#Life Skills and Soft Skills Instructors

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New KMC School Job Vacancy 2023 for Teachers, Staff

New KMC School Job Vacancy 2023 for Teachers, Staff, English, Social Studies, Maths, Science, Nepali, Computer Teachers, Life Skills and Soft Skills Instructors, Science Lab Assistant, Grade Teachers/ Assistant Teachers, Sports, Music, Dance & Arts/ Crafts Teachers, Computer Lab Assistant, ECA/ CCA Coordinator, School Counselor, Hostel Warden – Girls/Boys, Admin Officer, Teaching Jobs, School…

[crguang]

violinist kafka x her pianist accompaniment reader, courtesy of my 🎹 anon and @shalomniscient’s beautiful brain <3 we’ve been going crazy over this AU since i received the ask today.

R and kafka are childhood best friends who have been playing together since their respective instructors discovered their potential and made them work together on a piece, very much young prodigies in the making who do nothing but hone their skills with the dream of becoming the best in their field. one day, when they’re around 16 years old, R moves away. this bus ride is the last memory kafka holds of them together and she remembers it viscerally whenever she brings an especially complex composition to life, which eventually becomes the source of her recognition and success. this is a goodbye she only understands once she’s lost them.

607. i miss you.

//

You held her hand that early evening on the way to the bus stop on the corner street four minutes from the music academy; your pinky finger loosely looped with hers and in the chill of February, she could feel the rough material of your knitted glove against her own, the one gifted to you by an aunt she doesn’t remember the name of. Fingertips linked like an implicit promise, she spared you a questioning glance at the unusual gesture and you avoided her gaze, making a show of scrolling through a playlist on your MP3 player with your free hand. She thinks of it as holding hands now, because despite your palms not touching at the time, your bodies were connected through that fragile bridge between your fingers and your hands swayed in the air with your unhurried steps. Each of her exhales were made visible by the cold while you kept yours within the confines of the scarf around your neck, you always despised the drop in temperature. Even with the bottom half of your head hidden by the soft fabric, she could read the reservation on the lines of your face. You were keeping something in and it was obvious to her who had known you since that Wednesday you sat in her every-day rehearsal room, patiently waiting with her violin instructor and a faraway look in your eyes. Back then, it had been eight years. Perhaps that isn’t accurate, she has known you a total of eight years up to the present day. That is the only constant between you, whoever you are today she does not know.

Kafka chuckles lowly to herself, a self-deprecating sound. After all this time, she still needs this moment of reminiscence before she dares put the bow to her violin’s sacred strings. If this is what puts her in the state of mind necessary to perform this composition flawlessly, so be it. She inhales long and slow, then exhales quietly through her mouth. She raises her right hand and in one controlled motion, slides the bow over the first note of her instrument. 

The 607 bus was half empty when you stepped on it first. You paid the bus fare and she followed you to the back after doing the same. You took the seat next to a window tainted with water streaks and silently took the violin case from her hands to lay part of it on your thigh, the other half rested on her leg the entire ride home, its small weight shared like the rest of your burdens. She took the earphone you handed her and pressed a little closer to you to see what you were showing her on your MP3. The bus started moving a second later. 

“I don’t want something too loud this time,” you said, scrolling down the music app where you’d created playlists for each other a year prior. 

“Lame.”

“You chose the playlist yesterday, you don’t get to complain. This one is nice.”

You pressed play on a slow song and lifted your head to meet her eyes expectantly as the first melodies reached her ear. She conceded with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. You smiled, a soft edge to it, and didn’t tear your gaze from hers for a moment that Kafka now wonders if it lasted seconds or minutes. You looked into her eyes, searching for something she didn’t have the guts to confess, and she looked back at you with the words on her lips. They were often there, sitting just past her lips like they’d fly out of her mouth the instant she opened it, but she found that they were anchored to her tongue and had no plan to leave the warmth of their comfort zone. Her eyebrows twitched in question for the second time that hour, an unsure smile on her face in response to your stare.

“What?”

Her attempt to glimpse into your mind broke the suspended moment. You shook your head somewhat ruefully.

“Nothing.”

You lowered your MP3 and followed the movement with your eyes, avoiding hers once again. She could see something brewing inside of you since that morning, guilt you couldn’t admit to her, maybe, but she didn’t push thinking you would speak up eventually. Instead, she playfully nudged your side with an elbow.

“Practice used up your last brain cells or what?”

“Ha, ha. Like you weren’t the one struggling to keep up with the tempo.”

“Try again, maybe the next lie will be more convincing.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot Kafka The Prodigy could never make a mistake, ever. I’m only the accompaniment, what would I know?”

“That’s more like it.”

You lifted your eyes to the sky, but the smile that replaced the weird one you were previously giving her was much more brilliant. You glanced at her, then turned your head to the window. An older couple were quietly chatting to themselves a few rows to the left in front of you, their heads leaning against each other, and she spent a minute looking at them while the next song played in your earphones. With the music, it was impossible to catch what one was saying to the other, but that didn’t matter. Their bodies were pressed together like yours with hers, as if huddling for warmth, and the woman was talking with her hands the way you would when you were passionate about a new album you just discovered. She didn’t notice it then, that she was looking for you in others even as you sat next to her. Her world was so small; you and music, music and you, and those hours where the two were one and the same. 

To this day, you are the music she plays. Your harmonious smiles and dulcet voice, they are all within the melodies she borrows from other composers and in a sense, you are always on stage next to her during a performance. In the practice room, Kafka furrows her brows. She feels it mounting in her, that feeling that makes her great, akin to a pulsing heart ascending to her throat until it lodges itself between her vocal chords and she lets the violin speak for her. The climax approaches steadily, she knows that part like the back of her hand. 

She lost interest in the talking couple. You were still looking outside the window at the swaying tree branches and passing cars, and she wondered what was so interesting out there that you couldn’t look at her. She watched your eyelids droop, though you stayed awake and kept staring at the world beyond the two of you. The song in her ear had a bass that followed her heartbeat. It wasn't sad, but you were. Streetlights had come on to balance out the rapidly vanishing sunlight and each one illuminated your features in fleeting rays of yellow, your eyes were hazy and your lips no longer smiling for her, and strands of hair brushed your temple whenever you adjusted your head on the glass. She followed the smooth lines of your brows down to the bridge of your nose, then to the curve of your upper lip. On her lap, her fingers twitched and curled into a loose fist. Her gaze went unnoticed, you were entirely enticed by the world beyond her reach and she was enthralled by the sadness on your face that added years to your current age of merely sixteen. You knew something she didn’t, she was sure of it, but no sound came out of her mouth after she parted her lips to ask. You swallowed, and her eyes flitted to the lump in your throat before settling back on your fluttering lashes. She suddenly perceived a distance between you that made her deeply uncomfortable and that feeling sat on her chest until your bus stop approached and you finally straightened up to look back at her. You smiled weakly, and Kafka spent years regretting not saying anything as you hesitantly patted her closed fist and placed the violin case on her thighs so you could prepare to stand, ringing the bell to announce your stop. She searched your eyes and found nothing but apologies. 

“Playing with you makes me so happy,” you said out of the blue, holding up her stare intently. “You’re really great.”

“I know,” she replied lamely, half-jokingly, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound weak and breathless. It made her smile nonetheless. 

“You’re gonna be so great, and I’m gonna be great, and we’re gonna be great together. We’ll perform on stage just like we talked about, and in ten years, we’ll be the best in our field.”

“It’ll take me less than ten years. But I’ll wait for you to catch up.”

You gazed at her for the half minute it took for the bus to pull over, searing her playful cockiness into your mind, then you stood and she moved her legs out of the way for you to reach the aisle. 

“Bye, Kafka.”

“See you M…” Her goodbye was interrupted by the soft press of your lips on her cheek, a quick gesture before you rapidly turned away from her and walked out of the bus. “...Monday,” she muttered in confusion. 

She turned to the window as the bus started up again and you waved at her with enthusiasm that felt out of place. Still, she made a disgusted face that made you smile wider, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue like she was going to puke from the uncharacteristic display of affection. Your figure got smaller and smaller, and she lifted a hand to her cheek to wipe the skin where your lips had been.

The piece is coming to an end. The hardest part has passed and all that is left is a clean finish that Kafka executes perfectly. The final note rings out in the empty room. Her head hangs low for a moment, eyes shut and exhaling slowly through her mouth. She is great and she’ll perform on stage in two weeks. She is not the best, not yet, she’s missing the soothing notes of piano keys to accompany her violin. Kafka chuckles to herself, the irony of this thought is laughable. She smiles, raises her head, and starts the piece from the top. 

[buckyshoneybunny]

Their Babydoll

WinterWidow + Shy!Stark!Curvy!reader 

Summary- Bucky and Natasha take a liking to the shy designer. 

W.C.- 2212 

Warnings- Smut, fluff, cursing, unprotected sex, oral (fem, reader), cum eating, let me know if I missed anything. 

A/N- I hope you guys like! Sorry if the smut sucks, I was tired lol. I know these fics are usually Bucky x Reader x Steve but I would want Nat more. Anyway I already have an idea for a new series and it includes Biker Bucky! Not proof read, all mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy it my lovelies!  

Masterlist 

“Please Uncle Tony!” You beg for the hundredth time.  

“No,” he says, not even looking up from the device he was tweaking.  

“But-” 

“No,” he interrupts you.  

You stick your bottom lip out and give your best puppy eyes. It would always work when you were younger. Now though? 

“No”  

You groan and cross your arms. You smile to yourself. “You know, Aunt Pepper has been wondering what happened to her-” 

“Okay! Okay,” he sighs and pushes the protective glasses further up his nose as he looks at you. “There’s no need to bring Pepper into this.” 

You giggle and lean your hip against the table he’s working at. “You always were afraid of Aunt Pepper.” 

“I’m not afraid of her,” he huffs. “I just happen to have a healthy amount of respect for her.”  

“You’re afraid of her, Tony,” Bruce pipes up from across the lab.  

You giggle as Tony sends you and Bruce a glare.  

“Why do you even want to use the holographic interfaces?” Tony asks. 

“Because it would make designing floor plans so much easier! Using your tech would help me with the critical parts of my job.”  

“But you don’t even know how to use them.” 

“You could teach me.” 

“But I don’t hav-” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he huffs.  

You squeal and hug him. “Thank you, Uncle Tony!”  

He pats your arm, “Yeah yeah.” 

Most people didn’t know Tony had a sister; hell no one knew he actually had any siblings until you showed up with your stuff one rainy day. 

Freshly 19 and ready to make a name for yourself in the world of Interior Design, you’d moved to New York thinking this was the best place to do so. 

Your mother, Tony’s younger sister only by a few years, called to express her worry of you moving there and being alone.  

So, Tony being the ever so giving person he is, and a few not-so-subtle threats from your mother, told you that you could stay at the Avengers Tower. You were furious, ranting about how you wanted to make it on your own and didn’t need any help. But when he mentioned you’d get to meet and spend time with the Avengers, you quickly got over it. 

You were so excited to meet the Avengers, you’d always had a major crush on Bucky. You even wrote a paper about him for your history class in the 6th grade. His sparkling steel blue eyes taking you captive. You wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through his shoulder length brown hair, hoping it’s as soft as it looks. And you can’t forget those full, pink lips that could make a gal melt like butter on hot asphalt.  

But he was taken, by your second favorite Avenger, Natasha Romanoff. You definitely had a girl crush on her. She was so strong and skilled, every womans idol. She was the reason you tried and failed at learning how to fight. So what if you were thicker than the other girls? Yeah okay, you had thick thighs, a pudgy, soft stomach and flabby arms, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t learn some moves like the other girls. To be fair though, that instructor was a womanizer. 

He said, and I quote, that you’d ‘never make it anywhere in life looking like that’. Boy did you prove him wrong. You were one of the best Interior Designers in New York, you had a special touch that other designers didn’t have. And you loved your job, you loved bringing peoples dreams to life and seeing the joy on their face.  

You enjoyed it, but it wasn’t always easy. The meticulous planning, writing up contracts, getting a crew for certain aspects in and out on time could be grueling at times, but seeing the looks on your client’s faces when they’d see the finished product was always worth it.  

You had been worried when you first got to the Tower, worried the other Avengers wouldn’t like you. It was all for nothing though because they absolutely loved you, you were a part of their dysfunctional family now and they had no plans of letting you go. Everyone had really taken a liking to you, especially Bucky and Natasha. 

When you introduced yourself to them with your cheeks flushed, hands nervously fidgeting behind your back, and your shy little voice, it made Natasha want to wrap her arms around you and protect you from the world.  

But, on the other hand, seeing your long thick thighs on display, juicy ass just barely covered by the shorts you wore, and your tank top that hugged your curves just right made her’s and Bucky’s mouths water. That body paired with your shy, innocent demeanor made them want to swallow you whole. 

They had been happy just the two of them, rekindling their love once they both were free. They never thought about having someone else in their relationship, never wanted anyone else, until you.  

One knowing look and desire fill conversation later they knew they had to have you. They just had to be careful so they wouldn’t scare you away, and make sure Tony didn’t find out and do something crazy. He was very protective of you. 

So, the next couple of years were spent with heated looks, lingering touches, and subtle hints thrown at you that you never seem to catch. They were tired of this game of chase, frustrated and on a level of horny so high that they couldn’t fuck down no matter how hard they tried. Bucky was this close to fucking up against the closest wall, Natasha not far behind. But they’d soon get what they longed for.  

You studied your reflection in the mirror again. The thin strapped, black dress that stopped mid-thigh, and had a slit going up your left thigh, hugged your body perfectly. You wouldn’t normally wear something so revealing but Wanda said this dress was perfect.  

She’d said you’d definitely be getting fucked tonight. She may or may not have read Bucky and Natasha’s minds and knew this dress would make them lose it.  

Tonight was Sam’s birthday party, although his birthday wasn’t for two more days, he’d be in Louisiana visiting his sister so Steve wanted to throw him a party before he left.  

Making sure your curls were perfect, you sprayed on some perfume and put some black heels on and headed down to the floor the party was being held at. 

Natasha and Bucky were sat at the bar area, formulating a plan on how to make you theirs. Natasha wore an off the shoulder, floor length, blood red dress that fit her just right, with matching lipstick and heels.  

Bucky had a tailor-made, black suit that showed his defined muscles. His face clean-shaven, displaying his sharp jaw and his hair tied back in that low, sexy bun he’s always sporting.  

Natasha was the first to see you, choking on her drink as she takes you in, causing Bucky to follow her line of sight. His cock rock hard instantly. She bit her lip and one shared glance; they knew tonight was the night and they had just the plan to do it. 

You lock eyes with Natasha and she beckons you over.  

“Look at you, firefly,” she grins and you blush.  

Bucky whistles and looks you up and down. “You’d give poor old Steve a heart attack in that dress, doll. You look amazing.”  

“You think so?” You shyly ask. 

“Definitely,” Natasha adds.  

You begrudgingly do a shot with them after the persisted you do at least one to help loosen you up, even though they knew you didn’t like alcohol. They didn’t leave your side the rest of the night, not that you minded, you loved being the center of their attention. They were waiting for the perfect moment to sneak you away, that moment came after the cake and presents, everyone having gone back to drinking and dancing.  

Natasha loops her arm with yours. “So, firefly,” she smirks. “Me and Bucky were thinking of changing up our room, think you could help us?” There a devious sparkle in her eyes that you miss. 

Your eyes light up. “Yes!” You smile.  

They lead you away from the party and up to their room. Once inside Bucky locks the door. You look around as Natasha comes up behind you and puts her hands on your waist. She runs her nose up the side of your neck, taking in the scent of your perfume. You freeze. 

“Nat?” You ask on a shaky whisper.  

“Yes, firefly?” She nibbles on your ear, causing you to shudder. 

Bucky stands in front of you and cups your face, tilting your head to make you look at him. His lips inches from yours. Your follow-up question gets stuck in your throat. 

“Do you know,” Bucky starts, leaning forward to nudge his nose with yours. 

“How long we’ve been waiting for you?” Natasha finishes, kissing your shoulder. 

“What?” You ask through the already forming fog in your brain. 

“We want you, firefly. Will you let us have you?” She slides her hands up to just under your boobs, waiting for your consent. You whimper and nod. 

“Words doll,” Bucky says. 

“Yes,” you whisper breathlessly.  

Bucky smashes his lips to yours as Natasha cups your boobs, squeezing them. You moan and grab Bucky’s forearms.  

He steps back and takes his suit jacket off, instructing Nat to take your dress off. She slowly unzips the dress and pushes the straps off your shoulders. It gets bunched around your middle, you blush, insecurities sneaking up on you. She just pushes it the rest of the way down. 

Your hands itch to cover yourself but stop when Bucky lets out a deep groan. He whispers a fuck and reaches down to squeeze his throbbing cock. You let out a whine. 

“Get on the bed and spread those gorgeous thighs, doll,” he rasps. His eyes black with lust. Your bra and panties come off and you get on the bed, laying on your back and shyly spreading your thighs.  

Natasha moans. “Look at her Buck.” He hums and pushes the straps of her dress off her shoulder, revealing she had nothing on underneath. He groans and kisses her; she unbuttons his shirt. You whine, more slick coming out and coating your folds. They break apart and grin. 

While Bucky finishes taking his clothes off, Natasha comes beside you and starts to play with your breasts, pinching and tugging your nipples causing you to moan. Bucky, now naked, kneels between your legs, taking in the sight of your soaked pussy.  

“Already so wet and we’ve hardly touched you babydoll,” he taunts. You whine, the feeling of his hot breath causing you to shudder. 

“Don’t tease her Buck,” Natasha says as she takes one of your nipples into her mouth.  

She nips lightly at the bud as Bucky presses his tongue to your clit, you let out a high-pitched moan and grip his hair. As she teases your nipples, Bucky eats you out like a starved man, mumbling out how good you taste in between slurps and gasps of breath. 

Bucky can’t handle it anymore and stands up before you can cum. “I gotta be in you, doll, fuck.” He gets in between your legs and lines his leaking tip up with your entrance.  

He slowly slides in and your eyes roll back. He gives you a second once he bottoms out, letting you adjust. Natasha rubs your clit as he starts to move. 

“How does she feel?” She asks 

“S’fucking good, so tight, shit” He groans and pounds into you. 

Natasha oscillates between making out with you and sucking you breasts and leaving hickies. She keeps rubbing your clit. You grip the sheets, panting and moaning. Bucky angles his thrusts just right and you scream as he hits that spot inside of you that causes you to see stars. 

“I-I’m go-....gonna...” You can’t even finish your sentence. 

He speeds up his thrusts, “Cum, doll, soak my cock.” 

Your eyes roll back and your back arches as you squirt, soaking his balls, thighs, and the bed. His hips stutter as he cums unexpectedly, he rides out both of your highs, his cock not softening at all.  

Natasha motions for him to pull, when he does, she immediately gets between your legs and eats you out, moaning at the taste of your slick and Bucky’s cum. He groans and starts to fuck her. 

This goes on for hours, both of them pull orgasms out of you. By the end of it, you lay cuddle between them, exhausted. They say that they want you to be a part of their relationship, you agree, feeling like you’re dreaming. The two people you’ve had the biggest crush on actually wanted you to be with them, you couldn’t have been happier. 

When Tony finds out he whacks both Natasha and Bucky in the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper. He also now carries a spray bottle with him for when y’all get a little too handsy.  

All in all you’re living your dream and you couldn’t be happier.

[beebundt]

guys im going to be a little cringe for a minute strap in.

made a one off unserious gorillaz oc just to play around with but the week long outage from the recent hurricane gave lots of time to stew on it & unintentionally develop it more so this is how this came to be. some context + an extra doodle under the read more!

everyone knows her by Angel/Ángel, real name is Ángelica but only her parents & aunts/uncles ever call her that & she hates it (she thinks it sounds "prissy"). she's more locally famous than anything because she made a ton of connections from her partying days (phase 1 & 2) & really helps out her community. she's one of those people who has done an absurd amount of cool, bizarre shit throughout her life & has many crazy skills but never really settled down into one thing. shes been a street racer (one of her absolute favorites & still does), tattoo artist, lifeguard, radio host, in a band for a brief time (dissolved due to infighting or infucking, rather), arctic fisherman, actor (once as main cast in an obscure horror movie, but mostly as extras), modelling, seasonal wildlands firefighter, freelance ceramics artist, skydiving instructor, lots of volunteer work + odd jobs, so on and so forth. she is currently running a bar in London right now though. Ángel has a habit of when she gets too used to something, she moves onto something else to keep things interesting, her bar is the only real consistent going in her life atm. has a passion for vehicles of all types as well, has amassed a collection of bikes and cars mainly but also loves to get her hands on planes & boats when she can. custom repairs and fixes up vintage cars/bikes in her free time as a hobby. born in LA, has traveled all over the place, but seems to be drawn back to the gloominess of London eventually even though she claims how much she hates it there (it was the first place she moved to w/ a friend when she became independent from her family so its a soft spot for her).

she first met 2d in LA while they were on tour (phase 4, humanz) and she was back visiting family and had a few brief meet ups but the band had to move on to finish out the tour, so they separated & didn't actually see each other again until several months later by chance, when Angel moved back to London in the mean time & started working at a bar there, where they started dating. it took a few months before the two actually committed to it officially, but they've been together since then. she joined him on the now now tour in full and in part of the later ones. some of the doodles above are from the song machine era during peak covid where they had to long distance

2d & Ángel did actually meet before (as seen below) but neither actually remember it because they were both plastered & high af at the time (this was during phase 1). she ended up going to a Gorillaz album celebration party but didn't know who they were, just came for the party & cheap drinks w/ a friend

i hope to make another post later abt her & more abt her background because im really having fun w/ it rn!

[siancore]

Summary: Rick is a surf instructor and Michonne is his student. There is an instant attraction between the pair even though they have only just met. 

A/N: Written for the @richonneevents Summer Vibes Bingo 2024.

Square Fill: Surfer AU

“I guess it’s now or never,” said Michonne as she planted her surfboard in the sand and waited.

“You got this,” said Rick as he stopped next to her. “And if you don’t, I’ll give you a full refund, I promise.”

He was charming, handsome, and funny, and Michonne could not help but laugh. The soft breeze coming off the water was the only thing that muted the heat of the late afternoon. The sounds of waves rolling to the shore almost drowned out the easy conversation of the pair standing at the water’s edge. Michonne squinted as she looked out across the bay, her hand shielding her eyes; Rick squinted as he watched her. 

No matter how many summers he had spent teaching surfing lessons in that beautiful part of the world, he was certain, at that moment, he had never seen anything more stunning than Michonne’s profile awash in the warm hues of the fading sunlight. 

“I’m not about to drown or make a huge fool of myself right now, am I?” she asked as a sliver of doubt crept into her mind.

“You ain’t about to do either,” said Rick, steadfastly. “You’ll be fine.”

She watched the waves for a moment before taking a deep, steadying breath. 

“You think I can really do this?” she asked, turning her attention back to the handsome instructor.

“I know you can, Michonne.”

His southern drawl washed over her causing her skin to prickle in the most delightful way. Michonne bit her lip, dipped her head, and glanced up at Rick through her long lashes. 

“You’re not just saying that because I’m your favorite student?” she asked in a flirtatious manner.  

He let out a little laugh and said, “Nah, that wouldn’t be fair on you and your skills.”

Michonne laughed and placed her hand to Rick’s upper arm; both were fully aware of the feeling of her skin against his. She cleared her throat and removed her hand before clasping it to the other and letting out a sigh. 

“You sound pretty sure for someone who has yet to see if I have any actual skill,” said Michonne, playing it off as a joke even though she could feel the electricity between them. She noticed it the first day she showed up to Rick’s beginner surfer classes the week before. Felt it then during their one-on-one session. 

“I am sure,” he replied as he tilted his head to the side and took in her expression. His gaze felt hotter than the afternoon sun. “I believe in you.”

Michonne’s chest felt full at the sincerity of Rick’s words. They had only just met, and she was not certain what the attraction between them meant, but she trusted what he said and did. She trusted him. 

“You mean that?” she asked, softly and suddenly coy.

Rick’s lips turned up at the corners and his eyes softened as he replied, “Yeah, I do. I believe you can do anything.”

Michonne smiled as Rick continued speaking. 

“You came into my life and made me believe I could feel again. I don’t know what it is, Michonne, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Like I’ve known you forever.”

“Yeah,” she said, breathless. “I feel the same about you.”

[doberbutts]

My apologies about the weird ask! I saw pictures of ballet dancers bloody feet and let it color my view of it, figured if its painful for people with five toes it would be hell for anyone with more than that. Not that they couldn’t or shouldn’t do it, but that it’d be harsher on their feet. As someone who has wide feet that has a hard time with pointed shoes I was wincing 😅 sorry again should’ve kept it to myself

Oh, you're talking about images like this?

Tbh this is fairly extreme and mostly you see this with ill-fitting shoes or with professionals who don't give their feet a break (bc they can't, bc this is their livelihood). Dancing small time competitions in the local rec center shouldn't do this to your feet unless your shoes really suck or your instructor is very hard on you (by ballet standards- ballet instructors are stereotypically fairly tough anyway).

However, ballet does permanently change the way your foot is shaped and the way your joints work.

Not just your feet but your whole body. Especially when started very young, so since I started at 4 and I have a bazillion things wrong with me anyway I was kind of pre-destined to have some problems from ballet later in life. Don't get me wrong, there were also many benefits, and I LIKE ballet, but ballet and foot problems later in life kind of go hand in hand regardless of what your foot was shaped like when you were born.

It's a rigorous discipline and people don't take it seriously because it's seen as hyperfeminine and also because they see how effortless the dancers make the moves look, and they don't see the work it takes to create that visual. So it's very shocking when non-dancers happen upon images or discussions of the drawbacks.

As said before, I never went en pointe due to ankle weakness I couldn't quite fix, so that photo where her ankle is bent at an extreme angle? Yeah my instructor wouldn't let me go en pointe bc she was afraid I'd snap the bones in my ankle the second I tried that move. Ballet flats aren't nearly as bad on your feet as pointe shoes (pointe shoes are in each of those photos), so it wasn't the shoe itself that beat up my feet but the wear and tear of executing the dance moves.

These are flats- much more flexible than pointe shoes and what young children learn on before their skill and development reaches a safe point to graduate to pointe shoes. They're really just a piece of soft leather or satin held on by a stretchy band. Little kids should never be in pointe shoes and I genuinely caution anyone whose instructor told them it was safe before hitting double digits to find a different instructor for whatever kid before they do massive, permanent damage to their feet. Pretty much every medical study out there says you should be at least 11, and preferably 13-15, before you move off of flats.

My instructor believed the same. I stopped ballet because I was tested twice before being allowed to go en pointe and both times failed due to ankle weakness, at about 13-15. So in high school I switched disciplines because otherwise I'd be a teenager dancing with a bunch of little kids still in flats.

THAT BEING SAID I do feel the need to clarify that I have not had extra toes or fingers after my first week of life, because they were banded pretty much immediately after birth and fell off shortly thereafter. So I wasn't some 6-toed kid forcing myself into an unforgiving wooden shoe, I was a 5-toed kid in effectively soft leather moccasins that just happened to have slightly wider feet than you'd expect. I'm not putting photos of my feet on this blog but unless I point it out you wouldn't really be able to tell I was born with extras until I show you the remnants of the little "shelf" where the extras would have grown out of.

I do appreciate the concern- just keep in mind how it might be coming across next time.

[moraxsthrone]

OMFFGGG LILY WHY YOU GOTTA DO THIS TO ME RN?? WHYYYY??

i was about to gtfo and make myself smth to eat and go maybe even go to bed at a respectable hour but now my head is DEVOID OF ALL THOUGHT EXCEPT DILF!ZHONGLI. 😭😭😭

okay but...

damn it. modern au!dilf!zhongli...

warnings: nsfw. mdni.

...who has been your kid's martial arts instructor for the past few months. he's kind, soft-spoken, and has the sexiest voice you've heard in your entire life.

...whose son/daughter has become friends with your child during this time. they've even taken turns having sleepovers, leading you and zhongli to interact outside of the dojo.

...who you learn is single when you ask if he or his child's mother will be picking them up the next afternoon.

...whose piercing amber eyes you've felt lingering on you just a little too long when he thinks you won't notice.

...who you volunteered to help tidy up the dojo with after lessons one Saturday afternoon while his assistant took all the students to get pizza.

...whose hips you feel press against your bottom when he reaches up to grab something for you that was just out of your reach.

...who heard the way you gasped when you felt his semi against your butt through his pants.

...who didn't back away when you pushed back against him.

...whose lips brushed your ear when he said, "i think we both have something the other wants..."

...who smirked down at you when you did an about-face and braced your hands on the edge of the countertop behind you while looking up at him with parted lips.

...whose eyes you could've sworn began to glow just before he leaned down and ghosted his lips against yours, tentatively.

...whose breath hitched when you wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck and stood on your tippy toes to capture his lips in a kiss.

...whose print is tenting his grey joggers when he cups your sex in his skilled hand.

...who moans into your mouth when you push your fingers inside his waistband, moving things along bc you know you've only got so much time. (before the author starves to death)

...who wraps his strong hands around your waist and hoists you up, the bare skin of your trembling thighs slapping against the cool surface when your short, little skirt (that he KNOWS you wore on purpose) rides up around your hips.

...who hooks his hands in the pits of your knees to open and push your legs back to expose the fact that you're not wearing any underwear.

...whose cock twitches in his pants at the sight of your clean, naked pussy lips spreading for him before he leans in to finally taste you.

...whose warm, wet tongue circles your clit before taking it between his soft lips to suck.

...who moans with you in his mouth when you push your fingers into his auburn-tipped hair and grab a fistful of it.

...who has you arching your back, slick dripping off the edge of the counter as he furrows his brow and sighs against your cunt.

...who's fisting the thick head of his cock through the grey cotton material while he drinks down every drop of your orgasm.

...who lifts you up and helps you down, only for you to lift his shirt and make out with his abs and chest before pulling your own top off.

...whose waistband you hook your fingers around and slowly lower until his hard, leaking cock springs out to slap against the narrow line of dark brown hair beneath his navel.

...who wedges his naked hips between your moist thighs as you lay back on the tatami, fingertips grazing the length of his torso along the way.

...whose sculpted build would give apollo a run for his money, abdominal muscles contracting and relaxing with every quickened breath as he settles between your open legs.

...who leans down to suck and nip along your carotid while his drooling tip bounces against your naked sex.

...who releases a shaky breath when you wrap your hand around his cock and guide him to your entrance.

...whose broad tip stretches your pink opening as his hips lean into yours.

...who curses under his breath when your tight ring closes around the protrusion of his glans with a soft pop.

...who relishes the feeling of your calves pressing against his naked ass to pull him deeper as you whimper his name.

...who takes his time inching inside you, withdrawing an inch or two here and there to feel the tight warmth of your walls try and pull him back in.

...who lifts your hips off the floor to let your bottom rest on the tops of his thighs before he begins to thrust, slow, but deep.

...who watches you - your open-mouthed gasps, your hard nipples jutting towards the sky when you arch your back, your arms trying to ground yourself as he begins to thrust into you faster, harder.

...who reaches behind his back to wrap his long, slender fingers around your ankles and guide them to the tops of his shoulders on either side of his neck.

...who hugs your thighs while he drags his slick cock in and out of you with powerful thrusts with sharp slaps of wet skin.

...whose quiet grunts and groans are barely audible over your pitiful whines and loud moans as he leans forward, pressing your thighs back with the weight of his body and the force of his fucking.

...who screws his eyes shut when you cum on the curve of his cock while whining and pawing at his chest.

...whose own orgasm is impending swiftly, as indicated by the quick, uneven thrusts of his cock inside your spent cunt.

...who lets one of your thighs fall open when he pulls out with a long, drawn out groan.

...who jerks his closed fist over the head of his wet, twitching cock a few times before his facial muscles relax and the first of several spurts of his white hot semen streaks across your belly.

...who looks down at you with knitted eyebrows as he squeezes the last drops of his cum from his spongy cockhead onto your sticky skin.

[queserasora]

DOFLAMINGO X FEM READER, NSFW WORD COUNT: 6.2k CONTENT WARNING: Mean ass Doflamingo strikes again. He is so mean, we already know this but I have to say it because I don't need people crying about him being mean. THAT'S JUST HOW HE IS. Dom!Doffy, consider this a dark romance~~ if you may, it's a bit toxic guys so like I don't recommend but that's just how the cookie crumbles, actually it's pretty damn toxic, like maybe this is on the verge of yandere doffy, idk you tell me, unprotected sex (please wear ur party hats in rl), biting and lots of degradation because Doffy loves talking shit, like it's so much shit talking it's half the fic, biting a lot of it, like everywhere, anal play, so much teasing, pussy slapping, he likes to tie people up because he finds it hilarious so bondage lite, blindfold???, yeah that too, lots of cum, it's everywhere A SUMMARY: Y/N (aka Butterfly aka Six) knows she doesn't have many weapons to use against Doffy so she tries depriving him of her undivided attention. Doffy lasts two whole days before he snaps.

PART ONE | PART TWO

He thinks two hours of hanging from his canopy bed by the wrists should be sufficient. If you hadn’t learned something by then, Doflamingo simply could not help you. There was only so much he could do, in his unending benevolence, to assist you in learning the skills needed for survival. Had he not taught you enough throughout the years you had known each other? Had he not been an attentive, and detailed instructor?

Had you, really, learned nothing?

He wanted to blame himself for this. Perhaps you had inadvertently exploited a weakness, he himself didn’t know he had. Doffy thought, if he should find it, he would cut it out of his body with his own capable hands. Too irate to face you, he sends two officers to cut you down from his canopy bed.

Your arms had started to grow numb. The uncomfortable tingling soon becomes painful. You kept shifting your weight on the bench bed, as if that would help alleviate the ache in your arms, or the throbbing of the small nicks and cuts of your wrists. At the sound of the door creaking open, your heart jumps. You turn your head quickly, but it is not he who walks through the door but two officers you know well. 

Shame heats your body before it grows deathly cold. 

It is apparent they’re fighting off embarrassed smiles as their mouths twitch. Their fingers move about carefully, as if they feared the repercussions of touching your skin for too long. What belonged to Doflamingo, belonged to him for the extent of its life. Although your body collapses as soon as you're free, a weight coming from it you didn’t know you possessed–you’re not dead yet.

You hold onto this realization as strong arms help you down from the bed bench, and half carry you out of his bedroom. You grip it tightly, like the air between your hands, until your nails bite into your skin. If there was any pride left in your war torn body you’d use it, despite the possible repercussions.

Your acts of rebellion are limited in range, so you do the only thing you can do–you deny him of the tiny bits of intimacy he craves from you. When he peers over his shoulder at you, you do not make eye contact. You look past his broad shoulders and to the intricate paisley pattern of the wallpaper in front of him. When he tries to make small talk, something you know he detests, you keep your answers short, clipped, monosyllabic if possible.

It is childish, you know this, but it is all you have. A blunt weapon was still a weapon. With enough force behind it, sometimes it could kill.

Six was being childish. He had put up with it for two days. This was as far as his immeasurable patience went. Doffy had half the mind to grab her by the hair and make her submit, no matter how many men were currently present in his office. Her usual soft, and pliable mouth was spread thin into a harsh line that made him frown. Her shoulders pushed back stiffly, as if she was busily carrying the weight of something.

That something, whatever it was, he would smash it to pieces.

Baby 5 is talking, and Doflamingo brings a hand up in the air. He curls his fingers in a quick snap of his wrist, grabbing onto thin air. She silences immediately. Her gaze follows Doffy’s to find it behind him, on the girl he affectionately called Six. Baby 5 had asked him once, defying common sense, what he meant by that.

He had laughed, and laughed and laughed.

Six, for the amount of steps she was to stay within him. Six, because he sometimes forgot her name.

Whether that was a lie or not, Baby 5 had no intentions of finding out. Just like she had no intentions of staying behind to see whatever sick twisted games Doffy was about to begin. She knew that smile well enough to know her time was up. She begins to make her exit wordlessly as the rest of the men in the room are already departing from the room.

“Lock the door,” Doffy says as she reaches the threshold of it. Her hand hovers on the doorknob and she gives one last look over her  shoulder. You make eye contact with her, and she notices the tension in your jaw, the way you suddenly bore holes through her forehead. A sensation close to pity settles in her chest, so she leaves quickly and locks the door as she was commanded before a conscience can begin to grow where one had already died before.

You stand silently, hands clasped in front of your stomach. His presence growing closer to your body was almost enough to melt away all your resolve; brick by brick, you had laid them one after the other these past two days. It all threatens to come toppling down when his fingers graze your chin. He clasps it with a clammy hand.

“Don’t make that face,” he says calmly, tilting your chin upwards. You follow his hand’s command with a small frown. “You know how much I hate it. You have been ignoring me. I can’t forgive you for that.”

You say nothing. What was there to say? You had been ignoring him in hopes of hurting him on some kind of level. You turn your face away from him, freeing your chin from his grasp. Doffy tuts, and steps closer, breaching whatever miniscule space was left between your chests.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he says calmly. Doffy’s hand reaches for your face again, and you turn to face the other way. His fingers tangle in your hair, a curling lip is the representative of the last vestiges of his patience. His free arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you towards him until you are flush against his hardened body. Your breathing quickens. You despise the way your body warms up against his. It was such an easy, predictable thing. A flimsy paper that couldn’t even hold the weight of your convictions. “Your punishment,” he concludes when you still give him no reply.

You can’t help the way your eyes narrow. It is foolish, you know, to feel anything akin to injustice. You think to blame it on your still fading bruises; the ones on your skin and on your ego. You continue to think this when you utter your next words: “Punishment for what?”

“Six,” he says, tone growing impatient. The tangled fingers in your hair give a tug–an unspoken reminder to keep your eyes on him. His voice is short. His fingers dig into the skin of the small of your back. “Do I need to spell everything out for you? You’ve committed a grave sin.” Doffy brings his face close to yours. He presses his nose against your cheek and inhales noisily. The heat of his breath on the apples of your cheek is enough to have shivers coursing through your spine. You grab onto his mostly open shirt, tug on it as if it would bring you to your senses. His tongue runs flat up against your cheek, leaving a trail of hot saliva in its wake. 

Six was a nickname he used when he felt particularly mean. You flinch when he licks your other cheek, expecting the worst. 

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says against your ear, fingers still knotted in your hair. The hand on the small of your back travels slowly over the curve of your ass. His fingers are devious, and unapologetic. They are used to always getting what they want, so they settle for digging into the supple muscle of your derriere. For their affront, they pull a small gasp from your lips. Doffy smiles besides himself. “You know I loathe being ignored, don’t you?” His teeth bite down on an earlobe. A whimper lays to rest in the back of your throat as you crush it down. “You of all people should know better.”

There’s a fluttering in your heart you want to squash. The pained sound in his voice, feigned or not, tugs at your heartstrings. You consider giving in, letting him have his way, and getting it over with. There was no use living at odds with Doflamingo. It wouldn’t benefit you in any way. 

“You’ve injured me,” his words are breathy, strained, as he brushes his lips against the line of your jaw. Your eyes close at the feel of his breathing scorching your skin. He kisses down the side of your neck. Kisses so wet and hot, it clouds your reason. There’s a slickness slowly seeping into your underwear. You become more acutely aware of this as the fingers on your ass move to slip between the waistband of your pants and your waist. “Now you have to pay the price.”

You nod, blindly agreeing to anything he could possibly propose. If it was your soul he wanted, he could have it. The method was up to his diabolical whims.

Doflamingo bites down on his lip. Not because the erection in his trousers is beginning to get uncomfortable–although it was. Not because when he sucks on the hollow space of your neck you moan so deliciously it makes him want to rip your clothes off—although he did want to do that. He bites down on his lip to keep the laughter at bay. You were so predictable, so pliable, so easily swayed. All he had to do was touch you, and you unraveled around his fingers, just like string. 

He releases you. You sway where you stand, suddenly breathless and dizzy. Doflamingo moves around the desk, and reaches for the inside of a small drawer. He pulls out two pieces of pearly white silk. It drags on the floor as he moves towards you.

“You’ve been a bad girl, Six,” he says, and gestures at your hands with one of his. “Now give me your wrists. I’m taking away some of your privileges.” You blink, unsure if you had any privileges to begin with but you concede, holding up your hands together, inside of wrists touching each other. He binds your wrists with one of the pieces of silk. “And because you dared to avoid my gaze,” he says, giving the knot on your wrists a good pull. You jolt towards him, and shout as he catches you by the forearms. Doflamingo leans forward, enough for his breath to tickle your nose when he speaks: “I’ll take yours away.” A sense of fear ices your veins. Your mouth moves, words refusing to form. You think to ask for him to reconsider but his hands are quicker than your mind. He is tying the silk over your eyes, like a blindfold.

The last thing you see is his grinning mouth, and a pair of shades reflecting your own face back at you.

Darkness consumes you. Your breathing sounds inexplicably loud to your ears. You focus on steadying your breaths, making them shallower and shallower. The sound of rustling startles you. You turn your head in the direction you think it’s coming from, but his hands are on your shoulders pushing you back. You stumble backwards until the back of your thighs hit the edge of the desk.

“Don’t,” he hisses against your ear. “Move.” You hold your breath before a shudder forces you to inhale loudly. He is tugging at your waistband. You feel thick fingers press against the skin of your hip as he grips the fabric. He had instructed you not to move but your body jerks as he pulls the fabric. The sound of cloth ripping, strings being torn and undone fill the still air of the office. A cool breeze touches your hip, your thigh, and even lower as he continues to tear the right pant leg all the way down.

Your breathing quickens. White teeth dig into your bottom lip as you struggle to keep quiet. He hadn’t asked you to not make a sound but you didn’t want to try his patience. Not when his fingers were on the other side of your waist, destroying whatever was left of the other pant leg. Another forceful tug, and you’re free of your pants. Cold air kisses the back of your knees.

“I hate these pants,” he complains, kicking the remains of the clothing item out of his way. He advances towards you, grasps your hips with heated hands and flips you around. You shout, as he bends you over the desk, ass up. “Why do you insist on this stupid suit? They are ugly. I thought I told you, I loathe ugly things. I’m throwing them all out,” he insists, his large palms running over the width of your ass cheeks. “Every single one, and I’m filling your closet with dresses. And skirts,” he pauses, hands still on your ass. Dresses and skirts so he wouldn’t have to tear into them with brute force. Doflamingo brings one hand up and slaps a cheek. You cry out as the sting blooms into a burning ache.

Doflamingo goes into his haunches. You feel him panting against the back of one thigh. You breath hitches. His mouth moves lower, to an ankle. He flicks his long tongue out, and grazes the inside of your ankle with the tip of his tongue. It’s hot, and wet, enough to make you twitch. You curl your fingers tightly, trying to fight the urge to rub your thighs together. It shouldn’t have aroused you so much, but you feel the growing wetness becoming worse in your underwear

The scratchy feel of your stockings over your skin is enticing. He hates it but he can’t stop. His tongue drags up from the back of one calf, all the way to the back of a knee. He stops there, contemplatively for one nanosecond, before he decidedly sucks on the sensitive area. You whimper, and he chuckles up against your thigh. His detailed attention is on the lovely crease of your ass cheek. Open mouthed kisses, and licks leave a slippery trail that mimics the dripping wetness from your pussy.

By the time he’s done with your other leg, you feel soaked. You rub your thighs together, the stockings scratching and creating a pleasant friction. You increase your pace. Doflamingo stands up in time to watch your salacious movements. He laughs before slipping a leg in between them to stop you.

“Enough,” he says, trying to hide his humor. “You’re always trying to do something like this. Can’t you stop being a slut long enough to quietly take your punishment for once? You’re always  making me work twice as hard. Be a damn good girl,” he finishes with a snarl. “And stay fucking still.” His thick fingers seize the stocking over your ass and he rips them open. You gasp and barely have time to process that when he is seizing the band of your panties. You know what he’s about to do but you cry out all the same when the fabric rips as well, leaving you completely exposed.

He would never admit it. Doflamingo would rather be strung up, beaten, burned and humiliated than to admit it. He’d choose imprisonment or death before he admits how the sight of you bent over his desk, pussy glistening already with your arousal, has him thinking stupid, feverish, foolish thoughts.

He should fuck them out of his mind while he still could.

His teeth find their mark on the swell of one ass cheek. You cry out when he digs in, leaving bruises that bloom into pink-purple flowers in the shape of teeth. He leaves mark, after mark, until he has counted eight total. His mouth presses at the top of your crack, a soft kiss that you know could only lead to debauchery. You wiggle your hips, trying to shake him off. Doffy tightens his hold on your hips, and slams you down on the desk. There will be more bruises on top of the old fading ones but you don’t care. The only thing you care about is the way his tongue is following the path of your crack.

“D-Doffy!” you stutter, slamming your tied hands down on the desk repeatedly to try to get his attention. His hold on your hips is unshakeable. You close your eyes tightly, when they move to your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.”

He pulls your ass cheeks apart. “Don’t be stupid,” he tells you without looking away. He frowns down at your puckered hole, two shades darker than the rest of your skin. “I do as I please and you…” he pauses to tilt his head. He is aware you can’t see him but he shoots an incredulous look at the  back of your head. “Did you forget you are the one being punished? You have no right to say anything.”

With his case spoken for, he turns his attention to your hole once more. With your ass cheeks spread, he dives in, his tongue flush against your crack. His tongue circles your hole in a way that deeply shames you. The tickling pleasure makes your toes curl, and you try to keep quiet, try to still the small twitches of your belly as pleasure builds inside you. His circles become tighter and tighter, faster. Your neck pulls your head back. You cry out, a long soft moan hanging in the air.

Doflamingo pulls away to look at your sweating forehead. He grins. “Heh,” he chuckles, pulling your ass cheeks apart once more. “Look at you. You keep forgetting your place.”

He takes a rattling breath, nose wrinkled. Doflamingo hacks and spits into your hole. A glob of foamy white saliva hangs on your hole before it slowly drips down to your bright and puffy pussy. He leans back, fingers still digging into the supple flesh of your ass. You feel him let go of one cheek, and his thumb moves towards the middle. There's a protest forming in your mouth. It tumbles clumsily out of your lips, but he’s pressing his thumb against your hole regardless. He presses it further in, tip sliding in even when you try to speak again.

You cry out as he makes it past the first knuckle. He moves it inside you, soft wide circles. Your hips buck as you try to get away from him, a building pressure around your asshole. You whimper, and moan, the sensation so intense and so strange it scares you. He laughs when you ask him to wait. He laughs again when you sigh in relief when he pulls out his thumb. He laughs, lastly, when he inserts index and middle finger instead and you cry out. You’re banging your hands on the desk again, words almost unintelligible flying out of your mouth. You hate the way your folds are slick with your arousal, how your moans don’t stop no matter how many times you command them to go away in your mind.

“Oh?” you hear Doffy say, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk as he thrusts his fingers into your hole, time and time again. He is rough enough to shake you, to keep your hips pushing and bruising against the hardwood of the desk. “All of a sudden you can speak? How interesting. Should have done that two days ago.”

He reminds himself he is merciful, sometimes, and pulls his fingers away when you give a painful cry. Doflamingo looks down at his fingers, a frown heavy on his brows. He reaches for the back of you, and wipes them clean on your crisp white shirt, careful to go under the fingernails.  “You know,” he says, looking down at your dripping pussy. You’re so wet you’re soaking down the inside of your thighs. Shiny folds greet him, beckoning him for a lick or two, a good suck, a good fuck.  “You kept saying it was dirty while I was fingering you but you’re the dirty one. You’re fucking soaked.”

Doflamingo isn’t a man who kneels. He grabs your hips and pulls you up, helps you fold your legs so that your knees are on the desk. You lean forward on your elbows. Your breathing is loud, and erratic. The heat circling around you feels suffocating. Sweat covers your neck, and you feel it slipping down between your breasts. You can’t see him, but you feel him moving behind you again. His mouth hovering over your pussy. You take a deep breath, as the high of expectation seizes you. You’re desperate. You want to feel his mouth on your pussy. You want him to lick you and suck on you until you cum but Doflamingo has other plans.

He touches your entrance lightly with the tip of his tongue. Just as lightly, he traces your entrance. You flinch, and whimper. You move your hips, trying to follow his mouth. Doflamingo tuts and grabs your hips. “Six,” he says testily. “If you don’t stay still I will stop being so kind.”

He licks lightly over each lip. “You need to come to terms with this already,” he says breathing against your clit. He puffs hot air against your sensitive nub. Your toes curl in pleasure. Doflamingo brushes his closed mouth against your swollen clit. “I know what you want, and you’re not getting it. That’s my justice.” He kisses the opening of your pussy before kissing your clit. “Now just take it.” He parts his lips and bites down on your clit.

The heat of his mouth disappears. You whine, feeling cheated and petulant. Doflamingo slaps your pussy for your brattiness. “Apologize,” he says sharply. “You haven’t uttered a single apology. Did I not say you’ve injured me?” He slaps your pussy again. The sting is shocking, humiliating. You grip the edge of the desk so hard you fear your fingernails will split. “Apologize, Six,” he growls and slaps you one more time. You cry out, feeling pleasure jolt down the inside of your thighs. You’re dripping wetter and wetter. Your body is trembling as you struggle to keep yourself up in this position. Your biceps are burning, your thighs quivering. 

“I’m sorry!” you mutter quickly. It is the best you can manage at the moment but it appears dissatisfactory. Doflamingo slaps your aching cunt again. “I said I’m sorry! I'm so sorry!”

“Good,” he says, rubbing his hand roughly over your pussy. You moan, almost purr, as he slathers your slick all over. “Now thank me.”

You gasp, and turn your face around. You don’t understand what he says at first, so he repeats himself. Still you splutter: “What?”

Another slap to your sensitive puffy pussy has you arching your back with a cry.

“I said, say thank you,” Doflamingo mutters over your ear. You feel his body leaning over your back. “Don’t forget your manners. It should be considered a blessing that I'm even touching you.” He slaps your pussy one last time. “And you say?”

You mumble it at first. He can’t hear you so he grabs your cunt tightly. “What did you say? Enunciate, Six. Do you know how to speak?”

“Y-yes, sir. I said thank you. Thank you so much,” you breathed out, lungs burning from the effort. He chuckles lightly against your ear.

“Better. Much better,” he says before kissing your ear and pulling away. 

Doflamingo seizes your hips, and swiftly flips you around. The sudden movement causes your stomach to dip, and you cry out, arms flying out to grasp anything. You feel his shoulders, and grip tightly. Doflamingo shakes you off without finesse. He pushes your back on the desk, and pulls you towards the edge of the desk by the hips. He pulls your legs up, until your thighs are flushed against his front. Your knees bend, and your lower legs drape over his shoulders.

“These,” you hear him hiss around your ankles. Doflamingo’s nose brushes against the top of one foot–exposed by a kitten heel. “Are also atrocious. We’re throwing these out too. Every single one.”

He takes them off your feet quickly. You wiggle your toes, taking advantage of the only freedom you have currently. Your silent moment of victory is short lived. Doflamingo is tearing at your stockings against, revealing your feet. Your breath catches in your chest as you feel a hot wetness on the inside of one foot. It tickles pleasantly. Still, you wiggle your toes.

“Stop,” he growls against your foot, moving his mouth to your toes. He sucks on them noisily, one at a time. Drool slides down in between your toes, and you crinkle your nose. It is an odd sensation, but you refuse to pull your feet away. This temporary moment of discomfort was not enough to make you risk his wrath. 

He tires of your feet and at your lack of reaction. He tires of the way his breathing is ragged, how heat has forced him to sweat right through his shirt. He tires of the way his erection is throbbing in his pants. 

Doflamingo fights against it by seizing the front of your shirt. He pulls in one go, buttons ripping from their seams. They fly out in different directions, zooming past your face and his. You feel one hit your forehead. Another bounces off one of the lenses of Doflamingo’s shades. He cackles, amused by his own little stunt. He is laughing still as he leans forward, your legs bending with his actions. You feel his hardened cock press against your heated pussy. You’re maddened at the thought. You want the fabric separating you to disappear and curse your lack of strength. You are so consumed with your desire to have him inside you, deep and hard, that his bites barely register. He is nipping over the swell of your breasts.

There is no delicacy or tenderness to his actions. He has pointedly reminded you, time and time again, that this was not done in pleasure. This was your punishment. So he clamps down hard on your tender flesh, and covers your tits in dark pink bruises. You cry out each time, body trembling from a mixture of pain and ecstasy. Doflamingo loses interest when there’s no more room to mark so he shifts to your belly. He bites and sucks where he can. He leaves his imprint on your skin, for you to see later in solitude and think of him; only of him.

Your ribcage calls his name and he drags his tongue up and over it. He counts each ribcage in his mind, and leaves a bite for each one.

The assault is endless. The desk becomes an altar with you as a sacrifice. Doflamingo lights a fire, tall and full of rage, with every drag of his sharp teeth, with every desperate suck against your skin.

His mind is a mess. He can only think of tearing you open. He can only think of digging inside you, to rifle through your insides to see what was crawling in there that did not belong. He wanted to see himself in every part of you, slowly consuming you until there was nothing left but the spirit of him.

You; his carnal legacy. 

His tongue drags at a painfully slow pace over your nipples when he pulls your bra down with a wild tug. Doflamingo draws shapes that he has no names for over the swell of your breasts. His fingers pinch your erect nipples, and he lets your cries guide him. You moan when he flicks them with his thumbs, and he knows this is punishment. But what good was a punishment that punished him? He couldn’t hold out any longer.

He dives against your breasts, his mouth sucking in a nipple with viciousness. Your back arches as he bites town and tugs. Pain makes your nipple throb, and you aim at his shoulder with your tied hands. He deflects you and pushes you back down on the desk.

There is no apology, no words to soothe you or pacify you. You didn’t expect any anyway. Instead, he lifts your breasts to lick the underside of them. His hands knead your breasts as he pushes against your heated core. His erection is enticing, and you move your hips against him. You hear his breathing against your ear picking up speed before it disappears.

You breathe through your mouth, quick little pants that make your chest burn. You hear a buckle, and a zipper coming undone. You swallow thickly, fingers twitching where you’re holding them against your chest.

Doflamingo looks down at you as he pulls his cock out of his underwear. It bounces against the flat of his belly. A hand moves to  grasp it, and it pumps it lazily. His eyes are too busy devouring your body instead. You are a mess on his desk. There is your arousal leaking out of you, pooling under your ass. Your skin is bruised and battered. Your chest rises and falls in rapid succession. He smiles.

You are pathetic. You are a mess, and you are all his.

He presses the angry tip of his cock against your entrance. You clamp down on your lip, and before you can fully ready yourself, he snaps his hips and bottoms out inside you in one move.

A cry gets stuck in your throat, and your mouth is open but no sound comes out. Your back is arched, even as he pummels into you relentlessly. His cock feels divine. It is thick, pushing against your walls, a stretch so satisfying you wish you could feel it time and time again. Everytime he snaps his hips you can hear the loud slapping of his balls against your pussy.

You’re whining, and moaning, thrashing in place. The sounds almost overpower the sound of wetness. The squelching sound of your pussy makes him smile. He holds on tightly to your knees as they’re folded over his shoulders, busily watching his glistening cock slide in and out of you. 

“Oh, now you really have a lot to say, huh?” he grunts as he increases his pace, his hips slamming against your ass time and time again. You whimper, feeling your pussy starting to get sore but the fire inside you continues to build. The pain is not enough to make you want to stop. “Now you want to give me your goddamn attention.”

Not that he’d stop for you. Not when he’s like this.

You’re being far too loud for his liking. It is driving him mad with lust. He reaches out to the desk, his hand pawing blindly as he continues to snap his hips. You’re so tight around him it makes him clench his teeth. His fingers touch moist fabric, and he grabs the sad remains of your panties. 

“Be quiet for a second,” he tells you and shoves the panties in your mouth. You gag, and cough. He hears your mumbling against the fabric, but it is muffled. He chuckles in delight. “Better. Much better.”

Now that your moaning is not ringing in his ears, leading him away from reason, he can focus on his work. He watches your tits bounce on your chest. They jerk every time he slams against you so he goes even harder, delighted at the sight of them. He closes his eyes, focuses on the lewd sounds of your wet pussy, the way air slips in and makes inappropriate sounds. He chuckles, admiring the way your walls start clamping around him.

“You’re gonna cum already?” he asks you. “Oh. That’s right. You can’t talk right now.” He laughs at your muffled cries. Sweat is coating his chest. He feels his shirt sticking to his lower back. The heat is all consuming, and so is the heat of your pussy. It is greedily sucking him back in every time he pulls out.

He groans loudly, when he feels you cumming. Your toes curl, and spit soaks your panties. You taste the saltiness of your arousal on the fabric and breathe out through your nose, trying your best to catch your breath. Your orgasm is violent. Your body jerks as it continues to course through you. Doflamingo doesn’t let up, and he edges you closer and closer to an ecstasy that is almost unbearable. You scream against your panties, legs shaking. You’re so overstimulated you feel tears wetting the silk of your blindfold.

Your drool is slipping down your chin, and down your neck. It collects on the hollow of your neck. You catch a ragged breath, and pray–pray for release. At this rate Doflamingo will  be the end of you–or at the very least, the end of your pussy.

Doflamingo chases your high down. Demands it comes back. He isn’t done yet, despite the bruises already starting on the bones of his hips. He feels that cushiony spot inside you and he rams his tip into it, time and time again. Your legs twitch and you give another shrill cry.

Just when you think you could die, heat forms once more. A coil so tight, binds itself at the pit of your belly. You feel a strange urge, as if you desperately need to go. You try to warn Doflamingo but he’s not listening and you are too weak to fight anymore. Your back snaps, and your vision goes from black to white. You feel liquid gush out of you.

Doflamingo gives a startled gasp, he watches you soak his pants with mild irritation.

“Goddammit,” he mutters, still thrusting inside you. “There’s just no end to your nastiness. You just had to ruin my pants? I am almost done dealing with your punishment and now I have to think of another one. You are nothing but trouble, my Butterfly.”

You mumble something he can’t interpret and doesn’t care to do so. His laughter rumbles in his chest as he continues to snap his hips, on and on and on. 

“You’re mine, you know that?” he tells you and turns his face to kiss one knee. “You’re my slut.” His voice is a hoarse growl. Teeth flashing white. “You are my butterfly. My captive poor pathetic little thing. You’ll never leave me, do you hear me? I’ll never let you go. You’ll always be tangled up with me.” You whimper, and thrash in place. “You’ll never be able to leave. Not that you want to. You like this too much. The way I fuck you.”

He is right, of course. The thoughts of leaving his side were fleeting. You couldn’t picture a life without him. If it meant living in his shadow until he turned to look at you then so be it. You didn’t care about the pitiful glances people gave you or the thinly veiled words of advice. You had decided a long time ago that this is where you would be happy to die, underneath his forceful hand.

“You belong to me. You have no right to deny me anything,” he reminds you, as he leans forward to nip at your bottom lip. He kisses you, and you think you might die. It had been so long, you thought the day would never come. You moan when he presses his mouth against yours. You dare to part your lips, to seek out his tongue but he is gone as quickly as he came. “You can only adore me. You can only look at me and think of me.”

He rips the panties out of your mouth and you gasp for air, gulping and gulping. Doflamingo wraps his fingers around your throat as he continues to fuck you.

“Say it,” he hisses, his voice breaking. “Say it’s only me you want.”

You swallow and nod slightly. “It’s you. I only want you.” You say his name, over and over. Doflamingo smiles widely, feeling at the moment, victorious. 

And with this sense of euphoria, he feels himself close. He pulls out quickly, leaving you aching and pulsing around nothing. Doflamingo pumps his cock desperately, roughly, a few times before he spills all over your battered pussy. His cum is hot and you flinch as it touches your sensitive skin. There’s drops on your belly, and on each side of your inner thighs. The cum on your pussy drips slowly and eases towards your ass.

Your mind is fuzzy. Your body is still hot, and everything is aching and throbbing. He’s moving again, you feel him ahead of you grabbing things from the ground. Doflamingo wipes his hands on the ripped clothing before he drops them on your belly.

“Clean up,” he commands in a congenial tone, shoving his half hardened cock into his soiled pants. He adjusts as best as he can and zips up. “I got you a new dress for tonight. It is imperative that you wear it for dinner. Are you listening, Butterfly?

You don’t have the strength to speak. Your throat feels raw from all the crying and moaning. So you nod, once, twice.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he says. His voice sounds distant. You hear his footsteps, farther away. There’s a click at the door, before it closes. Then silence.

He leaves you on the desk, blindfolded, naked and worn out to the sound of your heart beating in your ears.

[tightjeansjavi]

𝕓𝕝𝕦𝕖 𝕛𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕟’𝕋𝕖𝕩𝕒𝕤 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟛

The Importance of Groundwork and Vanilla Lattes

♡ 𓃗 ♡

Pre! Outbreak Joel x horseback riding instructor f!reader

A/N: this chapter is filled with SO much horsey knowledge! Heavily focused on horsemanship skills and groundwork. This was something that I was taught while I worked at the therapy barn and it’s truly so special to watch in action. ♡

~word count : 4.8k~

Summary: Joel Miller, single father; total soft dad has an astronomically enormous crush on you, his daughters horseback riding instructor.

Warnings: soft! Joel, shy! Joel, fluff, flirting, slow burn, eventual established relationship, single! Father Joel, protective! Joel, he’s so sweet your teeth will hurt! Joel, eventual smut, some angst, no y/n, +18 minors dni !

blue jeans playlist:

Austin, Texas

Joel Miller called you early Saturday morning, an hour before Sarah’s first riding lesson.

You unashamedly already had his number saved in your phone. He had your contact saved in his phone as well. Thank god Sarah didn’t know because she would surely tease him for it.

You had just started to bring the horses in from turn-out. You firmly believed that all horses deserved to have the freedom to run, to spend time away from humans where they could just be themselves in nature. That’s why everyday, at the end of each day, you’d turn them out overnight. You made sure to give them time in the pasture during the day when they weren’t working, or being exercised.

These horses were undoubtedly your children and you would do anything to ensure they had a safe, happy horse life.

When Joel had given you a rung, everyone except Frankie had been brought back in. He was the most shy, and polite of the six horses. He always would hang out in the far back, away from the gate. You grabbed his navy blue halter from the hook on the metal gate. Each horse had their name engraved on a thin piece of copper. The name plates were light weight, and were on the cheek piece of their halters.

Frankie was comfortably grazing as you approached him, you let him know of your presence by gently placing your hand on his shoulder, stroking his soft fur. “Hey, pal. How are we this morning? You wanna come on in now, or should we hang out and make the other boys wait a little longer for their grain?”

You gently placed the nylon lead rope over his withers, making sure the end of the rope didn’t dangle too low. This is when you felt your phone buzzing in your back pocket. You had a feeling it was Joel Miller and when you saw his name flash on your phone screen, you couldn’t hide your smile.

“Hey, darlin’ it’s Joel.”

You gently leaned against Frankie’s side as he continued to peacefully graze.

“Hey, Joel. To what do I owe the pleasure? Sarah’s lesson isn’t for another hour. I hope you’re not calling to cancel on me or anything like that. I’d be pretty disappointed if that were to be the case. Oh, and Joel? I know it's you calling. I have your name saved in my contacts.”

Joel could feel his cheeks turning red as he sat in his truck, behind at least 20 cars in the Starbucks drive through. He couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle when you confirmed that you had his name saved in your contacts.

“Oh, it’s kinda uh–Texas thing to start a phone call off with your name. Don’t worry darlin’ I'm not calling to cancel Sarah’s lesson, I promise. I’m callin’ cause i’m currently in the Starbucks drive through and was wonderin’ if you’d like a coffee or something? Damn line is like 20 cars long, but I didn’t want to assume your order and get you the wrong thing–”

Joel was going to be the death of you. You were absolutely certain of it.

“A Texas thing, huh? Well, I'm relieved that you weren’t calling to cancel on me. I’m actually hanging out with Frankie in the pasture right now. Think we’re gonna have a bit of a lazy morning.” Your heart positively swelled in your chest when Joel offered to get you a coffee.

“Joel, that’s awfully kind of you. I’m sure whatever ended up getting me, I would enjoy it. If it’s not too much trouble, I'll take a grande vanilla latte, with soy milk if they have it.”

“Well, it might also be a thing outside of Texas, probably. Just goin’ off of how my Ma raised me. How is Frankie? He’s the one that doesn’t do well with loud, sudden noises right? Oh and it’s no trouble at all darlin’ figured I would uh– put the offer out there since y’know, i’m already in line. You said a vanilla latte with soy milk? Hope i’m not oversteppin’ or anythin’ but are ya dairy free?”

You couldn’t help but smile softly when Joel had asked about how Frankie was doing, and the fact that he remembered what you told him, and Sarah, about Frankie. “He’s doing alright. You’re correct, he’s the one that doesn’t do well with any loud noises. Spooks very easily. Anyway, he likes to hang back far from the gate while the other boys are brought in. So I usually get to spend a small part of my morning with him. You’re not overstepping at all, Joel. I’m actually a vegetarian. I’ve been one for about 6 years? Who’s really counting though right?”

“That’s really nice that you get to spend a bit of your mornin’ with him. Sounds pretty peaceful. You’ve been a vegetarian for 6 years? Wow, that’s actually pretty cool. I imagine it takes a lot of dedication? I ain’t gonna be that asshole that brings up how he could never live without a steak or somethin. I imagine you hear a lot of that bullshit from other people.”

You gave Frankie a light pat on his neck as he lifted his head up slightly. You were holding your phone against your ear, with your shoulder, while you slowly and carefully brought Frankie’s halter around his head, clipping the metal hook around the metal ring so that the halter would stay in place around his head.

“It really is. He’s easy to talk to. Never have to worry about him speaking back or anything like that. I happen to think he’s a fantastic listener.” You laughed softly against the receiver.

“Yeah, it honestly does take a ton of dedication but after the first few months I started to really get in a groove with it. I appreciate you not being that asshole, because I cannot even begin to tell you how many guys I have encountered who say the classic, ‘oh I could never give up meat because I love steak too much’ or some shit like that. I truly appreciate you being respectful.”

Joel was comfortably resting his head back against the worn leather of the driver's seat. He could easily listen to you talk for hours. He was lightly tapping his fingers against his steering wheel, while his other hand held his phone against his ear.

“Well, I wish that I could spend every mornin’ talkin’ to you and Frankie. I bet you guys have the best conversations.” He chuckled. “Guys like that can be real assholes, huh? I’ll never understand it honestly. Sorry that you’ve had to deal with ‘em darlin.’”

“Well, we could always make these phone calls a regular thing? Only if uh, that’s something you’d be interested in doing? It’s alright Joel, I don’t even bother giving them any thought. They aren’t worth my time, or my energy.”

Joel was in slight disbelief when you had suggested that you and him could make these phone calls a regular occurrence. He definitely wasn’t against the idea, not even in the slightest.

“I mean, if you’re interested and comfortable with that, then I’m all in. Maybe you can educate me with some more horse facts? I wanna be able to show my kid up one of these days.”

“So is it safe for me to call it a date? A phone date? I’d happily throw all the horse facts at you Joel. We can easily make sure that you show your kid up with all the horse knowledge.”

Were you really asking Joel Miller out on a date? The crisp morning air really had you feeling particularly ballsy.

Joel paused from your words. You could tell he was thinking them over and you could imagine his brows furrowing in, his lips pursing slightly.

“Are you askin’ me out on a date right now?”

“I think that’s definitely what I’m asking you Joel.”

“Never had someone ask me out on a phone date. That’s a new one.”

“There’s a first for everything, isn’t there? Besides, it’ll just be for me to educate you on more horse facts. Nothing too crazy for you to handle, right?”

You both knew it was definitely going to be more than just horse facts.

“Right, just for the horse facts. Nothin’ more.”

You took your lower lip between your teeth as you thought over your response . Be cool, be casual, don’t come across as overly excited. You could totally handle this.

Frankie had paused his grazing, lifting his head as he turned towards you, letting out a soft nicker.

“Hey, Joel? I think Frankie is ready to head inside. I’ll see you in a bit, okay? Thank you for the latte by the way. It’s a very sweet gesture.”

Oh, you were a little too good at switching the conversation up. It seemed to come to you as a second nature.

“Oh, yeah of course darlin’, I don’t wanna keep you from your job. Hopefully they have your soy milk as well and It’s the least I can do, you’re making my kid extremely happy and I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem at all Joel. I’m really looking forward to getting to teach her.”

He was finally the next in line to order. He had no recollection of how much time he had already spent talking to you on the phone.

“Alright darlin’ I’m next in line. See ya in a bit!”

“See you in a bit, and thank you again.”

You had quietly ended the call, slipping your phone back into your jeans pocket as you let out a sigh.

“Hey Frankie? Do you think it’s wrong for me to have this little crush? I mean, it’s not gonna go anywhere right? I’m just gonna teach his daughter proper horsemanship skills, and so what if I end up admiring her dad from afar? That’s not breaking any rules technically. It’s just a harmless crush. How bad could it really get?”

Frankie responded with a low, soft nicker as he gently nudged your shoulder with his nose, affectionately.

“Yeah, okay you’re right. Ezra said the same thing the other day. You guys must have been talking about it together huh?” You gave him a light pat on his neck as you grasped the lead rope between your hands, leading him out of the pasture, and back to the stables.

Starbucks luckily had soy milk for your vanilla latte, and Joel was visibly relieved. He would have felt absolutely terrible if he couldn’t get you the drink you wanted.

Joel and Sarah had arrived at the stables a little after 8:30. By this time, all the horses had been fed, and you were in your office, planning out the lesson schedule for the day ahead.

You looked up from your notebook when you heard the front door creak open. Joel and Sarah’s face popped up outside the window of your office. He had your latte in hand as he waved.

You gave him a soft smile and waved back, setting your notebook to the side, as you stood up from your chair, and headed out of your office area.

“Goodmorning!”

“Mornin’, darlin.’ You’re in luck, Starbucks had soy milk.” He held the vanilla latte out to you. Just based on Sarah’s little grin, you could tell that she had given her dad hell for getting you this latte.

“Oh man, that’s great news. I never know when they’re gonna actually have any in store, y’know? Thank you again.” You took the latte from his grasp, your fingers lightly brushing his.

“S’not a problem at all.”

You took a small sip as you looked at Sarah.

“Alright kiddo, are you excited for your first lesson? We’re gonna focus on some ground work skills before we get you up in the saddle. Does that sound good to you?”

“Oh, yeah! I read that groundwork is super important, right? That sounds great to me!”

“It definitely is important for developing good horsemanship skills. Plus, your horse will already have developed a sense of trust with you and once you're in the saddle, you’ll be a true team. I think we’re going to start the groundwork training with Frankie. He could use it anyway.”

“Frankie is the super sweet one that is good with kids, but is afraid of loud noises?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s a really good boy and is eager to learn, just like you.”

You brought Sarah, and Joel to the stalls once more, stopping outside of Frankie’s stall.

“First thing I’m gonna teach you is how to properly put on a halter. It’s pretty easy and if he did happen to spook, he would be able to break free. The halters are specifically designed to break with a given amount of force. Let’s say, he ends up getting caught on something outside, or in his stall. He’d panic a little, but the main thing to remember is that he can still break free from the halter.”

“Aren’t there some halters that aren’t designed to break though?”

You nodded, grabbing Frankie’s halter off the hook on his stall as you pulled open his stall door. “There are some on the market, but it’s risky to use them and definitely not worth risking the horses life. Too many accidents have happened because a horse couldn’t break free from their halter.”

You stepped into Frankie’s stall, standing alongside him as you demonstrated how to properly put his halter on.

“So you’re gonna stand alongside him just like this, and we wanna have some form of control just in case he were to try and run out of the stall.” You looped the lead rope around his neck loosely. “He’s pretty good about not leaving his stall so we don’t have to worry about that. Next, we’re gonna slip the nose band around him gently, followed by the head piece. You wanna make sure that his ears don’t accidentally get stuck.”

You slipped the nose band, followed by the headpiece of the halter over Frankie’s ears before grabbing the metal clip, and attached it to the ring on the other side. Joel and Sarah were watching what you were doing very closely.

“Oh, that does look pretty simple! Can I try it out?” Sarah asked.

“Course you can kiddo. I’ll stay in here with you just for a safety measure, okay?” You unclipped Frankie’s halter, slipping it off his head and handed it to Sarah.

Sarah was a good listener, you came to find shortly after. She was able to slip Frankie’s halter on with ease. Next you showed her how to properly hold the lead rope, making sure her fingers weren’t wrapped around it because on the off chance he did spook, you didn’t want Joel’s kid to lose any fingers.”

“So you’re gonna want to hold the top part close to his chin, not super close where he has restricted head movement, but you still want to have some control.”

You gently adjusted Sarah’s grip on the rope and Joel greatly appreciated how attentive you were being towards his daughter. He could tell how you were solely focused on teaching her, and he could tell his kid appreciated it as well.

“You think you’re ready to lead him out of his stall? Keep your eyes forward and walk alongside him. He’s not one to pull on the rope either so you’ll be okay.”

Sarah nodded, taking a deep breath as she stood alongside Frankie, who was patiently waiting for her to lead him out.

Sarah had no problem leading Frankie out of his stall as she walked alongside him, keeping her eyes forward, just like you said.

“Good job, kiddo.” You and Joel had praised her at the same time causing Sarah to let out a soft giggle.

“We’re gonna lead him just down the aisle and to the indoor arena. Take it nice and slow, okay? You’re in charge, not him.”

You walked alongside Sarah as she led him down the aisle and stopped outside the gate of the indoor arena. Joel was on the side of you as you stepped in front, grabbing the latch to the gate before you pushed it open.

“Go on and lead him there and I’ll get the gate behind you, okay?”

Sarah nodded, talking softly to Frankie as she led him inside the arena. Telling him how handsome he was as she came to a halt, and gave him a soft pet on the neck as a reward for being a good boy.

You turned to Joel while you held the gate open. “You’re more than welcome to come inside if you’re comfortable. It’s perfectly safe. We’re gonna be working in that back fenced area over there. Or if you’d rather sit up top over there, that’s fine as well.”

Joel glanced over at his baby girl and Frankie, who clearly took a liking to this little girl. You did say that he loved kids after all. His gaze settled on you finally as he nodded.

“I’ll come on in, if that’s alright? Pretty curious to see what this whole groundwork thing is all about.”

You smiled at him, standing off to the side as he walked into the arena. Once the two of you were inside, you pulled the gate back in and latched it behind you quietly. “It’s pretty cool once you see it all come together. You’d never imagine just how much a horse will put its trust into you when you’re at their eye level. It’s truly incredible.”

“Do they see you as like..they’re equal when you’re at their eye level?” He asked as the three of you, and Frankie, walked back to the fenced off section of the arena.

“Not exactly. They’ll view you as their leader, the top horse of the herd and then they’ll follow you anywhere. All of a horse's trust will be put into you once that bond is established. Depending on the horse, this can take a few times, or a hundred. I’ve been working with Frankie for a while now so he and I are pretty familiar with each other.”

Joel thought this was pretty fucking cool. If he knew more about groundwork, he would totally be geeking out with you right now.

“So the end goal is like a partnership? A mutual respect for one another?”

“Absolutely. The end goal is a mutual respect for one another. Horses really are sensitive creatures and they can pick up on our own emotions relatively quickly. That’s why groundwork is crucial in the beginning. If he can trust you on the ground, he can trust you in the saddle.”

“Excuse my language but that’s really fuckin’ cool darlin.’”

When Sarah heard her dad swear, she turned around to look back at him with a slight disapproving look. “That’s a quarter in the swear jar for you dad.”

You let out a light laugh. “It is really freaking cool. You’re absolutely right.”

Joel fought the urge to roll his eyes at his daughter's request for him to put a quarter in the swear jar.

“How about ya focus on your horse, okay kiddo? I’ll put a quarter in the swear jar once we get home. You got it.”

“If I had a swear jar at home, mine would be spilling over the brim.” You chimed in.

“I don’t doubt that in my mind for one second, darlin.’”

He really wanted to say that you had quite the mouth on you, but he refrained because it wouldn’t have been appropriate, and certainly not something to be said in front of his kid. Maybe he’d get to tell you another time.

“Alright Sarah, I’m gonna take Frankie from you now okay? You and your dad are gonna watch from outside the fence, Just for today. Next lesson we’ll get you in there with Frankie and you’ll be telling him what to do.”

Sarah handed off Frankie’s lead rope to you before she went and stood alongside her dad, leaning and whispering to him, “this is going to be so freaking cool. I just know it. I think she’s gonna do this thing called a join up with him? I read about it in one of my books.”

Joel wrapped his arm around his daughter’s shoulder, gently pulling her into his side. “I definitely think whatever it is we’re about to see, is going to be freaking cool.”

You brought Frankie into the closed off section of the arena, closing the gate behind you and unclipping his lead rope, and setting it down along the side of the fence. Frankie was already anticipating the training, and started to walk around the rail, his body language relaxed.

You grabbed one of the lunge whips from alongside the fence, holding it in your left hand, as it was the direction Frankie was walking along the rail. “Before we get started, I just want to clarify that we don’t use whips to scare, intimidate, or harm our horses. They’re used as encouragement and if needed, a gentle reminder of who’s boss.”

Joel and Sarah watched in pure wonderment as you got to work. You had gently flicked the whip lightly against the ground causing Frankie to lift his head up from his once relaxed position as he quickened his walking pace.

“You see how his ear is already turned in towards me? This shows me that he’s actively listening to me. Body language is big for these guys. I want to show him that I’m the boss, without coming across as a threat. I’m going to keep my shoulders back, and eyes on him the whole time.”

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth and Frankie broke out in a light trot as he circled the arena.

“Some of these guys will try and mess with me. What I mean by that is if they come into my ‘space,’ and I want them to stay out on the rail so if they do get too close, I just give them a gentle reminder with a flick of the whip.”

“Does Javi P give you trouble with this kinda stuff?” Joel asked.

“All the time. He’s gotten better with respecting me but some days are far better than others. Frankie, on the other hand, lives to work. He loves his job.”

You clicked your tongue once more and Frankie broke out into a canter, circling the rail a few times.

“If you want them to slow down, or stop, what do you do? I know there’s the command ‘woah’ but does that always work?” Sarah asked as she was enthusiastically watching you.

“You can say woah. That usually will do the trick, but Frankie does better with non verbal cues. So if I want him to slow down, I take a deep inhale, slowly exhale and relax my shoulders.”

You slowly inhaled, exhaled and relaxed your shoulders and much to Joel and Sarah’s surprise, Frankie had slowed his pace down to a relaxed walk again.

It was pure magic, maybe even witchcraft to their eyes.

“So he..sensed your body language change? Just like that? You relaxed your shoulders and in turn, he slowed down? That’s so cool..never thought that was even possible darlin.’”

“Yep. I meant what I said about them being extremely sensitive to body language. They pick up on all of our little movements and emotions. They’re like sponges in that sense. They soak it all up.”

“That’s wicked.” Sarah whispered.

“Wizard.” Joel whispered to her.

“Now when I want him to turn around and go the other direction, I lower the whip, switch the hand it’s in, and turn my shoulder in towards him. If he respects me, he’ll turn his head in towards me when he’s changing directions. Javi P is notorious for giving me some horse butt and it’s a sign that he doesn’t respect me.”

“So in horse language, he’s giving you the finger? What a bastard.” Joel said with a light chuckle.

“In horse language yeah, he’s giving me the finger.”

You switched the whip into your other hand, turning your shoulder in towards Frankie. He sensed your movement, and turned his head facing you, showing a sign of respect as he seamlessly changed directions.

Joel was amazed with you once again. You were fucking cool as shit.

“Now, my favorite part and the most rewarding part in my opinion, is the join up. So once you're done exercising your horse, and he’s clearly shown respect for you, you’re going to drop your whip on the ground, slowly turn your back towards him with your arms at your sides. If successful, he will walk up to you, showing a sign of submission by licking his lips, and or lowering his head. You can face him and reward him with a good pet. He’s put his full trust into you and when you start to walk away, he will follow you without any need for aid.”

Sarah was visibly excited to see this part of the training and she tugged on her dads arm lightly and whispered, “this is the part I was telling you about dad! The join up. This is going to be soo cool!”

You were standing in the middle of the arena as you gently dropped your whip into the sand and turned your back so it was facing Frankie. Your shoulders were relaxed, and your arms were down at your sides, palm outstretched in his direction.

The only sound you could hear was the soft footsteps of Frankie’s hooves approaching you. When felt his nose nudge your open palm, you slowly turned around, and gave him a good pet, kissing his forehead. “Thatta boy. You did so well for me fella. Extra treats later, okay?” You spoke softly to him.

Joel and Sarah watched as you took a few steps back, and Frankie immediately followed you. It was pretty cool to see Frankie put all his trust into you like this, following you willingly around the arena.

Joel couldn’t help but softly clap. He was absolutely amazed.

“That was pretty freaking cool darlin.’ Does the join up happen every time?”

“On most occasions, yes. Sometimes it doesn’t and when that happens, I would send him back on the rail and do it all over again. Frankie, as you just saw, is a very good boy. Javi P and I have yet to successfully join up, but I’m going to work him through it.”

After the lesson was finished, you brought Frankie back to his stall, giving Sarah the carrot to feed to him.

“That seriously was one of the coolest things I have ever seen darlin’ and I’m not just saying that to boost your ego or anything like that. Genuinely, that was awesome. Is Sarah gonna eventually be able to do that?”

You leaned against the side of Frankie’s stall, your arms casually crossed against your chest as you nodded.

“I know you genuinely mean it Joel. I could tell by all the questions you were asking earlier that you were fascinated. Sarah will definitely be able to do that eventually. I think her and Frankie can work really well together for this part of training. I’ll eventually be moving her onto Ezra because he’s perfect with beginners.”

Joel smiled at you before glancing over at his kid who was giving Frankie all the love and pets that he deserved.

“I can’t wait to see her be able to do what you just did.”

“I can’t wait either and I bet it will happen sooner than you think.”

“I’m counting on that darlin.’”

Joel had paid you for Sarah’s lesson and he may or may not have paid you a little extra, despite your protests, and trying to hand him the money back. He insisted you keep it.

Sarah was already back inside her dad’s truck as you were walking Joel out.

“So, about that phone date thing that you suggested, do ya still wanna do it?” Joel had casually asked you, his tone even keeled.

“Yeah, of course. We can still do that Joel.”

“Cool. I’ll uh—I’ll call you tomorrow then? Same time?”

“Same time works for me.”

“Perfect, I’ll talk to ya then darlin.’”

“Sounds good and see you next Saturday!”

Joel definitely wanted to come up with an excuse to see you sooner than that. He just was going to have to figure out a really fucking good one.

“See ya!” He waved before heading over to his truck.

So, phone dates with Joel Miller were about to greet you every morning. You definitely weren’t complaining about that, not even in the slightest. Any excuse to talk to Joel was a good one in your eyes.

Part 4:

[honey-and-sims]

Winifred had been right to suspect that once the dog days of summer arrived, their quaint neighborhood would begin to fill out. The once peaceful, empty streets were now humming with life; as if the glittering morning dew frosting over each day had beckoned them all back home.

You could not go more than a few hours without hearing a horse’s steady gallop hauling a carriage, or sometimes, even the sound of a rare streetcar.

Lawrence was particularly pleased by this fact, anxious to get to know the families around the neighborhood, but Winifred herself was not quite as keen. She had liked the quiet of their solitude, and it felt almost like an invasion of privacy not to have it anymore.

However, much like their new seemingly sophisticated life, it was just something she would have to adjust to. These days, everything felt like something she just needed adjusting to.

And, now that autumn was just around the corner, their lives had somehow become busier than ever before; their days spent together at the lake felt years behind them rather than only a few weeks.

In the afternoon, Beth and Winifred attended painting lessons together; a gift from Lawrence to them both. Their instructor was a soft-spoken, well traveled Frenchman, teaching impressionism and neoclassicism.

Personally, Winifred thought he was a little overqualified to be teaching a skill of his caliber to a housewife and a widow, neither of whom had much experience in the arts, but she was trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. After all, it had been a thoughtful gesture and she wanted to appreciate it nonetheless.

Despite not having the experience though, out of the two of them, Beth was notably more skilled; their instructor often awed by her work. More than once, she could hear his tone vibrating with excitement, almost bursting at the seam as he complimented her use of different brush strokes, much to Winifred’s envy.

Her mother, Alice, was always a natural at painting; as a girl, she loved to sit at her mother's feet whenever she stepped in front of a canvas, and watch as she transformed even the most mundane of landscapes into elaborate works of art. She regularly wished she would have inherited her aptitude for it, but it appeared that she was much better with a pen than a paint brush.

Even the little ones had busy schedules now that summer was on its deathbed. Lawrence had hired two nursery maids, one for each of the boys; it was the only service he had not taken care of before they arrived at their new home. He wanted them to be the perfect fit, and it seemed he had accomplished the seemingly impossible.

Ozzy now spent most of his days with Ms. Hamilton; a woman only a few years Winifred's senior but with the sweetness and patience of one's old Nana. Ozzy warmed up to her quicker than anyone could have expected and their daily lessons seemed to be paying off. She taught him shapes and letters (of which he was quite fond of), along with all the manners that a well-adjusted young man should know (he was not quite so fond of this), and even how to begin writing his own name.

Every so often, when Winifred went to check-in on their little classroom, she would once again be overcome by a similar feeling of envy. She didn't want her children to struggle, not at all; each time she felt it, she would call herself a silly woman for being jealous of a toddler and be on her way, scolding herself for the thoughts that echoed in her head.

But, it was just that, well, they'd all adjusted so quickly! All of them were getting on with things just fine, while she could hardly make sense of it all!

Did no one else think this strange? Didn't they miss their chickens, or long to watch the sunset over the hillside, or even the flower paths on their way into town? And what about their friends, or their beloved shopkeepers who memorized all their names?

It was as if they'd all somehow forgotten the first place she could ever truly call home; and if she couldn't find the will to adjust, would they all wish they could simply forget her too?

next / previous / first

[collinrobinsonsglasses]

Too Soft to be a Pirate

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

Chapter 5 of a series.

Summary: Following the events of season 1 episode 5 of Our Flag Means Death. The reader gets injured during the raid and Izzy tends to their wounds.

Warnings: Lots of cursing, general pirate raid injuries, and descriptions of a fractured wrist. (I don't think it's too bad, but just in case)

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter}

{Next Chapter}

Chapter 5: The Best Revenge is Dressing Well 

Izzy found himself grappling with a crew of seemingly inept fucks aboard the Revenge. Day after day, they lazed about the ship, showing a remarkable aversion to anything resembling work. The situation proved infuriating for Izzy, but he could tolerate Bonnet’s crew if it meant he would one day captain the Queen Anne’s Revenge. 

Blackbeard spent most of his time with the self-proclaimed “Gentleman Pirate”, a mere ponce in Izzy’s eyes. Blackbeard was imparting the ways of the pirate life to the aspiring captain. Izzy couldn’t help but anticipate the day when Blackbeard would burn that little twat’s face off. 

Izzy paced the main deck, his steps measured and purposeful as he observed the assorted members of Bonnet’s crew. Blackbeard planned for a raid on a merchant vessel later in the afternoon and the buzz of anticipation filled the air. The atmosphere onboard hinted at a sense of calm before the storm, as most of the crew indulged in a leisurely morning, preparing for the impending fight. 

Guided by the melody of a lute and an enchanting voice, Izzy traced the source of the sound. Each step up the wooden stairs toward the quarter deck carried him closer to the origin of the music that had captured his senses. He spotted you seated cross-legged on the poop deck, your gaze fixed upward at Frenchie as he skillfully strummed the lute. Your voice blended effortlessly with his playing, and you seemed at peace and completely absorbed in the music. 

A surge of jealousy gripped Izzy as he witnessed the unfolding scene before him. Swiftly suppressing the emotion, he turned away, retreating back to the main deck, no longer willing to witness the connection between you and Frenchie. Since the night you two shared a kiss, you had deliberately kept your distance from Izzy. He sensed your embarrassment about the shared moment, and a part of him felt a sense of relief that you were steering clear of him. Izzy understood the importance of staying focused on the plan and, more specifically, on Edward. 

Your request for sword lessons from Izzy had stopped, a fact that he couldn’t help but notice. Ivan had seamlessly stepped into the role of your instructor. Izzy observed you honing your knife skills under Jim’s guidance. Credit where it was due, Izzy couldn’t deny that Jim was the only competent pirate aboard this ship. 

Your magnetic presence naturally drew Bonnet’s crew toward you, seeking your company, and, much to Izzy’s annoyance, receiving your warm smiles. You spent the last few days hiding away in the kitchen helping Roach with meals. Your whispered conversations with Lucius didn’t escape Izzy’s keen eyes. It grated on him to witness these interactions. You, above all, shouldn’t be forming attachments to these idiots, as you were well aware that this arrangement was temporary. 

Izzy observed Blackbeard and Stede Bonnet emerging from the captain’s quarters, exchanging grins. A grimace crept across Izzy’s face as he witnessed the scene. Though he understood it was a strategic move, he couldn’t fathom why Blackbeard would willingly spend any time with that man. 

“What’s it looking like, Iz?” Blackbeard asked, disrupting Izzy’s train of thought. 

“We’re approaching a medium-sized merchant vessel, cap’n, and it appears to have a distinct lack of cannons” Izzy replied with stoic composure. 

“Agh, that’s great news, Izzy!” Blackbeard exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement as he grasped Stede’s shoulder. “Your first real raid, mate,” Blackbeard added, directing his words to Stede with a twinkle in his eyes. 

“Ah, indeed,” Stede replied with a goofy grin, attempting to conceal the fear behind his eyes. “I’m quite looking forward to it.” 

Izzy rolled his eyes at the exchange and proceeded to rally the crew for the impending raid. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

The sound of gunfire echoed through the air as chaos unfurled around you. Blackbeard’s crew, a group of seasoned pirates, fought fiercely, and you navigated well enough to keep yourself alive. While you had made improvements through the lessons imparted by Izzy and Ivan, the truth remained that you were still a far cry from being an expert with a blade. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you currently lacked the energy for a fight. The idea of being curled up in your hammock with one of Stede Bonnet’s books held far more appeal. The recent emotional turmoil with Izzy had taken a toll on your mind, leaving you feeling drained. Engaging in mundane tasks, like helping Roach in the kitchen or handling menial ship duties, felt far more manageable. The realization of your exhaustion only truly set in when you found yourself in the middle of the raid. 

Your attention snapped back into focus as Fang ruthlessly smashed a man’s head against some wooden crates. The brutality of the scene shook you, briefly waking you from your mental fatigue. Your focus was swiftly redirected to a man engulfed in flames, leaping off the boat - a spectacle orchestrated by Ivan. 

Suddenly, the wind was knocked from your stomach as a body collided with you, forcing you to crumple onto the ground. The impact sent your sword flying from your right hand, and instinctively, you reached out with the other, desperately attempting to break your fall. A sharp pain emanated from your left wrist upon hitting the ground. Standing above you, a man brandished his sword, the blade menacingly aimed toward your chest. 

You closed your eyes, bracing for the inevitable strike, but instead the air filled with commotion around you. Opening your eyes, you witnessed Izzy delivering a resounding punch to the man’s face. The first mate called out to Fang, and in the blink of an eye, the assailant who had knocked you down was being hurtled across the deck, soaring over the heads of Lucius and Stede. Swiftly sitting up, you maneuvered against the ship’s wall, finding refuge, while Izzy positioned himself in front of you, brandishing his sword in a protective stance. 

As the fight gradually ended, the rest of the crew corralled the survivors of the raid. You rose to your feet, cautiously retrieving your sword while hiding your injured wrist behind your back. When Izzy turned to face you, the simmering anger in his eyes was unmistakable. 

“That was fucking sloppy,” Izzy hissed at you. “I shouldn't have to worry about you getting gutted during a simple raid. Next time, you’ll be watching with the rest of the twattys who aren’t fit to be pirates.” 

You fixed your gaze on Izzy, choosing not to offer a response. 

“Fuck off. Go help with the looting”, he grumbled, acknowledging your silence. 

Swiftly, you made your way to join Frenchie, eager to escape further scolding from Izzy. Deep down, you recognized the truth in his words; your focus should have been sharper during the fight. The persistent dull pain radiating from your wrist served as a reminder of that. You opted to keep the injury to yourself. You would rather endure the pain in silence, hoping it would subside with time, than face any additional reasons for reprimand. 

You and Frenchie sifted through the boxes in search of anything valuable. Mindful of your injured left hand, you relied solely on your right, keeping the hurt arm cradled close to your stomach. Having collected everything you deemed valuable, you and Frenchie made your way back to the Revenge. 

As the day progressed, you found yourself seated below deck with Lucius and Pete, chatting about mundane topics. Suddenly, Frenchie made his entrance, adorned in a fine black suit and cradling his lute. 

“Frenchie!” you exclaimed, “You clean up well!” 

“Why, thank you,” Frenchie responded with a theatrical bow. “I’m planning to wear it to a fancy party the captains want to attend.” 

“What kind of party?” Black Pete inquired, his curiosity tinged with a hint of fear of missing out on something fun. 

“Eh, just one with a bunch of hoity-toity people,” Frenchie responded, his tone less than impressed. 

“Yeah, I’ll pass on that,” Black Pete replied. 

“I wonder if there’s going to be dancing,” Lucius mused playfully, lifting his eyebrows. “Ugh, I miss dancing.” 

Frenchie sat down next to you on a crate and began playing a slow, melodic tune on his lute, a common occurrence aboard the ship. The music prompted Lucius to rise from his seat, extending his hand toward you with raised eyebrows. 

“My wrist is still hurting from the raid this morning,” you responded, politely declining Lucius’ request. Suddenly, a mischievous thought crossed your mind, and you gave Lucius a sly smile.

During your time on The Revenge, Lucius had become quite talkative with you. You suspected it was because, among the crew, you were one of the less intimidating pirates. In the last few days, he had been openly expressing his crush on Black Pete to you. Now, you made a decision that you were going to help him out. 

“I bet Black Pete would make a pretty good dance partner,” you said, casting a glance toward him. “Even if he hasn’t danced before, he picks things up way faster than anyone I’ve ever met.” 

“I haven’t danced before,” Black Pete responded hesitantly, before regaining his normal confidence. “But you’re right. I am an exceptionally fast learner.” 

“Well, lucky for you, I’m also an exceptional teacher,” Lucius responded flirtatiously, placing his hands on Black Pete’s shoulders. 

As you watched Lucius and Black Pete dance you couldn’t help but notice a subtle spark igniting between the two. After a while, you and Frenchie made your way back to the deck, as he prepared to depart from the party, leaving Lucius and Black Pete alone to their own devices. 

As you ascended to the deck, you noticed Blackbeard and Izzy engaged in conversation on the Quarterdeck. Their discussion seemed intense, with the low rumble of their voices carrying over the sounds of the ship. Abruptly, Izzy stomped off, his expression etched with the familiar anger that seemed to cling to him like a shadow. 

Soon after Izzy’s departure, you found yourself in the vacant spot next t0 Blackbeard on the Quarterdeck. Edward was in a beautiful purple suit, adorned with two bows neatly tied into his beard. His typically wild and flowing hair was not fashioned into a tidy bun at the back of his head. 

“Izzy said I look like a ponce,” Blackbeard huffed, a touch of vulnerability in his tone. “Do I look ponce?” he asked, turning to you with genuine concern in his eyes. 

“You look handsome,” you replied with a warm smile, reaching up to gently straighten one of the bows in his beard. It struck you that this was the first time you had ever seen your captain look nervous. It made sense; this was uncharted territory for him. “Stede will look out for you,” you assured Blackbeard, offering a reassuring nod. 

Blackbeard acknowledged your words with a coy smile. 

The party set off to the celebration, and life on the ship resumed its normal course. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Izzy Hands seethed with fury as he found himself left alone with Bonnet’s useless crew while Blackbeard attended some pointless party. At least there was a small victory in the fact that he was having Lucius scrape all the barnacles off the ship. Izzy’s satisfaction deepened at the thought that Lucius was finally facing the consequences for lying around doing fuck-all day after day. The punishment was fitting, and long overdue. 

“How’s our barnacle project coming?” Izzy sneered, his gaze scanning over the edge of the ship, expecting to find Lucius. 

A wave of surprise and frustration washed over Izzy as he spotted you sitting on the bench, scraping barnacles instead of Lucius. He noticed your face tightening in response to the sound of his voice, but you continued your work, seeming determined to stay focused despite his interruption. 

“I’m gonna kill that twat,” Izzy snapped, frustration boiling over. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, his tone sharp and accusing. 

“Scraping barnacles, sir,” you responded in a flat tone, maintaining a stoic demeanor despite the tension in the air. 

Izzy rolled his eyes before continuing, “Where are Fang and Lucius?” he inquired, a hint of impatience coloring his tone. 

“They mentioned having something important to do, so I offered to finish scraping the barnacles,” you said with nonchalant shrug. 

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Izzy demanded.

Izzy noticed you pause your barnacle-scraping, it seemed like you were taking a moment to genuinely consider his question. “It’s probably because I’m a chronic people-pleaser. I know you wanted this done, and I’m just trying to keep the peace,” you replied, your words carrying a touch of honesty. 

Izzy started pulling the bench back up towards the deck until you were face to face with him. “You’d just blindly do something, because someone asked you to?” Izzy asked condescendingly. 

“Most likely,” you responded with a shrug. 

“What if I asked you to jump off the crow’s nest? Would you do that?” Izzy inquired his tone carrying a note of exhaustion. 

“I would probably do anything you asked me to, Izzy, because I don’t like when you’re pissed at me,” you responded, avoiding direct eye contact as you looked off to the side. 

“You would die,” Izzy responded flatly. 

“Well if that turned out to be the case, at least you wouldn’t be able to yell at me,” you

 replied, pursing your lips together, a hint of bitterness lacing your words. 

Izzy observed you carefully standing up off the stool and onto the deck, his gaze unwavering. 

“Well, that twat owes you an apology for making you do his work,” Izzy stated with a gruff tone, trying to return to the situation at hand. 

“That’s not really necessary because I’m not upset. I offered to do it,” you replied quietly. 

Izzy rolled his eyes once more, expressing his exhaustion with the situation. Frustrated that Lucius had taken advantage of your kindness, he moved to grab your wrist to lead you in search of Fang and Lucius. However, a sharp hiss escaping your mouth caught his attention. Concern furrowed his brow, and he immediately released your arm, his eyes scanning your face as you attempted to hide a wince. 

“Let me see your wrist,” Izzy demanded in a gentle tone, a surge of concern coursing through him. 

You lifted up your arm, and Izzy carefully examined your wrist. As he moved your sleeve back, the sight that met his eyes confirmed his suspicions. The area around the wrist showed signs of distress – visible swelling, a blooming bruise coloring the skin, and a subtle misalignment that hinted at a potential fracture. Tender to the touch, your wince as he inspected it spoke volumes about the pain you were experiencing. 

Izzy looked up towards your eyes, and the fear he saw there softened his expression. “This was from the raid this morning?” Izzy asked, although he already knew the answer. 

You nodded slowly in confirmation. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he pressed. 

“I didn’t want to bother anyone. I just hoped it would get better,” you responded, a tinge of embarrassment coloring your words. 

“Go wait for me in my cabin. We’re going to get that sorted. I just need to find those two lazy idiots first,” Izzy said softly, a mixture of concern and determination in his voice. 

As he watched you walk away, gently cradling your left wrist against your chest, a wave of guilt washed over Izzy. He should have made sure that you weren’t injured after the raid. When he saw that man rushing into you, a surge of rage had flung him into protection mode. After the fight, he directed that rage toward you, but now, seeing you hurt, he realized he was really just angry at himself for allowing you to be in that position in the first place. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on Izzy’s shoulders as he set off to find Fang and Lucius, a resolve burning in his eyes to make things right with you. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Entering Izzy’s room, you cast a curious glance around, hoping to glean any more insight into the man who had been occupying your thoughts for the last year. As expected, Izzy’s room was simple and functional- a reflection of his practical nature. A bed, a desk, a chair, and a chest constituted the entirety of his furnishings. 

Standing awkwardly for a while, you felt a sense of unwelcome intrusion in his personal space before finally opting to sit on his chair. Time seemed to stretch on as you waited for Izzy, and your anxiety began to grow. This was the first time you would be alone with Izzy since the kiss, and a sense of uncertainty lingered in your mind. You weren’t sure how to act around him anymore. 

Eventually, Izzy stomped into his room, his frustration clear as he ranted to himself about Lucius. Once Izzy’s eyes met yours, his demeanor softened, and concern once again painted itself across his face. Setting down a bowl filled with a liquid that carried the distinct scent of vinegar, he retrieved bandages from the chest in his room.

“Sit on my bed. I’m going to use the chair,” he commanded softly, the concern in his voice blending with a touch of authority. 

You followed his command, swiftly taking a seat on the edge of the bed. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, mirroring the night you two shared a kiss. The rapid beat provided a welcome distraction from the pain throbbing in your wrist. 

Izzy gently reached for your non-injured hand, his fingers delicately tracing along the bones of your wrist. A flush crept onto your face at his touch, though you hoped he wouldn’t notice the subtle reaction. His weathered and calloused fingers possessed a surprising gentleness as they moved across your arm. 

Izzy paused, his gaze lifting to meet yours. “I need to feel your injured wrist now to compare the positioning of the bones. It’ll help me see what the damage is,” he explained, his voice carrying a gentle but resolute undertone. “It’s going to fucking hurt.” he warned you. 

You nodded in understanding as Izzy carefully lifted your injured wrist. The pain that surged through your arm was excruciating, evident in the wince that danced across your features. You could see a mirror expression of discomfort on Izzy’s face, the idea that his touch was causing you pain weighing heavily on him. His fingers continued their methodical exploration, seeking to understand the extent of your injury. 

A wave of dizziness washed over you, and the thud of your heart echoed loudly in your ears. The room blurred momentarily as if reality itself was swaying, and you gripped the edge of the bed, attempting to anchor yourself amidst the disorienting feeling. Suddenly, a gentle hand on your face snapped you back to reality. 

“Little mouse,” Izzy whispered, lifting your chin so that your eyes met his. “You need to breathe.” 

Following Izzy’s instruction, you took slow, deliberate breaths, the world gradually coming back into plain view. The concern in Izzy’s eyes remained, a silent reassurance that you were not alone in this moment of vulnerability. 

“You have a simple fracture. I need to set it and bandage it. Then you should be okay, as long as you refrain from being knocked over,” Izzy explained. Izzy grabbed your uninjured hand, gently placing it on his knee with a stern expression. “I don’t need you passing out on me, so when it hurts, you can squeeze my knee. And don’t stop breathing again,” he instructed. 

Izzy efficiently set your wrist back into place, and you seized the opportunity to squeeze his knee tightly as the pain reached its boiling point. The intensity gradually subsided as Izzy skillfully maneuvered your bone into the correct position. Izzy proceeded to dip the bandages into the liquid he had brought with him, tightly starting to wrap them around your injured wrist. 

A silence settled in as Izzy worked diligently on wrapping your wrist. Feeling a tinge of discomfort, you decided to look away, diverting your gaze to anything else in the room, attempting to avoid the intimacy of the situation. Suddenly, a sensation of being watched prompted you to turn, and you found Izzy peering up at you. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you this morning,” Izzy stated matter-of-factly. “You still fight better than most of the twats on this ship.” The admission held a rare sincerity. 

“You were right though. I was distracted,” you responded gently, a slight frown gracing your features. You noticed Izzy staring at you a little longer, but you looked back down feeling too vulnerable. 

Izzy placed his hand on your shoulder, beginning to speak again. “Okay. New rules. Number one: you are no longer going to offer to do anyone’s chores for them, especially with a fractured wrist.” The firmness in his voice conveyed a sense of protective authority. 

“Number two,” he continued, “If you ever get hurt again, you will come to me immediately. Even if you get a single splinter, I expect to fucking hear about it.” 

You nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Izzy,” you said, giving his knee one last squeeze and offering a soft smile. 

“Now, fuck off,” Izzy said, his tone a stark contrast to the morning’s sternness. There was a hint of endearment in his tone. 

You took Izzy’s command seriously and did indeed fuck off, finding Lucius engaged in conversation with Black Pete and Fang on the deck. 

“Lucius, what have you been doing today?” you asked curiously, joining them. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Izzy that angry.” 

“I drew Fang naked,” Lucius said, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. “Listen, that angry little sexually repressed man just needs to get laid. Otherwise, I feel like he’s going to pop.” 

Lucius looked at you before continuing, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Unlucky for him, only someone crazy would be attracted to that." 

You looked over to Fang and noticed his guilty expression. "Fang, you didn't," you whined. 

"Oh yes. Fang spilled your dirty little secret," Lucius giggled. "I do think you're crazy for liking that man, but we all have a type, I guess." Lucius finished, winking at Black Pete. 

You weren't really upset with Fang. You knew most people would notice eventually with how obvious your feelings showed. You looked down at your wrapped wrist, pondering Lucius's statement. You didn't think you were crazy at all. As a matter of fact, you thought it was crazy that the rest of the crew didn't see Izzy the way you did. He was rough on the outside, but deep down, he was one of the kindest people you had ever met.

Taglist: @5tud10-54r4h @locamoka-blog @promptly-mercy

{Next Chapter}

[broken-glowsticks]

What Once was Mine

Chapter 6 - Jealousy

Genre: Childhood friends, Eventual Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Love corner/love triangle, love rivals, Series. Not all chapters will be proofread!!

Warnings: 18+, mdni, mentions of sex and alcohol consumption, additional warnings will be added to individual chapters as needed.

Previous • Main • Next

“So, she's over there right now then, huh?” It wasn't hard to hear exactly how much Changbin didn't exactly love that.

“Yeah…” Jisung replied, not too thrilled himself either.

“Damn… I should have been more upfront with her,” Changbin growled, leaning against his kitchen counter, his jaw and fists clenching. It had been a few days since your heavy make out session and Changbin couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't make himself entirely clear to you that night when he said he would take things at your pace. It felt as though he made it seem like he was willing to wait for you whenever you were comfortable enough for a hookup. In reality, he wanted to convey that he was willing to wait as long as you needed to pursue a relationship.

“Deep breaths, calm down before you crack a tooth,” Jisung said, claping a hand against Changbins back, “I think the fact you kissed is progress.”

“Yeah… yeah, you're right,” Changbin admitted, unclenching his fists, “I'm just so frustrated. It feels like no matter what I do, it won't matter. It feels like he's always in the way.”

“It's only been, like, what, a few months? Give it more time. I know that's hard to do whenever someone has a crush as big as yours, but in my experience-”

“You have experience?”

“In my experience...” Jisung continued, deciding to ignore the joke at his expense this once, “the more time you give it, the harder she'll fall.”

“You sound like a wanna-be cupid.” Changbin said, but smiled anyway. “Thanks Han, I needed to hear that.” Changbin sighed, running his hands through his hair to get control of himself. Han was right, it had only been a few months since he developed any feelings for you and it had been even less time since he started actually doing anything about it. You just needed more time, specifically spent with him.

“Feeling better?” Han asked, giving a moment for Changbin to respond.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Good, now come on. We need to meet up with Chan and Felix to strategize.”

“My love life’s something to strategize?”

“Isn't everybody's?”

○●☆♡☆●○

You had no idea Hyunjin had so much stamina. Although, thinking back, that was silly of you. He was a full time dance instructor, teaching multiple classes every day on top of constant practice to sharpen his skills. The company also had a penchant for using him for their promotional videos that they posted on YouTube weekly. So, of course he'd have copious amounts of stamina, something he made abundantly clear as he spend practically the entire night fucking you into every possible surface of his apartment. He only stopped for a few hours so he could feed you dinner, something he didn't allow you to dress for. You didn't mind though, as you weren't the only one entirely naked as you two ate.

After that, for the entirety of the night, you and Hyunjin were always active. Always touching in some way, he had you constantly swapping through cute outfits he apparently bought just for tonight and he was always piling praises and sweet words. Yes, he said some truly filthy and degrading things last night, but he always made sure to follow it up with affection. You were truly the center of his attention, something that didn't end when you two finally cleaned up and collapsed into bed feeling utterly exhausted.

“Does Sleeping Beauty need a kiss to wake up?” Hyunjins soft voice tickled your ear, rousing you from your sleep, “I'll give you as many as you need.” He chuckled, ghosting his lips over your eyes, the bridge of your nose down to the tip, your cheeks, your lips. You still didn't wake, both enjoying his kisses but also still drained from your night. Hyunjin tilted his head, trailing kisses along your jaw, the shell of your ear, down your neck. The extra stimulation was enough to convince you.

Giggling, you wrapped your arms around his neck, peeking one eye open as he brought himself up to greet you face-to-face with one of his sweet smiles. You always adored how youthful he looked, how his face scrunched and how his eyes turned into little crescent moons. It was the one thing about Hyunjin that never changed in all the years you had known him.

“Good morning, Hyunnie,” you yawned before Hyunjin planted a chaste, gentle kiss against your lips. He loved it when you called him that.

“Good morning, Beautiful. Breakfast is ready, do you need help up?” He asked quietly, gazing at you fondly.

“How can you even stand, let alone offer to help me up?”

“I'm just built like that,” Hyunjin said with a sudden smug smile, sliding his arms around your body and slinging you over his shoulder. You squealed with surprise.

“Put me down Hwang Hyunjin!!” You cried, however your protests were undermined by your own giggles and half-hearted pounding at his back.

“Oh shush,” he playfully admonished, landing a lively smack to your ass and grinning with glee at your little yelp.

Once Hyunjin gently sat you down at the kitchen table he planted one more kiss on your forehead before serving the two of you plates of food. It was a little hard to focus on eating at first, memories of you being the meal only hours prior floating to the front of your mind. Hyunjins smile and idle chatter was the only thing that kept you focused on the moment. It was funny how gentle and intimate this morning felt in comparison to last night.

Last night you were a plaything, someone to pump full of cum and call filthy names as Hyunjin acted out sexual fantasies that no hook up ever let him do. It was explicitly asked for, of course, but oh, how starkly it contrasted to a wake up call of breakfast and gentle kisses, of dawning Hyunjins clothes as his eyes never left you. You smiled to yourself, feeling spoiled. You knew Hyunjin never did anything like this. Hook ups were never offered breakfast, they weren't treated rudely but never this gently, and they were never allowed to wear his clothes.

“They only do it to try and stake some weird claim and they never look good in my stuff. Not like you,” Hyunjin had once said. Something that never left your mind. Idly, you had wondered in whose shirt did you look better in: Hyunjins or Changbins?

The second Changbin entered your mind, you heard your phone beginning to ring from Hyunjins bedroom. Hyunjin stopped you before you could even try to lift yourself from your seat.

“I'll get it, Beautiful. You eat.”

“Thank you, gorgeous,” you giggled, relishing at the blush that flared across his cheeks as he went to fetch your phone. You happily dug into your meal while waiting, but your appetite faltered when he came back with your phone, a frown replacing the bashful tint that was just adorning his pretty face.

“It's Changbin,” he said sourly, handing you the phone, secretly hoping you'd screen the call. A pang of jealousy stabbed at Hyunjins heart when you immediately answered.

“Binnie?” Another twist, when did you start calling him that?

“Well good morning Princess. This is your personalized morning wake up call by your one and only Dwaekki.” A delighted laugh bubbled from your chest at the sheer absurdity of the man on the other end of this phone call.

“So you're really sticking with ‘Princess’?” Was all you could bring yourself to say.

“Well yeah, cause I intend to spoil you like a princess.” You suddenly felt very self conscious having this conversation with Hyunjin in the room, even more so with the butterflies awakening in your stomach.

“You do know princesses don't just get spoiled 24/7, right?”

“My Princess will be.”

Your heart skipped a beat, he said that so matter-of-factly. A part of you wanted to ask where this was coming from, but in reality you knew. He told you, not in words, but in action. The night you two kissed, how he stayed in bed and held you so tenderly in his arms, how he served your every need before himself the entire morning after. Even if you didn't yet know his true intentions as to why he doted on you, you knew Changbin, they weren't malicious and you truly enjoyed his attention.

“Are you still with me Princess?”

“Ah, ye-yeah! Sorry, I just… didn't know how to respond to that.” You admitted, eyes flicking to Hyunjin who had resumed his seat across the table, an obvious pout on his face.

“This isn't the first time you've said that to me,” Changbins smooth, self assured tone chimed through the phone, “seems I have a knack for rendering you speechless.” He chuckled, a sound you reciprocated.

“It seems so.”

“What are you doing today? I want to see you again.”

Hyunjins breath caught in his throat, his nerves set on edge. Who the hell did this guy think he was? First he interrupts your morning to flirt and now he wants to take you away from him?

“I'm actually with a friend right now, won't be back until later. Maybe tomorrow.”

Hyunjins mind lingered on, “a friend”. Normally you'd say exactly who you were with. You would confidently say you were with him.

“Come see me after then. I'll wait for you.”

You swallowed hard, that unfamiliar mix of emotions that you experienced when Hyunjin and Changbin first met once again swirling deep in your belly, smothering every last butterfly you felt earlier. Why were you feeling this way? Your eyes once again darted back to Hyunjin only to catch him standing from his side of the table. Making his way over to you, Hyunjin kneeled in front of you, tickling your knee with kisses before speaking loudly, so Changbin could hear.

“Baby, I’m sorry, but I just realized you're wearing the shirt that I was planning on wearing, mine if I take it back?”

Heat shot up your neck, rooting itself deeply into the curves of your cheeks. This wasn't an abnormal thing to say, he's said worse while you were on the phone before, but he said what when you were on the phone with Changbin. Changbin of all people.

“Hyu-HYUNJIN!”

“What? Being stubborn? I don't mind taking it off of you myself,” he teased, fingers unbuttoning the shirt right off your body. In a panic you hung up the call, refusing to risk Changbin hearing anything else.

“He-here! Take it!” You stuttered, undoing the rest of the buttons and slipping it off you. “I'll go get another one.” You tried to sound as normal as possible, dashing off to Hyunjins room with your phone in hand, missing when Hyunjin dropped the playful façade as his gaze followed your mostly naked frame.

Y/N: I'm so, so sorry about Hyunjin, he just gets carried away sometimes when he wants to mess around. I'd love to come see you, if you still want me to

Binnie🐽🐰: I'd be crazy to not want you.

You swallowed hard at Changbins reply and couldn't help but stare at the screen for a few seconds before sending your next text.

Y/N: So, then… I'll text you when I'm driving over then?

Binnie🐽🐰: Then… It's a date? 🥴

A dopey giggle bubbled out of your chest before you could stop it and your heart was threatening to beat itself right out of your chest. You couldn't remember the last time you were on a date, a real one, not just the friend dates you would go on with Jisung or Hyunjin. You felt giddy re-reading Changbins flirty and somewhat cringey text. You felt wanted in a way you hadn't in quite some time. You could almost feel static in your fingertips as you replied.

Y/N: It's a date ❤️

○●☆♡☆●○

“You seem happy,” Chan said with a grin. He was the one who suggested Changbin call you this morning while the two of them had a moment of downtime at the recording studio.

“Who's happy? I'm not happy,” Changbin said as convincingly as he could, turning off his phone and trying his best to drop his smile. “I'm pissed off cause the girl I like is at her fuckbuddys house and our next client is late.”

“Mh-hmm, suuuuuure,” Chan said, unconvinced. “So is she coming over tonight or…?”

“I don't know yet. She said she would let me know when she's on her way. Han says this guy has a habit of holding her hostage.” Changbin sighed, now genuinely annoyed.

“Yikes, well… good luck with that,” Chan said sympathetically, sitting up once he saw Han lead their next client into the recording booth. “Show time.”

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

A/N: I don't have much in the way of commentary for this chapter lol. It is what it is, I'm just trying to keep my buffer. Also, juggling characters is haaaaard.

Taglist: @groovygroovyhyunjin @hhwangsmoon @luvyblossom @doggezz

[artiststarme]

Staying Alive, Staying Alive

I was feeling a little angsty today and now here we are. I hope you guys like this and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

Title brought to you by @lumoschild!

~*~*~*~

Steve’s stomach dropped when he heard Dustin’s screaming from the trailer park. He and the girls were only about halfway back in their trek when they started hearing his cries which caused Steve to sprint in his direction. Why was Dustin screaming and where was Eddie? They were supposed to be out of danger. They were the goddamn decoys and Steve told them not to be heroes! 

The sight he stumbled on when he broke through the barrier of the trees would forever haunt him. Just past the rows of trailer homes, Dustin was knelt on bloodied knees, sobbing, with an unmoving Eddie situated half on his lap. The two of them were sitting in a pond of blood that was growing ever larger. Steve had never seen Munson so still, he was always flamboyant and larger than life in everything he did. His face, usually so expressive and full of life, had never been so pale either, only made worse with the sluggishly bleeding wounds still leaking from his neck and torso. 

“Dustin!” Steve screamed for him as he ran closer and fell to his knees beside him in a careless slump. “What happened? When’d he stop breathing?”

“I-I don’t know, just before you got here, I guess. He-he saved me. He didn’t run away this time, Steve.” He grabbed onto Eddie’s shoulders even stronger in a desperate hug while tears ran down his cheeks.

“Okay, I know he didn’t. Munson’s a strong guy and he still has fight left. I need you to put him down so I can bring him back, okay?” Steve muttered soothingly. If Eddie had just lost his pulse a few minutes ago, there was still a chance that he could get his heart beating again.

“What? Steve-”

“Put him down, Dustin!” Steve would feel bad for yelling at him later but he had a very limited window for CPR to work and he didn’t have time for any more niceties. 

Dustin flinched back as if struck and let go of Eddie abruptly. His face screwed up in a vicious sob when Steve started applying forceful compressions to his friend’s chest. “Steve, you’re hurting him!”

“He can’t feel pain if he’s dead, Dustin! If this works, he can complain about it later.” Steve struck Eddie’s chest over and over again to the beat of Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees like he was taught to as a swim instructor. He never could’ve imagined then that this is how he’d be using his skills. 

Both Dustin and Steve winced when they heard Eddie’s ribs crack but Steve didn’t stop applying his full body weight into every push. Nancy and Robin showed up at some point between Steve giving compressions and breathing into Eddie’s mouth but he paid them no mind. In fact, he didn’t pay anything any mind until Eddie gasped for air on his own. 

“Eddie!” Dustin yelled and tried to scramble away from Nancy’s arms that restrained him. 

“Ouch,” Eddie whispered before his eyes slid shut once more.

“No, no, no. Munson, wake up. Keep your eyes open. We have to get out of here, c’mon. Robin, help me pick him up,” Steve ordered. She quickly stepped forward and helped situate Eddie bridal-style in his arms. With a few well-placed cloths to act as bandages, she patted Steve’s shoulder and he bolted towards the gate in the Munson trailer. The entire Upside Down started shaking and the ground started to fracture in a horrific version of  ‘the-floor-is-lava’ game. 

But Steve could only focus on holding pressure against a particularly deep wound on Eddie’s side and the soft breaths fanning his neck. One step in front of the other, he sprinted as fast as he could without jostling the injured man in his arms too much. His efforts proved fruitless if the muffled moans of pain into his ear indicated anything. 

When he got to the trailer, Robin was right behind him. She threw the door open and pushed the small kitchen table underneath the quaking gate and threw herself through first, ungraceful and uncoordinated as it was, in order to catch Eddie when Steve pushed him through the portal. Which she did. By falling with him and kneeing him in the spine. Seeing them mostly safe, Steve carefully guided Dustin onto the table and threw the gate with his injured leg and then offered a hand to Nancy and gave her a gentle push. 

As the gate started to close, he hardly had enough time to jump through the portal into the Rightside Up himself. He could feel the sizzling heat on his sides and burning on the outer parts of his leg until his back met a soft surface on the ground. He made it. 

They didn’t have time to celebrate though because Dustin was crying in pain about his leg, Robin was rubbing her side in discomfort, and Eddie was still groaning and bleeding out onto his own stained mattress. Steve’s sides were screaming but he didn’t have time to acknowledge his own wounds until he was sure his friends would survive. 

“Alright Nancy, where’s your car? We have to get to the hospital.” Steve asked her, easily falling into the position of leader once more.

“Um, it's right outside.” With a peek out the trailer’s window, Steve could definitely see that it was not. 

“No it isn’t. Where’d you park it?” 

“I swear,” Nancy promised. “I parked it right in front of the door. We’ll just have to call for an ambulance.”

Steve shook his head and ran a stressed hand through his hair. Eddie didn’t have time for an ambulance. With the earthquakes and the preexisting stigma around the people that lived at Forest Hills, an ambulance would take up to thirty minutes and he didn’t have that. Fuck, what were they going to do?!

He sent another glance out the window to see a small sedan parked outside the neighboring trailer. Bullseye. 

“Okay, new plan. Eddie and I are going to hotwire that car and drive to the hospital. You guys are going to call an ambulance and meet us there.” He nodded to himself and went to pick up a blurry-eyed Eddie. 

“Steve, we should stick together. It’s not smart to go off on our own,” Nancy expressed condescendingly. 

“Well, no one’s ever mistaken me for being smart so I guess that’s par for the course. We’ll see you at the hospital.” Then they were off. Steve was once again carrying Eddie as gently as he could but this time Eddie’s eyes were open and searching. 

“Who knew that Steve Harrington would be so adamant on keeping me alive?” He muttered.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Munson.”

“I’m bleeding all over you, surely we’re on a first name basis now. Right Steve?” His tone was pretty challenging for a guy that was dead less than five minutes ago. 

“You can call me whatever you want, Eddie. Just keep your eyes open.”

“Okay, I’ll try my best. What’re you planning on doing? Lisa always leaves her car locked,” he said as soon as he saw the direction Steve was walking in.  

Steve didn’t dignify his question with a response. He just grabbed the ax from its position secured on his back and swung the dull edge towards the driver’s side window, shattering it instantly. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie murmured in amazement. Unknowingly to Steve, that was the exact moment that Eddie fell in love with him. He had risked his life to save him in the Upside Down and carried him bridal-style out of hell. Now he was committing crimes to keep him alive and looking hot while doing it. Eddie’s heart didn’t stand a chance. 

Steve gently leaned Eddie against the car while he worked to get the driver’s side door open and then picked him up again to gently settle him in across the backseats. His movements caused Eddie to whimper in pain but they were so close, they couldn’t stop now. 

“Okay Munson, focus. How do I hotwire this car?” Steve looked back at him and saw the seats quickly staining red. “Shit Eddie! Put pressure right there, we have to slow the bleeding. C’mon, how do I do this?

Eddie tried to press his bandana into his worst wound as he gave Steve directions. “Pull off the steering column and grab the wires. Did you get my pliers? You’ll need those to strip the coating.”

“Yep. Okay, I got the cover off and I see the wires. What next?”

“There-there should be… two wires. One red and one black. You have to s-strip them and tap them together until the ignition starts…” 

His voice started to taper off towards the end of his explanation and he could hardly keep his eyes open anymore. Steve pulled the wires from the steering column and stripped them just as Eddie had in the RV. When he looked into the backseat, he did a double take. Eddie’s skin was even paler and clammier than it had been before. Most worryingly though, his eyes were glazed and his breathing was labored. Steve reached an arm back to shake at his shoulder. 

“Don’t fucking die, Eddie! I didn’t carry you out of the goddamn Upside Down just for you to die in some stranger’s backseat.” He hissed in angered panic. 

“Ooo kinky.” Eddie mumbled through chapped lips. 

“Not kinky, dying is not kinky! Wake up, Eddie!” 

Just then, the engine turned over and the ignition started. “Yes, yes! Eddie, hold on. I got the car to start. C’mon man, five minutes to the hospital. You’ve got this.”

“Okay…” Eddie whispered. Steve could hardly breathe as he sped down the roads and broke every traffic law. He didn’t care about the consequences of his actions as long as Eddie lived. He didn’t care about speeding tickets or jail time, he just needed his new friend to survive. 

“Eddie, you doing okay?”

“I wouldn’t… characterize this as- as being… okay,” he answered between labored breaths. 

“You’re doing great, man,” Steve told him. He looked back at him in the rearview and saw Eddie’s eyes looking back at him. 

“Thanks for doing this, Stevie. You didn’t have to. You-you could’ve left me there-”

“Shut up, man. I wasn’t going to leave you after you risked your life to help us. You’re one of us now whether you like it or not.” Steve told him. He wasn’t going to stand for any self-deprecating comments after he’d almost died (did die for a few minutes) to save Dustin. 

Eddie hummed before the car lapsed into silence for the next minute or so, only broken by the sounds of Eddie wheezing for air and Steve’s fingers shaking against the steering wheel. When they arrived at the hospital, Steve pulled right in front of the emergency room and screamed for help. Nurses, doctors, and assistants came rushing out to help him and they placed Eddie on the gurney. 

His lips were red with blood and his face was ashen without it. But when Steve looked at him, he smiled wide. “I’ll see you later, Big Boy.”

Steve couldn’t even threaten the hospital staff to treat him well or tell them to ignore the rumors on TV (although he would find out later that Nancy and Robin did that well enough on their own). As soon as Eddie was wheeled out of sight, Steve collapsed from his own injuries. 

Just a few days later, Steve woke up from sedation to find himself in a hospital bed with Eddie as a roommate. And if his heartbeat sped up on the monitor when Eddie smiled at him, well, that wasn’t anyone’s business but theirs.

Permanent tag list:@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @pyrohonk @straight4joekeery @trippypancakes @conversesweetheart @estrellami-1 @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @swimmingbirdrunningrock @perseus-notjackson @anaibis @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @grtwdsmwhr @manda-panda-monium @lumoschild

[buckets-and-trees]

He Bought a Studio

Characters/Pairings: Bucky x Natasha Word Count: 4.3k Summary: In an alternate universe where Steve stayed, Natasha lived, and everyone settled down in the Big Apple, this chronicles a Winter Soldier's decent into opening up a dance studio for the Black Widow he's become totally besotted with in super soldier retirement, and many things that come with it. Almost titled, "Five Times Natasha Romanoff Was Right To Be Suspicious Of Bucky Barnes."

Content/Warnings: brief smut (oral female receiving), fluff, feelings, a goddaughter, soft former assassins

Additional Notes: Filling my eighth square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - B4 "Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow" and clocking in week 7 of Hot Bucky Summer to fill the prompt "Who's This?"/my pet, my lover, my slave.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

ONE

With reputations that rivaled each other as the world’s most efficient assassin and effective spy respectively, Bucky and Natasha were too suited to each other to ever forge a life with anyone else. They could compete in skill and intellect, they challenged each other, but more than anything else they understood each other – bleeding ledgers something they didn’t have to explain, good and bad days reconciling the past something they didn’t have to clarify. No judgement.

It's also difficult for either of them to surprise the other.

But she can admit she was not expecting anything even close to this.

She blinks furiously, using the pretense of rotating on the spot to take in the space – its smooth hardwood floors and pristine mirrored walls haunting in the mostly-darkened room, one of three or four in the facility if she had assessed correctly – to turn away from his intense gaze directly on her face for a moment.

“You bought a ballet studio,” she says, the words still thicker through her throat than she had hoped they would be.

The feelings competing in her chest are at once heartbreaking and hopeful.

He just hums in confirmation.

“You bought a ballet studio,” she repeats, this time a whisper, but she knows he hears. He hears everything, including the racing of her heart.

Bucky reaches for her hand and tugs her back to him. “Don’t you want to know why?”

“Because you have too goddamn much money from the government settlements?”

“That and my sister loved to dance. You loved to dance. You could dance again.”

“You gonna dance with me, Barnes?” she teases.

He shakes his head and laughs, opening his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off.

“No excuses – between when you grew up and the dance training all Russian assets got, I know you can dance.”

“Agree to run the dance side of the Barnes Ballet Academy and I’ll dance with you whenever you want,” he says, pulling her into his chest and arranging them into an appropriate dance position, one hand holding hers, the other moving to the small of her back.

She yields for a moment, resting her head against his shoulder, and he begins to sway them back and forth slowly to some imaginary music.

“Why did you really buy a ballet studio, Buck?”

He sighs, then kisses the top of her head. “We can’t have everything together, but I can give you this. It’s not…”

He can’t or won’t finish the sentence, but she swallows painfully and then finishes it for him. “It’s not kids.”

“But these rooms can be filled with them every afternoon. Since I bought the studio, I will take care of all the business, and you can just worry about dancing and coaching. Besides, what else is a retired super soldier supposed to do?”

TWO

When she closes the door of the Brooklyn apartment behind her, it’s the wrong kind of quiet.

She fully expected to hear Bucky in the kitchen getting dinner ready or maybe on the phone with the contractor, a choreographer, another instructor, or the parent of a potential student.

“Barnes?”

No answer.

Something is not right. The lights are on like he’s home, but there isn’t a single sound, and all her instincts from her former life kick in, eyes scanning the living room, weight shifting forward on her feet, adopting a predatory stance. Moving down the hallway, she slips her hand behind one of the pictures on the wall, retrieving a gun stashed there only she and Bucky know about, and continues moving slowly and silently on.

Then she hears a scoff from the study.

Natasha’s brows knit together. A scoff?

As she rounds the corner into the study, an immediate assessment of the room is enough to tell her she has no need for defense and lowers her gun. Her boyfriend is on the couch, back to her, engrossed in watching something on his phone with noise-cancelling headphones in. She glides back into the hallway to replace the weapon so it’s at the ready in case of a real threat in the future, and heads back to investigate. She places a hand on his shoulder, and he turns abruptly, smiling when he sees her and pulls out an earbud.

“What’s a girl got to do earn her supper around here?”

He glances at his watch. “Oh, sorry, Nat! I lost track of time with this,” he says, gesturing to the iPad on his lap.

“What are you even watching?”

He smirks, but she can detect a trace of embarrassed color his cheeks. “Save the Last Dance. Here,” he takes her hand off his shoulder and tugs her around the couch and pulls her onto the cushion beside him. He then grabs the remote, turns on the flatscreen television, and throws the movie up from his tablet so they can both watch. “I was only ten minutes in, so we can start over from the beginning.”

Natasha snorts. “You’re really watching this?”

“Of course, I’m watching it! I own a ballet studio! It’s important for me to have a full understanding of the cultural benchmarks and stereotypes that are part of the dance world.”

“What, are you going to watch every dance-centric film and television show out there?”

“Maybe I will,” he responds, a defiant cock of his chin.

Now she just grins and cuddles up into him. “Fine, but I’m ordering in Thai,” she says and taps away quickly at her phone to secure their dinner. When she sets her phone down, she notices there’s also a stack of DVDs on the shelf under the TV, and she can see four of them are from the Step Up franchise, a copy of Center Stage, and Dirty Dancing and Dirty Dancing: Havannah Nights.

For the next few days, Bucky seems to be watching one of the many films he’s continuing to accumulate or an episode of So You Think You Can Dance or Dance Moms either actively or in the background whenever it’s convenient. He’s always a bit incredulous though in his idle commentary and many unconscious scoffs when the latter is playing.

“You know you don’t have to finish that,” she says.

“I always finish what I start, Romanoff.”

“But you do know there are eight seasons, right? It’s important to me that you know there are eight seasons.”

“And I will happily watch them all.”

“Happily?” she jeers.

“I said what I said.”

“Nerd.” She rolls her eyes, but affectionately, and heads out for her meeting with a potential guest choreographer for the girls. There are so many parts of this life she never would have predicted for herself, and a boyfriend obstinately binge-watching reality tv about the dance world wouldn’t even have made the bottom of the list of possibilities.

THREE

For all the dance tv and movie consumption she’d had by proximity when Bucky had started down this ballet studio ownership journey, nothing had prepared Nat for the reality of it.

The way these girls showed up was endearing.

Some of them were a little trying, but they also all tried to do their best. Ballet was demanding and it could be competitive, but Nat worked diligently to establish a teaching staff and culture that focused on grit and community as much as it did on technique.

It was harder with the parents. Some of them still jockeyed for standing both for themselves and their offspring.

She certainly appreciated some of the parents and guardians more than others, but she didn’t want to discount any of them since, for better or worse, they all played integral parts in the lives of her girls, and those experiences affected how they could show up any given day on that dance floor.

Steve’s one of the parents who plays a part in the community, his five-year-old Sarah – Nat and Bucky’s goddaughter – just old enough to start in the youngest class of ballerinas. Steve’s somewhat adopted one of the giant hulking men – Kyle, who’s a single father to one of the other girls in Sarah’s class – always making sure the working-class man feels comfortable and like this can be “the village” that helps.

Nat’s speaking with both men when she feels the intensity of a gaze she’s grown intimately familiar with.

Bucky’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and he’s in conversation with his assistant and two of the community dance class instructors (ballet runs every afternoon, but to make use of the facility and to generate enough money to make it financially sustainable, he’s implementing evening classes across disciplines for adults from simple barre and Zumba to ballroom).He’s talking to them, but he’s mostly looking at her, and when they lock eyes, he glances down to his own hand, then flicks his eyes back up to her before returning his focus to the three people in his immediate vicinity. She takes the hint, and watches as his right hand taps out a message in morse code on his vibranium bicep:

Need you in the office.

Natasha doesn’t frown in front of Steve or Kyle but gives a believable excuse to extract herself and makes her way to the office, navigating with purpose but without drawing attention to their office. He knew the schedule of this place like clockwork, and so to pull her away this close to a class almost never happened.

Within forty-five seconds, she hears his steps approaching and then the turn of the doorknob ahead of his entrance.

She arches one eyebrow, but, Oh…

She knows exactly what that look means.

She can’t help the low laugh that erupts from her chest, but it’s cut off immediately as he crosses the room and claims her mouth in a kiss, lips searing heat, desperate, consuming. His hands were already slipping into the top of her leggings, and his fingers hitched into the band of her underwear, pulling them down in one smooth motion as he forced her back to his desk. He’s never miscalculated anything in his life, so she doesn’t hit the desk clumsily – he lifts her deftly to deposit her on the smooth wooden surface the split second before her hips would’ve knocked into it.

No one else had ever engulfed her with this kind of passion, and she would never get enough of this, of him.

And yet as he trails his lips down the column of her throat, she has to protest, “Buck, I have to be back out there in five minutes.”

“I know. Still need you.”

When he laves his tongue at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, her head rolls back, and she moans, but then she pushes against his chest. “You can wait, you’ll survive.” Though she isn’t quite sure she could now that he had her blood running hot for more.

“Fine, I don’t need you,” he concedes, but then he looks directly into her eyes and his voice drops, “I want you now, and you know I always finish what I start, Romanoff.”

His hands move up her bare legs, thumbs caressing the crease at the top of her thighs, too close to her cunt not to make her heart race, and he smirks.

“Barnes…”

He sinks to his knees, ducks under the fabric of the only partially removed bottoms, and slots himself between her legs, pulling her hips to the edge of the desk before he spits on her slit.

“I can apply my efficiency,” he asserts and presses a kiss onto the tender flesh of her inner thigh resting over his shoulder.

“Cocky bast–”

His mouth directly on her clit cuts her off abruptly. Her folds were slick for him with the intensity of the previous moments, but he mixes her arousal and his spit with his thumb and then slips two fingers inside her channel, seeking the spot he knows so well, the one he knows will quickly bring her to her peak. He makes only a few slow strokes while licking her bud before speeding up, determined to make good on his promise.

Natasha hands go to his head, fingers both carding through and gripping his hair. He hums against her pussy, and her breaths come in short gasps as he continues hurtling her toward ecstasy on the tips of his fingers and tongue. He earnestly strokes her g-spot and then turns his licks to fervent sucking of her bud, and that does it, white heat breaking over her, all her muscles seizing up and then relaxing as he pushes her through it.

She shakes her head, laughing again when he looks up at her, the expression on his face one that would be too smug if he hadn’t earned it. He truly knows her expertly, intimately, in every way.

He extracts himself from between her thighs and helps her redress while she catches her breath. “I wanted you now,” he says, “but for the rest of the afternoon you’ll be thinking about how much I’ll need you later.”

Nat glares at him teasingly. “I have to go out there and–“

“Or you don’t. You have an assistant coach.”

“Unlike some of us, I’m nothing if not a goddamn professional.”

“In every way,” he agrees, though his tone changed. Warmer. Softer. “I’m more than aware.”

And now her heart races again, not due to the physical ministrations but for the undeniable devotion behind those words. She pulls him close again for a sound kiss, which he returns, encircling her softly in his embrace.

After a moment he pulls away and lets her go.

“Two minutes to get to the classroom,” he says. He opens the top right drawer of his desk and pulls out a tin of mints, offering them to her and taking a couple for himself. 

FOUR

Natasha hears the clink and slide of metal as Bucky’s key finally slots into the lock of the front door, and so she slides off the counter and turns on the panini press. She doesn’t make much else, but she’s become a bit of a sandwich artist and can make many a good combination, upping her game with grilled sandwiches after the acquisition of the panini press for her birthday.

God, they were so stupidly domestic now, and it was terrible and wonderful all at once.

“You’re finally home!” she calls out from the kitchen, hearing him stride down the hallway towards her. Strange, he usually drops his keys and hangs his jacket before settling in.

“Hi,” he says, popping his head around the corner.

Nat frowns. “Barnes, why are you home so late?”

They often took turns getting home late with different things going on at the studio, but usually it was with a hello and straightaway the explanation since they both care so much for everything happening in their dance world.

He slowly steps around the edge of the doorframe and into the kitchen, cradling the bulge of something held within his jacket.

“Barnes?”

He takes a few steps closer. “My queen–“

“You have never one day in your life called me your queen,” she interrupts, still wary, but now also bemused.

“I could, though. You know I'm your lover, a willing slave to your every wish.”

“You are two feet away from me, stop pouring on the charm and stalling and show me what’s in your jacket.”

His eyes are sparkling with mischief and his smile is sheepish as he looks down. It made her heart already melt and want to bend for whatever is coming. The thought crosses her mind that it’s a look he must’ve had on his face countless times when he was growing up.

“I didn’t ask you before buying a dance studio, and, full disclosure, I already bought everything we need – that being part of why I’m so much later tonight – and we can take it all back if you say no, but I rescued a cat from the alley behind the studio today.”

And with that, he turns and opens the front of his leather jacket to reveal a snow-white cat who looks very cozy tucked in where she was against his chest. Nat knows how comfy it is to be tucked up against that exact spot, it’s one of her favorite places to be.  

Nat just grins and shakes her head. Stepping forward, she slowly extends her hand toward the cat. The feline inclines her head, sniffs the tips of her fingers, then bumps her head to stroke herself against Natasha’s hand.

“You are such a softie,” she says, pulling Bucky down by the collar and planting a kiss on his lips.

“So, we can keep her?”

“Yes.”

He kisses her again, then leans down and places the cat on the kitchen floor. “Right, Alpine, you stay here with Nat, and I’ll be right back with your things.”

And in less than a second, he’s already out the door.

Nat puts the sandwiches she had already prepared on the grill, pulls the press closed, and then turns back to look at the cat, who is sitting primly back on her haunches and watching her.

“Alpine, huh?”

The cat blinks up at her.

“This man. How’d HYDRA’s most ruthless assassin end up like this, eh?”

Alpine takes a few steps forward and brushes up against her leg before turning and then heading out of the kitchen, likely back to the door to wait for Bucky.

FIVE

Nat approaches the bedroom doorway silently, preparing to surprise the two individuals laughing inside, but then the peals of laughter and tiny giggles cease, and she hears two bodies plop onto the bed – one big, one small. The door is slightly ajar, and she can see the super soldier and his goddaughter panting, sprawled out on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the ceiling. She loves seeing Bucky like this with Sarah and so decides to give them another moment and observe from the darkness of the hallway.

“I still don’t want to go to bed.” Nat’s face splits into a smile, knowing this Sarah mode all too well. Though it is difficult, summoning up all her godmotherly skills and fortitude, she can handle it well enough when necessary, but Bucky? No way.

“I know. But you’re already on your bed. I’ve won.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep, Uncle Bucky!”

“I’ll read you two picture storybooks or as much as you want from a chapter book, and then sleep. How’s that for a deal?”

“Deal!”

Nat stays in the shadows as she watches Sarah jump down from the bed, run to her bookshelf, and return with what looks like one of her Ramona books. Sarah thought she’d gotten the best deal, tricking her godfather into more reading with a chapter book, but Nat knows Bucky always wants Sarah to pick the latter because it means he’d read to her until she is softly snoring.

Sarah Marie Rogers has the former Winter Soldier irrevocably wrapped around her tiny fingers – had done since she was born and had only become more adept over the years at making him melt time and time again.

And it is as she’s watching him smooth Sarah’s hair down and pull the covers up over her little body with such tenderness that Nat knows why he’d brought home a cat last month, bought a building to turn into a dance studio a year and a half ago, and asked her on a date three years ago.

Her.

Sarah had changed everything.

Logistically, Steve had retired, and that removed him from the orbit of their team and their missions, resulting in slightly more time that she interacted with Bucky before they retired, but she’d never sat back and critically analyzed what had changed before that.

Sarah had changed her, too, no question.

But now she can see it.

Sarah was the first baby born close to Bucky, and he’d been smitten and over the moon about her immediately.

She was the first thing the man had loved unconditionally and without apology, a love unrestrained that he had never experienced in possibly any way similar since before he went away to war. Bucky didn’t have to justify it, it just blossomed, taking root in his soul, fully uncovering in a flash the warmth that had mostly been buried for ninety years and probably would have taken so much longer to emerge otherwise. 

“Sar, I gotta ask you a question,” Bucky says as he settles in next to Sarah with the book, drawing Nat’s attention back to the moment at hand.

She knew that tone – playful but with something serious underneath. She is always suspicious of that tone.

“Okay.”

“Let me show you something first.” Bucky digs into his pocket and pulls out a sparkling engagement ring.

Nat’s heart leaps into her chest, and it is only due to a lifetime of training to be imperceptible at all times that keeps her from gasping outright at the sight.

Sarah did gasp and ooooh appropriately though.

“Is that for Auntie Nat?” she chirps with excitement.

“I think so. I know you wanted me to marry you, and I still will if that’s what you want, but what if I married Auntie Nat?”

“Hmm,” she reaches out and delicately traces her tiny fingers over the ring Bucky was letting her examine. “That might be okay.”

“You sure?”

“Well, I was thinking, you’re going to be really old when I’m finally ready to get married.”

“Oh, that might be true,” he agrees, barely holding back a laugh.

“Yeah. You might be really wrinkly when I’m done with school, and I was thinking maybe I would marry someone else instead.”

“Sar… you say that like you already have someone in mind…”

“I don’t know for sure, I’m still deciding if I want to marry them or not!”

“Is it someone in your class?”

Nat bites her lip, grinning. She was certain she knew exactly who was being considered after seeing the kids in Sarah’s class picking up her goddaughter a few times from school.

“Maaaaaybe.”

“Well, okay. Only if I approve. Do you approve of Auntie Nat?”

Sarah nods eagerly. “I do. She is pretty, and kind, and the best ballet teacher, and she makes you laugh, and she does my hair in the good braids, and she is so smart, and always takes me for ice cream when I ask her, and has loved me my whole life, so I think it would be okay if you marry her.”

“Those are some of my favorite things, too,” Bucky says. “If you promise to keep it a secret that I’m gonna ask her, I promise you can be the flower girl at the wedding, deal?” He palms the ring and extends his pinky finger.

Without hesitation, Sarah locks her pinky with his. “Deal!” she agrees, beaming up at him. “Now read me my book.”

She snuggles down into his side, and he rolls his eyes. “You are a demanding little thing.”

“Daddy says it’s good to let people know exactly what you want.”

“Of course, he does.” Bucky leans down to kiss the top of her head, then wraps his arm around her and opens the book on his lap so they both can see as he starts to read, and Nat decides to retreat to the living room to let them have more time together.

SIX

Nat rolls her shoulders and yawns, turning to lay on her back. She frowns upon discovering Bucky’s side of the bed is uncharacteristically empty, the happy weight of Alpine sleeping atop the blankets at foot of their bed missing as well.

Then she registers a piercing stare from across the room and leans up only to see Bucky sitting in the decorative armchair they almost never used. He is stroking Alpine behind the ears, happily curled up in his lap, but his eyes are locked on her.

“Um, good morning, Cyborg.”

“You know.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t certain when it happened, but then I thought about it all night.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I had grand intentions, but you overheard everything last night. I didn’t hear you creep up on us, which means you must’ve gotten there when Sarah and I were making a ruckus, but I did hear you slip away when I started reading her Ramona, so you already know I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

Nat sits up and smiles. “Oh. That. You can still pursue your grand intentions.”

“Nope, they’re ruined.”

“But I don’t know what your grand intentions are! You could still surprise me!”

“Nope, you’re expecting to be surprised.”

“You love that kind of challenge!”

“Nope, I’m obstinately averse now. I’ve decided I won’t be satisfied by anything else than seeing my ring on your finger straightaway.”

“Then you better get over here and ask me,” she says simply.

He stands, depositing Alpine softly on the chair behind him, crosses the bedroom, and kneels next to Nat’s side of the bed. With one hand, he grabs both of hers, with the other, he holds out the ring, gleaming against his black vibranium fingers. Then he lifts his gaze to hers, and all the sullen staring from moments before has melted away leaving only the pure adoration he holds for her.

“Will you?” His voice is thick with emotion.

“You know I will.”

“I don’t want to do anything except share the rest of my life with you,” he says, delicately but decisively slipping the ring onto her finger.

Nat pulls his face up to hers in a fierce kiss, and he crawls up onto the bed with her, wrapping her up in his arms, and laying her back down, ready to express again, as they had so many times over the past few years, how much they mean to each other in every way. They make vows with their words, their lips, and their bodies, giving themselves over completely as they already had, and as they would in perpetuity.

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[zennybearr]

driving lessons

ship: abraxas x evelyn malfoy.

tags / warnings: flirting, cute moments. suitable for all ages to read.

note: for the loml @loving-lucissa.

word count: 820

on a bright, breezy afternoon, abraxas malfoy stood beside a sleek, silver automobile parked in the expansive driveway of the malfoy estate. he glanced over at his wife, evelyn, who was adjusting her gloves and looking over the car with a mix of excitement and curiosity. she had insisted on learning to drive, a modern skill that intrigued her, and abraxas, though apprehensive, agreed to teach her.

“are you sure about this, my love?” abraxas asked, his tone laced with playful concern. his grey eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and worry as he handed her the keys.

evelyn flashed him a confident smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “absolutely. besides, how hard can it be? you manage it just fine,” she teased, her voice light and teasing.

abraxas chuckled, shaking his head. “very funny. let's see how well you do, then.” he opened the driver's door and gestured for her to take the seat. evelyn slipped into the car, adjusting the seat and mirrors with practised grace. she had been watching closely during their drives, eager to learn.

abraxas climbed into the passenger seat, feeling an unusual mix of pride and protectiveness. “right, let's start with the basics,” he said, trying to sound authoritative. “foot on the clutch, then gently into first gear.”

evelyn followed his instructions with surprising ease. she started the car, and it purred to life. slowly, she released the clutch and pressed the accelerator. the car moved smoothly down the driveway, and abraxas couldn't help but glance at her, a bit taken aback by her composure.

“you're a natural,” he admitted, a hint of admiration in his voice. “are you sure you haven't done this before?”

evelyn laughed softly, casting him a sideways glance. “just a quick learner, i suppose. or perhaps i'm just more attentive when you're driving,” she teased, her tone flirtatious.

abraxas felt a warm flush creep up his neck. evelyn had always had that effect on him, even after all these years. “well, keep your eyes on the road,” he chided lightly, though he couldn't help but smile.

they continued down the winding estate road, evelyn handling the car with surprising skill. she navigated turns smoothly, shifted gears effortlessly, and even managed to avoid a few imaginary obstacles abraxas pointed out. all the while, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease, not because she was bad at it—quite the opposite. she was too good, and it unnerved him.

“you know, you're doing better than i did my first time,” abraxas confessed, watching her expertly manoeuvre the car. “i stalled at least five times.”

evelyn grinned, her eyes still on the road. “i'll make sure to remind you of that the next time you boast about your driving skills,” she quipped.

as they reached the end of the estate's private road, evelyn slowed the car to a stop. she turned to him, a triumphant smile on her lips. “so, how did i do, instructor malfoy?”

abraxas sighed dramatically, feigning concern. “far too well for my liking. now i have to worry about you speeding off on adventures without me,” he said, his voice mockingly serious.

evelyn leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and mischief. “oh, don't worry. i'd never leave without you,” she murmured, her voice soft and intimate.

abraxas felt his heart skip a beat. he reached out and gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “good,” he whispered, leaning in to capture her lips in a tender kiss. “because i don't think i could handle that.”

they stayed like that for a moment, the world outside their little bubble seeming to fade away. when they finally pulled apart, abraxas sighed, a contented smile on his lips. “you really are full of surprises,” he said, his voice filled with admiration.

evelyn grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “i aim to keep you on your toes,” she replied, a hint of challenge in her tone.

abraxas laughed, shaking his head. “and you do, my love. you certainly do.”

with a playful wink, evelyn put the car back into gear and drove them back up the driveway. as they reached the manor, she expertly parked the car and turned off the engine. she looked over at abraxas, her expression proud and a little smug.

“i think i passed,” she declared confidently.

abraxas chuckled, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “with flying colours,” he agreed. “but next time, maybe i'll drive. i don't want to be upstaged too often.”

evelyn laughed, a light, joyful sound that filled the car. “deal,” she said, her eyes shining with love and amusement.

they stepped out of the car, hand in hand, both feeling a little closer, a little more connected. it had been a simple driving lesson, but for them, it was another precious moment together, full of laughter, love, and a shared sense of adventure.

© zennybearr

[driftwithme]

Where is my not romantic fic where Chuck and Mako join the recruitment at the same time just to find out Raleigh fucking Becket is one of their trainers.

Maybe Yancy got hurt earlier but didn't die and Raleigh got stuck on ground until they both recovered enough to pilot again??? Idk. Or maybe things were pretty good at that point and given the Becket success rate they were invited to take a brake and help train the new cadets, to pass along the experience to the future Mark-5 pilots.

In my mind it happens around 2019. Striker construction got delayed and Scott is not a criminal (or an asshole), so he's still piloting Lucky Seven with Herc. Chuck doesn't have to join at freaking 16 years old and Mako is there to play the rival part, simply because I'd enjoy greatly seeing their competitive sides fire up each other while Raleigh tries and fails to figure out what's going on.

Yancy is 24 years old, Raleigh is 21yo, Mako and Chuck are both 16yo but they'd graduate almoat with 17yo. Thry are the youngest duo to graduate at the Academy, beating Raleigh old record.

Now, 'cause I love the drama: Raleigh is there working with the Jaeger Assault Specialist instructor. In this scenario let's believe that the instructor saw the way the Beckets used improvisation to surprise attack the kaijus and convinced Pentecost to teach that too to the cadets. Somehow it worked. Pentecost is not very happy (he's pretty sure he'll have to deal with way more insubordination in the near future), but he can't deny the stats and maybe MAYBE feeling the way of the cadets in their hands would help the Beckets grow up and get their shit together.

He is both regretting it with all his will and thankful those fuckers did their job right as he watches Raleigh and Mako fall down from the sky after killing Otachi, but we're 6 years too fast.

Back at Jaeger Assault classes.

The thing is that both Mako and Chuck are kinda geniuses at that. Even from their first simulation. They were the only two to kill the respective kaiju in their first simulation. This is because 1) at this point they the rivalry is intense, 2) they're both nerds that spend the previous week watching jaeger fight videos to study the kaijus, 3) they grew up around three of the best pilots in the program.

Raleigh doesn't know any of it, of course. He hasn't meet Herc yet (Manila happens later in 2020 in this fic) and he has no way to know about Stacker history with Mako. Buuuut our loved Raleigh is a bit too blunt at this point in time, so he congratulates them, not without warning them about how that first win meant nothing in real life. So what if they are a bit ahead of the rest? Things would even out in no time. With a real kaiju you have no footage to study, no way to predict the movements of an algorithm. Impressive, but it's just the first day.

He doesn't say it in a mean way, of course. The accident that hurt Yancy changed his perception. He doesn't want the kids to get cocky like him and commit his same mistake. The instructor is actually very happy to see him talk like that and reinforces what he just said. The problem with this? He accidentally humiliated Mako and Chuck in front of the other cadets. Mako is upset and determined to prove is not only theory, but real skill and great decision making from her part. Chuck is another story; Raleigh is his enemy and he must destroy him. Aka he wants to humiliate Raleigh back and prove he is superior than any past pilot.

Bonus points is Raleigh is hella charming and equally soft in his puppy way, not at all the bragging rockstar everyone was expecting. Like yes, there's a bit of that, but he also sits with the cadets and answers their questions and makes them laugh. He tells them some embarrassing stories of him and Yancy to show them how even the active rangers have to deal with normal stuff. When he talks 'bout other pilots, he is respectuful yet sincere. He is a terrible flirt but so endearing. And he is handsome handsome, okay?

It's not a romantic fic so it leads nowhere, but Mako and Chuck have a bit starstruck even if they hate the man a little. Actually they both like Yancy the better as a friend or co-worker because he is a bit more mature. Whenever he visits Chuck and Mako almost glow with mischief. They love when Yancy makes his brother look childish, when he corrects him or makes him blush of embarrassment too.

If only Raleigh wouldn't laugh like an angel afterwards so they could enjoy their victory in peace.

Raleigh is not there for their final simulation or their graduation because Manila happens. Yancy is healthy, G. Danger is repaired and Raleigh is excited to show off all he learned training with the cadets. Scott gets badly hurt, enough to end his career, but he's alive. The Beckets made it again, Herc is grateful to no ends and while Herc appears around the bar for a while to celebrate with the rest of the teams, they talk about the possibility of not repairing Lucky Seven and straight up going for Striker with Chuck as the co-pilot.

The Beckets don't return to Kodiak Island after that. They got back to Anchorage and after some months, face Knifehead. If Yancy dies, rhen well... The story could be almost the same except everyone has history now. Or maybe Mako convinces Raleigh to stay now that they are more like friends and he keeps teaching at the Academy as Mako leads the G. Danger restoration program.

If Yancy doesn't die but he can't pilot again, the. maybe Mako joins the fight sooner with Raleigh while Yancy teaches cadets. Now, if Yancy doesn't die and can pilot, and if we say Scott can pilot too, then maybe we can get Mako and Chuck co-pilots of Striker.

It all depends.