mouth in shock. Suddenly, a lot of things are falling into place – the secrets, the phone calls, the nervousness. Dovi wasn’t cheating on Marc; he was too busy stressing about planning a proposal.

“Marc. It is the greatest pleasure in the world to wake up beside you. You are the most beautiful, funny, charming, ridiculous, brave, and strong person I know. I wish there were a way that I could repay you for all you have done for me. I love you endlessly, no matter what. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

It starts to sink in then, for Marc. He realises that this is truly happening. The tears spill down his cheeks, and he sinks to his knees beside Dovi, drawing his partner into a deep kiss, full of love and promise. Marc pulls away, smiling so widely that his cheeks ache. He looks at Dovi – takes in the face of the man that he loves – his kind eyes and crow's feet. His heart sings in joy. It is the easiest yes of Marc’s life

*Cut scene *

“Alex, you BASTARD, you knew?”

[lucy90712]

Morning sickness

Gavi: 

My morning sickness hasn't been great during my pregnancy I have good days and bad days. The good days still aren't great as I do spend most of my time feeling at least a little nauseous but the bad days are hell. The bad days are never consistent either I can go a few weeks feeling pretty good and then all of a sudden I feel awful and I don't want to get out of bed.

Pablo is always great at helping me on bad days even when he's busy he always finds a way to help. Today he has a busy day with training and then a shoot with Nike but like he always does he checked on me before he left, but when I didn't answer him and ran to the bathroom instead we both knew today was going to be one of those bad days. He couldn't stay long as he can't be late to training but until the last second he sat on the bathroom floor with me rubbing my back and making sure my hair was out my face. Before he left he helped me back into bed and promised he'd be home as soon as possible. True to his word he was home as soon as he physically could be he was right back by my side. He got me a glass of water and some crackers as I need to eat but I also don't want to as I know I'm just going to throw it back up. 

For the rest of the day we just laid together on the sofa with me running to the bathroom every so often and each time he followed right behind me. He always tells me he feels awful that I have to go through this because of him which isn't entirely true as we both were involved in making the baby and the decision to keep it. Even though I tell him that it doesn't stop him feeling bad and wishing he could take away all the awful symptoms. As much as him wanting to take away my symptoms does nothing I appreciate the sentiment behind it as it just proves that he's going to be an amazing caring dad. 

Pedri: 

My morning sickness has been the least of my worries during my pregnancy there has been so many other things going on and my other symptoms like heartburn have been so much worse. What helps is that most of my sickness has come from food aversions so I know what to avoid so that I don't feel sick. Of course there are times that I develop a new aversion so I feel a bit sick then but generally I have it under control which makes my life so much better. I know I'm lucky not to have awful sickness as a lot of women do so I am very grateful as when I do feel sick it's an awful feeling. 

As I don't have awful sickness I still love to cook dinner. Cooking has always been my thing it's something I enjoy and Pedri loves my cooking so it's something I do for him as he does so much for me. It can be a challenge with his diet but I like that it's fun coming up with new recipes that work with his diet and taste good. For once Pedri is actually home as I cook dinner so he's been helping me as I try a new recipe I found. He was keeping an eye on something on the stove as I chopped up some vegetables, I'd already cut an onion then I picked up a tomato but as soon as I cut into it the smell made me feel extremely nauseous. I tried to keep going but the nausea was too much so I put the knife down and went straight to the bathroom. Pedri was right behind me and he pulled my hair back and put it up in the hairband he keeps on his wrist. He gently rubbed my back until I sat back up against the bathroom cabinet. He made sure I was ok before going to check on the food so we don't start a fire but he came back with a glass of water for me to sip. 

Pedri took over cooking under my instructions and he modified the recipe to take the tomato out so we could both eat it. When he wasn't needed in the kitchen he was by my side making sure I felt ok. He also promised to take over making dinner until my food aversions get better as he doesn't want me getting sick if he's not there to help out. 

Jude:

Morning sickness has been a killer for me so far in my pregnancy. It just seems to never go away whoever called it morning sickness is playing a cruel joke as I don't think I've ever just felt sick just in the morning. I wake up feeling nauseous and I go to bed feeling nauseous it's just how I live my life at the moment. I'd like to say that I'm used to it but I'm really not everyday is a struggle. Doing some simple things like eating is really hard for me as nothing ever sounds good but I know I have to eat for the baby but it can be really difficult some days. 

Jude is really good at helping with my sickness as much as he can whenever he's home he takes over all the things I would usually do including making dinner which makes eating it a bit easier as I haven't been smelling it for the last hour. He also will just sit with me quietly if I'm feeling worse than usual stroking my hair and helping me breathe through the worst of the nausea in hopes that I won't throw up, even though I usually do. More often than not I wake up in the middle of the night feeling incredibly sick and tonight was one of those nights at 3am I woke up suddenly and had to rush to the bathroom. A few seconds later a very sleepy Jude followed behind me but he got straight on the floor behind me rubbing my back and making sure I was ok. He gently kissed behind my ear as I sat back up which made me feel a little better but I still felt awful. 

All of the sickness has really been getting to me throughout my pregnancy I just don't want to feel sick anymore and I hate living my life in a constant state of nausea. Waking up like this most nights and hardly being able to eat just isn't fun any more it's just too much. A few tears left my eyes which Jude quickly wiped up before asking what was wrong so I told him that I'm just done with the sickness. He tried his best to make me feel better but he also just let me be a bit emotional about it as he knows it's hard but he helped me realise that it won't last forever which made me feel a little bit better. 

Joao:

So far in my pregnancy I've been very lucky and I haven't felt sick at all really. Some days I feel a little nauseous but it's nothing awful and it usually goes away within a few hours. I know this makes me very lucky so when I do feel a little sick I never really mention it as I don't want to sound like I'm complaining as I really don't have anything to complain about. I haven't even mentioned it to Joao even though he'd be supportive and wouldn't think I'm complaining I just don't feel the need to as I know it won't be long until I feel better. My odd days of sickness have become my own internal struggle which I'm ok with as I know there will be other struggles later on that I'll share with Joao. 

When I woke up a few hours ago I felt a bit nauseous but I kept going and made myself breakfast which was really hard to eat and then got ready thinking I'd feel better by the end of it but I didn't. I did a few others things around the house but I still didn't feel better even after that and it took me a few hours which is usually all it takes for me to feel fine. Joao arrived home not long after and straight away he asked me what was wrong. He's learnt to read my body language so well that he can always tell when something is wrong with me. I didn't want to say it but it didn't take him long to get it out of me and when he did he went straight to the kitchen and got me some sprite as he'd heard that can help with sickness. I had no idea we had sprite or that he'd researched how to help nausea as otherwise I'd have told him about my sickness as maybe he could help me find something to feel better. He gave me no choice other than to sit on the sofa and slowly drink sprite while he sorted his training stuff out and then made us some food for lunch which he made as plain as possible as not to make me feel any worse. 

Joao's sprite trick really worked within an hour I felt so much better and we could go about our day as normal. When I admitted that this wasn't the first time I've felt like this he made me promise that I won't hide things like that any more. He told me that he doesn't care if I complain to him about any little pain or anything like that as he knows pregnancy is hard and he wants to support me as best he can. 

Ruben:

Sickness has killed me in my pregnancy so far I've never felt worse in my life it's unbearable. There never seems to be any sort of relief the nausea never seems to go away and it never seems to ease either. Every day I feel so sick but as long as I don't actually throw up it's a good day or only throw up once or twice is pretty good. There are times that I've been so ill that Ruben has nearly taken me to the hospital to make sure that I'm ok and could get some medication or just be rehydrated but I have refused to go as I don't want to end up in the hospital.

Ruben is always worried about me to the point that he has done so much research into ways to help morning sickness which I've tried all of as well as any pregnancy safe anti sickness medications none of which have worked. Even though everything I've tried hasn't worked Ruben never stops trying to find new things even if just one person has recommended it he'll have me try it to see if it can help me too. Because none of those things have worked I still have awful sickness but Ruben is by my side as much as he can be. Instead of doing fun things together on his rare days off like today Ruben instead has to sit with me as I sit on the bathroom floor feeling worse than I've felt all week. I feel awful that we can't do anything together but he tells me that he doesn't care he just wants to sit with me until I feel better. From 5am this morning I've been sat in the bathroom right next to the toilet with Ruben right by my side. I tired to go back to bed but I didn't even make it out the bathroom before I felt the need to throw up again. 

For the entire day we sat on the bathroom floor Ruben even brought in blankets and pillows so that I'd be more comfortable. Even though I felt awful and could barely keep down a glass of water Ruben made me feel better as he kept me entertained all day and he had me laughing which is something he's really good at. Without Ruben I think I would have gone insane but he has kept my spirits up and made sure that I don't let all of this affect me too much mentally as he knows that things will be so much harder if I get myself down about it too. It's difficult but having Ruben has made dealing with this extreme amount of sickness a whole lot more bearable.

[cameronsbabydoll]

I have an idea brewing and I think that it’ll be really good in SCC multiverse…

Reader secretly getting back on birth control after their 3rd kid, an IUD. She was really depressed after all of her pregnancies, her body and mind going through so many changes when she’s so young, mainly doing it alone (Rafe was there but we all know he’s not the best with her changing emotions, they actually got into a lot of fights).

She wanted to feel whole again. She wanted her body back. One day the kids are all out at school and Rafe is working from his home office during the week. He’s been taking more work from home days bc he wants to spend more time with her bc he’s trying to be better, in his own way. reader is in the kitchen making them lunch, she’s not used to making double during lunch so she gives him a bigger portion. Rafe comes down to help her set the table (he only helps out around the house when he wants something)

She’s serving their plates when Rafe casually says

“I think we should have another baby.”

She stops in her tracks and remains calm….”what are you talking about?”

He starts going in on how one of his associates just had another kid, a babygirl, and him and his wife seem super happy. So he starts saying “yeah what’s one more? It’s not like we can’t afford it. We could try for another girl.”

He’s smiling at the thought of being able to raise a child that favors him instead of their mom.

Reader looks as she puts his full plate down in front of him and just goes silent as she eats… she’s in her head freaking out. She doesn’t want to be pregnant again, she doesn’t want to breastfeed again, she doesn’t want the swollen ankles, the sleepless nights, the weird cravings, the emotional outbursts, the potty training ,the debilitating depression that seemed to plague her every-time she got pregnant.

Rafe starts going on and on about the potential new baby, as if he’s already decided for you, speaking about potential names and redoing a nursery. He noticed that reader got quiet and has been staring down at her plate since he started talking about the thought of a new baby. He asks reader what she thinks…. (Testing her again bc he’s manipulative af)

Reader just silently laughs it off and jokes that they should get a puppy instead because they have enough kids.

Rafe doesn’t find it funny. He hates dogs and his sweet, agreeable wife isn’t agreeing with him. He’s more adamant about the possibility of getting her pregnant again, saying that they could go on a cute vacation, leave the kids at her mothers for the week. make it more romantic than their last times conceiving.

Reader looks at him with the most sad eyes, “I didn’t think you could be anymore selfish Rafe” Rafe is lowkey gagged bc she hasn’t spoken to him like that since she was pregnant. He argues “how can I be selfish I literally pay for everything you needed when you were pregnant” he tries to flip it by saying that reader was being selfish for denying him.

She immediately goes off, maddest I think she’s ever been at him. Talking about how lonely she was, how much pain pregnancy was, how scary labor was for each kid bc she gave birth naturally(her last birth lowkey traumatized her). She just keeps going off about everything and then Rafe just cuts her off with “fine I get it it messed with your hormones don’t freak out it was just an idea” he tries to dismiss her and that just makes her angrier.

Reader just casually drops the fact that she had to get a therapist and professional help so she wouldn’t go crazy (he remembers) she wanted to die everyday during her pregnancy… “Being pregnant was the worst experience of my life. If you want to have another baby, find another wife because I can guarantee you I am NEVER getting pregnant again.”

He literally gets so pissed and then he’s like “oh how can you be so sure, we never use condoms and I could knock you up whenever I wanted”

She drops the fact that she got her IUD put back after their last child was born, during one day when he was at work. Rafe is shocked bc how could he miss that? (he’s uneducated about most of it sol he’s unfamiliar with the IUD and only knows the pill) .

You can freestyle in the rest of his reaction but reader wins this round in my head bc they don’t end up having another baby.

sadly i don’t think scc!reader will get an iud. because rafe is so in control whether its over money, clothes, but also where she is especially in medical care

[magnus-marmot]

Comparing Control (the game) to TMAGP

So I finally got around to playing the video game Control after Alex mentioned having been inspired by it in the season 1 QnA. (I started the game years ago but my old computer refused to run it.) And I can definitely see some of the inspiration.

The Federal Bureau of Control is what the OIAR wishes it could be. Their job is to basically track down Altered Objects, Altered World Events and Objects of Power, research them, contain them and then put out an "official" story for the public to avoid any further panic. It's reminiscent of the SCP Foundation, and functionally it combines the purposes of both the Magnus Institute and the OIAR. The player is also given loads of lore on the paranormal events through a variety of media, including letters from concerned citizens, official reports, internal correspondence, recorded interviews, radio/TV programs and so on, which reminds me of the way TMAGP is formatted. I recommend you play it if you're interested in this kind of stuff and some action-oriented gameplay. It's actually super interesting, and I understand how it could fill up the creative tank, so to speak.

What really caught my interest was that I noticed a striking similarity between the explicit metaphysics of Control and the theories I've had for TMAGP. Like to the point where I'm doubting myself because surely the inspiration couldn't be that direct. Let me explain, and then you can be the judge (also some surface-level spoilers for Control).

Control metaphysics and how they relate

In Control, the AWEs seem to be largely caused by people's thoughts and beliefs. People's perceptions morph reality by creating archetypes in the collective unconscious, which then manifest into paranatural objects and events. The FBC uses fancy (pseudo-)scientific language like parapsychology and parakinesis, they talk about rituals and the collective unconscious and resonance and frequencies. They are concerned with Thresholds, which are places in the world where different dimensions leak into each other. The Bureau itself is an altered location (or a Place of Power), in which the architecture keeps shifting unexpectedly and which seems to work like a nexus that creates links to other altered locations, objects or phenomena. For example, you can find a light switch that doesn't connect to anything, but by pulling it three times (ie. performing a small ritual), you get transported to a motel that's kind of like every motel you've ever been at and also none of them. Just the amalgamation of the concepts people connect to motels.

If you've read any of my TMAGP theories, all of these ideas should at least vaguely ring a bell. Everything from the collective unconscious to people's thoughts being manifested in reality, the liminal spaces created by the amalgamation of those thoughts, and the mercurial locations where the dimensions bleed into each other. The difference being that I use archaic alchemy concepts for my points, while the game uses modernised language that at least tries to pass as scientific. Which, mind you, is not incompatible with alchemy either. For example, modern Rosicrucians still rely on alchemical language, but they often apply it more metaphorically to the modern (though equally pseudoscientific) concept of resonance and manifestation. I guess I'll very briefly break those ideas down too.

Resonance and alchemy

The metaphysics in Control revolve around vibrations and resonating frequencies. This is based on the real world belief that everything in the universe is vibrating at a certain frequency, and similar frequencies attract each other (known as the Law of Attraction by those who buy into it). The idea is that you can manifest things and outcomes into reality by aligning the frequency of your thoughts with whatever you want to manifest. Think of something real hard and it will come to you, be it good or bad.

This idea is not necessarily new, even if the language for it is (at least relatively speaking). Pythagoreans thought that there's a universal harmony created by the movements of celestial bodies, and it's reflected on our lives on Earth ("as above, so below"). This concept was equated with anima mundi or the world soul, and it's the same idea that alchemists later associated with either Aether or Mercury or both (depending on who you asked). Mercury is the shared life force on our earthly plane and it reflects the Aether that makes up the heavenly plane. Changes in one must be seen in the other ("as above, so below"). And we've come a full circle.

My take-away from this

I don't think Alex has directly stolen any ideas from the game, and while I can definitely see some inspiration, the feel of the two pieces of media are totally different. So I'm not drawing these comparisons to prove a point, I just thought it would be interesting to talk about them. But we're definitely dealing with classical alchemy concepts in TMAGP, and we've even been explicitly told that Fr3-d1's code utilises alchemy. I'd also be more worried about the conclusions I've been making if episode 40 didn't make this whole manifestation aspect abundantly clear and difficult to doubt.

But on the other hand, we do have some instances where music (ie. vibrations) is contributing to the paranormal. We've got the violin that produced aetherial, soul-healing music when fed with blood and drove the audience mad when not. We've got Bonzo's theme song, which seems to either summon Mr Bonzo or just follows him around. And most recently, we've got the nursery rhyme that is directly linked to Heinrich Unheimlich and possibly helped in his creation. So I'm not entirely discounting the possibility that we're dealing with vibrations/resonance in some capacity.

Conclusion

This became a pretty incoherent and rambly post, and I doubt many are interested to read about this topic in the first place. So if you made it this far, here's a bonus reason for playing Control: the altered objects are contained in a panopticon that's physically linked to an archive. (The archive is underwhelming but this set-up still tickled me.) Also there's a creepy janitor with a thick Finnish accent who sings Finnish iskelmä songs and loves using directly (and intentionally badly) translated Finnish idioms such as "blow up into pussy splinters" and I love him.

[strawberrysohn]

"if you want forever (i bet you do)" | taste — jjk (pt 2)

series summary: your best friend (with benefits) has a new girlfriend...little does she know, you were and would always be there first.

what to expect for this part: fuckbuddy! jk, y/n is still a bad person (what are morals anyway), cheating, oral (m receiving), whiny! jk (!!!), again feel free to imagine 2018/2019 jungkook for this <3

also!! y/n is described to have dyed blonde hair & hair with strands that can be tugged on. just a heads up for readers with different hair textures :)

again no word count...a lot of words.

enjoy :)

"what do you see in her?"

jungkook shrugs. "she's pretty, nice," he thinks of all his favorite features of his girlfriend, siyeon. "she cares about me. she's really gentle too. she's just a good soul."

y/n nods, trying to seem interested while also trying not to yawn. "how nice," she speaks. she sits back further on the bed, his monitor screen more visible to her now.

she loved to watch him play video games. it was fun for him because he enjoyed his little games, and fun for her because she found all the little noises he made whenever he got shot endearing. the hushed whispers of 'shit', the hisses and groans...he got really into it. plus, telling him he could play was just a really subtle way to get him in the mood. and the more she distracted him with questions, the worse he would do in the game. and the worse he did, the more he'd rage quit. and then he was all hers.

"are you jealous of siyeon?" jungkook asks, smirking a little.

y/n can't hold in the laugh this time. "are you joking? absolutely not, try the opposite." she shakes her head as she flips through her magazine. "she's gotta be jealous of me. you saw, yesterday when i came up to you guys, right?"

it was quite funny, seeing the way siyeon clutched onto jungkook as soon as y/n walked up to him after class had ended. all she wanted was to ask a homework question (and maybe piss off siyeon a little...), and her very presence near jungkook had siyeon eyeing her up from head to toe and everywhere in between. it was, as y/n loved to say, pathetic.

"you're reading too much into that, y/n," jungkook chuckles at his friend. "she barely acknowledged you."

"she was clutching onto you like she was a dog and i had come to steal away her favorite chew toy."

"you're being dramatic."

"and you're being delusional." y/n retorts, sitting her magazine down.

jungkook groans as his character is eliminated. since he has time before next round, he turns around his swivel chair to face her. "maybe you're right," he says, causing y/n to perk up a little. "she does get a little...nervous whenever you come around. even when i bring you up. it's weird."

"yeah?" god, she liked where this was going. "how weird? tell me."

jungkook takes a moment to recall before he speaks again. "this morning, as i was leaving her place, i told her i was having you over. she got this really flushed look on her face...like i had really said something crazy. she asked what we were gonna be doing and i just shrugged because i didn't know yet. siyeon let out a really shaky breath...it was weird."

y/n listens intently, trying not to look as victorious as she felt right then. "oh wow," she says nonchalantly. "that is weird."

jungkook nods as he continues. "yeah, and then she asked if she could come with...like, she was willing to take off work to hang out with us."

y/n places a hand over her mouth in fake shock, but also to hide her growing smirk. she feared if she tried to say anything else, a laugh would come out instead, so she just sits and listens.

"i told her maybe next time, on a day when she's not working," jungkook explains. "maybe after class one day. would you be okay with that?"

y/n shrugs, feeling her eyes brimming with tears from holding in her laughter for this long. luckily, jungkook had turned back around to play his game again so he couldn’t see. "sure, why the hell not, right?"

"i'm glad you see it that way!" jungkook's smile is evident in his voice. "i can't wait...my two favorite ladies in one place!"

y/n can't help but roll her eyes at his enthusiasm for something that very well would not ever happen. she looks back on the past, when she was his only favorite girl, and she didn't have anybody trying to compete with her. it was less complicated but it was also way less fun.

she looks at the back of his head while he plays, seeing the soft fluffiness to his hair today. she watches as he leans over to grab his can of soda and take a drink. then, he's back to clicking away at his keyboard, his nimble fingers working hard to get him the win.

"jungkookie?"

"hmmmm?"

"do you see a future with siyeon?"

the question makes jungkook actually pause his game. he faces forward for a few more seconds before turning around again to look at y/n.

"a future..." he thinks, his top lip coming over his bottom lip as he concentrates. "well, sure."

"yeah? how long?" y/n was curious now, wondering if he'd actually thought about this or if he was just thinking off the top of his head right now because she asked.

"i don't know," jungkook hums in thought. "as long as we could make it work, i guess."

"and what about you and i during that time, hm? she watches as his expression changes. "what would we be doing?"

jungkook thinks about the best way to answer this question. he looks at y/n, his best friend, sat back against his headboard, looking gorgeous as ever. the way her tight baby pink top fit her gorgeously and her beautiful legs were on display. of course he had to notice the way she spread them, probably on purpose, as he stared. he blinked and met her eyes.

"i think we'd still be friends."

y/n stifles a laugh and nods. "okay," she could tell he was hesitant to answer realistically, but she let it slide. she tucks her legs up to change position, not ignoring the way his eyes followed her every move. she crawls over to him, slowly. "just friends...?" she sits right in front of him, looking at him as her legs dangle off the bed.

"y-yes," he replies. "we wouldn't be, um, you know..." jungkook trails off.

"we wouldn't be fucking anymore, huh?" y/n fake pouts at him. "good thing this is only hypothetical. we both know you can't resist me."

"y/n–"

"you know she doesn't understand you like i do, right?" she interrupts him and his mouth goes zip. "she doesn't. she couldn't possibly get you the way that i do. i mean, have you two even had sex?"

"we have," jungkook answers, quickly and swiftly enough for her to know it wasn't true. "what does it matter?"

y/n shakes her head and laughs. "god, jungkookie, this is honestly quite sad." she sighs, having way too much fun.

"what is?" he frowns, her laughing only making him more confused. he just wanted to play his game and spend time with his friend, what was so bad about that?

"you're dating some diner maid bitch who genuinely has nothing appealing about her, except maybe her body, and you haven't even fucked her yet? it's sad."

jungkook feels his face heat up. "don't talk about my girlfriend like that, please." he speaks, trying to sound stern.

"she's literally beyond boring, and she doesn't have anything in common with you," y/n continues, ignoring jungkook's plea. "there's no way she could ever begin to get you, really."

"y/n, i don't wanna get into this," jungkook shakes his head, standing up from his gaming chair and approaching her. "okay? i don't wanna talk about this with you. i get that you don't like siyeon but you don't have to be mean, okay?"

"i get you, jungkook," y/n looks up at him, rising to her feet. her hands find his biceps and she waits for his hands to find her waist like they always do. "you hear me? i get you."

jungkook's hands tentatively find her waist, like they always do, though this time his grip isn't as strong. he looks her in the eyes, his heart racing in his chest "i-i know you do, y/n."

"good boy," she smiles and reaches up to pet his hair, watching as his eyelids flutter at the feeling and the praise. his gaze lingers on her lips for a few seconds before he leans in slowly.

"n-need you so bad..." he whisper against her lips.

"i know."

their lips meet and the kiss is messy, yet passionate. jungkook's grip on her hips tightens to it's usual roughness as the kiss deepens.

jungkook pulls away at last, breathing hard, his eyes darkened. y/n meets his eyes with an innocent expression.

"jungkookie..." she hums his name in her usual sing-songy tone. "why don't you lay back on the bed and let me show you just how much i understand your needs, hm?"

his eyes widen in childlike wonder and he nods, sitting on the edge of the bed and crawling upward so he was all the way against the headboard.

y/n smirks at his eagerness and crawls up with him, her eyes glowing with devious intent. "good boy, jungkookie...so good always." he gulps at her words, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "aw, baby...you're blushing." she coos at his reaction and he groans in embarrassment.

"whatever, just," jungkook blinks and looks away. "do something, please."

y/n smirks and hums, reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants. she hears him gasp, caught off guard by the sudden movement.

"w-wait, you're gonna...?" he looks at her hands on his waistband and the gleam in her eyes and lays his head back against the pillow. "shit, y/n, really? you know i can't hold back when you—"

"you talk too much, jungkookie," y/n pipes up, and his mouth goes zip. she smirks. she loved how quickly she could shut him up. she pulls his sweatpants down after he lifts his hips off the bed to help. jungkook hisses when the cool air hits his length, its tip already leaking for her.

y/n grabs his base, earning a small whine from him as he watches her actions. she begins to stroke his length, her manicured nails ever so often rubbing against him, making him shiver. "g-god, y/n, don't do that with the nails, okay?" he begs softly and she complies, only because she had more things in store.

"relax, jungkookie..." y/n smiles warmly at her friend, innocently even. she looks back down at his cock, rock hard and leaking. he looked so pathetic like this, it made her toes curl. "let me take care of you, baby, hm?"

"p-please..." he whispers under his breath, watching as she moves her face closer to where he needed her most.

she begins with just his tip, entering it in her mouth, sucking softly. he groans from above her on the bed..it was clear he could get off from any kind of pleasure right now.

then, she takes in half of him, her cheeks hollowed out as she sucks him off agonizingly slow.

"b-baby, please, your mouth is so good, but–ah need more..." he whines again, the sound pleasing y/n's ears.

finally, she gives in and takes all of him in her mouth, his tip hitting the back of her throat. jungkook lets out a guttural moan, throwing his head back against the pillow, his eyes screwing shut. "o-oh my god, y/n..."

she keeps a steady pace as she sucks his cock, gagging ever so often when his tip would hit her throat. her hands rest on his muscular thighs as she listens to his pathetic whining.

"y/n, y/n, shit, i–mmph!–fuck–hah–shit..." jungkook's a whining, moaning mess as he tries to resist the urge to buck his desperate hips up into her her perfect mouth. he knew she'd be okay with it, but now it was like a challenge for himself, to see if he could take it.

he watches the way every inch of his cock disappears into her mouth, then reappears again, only to disappear once more. he hears the way she gags ever so often, the idea that he was so big she had to gag on him really boosting his ego.

y/n swirls her tongue around his tip as she sucks, adding extra pleasure. his hands quickly find her hair, messing it up without meaning to as he tugs on the strands, her dark roots finally starting to show from under her bleach blonde hair. his tugging causes her to moan around his length which sends a vibration up his cock.

"fuck, y/n do that again," he tugs on her hair again and she moans around him, the same vibrations return. "oh, shit, i'm s' close...y/n, i-i'm g-gonna cum soon..." he whines, almost whimpers.

she hums around his length, eager to feel him cum down her throat. she deep throats him repeatedly, the gagging sound more constant, since she knew it drove him crazy.

"y/n, y/n, oh, fuck–" jungkook whimpers loudly as he releases down her throat, his eyes rolling back. "shit, baby, take it all..."

y/n swallows every drop, humming happily at the familiar taste on her tongue. she pulls off his cock with a 'pop' and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"you really want forever with a girl who won't even do that for you?"

jungkook meets her eyes and sighs, his chest still rising and falling quickly as he comes down from his release. "n-not right now..." he averts his eyes, realizing what had just happened. they couldn't keep doing this.

"relax, jungkook, i'm only teasing," y/n smiles as she crawls up to lay beside him, her head propped up by her elbow.

"oh...right," jungkook gulps and turns to face her. his cheeks were a light pink. "t-thanks...also..."

she smirks at his quietness. "you're welcome," she hums in response, her free hand toying with his hair. "you're using that conditioner i like, aren't you?" her fingers thread through the slight volume.

"yeah, siyeon likes when i have fluffier hair," jungkook replies absentmindedly. y/n's eye twitches. "i remembered you got this for me so...i bought a new bottle."

how nice, y/n thinks to herself. she continues to play with jungkook's hair, unintentionally (maybe) tugging on the strands a bit, noticing the way he whines softly.

then, there's a knock on the door.

jungkook looks up at y/n, who furrows her brows. he looks at the time and sits up slowly, fixing himself. "it's probably siyeon. try not to look so...vexing." he gestures at her awkwardly before heading out into the main room of his dorm.

y/n stifles a laugh at his clearly flustered state when he answers the door for siyeon, noticing the way his voice waivers a little. she hears a bit of their conversation.

"is she still here?"

"y/n? yeah, she's in my room."

"what did you do all day?"

"just hung out, played video games. why?"

y/n stifles a laugh at the way jungkook dances around the truth. he had gotten much better at lying over the years. she sighs, bored, and decides to make her presence known. she stands up, stretches and slides her shoes back on.

siyeon watches y/n's scandily-clad figure emerges from her boyfriend's bedroom.

"oh, hey, siyeon!" y/n greets with a smile. "wow, love that hat! really fun!" she notices the crocheted hat atop the woman's head, the yellow and orange combo making her insides hurt.

"thanks..." siyeon glances at y/n again before stepping closer to jungkook on instinct. "i had just gotten off of work, so i came over...i hope that's okay."

jungkook nods. "yeah, of course! the more the merrier, right, y/n?" he looks to his friend, who has a hand on her throat, a troubled expression on her face.

"sorry, you two, i'd love to stay and hang but my throat is suddenly killing me," y/n sends a small teasing glance at jungkook who looks away, clenching his jaw. "i better go back to mine and take something." she places a hand on jungkook's arm, bidding farewell, the touch lingering of course. she waves to siyeon who waves back, still clutching onto her man.

"see y'all around! toodles!" y/n sends one last look back at the two of them before heading out, winking at jungkook subtly.

then, she was out.

(i have no beef against crocheting/crocheted hats btw no hate to the crocheting community)

tags:

@bhonbhon @emmie2308 @ttanniett

[mysteriouswolf]

Day Six: Mumbo!!

GRUMBO FIC GRUMBO FIC GRUMBO FIC :D

also!!! go donate to the fundraiser!!! LETS BEAT LAST YEARS!!

It started out small- a gray hair, out of place upon the jet-black, dark purple circles under Mumbo’s eyes, bits of redstone dust covering his suit head to toe and smudged across his cheek almost every time Grian saw him. He told himself it was nothing, that he was worrying more than he needed to. But the less and less Grian began to see him, Mumbo always hurrying off with a forgotten chore he hadn’t completed, or another excuse that didn’t quite add up, the more Grian’s worry grew.

So he found himself standing outside Big Ron’s, wings twitching agitatedly. The moon had risen hours ago, streetlights giving off a warm glow. The city should’ve been silent- but that lab, the one Mumbo swore wasn’t important,”It’s just holding an XP farm, Gri.”, was still aglow, sharp white light flowing out the windows in the distance. 

Stepping closer, he could hear the quiet hum of machinery, the building practically vibrating with life. Gears on the outside clanked together, generating power for whatever was inside of it, and Grian could’ve sworn he’d heard the familiar crackle of electricity inside. He stood at the large metal doors that led into the building, though they seemed to be rusted shut, ruddy brown edged along the sides. Another sign that Mumbo hadn’t been in here in ages.

Grian wanted desperately for him to be telling the truth. For all of this to just be in his head, that maybe Mumbo was just stressed, or something else entirely. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. And that frightened him more than he cared to admit.

Grian flew along the building, looking for a way in, finding an open window leading into a sterile white room. Taking a single breath before he lost courage, he flew in, claws skidding on the tile floor, and he fell face-first against the tile.

“Great job, Grian.” He muttered to himself. “Now you’ve done it.”

Almost as if on cue, the motion in the building seemed to pause as Grian readjusted himself, walking towards the door, talons clicking against the cold ground. He paused, holding out his hand right above the doorknob, before twisting it and gazing out upon a long beige hallway, with doors on either side. The stark white light he’d seen outside bled underneath the final door. Careful to not make a sound, he took a step forward, only for the door to be flung open, revealing Mumbo holding out what looked to be part of a rusted pipe.

“BACK  OFF!” Mumbo said, his voice fierce, but wavering. “I HAVE A WEAPON AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT! WHAT ARE YOU- Oh….Grian?”

Grian flinched backwards, before taking in the sight of Mumbo. To say he looked awful would be an understatement. Harsh lines drew across his forehead, suit wrinkled and ripped in places, hands calloused and scraped. But most astonishing to Grian were his eyes- a dark, almost soulless onyx, behind them someone Grian almost didn’t know. 

“...Mumbo?” Grian asked tentatively, taking a step towards him. 

His figure deflated at hearing Grian’s voice, and he ran a hand through his now peppered hair. “Hey.”

“Are you….you’re not okay.” Grian stated, taking in the sight of him. “What’s going on?”

Mumbo tried to smile, but it came out broken, more of a grimace. “I’m working on something new. Something no one’s done before.”

Grian rolled his eyes, “You’re always doing that, Mumbo. There’s something different this time. All these secrets, these- these late nights, your hair? Please, I- I want to help.”

Mumbo sighed, his eyes shifting to the floor. “I’ve been dreading this moment for months, you know.”

“What moment? Mumbo-”

“I- I’m getting older ever faster now, and I-” He paused, eyes watering, “I have to say goodbye.”

Grian stopped, eyes wide. “Wh- what?” His next words came out broken, trapped in his throat. “You’re- leaving me?”

“Well, I-” Mumbo started.

Grian’s eyes welled up, “There’s- there’s got to be another way, Mumbo, I can’t- you can’t leave.” 

“Grian, I’m-”

“After everything? I get you back just long enough to hug you goodbye before you leave all over again?” Grian swallowed, tears flowing rapidly down his cheeks. His mind was stuck on the loss he had felt before, how broken and unsure, his other half ripped away from him, leaving him bloodied and scarred. 

And Grumbot. The anguish he had felt, how he didn’t know how to express himself, he was just a machine after all, but no, he was so much more. My Grian was sorry too.

Grian’s knees went weak as he shook, his gaze holding strong on Mumbo’s, though he was now just a blur. His voice shaking, raw, he gasped, “I need you, Mumbo.” 

Mumbo swallowed, and Grian saw the Mumbo he knew, his Mumbo, return, uncertainty and concern in his dark brown eyes. “I- I don’t know what to say. I-”

Grian ran towards his best friend and squeezed. One hand around Mumbo’s back, scrunching into his suit, the other making its way into his hair, and he held on to Mumbo like he wasn’t going to be there tomorrow- for all Grian knew, he wasn’t. 

He buried his head into Mumbo’s chest, breathing in the smell of smoke and dust and Mumbo, his tears staining the torn suit jacket. Mumbo lay his head on top of Grian's, a hand rubbing his back soothingly, engulfing him. 

“It’s okay, mate. I’m not leaving you. Shhhhh…I’m right here. I’m staying right here.” Mumbo murmured as Grian shook, though his breath began to slow.

When he’d collected himself, Grian pulled back from the hug though made sure to still stay close, his hand grabbing Mumbo’s to make sure he wouldn’t disappear. 

“So what’s this about then?” Grian asked, his voice still raw.

“I- I’ve never been happier here.” Mumbo began, “Well…maybe not as much recently, but I needed to make sure it was finished in time. I didn’t ever want to leave you or the others, or this place- honestly, it’s probably one of the things I’m proudest of. So when this company called Mined reached out, asked if I wanted to work on a new invention I- I said yes. I built the lab, a scientist came over, and he told me something I thought impossible. A way to make immortality not just science fiction. A way to stay here, forever.” 

Grian stayed quiet, watching the way Mumbo’s eyes lit up when he talked about his town, about the hermits, about him. 

“And so I began working on it.” Mumbo continued, “And it had some- unforeseen consequences as we went through the trial and error phase. And it had to be top secret, so I could only really use myself as a test subject so- I started getting older, faster. And so now my time is ever closer, but we’re so close, just a day or two away from getting this right, and then I’ll be okay. But this is why it has to be finished. And all the secrets I’ve been keeping. And I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Grian said, sounding confused, “That’s all well and good- well, it’s not and I have words for whoever decided to make you the test subject but- what does this have to do with saying goodbye?”

Mumbo flinched a bit, though he didn’t drop his gaze from Grian’s eyes as he spoke. “The immortality…you transfer your consciousness into a chicken.”

Grian cocked his head, a laugh forming in his throat as he grinned. “A- a chicken?” 

“Yeah. Just like you, ey?” Mumbo smiled softly, jabbing Grian playfully, “‘The man in the chicken costume.’”

“That’s not me!” Grian exclaimed, feathers ruffled. “I can’t believe you’d try and accuse me of something I very much didn’t do.”

“Yeah right.” Mumbo said, laughing, before swallowing, the smile slipping off his face. “But…well. I have to go through with it now, because who knows how much longer I’d have left if I didn’t. Weeks? Months at best? But I- I’m not sure I want to leave you in that way. I haven’t been for a long time- that’s why I’d been dreading this conversation.”

“We’ll find a way to bring you back.” Grian said confidently, “I promise. You’re basically the smartest person in the world, and I’m like- the best at redstone, obviously, and if we can’t figure it out together I’ll make those “Mined” people regret they ever met me.”

Mumbo grinned. “I love you, Grian.”

“I love you too, Mumbo.”

Mumbo's pokemon team coming later today :D

[auslanderka]

Yamamoto Takeshi

katekyo hitman reborn ep. 99