#LIKE HOW COOL IS THAT?? THEY LOOK SO METAL

[rafelandia]

Two Babies (dad!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader)

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: angst, mentions of smut, pregnancy

Summary: Y/N is pregnant again before she’s ready.

Author's Note: Hello! Please enjoy my first Rafe one shot. I would love to expand on this couple so if you have any requests or any blurbs you'd like me to explore, please send me a message! As always, likes and reblogs are much appreciated - it helps more than you know. Happy reading :)

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite tiny human,” the pediatrician chimed as she kicked the door to the small examination room shut with her sneaker.

“You must say that to all of the parents that you see,” Y/N blushed, unable to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of her lips.

“I do, but this is one of the rare times when I actually mean it. Those blonde curls! Are you freakin' kidding me?”

She padded over to the miniature exam table to get a better look at the infant that was lying contently on her back and chewing on her pudgy albeit still tiny fingers. 

“Let’s take a look at how you’re doing, sweet pea.”

The doctor, Melanie, lifted the stethoscope that was looped around her neck and placed it into her ears. Listening to the baby’s heartbeat to check for any abnormalities, she couldn’t help but give a sympathetic frown when the tiny girl under her tensed up from the cool touch of the metal.

“Nurse’s notes say she’s put on quite a bit. She’s finally caught up to her age group in weight. I’m assuming breastfeeding is going better for you both now?”

Melanie lovingly squeezed the extra chub around the baby girl's thighs.

“Yeah. We don’t really use bottles anymore. Finally got her to latch on and now it seems like all she wants to do it eat,” Y/N chuckled.

“Good! That’s good. There’s nothing wrong with formula like we talked about, so don't overexert yourself if becomes too demanding. Breastfeeding is cheaper though," Melanie chucked, though in her head she was kicking herself. As if this family is in any need to save money. "Is she hitting the milestones? Rolling over? Propping her head up? Babbling a bit?” she continued.

“Babbling, definitely. She keeps us up sometimes because we can hear her talking to herself through the monitor at night,” Y/N poked her tongue out at her daughter in an attempt to get her to smile.

“Having a bit of trouble propping herself up though. She can only do it for a little bit and then she’ll give up. She’s got Rafe's big head, so I’m sure it’s a bit of a struggle.”

Melanie laughed loudly at the mention of her patient’s father, admiring Y/N's wittiness even in the absence of her husband. Given the reputation of the Cameron family, others might think the couple were all work and no play, but Melanie had the privilege of getting to know them behind closed doors. While they took doctor's visits seriously, always paying close attention to what the doctors and nurses had to say regarding the health of their firstborn, her experience with the Cameron's changed her outlook completely. Y/N and Rafe were warm, welcoming, and quite funny sometimes - always making jests at each other or sharing little tid-bits of what their life is like at home. She wished everyone could see them this way. Melanie really wasn't lying when she doted on the little girl, they were the best.

“She’ll get to it eventually. All babies are different. She seems to be coming along quite nicely, though. Nothing abnormal or anything to fuss about. A perfectly healthy six-month-old in my book.”

Y/N sighed in relief, though she knew there was nothing to worry over to begin with.

“How’s mum doing? You taking care of yourself, too? You’re just as important as baby.”

“When I can. Rafe's really good with her. He’ll take over when he sees me struggling, but it seems like she only wants me these days. Think I might be coming down with something, though. I’ve been feeling awful for a few weeks. Like I got hit by a train. I keep reminding myself to go get checked out, but I always get distracted taking care of her,” Y/N gestured to her daughter that was now drooling onto the parchment liner and staring up at the ceiling as if there was something ornately interesting about the popcorn texture that had been stippled onto it.

“When you say, ‘hit by a train,’ what do you mean? I can examine you here if you’d like. As long as it’s nothing serious, I can send you something off to the pharmacy.”

Melanie re-fastened the snaps on the infant’s onesie, making sure not to pinch her chunky legs and placed her back into her mother’s lap.

“Ummm,” Y/N began, “Just extra drained, I guess? Kinda nauseous. I’ve been getting migraines a lot and even when I do get a good night’s rest, I still feel like I could go back to bed for the rest of the day. Maybe I’m just exhausted, I don’t really know. But it just feels a bit different than being worn out like I have been before.”

She could see the wheels in Melanie's head turning, noting each of her symptoms and trying to align them in a path that would lead her to the root of the problem.

“Can I ask you something that might be a bit personal?”

Y/N nodded, rubbing her fingers absentmindedly along the bridge of her daughter’s socked foot.

“Have you and Rafe been intimate since she was born?”

She was taken aback by the question, not understanding where Melanie was going with this or why it was relevant.

“Umm,” Y/N stuttered, feeling a static-y surge of embarrassment travel up her neck and onto the sides of her face, “Yeah. We have.”

A whole fucking lot ever since I’ve been cleared for it, Y/N thought, but kept to herself.

“And can you tell me when your last menstrual cycle ended?”

Then it clicked. She genuinely couldn’t recall her most recent period and even the thought of what Melanie was alluding to made her stomach twist into thousands of tiny knots.

“I- I don’t know. I’ve been so busy with her I don’t even really think about what’s going on with me half of the time.”

Y/N tried to make excuses, anything to avoid the obvious, but judging from the quizzical look on her daughter’s pediatrician’s face, she knew exactly where this was going.

“There’s no way,” she whispered, “I can’t be.”

Melanie's face dropped, now tender and apologetic when she realized that this was news Y/N was not ecstatic to hear.

“I know I’m a pediatrician, so that’s obviously the first thing my mind goes to, but can we at least get you to take a blood test? That way we’ll know for sure?”

//

Rafe came home to a quiet house. It wasn’t unusual, but seeing as it was well after six o’clock in the evening and his wife wasn’t in the kitchen making the pasta dish she'd been dying for all week was. Their grocery store had been out of her favorite canned tomatoes for over a week and she’d nearly tackled Rafe to the ground out of excitement when he’d come home from the grocery store with them the night before. Had he not seen her car in the driveway, he probably wouldn’t have even suspected her to be home.

He checked the living room first, and it was desolate apart from the baby pink, quilted playmat on the floor that was littered with a few of his daughter’s favorite rattles and teethers. Y/N's coat and purse were abandoned haphazardly on the couch, almost as if she tossed it aside in a hurry to get somewhere.

“Baby?” Rafe called out.

Nothing.

His head peaked into the nursery, stealthily and quietly in preparation to walk in on his daughter taking her scheduled nap before her actual bedtime. He’d gotten good at hushing his footfalls to almost complete silence as to not wake her, having made that mistake more than a handful of times. 

And he was right. There she was, sprawled out in her crib with her arms outstretched over her head like a tiny starfish. Her chubby cheeks were smushed against her bicep, drawing her lips open the tiniest bit so that Rafe could see the tops of her fleshy, pink gums and the barely-there nub of her first tooth peeking through. More than anything, he wanted to wake her up - lift her from the plush mattress and cuddle her close, shower her with kisses and tickle her with his scruff to hear those baby squeals he adored so much, but he needed to find Y/N first.

She had to be in their bedroom, he thought to himself. Maybe she was taking advantage of their baby girl napping to also get some rest. She had been rather exhausted lately. Maybe she’d had a rough day and was relaxing in the clawfoot, porcelain bathtub that had been the selling point of the home they now lived in. The houses on Figure Eight were lavish, but not all of the bathtubs were - at least that's what Y/N told Rafe. Who was he to question his bride?

Turns out he was right again. Like he had done with the nursery, he held the metal doorknob tightly in his grip to keep the hinges from creeking and pressed it open gently. The room was completely dark, but he could make out the lump underneath the duvet on their king-sized bed as his wife. 

Good. She was sleeping. 

He padded across the hardwood floor, still being as quiet as he could until he crossed the threshold of the bathroom. There, he rid himself of the uncomfortable clothes he’d been wearing all day. Curse these professional business meetings that forced him to dress nicely. 

All throughout the meetings, he wanted nothing more than to be home with his wife and baby, cuddling the afternoon away and watching shitty reality television while his daughter cooed and grunted and gurgled in her baby voice that he loved so much and could listen to all day. He wasn't always this way - he used to love this shit, but something inside him changed indefinitely when his daughter was born. Rafe was a softy now and he wasn't afraid to admit it. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been having to partake in these boring work meetings a lot more lately, which caused him to miss even the smallest aspects of his everyday life like changing diapers or checking the baby monitor eight hundred times throughout the day to make sure his daughter was still breathing. Perhaps he’d just been getting sentimental because she was growing so much these days, but it was an unpleasant feeling nonetheless.

His thoughts were interrupted when he deposited his heavy watch into the dish he kept on the counter and he heard a quiet yet still prominent sniffle among the clattering of metal against the glass dish.

“Baby? You awake?” Rafe peaked his head out from beyond the bathroom door. 

He saw her body shift under the covers, but she gave no response. So he called out again.

“You sick or something? Can hear you sniffling."

Nothing.

Pivoting back around to the inside of the bathroom, he quickly shut off the light and carried himself over to her side of the bed where he could see her properly. Her face was tucked into her chin and all that was visible to him was the top of her head.

“Hey,” Rafe cooed, petting what he could reach of her hair and speaking even gentler than he had been, “What’s wrong?”

And that’s when he heard it - an almost inaudible choking sound of Y/N trying to catch her breath that immediately let him know she wasn’t sick. She had been crying.

“Whoa, baby,” he was already pulling the covers back with force, honestly not caring whether or not she minded the intrusion.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She was emotionless when he saw what little he could her face, her puffy, bloodshot eyes and swollen lips illuminated by the hallway light being the only indicator that she was upset. She didn’t even react to Rafe tugging her head out from where it had been buried in the covers, simply rolling onto her back to stare idly at the ceiling.

“Y/N,” he called for his wife again, this time much more stern, “You’ve got to talk to me.”

She took several deep breaths through her nose, allowing her lungs to fill to their maximum capacity before exhaling with a sigh. Rafe could have sworn she was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room along with his patience each time she did so. 

After what felt like ages, she parted her lips to speak.

“I went to the doctor today.” 

“Yeah? For the six-month check up, right?” Rafe asked, not seeing why that was important but his mind quickly went to the worst scenario possible despite having just seen his daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib. He cut his eyes towards the hallway in the direction of her nursery before looking back to Y/N.

“Is she alright?” his voice now demanding urgency in the delivery of her response.

“She’s fine,” she quickly dismissed him, internally kicking herself for making Rafe worry.

“I was telling Melanie about how sick I’ve been lately and she -,” Y/N gulped and rubbed her knuckles against her tired eyes, bracing herself for whatever events unfolded after she said what she was about to say.

“She, umm. She made me take a pregnancy test.”

Now it was Rafe turn to be speechless. He stared at her with furrowed brows and his mouth slightly agape. His palms suddenly felt clammy against the white sheets that they rested on and his stomach felt like it had turned in on itself from how badly it was churning. Of all of the things he had expected to be wrong with her, this was certainly the last on the list. 

“And?” he asked after what felt like an eternity of staring at her and saying absolutely nothing, though he already knew the answer.

“Ten weeks.”

Silent tears now spilled over her eyes and down past her temples. She couldn’t even be bothered to wipe them, instead letting them dampen a small patch of hair on either side of her head. Pregnancies weren’t supposed to be sad, but somehow, she had barely been able to stop crying since she left the pediatrician’s office.

“How,” Rafe whispered, moreso to himself than to her.

“I think you know how babies are made, Rafe” Y/N quipped.

“That's not what I meant,” Rafe fired back just as quickly, “It’s just...She’s still so little.”

He thought of his daughter asleep in the next room. She was the most perfect thing he’s ever seen and on the day that she was born, he knew he wanted nothing more than to fill his and Y/N’s house with as many blonde, chubby babies as he could fit beds in each room. He just hadn’t expected that his only child’s first birthday present would be the gift of being a big sister. 

It was all too sudden.

“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. I mean,” Y/N raised her arms above her head before huffing and letting them fall to her sides, “I guess I was just so caught up with the baby that I hadn’t even had a second to think about what’s going on with me. It’s like I don’t even matter anymore and I-”

“Hey, hey now. Don't do that,” Rafe shushed her and curled up next to her frame as she began to sob.

He tucked her head into his neck, hugging her chest tightly as if he was trying to hold the pieces of her together before she shattered. His mind was running a mile per minute. It killed him to see her like this, killed him to be in this situation. The last time they had found out this news, there were happy tears - tears of shock and excitement about taking the next step in building a family. Never had he imagined that the next time they were presented with the very same news, that there would be tears of sadness.

Her voice was muffled against his now wrinkled button-down, but he could still make out what she was saying beneath her blubbers.

“I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean, honey? Of course you can. I can take more time off work like last time and let the boys handle everything for a bit. I know it's not ideal, but we’ll be alright,” he ran his hand up and down her arm in an attempt to soothe her.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.”

He lifted his chin from here it was resting on the top of her head to look down at her.

“What?”

“It's not ideal. You've only just now gotten back to work full time. You said everything almost fell apart while you were gone. It would fuck everything up. Plus, she's only six months old, Rafe. I can't go through that again so soon."

Rafe paused to break away from her and sit up straight against the headboard, “Are you serious? Of course I can take more time off work. You are more important than anything that could possibly be going on at the office.” He was a bit stunned by her words. She almost sounded annoyed, which didn't sit quite right with Rafe.

“But do you see what’s happening? Everything is fucked.”

His voice wasn’t so calm anymore.

“No, Y/N. I honestly don’t. I mean I know this is all happening much earlier than we expected, but what else is there to do? Will you please tell me what you're getting at, because I’m starting to get upset.” 

Rafe's lips were pressed in a thin, straight line and his nostrils flared with every breath. Why was she being like this? 

“I don’t know what I’m fucking getting at. I’m just overwhelmed."

“And you think I’m not? I'm trying my best to keep it together for your sake if you haven’t noticed,” it almost condescending the way the words rolled off his tongue.

“Oh, excuse me,” Y/N laughed sarcastically.

“Didn’t realize you were the one that's pregnant. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to grow all big and gross and swollen and be in pain every fucking day to the point where walking to the bathroom feels like a fucking marathon. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to feel like you're burning alive from the inside out for hours and then just have to lay there while a doctor you’ve never seen before stitches you up because it literally tore your insides apart. Didn’t realize you-”

“For fuck’s sake, I get it!” Rafe was yelling now. They hadn't argued like this since they were much younger, and he absolutely hated it.

“It’s not the same and I’m sorry for suggesting that it was. I'm not sure what you want me to say though. I’m sorry? Is that it? Sorry for getting you pregnant? Sorry for having a job that helps us get anything we want for ourselves and our family? Sorry that I do everything I possibly can to keep you and the baby and everyone else on the fucking planet happy?”

“You’re being an asshole, Rafe,” she was just as angry as he was, scowl evident on her face even in their dimly lit bedroom.

“And you’re not making any fucking sense! Are you telling me you don’t want to keep it? Because I never fucking said that you have to.”

The thought had crossed her mind on the drive home from the doctor’s office, but the feeling left as quickly as it approached. She’d taken one look at her daughter in her car seat through the rear view mirror happily sucking on her teether and knew without a doubt that she couldn’t.

She felt a tidal wave of fresh, salty tears peaking and about to crash over her.

“I don’t want - fuck,” she put her head in her hands. 

“I just-,” and then she broke.

Sobs wracked her body, making her shoulders shake up and down. She wasn’t even sure how she had any more left to get out, but it just kept coming. Over and over and over again until it felt like she was being suffocated and that no one was going to save her. She felt Rafe's hands move to rest on her shoulder blades and heard gentle, cooing-like sounds coming out of his mouth, but she couldn’t make out what he had said over the sounds of her own wailing.

“Baby, it’s okay. Just breathe. It’s alri-”

His attempt at subduing her was cut short by shrill cries coming from the digital monitor that sat on their nightstand. Rafe peeked over his shoulder at the screen, seeing that their daughter had woken from her nap and was now demanding the attention of her parents. He couldn’t help but wince as he watched her socked feet flail around in the crib; it was without a doubt that the screaming match they’d just had that stirred her from her sleep, and that hurt him just as much as it did to see his wife crying right in front of him.

Y/N heard it too, somehow. Perhaps it was because she’d been trained to react to every minute sound that she made and could recognize her cries from a mile away in the paralyzing fear that something was wrong with her or maybe it was because she looking for any and every excuse to get Rafe's hands off of her so she could get away from him and escape the argument they’d just had without making the situation any worse than it already was. Regardless, she turned her own neck to peer at the monitor and sighed heavily.

“I’ll go, Y/N. Just stay here.”

“No. I got it. It’s after seven. She’s probably hungry.”

She shrugged Rafe's hands away from her shoulders like his touch physically pained her and climbed over his body and off the bed without another word, not even giving Rafe the chance to take her hand and help her over the edge of the mattress. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere but down the hall and into the nursery, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking away from everything.

//

Y/N stared her daughter while she nursed. She started from the top of her head that was riddled with sandy blonde curls and worked her way down to the tips of her toes that would occasionally flex themselves out of habit. Her hair? Undoubtedly Rafe's. Her eyes? A perfect, entrancing shade of blue akin to Rafe's. Her lips? The same almost inhuman shade of fleshy pink, just like Rafe's. Surprisingly, the only physical trait she’d inherited from her mother was her nose, which was funny considering that Y/N had always hated hers.

She was content, suckling away at Y/N’s breast - her cries of hunger long forgotten. The infant hadn’t even flinched when a few more of Y/N’s silent, cold tears spilled over and left small wet spots where her onesie rested over her belly. She had no idea that her parents were upset with each other and she had no idea that in a little more than six months time, she’d be a big sister and there would be two babies fighting for their attention. Y/N was also clueless, but only as to how she was going to take care of a newborn and a one-year-old simultaneously. She’d always thought she’d have more time than this - more time to spend with just her daughter and Rafe before they decided to have another, but just like her eyes, things always had a funny way of never working out in her favor.

Three soft knocks on the wall withdrew her from her thoughts and she was greeted by her husband idling in the doorway like he needed permission before entering a room in his own house. It was off seeing Rafe Cameron this way - being the one with his tail tucked beneath his legs. It was usually the opposite. He had changed out of his work clothes and was now clad in his favorite pair of sweats that were permanently stained with spit-up. Y/N had tried everything under the sun to get the spots out, but he’d been persistent on not throwing them out.

“Can I come in?”

His voice was barely above a whisper and much calmer than when he’d been yelling at her about twenty minutes ago. He still hesitated crossing the threshold even after Y/N had given him a skeptical nod, but allowed his bare feet to pad over the plush carpet as he joined her on the loveseat in the far corner of the nursery.

He watched their daughter just as Y/N had, taking in her tranquil state as her fingers brushed reflexively against the underside of Y/N’s breast. He’d never been able to pry his eyes away every time he watched her nurse. There were no ulterior motives behind it whatsoever. It amazed him each and every time, how Y/N was able to provide their child with everything that they needed to grow with only her body. At first, Y/N hated that Rafe loved sitting in on her feedings, feeling exposed and unattractive despite Rafe's continuous affirmations that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege of witnessing, but over time she’d grown fond of it.

“I'm sorry for yelling at you,” Rafe started.

“It was uncalled for,” she quipped.

Y/N sniffled, rubbing her swollen eyes with the back of her free hand that wasn’t supporting her daughter’s back as she held her.

“It’s okay. It was a lot to take in. I’m sorry for yelling at you too.”

She couldn’t quite look him in the eye just yet, but she was slowy but surely getting there.

“It's not okay, actually. You’re right. I’m not the one having the baby. It’s you that’s got to do all the hard stuff and I know how scary it was last time. I should've been more considerate before jumping the gun.”

He shifted towards her on the cushions, afraid to touch her just yet but still yearning to be closer to her.

The best Y/N could muster was a quiet, “Thank you,” before she busied herself by attempting to run her fingers through her baby’s hair and untangle the mess she’d created while she was sleeping.

“Can I hold you? Please?” his voice was quiet and pleading.

Now was when she turned to face him and she was met with eyes that were just as red-rimmed as hers. She had heard the bathroom sink running for an abnormally long amount of time and a hard, frustrated pounding against the wall shortly after she’d gone off in the nursery to feed the baby, which meant he must have been trying to muffle the sounds of his own crying when she left their bedroom.

Y/N didn’t say anything, only shifting her weight onto one side so Rafe could easily lift her onto his lap in one swift movement without disturbing their daughter. He tucked her shoulder into his neck and softly kissed her skin and his hands moved to mimic hers so they were both holding the baby that was nodding off again in their arms. She found herself relaxing into his loose grip, her head tilting to the side to rest against his. 

“I love you so much. You know that? I’d drop everything for you if I had to. I don't care about any of it anymore.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she refuted, but there was no malice in her tone.

“I wouldn’t let you. You try to play it cool and I know that things are different now, but I also know that deep down you really like what you do.” The corner of Rafe's lips turned upwards, suppressing a chuckle at the fact that she really does know him that well.

“Well, just know that I would if you wanted me to. I’ve thought about it a thousand times. I want to be here for you. For her. Don’t want to miss anything. I finally got my shot at being normal when I met you and I hate myself sometimes when I think about all of the bullshit I've put you through.”

“Don’t,” Y/N paused to press a chaste kiss to Rafe's cheek.

“You’re a good person, Rafe's. A good dad. A good husband. Please don’t ever think that you’re not.”

She felt moisture pool in the dips of her collarbones where Rafe's chin lied, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ll be okay. Sorry if I freaked you out earlier. Think I just need some time to get used to it all. Just wasn’t expecting Melanie to drop the ball that I was pregnant when all I was expecting was for her to tell me that our kid is in the 99th percentile for weight and then send me on my way.”

This got a chuckle out of him, almost causing him to choke on his tears. He quickly rubbed the sleeves of his sweatshirt against his eyes to dry up any remaining wet spots on his face. 

“She is pretty chunky, isn’t she?” Rafe jested while thumbing over his daughter’s rounded tummy.

After a moment of admiring their little chunk of a baby, with her milk-drunk eyes and puckered lips, Rafe spoke again.

“Two babies,” he huffed.

“Two babies,” she repeated.

His hands moved to caress Y/N’s stomach. She wasn’t showing yet considering that neither of them had even known Y/N was pregnant until today, but he still held her like her belly was the size of a watermelon and he was waiting anxiously to feel a hand or a foot press up against his palm.

“Might be kinda nice. They can share everything and we’ll only have to have one birthday party because they’ll be born around the same time. They’ll go to the same school and probably have the same friends. Kinda like twins.”

“Are you hearing yourself? Rafe Cameron? The party connoisseur? Suggesting his two precious babies share a birthday party?”

Rafe pursed his lips and blushed, recalling the fact that he'd already planned his daughter's first birthday in his head. Down to the tablecloth colors and dinnerware.

“Got me there,” Rafe chuckled.

Their banter was interrupted by a grueling rumbling sound coming from Y/N’s stomach that Rafe could feel throughout his entire body.

“Jesus, Y/N. You hungry too? When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhh...this morning I think?” Y/N sighed.

“Couldn’t stomach anything when I got home.”

Rafe's heart dropped when he thought of how distraught she’d been all day while he was gone and with everything in him, he’d wished he would have postponed his meetings to go to check up with her and they could have found out together.

“Found those tomatoes at the store the other day, remember? Want me to make that pasta for you?”

“Ohh, yes please,” she immediately perked up at the thought.

“Starting to wonder if that was a craving now that I think about it. Didn’t we have it, what? Three nights in a row a while back?” she proposed.

Rafe giggled as he reluctantly removed Y/N from his lap and stood up from the sofa.

“Thought it was a bit weird that you wanted it so badly, but I know better than to question you.”

“She’s going back down. If you give me a minute, I’ll come downstairs and help you,” Y/N said, pulling up the straps of her tank top after realizing her daughter had long since forgotten about her breast and was conked out in her arms.

“I've got it, mama” Rafe quickly refuted. “Take a bath or something and I’ll bring it up when it’s done.”

“Okay.”

Y/N couldn’t fight the grin growing on her face at the nickname Rafe used that she still hadn’t gotten used to.

When she placed their daughter soundly in her crib, Y/N’s fingers stayed put from where they sat on the railing as she caught herself staring at the sleeping infant once more. Though she’d felt like her world was caving in on her just a handful of hours ago, the pieces were all coming back together now. 

Of course, she wanted more children with Rafe. And now she was getting what she wanted. Just like he’d told her back in the bedroom, it wasn’t ideal, but they’d make it work. They always did. 

With two babies.

[yolli-es]

you should do jinx giving reader a tattoo of her name 🙏

That's much better, isn't it?

Tags: possessive, jealousy, manipulation.

You are so active omg, is it because of season 2? I also have to say that this is quite proprietary and reminds me of a Yandere!Jinx.

This is starting to get annoying. Everything was going so well, and now?

Usually, you were always closely connected to each other, not just emotionally. It was so long and constant that it became an unspoken rule of Zaun. You've done many things, from having dinner together to revolution.

But now you've suddenly started going out "on business" too often. How could Jinx not worry?

Jinx followed yours next time. It's only for your safety, of course. A couple of hours, and she saw the root of the problem—the weird girl you were discussing with. A small, about 20 years old. It was annoying that she caught your attention like that. Weird, painful, and absolutely unbearable. It took all of Jinx's strength to contain herself. These meetings continued, and, in fact, there was nothing too close about them. On the contrary, you kept your distance and spoke absolutely calmly. Which could not be said about this girl. She was strangely leaning towards you, constantly fixing her hair and trying to touch you all the time. Jinx was really nervous, waiting for the right moment to ruin everything.

The moment when you give in to her.

This did not happen, and the truth came to light.

Luckily, it was much more prosaic. You were sneaking off to meet a jeweler for a cute hair clip. It was a gift for Jinx for your third anniversary. With all the running around, she forgot about it. How awkward...

"So... this is for me, huh? It's very beautiful," her fingers slid over the chilling metal of the small pin. The shape of the curved cross suited her. She didn't know what kind of metal it was, but it shimmered blue and pink in the light, remaining chillingly black in the shadows. Beautiful.

"Cool, huh? I had to work hard to get this, but... whatever. It was worth it." You seemed happier than Jinx herself, leaning over in front of her as you picked up her right braid and wondered where to put it, "It might not be very practical, but I'm sure it's really cute. Don't worry if it gets lost, okay?"

You finally looked at your girlfriend and understood her mood. She shrank, looking tensely at the floor and picking at her pants with her nails. Stuck in her dark thoughts right now. However, having anticipated your next move, Jinx spoke up: "I have a gift for you too." It suddenly dawned on her; her eyes lit up, and her back straightened. Jinx was ready to flare up with impatience. "M.. yeah? I'm so glad it is. I like it already, trust me," you giggled, sitting down next to Jinx as she grabbed your hands in anticipation. The hairpin would wait on the table for now. "Oh, something unusual," Jinx sat you down with your back to her, stood up, and rushed over to a huge box of art supplies.

You sat quietly, expecting something like a painting or a painted gun. The same one you got last time. Two is better than one!

Jinx will always be unpredictable.

When the noise became more than an explanation, you finally turned around. There was a small table behind you with colorful bottles on it and... a tattoo machine? This can't be.

"Ta-dam!" Jinx sat down on a chair on one side of the table, gesturing for you to sit opposite. "What? Wait, wait, you want to give me a tattoo?" Your voice wavered. You loved Jinx and trusted her in many ways, but let her give you a tattoo? "Oh, come on!" Jinx rolled her eyes, slamming her head down on the table, "You think I can't do it? Don't tell me you didn't check out my tattoos. I got them myself, you know!"

This didn't give you any confidence.

"No, you know... I just don't know what kind of tattoo I want," you turned away, shrugging awkwardly. Jinx chuckled, propping her head up in her hands and licking her lips. "I already decided, toots. What could be cooler than your girlfriend's name, hm?", Her voice sounded confident. So you didn't take it as a joke. However, Jinx didn't let you answer, grabbing your hands and not very carefully sitting you down opposite. "You know, I saw you with that girl... I was worried," she started slowly and from a distance. "You did nothing wrong, and I didn't doubt you. And yet, people are very tricky," she paused, gently taking your hand and looking into your eyes, "So I would like you to have a small tattoo; how about you? I promise it will look stylish." That stumped you for a minute. Yes, you wanted your tattoo, and yes, you love Jinx. But getting one for that reason? "Please," Jinx looked at you with her doe eyes, and that huskiness in her voice was driving you crazy. "Oh, maybe just one, huh? A small one," you chuckled. 

Of course, Jinx was manipulating you for what she wanted. In the most childish and stupid way, you just couldn't help but sneer. Was it a double game, and Jinx knew about your understanding from the start? It doesn't matter; She has already started working.

Pink is the most beautiful color, isn't it?

Despite her obviously selfish desire and rather daring start, Jinx did everything carefully. After all, it was your first time doing it, and she couldn't make you feel anything other than excitement and admiration. She was spinning around you, unable to sit still, turning on music, telling all sorts of nonsense, and taking breaks to relax. She just didn't want to make things worse than she probably already did.

It all ended quickly.

"That's much better, isn't it?", Jinx couldn't help but smile as she looked at the fresh tattoo on your skin. "You look your best, as always, toots." You liked it no less; it actually looked sweet. And very possessive. You liked this display of her love; this affection gave you a strange strength.

You smiled as you took her hand and said with a deliberately innocent look, "Okay, now it's your turn."

The problem is that you love her no less.

Still, there is not a word about yandere in the request, so she's just super jealous and possessive. I hope that the person who asked was thinking about something like this 🙌🏻

[flowerbunnyboo]

PROSTATE PLAY | back

starring: oc (Adam) x male reader

summary: Adam is a urologist, a doctor that deals with penises and prostates. Little did he expect to have one of the best sex ever with a random patient on a random day

nsfw

a/n: this is a repost. I have written one with a kpop idol. Thought I should post this without a kpop idol for the non kpop fans because I love the sayuncle videos

It was a typical Wednesday morning at Dr. Adam’s urology clinic. Patients trickled in, each with their unique set of urinary issues. Adam, a tall and handsome man in his early thirties, greeted them with a warm smile as he efficiently diagnosed and treated various conditions - from kidney stones to prostatitis.

Just before lunch, a new patient arrived, introducing himself as Mn. He looked to be in his late twenties, with short dark hair and piercing eyes that seemed to hold a secret. As Mn settled onto the examination table, Adam couldn't help but notice the way his slender fingers drummed against his thigh, betraying a hint of nervousness.

“So, tell me Mr. Mn”,Adam began, leaning over the chart, “What seems to be the problem?”

Mn shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the sterile white room before finally meeting Adam’s gaze.

“Well, Doctor... I've been experiencing some discomfort down there,” he gestured vaguely towards his crotch, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It's like... my dick just feels off sometimes”

Adam raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Off, how exactly? Painful? Tingly? Or perhaps... “. His voice trailed off suggestively as he allowed his gaze to linger on Mn's lap, where a noticeable bulge strained against the fabric of his jeans.

Mn's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. “N-no pain, really. Just... sensitivity, I guess. And sometimes it gets hard without warning”

Adam nodded thoughtfully, making a note on the chart making another mark beside 'Premature Ejaculation'.

He glanced up at Mn through his lashes, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hmm, interesting. Well, let's take a closer look, shall we?”

Without waiting for a response, Adam reached for the stethoscope hanging from his neck and deftly unbuttoned Mn's pants.

The cool metal pressed against sensitive skin as he listened intently, his breath hot against Mn's inner thigh.

“Mmm, sounds healthy enough”, Adam murmured, his fingers trailing lightly along the waistband of Mn's boxers. “But I think we should rule out any potential prostate issues. Just a routine exam, don't worry”

Mn bit his lip, trying to ignore the thrill that shot through him at Adam’s touch. ‘Prostate exam?’ Was that normal for this kind of visit? He didn't think so, but the doctor's confident demeanor put him at ease.

Adam carefully peeled down Mn's boxers, exposing his erect cock to the cool air of the exam room. A low whistle escaped his lips. “My, you're quite the one, aren't you?”

Mn's face burned even hotter, but he couldn't help shying under the praise.

Adam’s hands were gentle as they wrapped around his shaft, giving it a slow squeeze. “Relax, this won't hurt a bit”, the doctor assured him, his thumb rubbing teasing circles over the sensitive head.

As Adam began to stroke Mn's length, the young man felt his resolve crumbling.

The pleasure was overwhelming, and Mn found himself arching into Adam’s touch, his hips instinctively rocking to meet those skilled fingers. “Oh god, that feels...amazing”, he panted, his eyes fluttering shut.

Adam smiled to himself, pleased by the reaction. He picked up the pace, pumping Mn's cock with increasing urgency. “You're doing great, just relax and enjoy it”, he cooed, leaning in close to murmur against Mn's ear.

The heat of Adam’s breath sent shivers down Mn's spine, and he could feel his balls drawing up tight, signaling his impending climax. But just as he teetered on the edge, Adam abruptly pulled away, leaving Mn aching and empty.

“Almost there, but not yet”

Adam said with a wink, his own erection straining visibly against his scrubs. “Now, let's see about that prostate of yours...”

Before Mn could protest, Adam had positioned himself between his thighs, one hand guiding Mn's leg up and over his hip. The other hand, slick with lube, pressed insistently against Mn's rear entrance.

“Oh!”, Mn gasped, surprised by the sudden intrusion. But instead of pain, a wave of intense pleasure washed over him as Adam’s finger breached his tight hole.

“That's it, just relax”, Adam soothed, slowly working his finger deeper. “You're doing fantastic”

Mn moaned, his head falling back as he surrendered to the sensation. Adam finger curled inside him, stroking that magical spot that made stars explode behind his eyelids.

”Doctor”, Mn whimpered, his voice trembling with need, “please... I need..”

He didn't even know what he needed anymore, only that the ache within him demanded to be filled.

Adam must have understood, because suddenly he was removing his finger and replacing it with the thick head of his own cock.

Mn cried out as he felt that first delicious stretch, his body Adam the invasion. Adam pushed in inch by glorious inch until he was buried to the tip, filling Mn completely.

For a moment, they simply stayed like that, caught in the haze of pleasure. Then Adam began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside Mn before plunging back in with a deep, satisfying thrust.

“Yes, oh god yes”, Mn chanted, his hands fisting in the sheets as he met each powerful stroke.

The room echoed with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, punctuated by their ragged breathing and muffled groans. Adam set a relentless pace, driving into Mn with precision and passion, his hips snapping forward with each thrust.

Mn's world narrowed to the feeling of being so thoroughly claimed, so utterly owned by this handsome doctor. He'd never experienced anything like it, and the intensity threatened to consume him whole.

“Harder, please”, Mn begged, his voice hoarse with desire. “Fuck me harder!”

Adam obliged, picking up speed until the exam table shook beneath them. He leaned down to capture Mn's mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with Mn's.

The added stimulation sent Mn careening over the edge.

With a strangled cry, Mn came undone, his orgasm crashing over him like a wave. His cock jerked, painting the sheets below with streaks of cum as wave after wave of bliss pulsed through him.

Through it all, Adam continued to pound into him, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you feel incredible”, he growled against Mn's lips, his thrusts growing erratic as he neared the edge.

With a final, brutal plunge, Adam buried himself to the inside and still Mn could feel every throbbing inch as he erupted inside him. The warmth of his seed flooding Mn's insides triggered another aftershock, leaving them both shaking and spent.

As the aftermath settled, Adam collapsed onto Mn, his weight a comforting pressure against him.

They lay there for a long moment, catching their breath and savoring the intimate silence. Finally, Adam lifted his head to gaze at Mn with a soft, satisfied smile.

“Well, that was certainly an unconventional examination”, he teased, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from Mn's forehead. “But I think we can safely say your physical is complete”

Lets say Mn became a regular at the clinic

©️ flowerbunnyboo 2024. all rights reserved to me. please don't copy my work or reshare without my permission and credit

[aurynsia]

what would be the life after hogwarts for james and reader? i can just imagine james thinking of the best ring he could give reader to ask her to marry him, or even like thinking of where they should live in.

Life After Hogwarts

James Potter x Reader

Summary: James won’t settle for anything less than perfect for his perfect girl...

Warnings: Intense fluff, Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, James is just a good hearted rich boy who wants the best for his partner <3

Word Count: 1.1K

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for the request! I wrote this as a sequel to this series, but it can just as easily be read as a stand alone oneshot. Enjoy!

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

“Pads, please focus here. This is serious!”

“No, I’m Sirius, born and raised! Are you sure you aren’t feeling lightheaded, Prongs?”

James and Sirius stood bent over the cabinet of delicate rings, the latter struggling to free himself from a ring size too small. James huffed in frustration, brows furrowed in contemplation as he glanced across the display one last time.

“None of them feel right, I’m telling you! We‘ll just have to find somewhere else, she won’t like how flashy all of these diamonds are,” James sulked and grumbled as Sirius finally eased the ring off of his nimble finger.

“Prongs, this is the fifth jeweller we’ve been to in the past four hours. Merlin, the sun is already setting and you haven’t even considered a single one of the more than acceptable rings we’ve looked at!”

Sirius scrambled to chase James out of the store, pace quickened along the damp concrete of the sidewalk.

“It needs to be perfect, she’s perfect. I will settle for no less.” James held his head high, nose turned upwards at the raven haired boy who grew visibly sluggish with every step.

Sirius groaned, only following his bespectacled friend for another quick moment before James stopped abruptly at a pawn shop window, eyes bursting wide with hope.

The ring in the window shone elegantly against the store’s harsh light. The metal twisted and turned in a smooth curve that was sure to make your skin glow radiantly in contrast. It was understated, with only the minor details in the engravings making a quiet display of the mountain of money James was about to spend.

“That’s the one. It’s perfect.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The cool breeze wrapped around the Potter’s summer house with ease, pressing against your skin to form goosebumps along the soft surface.

James had been acting strangely all day, almost avoiding you at every turn of the house’s walls like his life depended on it. He fiddled with his fingers, stuttered out his words and blushed at every subtle sound of amusement you made.

Finally relaxing into your side, James sheltered you from the wind with his body on his family’s beach-side deck. Your evening beverage was pressed between your legs, freeing your hands to run soothing circles over your boyfriend’s back.

His eyes clenched shut, head growing wrinkles as he sought his trademark courage that seemed to all but disappear the moment you were near.

Slowly, tentatively, he lifted his body from your warmth, flashing you a sympathetic smile to compensate for the absolute fool he was about to make of himself.

“Love, I- you mean the world to me…” he turned to face you. “These past years with you have made for some of the happiest moments I’ve ever experienced…” he shifted to lift up onto his knees, gazing down at your curious expression.

“I love you so, so much. I loved you when I first met you, the shy girl on the Hogwarts express. I loved you when we started dating, all smiles over candle lit dinners, and…” He moved again, down on one knee. “I want to keep loving you when you marry me.”

You gasped at the genuine glaze of his soft brown eyes, his lean towards your stationary body, and the ring sat in his grasp, shrouded by a velvet box.

He coughed slightly at the awkward atmosphere, repeating himself with clarity. “Will you…marry me?”

“Godric, James- yes!”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Fleamont Potter was showering his son with engagement gifts. James never had any reason to complain about his family or economic situation, and to say he grew up comfortably would be a drastic understatement.

House hunting was James’ first protocol after his successful proposal. He had patiently listened to you ramble about your dream house for years, trying to stay focused under your captivating gaze and endearing energy. Big windows, lots of light, and a burning fireplace.

That’s exactly what James was searching for as he strolled down the streets of Godric’s Hollow. He had inspected every single house he could find, taken or not. The day was wearing out, washing lines already dried under the subtle summer heat.

His gaze fell in a wave of sluggish fatigue, only to be snapped open by the sight of a Southern-style mansion positioned right on the edge of Godric’s Hollow, towering over the sidewalk. The house was decorated with shutters and balconies, as well as a small red sign in the front yard.

FOR SALE.

He rushed to the front door, conveniently propped open. “It’s a beautiful place, really, but we’re after something a little more…modern.” A family glided past James in a pack, concluding what he could only assume to be a tour of the house.

The estate agent fixed his tie as he bid farewell to the family, promising something about searching closer to the city the following week. He spun around to find James gawking eagerly at the front door, before clearing his throat to gain the young Potter’s attention.

“Would you like a tour?”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

James flashed you a smug smile as you gazed in awe at the intricate architecture of your new townhouse. You were perched on the front lawn, tucked into James’ side with his hand on the small of your back.

“It’s so beautiful…” you mused wistfully, gaze drawn to the rustic tiles on the roof like sunflowers to the sun. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, I mean- this must have been an absolute pain to buy…” you finally tilted your gaze to see James peering over you, a lovesick longing painted on his features.

“Love, my father knows people - too many to count - who were more than happy to help with this little engagement gift,” he chuckled, eyes still locked on yours. “When I saw this house for the first time…it was calling your name. Our names.”

The house was big enough to hold a few kids and some small pets - clearly too big for just you and James, but he hoped that your family would fill it out in the coming years. There needed to be room for at least one big black dog.

Still uncertain, you gave James a sceptical look. “It was no trouble, really.” He didn’t wait for a reply as he drove you through the open door by your shoulders.

You stumbled through each room, captivated by the warmth in every corner you turned to. James was hot on your heels, guiding you by your waist every now and then to show you specific features of the kitchen, the bathrooms and the already decorated master bedroom.

You jumped onto the bed with glee, warmth engulfing you under your body.

“Jamie…it’s perfect…” you mused, eyes shut as you felt the bed dip with your Fiancée’s weight, who shifted to kiss your forehead with care.

“You’re perfect, love.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

[nobodyknowsimalesbian777]

My Girl - Sevika (Arcane)

NSFW tags - literally porn, sub!Sevika, dom!reader, pussy-eatting (s!receiving), very light fingering (s!receiving), strap usage (s!receiving), choking, strap refered to as dick, no use of y/n (ever), dirtyyyyy talk, pet names (baby, my girl, slut) 18+

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

nobody would expect sevika to submit to anyone, she was known to be headstrong, and loyal

and loyal to you, she was. so when you brought up the idea of using the strap on her, she saw no other choice then letting you try.

she teased you endlessly when you asked, telling you that she never got especially loud or submissive.

fortunately for you, she was very wrong.

sevika had eased you down between her legs, resting her metal arm on her thigh while you pulled down her boxers

her breath was shaky as you spread her pretty pussy, swiping your thumb across her clit

a soft groan escaped her as you gazed up at her sharp features, under most circumstances, people would be terrified to be under a woman like her

you, however, were thrilled

you reveled in her features contorting as you gently worked around her entrance, sliding the tip of your middle finger in and pulling it out

holding eye contact, you brought the finger up to your mouth and set it on your tounge, sucking it with a soft pop

sevika was already unraveling. being this vulnerable was making her head spin, and her legs open

she wrapped her fingers into your hair, pulling your face down to her core

your eyebrows knit together as you worked your tounge up and down sevikas slit, maintaining eye contact with the woman above you

it didn't take long for sevikas legs to start shaking, throwing her head back and muttering obscenities like "give me that fuckin' mouth", "right there, baby" and your personal favorite, "i want your dick"

you couldn't help but slow to a stop when you heard that, not expecting a request that needy from sevika

not that you were complaining at all

without a second thought, you reached over and grabbed the hot pink strap from your shared bedside table

sevikas eyes widened with anticipation, as she muttered something about not being scared

you murmered to the woman below you while you worked your strap up and down her soaked pussy,

she placed her heavy hand on the back of your neck, taking deep breaths and bringing your lips down to hers

the dominance she lacked in her current position was made up for with the way she was kissing you,

her hand kept your lips pressed to hers while she worked her tounge into your mouth

you couldn't even help the soft moans you let out as you started lining the strap up with her hole

"ready?" you cocked your head at sevika, watching her determined nod

how cute she was to think you didn't intend on ruining her.

you slowly pressed the tip of the strap into her, watching her throw her head back and grip the back of your neck hard enough to bruise

the deeper you pushed in, the less you recognized the stubborn woman you were so used to

sevikas mouth had found purchase in your neck, nipping and sucking at the flesh to stiffle her own moans

your hips met her thighs as you bottomed out, watching her face for any sign of discomfort

sevika looked down at the way she was taking your dick, her eyebrows knitting together at the sight

of course, you took this moment to bring your hips back and slam them back into her, eliciting a guttural sound from the woman below you

you watched as her jaw slacked, the pleasure lowering her inhibitions

you could swear you had never seen a more beautiful sight then sevika writhing around under you, begging you to go faster

"fuck, thats my girl. just like that" her rough voice echoed in your ears, urging you to fuck her as fast as you could manage

the room was filled with lewd sounds of skin slapping, and sevikas groans

you swear you felt her pussy tighten around you, you just knew she was close.

sevikas metal arm wrapped around you, the cool metal pressing you closer as she rotated her hips into you, chasing her own high

the rough back of the strap bumping perfectly against your clit, combined with sevikas impending orgasm was nearly enough to send you over the edge

her wrapping her hand around your throat while she told you to fuck her like a slut? that was more then enough.

you felt yourself unravel as you doubled over onto sevika, listening to her work herself through her orgasm on your strap

sevika pulled you up, laying you next to her while you both caught your breath. you could feel her wrap her metal arm around your waist as she murmered thank you's

the air smelt of sex, you were both exhausted, and you could feel sevikas legs shaking under you, but as you cleaned her up, you both knew it would be happening again

[ladykailitha]

The Au Pair Boy Part 5

Hey! This will take a short break until December then it will begin posting on Fridays to take place of The Hellfire Exotic Club.

In this we have all Robin and Steve with a little cameo of Chrissy. Steve just needed a little bestie time.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

~

Steve stared at the little black card in his hand. He had waited until he had gotten one in his name before using the account, even though Eddie had said that he was already an authorized user and the bank had been told that Steve would be using it immediately.

He just didn’t feel comfortable with doing so. So Eddie had one overnighted to him to make sure he could get whatever he needed as soon as possible. It was his first day off since Eddie left, Steve having refused to take one until he was sure the girls could handle it.

So here he was with his best friend standing outside of an Ikea with a black credit card and a dawning sense of dread.

“If I go in there,” he huffed, “I’m never coming back out again. You know that right? These places are cursed.”

Robin burst out laughing. “I think the power of your newly minted black credit card will act as a talisman of getting lost by the power of capitalism.”

“If you say so,” Steve scoffed. “If I don’t escape, I am totally blaming you, I hope you know that.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the entrance. “Come on, you big baby.”

They were looking at sheets when she spoke up again. “I think it’s really cool he’s allowing you decorate your room.”

Steve chuckled as he weighed the two options in his hands. “I think it’s because he really wants me to stay. If I put effort into my own space and get really settled in, I’ll be less likely to want to move.”

“Any spicy texts from ‘Daddy’?” Robin asked wagging her eyebrows suggestively.

“No.” He bumped her with his hip. “Knock that off. Yes, he is hot and sweet and funny, but I’m not going got cross that line. Especially not with him currently traveling the country with his metal band.”

“That’s too bad,” she pouted.

Then his phone rang. He put the dark blue sheets in the cart and the light blue ones back on the shelf and then he answered the call.

“Hey, Chrissy,” he greeted. “What’s up?”

“I hate to call you on your day off, Steve,” she began. “But Joanie can’t find her elephant plushy and she’s on the verge of a meltdown.”

Steve pinched his nose and sighed. “That’s because she insisted she wanted to bring Mr. Puff and Stuff, her wolf plushy instead. Snuffymuffie is still out the house.”

The sound of absolutely agony echoed through the phone line. Steve could almost feel her soul leaving her body from here.

“It’s on her bed with all her other plushies,” he assured her. “And when I come pick them up tomorrow I’ll bring mint ice cream.”

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” she breathed. “You are a saint among men!”

“No, just a seasoned nanny,” Steve replied with a chuckle. “Now go on before she decides that you’re ignoring her pain and starts wailing.”

Then wailing could be heard at full volume through the phone causing even Robin to wince from the sheer sound of it.

“Too late.”

Steve stared at his phone for a moment or two after she disconnected. He turned to Robin. “How is this my life now?”

“Don’t ask me,” she said with her hands up. “That couldn’t be me. I like kids in short spurts not long hauls.” She pointed to the phone in his hand with her chin. “So who was that then?”

“Chrissy Cunningham,” he replied pocketing his phone and pushing the cart forward. “She’s Eddie’s manager. Usually she goes with them when the band tours, but for the first little bit he wanted someone who the girls knew close on hand.”

“So why didn’t she take the kiddos?” Robin said, falling instep next to him.

“Because she still works,” Steve said. “So she can’t watch them during the day. Plus, Eddie had been wanting to get a live-in nanny for awhile. So this solved both problems.”

“Do you miss it?” Robin asked. “Having your own space?”

Steve wasn’t sure what she meant. He had his own space and told her so. That was what they were shopping for after all. Decorating his space.

“I meant an apartment of your own,” she said a little exasperated. “Like you really don’t have any freedom. It’s not like you can paint it all pink with white fruit everywhere.”

“I could actually,” Steve said with a shrug. “Though the example Eddie used was neon orange with brightly color rainbow dicks everywhere.”

Robin blinked at him for a moment. “But what if the girls saw that?”

“It would probably be explained as a banana and a couple of peaches or whatever,” Steve said, waving her off. “But that’s not the point. The point is that if I wanted to buy a racing car bed and make everything chrome, I could. I just don’t want to. It’s a gorgeous room, I want to add to it, not make it into a hellscape or whatever.”

“So what’s with all the nautical stuff, then?” she asked picking up the back of fake seashells.

���It’s very dark wood and deep blues,” he explained snatching them back from her tossing them back into the cart. “I makes me feel like I’m sailing on the ocean. But I also want to give it a haunted vibe, too. To go with the rest of the house.”

“I’m really going to have to see this place,” she huffed.

Steve stared at her for a moment. “I thought that was the plan. I thought you were coming over after we were done shopping to help me set everything up.”

“I wasn’t sure I was allowed to be there when it was just you,” she said with a half shrug.

“I’m allowed to have friends over,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “If I break anything, he just asks that I let him know. He’s got four year old twins, like I’m pretty sure anything fragile or expensive was put away a long time ago.”

Robin blinked for a moment as she processed that thought. “Right. What was I thinking?”

“You weren’t,” Steve huffed. “Now come on there are ten million miles to get through and I would like get through this before I die of old age.”

She scoffed but let him lead her through the store as he asked for her opinion on some things and to get her to mock others.

By the time they reached the check out, their cart was overflowing with all sorts of fun things for his room. Or rather, as Steve had learned. Wing. An entire fucking wing of the house was his. It had his bedroom, the bathroom, a small sitting room/library, and fucking kitchenette for entertaining guests.

He paid with the card Eddie had given him, both Robin and the cashier’s eyes went wide.

The cashier kinda gave him the stink-eye, like ‘what are you doing in an I-fucking-kea with a card like that?’ But Steve steadfastly ignored her and grabbed his packages.

“Why did we go to Ikea?” Robin asked as she helped load up his car with the stuff he bought.

“Because what I wanted was here,” Steve said rolling his eyes. “More expensive doesn’t equal better quality.” He slammed the trunk closed and got into the driver’s seat.

She rolled her eyes back at him, but wisely said nothing. He was the one with the ultra credit card and she wanted nachos from her favorite Mexican restaurant, something she would not get if she pushed Steve too far with the card. She could tell he was uncomfortable having it, so it was sure bet Eddie had insisted.

When they got to the house, Robin was in awe. She could see why Steve had fallen in love with the place. It gave off that tastefully haunted vibe of the Addams Family. Inside was even cooler as Steve showed her around. The only places they didn’t go were the Munsons’ bedrooms and Eddie’s studio and office.

But Robin was okay with that when she saw the game room, and the movie theater and the swimming pool and the actual fucking library. Here was a guy who took his money and put it to tasteful use.

“This is really neat,” she said as she flopped on the sofa in Steve’s study. “And this all yours?”

“Until they get old enough not to need me,” Steve said with a shrug. He began putting things away on the shelves. “Which is probably at least ten years off, maybe more if I’m really lucky.”

“Here’s to that,” Robin said, impressed. “Is he looking for another nanny? Because damn, I’d love a sweet place like this.”

“No,” Steve said and smacked her with his dust rag. “Get up on your feet and help me Missy!”

She leapt to her feet to get away from the dusty rag. “I surrender! I surrender!” She opened the first box and got to work sort things into proper piles so Steve could them away as he went.

“He’s looking for almost everything else though,” Steve said as he put books on the shelves. “Like everything else. A gardener or two, a couple of grounds maintenance guys, a cook, a pool cleaner, a couple of maids. All that sort of stuff.”

“Wow,” Robin said, opening another box, “that’s pretty much everyone. What happen, he fire everyone at once?”

Beat.

“Wait, what?” she said, whipping her head up to look at him. He was looking at the floor biting his lip. “What happened?”

“His ex slept with everyone on the staff who would let him,” Steve mumbled, “and those he didn’t sleep with kept it from him. With having no one trust, he just got rid of all of them.”

“Holy shit,” Robin hissed. “Way to upend the kiddos’ entire lives.”

“Ethan or Eddie?” Steve said with a shrug and grabbed the nearest pile of books to start shelving.

“Oh, totally the ex,” Robin hissed, “what an asshole. And the fact that all of them colluded to keep it from Eddie? That’s the major dick move. How long has he been struggling to do it all on his own?”

“About a year,” Steve replied absently as he tried to decide whether or not ���Good Omens’ would go under G for Gaiman or P for Pratchett. He decided on Pratchett since it was the name on top. “I think his friends staged an intervention a la reunion tour to force him to move forward with his life.”

She snorted and shook her head. “Men. I am so glad I’m not attracted to them. Emotionally stunted morons. Well most of them anyway.”

“Anyone can get overwhelmed, Robs,” he huffed picking up his last stack of books. “I’ve gotten a few prospects for the yard and swimming pool.”

“Yeah, I was noticing how overgrown everything was,” she agreed, “even if the vibe was haunted house.”

Steve sighed and plopped down next to her. “I didn’t even show you what the gardener’s shed looked like or the pool house. He really let everything go in his grief. He didn’t say anything to me, but you can tell he took the break up really hard. This was his person. The one he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with. And then Ethan went and blew it all up with no explanation, just a gigantic mess to clean up.”

“Well, I’m glad he has you,” she said bumping him with her shoulder. “And I was only joking about the being hired too. As long as I get to visit this place and hang out by the pool on occasion, I’ll consider it even.” She held out her hand and Steve took it with a smile.

“I think we’re all done in here,” he said standing up and dusting off his knees. “Bedroom is next.”

Robin got up and looked around his little study. “I’m happy for you, Steve. I think you’re going to be really happy here.”

Steve smiled. “I already am. I know it’s only been a week since Eddie left and ten days since I was hired, but I really don’t want to screw this up.”

She hugged him tight. If anyone deserved a fairy tale ending it was her platonic soulmate. Now all she had to do was convince him to get flirty with the hot frontman of Corroded Coffin and her boy would be set for life.

They walked into the bedroom and got to decorating it. When they were done, she flopped down on the queen size bed, spread eagle.

“We should order in and watch horror movies on that massive screen,” she suggested, staring up at the ceiling.

Steve cocked his head to the side and tapped his lips thoughtfully. “Make it pizza and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Fine!” she huffed, seeing her dreams of loaded nachos flutter away.

He kicked her foot, causing her to sit up abruptly. “Buy your own nachos, you big baby. You have a job. Or at least you did yesterday, so unless there is something you’d like to tell me you can get your own.”

“You’re a real bitch, Steve Harrington,” she huffed, hopping off the bed. “Tell me again why I like you?”

“Because you get to watch Jamie Lee Curtis in full high definition projection,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek and then walked out of the room.

“Wait!” she huffed, scrambling to catch up. “He has the original ‘Halloween’? You can’t just drop that on me and run, Harrington!”

Steve giggled as he ran down the stairs, with Robin hot on his heels. He cut a corner tightly, causing her to careen into the opposite wall.

“Curse you and your jock reflexes!” she hissed as she pushed herself off the wall to continue her chase.

By the time she had caught up with him, he was already on the phone with the pizza place. “At least get something with vegetables! You don’t want scurvy!”

“And one medium raspberry lemonade and one large cherry limeade,” he said with a wink at her. “Yes that will be all.”

“All that sugar!” Robin huffed. “I don’t know how you don’t kill over from sugar shock or something with all the sweet stuff you eat and drink.”

“Because I exercise and eat right most of the time,” Steve said back. “Diet culture is such BS, your body needs sugar to function. It’s why I put it in my tomato sauce when I make it from scratch.”

“Betrayal!” she cried and flopped on the sofa. She tilted her head for a moment and then melted into said sofa. “This is a really soft sofa, Steve. Everything here is so soft. I don’t know why but I pictured everything being so hard and stiff and uncomfortable.”

“Eddie certainly isn’t your stereotypical rich guy,” Steve agreed. “And I think this place was soft before the girls, because I think Eddie likes soft.”

Robin looked at her best friend fondly. She could tell he was already in love with this Eddie, he was just very deep in denial.

They had their movie night complete with pizza and drinks. One of the pizzas even had vegetables on it. For her. And when Steve dropped her off the next morning, she was content in her knowledge Steve wasn’t just going to do well there, he was going to thrive.

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @tartarusknight

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @ollieolive

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @sadisticaltarts @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @dolphincliffs @steddie-as-they-go @steddieislife

10- @kultiras @morallyundefined @themoonagainstmers

[m4rv3l-girl]

Dad!Bucky x Mom!reader

After you gave birth to your little one, you stopped going on missions for a while as did bucky but a mission came up that required buckys help.

Bucky came home unscathed and seemingly okay but you could tell that something was wrong but didn't push bucky would tell you on his own time and one night the nightmares came crashing back but this time the nightmare were pierce killing reader and thier kid as they were a distraction to his real purpose in life being the WS and bucky jumped awake after pierce killed you both and he reached over to your side of the bed to feel you against him but he was met with a cold bed and no you beside him, he jumped up and frantically hunted for you feeling the panic rise the more he looked, he dreading checking the nursery encase the dream was real and instead if nightmares and doom, he was met with you and your baby curled up on the day bed sleeping, bucky carefully puts baby back to bed and carries you back to bed and you feel his panicked heart rate and he eventually tells you that it was a hydra mission and it brought back the nightmares and he tells you the one he had that night and how he thought it was real when he couldn't feel you beside him

Safe Haven

Bucky x Y/N

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of violence. Some fluff.

Bucky stepped into the dimly lit hallway of the townhouse he shared with Y/N and their baby, closing the door deliberately quiet.

The soft click of the latch echoed in the stillness of the night. He paused for a moment, his shoulders sagging as the adrenaline from the mission ebbed away, leaving behind an aching weariness.

From the living room, a faint light flickered—probably the baby monitor. The sight of it filled him with a bittersweet warmth. He kicked off his boots and hung his jacket by the door, moving toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Despite returning from the mission unscathed, the weight of Hydra's shadow still clung to him, like a film he couldn't wash off.

The mission had been routine—intel gathering and a quick extraction—but the sights and sounds of Hydra facilities had been too familiar. Ghosts of the past lurked around every corner, whispering memories he'd worked so hard to bury.

Bucky’s metal hand tightened around the glass, the coolness of the water grounding him. He hadn't told Y/N much about the mission, knowing she'd see through any attempt to downplay its effect on him. She always did. Still, he wasn’t ready to unpack it yet—not when the words felt like barbed wire trapped in his throat.

He set the glass in the sink and padded toward the bedroom, eager for the comfort of Y/N’s presence. The door creaked open, and he frowned at the sight of the empty bed.

“She must be with the baby,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face.

As he turned toward the nursery, an icy chill crept up his spine.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hours later, the house was silent other than the soft hum of the baby monitor. Bucky stirred in his sleep, his breathing quickening as shadows of his past engulfed him.

Pierce's voice was as clear as it had been decades ago, venomous and manipulative. “Distractions, Soldier. That’s all they are.”

“No…” Bucky’s voice was strangled, barely audible.

In his dream, Pierce loomed over Y/N, their baby cradled in her arms, both of them trembling. Bucky was restrained, powerless to move as Pierce raised a gun.

“You don’t need them,” Pierce hissed, his smile cruel. “They’re a weakness. Your real purpose is to follow orders.”

The gunshot rang out, and Bucky screamed…

He bolted upright, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving.

His eyes darted to Y/N’s side of the bed, only to find it cold and empty. Panic gripped him like a vice, his heart pounding as he flung the covers aside and stumbled out of bed.

“Y/N?” he called, his voice hoarse.

No answer.

He checked the bathroom—empty. The living room—empty. His breaths came faster, the nightmare’s grip refusing to loosen as dread twisted in his gut.

When he finally reached the nursery, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What if…?

The door creaked open, and the sight before him stole the air from his lungs.

Y/N was curled up on the daybed, their baby nestled against her chest. The soft glow of the nightlight bathed them in a warm halo, a picture of peace.

Bucky exhaled shakily, his legs nearly buckling with relief. He stepped inside, the wooden floorboards creaking under his weight. Carefully, he lifted the baby from Y/N’s arms and placed them back in the crib, adjusting the blanket to ensure they were snug.

Then, turning back to Y/N, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her as though she might disappear if he let go. She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open.

“Bucky?” she murmured sleepily, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Shh, Doll,” he whispered, his voice thick. “Just taking you back to bed.”

As they lay in bed, Y/N ran her fingers through Bucky’s hair, her touch soothing the lingering panic in his chest. He clung to her as though she were his lifeline, his metal arm wrapped protectively around her waist.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

Bucky hesitated, but the raw vulnerability in her eyes gave him the courage to speak. He told her everything—about the mission, the Hydra facility, and the nightmare that followed. His voice broke when he described seeing her and the baby in danger, the helplessness he felt, and the relief that had overwhelmed him when he found them safe.

“I thought it was real, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “When I couldn’t feel you beside me… I thought I lost you both.”

Y/N cupped his face, her thumbs brushing away the tears he hadn’t realized were falling. “We’re right here, Bucky. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his lips, her touch grounding him in the present.

“Every time I look at you and our baby, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come,” he whispered. “But Hydra… they’ll always haunt me. I don’t want to lose you, Doll. You’re my everything.”

“You’re not losing us,” she reassured him. “You’ve built a life for us—a safe, happy life. And I’ll be here to remind you of that every single day.”

As they drifted off to sleep, Bucky’s grip on her didn’t loosen. And for the first time since returning from the mission, he felt a flicker of hope that the shadows of his past wouldn’t always define his future.

——————————————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed this! I tried to capture your request as best I could so, I’m hoping it’s what you imagined. 🫶

Requests Open!

[delulustateofmind]

JJK x Reader: Love is a cruel thing, isn't it?

Characters: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Shoko

TW: ANGST, open endings?, Being mean to the people we love, established relationships.

WC: 3.3k

a/n: I started writing, "I bite" annddddd this is what you all got. Heavy angst. Non-yandere for once! A collection of mini-angst fics.

Satoru: Runaway

The traditional bride’s suite of the Gojo estate felt like a prison, the air thick and oppressive despite the delicate floral fragrance drifting in from the gardens outside. You sat alone, knees pulled to your chest on the cool tatami mats, staring at the wedding dress hanging before you.

It was exquisite, almost unreal, with its delicate embroidery shimmering like frost under the soft glow of the lanterns. Diamonds dotted the fabric like stars in an unreachable sky. A dream, or maybe a nightmare.

Your stomach twisted painfully as you stared at it, the weight of expectation pressing down on your shoulders.

You couldn’t do this.

Your eyes flickered between the dress and the pile of old street clothes folded beside your duffle bag. Jeans you’d had for years, worn sneakers that carried the dust of too many steps, and a wrinkled shirt that smelled faintly of detergent and familiarity. They looked so out of place, in this room of silks and luxury. But they were you.

Not this.

The whispers you’d heard in the halls played over and over in your mind, cruel and biting.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

“She can’t even see cursed energy. What was he thinking?”

“She’s an orphan—how disgraceful.”

The elders’ words cut even deeper, spoken directly to you during the endless dinners and meetings. They didn’t even try to hide their disdain. You weren’t a person to them. You were a body, a vessel, someone to carry the next Gojo heir. Nothing more.

Your gaze dropped to the diamond ring on your finger. It sparkled too brightly, almost mocking. It felt heavy. Wrong.

You thought of Satoru then. His smile when he wasn’t performing for the world, when it was just you and him in the quiet moments. The way he’d pull you into his arms without warning, burying his face in your hair as though he could lose himself in you. His infectious laughter when you’d beat him at a game, how he’d sulk for all of two seconds before grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world.

In those moments, he wasn’t Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive. He was just… Satoru. Just yours.

But reality was cruel. Because he was Gojo Satoru. And he didn’t belong to you. He belonged to the world, a man too big, too powerful, to be truly yours.

And you? You didn’t belong here.

The tears came before you could stop them, silent and hot as they slipped down your cheeks. You stood on shaky legs, your heart pounding as you packed your bag, folding your wrinkled clothes with trembling hands. You hesitated only once—your fingers brushing against the engagement ring before you slipped it off. It felt cold as you placed it into a small box, a faint ache spreading through your chest like a crack splitting your heart in two.

The garden was quiet as you slipped outside, the weight of the duffle bag on your shoulder grounding you. The cool night air kissed your skin, carrying with it the faint scent of flowers and the soft rustle of leaves. You kept to the shadows, moving quickly, every step feeling heavier than the last.

The gate was just ahead, the exit you’d memorized. You could picture his face already—Satoru’s shock when he realized you were gone. The way his bright blue eyes would widen, the playful spark in them extinguished by the weight of your absence. You could imagine the crack in his voice as he said your name, his confusion morphing into heartbreak.

Your chest tightened, but you pushed forward. This was better. This was kinder. Staying would destroy you both in the end.

Your hand reached for the gate’s latch, your fingers trembling as they brushed the cold metal.

Then—warmth.

A hand closed around your wrist, firm yet gentle, and your heart plummeted as you froze in place.

“Don't.”

Suguru: Two broken souls. 

The dining room was silent, save for the faint creak of the wooden chair you shifted on. The room felt colder than usual, the morning light filtering through the thin curtains casting long, muted shadows across the table. Your hands were wrapped around the coffee cup, not for the warmth, but for the grounding weight of it. You didn’t dare look at Suguru. Not yet.

He leaned against the windowsill, his profile half-illuminated by the pale light of day. The cigarette in his hand burned lazily, the ash threatening to fall with each shallow exhale. He stared out at the sprawling Tokyo skyline, though you doubted he was really seeing it. His free hand rested in his pocket, his fingers twitching now and then, betraying an agitation he didn’t care to voice.

The words sat heavy in your throat, clinging there like shards of glass. You wanted to swallow them back down, bury them where they couldn’t resurface. But they came anyway, trembling and fractured.

“I’m sorry—” you began, the words barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You hesitated. What could you possibly say to fix this? Could anything even be fixed? “I’m sorry for last night. I didn’t mean it.”

He didn’t move. For a moment, you wondered if he even heard you. But then, he turned his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his expression. His dark eyes were unreadable, heavy with something you couldn’t name—anger, regret, or perhaps just exhaustion.

“You always say that,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse, as if the words were dragged from some deep, painful place. He brought the cigarette to his lips, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl out into the cold November air. “We both do.”

His words hung between you like an accusation, and maybe they were. You weren’t sure if you could argue against it. Last night had been another one of those fights—the kind that left you both gutted, wondering if the love you shared was even still there, or if it had been eroded by the years of unresolved pain and festering wounds.

“You’re right,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “We keep saying things we don’t mean, but... maybe some part of us does.”

That caught his attention. Suguru turned to face you fully, the cigarette forgotten as it smoldered between his fingers. His gaze bore into you, searching for something in your face, your eyes, your slumped posture. He looked tired—not just physically, but soul-deep, like a man who had carried the weight of too many things for far too long.

“That’s what you think?” he asked, his voice soft, almost disbelieving. “That I meant it? That I wanted to hurt you?”

You flinched, the memory of his words from the night before hitting you like a freight train. You’ll never become a mother. You’ll never be a wife. You’ll never be good enough. The bitterness in his voice, the sharp edge of his tone—it had all felt too real in the moment, too pointed to be anything but the truth.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admitted, your fingers tightening around the mug. “Maybe you did. Or maybe I deserved it.”

His brows furrowed, a flicker of frustration passing over his face. He stubbed the cigarette out on the windowsill, the gesture harsh and final. “You didn’t deserve that,” he said firmly, his voice carrying an edge of anger. At himself, or at you, you weren’t sure.

“Then why did you say it?” you shot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “Why do we keep doing this, Suguru? Hurting each other over and over, like it’s the only thing we know how to do?”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. He looked away, his gaze falling to the floor. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until he finally spoke.

“Because it’s easier than admitting that we’re falling apart,” he said quietly. “That we’ve been falling apart for a long time.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you had to bite down on the sob that threatened to escape. He was right, of course. You both knew it. The love that had once been your sanctuary, your safe harbor, had become something unrecognizable—something jagged and painful, like the shards of that broken picture frame.

“I wanted forever with you,” you said, your voice trembling as tears blurred your vision. “I wanted to build a life with you, Suguru. I wanted to believe we could fix each other, that we could be happy together. But... I don’t know how to reach you anymore.”

His shoulders sagged, and he took a hesitant step toward you, his hand hovering in the air like he wanted to touch you but didn’t know if he was allowed to. “You don’t have to fix me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You never did. And maybe... maybe that’s the problem. We were trying so hard to fix each other that we forgot how to just be together.”

The words cut through you, raw and honest, and you felt your tears spill over. You didn’t know if this was the end for you and Suguru, or if there was still something worth salvaging. But in that moment, as the two of you stood there, broken and bleeding in ways neither of you could fully understand, you realized that love wasn’t always enough. Sometimes, it was the cracks that swallowed everything whole.

Nanami: Somebody always gets hurt.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee teased you awake, mingling with the faint warmth of the sun filtering through the curtains. You stirred, eyes fluttering open as a soft kiss brushed against your lips. His kiss. His scent—clean, comforting—lingered close.

Your gaze landed on the man beside you, golden hair tousled and framing his sharp features. Nanami Kento stood with a tray in hand, your favorite latte and a neatly wrapped pastry perched on it. He noticed your awakening and offered a rare, gentle smile, one that softened the usually stern planes of his face.

“What’s all this?” you murmured with a sleepy laugh, sitting up and pulling the sheets higher around you.

“Just thought you needed a little pick-me-up,” he said, his voice warm and steady as he handed you the coffee. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for just a moment. “Figured I might’ve been a bit rough on you last night.”

That soft smile. That tender tone. You couldn’t look at him for long.

Your own smile faltered, just barely. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

“Ken…” you started, your voice catching on the lump in your throat. You shook your head quickly, forcing yourself to sit straighter, to steel yourself. “I—I can’t do this anymore.”

The words felt heavier than they should have, like they were dragging your chest down with them.

He stilled. His hand, still resting near your cheek, fell away. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly, confusion etched into his expression.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suddenly needing to put space between your body and his. “Whatever this is, it can’t keep happening. I’m not—I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as though trying to decipher the meaning behind them. Then his lips parted, his brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“We’re not seeing other people,” he began, his voice calm but with an edge of urgency. “We spend time together. We go on dates. If it’s about the label—”

“It’s not about a label,” you interrupted, your tone sharper than you meant it to be. You had to stop him. If he kept listing every reason this should work, you’d break. “Kento, you don’t understand. I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

I bite when I get scared. I don't want to get hurt.

The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but it needed to be said. You couldn’t let him in, not when you knew how this would end. People like you didn’t let themselves love, didn’t let themselves be loved.

He blinked, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His face didn’t crumble—it was Nanami Kento, after all—but the subtle cracks in his composure were there: the way his jaw tightened, the slight drop of his gaze, the minute shake of his hand as he set the tray on the nightstand.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You’re scared. I get that. But we can work through this. Together.”

You almost caved. Almost. His sincerity, his steadfastness, his belief in you—it was so achingly, painfully him.

But you couldn’t.

“Kento, I don’t want to be your girlfriend,” you said, the coldness in your tone barely masking the pain simmering underneath. “I don’t love you now, and I never will.”

The air seemed to shift. His expression froze, and for a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

You stood, forcing yourself to act quickly before the weight of your words crushed you. Setting the coffee aside, you began to gather your clothes, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Don’t contact me,” you said, pulling your shirt over your head and turning toward the door.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you’d see the way his walls had crumbled just slightly, the way he was still standing there, his heart in his hands, waiting for you to take it.

And you didn’t deserve it. Not now.

Shoko: You knew what you were getting

The sound of the rain tapping against the window was what pulled you from sleep. Or maybe it was the muffled shuffle of movement beside you. Your eyes cracked open, adjusting to the dim light of the room, and there she was—Shoko Ieiri, slipping on her coat in the faint glow of a lamp.

She looked up when she noticed you stir, her cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, the faint scent of smoke mingling with the rain outside.

"Morning," she murmured, her voice low and raspy, softened in the way it always was when she thought you were still half-asleep. She exhaled a thin stream of smoke toward the open window.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your voice still groggy as you sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest.

Shoko paused, her fingers brushing against the pack of cigarettes on the windowsill. For a moment, you thought she might ignore the question entirely, but then she sighed, turning to face you.

“Work,” she said simply. It was always work. Or at least, that’s what she told you.

“You’re always working,” you muttered, trying not to sound bitter, but the weight of your words hung in the air nonetheless.

She gave a small shrug, her expression carefully neutral. “Someone’s got to patch up all the idiots out there. Occupational hazard.”

You looked at her—really looked at her. The way her shoulders sagged ever so slightly under the weight she carried, the way the glow of the streetlights outside painted her face in soft gold and shadow. She was always like this: half in, half out. Never letting you get close enough to understand what was really going on behind those sharp eyes and that devil-may-care smirk.

“Shoko,” you said, her name heavier than you intended, and it made her pause, fingers frozen mid-motion as she reached for her bag. “Do you ever think about... slowing down? About... us?”

She froze, and you could see the way her mask faltered for just a moment, her lips parting as though to respond. But instead, she closed her mouth and looked away, tapping ash into the tray by the window.

“Don’t do this now,” she said softly, almost like a plea.

“Why not?” you pressed, unable to stop yourself. “You barely let me in. I feel like I’m fighting for scraps of your time, for a version of you that isn’t always halfway out the door.”

Her eyes darted to yours, sharp and defensive now, but there was a flicker of something else—something you couldn’t quite name. Regret? Sadness? “You knew what this was,” she said, her voice colder than you expected. “I never promised you anything more.”

The words stung, but it wasn’t like you hadn’t expected them. You’d seen the writing on the wall from the beginning, felt it in the way she kept things casual, kept things easy.

“I don’t want promises,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay composed. “I just want to know if this—if we—mean anything to you.”

Shoko’s shoulders stiffened, and she turned fully toward you, cigarette forgotten as it burned out in the ashtray. Her expression was unreadable, a perfect mask of indifference, but her eyes gave her away. There was a crack in her armor, a flash of something raw and unguarded.

“You mean a lot to me,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, almost pained. “But I don’t think I’m the person you’re looking for. I’m not... enough.”

You blinked, the honesty of her words catching you off guard. For a moment, you thought about telling her she was wrong—that she was enough, that you didn’t need anything more than this. But deep down, you knew you’d both just be lying to yourselves.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep waiting for you to decide you want me the way I want you.”

Shoko inhaled sharply, and for a second, it looked like she might argue. But then she nodded, almost imperceptibly, and the look in her eyes made your chest ache.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breaking in a way you’d never heard before. “I really am.”

She grabbed her bag and slipped out the door without another word, leaving behind the faint scent of smoke and rain, and the hollow ache in your chest where she used to be.

[dissapointu]

“Steel Meets Softness”

The hum of Zaun’s chaos outside is distant, muffled by the thick walls of Sevika’s apartment. Inside, the only sound is the quiet creak of her chair as she leans forward, her weight shifting closer to you. The room is dimly lit, the faint glow from the city below casting flickering shadows across her scarred face.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, legs tucked beneath you, fiddling nervously with the hem of your shirt. Sevika watches you from where she stands, leaning casually against the doorframe with her arms crossed. Her sharp, calculating gaze softens as it lingers on you, her lips quirking into a faint smirk.

“You’re tense,” she remarks, her voice low and smooth.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, though your hands betray you by twisting the fabric between your fingers.

She doesn’t say anything, but you hear the soft clink of her metal arm as she pushes off the frame and steps closer. The bed dips slightly under her weight as she sits beside you. Her flesh hand reaches out, gently brushing against your jaw to tilt your face toward her.

“You’re terrible at lying,” she says, her smirk softening into something almost tender.

Your cheeks heat under her scrutiny, and you try to look away, but her grip is firm—not rough, but unyielding. She leans in, her lips brushing against the corner of your jaw in a touch so light it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Sevika…” you whisper, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re trying to say.

“Hmm?” she hums against your skin, her voice a quiet vibration. She presses another kiss to your jaw, slower this time, her lips lingering as her free hand settles on your thigh, grounding you.

Her kisses trail downward, tracing the curve of your neck. Each touch is deliberate, her lips soft against your skin, her breath warm and steady. When she reaches the hollow of your throat, you feel the faint scrape of her teeth, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You’re always so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing. “But I like that about you.”

Her metal hand comes to rest on your hip, the coolness of it a sharp contrast to the heat of her mouth. She moves with a confidence that’s both intimidating and intoxicating, her kisses drifting to your shoulder as she pushes the fabric of your shirt aside.

You let out a soft sound—half sigh, half whimper—and her lips curl into a smile against your skin.

“There it is,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “I knew I could get something out of you.”

Her hand shifts, sliding up your side in a way that makes your heart race. She kisses the curve of your shoulder, her teeth grazing lightly before she pulls back just enough to look at you. Her dark eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s stopped spinning.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” she says, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

You don’t know how to respond, your cheeks burning under her intense gaze. But Sevika doesn’t seem to mind your silence. Instead, she leans in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s slower, deeper, and impossibly gentle.

And as her hands continue their slow exploration, her touch steady and sure, you feel yourself melting into her—a rare moment of steel meeting softness, where Sevika’s affection is as unyielding as the strength she carries every day.

[potatounicoorn]

Teen titans band AU expect they are a metal band and still superheroes

It starts when they end up out of money and they need to get some new gear (dont ask how they are out of money)

So logically the teenagers they are, they end up figuring out that a great way for getting lots of money would be a music career

Because what teenager group hasnt formed a band at one point or another?

And while they examine what music they could do Donna has the brightest idea

She had been on a mission with Diana and somehow at some point they end up in a heavy metal concert crowd

Donna got some dudes beer dunked on her, she ended up in a middle of a moshpit and more fun

And later she is cleaning herself up in the bathroom and this set of the coolest girls she has seen come and congratulate her on her metal concert baptism

So now the fab five end up forming a metal band

And like your average metal band, Donna ends up being the singer

(Turns out amazonian war cry's make great music with some intrumentals)

Shes your average "you hear a great song with amazing growling, and then your dad drops some band lore and oh the singer is a woman what, tahts cool af"

She can switch suprisingly great with the growling, screaming and singing with the voice of angel in your local childrens church choir

Wally can hit drums like no other (superspeed lets goo)

Garth ends up with a guitar and Roy with a bass

And Dick is one of the "I know how to play the most random set of instruments known to man" aka he plays everything from cello to bag pipe and chruch organ to kantele

Most of their songs end up being nonsense sentences in ancient amazonian, atlantean and anything thats not english and propably not known by your average guy

At first their band doesnt really hit off, they get a few tiny gigs here and there and most of their listeners are their friends and family

And then they end up crashing in some no where town in North Finland during peak winter low degrees

And they need someplace for warmth and food so they end up at some local pub

Turns out the pub was supposed to host a concert but the artist never showed up so now they have a house full of disappointed metal heads

So the titans take their chance because "hey they give us free food for performing! And a gig is a gig!! :D"

And it goes fairly good! People are enjoying the music and mostly people are having fun, maybe some people even take up their band name for later listening

Until Roy notices a tracker device or smth in Donna's neck, and "oh shit it must be the bad guys from the earlier fight shit shit"

So he just swooshes the bass with full force at Donna, because the tracker needs to break and Donna can handle it she got amazonian strenght and all that

Expect they are not, you know, actually in their hero outfits at the moment but instead in some random clothes they found at lost item box because identity and all that

And the crowd just stares in horror as the random basist just smashes the bass at the poor singer

Like that much force will kill anyone!!

And

She just

Keeps singing?

Wtf

They quickly end the song and reasure the crowd and fly off

But some dude got it all on video

So next morning they wake up, and oh would you look at that! Our band is a massive hit!

Turns our doing insane stuff is the key to charm an audience!

And now they get concerts everywhere and a large insanely fast growing fan base

Because their band end up being the most mystical thing known to man

They keep the putfits they got from the lost box

Add some sick ass prosthetics masks whoch decipt some unnamed horror creatures (inspired by some villains they fought (look up Lordi for example))

Their music videos are the ultimate metal stereotype of "go into the woods and you will find a metal band there every other meter" expect the extreme version

Because they got missions all over and end up in the most random places

So all their music videos are homemade with a phonecamera while they are in the middle of Siperia or amazon rainforest, Sahara desert, himalaya, a volcano, a Thailand cave system, every single world wonder and so on

Not to even speak of their concerts

They are one of the few bands who can truly say they did a world tour

Because sometimes they do one in NYC and the next day they are at some unmapped island near New zealand

And the insanity of their concerts do not end with the smashed bass at Donnas neck no

There are even more smashed instruments at Donna, lots of things on fire, a world record at fastest drumming, Batman in a corner, dude who seems like he is flying doing flips and tricks of the hall roof, the bassist throwing all sort of stuff with insane accuraty, the guitarist crowd surfing once when it rained expect he was standing??, and so on and on

Sometimes the bassist also ends up playing for Black canary

They have no social media, no nothing, they just drop their music and appear in random places to have a concert

Sometimes the band is months without doing anything and just seemingly disappear from the face of Earth completely

And suddenly there are four new peiple joining the band, who is apparently anm extra choir

And seemingly no one in the band even knows who plays what where and how because why do the band members seem to keep changing???

Everyone is just holding their breaths following this absolute insanity of a band just waiting for the day they make a document of all the stuff thats happened in the background away from cameras

Its the most avaited lore drop of the century

But no, no one will ever just explain anything, they just go on and on, sometimes they disappear for years on time and appear with a new set of people

Sure why not

Its titled as the biggest mystery of the music industry

And so it remains

[midnightbears]

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian femme reader & other characters.

#TAGS: fighting. actually the mildest chapter up to date. god I'm so scared no one will like how i've written megatronus lol. please i hope you see my vision. first time doing rivals to lovers or whatever you can call this. pls cope

#NOTES: decided to update every friday from now on. if i manage to get chapters pre-written in advance (i aim to have the next chapter ready by the time i post one that same friday, so i can spend the week working on the one after—does that make sense?), i might occasionally treat you to two updates in a week! enjoy.

part one | part two | part three | part four

By the time you reached the Gladiators’ lobby the following day, the air was thronged with a charged energy, the sort that seemed to cling to every wall, echoing with the sounds of metal on metal, vents straining, and deep, triumphant shouts.

Everybot was huddled along one of the balconies, crowding around an opening that overlooked something beyond the far wall.

Rows of mechs stood shoulder-to-shoulder, some bellowing cheers that bounced off the metal walls like thunder, others clapping with resounding clangs, while the most fervent smashed their fists against the rail, their excitement so volatile it seemed to need an outlet.

Curiosity began to scratch at you, prickling down your frame. Despite every instinct to stay back and keep yourself apart from the ruckus, you found yourself walking toward one of the stairways that wound upward, leading to the crowd clustered on the balcony.

Each step seemed to amplify the roar of the crowd, until it was as though you could feel the vibrations of their shouts traveling through the very metal under your pedes. Keeping a cautious distance from the more raucous mechs, you slipped your way toward the source of the commotion.

As you neared the top of the staircase, your optics caught sight of a rectangular hole in the wall, reinforced by vertical bars. It was just wide enough to see through, though you had to strain on tiptoe to get a proper look. Beams of infrared light filtered through the opening, casting fractured red rays across the walls and the faces of the onlookers, painting everything in sharp contrasts of light and shadow. 

Finally, as you reached the top, you craned your neck, peering past the row of mechs to get a clear line of sight through the opening. When you did, a small gasp left your dermas, barely louder than a whisper against the deafening roar of the mechs surrounding you.

There, in front of you, lay the full view of the Pits—up close, brutal, and thrumming with the tension of every movement, every strike, every staggered breath. From this vantage, you could see what the crowd above you never could. Here, there were no barriers, no filters to buffer the violence; you were close enough to make out every tiny detail.

You could see a vast assembly of mechs locked in combat—hulking frames clashing with smaller, wirier fighters, protoforms smashing against armor, the floor slick with the bright, gleaming blue of spilled energon.

The air down there was thick with the wails of mechs in pain, shrill and jarring, mingling with the triumphant shouts of those who tasted victory, and the ragged cries of the defeated. The sound was jarring, almost painfully so, but what kept your optics trained wasn’t the thrill of the fight itself, nor any particular fascination with the combat.

No, what held your gaze was the proximity of it all—the rawness, the sheer vulnerability of every bot below you.

From here, you could see everything that those in the stands missed: the frantic stuttering of vents, trying desperately to cool their overworked systems; the almost invisible droplets of coolant collecting along neck joints and plating, beading and trembling like they were waiting for just one more blow to shatter them. You saw the armor of one mech pressed and twisted under the crushing weight of another, locked down to the ground, his frame rigid, his optics wide with desperation as he fought against his own survival instincts.

This, you realized, must have been what Bluey had meant when he’d said most of the gladiators had watched your match. They weren’t just fighting their own battles down there—they were spectators, too, studying every movement, every hesitation, every moment of weakness or strength.

For a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if they’d seen it—the exact instant when your fight had started, the moment you’d frozen, the flicker of panic that had tightened your frame and seized your joints, rendering you unable to move. Had they watched as you felt the first stirrings of that paralyzing fear, the memory of Starlight’s cold, lifeless form flashing across your processor?

With a hard, irritated shake of your helm, you wrenched your attention back to the fight in front of you.

And then, as if sensing your attention, a sudden blur of blue shot across your field of vision. The movement was so quick it seemed almost impossible, and then—clang! Bluey’s frame crashed against the bars just in front of you, close enough that you could make out the nicks and scratches etched across his plating.

His backplates were pressed firmly against the bars, his vents cycling rapidly as he caught his bearings. For a sparkbeat, you could only watch in shock before he shook himself off with a chuckle, his grin defiant as he pushed himself back to his pedes and leaped with renewed vigor.

The flash of motion snapped you back to the world around you, and out of the corner of your vision, you noticed a faint, colorful flickering. Shifting your gaze upward, you saw a large screen suspended from the wall above, displaying a multitude of names. Each one shifted up and down, the rankings constantly changing as new names appeared and others dropped.

You searched the list, half-curious, until your optics snagged on Bluey’s designation, not far from the top. Your own, however, was absent, and Bluey’s rank dipped every so slightly each time he took a blow. It wasn’t hard to guess the screen’s purpose and how it must have been related to the ongoing match.

Cringing, you comprehended that you wouldn't be fighting today either. Just as well. If your designation was never called, it would hardly make a difference. You weren't exactly itching to return to that arena. Let them throw their punches and spill energon. Today, you had other things to deal with. Like returning that rotatory buffer to Rumbleburner.

You turned on your heel and headed back down the stairs, casting one last glance at Bluey’s gleaming form as he ducked an opponent’s swing. The crowd's roar followed you down the hallway, fading as you returned to the berthroom.

The buffer lay on your recharge slab, and you picked it up without much thought, immediately turning on your heel afterward. You ran a thumb over it, feeling a vague sense of satisfaction at how it had wiped away the traces of yesterday’s match from your frame. Not that Rumbleburner would care about that—he just wanted his tools back in one piece.

The infirmary was halfway across the complex, and you knew better than to dawdle on your way there. Rumbleburner wasn’t exactly patient. If he had to wait even a second longer than necessary, he’d make sure you knew it.

Navigating through the complex, you used the dents on the walls and the scattered objects across the ground as a sort of map to reach the infirmary, and although you had to use the signs on the walls more than once, you were pretty pleased that you remembered most of the way there on your own.

You barely stepped through the medbay door when the sharp tang of heated metal hit your olfactory sensors. A faint hiss, the sound of old servos grinding against fresh repair plating, came from the far corner of the room.

There, on Rumbleburner’s main table, was a massive figure with silver, angular plating, the kind that looked forged from the deepest recesses of Kaon’s foundries. He was reclined halfway, his shoulder stripped down to the bare mechanisms, while Rumbleburner worked at him with a scowl and a welding tool, sparks flaring every so often.

Rumbleburner’s optics flicked over to you, and his scowl deepened. "Finally. Thought you’d keep that buffer ‘till it rusted in your berthroom."

It had only been a day since he had given it to you, but you weren’t about to point it out.

You offered silence and held out the tool, trying not to stare too much at the mech on the table out of your own well-being. But the urge was intense; something about him commanded attention. Every line and groove of his frame looked crafted to channel strength, but his optics were dimmed, waiting, as Rumbleburner worked to patch him up.

The old medic grunted, plucking the buffer from your servo and giving it a quick inspection. "I don’t care what you new little bots do with my tools," he muttered, only half to you, "just give them back on time. Speaking of…" He tapped the mech on the shoulder. "Megatronus, this is the rookie I was telling you about."

At the sound of his name, the bot’s optics flickered to life, their ochre-like glow sharper than you’d expected. His gaze found yours instantly, and for a fleeting moment, the whole medbay seemed to close around you. He took you in with a slow, appraising sweep, his optics narrowing, processing every scrape, every trace of dust or scuff on your frame, in the way a seasoned warrior might size up a fresh recruit.

That was precisely what it was, after all.

"You’re the new one," he said. "Only just arrived yesterday with the rest of that batch, if I recall. They threw you into the Pits already?"

You nodded and shrugged, uncomfortably aware of his optics on you as if he were sifting through every memory of that match. "I talked back to the bosses."

One side of his lip components lifted ever so slightly, a gesture you couldn’t reasonably interpret. Approval? Amusement? You couldn’t tell.

He chuckled, and the sound made you cringe. "Not a lot of newcomers do that."

You were about to answer when Rumbleburner beat you to it, letting out a small huff, setting the buffer aside with a thud, and turning his full attention back to Megatronus’ shoulder.

"She survived," he muttered, gruff but loud enough for you to hear. "Not like they’re sending their best these days."

Megatronus tilted his helm slightly, giving the medic a stern look, but Rumbleburner only shrugged, unbothered.

"What? It’s true." He gave a sharp twist of his tool, forcing a grunt from Megatronus as he worked a stubborn piece of plating back into place. "Can’t fix the whole world with a dent puller."

But you were hardly listening to the medic now. Megatronus’ optics hadn’t left you, and as you held his gaze, you felt a faint, strange pull—like he was seeing past the fresh scars on your plating, through the layers of doubt and frustration still crusted to your frame.

"So what brings you here today?" he asked, voice quieter but somehow even more intent, as though he cared about the answer despite himself.

"Just… returning the buffer." The words felt strangely trivial, even as you said them, yet you couldn’t seem to hold back a faint wryness in your tone. "I hear Rumbleburner’s tools don’t stay out of his sight for long without consequences."

Megatronus’ optics flickered with a gleam of humor at that.

"My comrades said you told off Bullway," he said, now completely ignoring the medic working on him, "shame I couldn’t be there to see it. I was matched against another rookie at the time."

Instinctively, the word ‘rookie’ made you raise your helm as a bothered expression crossed your features. Had one of your comrades lost his life to him? You slightly gestured to the wound on his shoulder with a flick of your optics.

"Did the rookie do that to you…?"

"Mh? Yeah, caught me off-guard. He couldn’t even get a proper hold of his sword before I turned his helm inside out, though."

Your optic ridges furrowed, and you willed yourself to look down. 

Before you could say anything, though, Rumbleburner clamped down on Megatronus’ shoulder plating one last time, satisfied. "There. Fixed, well enough, though Primus knows how long it’ll last with you throwing yourself into the arena every other cycle. You took your sweet time comin’ to get it fixed, too."

Megatronus stood, standing only a smidge taller than you, his shoulder plating gleaming faintly from Rumbleburner’s patchwork repairs. When you looked at his powerful shoulders and blunt-featured face, so rough and yet so civilized, it was impossible to believe he could be defeated. He stepped toward you, optics tracing over your frame one final time.

"Do you have a name?"

Your optics wondered briefly, nowhere in particular, but then, you told him your name.

He offered you his stretched-out servo, and you took it without much thought. "You may call me Megatronus."

The weight of his servo was steady, his grip firm yet not overbearing as you clasped it. His touch was warm against the roughened edges of your own, a strange contrast to his intimidating form. 

He glanced once more at Rumbleburner, who had already moved on to sorting a chaotic pile of tools, muttering to himself about the medbay’s perpetual mess. Megatronus gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod toward the door, signaling for you to walk with him.

You hesitated a moment as Megatronus turned toward the door, but he glanced back over his shoulder and raised a brow ridge.

"Well, rookie? Coming along, or are you just here to gawk?"

A spark of irritation shot through you, lighting up your circuits. Straightening with a flash of defiance, you closed the distance, falling in step beside him as he led the way out into the corridor.

The hall was quieter than the medbay, with only the faint, distant murmur of the crowds filtering through the heavy walls, swallowed up by shadows stretching between each overhead light. Matching his pace, you noticed his occasional side glances, that annoying, casual way he seemed to size you up, as if already forming conclusions he wouldn’t bother explaining.

"Not exactly my first option to trail after you," you said, the edge in your voice as deliberate as the steady rhythm of your steps beside him, "but I had questions."

He scoffed without even glancing your way, his pace unfaltering. "Questions? I'd expect a new recruit to ask for advice, maybe. But then, from what I’ve heard, you’re more the type to give orders to mechs with twice your frame."

You blinked lazily, your optics fixed straight ahead, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. "If Bullway’s ego can’t handle a little criticism, that’s his problem. Besides, I wasn’t exactly gentle with it."

A low chuckle rumbled through his frame, resonating as he shook his helm. "Criticism? That’s one word for it."

You rolled your optics, catching his smirk in the corner of your vision. He had that irritating way about him, like he held some exclusive knowledge of the world that put him a step ahead. He was just like every other mech here, you thought—acting as if his opinions were forged in the stars and the rest of you were just stragglers trying to catch up.

"So, what? You thought you’d come and set me straight?" you asked, with a dry tone and one brow ridge raised.

"Primus, no," he replied with a grin, one that tugged lazily at his lip components, equal parts amusement and dismissal. "Not worth the effort. Rumbleburner can barely tolerate you as it is." He cast you a sideways glance, his optics sharp but not unkind. "Besides, I’m not interested in meddling with anyone’s bright ideas. Not in the habit of saving anyone from themselves."

That comment sparked something more profound in you, an itch of frustration mingling with a new curiosity. His voice had a jaded edge, as if he’d seen enough high hopes and brighter sparks sputter out to know better. His dismissal wasn’t harsh—just resigned, the weariness of a mech who’d watched too many days turn and too many bots burn out. Something about it felt like a challenge, as if he were waiting to see how much heat you really had in you before you burned away like all the others, too.

"Must be nice," you said, letting a taunting note slip into your voice, "to have it all figured out. So what is it, then? Is it hard to have all the answers?"

He halted mid-step, tilting his helm to the side with the slightest arch to his brow ridge. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his optics glinted with something you couldn’t quite place—amusement, perhaps, or just a dash of challenge. "Would it bother you if I did?"

"Would it bother you if I said it wouldn’t?" you countered smoothly, holding his gaze with unyielding sharpness. "Bots like you come in here, acting like they own the place—like they know exactly how things should work. But you’re just another mech, stuck in the Pits like the rest of us."

"Am I now?" he said, arching a brow ridge, though his expression remained carefully composed. "Tell me, rookie, what would you know about the Pits? One match? Half a round before you’re tossed back to the medbay?" His gaze narrowed, studying you like he was trying to decide if your fire was all talk.

"Maybe," you shot back, narrowing your optics to match his. "But at least I’m not hiding behind tired speeches and empty advice."

His smirk wavered, replaced by a narrowed gaze, his optics narrowing with scrutiny as he took a long look at you, one that seemed to penetrate down to your spark. There was no malice in it, just a silent assessment, like he was measuring your resolve by the pulse of your optics alone.

"You’re still learning your place," he said finally, his tone steady and just as piercing as his gaze. "But I think you’ll find I know mine just fine. After all, I’m not the one who panicked in my last match, now, am I?"

The jab hit like a jolt to your cooling fans, a direct hit you hadn’t expected, but you willed yourself to keep your expression blank. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing any reaction, any chink in your armor.

"Fine," you replied, lowering your voice to a steely whisper. "But at least I didn’t have to hobble back to the medbay because a rookie managed to land a hit on me."

Silence stretched between you, the hallway suddenly seeming endless and deserted as the tension crackled in the air. For a split second, you wondered if he’d lash back, close the distance between you and start a fight right there, but instead, he just stared, his optics locked on yours with a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

And then, against all odds, he laughed—a rough, genuine sound that echoed off the walls.

"You’re a sparkplug, aren’t you?" he muttered, sounding almost impressed, a smirk ghosting across his face as he shook his helm. Without another word, he started walking again, as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than idle chatter. "Still, try that in the arena, and you’ll end up in a scrap pile. No one cares how fast your wit is if you can’t back it up."

"Is that a warning?" you shot back, quickening your pace to catch up with him, feeling a rush of energy from the exchange. "Or just an excuse?"

"Take it however you want," he replied easily, his voice even. "I’m just saying that next time you find yourself staring down an opponent, maybe think less about how clever you sound and more about whether you’re willing to finish the fight."

You paused, fixing him with a steady gaze, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the entire world around you—the distant din of the crowd, the hum of the lights, the shadows that stretched down the corridor—all vanished. It was just the two of you, optics locked, your resolve colliding with his challenge. His gaze held none of the mockery or disdain you’d expected; instead, it was something darker, sharper, a quiet but powerful test.

"Maybe I will," you said, your voice softer but laced with intent.

He gave a curt nod, though the familiar smirk was back, tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Good. I’d rather see you prove me wrong in the Pits than just stand here trying to talk me in circles."

You couldn’t help but let out a snort, crossing your arms in a defiant stance. "Believe me, when the time comes, you’ll know exactly where to find me, Megatronus."

He lifted one optic ridge, that unreadable, calculating look slipping back onto his features like armor. "I’m counting on it, Y/N."

"Seriously, I can’t leave you alone for one match?!"

"Please—"

“Not only did you meet the Megatronus, but you also threatened him?”

“I have done no such thing!”

After his daily matches, Bluey had practically dragged you into one of the countless armories, excited to test out a new weapon on which he had invested a significant amount of saved shanix. However, based on his tone and judgemental remarks, it seemed less about actually trying it and more about him swinging the hammer around while envisioning you hovering nearby to vent his frustrations.

Bluey hefted the hammer, the weapon far too large for his frame but swinging with ease in his practiced servos. His optics glinted as he shot you a mock glare, the hammer’s weight shifting in his grip.

“So you’re telling me,” he continued, his tone caught between exasperation and disbelief, “that you just happened to be in the medbay when he was there, and you didn’t say anything to him that could be interpreted as a threat?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I just… implied he might not be invincible. That’s hardly a threat, is it?”

Bluey’s optic ridges shot up as he adjusted his grip on the hammer, letting it balance on one shoulder. “Yeah, okay, then I’ll just walk up to Vexblade and ‘imply’ his joints are overdue for a little rust, see how he takes it.”

“Not the same thing!” you protested, but your spark pulsed a little faster as the memory of the exchange with Megatronus replayed in your processor. “He was testing me.”

Bluey scoffed, setting the hammer down with a heavy clang. “Right. And in the arena, when they test you, do you plan on talking your way out of a ground slam?” He shrugged, shaking his helm with a playful look that you could still tell masked some genuine concern. “Because you and I both know there’s no talking there. They don’t let up until you’re either out cold or crawling back for repairs.”

He was right, of course, and even if he was trying to be more melodramatic than usual, his words weighed heavily. It wasn’t just Megatronus you had to worry about, after all; everybot in this place was out for a victory, and no amount of quick words or barbed comebacks would matter in the heat of the arena. Your name or purpose would not save you.

“Fine,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it will take more than just… attitude to survive here. But I can handle it.”

Bluey’s optics softened, and he set the hammer down entirely, crossing his arms in a rare moment of quiet seriousness. “You’re not bad, you know that? But your technique—your form. It’s… well, let’s just say I’ve seen better. If you want to last, you’ve got to be more than just ‘not bad.’”

You glanced away, unsure if you wanted to hear it, but knowing you had to. He was right again, and he wasn’t saying this just to prove a point; he was saying it because he cared, because he saw something in you worth fighting for.

Bluey continued, his tone softening even more. “You have some instinct for this stuff, but the moment you hesitate? That’s the moment you’re done. You need to train yourself past that.”

A quiet moment passed, and you met his optics, “And you’d help me, then?” you asked, managing to sound more confident than you felt.

“Of course.” He lifted the hammer and tossed it between his servos, his expression mischievous but not unkind. “In fact, I think we should start now. I’ve been waiting to test this out, and I’ll be doing you a favor by giving you a head start on your training.”

You took a step back. “So that’s your big plan? To beat sense into me?”

He shrugged. “Hey, if the hammer fits…”

He spun the hammer once more before planting it on the ground and leaning on it, that spark of playfulness still lingering in his optics.

“We’ll start small,” he said. “Nothing serious, just getting you comfortable with some moves. Maybe work on your footwork and teach you how to get out of those lock-ups.”

You tilted your helm. “Lock-ups?”

“Oh, yeah.” He gave a mock grimace. “You’d better get used to them. Everybot worth their metal will try to pin you first thing. Figure if you can’t move, you can’t fight. But if you know how to twist out of those before they set, you’ll have an advantage.”

You considered this. It was daunting, but with Bluey’s confidence, something else stirred—a sense of resolve you hadn’t felt before. You might not have known if you belonged here, but you’d be damned if you went down without giving it everything.

“All right, then,” you said, setting your shoulders. “Show me.”

Bluey grinned, readying himself with the hammer as he gave you a once-over. “But you have to promise me something. Next time you run into Megatronus? Maybe don’t go testing his patience. Bots like that don’t exactly have it in surplus, you know.”

You crossed your arms, rolling your optics. “I won’t tiptoe around him just because he has a reputation. Besides, he’s the one who started it, not me.”

Bluey let out a laugh, raising an optic ridge. “You think it’s that simple, huh? Megatronus isn’t just some brute out for a thrill. He’s… well, complicated. He might look like he’s sizing you up for a fight, but there’s a lot going on under all that plating.”

“Oh, you mean like he’s an unsolvable mystery?” you said dryly, trying not to let on that the conversation had piqued your interest.

“More like he’s a spark that could explode any minute,” Bluey replied, his voice low. “A mech like him doesn’t care about rookies or rivals, really. He’s here for his own reasons, and believe me, they’re big ones. He’s not going to lose sleep if you get in his way.”

“Good thing I’m not planning to get in his way,” you replied, meeting Bluey’s serious expression. “I’ve got enough on my hands just trying to keep my own frame in one piece.”

“Just don’t get tangled up with him if you can help it.” Bluey rested the hammer on his shoulder, looking thoughtful. “Bots like him don’t usually come out of nowhere. Megatronus has something to prove, something huge, and the way I see it, anyone who gets close enough is bound to feel it.”

“Maybe,” you said, trying to sound dismissive, “But he’s not the only one here who’s got something to prove.”

Bluey smirked, that mischievous light back in his optics. “Look at you. Almost yesterday, you were crying your optics out in the middle of the hallway, and here you are, talking big about proving yourself.”

You blinked, clearing your voicebox, letting Bluey’s words roll off like energon on worn plating. The picture of you, unsure and battling, seemed far away—like a ghost from a life that no longer suited you. There was no time to contemplate what you had abandoned, or the grief that still lingered in your mind. You simply couldn’t focus on it. Not at this moment. Nor for the days to come.

So you shoved it all back into the far recesses of your processor, locking the memories away where they couldn’t follow you. That scared, grief-ridden version of yourself—the one that had faltered in her last match—would be gone. And she would leave. You would make sure of that.

Bluey tossed the hammer back and forth between his servos, grinning. “Now, enough talk. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

[ultravioart]

How could they pull from Scottish punks and end up at that final result? Not even a pseudo kilt silhouette like how Kiriko has a pseudo Miko Shrine Maiden garments silhouette? Hazard should have had pushed shapes (sell the turtle aspect more, add more spikes) and more body mods (funky prosthesis or punk body mods, the lizard/snake man punks are free inspo).

For a punk 'freak' hero that uses bright graffiti, his design is much too plain and 'safe' imo, not colorful enough. I much prefer that cartoon icon we saw in Venture's trial because he does look really punk with a metal jaw and green hair, possibly cool yellow shades too?

When I first saw Hazard's official design I honestly thought it was a Rein skin. I just hope future skins for Hazard are more punky. JunkerQueen and Zarya both have rather punk-y skins, and Lucio has a concept art based skin, so I am hoping for something more "out there" and fun for Hazard.

Punk is not, and has not, ever been 'conventionally attractive and palatable' and with Hazard's backstory, him being intentionally 'outlandish' would have only reinforced his outlook and story.

Like, people don't love Rein because he's eye candy, they like the hero fantasy of a big knight, being a shield, that he fights for others bravely. People don't love Doomfist because he's eye candy, they love him because his mechanics are hard to perfect but rewarding to land, and his sophisticated antagonist plotline is super engaging, and the hero fantasy of a big powerful genius with a giant fist is badass!

But Hazard? He's eye candy, sure. Got some piercings, but so does JunkerQueen. Plain black leather jacket and pants... okay but Young Cass and Ashe in general do that too. Hell, a young Tracer(in the comics she had a very punk hairstyle) was way more punk than Haz was as a teen. I don't understand why they didn't PUSH his punk design further, when we have characters like Roadhog and JunkerQueen on the roster already. Hazard is very conventional for an overwatch design, he looks like he could be a side character in a gang instead of a main hero... Boomslang(viper Phreaks member) atleast has interesting shapes on her design! The Junkers are scrappy and DIY-low end tech (scrap guns, explosives, knives) survivalists, so imo the Phreaks could have been like a Sombra-version of Junkers, cyberpunk but WAY WAAAAY more out there with wild body mods and DIY high end tech (plasma weapons, energy swords, multiple arms, etc). I did peep a retractable energy sword from Hazard in the cinematic but why not just build a nonretractable sword into his base design instead? He already has a gun arm (like Orisa).

I really do think the metal jaw would have made Hazard instantly recognizable, but man, atleast keep the toxic green spiky hair!!! Haz is brunette, so why choose blonde as the 'punk' color when his body shape is already so similar to Reinhardt? Doomfist already has a "one arm is a weapon" so that's not Hazard's iconic detail, Mauga is already shirtless so that's out as an iconic detail, and the crystal spikes aren't nearly present enough in his design to make it out like that is his iconic 'thing' imo. Meanwhile, look at JunkerQueen: she is somehow MORE punk than Hazard who is intentionally being punk. And even then, I think people forget JunkerQueen has mag tornado powers in her gauntlet. Many Overwatch 2 heroes struggle with visually telling the players what a hero is/does via the design. And don't even get me started on Venture's nonsensical jacket design lol. Juno and Hazard feel like the designs where 'simplified' from concept art so that making skins for them would be easier. Juno looked better with the armor pieces, and Hazard would look better with green hair and a metal jaw.

[marchofmistria]

Hey I saw your requests were open and wanted to ask you if you could a do how would the bachelor's react to reader's/farmer's fuck ass haircut? I just cut my own bangs and it's all crooked and need some comfort 🥺

Hey I'm so sorry this has been in my inbox for so long!! Thank you very much for sending, this was so funny to think about. Hope your bangs have grown out since :') 

March

You already know March would be brutal. He's not good at expressing himself and, especially before you're an actual couple and he starts to put effort into not hurting your feelings, he wouldn't think twice about insulting your haircut.

If you came up to him after ruining your hair, he wouldn't be able to hide his confused scowl and ask "what did you do to your hair?" 

If you find it funny and laugh, he'll probably laugh as well and continue teasing you. He'd probably say something like, you shouldn't be allowed to smelt hot metal if you can't even cut your bangs correctly. 

He would laugh if you met him where he was and teased him back, especially about how he can't dye his own hair so he shouldn't be talking. 

If you had a different reaction, however, and got upset or embarrassed and walked away, he'd probably reflect on how you were likely feeling pretty self-conscious and realize that was a low blow.

He'd apologize next time he saw you, rolling his eyes and attempting to fix his comment a bit by saying "at least hair grows back." 

Ryis

Ryis would probably notice it right away. He pays close attention to you, and he can likely tell you're feeling self-conscious. 

He'd try to preserve your feelings the best he could. He'd ask about it lightly and casually. "Hey Y/N, did you get a new haircut? I like it."

You'd definitely blush and get super embarrassed, saying that you know the haircut sucks. Even though Ryis might secretly agree that it's not exactly the best look, he definitely would not agree to you putting yourself down like that. 

"What are you talking about, it's fine! You always look nice, so your haircut doesn't really matter, anyways."

If you're truly upset about it, he'd continue to reassure you and tell you that you look beautiful regardless. But thankfully hair does grow back if you truly don't like it!

He'll continue to compliment you as it grows back so you don't doubt whether he still finds you attractive. 

Eiland

Eiland is a sweetheart and would try to calm you down if you were upset about the haircut you gave yourself. A lot of reassurance about your beauty and his love for you regardless. 

He'd probably start telling you some interesting facts about historical hairstyles of Aldaria or something, as a way to distract you. You may or may not find it annoying in the moment. 

If you're still feeling unhappy, he'd offer to pay to get your hair fixed by Vera or some other expensive hairstylist in the Capital. 

He'd continue to attempt to reassure you that you look very pretty regardless and this sort of thing happened to everyone! In fact, he read on an Alda-period stone tablet that a woman once cut her own hair and....

Balor

It's rare that Balor loses his cool charm, but you see it waver in his face for a moment when you first see each other after the haircut. 

He'd try to deny it and turn the charm all the way up to compensate, telling you that you look absolutely radiant today (even though you look beautiful every day!). You'd see through it right away and call him out on it. 

He may try to deny it at first, but eventually agrees that it's not the best haircut. He does emphasize, however, that even something like a bad haircut couldn't detract from your beauty at all and you do still look lovely.

He'd hold back a bit of a laugh when you give him a blank stare from behind your crooked bangs, though. 

He just happens to generously gift you a set of beautiful gold hairpins from the Capital. Perfect timing. He'll tell you the hairpins compliment your eyes very well once he's no longer distracted by the funny-looking fringe. 

Hayden

Hayden wouldn't even notice honestly. He always thinks you look beautiful and wouldn't sweat small details like that. 

If you came to him and showed him how you messed up your hair, he'd probably laugh and tell you not to think anything of it!

"I cut my own hair all the time, Y/N. It's probably a mess but that's just fine by me!" He likes you however you are, with whatever you decide to do with your appearance.

If you were to tell him that you thought you looked unattractive or that you were embarrassed and didn't want anyone to look at you, he'd get genuinely upset. He truly doesn't understand how you don't see yourself as beautiful, and especially over such a small thing!

He'd continue to tell you not to pay it any mind, that hair grows back, and that no one would even notice. He genuinely thinks the latter because he wouldn't have noticed it had you not pointed it out. 

He'd lend you one of his big hats to cover your hair with while you wait for it to grow out, if you wanted. 

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 07

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Richmond, Virginia, March 20, 2015

“Thank you so much for being here once again!” Gratitude seemed to pour from her voice and adorn her smile. Everyone at Pearl’s bar cheered whenever you stepped on stage and sighed in disappointment when you announced the last song.

It felt almost too surreal.

Gradually, a certain confidence began to settle, and the small stage of that bar—bathed in cozy, colorful lights, walls adorned with posters of '90s bands, and a warm audience—felt more and more like home. Maybe it was a bit arrogant to think you were born for this, but what if you were?

“Did I tell you how good you are today?” His voice reached you just as your hand slid over the zipper after storing the guitar away. You didn’t even need to turn around to recognize the presence that filled the space.

He’d been here. Every single day. For a month.

With the uncanny ability to make the blood vessels in your face dilate, painting your skin crimson, and sending chills up your arms just by hearing the timbre of his voice. Turning around and meeting his brown eyes, sparkling like a precious gem every time they met yours, sent your body into an involuntary reaction.

There was absolutely no way you could stop yourself from smiling when he was by your side, even if the swarm of butterflies nesting in your stomach caused a slight discomfort.

“You say that every time, Noah…” you muttered so softly you thought he hadn’t heard.

“That’s because I’m your biggest fan.”

After flashing a wavering smile and shaking your head to mask the flustered feeling creeping in, you went back to rolling up the sound cables. After every performance, it was your duty to tidy up the place and clean the empty bar before heading home.

Pearl had offered you a spot in the small house she shared with her son in the back of the bar. There weren’t separate bedrooms or many rooms to keep you from bumping into one another, but to you, it was perfect—a place to sleep, eat, and shower.

“Uh…” Noah seemed to rehearse his words, hands buried in his pockets and shoulders hunched as he followed you around the stage. “It’s not that late, and I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me?”

Your body froze in place for a few seconds, cables coiled around your fingers.

“I mean…” he rushed to correct himself. “Don’t get me wrong, please. It’s just an invitation to grab a drink or some food. I promise I’ll get you home before your parents notice you’re gone, or I can talk to them if you’d like, and…”

“I’ll go.”

Finally, he fell silent, his rapid string of words nearly robbing him of breath. Noah slumped his shoulders, and it was hard to tell whether he was surprised you’d agreed or just catching his breath after pulling an Eminem stunt.

“Cool!” was all he managed to say, still looking dazed.

“I just need to finish organizing the sound equipment and cleaning up the bar. If you don’t mind waiting.”

“No. No. No! Of course, I don’t mind waiting.” Noah assured, already glancing at the rest of the disorganized bar. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.”

It didn’t take long for the place to become a true mess, thanks to Noah’s enthusiasm and the old jukebox in the corner with the help of a coin. Chairs atop tables, soapy water covering the floor, while you both wielded brooms, belting out a metal version of Love Story by Taylor Swift that you’d created. Noah handled the growls, and you performed the melodic verses, sliding across the slippery floor.

For the second time, it struck you how your voices complemented each other, even if it was just a silly game while cleaning a bar that reeked of stale drinks and cigarettes. He seemed to enjoy himself so much that, while pushing water across the floor, you couldn’t help but steal glances at his perfectly aligned smile—a masterpiece framed in laughter.

With unsteady steps dodging the puddles of soap, your body suddenly lost balance. Noah’s quick reflexes allowed him to drop his broom and catch you just in time before you hit the ground.

If there was music still playing, you couldn’t tell what it was anymore. A faint ringing buzzed in your ears as your eyes locked with his.

There wasn’t a single scientific explanation as to why his eyes gleamed so brightly in your presence, and even after seeing him every day for a month at the back of the audience, it still felt like the first time.

“Easy there, little storm!” His voice was soft, carrying a breath of mint as strands of his hair fell across his face. “A hospital date isn’t exactly on my agenda.”

Slowly, Noah helped you back to your feet, his laughter mingling with yours as you both steadied yourselves. Returning to your brooms, you remembered what you were supposed to be doing.

Pearl’s bar was finally back in order—chairs down, floor spotless, stage organized, dishes washed. The strong scent of disinfectant made Noah sneeze, drawing a laugh from you when you saw his reddened nose from the allergy. He kindly helped you gather your belongings, but as you were about to leave, heavy rain poured outside, making him groan in disappointment.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” he grumbled, gazing at the downpour with a less-than-pleased expression. Somehow, he looked adorable, pouting like that.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the rain?” you teased, shrugging off your jacket and tossing it to the floor by the door along with your bag and phone.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Noah asked, furrowing his brows in a mix of concern, trailing after your mischievous smile as you walked backward into the rain. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to get soaked for no reason. We could wait it out or reschedule, and…”

“Boy, you’re so…”

“Boring?” he offered.

“Methodical,” you corrected, raising a finger in the air for emphasis. “You’re afraid of making mistakes, turning it into a constant competition with yourself to make everything perfect. But I have a question for you: When was the last time you felt free?”

The words seemed to strike him, and for a moment, you hesitated, fearing you’d overstepped, noticing how he froze in place. Life had always been a sea of opportunities to you, no matter what they were. You’d always felt alone, even in a crowd, and nothing had stopped you from living.

Nothing had cared enough to cage you, and that made you free.

The trance broke. Noah shook his head, banishing his inner doubts. A smile formed on his lips as he shed his jacket, tossing his phone alongside your things, and sprinted into the rain, squinting against the droplets.

You instinctively began running down the long, empty road, your laughter tangling with his, filling the air. Noah made it a race; taller than you, his long strides were worth two of yours.

Rain clung to your skin, hair plastered to your face, strands obscuring your vision as you desperately glanced over your shoulder, afraid of being caught. With a playful grin, he bit his lip, struggling to see through the downpour.

His laughter was the best song you’d ever heard, and your heart longed to play it on repeat until it soothed the storm raging inside.

When your legs gave out, surrendering, Noah caught you in a surprise move, hoisting you over his shoulder. Your laughter spilled freely, your stomach aching from the joy. Spinning together in the rain, the cold seemed insignificant as adrenaline warmed your bodies.

A dance without music moved you both as Noah clasped your hand, twirling you, your toes barely touching the ground. Every time you lifted your face to the sky, feeling the raindrops and cool breeze, your lips and his curved upward simultaneously.

Attempting another spin, Noah’s foot slipped, sending you both tumbling to the ground. He softened your fall with his arm, and once again, your eyes locked, separated only by the strange-tasting water falling from the sky and dripping from your chins.

Every detail of his face was perfectly sculpted, a maze where you could easily lose yourself—his deep, hopeful, and fiercely brown eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, boy,” you whispered, almost breathless, as he propped himself up on one arm. “I’m still going to break your heart.”

“I dare you, little storm,” Noah said, his gaze fixed on you as though spellbound, his free hand brushing away a stray lock from your face to study it closely before claiming your lips in one swift motion.

Every ounce of turmoil that had knotted your insides over the past weeks washed away with the rain, as if a new sensation took over your body. Your arms looped around his neck, fingers threading through the damp hair at his nape. There was no other choice for him but to stay. You wanted him to stay.

Noah’s long fingers pressed into your back, gathering the soaked fabric of your shirt, pulling your bodies together with deliberate slowness. He cupped your face, deepening the kiss with an urgency that mirrored the moment he’d first crossed your path.

Noses brushing gently, you both smiled softly, his lips returning to yours. Tilting his head skyward, eyes closed as he murmured something unintelligible. Noah laughed softly, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead and the curve of his nose.

"Please, little storm, tell me I'll see you tomorrow," he whispered, almost like a plea, as his lips brushed against your skin, refusing to open his eyes.

"Absolutely, yes," your voice confirmed as you slowly lifted his face, your fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair.

A second meeting in a dark basement isn’t exactly what you imagined.

Noah had come down with a terrible cold after last night’s adventure, and in an attempt to stop you from risking his life again, he suggested you come watch his band rehearse. His friends and bandmates were introduced as Folio, Jolly, and Ruffilo. The guys welcomed you with enthusiasm, and for a moment, you felt like you’d known them for years, so naturally did they make you feel part of their group.

“What’s with that face?” Ruffilo asked as soon as the first song ended, slinging his instrument off his shoulder. “Don’t tell me it’s that bad.”

“You have the privilege of seeing us play a private show, and that’s the face you make? Noah, your friend here is kind of rude!” The guy behind the drums joked in an easygoing tone, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, you nibbled on your lip while munching on a bag of chips. It wasn’t like you were a music expert, though you’d been breathing it in like air for as long as you could remember, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

“I think it was badass!” As soon as you spoke, everyone slumped their shoulders in relief.

“I take back everything I said about her.”

“But something’s missing…” you added, standing up from the couch and brushing your fingers together.

“I take back everything I just said about her.” The guy on the drums simply couldn’t stay quiet.

“Folio, let the girl speak!” Jolly interrupted, and Folio quickly mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key. “What exactly do you think is missing? I’ve had that same feeling and would love to know I’m not going crazy.”

You began pacing back and forth, your steps deliberate, your fingers curling inside your jeans pockets. Jolly’s question made you reflect on the current metal scene. All their references seemed focused on hardcore, where every song followed a single rhythm.

“How about taking advantage of the fact that the band doesn’t have a set direction yet and trying something different? Like metalcore—it allows for a mix of guttural and melodic vocals, low tunings, and fast riffs. It keeps the sound fresh and avoids the songs blending into each other when the tracks change.” You finished your thought, and the guys exchanged looks as though a divine light had suddenly shone upon them. “Did I say something dumb?”

“Actually, you said something interesting…” Jolly seemed lost in thought for a few seconds, tapping his fingers on a wooden surface.

“Noah said you sing rock and punk at the bar where you work,” the guy holding an energy drink offered you some, but you politely declined. “Why not try doing the melodic vocals on one of our songs? I promise it’s just a test, and we’ll leave you alone afterward. But seriously, look at our desperate faces!”

Ruffilo made a dramatic pout, clasping his hands together like a kid begging for a new pet. Your body tensed at the idea of meddling where you didn’t belong, and you regretted even opening your mouth. Your gaze met Noah’s, who simply winked and nodded, his lips silently mouthing, “You’re good” over and over.

Suddenly, his hand appeared next to yours, holding a microphone. As much as you wanted to refuse, the words stuck in your throat as Noah took your hand and placed the mic in it.

There was no turning back.

“THAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME!” Folio yelled as he struck the final cymbal.

“You were absolutely right! We needed to combine guttural and melodic vocals!” Jolly, almost talking to himself, continued tapping his fingers on a wooden surface. He gave what looked like the shadow of a smile, and that seemed like a good sign.

“So it seems my plan worked…”

Noah surprised you by wrapping his arms around you from behind, planting a kiss on your temple and lingering as he inhaled the scent of your hair.

“Plan?” You turned abruptly to face him.

“I brought you here because ever since I first saw you at the bar and we sang together, I knew I wanted you to sing with me in my band—now our band—and I won’t take no for an answer!” he declared, pinching the tip of your nose. “You’re good. You’re really good!”

Your shocked gaze flicked from him to the other band members, who looked just as excited as he was.

“Welcome to Bad Omens, little storm.”

After saying goodbye to the boys, Noah promised to drive you home. While he finished grabbing his things from the garage, you decided to step outside for some air and take the opportunity to smoke a cigarette.

Becoming the vocalist of a band at this point in your life wasn’t exactly on your bingo card for the year, and you had no idea how you’d balance it with your job at the bar, especially since saving money was still your top priority. But everything had felt so simple down there. There was no trace of her voice in your head telling you that your voice was as cursed as the abomination you were. There was absolutely nothing capable of stealing the feeling that coursed through you every time your voice and Noah’s harmonized.

It was impossible to predict where this would lead in the future, but for the first time, you felt happy. You belonged to something where you could be yourself without it costing you your freedom.

You were finally you.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the screech of tires on asphalt. Startled, you turned to see a car speeding toward you from the other side of the road, threatening to mount the sidewalk where you stood. In an impulsive move, you threw yourself to the side, landing hard on the rough, gravel-strewn ground, a gasp of pain escaping your lips.

When you looked at the car—one you knew all too well—your entire body tensed, frozen on the ground. For a moment, you forgot about the scrape on your arm as your eyes locked on the driver.

“Found you, little girl,” Seth announced, grinning beneath his scruffy beard.

“Hey, what’s going on out here?” Noah’s voice, muffled by his hurried footsteps, cut through the tension. As he approached, Seth rolled up the window and shifted into reverse, speeding away down the wrong side of the road.

When Noah got closer, his brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation. He quickly crouched down, and you threw yourself into his arms. Without saying a single word, you clung to him so tightly that your fingers dug deep into his skin, your legs trembling uncontrollably.

“Shhh,” he whispered, wrapping his arms even tighter around you to hold you securely. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But everything seemed to hit your mind all at once. In seconds, you weren’t in Noah’s arms anymore—you were somewhere else, a filthy place as vile as your skin felt and as repulsive as the stench surrounding you. Your arms and legs turned immobile, locking up like a cramp, as the sensation of him closing in grew stronger and stronger. You wanted to scream, but nothing came out. He had severed your vocal cords because he enjoyed watching you cry.

Seth had stolen everything from you. And no matter where you tried to rebuild yourself, their shadow would always be there.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @anarchydomainglory ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @foliosgirl

[commander-gloryforge]

so nobody was going to tell me about AWAKENED SYLVARI and how cool they look????

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol