#Still not over the canon Au we got

[rookiewritersho]

Arcane Season 2 finale got me like:

[sysig]

Requestober 2024 Sketches

The playlist is...well, it will be posting very soon! Keep an eye out for your req(s) every Wednesday and/or Friday after the 6th (I think?), pretty sure I got ‘em all >:3c

Doing the full season this time around! The entire mixed bag o’ candy haha

Day 1 had my beautiful boys!! ♥ I’m so happy that Yanderapy took the lead this year ah! It’s too bad I’m so out of practice with them haha, unconfident lines, but the idea was solidly in place from the word go - this was really the only image that came to mind for them, their weird dynamic hehe <3 Made for each other! I am glad their expressions came together so well in the final version, though I didn’t get to show Micchan kneeling! That’s alright tho ♪ Cute enough here hehe

Day 2 got a lot of notes! Kabu’s clothing design is So complex lol, just toss him behind Larry who’s like second nature to draw, suits are so so simple in comparison haha ♪ Still only ended up hiding bits of him! He did end up with his shoe on the outside of Larry’s, boxing him in that little bit <3 And look! His smirk!! As well as the “hiragana” on his sleeves while I was still under the impression that it was text and not Flame Texture lol

And yes, as you can see, I ended up going with the alt doodle, they got more! I was quite tempted by Larry holding Kabu since he’s so tiny lol, but that would’ve required drawing his details! No! Hide him!! The pose is fun and silly and cute tho haha, very plush-coded ♪ And then also a little smech for funsies <3 Just to follow up their staring-at-each-other-in-a-gay-way they ended up with ♥ Rather a fan of Kabu’s hands pulling Larry in :)

Day 3′s was such a pose change!!! Mostly for Edgar, though he’s still kneeling here, inexplicably haha - the angle changed for the final version, and both of their head angles and just, ah, nothing more than a general outline of what I was going for. I’m pleased with both tho! I think the final is much more clear and readable, but there’s always a bit of fun with Edgar looking down/Scriabin looking up haha. I suppose it’s more appropriate than an angel would be looking down on a devil, isn’t it? Haha

Day 4 was another easy one at least, the pose immediately came to mind to show off Nny’s clothes on an even ganglier, thinner frame haha. Like I said, I really tried for more fullbodies this year, so I had to give the tiny version a proper swing on-page! Ran out of room for the larger one, but I really wanted to draw him holding his shoe with his hand haha. You can see the goopmonster on his shirt here too! :D I think his annoyed face is quite cute hehe <3

Day 5 was practically a freebie, and I took absolute full advantage hehehe ♪ If I get the prompt of “soft” of course I’m going to opt for plushies! I’m back in my Webkinz era, and Tala is big big big on Webkinz as well :) And her being a plushie has something of an impact there too lol, but it was really fun to look over all my little guys! I ended up having an extra handful of thoughts about all of them so they’ll be getting their own post(s) :D Good too, since I didn’t talk much about Embroidery’s closet cosplay haha

Day 6 was actually a bit of a question mark for me at first! :0 Not as though I don’t love when Edgar has to clean up Scriabin’s self-inflicted problems haha, I just wasn’t sure what it should be! Making it seasonal helped a bit there - lots of sticker burrs around here when we go walking haha. The bonus ended up being a digital-only, but it was a good motivator to finish these, and then the full poses came to mind - I’m not sure why I was more excited to work on full body poses, but I really was! Maybe the success of meeting my self-imposed challenge haha

I ended up scrapping the alt since it reminded me a little too much of one of the ‘22 reqs - trying to keep things fairly fresh! It was also a little too cartoony haha, where would Edgar suddenly pull such strength from! This doesn’t look like a dream! At least it wouldn’t have been a nightmare of Scriabin being hurt :’) Rescue!

Day 7 was another insta-idea! Really going back and forth on those lol, it sprouted into my head fully formed! This was actually one of a couple I wrote down as I was away from my notebook while brainstorming, so it came back as a mini script; one of more dialogue-heavy ones! Chicken or egg, I wonder, hmm. I always draw Smoker with her sleeves up even though she usually wears them down haha, I dunno. Had a heck of a time with Angie’s hair! I tend to make hair super super fluffy but hers is long and straight and presumably weighs itself down! Doesn’t floof! You’d think having heavy hair myself would incline me towards knowing anything about it but nope lol

Little bouncy concepts haha, and poor Mousey so jealous in the middle, surrounded with them having the most fun!

Day 8 was fairly simple with such a focused ask of them eating Specific Food - can do! Chibis just felt right for such a cute food haha. Would Edgar have a crepe pan, I wonder... I suppose a lot of it comes down to the batter, I haven’t made crepes in such a long time so I wouldn’t know anymore haha

Day 9 featured the slouchy throne! You can see I like the little leggies haha, I did make it a touch more proportional in the final version but who can resist the sillies! Had to draw it and Mettaton separately so I could easily see their silhouettes, I think it all came together in the end fairly well :) Had one heck of a time getting the bottom of his shoes to play nice, but I’m proud of how it turned out!!

Day 10′s, who can resist skelehugs ♥ No I! Not me!! The original had them a lot more upright, I’m glad I went with my note of leaning them back a bit more. Also had Papyrus’ legs on either side of Sans, protective <3 I do like both, but I think they look a bit more reasonably comfortable in the final version, figuring out contact points with one of Papyrus’ legs all the way to one side was too much haha. No boots on the couch! I think they look a bit younger in the final version too, maybe from their eyebrow expressions? Interesting how such small changes can make a big difference ♪

Day 11 was originally going to feature a bunch more Pokemon!! Several of my pink-and-purple faves all gathered around MewTwo <3 Flaafy and Musharna and Sableye my beloved 💜 And of course Whismur!! Can’t but Whismur all the time haha, but in the end I opted to go for the simpler(?) option of just the two ‘mons interacting

Whismur is so spooked by you, even lying down!! Even tho I drew it so I can see it right in front of me, I just can’t imagine MewTwo lying down to investigate haha. More posing changes! Lot of ‘em this year. Pls to quiet, cats have very sensitive hearing, you don’t need to shout

Day 12 started off with probably the Correct Amount of confusion lol, considering even @cutiebetutie​ didn’t expect this to be the matchup lolol, still deeply hilarious to me. But hey, what was I going to do, question a crackship?? Do I look like the kind of person who would say no to exploring some possibilities? Of course I had to give them a scope lol

Haha, “Alt” in quotes as I knew this would actually be the full version, the handholding is cute but where’s the dynamic! There is something there after all! I think so anyway, some tiny tiny sliver that they could start from, and what more foot in the door do you really need? If Nny’s on his charm that drew Devi in, I don’t see why someone a little more airheaded like Jake couldn’t be beguiled haha, if he lasts long enough for that ♪ It’s very tense! I wish him well, I wonder if he could protect himself... Just cut and run, Jake!! Makes for an interesting suspense, that’s for sure haha

Day 13‘s kigurumis!!! Yay!!!! Smol and I successfully wore ours for Halloween this year, we’re them fr fr haha, definitely one of my favourites from this season <3 <3 They’re so cute! Biggest change from here to there is probably where the legs start/end haha, kigurumi have funny little legs hehe. And also Papyrus’ gloves! Sans ended up without any, I can’t resist a hand plate here or there ♪ Also him closing his one good eye to pun about was an accident until it wasn’t haha, just another excuse to do a touch of rereading :3

Day 14‘s turned out so good for how cramped the sketch was!!! Gaster’s hardly there at all! Which is appropriate in its own way haha, filling in the rest of his details was pretty fun tho :) Papyrus looks a lot more desperate in this version which I do like, but him openly enjoying himself is very sweet, who could deny him that <3 Quite pleased with how his arm and hand posing came together in the end as well, fairly minor changes but I think it all flows together much nicer :D

Day 15′s word bubbles turned out way cleaner in the sketch than the final version?? Calls for more practice I suppose; it is asymmetrical, but it does look nice! Maybe needed more colour swatches haha, more and more rows! Edgar’s unimpressed look in the final version is quite good I think but there’s almost a kind of urgency with no eyes behind blank glasses hmm, they both have their merits! I applaud everyone who caught Scriabin holding the bi flag as his swatches! :D Good eye!

Day 16 began The Sleepies lol, I was a bit tired while doodling the first go and it uhm. Well. I mean. You can see lol. S’a bit goofy haha

The alt was much much better! I did end up leaving out the grass which I’m a Little disappointed about - feels too manicured, too sterile in the final version! But I really couldn’t figure a way of adding a bit of visual noise that wouldn’t look flat as well! Minecraft, eh, lol. I am quite pleased with how round Moomin turned out tho :D He looks like a marshmallow in the final version! Yay!

I actually doodled Day 17′s concept before 16 since it came to me so strongly - I do kind of like how much more upright Mob is here, him being as hunched over as he is in the final version adds to the moodiness of the piece I feel. He really is such a good boy! I don’t wish him dark and upsettings!

Day 18‘s didn’t get a paper sketch as I was verrryyyyy tired and had no energy to scan, so skipped the step that would make scanning necessary haha. For all that, I do rather like the digital sketch tho! I think Snufkin’s left leg is a bit better proportioned, and his expression is maybe a bit cheekier? Moomin’s perfect, no notes haha. I also ended up really liking their tail expressions, how Snuf’s is kind of straight and flat while Moomin’s is very roundy hehe <3

I know I said Day 20 doesn’t count but I mean, it’s on the same page! It got the “Day 20″ label! Sketch can go here why not haha. Happy belated Ace Week! I thought it was fun to put a bunch of pink lovehearts around the big central ace heart for me specifically hehe 💜💗

I mentioned in the tags that Day 26‘s original concept was too big to try to do all at once and ahhhh I wish I’d been able to swing it!! I wish I’d been able to do the whole thing!!!! I love scenes like this the most!! Little isometric rooms with little isometric characters all chatting and interacting and being cute and silly and tiny!! I love that! Alas, it had to stay a sketch, but here it is!! Can you recognize everyone here? The main three got the center, but who could the rest be :3c And what of their costumes! Hehe ♪

Still fighting back the sleepies for what ended up being the final version so the dialogue was left much more vague than the caption haha, the aliens don’t even have feet here! I suppose they are meant to be in fish costumes lol, it tracks that only the fully-human Captain’s legs would end there, but definitely not intentionally done so lol. I like ZEX’s expression here so muuuuch ahh I wish I’d been able to capture it a bit better in the digital version! Always something for next time haha

I actually ended up drawing Day 30′s sketch very very last, so this was the last doodle of the season! Me, projecting my tiredness onto the Vargases? Nooo <3 Another one that ended up very very different from the final version, I just needed Something down to paper and out of my head to work with really - I knew even while drawing this that I was going to end up with something very different haha. Sometimes hand just does whatever it wants pft. The dialogue was the star of the show here! And you can see what Scriabin was up to, obscured by the couch haha

Day 31, penultimate sketches for the final day! I really do love Scriabin hiding behind Edgar - wants to be included but not That close, very much with Edgar in the way of anything bad happening to him haha. More pose changes! I like both versions, Todd holding Shmee for comfort or him spilling out of his lap as he focuses all his attention on Joel <3 Both cute in different ways!

Cats are still not one of my strong-suits, but I have been drawing them a bit more recently! Admittedly of the cartoon variety, but even that has had some effect I think! Like their little triangle noses, and the way their ears scoop inwards, and whiskers - little things! I like it! I had fun with these little concept poses, Joel kind of curiously huddling on Edgar’s chest, looking at the world from a safe vantage spot haha. Hold him gently! He deserves it!

All the sketches from this year! I ended up having a lot of fun this season even if it was a little lighter than previous years haha, thank you again to everyone who joined!! ♥

[puhpandas]

I keep thinking about how on earth they would canonize ggy bc like. at this point if they have to sacrifice Gregory screentime of just him to make something we already know actually canon, I would rather just take the screentime, but on the other hand they have to canonize it if they want to do anything at all with that plotline, and that makes me wonder if theyll stick with it as canon in the games at all or just leave it as background knowledge if u read the book 😭

[nixotinix]

I uh I just really like uh I think that uh I think their friendship should've been expanded upon more uh yeah

Normie squad headcanons below the cut!!

The later events of Ghouls Rule are not canon here!! Claire and Chad don't know about Holt yet and the trick or treatment never happened. Jax is attending NSHS on his own terms to see how he'd fare in normie school again.

-I have literally no basis for this. But Chad is huuuuge on conspiracy theories. In the second slide hes actually telling jackson about the illuminati

-Claire knew that Jackson was at least part monster way early on. It was pretty much confirmed when he caught a burning pan in home ec.

-In the first class that Chad and Jax attended together, Chad slid Jackson a note that said "on a scale of one to ten, how certain are you that you aren't an alien?"

-Jackson's response was "five and a half". They became quick friends.

-Claire had a hallway crush on Jackson for exactly one passing period. When they actually talked at lunch, she very quickly realized that he's a complete nervous wreck.

-The normie squad really likes exploring abandoned buildings in New Salem. This often leads to them running from the cops.

-Chad often tells Jackson about how the pyramids were "really made". Jackson recorded the conversation and sent it to Cleo for shoots and googles.

-They planned matching Halloween costumes shortly after meeting and bought them not long after. They were going to be the Powerpuff Girls.

-Jackson would be Blossom, Claire would be Buttercup, and Chad would be Bubbles. Jackson and Claire make fun of him for it and take several photos.

-Deuce and Frankie crashed one of the normie squad's bookstore hangouts. Jackson did his best to keep them far, FAR away, but they eventually managed to sit down and talk with Claire and Chad.

-Claire and Chad didn't realize they were monsters since they were disguised as normies.

-In this funky little AU, fire elementals have horns that start growing out of their head when they hit puberty and reach full length at adulthood. Jackson does have these, but hides them with his bangs. Claire has known about them ever since their first sleepover.

-Jackson's blue eye glows during periods of strong emotion (anger, stress, etc). Only Claire has seemed to notice.

-Holt really likes saying out of pocket shit in Jax's head while with the normie squad. This has led to multiple instances of Jackson having to explain why he "randomly started laughing".

[pedrospatch]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[abbyandersxnswife]

Look for the Light ── ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

Canon Abby! x reader; apocalypse au!

Synopsis: You and Abby used to be best friends back in the Fireflies, but after her trip to Jackson, she makes it clear she no longer wants to be friends. If anything, she doesn't seem to even like you anymore. However, her actions keep stating otherwise...

Warnings for; Smut, switch Abby! Follows timeline of TLOU2

Word count: 3.9k

✦ ───────────────────── ✦

You didn't know Abby Anderson.

At least, not anymore.

Now she was just Issac's top Scar killer, another soldier in the WLF, another person like any other.

You arrived at Soundview Stadium a few months ago with a few other WLF soldiers, your patrol unit finally moving in after guarding a post near the Seraphites Island.

You still remembered the day you first ran into Abby again, surprised to see her returning from the lodge up in Jackson.

You didn't know how high she had climbed in the ranks with Issac then, all you knew then was that your old best friend was standing in front of you, walking with Owen and Mel- and you nearly knocked her over when you ran to give her a hug, burying your face in the crook of her neck, never so glad to smell the familiar scent of pine and vanilla. Abby had been strangely stiff, patting you awkwardly on the back like you hadn't spent nearly two years with her in the Fireflies.

Seeing her gave you hope, hope that you two could talk and make up for lost time, finally have some companionship- but that hope was quickly dashed when Abby made it clear to you that she didn't want that at all.

She had said it later on when you two were alone, your things finally unpacked in the tiny room. You had tried to ask her how she was doing, how Jackson went, if she was alright, but it all fell on deaf ears.

"Listen y/n..."

Abby had said, pausing for a moment, rubbing the back of her neck. It was as if she knew this wasn't a good idea, that the next words were words she couldn't take back.

"I don't think we should be friends, I know we used to be but that was a long time ago- I'm just not the person you used to know."

You had been hurt then, hoping she'd give you more of a reason, but Abby was silent, her once bright blue eyes cold and dim.

If Abby Anderson no longer wanted to be friends, if she wanted to pass by you in the hall like you didn't once know every detail about each other - fine.

Fine by you.

-

"Y/n?"

You opened your eyes groggily and opened the door to see Nora standing in the threshold.

"Hey, Issac wants you to report to him- says he's got the details for your latest mission"

You smiled, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

"Thanks, Nora, I'll be there in a sec"

You threw on some clothes before heading out, making your way up to Issac's office.

"Hey-"

You pushed open the door and saw Abby, Manny, and Issac already waiting for you, and felt your heart drop into your stomach at the sight of her.

"Ahhh, y/n there you are, now we can get started. A rogue group of Seraphites attacked a patrol yesterday down by the Eastbrook area- I want you guys to go in and sweep to make sure they're all gone. Bring any supplies you find back." Issac pointed to the map on the table for emphasis.

"Y/n, I know you haven't been on a mission with these two before but trust me, they're good. I can get your old crew for a different mission another time"

"No problem Issac, I can work with anyone"

"Great," Issac said before continuing, "When you return, we'll start drafting our plans to invade the Seraphites' Island, we can take the boats and see if we can defeat them on home territory."

Your gaze immediately darted to Abby, wondering what she thought of the news, but she only stared stubbornly ahead.

"Grab something to eat and then head out, take the truck, Manny."

"Alright, let's go guys"

Manny left, and you watched Abby leave as well, trailing behind them, sighing inwardly at the day ahead of you. Today's mission was gonna be a long one.

-

"The Seraphites have been growing bold lately"

Manny broke the silence, seemingly oblivious to the tension that lay between you and Abby.

The back of the truck was snug, Manny and Abby on one side, you on the other. Abby was looking anywhere but your face it seemed, and you sat there quietly, pretending like you weren't sneaking glances whenever you got the chance. After all, this was the closest you had been to her in years.

To be fair, you both equally avoided each other at base- she didn't want anything to do with you, so why would you bother with her?

"Yeah well they broke the treaty, if any of them are at Eastbrook we wipe the site and leave"

The air is chilly when you step out, you adjust your jacket and flip the safety off your gun.

"School looks deserted, but best if we just do a patrol of the site just to be sure. Abby, go with her, patrol the inside, I'll do a grounds check first"

Manny walks off, gun in hand, already entering an old school bus parked in front of the school.

"Come on" Abby says, and you follow her as she prys open the front door.

The interior of the school is a mess, the wallpaper of the walls peeling, desks pushed half hazardly into the hall. Sad shreds of streamers hang from the ceiling, every window smashed, the shards glistening on the floor.

You enter a classroom, pushing the door open with your gun.

Your eyes light up at the greenery inside, the schooldesks covered in a bed of moss, ivy hanging from holes in the ceiling.

"It's beautiful-" You say to yourself, bending down to pick up the remainders of the kids' drawings on the ground. You examine one, it's a picture of a house with what looks to be a horse-

"Can you stay focused? We're supposed to be looking for supplies"

Abby's voice cuts sharply through the silence, the only sound the rifling she's causing by searching through the desks.

You sigh and help her, retrieving a roll of bandages and a few packs of old batteries before moving onto the next room.

Abby finds the cafeteria at the end of the hall, and the old shelves of the cafeteria pantry prove to be quite sparse, with nothing but some old bean cans that Abby takes anyway. She's still acting like you don't exist, so you've got a whole lot of time to examine your surroundings.

You hear a creak while searching through the cupboards and pause, listening for footsteps.

"Do you mind moving a little quicker? Maybe your old patrol did things slower, but I'd like to get back to base sometime soo-"

"Shut up!" You whisper harshly, cutting her off.

Abby looks offended, finally training her gaze on yours, but your eyes dart away to the doors of the cafeteria.

"What?"

Abby asks, watching you.

You hear it again, a second creak. You push Abby up against the wall by the lapels of her jacket, her blue eyes wide with surprise. Her gaze darts down to your lips for a second before her arms come up to pull yours off.

"Woah y/n- what are you-"

A loud bang interrupts Abby's next words, the double wooden doors of the cafeteria slamming open as five Seraphites rush in.

"Seraphites!" You yell, dragging Abby down with you to avoid the gunfire.

Abby breaks out of your hold, punching the nearest Seraphite in the face as you shoot the second. The third Seraphite comes running at you, tackling you to the ground, slamming your wrist against the concrete floor. A sharp pain runs through your arm, and you watch as he kicks your gun out of reach. You grapple on the floor together, kicking as he attempts to strangle you, worried about Abby- before a loud gunshot rings out and the Seraphite's body slumps over you.

Abby stands over you, one hand extended. You take it.

The other two Seraphites lay dead on the ground, bodies riddled with bullets. You brush yourself off, but the ache in your arm is making itself more evident.

"Thanks"

Abby hands you your gun but her brows furrow at the way you cradle your left arm gingerly.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

You feign nonchalance as best you can.

"Yeah.. but my arm might not be"

Abby hesitates for a moment, but reaches out and examines your arm. Her touch is soft, a strange contrast to the stoic way she's been acting this whole mission.

"I think medical should check you out" Abby says, clearing her throat. "Come on we should head back to the truck."

Abby steps back and pushes open the doors. You follow her out.

-

Medical let you go with a brace for the minor fraction on your left arm. You felt miserable, first mission back in the field and injured- you wouldn't be cleared to go on another for at least another few weeks.

You sat slumped against a bookshelf in the library, half hazardly reading "City of Thieves" by David Benioff, ignoring the dull ache in your arm. You'd been doing this for at least a week now, hiding out from prying eyes.

"Y/n?"

Your eyebrows raised at the sound of Abby's voice, and even further when she came over, standing awkwardly in front of you.

"How's your arm?"

Abby asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"It's fine, I guess," You replied. "Just reading to pass the time. Medical ordered I "take it easy" for the next two weeks." You rolled your eyes at the last part. The corners of Abby's mouth twitched, as if she was holding back a smile, but you were sure it was a trick of the light.

"That sucks.. what are you reading?"

Much to your surprise, Abby sat down next to you, one muscular arm reaching over your lap to grab your book.

"Hey, City of the Thieves? I'm reading this one right now- no spoilers"

She held up a finger in warning, and you smiled at her attempt to joke.

"Yeah, yeah" You waved her away.

A beat of silence stretches between you, and you work up the courage to break it.

"So.. what did you come here for? We both know it wasn't just to talk about books"

"I.." Abby looked at the floor, picking at the fabric below. "I wanted to apologize for what I said a few months ago.. and how I've been treating you ever since. I'm sorry"

Abby stops to look up at you, and you take the opportunity to study her. Her cheekbones are a little sharper. There's a healing cut across her cheek that hadn't been there before. Her rosy cheeks, full lips, and clear blue eyes- they're the same.

She's still your Abby, somewhere.

But the hurt you felt then, the lack of company you've had, the loneliness you've felt? It's also there, somewhere.

"Why'd you do it then?"

You ask, and Abby's eyes drop back to the floor. She's silent for so long you're sure she's going to just leave, but she answers.

"I thought I'd feel better after I found the guy who killed my dad in Jackson... but, I don't."

You inhale at her admission, eyes searching for hers as she meets your gaze. The softness she finds in yours prompt her to press on,

"I feel like nothing makes me happy anymore, I still wake up every night from reoccuring nightmares about him- and I've pushed a lot of people away because of how angry I feel. Angry that he's left me, angry that killing the one guy I trained for 4 years to fight to avenge him didn't make me feel better, angry that I've fucked up in every relationship with anyone I care about because of it-"

Abby runs her hands through her hair, smoothing down the stray strands of hair in her braid.

"Y/n, I pushed you away because I care about you. I was being fucking stupid back then- and every time after. I wanted to be near you so much but I felt like I didn't deserve it. I'm not a good person. You deserve someone better than me"

Abby hung her head and stood up, ready to accept whatever you had to say.

"That's up to me to decide Abs."

You said softly, and Abby looked up in surprise. She felt both shock and happiness when you hugged her, and for a second she stood still. Was she allowed to have this? To have you, even for a moment?

Abby hesitated for a moment, before burying her face in your hair, pressing you closer to her.

She never wanted to lose you again.

-

The next few weeks passed by in a blur, your arm healing up just fine. You and Abby spent a lot of time together- eating together in mess hall, going for walks around the crop fields- she helped keep your mind off the itch you felt to get back out.

Lately though, Abby had been acting a little strange, spending more time in the gym, off walking Alice or talking to Manny more than she usually did. You assumed it was nothing though, after all, what else could it be?

"Did you hear? Issac's gonna do a large-scale attack on the Seraphites Island, Manny and Abby got instructed to lead the assault with their chosen squads."

You overhear Nora talking to Mel on your way to mess hall, and your eyebrows furrow. You remember Issac talking about invading the Seraphites back when, but Abby hasn't mentioned it to you at all. Before you have more time to think about it further, Abby arrives and hands you a still warm burrito.

"Hey y/n, brought you breakfast"

Abby smiles at you, and you smile back despite the worry at the back of your mind. She would tell you, wouldn't she?

"Wanna go for a walk?" Abby asks, but you shake your head. You're due for a visit to Medical- you hadn't been needing your arm brace and was sure that with a medical note Issac would dispatch you to assignments again.

The Medical Bay turned out to be quite empty, so you're out with the note clutched in your hand in no time.

You head up to Issac's, past the cells holding Seraphites, and knocked politely on the interrogation door. Issac emerged a dew seconds later.

"Y/n? Oh, a medical note"

While Issac read, you inquired about the rumor you'd heard at breakfast, trying your best to seem casual.

"Abby and Manny are leading the squads in the assault on Seraphites Island right? Would I be able to join them?"

Issac looked surprised,

"You'd have to ask them, they get first pick of who they'd like, then I'll form the rest of the squadrons. Why don't you talk to Abby? I'm surprised she didn't ask you already, I told her about it weeks ago."

Issac's words ring in your ears as you make your way down to Abby's room. You knock on her door for a second before you burst in.

Abby's shirt is off, her dark grey tank laid out on the bed. She's in the middle of drying her wet hair when she sees you come in. You can't help but stare- at her abs, at her white bra, at her unbuttoned dark green cargo pants- and ignore the flutter in your stomach.

You wrench your gaze away.

"Y/n?! What's wrong?"

Abby moves towards you, but you put a hand out. Her cheeks flush when she realizes what she's wearing, or the lack thereof, and bends down to grab her shirt.

"I got cleared from Medical! And uh.. Issac told me you and Manny are leading squads for the invasion against the Seraphites?"

You say, addressing the ceiling.

"Oh.." Abby says, trailing off. She slips on her tank top, stalling.

"I.. I only just found out," Abby lies, "I haven't decided who I want for the squadron yet-"

"You just found out?" You say, angry at her blatant lie. "Don't lie, I know Issac asked you weeks ago"

Abby's tone is defensive,

"Did you ask him behind my back?"

"When were you planning to tell me?" You shoot back, "Were you planning to tell me?"

Abby backtracks at your words, rambling. Her hands raise, like she's guilty of a crime.

"I was- I swear I was, I would have asked you to be on the squadron but your arm was still healing and-"

"Why didn't you just tell me? Forget picking me to be on your squadron, I don't care about that- were you just gonna leave and not tell me? Let me wonder if you fucking died or not?"

Abby's eyebrows raise in alarm, realizing her misstep at identifying what was making you so upset. She sits down, wiping her sweaty hands on her cargos.

"No- y/n, I promise I would have told you, I just didn't want to ruin the peace we were building- and honestly I'm sure I'll be fine, I've done tons of patrols-"

You shake your head-

"Be honest. This is just another way of pushing me away, isn't it? Have you been having nightmares again? Why can't you just be honest with me, what's going on?"

Abby's face breaks, the flicker of conflicting emotions clear to you for a moment. She warrs against touching you, but loses the internal battle. She pulls you closer to her position sitting on the edge of the bed, hands caressing the back of your thighs, unsure of if it's reassuring you or her.

"The nightmares... they never stopped." Abby takes a breath before continuing, "And.. Owen's missing, his patrol partner Danny was found dead," Abby explains, "I keep pushing you away because it hurts that I might lose you. What if Owen's dead? What if that was you next? I don't want to lose you."

Your eyes soften at her words,

"Abs, I'm sure Issac's got people out looking for Owen... and you won't lose me. I may not be as seasoned as you are, but I held my own just fine at the Seraphite outpost for months. Besides, if I go with you, you'll be there to watch my back."

You reach out and cradle her face, stepping a little closer, now stood directly between her legs.

Abby hugged you around the waist, hiding her face in your sweater, voice a little muffled.

"Issac said Owen is a traitor- that he killed Danny to protect.. a Seraphite. I told him it wasn't true, that there was no way he'd do that, that if I could just look for him I'd bring him back- but Issac refused. He wouldn't let me look for him."

Abby looks up at you, a mixture of grief and worry plain on her face. A stray tear rolls down her cheek and you brush it away.

"You're all I have left y/n." Abby whispers.

You crumble like putty in her hands, biting your plush lip as you look at her. Abby felt like she was going to explode.

This whole time, Abby's thought the way she felt about you was one-sided. Even when she was busy pretending to no longer care about you, even when she was staring straight head walking past you in the halls, even that damn school during your first mission together- a bit of her always longed for you.

She had tried to chalk it up to the fact she missed her best friend over the years, that she had a stupid girl crush in her teens, but these past few weeks only served to prove her wrong.

So, when you lean into her, Abby can't resist. She feels like she's lost everything- her dad, Owen- and you're all she has left. Can anyone blame her for acting on what she wants, just once?

Abby pulls you into her lap just as your lips crash into hers, both of you reaching for the other.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you kiss Abby, her large hands gently pressing you closer at the small of your back, and your hands tangle in her hair.

You can't get enough of her, hands pulling up her shirt, running your fingertips over her midriff as she shivers at your touch.

"Y/n? We don't have to do anything if you don't want to-"

You cut Abby off with a firm kiss as you push her over.

"Abs, I want to. I want you"

Abby grins at your words, and pulls you down into her for another kiss. Her hands guide your hips as you grind down on her, moaning into her mouth.

Abby thinks this is the closest she'll get to heaven, and flips you both over, her body pressed up against yours.

"I'm glad- I've wanted you for so long" Abby says, kissing down your neck, moving your shirt aside for easier access. You moan as she leaves hickies on your chest, her hands already undoing your pants, fingers dipping down into you.

"Oh baby, you're so wet for me"

Abby's voice is huskier than you've ever heard it, and you feel yourself get even wetter at her words. She rubs your clit with her thumb as she slips two fingers in, fucking you at a quick pace.

"Abs-" You choke out, hands reaching for her.

Abby smiles, love clear on her face.

"You sound so pretty y/n"

You pull at Abby's hair and she sucks at your nipples as she fucks you. You're sure there will be hickies all your neck come tomorrow.

"Fuck, Abs I'm gonna-"

"Come for me"

You come, shaking in her arms. Abby sucks her fingers clean, grinning at the brilliant shade of red you turn in response. You pull her in for another kiss before murmuring,

"Your turn"

Abby sheds her cargos, climbing back onto the bed. You slide your fingers through her wet folds, eliciting a sigh from her as you sink two fingers in, curling them to hit her gspot. You're maintaining a regular pace when Abby speaks up,

"That feels so good- but can you add another?"

You blink, but smirk as you obey her request. You speed up your pace, three fingers disappearing in her dripping cunt quickly, Abby's whimpers growing louder with every thrust.

"Fuck- y/n, I'm gonna come-"

Abby whimpers as she comes, growing tight around your fingers as she grips the headboard above your head.

You smile at her, sucking your fingers as payback for her earlier stunt, and she just laughs, rich and warm.

"I'm glad we both feel the same way about each other" Abby says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I think we always have" You admit, hands cradling her face before drawing her in for another kiss. Abby's eyes are relaxed, her grin wide. You continue, smiling softly-

"You won't lose me, Abs. You never have, and you never will."

✦ ─────────────────────────── ✦

[neonovember]

bucky barnes as a husband headcanon!

heavily inspired by my steve headcanons here, I wanna try my hand at writing more of james. he is the epitome of devotion, he falls first and falls hard.

this kind of takes part in an alternative au (think avengers are still together but its post the falcon and the winter soldier)

he is canonically good at cunnilingus

you think I’m joking? This man divulges into a rabid animal the second he gets close to your thighs. He is on his knees whilst your pressed up against the counter rubbing his face against your clothed crotch moaning and grinding in the air

he says if he could have gotten a taste of you while he was the winter soldier it would've required his brain and reversed the brainwashing

’to be alone with you’ - hozier is bucky’s song

like steve, he feels the isolation and ghost-like feeling of being lost in time. Brooklyn doesn't feel like home anymore, he constantly reaches for you, even in sleep because you are the thing he now belongs to.

you can never get used to how intense bucky just..stares at you. Every single moment of the day you'll just catch him watching you silently not saying a word. It wasn't creepy, no it had this protective almost darkness to it that was all consuming. At one of Tony’s parties, he’s watching you across the room with a glass in his hand or mysterious and shit. (probably thinking about when is a polite time to leave)

which is never because bucky just drags you both out of every gathering. Every goodbye is an Irish one

man bun bucky. That’s it.

lets you cut his hair when it gets to the point of covering his eyes. Sometimes his stubble too, thumb circling and grazes your thigh as you lean over him with a scalpel.

most of the team are still gobsmacked at how bucky justs..trusts you. Whether it be with a shaving, or jumping out of a corner. If any of the team tried to pull a knife on bucky he would probably (not) accidentally break their jaw

after missions all the Avengers know he’ll be offline for at least a couple days to be with you. What they don’t discuss is half of those days are fucking you bruised. He gets all pent up and irritated when he isn’t around you, it’s like you recalibrate his mood back to baseline regular bucky when he can finally sink into you.

doll, darlin’, honey

if you think steve is possessive…just exponentiate that to the power of 10 and you have husband bucky. Are we forgetting this man used to be the winter soldier? he's cute and adorable but also can be fucking horrifying. I’m talking blank face breaking a mans jaw cause he looked at you funny

very casual in his superhuman abilities to protect you. 

silky dulcet notes of etta james, the album sam had gifted you both playing as you cut up some root vegetables. It’s summer and the night is long and warm, and you and bucky are humming as you prepare dinner. You're twirling your hips, Bucky is leaning against the countertop, half trussing the chicken and the other watching you when he suddenly stops. You don't notice it at first, until he cocks his head to the side, kind of blinks and moves to turn the saucepan on low. You turn to him, and he grabs for one of the kitchen knives on the bench before reaching for you.

"there's someone in the backyard"

all nonchalant, like it had been a burrowing animal stuck under the floorboards. he motions for you to continue, turns up the record player a bit and walks into the backyard without a sound.

this man is touch starved, of course he is cock warming after. each and every time.

one of the things bucky loved about you is at ease he felt, he could talk to you and spill everything out in a way he never could with dr raynor or even steve.

there was a bit of distance from him when he first met you, he was awestruck, even more silent than he usually was. Just stared at you longingly, standing off to the side. he didn’t think he could be anything but feared, it genuinely got to the point where you thought he didn't like you or that you had done something wrong. when steve had told him this, he nearly died. no, i'd like to think he's heart stopped for a couple seconds seriously. than got up from fainting, took you aside, and kissed you against the back of sarah's backyard door on the fourth of july.

stations a few target practice posts in your backyard. teaches you how to shoot, chest pressed up against your back as he helps move your body in the right position. always make sure you know where the weapons are in the house

singing to records whilst he's cleaning said weapons at the table

takes you to all the places still standing he remembers in Brooklyn, you hold his hand and let him rest against your shoulder when the past gets caught in his throat.

Steve finds a place in the city with actual good music, where people actually dance, and it becomes your spot every Friday.

yeah, one thing bucky remembers would be his muscle memory of the dance floor, he’s goooood. Teaches you everything he knows in your kitchen of course, always ends up with you making out on top of each other though

dry humping like teenagers, bucky with his low hanging jeans, not wearing boxes and making a mess just from the taste of your mouth

actually, sometimes breaks down in tears when he realises you’re his wife. Like forever.

always thinking about you, what you're doing, if you've eaten. even if hes in the middle of recon you will be in the back of his mind.

leans over and loops his dog tags around your neck whenever he leaves for missions. kisses your eyelids when your sleeping and the fight calls him

the second time you and bucky visited Wakanda he had Shuri craft the ring to be fused into his vibranium finger..yeah I know.

bucky isn’t the extroverted talking type, but with you he is constantly just yapping..about anything and everything. Following you around the house like a puppy, coming to you for the answers about the new world and questions he always harboured even before the ice

bucky is hilarious, he's already an adonis, but he could laugh you of your pants

can’t bear fighting with you, he never yells. He just kind of goes quiet and takes a walk

you guys live in a house with a huge backyard and a wraparound porch

loves cooking, lets him turn his mind off sometimes and make you something hearty and warm. he has a frilly gingham patterned apron he wears and his curls are wrapped into a bun with your scrunchie. floor always ends up on his cheek, and you always end up on the kitchen bench with his mouth on you

night terrors had him sleeping in a sleeping bag next to the bed, he refused despite your attempts. Sometimes he'd wait till you fell asleep against him and make the heartbreaking quiet separation and sleep on the floor

sometimes likes to take of his arm around the house, especially sleeping. Keeps it near in case though, for you.

he’s thick everywhere…took an hour of foreplay minimum to get you ready for him. You both will never get used to each other, needing to take a moment of hushed gasps and groans when he first sinks in

the wedding was in Sams backyard in Delacroix, just Sam, Sarah, the kids and Yoshi and the team

fairylights wrapped around the spanish moss of hanging trees, soft jazz and hard liquor. Sarah’s seafood boil and a dance floor where bucky spends half the night with you there

dad!bucky on the other hand..now that is a different ballpark. wait no actually, just him when you're both expecting. let's not forgot when he stormed into the tower and broke through the office doors to ask why on earth tony had scheduled him a mission so close to the birth of your baby, tossing him his phone which was now crumbled heap of metal in the shape of his fists....(you were two weeks along)

[sturnsdarling]

'what the fuck is wrong with you?'

{insp by @sturnioz au} fratboy!matt calls smartand'mean'!reader after the fight, telling her she needs to come look after shy!reader, but after she finds out what happened, she lays into fratboy!chris, giving him the reality check he needs.

vibe check: arguing, kinda distressed shy!reader ig, smartand'mean'!reader is a take no shit kinda gal, angsty vibes, lil suggestive at the end

2.3k words

A/N: idk where this idea came from i just really like the idea of smartand'mean'!reader laying into fratboy!chris and him just firming it bc he knows shes right. PART ONE IS HERE

love and cigs, merc

You burst into the party, frantically searching every room for Matt and your best friend. Matt had called you nearly five minutes ago, telling you that your best friend needed you and that there had been a fight, with little to no explanation after. Of course, you came to them immediately, knowing that Matt wouldn't call you if he really didn't need to.

When you finally found them, they were all in a back room of the party, surrounded by smoke and a crowd of people all fawning over the boys as Matt, Nate and Chris were all spread across a sofa in the back, your best friend curled up on Chris lap as he lazily toked on a canon joint, his knuckles purple and a soft grin on his face as you watched your best friend toy with his shirt.

"hey, angel, you got here quick" Matts voice washed over you as he stood up, placing a battered hand on the small of your waist and pulling you into him.

His hand came up to your face in attempts to pull you into a kiss, but his bloody knuckles caught your attention and you took his hand in yours, brows furrowed at his battered hands.

"Matt, what the fuck happened" you spat, looking up at him, his hand still in yours

"ouch, she called him Matt, y'hear that Chris?" Nate said under his breath, Chris chuckled in response and you shot them both a glaring look.

"Some kids tried to give Chris' girl drugs so, we showed them why that was a bad idea" Matt shrugged, looking at you as if it was such a simple thing.

Your attention was immediately on your best friend, your face riddled with concern. You dropped Matts hand and made your way over to her, pulling her up off Chris' lap and into a hug.

"are you okay? why didn't you call me?" you muttered into her hair before pulling away, surveying her face.

She nodded, "I'm okay, Chris and Matt handled it" she smiled at you, just before looking down to Chris, who shot her a wink.

"how did this happen?" you asked, grabbing her attention again as she sat back down on Chris lap.

"they saw me alone and I guess they thought I was an easy target" she began explaining the events of the night, but was quickly cut off by your annoyed tone.

"you left her alone?" you spat, your annoyance directed at Chris, "what the fuck is wrong with you?" you looked at Chris like he was dirt, glaring at him, he just stared back, his tongue pressed to his cheek.

"oh shit" Nate chuckled, "Matt, I think your girl is about to go world star on our boy"

"hey, angel, tone it down a bit, yeah?" Matt said, sitting back down on the sofa and trying to pull you down onto his lap.

You snatched your hand from his, tutting as you shot him a dirty look, returning your serious gaze back to Chris.

"s'cool, Matt, let her say what she wants to say, I can take it" Chris grinned, taking a long toke of his joint and looking at you

"you left her alone, at a frat party, knowing she never comes to these without either you or me? are you psychologically damaged?" you continued to lay into him, his cool and collected demeanour triggering you beyond belief.

"and what? some guys thought she was easy pickins, because, lets face it, she is, and then you lose your shit and have to mark your territory again?"

"hey, I'm not easy pickins" your best friend sulked.

"she could have been seriously fuckin' hurt, Chris, did you even stop for one minute to think about that?" you were burning holes into his face at this point, just waiting for him to respond.

Chris' face dropped at your words, the smug smile on his lips coming to a tight line as he clenched his jaw, avoiding your eye contact. His mind suddenly reeling with all the things those boys could have done to your best friend if Nate hadn't called him when he did.

"of course you fuckin' didnt, because you only ever think about yourself, Chris" you tutted, rolling your eyes and throwing your hands up in accusation at him.

"you know, if you weren't Matts brother, I wouldn't let her come anywhere fuckin' near you, all you ever do is put her in a position to get herself hurt, or worse." you crossed your arms with finality.

Chris shifted uncomfortably where he sat, looking at you and then to your best friend who was already looking at him, apologising for your words with her kind eyes, eyes that only made your words all the more real.

"I'd never let anything happen to her" He said through a clenched jaw, looking up at you, his expression could almost have been mistaken for an apologetic one.

"and plus, we had her back, we fuckin' had those guys easy, they ran away cryin" Matt added, reaching out for you again.

This time you took his hand, bringing your gaze to him, brushing your fingers over his bloody knuckles.

"you think they're the only kids that wanna roofie girls and fuck them at parties? you think she's safe now just because you two fuckin' hot heads gave them a bloody nose and a black eye?" Your words stung, you'd never spoken to Matt like that before, not seriously anyway.

No one said anything, your words hung in the air, making everyone shift and come to the damning realisation of what actually happened tonight.

"I know you think you can protect her from this little fucked up life you've created for yourself here, Chris, but maybe it's time you wake up and realise who she might actually need protecting from" you said, looking him up and down with your final words.

Chris said nothing, only stared at you from under his brow bone with a clenched jaw and a loose grip on your best friends waist.

Matt looked over at Chris and then up at you, both of you teetering on the edge of an explosion he did not want to get caught in the middle of. He stood up, taking your hand in his and standing in front of you slightly, bringing your attention away from Chris.

"lets go have a cig, yeah?" He said, squeezing your hand.

You looked up at him through your lashes, unable to tear your eyes from him as he gazed down at you, his warmth only serving to calm you down.

You nodded with a clenched jaw and let Matt lead you out. As you walked out the room you glanced back at Chris, who was biting the inside of his cheek and blinking rapidly, trying to listen to your best friend apologising on your behalf. He wasn't angry, not at you anyway, he was angry at himself, because he knew you were right.

Once you made it outside, Matt dragged you to a quiet spot, pulling a cigarette from his pack and placing it between your pouty lips, sparking it before pulling one for himself and doing the same.

You took a long drag, your fingers shook slightly from the adrenaline you felt coursing through your body.

"y'know" Matt said, blowing smoke out his mouth before resuming, "I've never heard anyone speak to Chris like that and still be standin' after" a smiled, edging closer to you.

"kid had it comin' for putting her in a position like that" you shrugged your shoulders, taking another long drag of your cigarette.

"He didn't mean for it to happen, you know that right?" Matt said, dipping his head to meet your gaze.

you rolled your eyes, "he never means for shit to happen, Matt, that's the problem, shit follows him around, and one of these days she's gonna get hurt because of it" you looked at him, more serious than you'd ever been.

"what about me then?" Matt said, his face dropping as he stood back from you.

"what about you?" you screwed your face up at him

"if shit follows him, it follows me, he's my brother" Matt added

"and?" you cocked your eyes to the side, not seeing his point.

"y'don't think you'll get hurt one day? bein' around me like this?" Matt looked you up and down as he spoke.

"I can handle myself, Matt, she can't" you rolled your eyes with a slight chuckle.

"she can't, or you think she can't?" Matt questioned, his tone accusatory.

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you snapped at him

"I think, you've spent your whole life protecting this girl and now, she has someone else to do it for her, and you cant handle that" Matt shrugged

"you're ridiculous." you rolled your eyes at Matt, leaning against the side of the house.

"am I?" Matt scoffed

"yeah, you fuckin' are becau-" just as you were about to give it to Matt straight, you were interrupted by Chris, standing just a few steps away from you both and clearing his throat.

"y/n, can I speak to you?" Chris said, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"what do you want, Chris? if you've come out here to try and act all big and tell me not to speak to you like that I swear to god I-"

"you're right" Chris cut you off.

"What?" you and Matt said in unison, turning to face Chris.

"you're right, okay?"

"I-" you went to speak, brows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't deserve her, n'probably never will, but, I care 'bout her, n'Id never let anything happen to her" Chris shrugged, unable to maintain eye contact with you.

"Chris" you sighed.

"you don't have to tell me the typa guy I am, y/n, I know, but I'm learnin' okay? she's helpin' me learn" He finally looked at you, still unable to look at his brother who was open mouth, gawking at his brothers confession.

You had no idea what to say, Chris just gave you his version of an apology and actually admitted you were right. You couldn't help but feel sorry for him, somewhere, very deep, under all his assholeness, there was an actual human being who, cared about your best friend probably more than he'd ever cared about anyone.

"Chris" you sighed again, "she trusts you, and, if she trusts you then..." you searched your brain for the strength to call it even with him, "I guess I have no choice but to trust you too"

A small smile crept onto Chris' face but he pushed it away almost immediately, the weight of his confession lifting off his shoulders as his usual self floated back into his body.

"If you tell anyone about what I jus' said, i'll get ya kneecaps broken, kay?" he sniffed, wiping his knuckle across his nose for a brief second, "both'a you" Chris looked Matt up and down.

"there he is" Matt chuckled, placing a hand on Chris shoulder

Chris shrugged off Matts hand and sauntered back inside, leaving you two alone again.

You let the moment hang in the air for a moment, smoking your cigarette as Matt stared at the way the butt illuminated your features.

"look, angel, I didn't mean anythi-"

"its okay, I get it, you're right" you interrupted him, rolling your eyes, feeling significantly less angry about everything after Chris' confession.

"okay, did I slip into a different dimension where you and Chris are able to back down from an argument?" Matt chuckled, looking around him as if he was looking for the portal he fell through.

You laughed, shaking your head at him with a smile, "I've been looking out for her our whole lives and, she's always needed me to protect her, I guess it's just tough now that she doesn't, really need that anymore"

"y'know" Matt stepped closer to you, hooking his thumb under your chin, "maybe its time you let someone protect you, for a change"

"oh yeah?" you grinned at him, "and who might that someone be?"

"me" Matt shrugged, edging his lips closer to yours

"you wanna protect me, Matthew?"

"mhm" Matt nodded with a smile just before kissing you, slotting his soft lips over yours with tender pressure.

You kissed him back, the taste of cigarettes thick on his tongue.

"you do look sexy with your knuckles all battered like that" you broke the kiss, taking his hand in yours and pressing small open mouth kisses on his bloodied knuckles

"you little sadist" Matt said, taking your cheeks in his hand, squishing the flesh together between his fingers.

"you love it" you tore his thumb from your cheek and placed it in your mouth, biting down on the bone before wrapping your lips around it.

Matt groaned at the sight of you batting your lashes at him with his thumb in your mouth, he pulled you forward by your jaw and brought you into him, a firm hand catching you by the small of your back as he pulled his thumb from your lips with a pop.

"I do mean it though, angel, it's time you let someone protect you for once" Matt looked down at you, placing his hand around the side of your face, using his grip to make you look at him.

"I can protect myself" you smirked up at him, eyes pouring into his.

Matt smiled and rolled his eyes, lowering his hand on your waist down to your thigh and dropping his shoulder to your stomach. In one swift movement you were over his shoulder.

"Matthew! put me down!" You erupted into laughter, hitting his back as you hung over his shoulder

Your pleads were met with a firm smack on your ass as a prideful grin spread itself across Matts face.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10

[anundyingfidelity]

AFFECTION — Soldier Boy

Summary: During a mission, Soldier Boy receives a hug from you unexpectedly. He likes it.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female supe!reader.

Word count: 0.9k

Warnings: canon violence and language, reader is kinda hurted, descriptions of blood and stuff, AU where Ben is working with the team on missions (which is what should've happened on the show btw), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy lmao, Ben and reader are totally opposites and I live for that. Based on this post.

Note: soooo I'm still making some arrangements to my Soldier Boy long fic and instead I have this short drabble in the meantime. Hope you enjoy it hehe.

the boys/jackles tags: @k-slla

(if anyone would like to be added to my tags just tell me^^)

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

You groanned, feeling the hard wall hit against your back. It was hard to believe but you thought probably you wouldn't go out of this alive. Your body ached and not even your strenght could stop this guy.

Fucking Butcher, why did you have to follow him to suicide again? Just a couple of cunts, he said. But he forgot to mention they had a weird improved dosis of V injected.

You fell to the ground as the man walked towards you. He was extremely tall and well-buff. No sense the Compound V on his system made him better, or at least that's what he thought. He was tossed to the ground by your side, and you crawled to the corner of the small room.

The distance was not enough to let you run away. You stayed there, watching Soldier Boy's big frame over the man. He used his shield, beting him to death and destroying his face and neck during the process. You were so damn sure his loud groans of pain would remain on your mind at least for a couple of days.

"Fucking pussy," the old man said, wipping some blood off his face. He got on his feet ungracefully and grabbed his shield back. He turned to look at you, still sitting on the floor. "You okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

He held you a bloody hand, which you took to stand up. There was an akward silence as you and Ben left the small room, you followed him around the dirty basement, filled with lifeless bodies and fluids on the ground, to meet with Butcher and Hughie.

"Guess those were all," Butcher announced.

"I have the remaining dosis," you took the tube from the pocket of your pants and showed them with a smile on your face. "Was the last one."

"Excellent," Butcher grabbed it and tossed it to Hughie, who saved the tube on a bag.

"We made it out, huh," you mumbled.

"Well, we're still down here, so," Hughie shrugged and three pairs of eyes narrowed at him. "What?"

"Just think positively, for once," you pleaded with a fake sharp tone. "Isn't that hard, y'know."

Ben rolled his eyes.

"We're on a fucking shithole, the kid's right. Let's go now before any of you fuck this up," he ordered and passed by between Butcher and Hughie, hitting his shoulder intentionally in the process.

You quickly followed behind his long soldier strides. "Wait!"

Soldier Boy scoffed and closed his eyes slowly only to open them again. You stood on his way with a big smile and wide eyes. Bruises and blood adorned your face and neck, your clothes were also splattered with dry blood and dirt after killing those clandestine stupid supes on an undercover mission at night, and still you acted like nothing had happened. He stood in place, with Hughie and Butcher standing behind expecting what the fuck you'd be doing this time. Sometimes he thought you were so fucking annoying.

"The fuck you want?"

You opened your lips to say something but nothing came out. Once you closed them, you beamed again and closed the distance between him and you. You wrapped your arms around his strong waist and rested your grubby check against his chest. He tensed visibly under your hug and after a moment you pulled away, your hands behind your back with a shy smile. Hughie and Butcher were clearly holding back a good laugh. They knew better not to mock Soldier Boy, not yet though.

Ben blinked a couple of times, trying to process what happened.

"What the fuck was that?"

You giggled. "Affection."

He wrinkled his nose. "Disgusting."

You gasped and faked sadness on your voice. "Why? I was just saying 'thank you for saving my ass'."

"It's fucking nothing," he rolled his eyes and started to walk again to guide the team outside, with the other two men with playful smirks on their faces following behind.

"Ben!" you quickly caught his pace to stand by his side. "Thank you, okay? Probably you don't like physical contact but I do. And this is how I show others that I care about them and that I'm thankful. I also give hugs because I like them and–"

"Shh!" Ben raised his hand, suddenly stopping his tracks by the end of the stairs that'd lead you outside. He turned and looked at you with that grumpy face of his. "I said you're welcome, sweetheart. Now we need to go, you can talk to me about your hugs shit later."

He pointed to Hughie and Butcher. "Now, you, cocksuckers, go up."

Butcher grinned, going first. "Sure, cap."

"You shut up," Soldier Boy warned, Hughie gulped and nodded, and made his way up on the stairs.

You stood there, with a smile on your lips. Always that fucking, idiotic, stupid smile, even after hard missions like the one you just had. It was like if you were the only one who didn't seem scared of him or anything else. Sure, you were a supe and a smart asset on the team. But still, a very peculiar lady through his eyes.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Once Butcher and Hughie were out of sight he finally talked.

"Do it again."

"Excuse me?"

"The stupid hug, do it again."

You raised your eyebrows, eyes bright as you realized his request. "Really?!"

"God, woman. Do I need to fucking repeat my—?"

His words were cut by your strong hug. You crashed against his frame so hard he lost balance for a bit. He was certainly surprised by how warm your hug it actually felt. You angled your eyes to see his face.

"Thanks!"

You let him go and got up the stairs. He barely curved his lips at how happy you climbed them. Yeah, well he actually liked your stupid hugs.

soldier boy / reader

[abyssalzones]

can you tell us about your interpretation of the better world universe!!!! especially curious how stan/mystery trio works into it

hell yesssss I definitely can. ABW is maybe my favorite niche gf thing and probably the only "AU" I care about but that may be due to the fact that it's an AU that exists in the canon and we know so little about it. so it has an established foundation that you're left to fill in the details with yourself... it's like a poke bowl to me. you can put anything in there

and since I felt like it here's a bonus pic of them living their best lives pestering ford

[explanation-y stuff under ze cut because I got very longwinded]

as for specifics of how I see everything working out, there's a few key points that establish why things happened differently from canon, the most important being:

Stan agrees to hide journal #3 somewhere

Ford reunites with fiddleford and they begin working together again

both of these are already confirmed in canon, the first being the most obvious "schism" between timelines. literally everything in ABW is the way it is because stan made a different decision. kind of crazy in terms of its implications: I feel like that moment in the basement is a really good example of how stan gets so few opportunities to shape her own life (while ford is in the picture...) because of her role as the 'black sheep' twin. it's not exactly a premeditated decision to push ford into the portal, it's her acting on feelings that have been bubbling unaddressed under the surface for 10-something years at that point, and only then does she have any sort of power over the "narrative" of both her life and the story itself, something that from her pov has been ford's story. and in the canon timeline, she says no.

so like, what the hell made her say yes in ABW's timeline? this question kind of haunts me because I feel like it has to be entirely dependent on what the inside of stan's head looked like at the time. it's possible something influenced her, but overall I think it's more interesting if ford did and said all the exact same things up until this point and it really was entirely dependent on stan's decision internally.

so stan says yes, goes on a big trip to the other side of the world somehow, and buries journal 3 somewhere probably never to be found again. yay! but, uh, going on a trip like ford was suggesting would... take weeks. that would leave ford alone again. and not to have my established thoughts informed by new material or anything but bill did give him 72 hours.

so, next order of business: how in the fuck would ford convince fiddleford to rejoin him??? I'm unsure between journal 3 and tbob's information how ford may have tried to reach out to him but it seems like fiddleford was pretty adamant about staying away from that guy, out of guilt or fear of bill/the portal or both. I don't think logically it would just be a matter of ford calling him enough times or finding out where he lives- and I think that's kind of getting away from the point of why ABW is the way it is too. if stan is suddenly making decisions that are influencing ford's life, I think it would be similarly interesting if fiddleford also possessed some unique autonomy in this scenario.

aka I think ford got fucked up badly (possibly involving losing an eye) and fiddleford found him half-dead while trying to burn his house down. [mabel voice] romance!

to clarify: I don't think fiddleford is obligated to take care of ford. a major part of him leaving the project was finally making the decision to leave a situation that was hurting him, that he'd been staying in entirely because he still cared about ford and felt on some level he could still help him (which gets broken with "I don't need you!") and I think that's a very reasonable decision on his part. but I also do have to think about all the times ford has been "the hero" in situations where fiddleford ends up hurt and helpless because of something traumatizing. I think it'd be fascinating to see that reversed and have fiddleford actively making the difficult, messy decision to take care of that guy even when they're on miserable terms. and so begins like a solid week of these two desperately trying to look out for eachother in a nightmare scenario where one of them probably needs to go to a hospital + keeps getting possessed off and on and the other is going through the worst addiction/withdrawal cycle of his life irt the memory gun. yay! (part of the reason this even works To Me also is heavily informed by the lack of secrets: if fiddleford is actively dressing that guy's wounds he can't really keep it all to himself anymore. crushingly intimate perhaps...)

stan gets back eventually. such is the context of this pic

from there it's a nebulous grab-bag of things I think could happen up to the foundation of the institute.

how do all three of these incredibly fucked up individuals get along? well they don't but then they do.

how do they get bill out of ford's head without performing amateur brain surgery? idk. my best guess is a fiddleford and stan bonding trip into ford's mindscape that potentially helps answer the first question. possibly utilizing the memory gun. shrugs.

what's up with that one picture you drew of parallel fidds holding the memory gun up to ford's head? well. okay that one might or might not be something that actually happened but the idea was just that ford is coping badly with a few specific things and I liked the idea of fiddleford "holding onto" something for him to remember and work through later when he's ready to deal with it, it's an interesting reversal of how he's normally more of a memory sink.

from the point in canon about them stabilizing the portal so that bill can't use it to get into their dimension anymore onward, I think it just becomes a matter of them living the lives they could've always had in canon without realizing it. hence "a better world." some cool tidbits I like to think about:

stan gets to transition much earlier (late 1990's perhaps?) and probably starts going by "lee" instead

she's also the institute's CMO and is mostly in it for going on business trips abroad with ford. and the money. obviously.

the institute probably also legitimately changes the world on a sociopolitical scale outside of just interdimensional travel since their research renders them uniquely untouchable and all three of them are trans (I'm cartoon logic-ing a little bit here just let me have this one)

ford is the eccentric bill nye esque face of the company, fiddleford is the backbone. that isn't to say ford doesn't do anything as I think he'd always moreso be in it for the science than the fame (though it is nice to be more than comfortable financially) but it's an open secret fiddleford keeps tabs on literally everything, he's still very security-oriented.

the northwest family now has a more prominent ongoing rivalry with the pines family that could be very funny to think about. they've taken all the LOGGING JOBS with their damn SCIENCE

part of the reason I thought ford should lose an eye is because I think having him wear an eyepatch would be a neat way to parallel stan's "role" as mr. mystery visually! stan wears an eyepatch for no legitimate reason to keep up appearances as a schlocky tourist trap host, but it also alludes to her being more than she seems under the surface. ford's eyepatch does sort of have a legitimate reason to exist, but he also could just wear his glass eye and it would probably be less "conspicuous." he chooses the eyepatch instead because it's part of his image as Stanford Pines, Founder of Oddology, and because it keeps him safe. there's also a little residual scarring there from damage to his eyelid/tarsal plate which could easily represent him hiding the more "damaged" aspects of himself under his successes. ouch.

I'm unsure if ford and stan would ever feel comfortable getting back in touch with their parents. I know a lot of people go that route with fan material but I don't think they should have to. I think they're much happier now having healed the rift between them on their own and getting to live successful lives for themselves, rather than to prove something to their father.

that being said I do think fiddleford gets in touch with emma-may and his son again and they end up on better terms with time and a Lot of effort. tate's family is now composed of his father, mother, "uncle" ford (in the ye olde gay closeted sense of referring to your dad's partner as an uncle), and auntie lee, and I like to think they go out on trips to the lake together often :]

also ford and fiddleford tie the knot unofficially (in the eyes of the government anyway) in 1990. owed to stan somehow getting "ordained" as a rabbi. don't ask me how.

the pines twins start visiting the institute from a younger age than they do irt visiting stan in the show-- but they're only permitted to come along on heavily-supervised interdimensional excursions once they turn 12. cue antics!

anyway, hopefully this extremely longwinded and loosely structured mess helped answer your question. I like ABW sooo so so much you guys

[navybrat817]

Indulgence

Pairing: Dom!Bucky Barnes x Sub!Female Reader Summary: When Bucky calls, you go to him. Word Count: Over 5.7k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, D/s elements, bondage, aftercare, established arrangement, insecurities, pet names, longing, possessive behavior, world building, mix of canon and non-canon, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm very excited for this new AU, lovelies! There's a deep bond between these two, but we know the road to love isn't always easy. ❤️Beta read by the amazing @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. And thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer for listening to me ramble about this part. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You had only been asleep for an hour when your phone went off, your eyes barely open as you reached for the device and saw the familiar name appear. “Bucky?” You answered drowsily.

“Hey, angel,” he said roughly, the pet name bringing a sleepy smile to your face. It sounded like he hadn't gotten much sleep either. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I have tomorrow off,” you said, a bit more alert as you sat up. “Are you at your apartment?”

“Yeah, I got back a bit ago,” he replied, swearing under his breath. “It’s really late. I just…”

“Need me,” you finished for him, stretching your back as you stood up. If he wanted to tell you he made it home safely from his latest assignment, he would've sent you a text. You knew by now that a call meant he had to see you in person. “Give me a few minutes?”

“You sure? I understand if you’d rather go back to bed.”

“I’m not going to get any sleep until I know you will, too,” you said. It would drive you crazy. “I want to come over. Okay?”

You wondered if the call dropped since you didn't hear anything on the other end. “Okay. I’ll send a car,” he said. He never let you pay for a ride yourself. “Thank you,” he added so softly you almost missed it.

“You don't need to thank me,” you assured him, though you appreciated hearing it. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised, your heart skipping a beat before he hung up.

You brushed your teeth again before you changed out of your pajamas. The outfit didn't exactly matter. If it had, he would’ve told you what you wear. It wouldn't stay on long anyway. You sensed that this was a night for him to simply blow off some steam or release anything still pent up from his assignment.

You were more than happy to help.

“On my way.” You messaged him a few minutes later as you went out to the car.

You politely greeted the driver before gazing out the window. If anyone had told you months ago that you’d be sleeping with the former Winter Soldier, you would’ve laughed at them for saying something so crazy. You never expected to meet the man, let alone connect with him. That was your life now though. You were sleeping with Bucky Barnes.

But it wasn't that cut and dry.

“I’ll be outside.” He sent back.

You smiled to yourself as you thought about Bucky, the man searching for himself again. After years of enduring horrific pain and having no control over his actions, he felt lost once he was free. In his eyes, he would never be able to right all the wrongs of the atrocities he was forced to commit, but making amends for his past was a start. It wasn't enough though to heal the cracks from within. It couldn't stop him from plunging into the deep abyss of his mind where it once felt whole.

He had to find a way to feel semi-normal again. He needed to do something good for someone else outside of his heroic duties. And he had to do so in an environment where he could express himself openly, honestly, and authentically with a person he could trust.

That was where you came into the picture.

If Bucky called, no matter what time of day and you were available, you went to his place in a car he paid for. You stayed until you were both satisfied. A more crude way to think of it was that you helped him fuck out his frustrations and gave him a means to inflict pleasure on someone instead of hurt. It was a routine you were used to by now.

“You wanna be my angel?”

You may be his angel, but you weren't his girlfriend. He wasn't in a place to have a typical relationship. You weren't just a fuck buddy either. You were his submissive of sorts, along with his confidant and a way for him to find release and some sense of normalcy.

While he sometimes fucked you like a whore, he never once treated you like one. He cared for your well-being and checked in on you the way a boyfriend would. He kept his place stocked with your favorite snacks. You didn't sleep with anyone else and neither did he. You looked out for each other.

Unlike your last boyfriend.

As far as arrangements went, you could do much worse. There were rules set in place. Bucky was honest about his needs and helped you heal your wounds from the failure of your previous relationship. But the more time you spent with him, the more you wanted to be with him.

Was it a recipe for disaster?

The drive seemed faster than usual because before you knew it the car stopped in front of Bucky’s apartment building. Your pulse quickened when you saw the brunette standing by the door, donned in his usual leather jacket. Even from a short distance, he looked massive and heat bloomed in your core as you knew what was to come. He moved to the curb with more grace than a man his size should have, his hard blue eyes set on you through the glass before he opened the door.

His gaze practically set your heart on fire and it went full ablaze when he tenderly smiled. He was stunningly beautiful even in the dark of night. It almost hurt to look back at him.

You had it bad.

“Hey,” he said, offering you his gloved hand to help you out. You hardly ever saw him out without his vibranium hand covered. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hey,” you smiled softly, giving the driver a quick thanks before you got out. “You, too.”

Bucky's large hand moved to the small of your back as he gently led you toward the building and opened the door. He didn't like to linger outside for too long. Neither of you spoke as he guided you to his apartment on the first floor and you didn't push him to make small talk. It was a delicate arrangement and some nights didn't call for filler.

Still, you tried to get a read on his emotions. There was a stiffness to his stance, but he didn't appear upset or angry. You also didn’t spot any obvious injuries.

“Were you hurt?” You asked as he took his keys out. He was only gone for a couple of days, but you knew how dangerous the missions were.

He turned and stared at you, not at all surprised by your question since you always asked. “No, I didn’t get hurt,” he assured you, reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his chin. “But I can't exactly talk about it either. I’m sorry.”

You nodded in understanding. It was information you weren't privy to and you doubted he called tonight to talk about it anyway. He peeled back layers of himself, yet there was so much underneath that you didn't know about. You cared for him regardless.

“Bucky, you don't have to apologize for that,” you reminded him.

“I just feel bad. You can tell me about your work, but I can't always talk about mine,” he said, looking both ways before he poked his head into his apartment.

“My job isn’t as ‘exciting’ as yours,” you teased before he let you in.

Bucky had a nice place. The partially exposed brick walls paired well with the hardwood floors. Tasteful, but not extravagant. The thick curtains in the living room matched the drapes in his bedroom. Since he occasionally slept on the floor by the oversized chair, it helped to block out the sun. He didn't have much as far as decor, but he did have a piece of art that his best friend, Steve, drew hung up in the hall.

He also had a bowl that you made on the console to hold his keys, which he promptly set them in.

It meant something that he even let you into his apartment when others close to him had never been invited.

“Need anything to drink?” He asked, slipping his jacket and glove off.

He had an empty glass waiting on the kitchen island in case you did. While you indulged in a drink now and then, he wouldn't allow you to have too many. He refused to have sex with you if you were inebriated. Said it took consent away and you wouldn't be alert enough to use a safeword if necessary.

He wouldn't budge on that rule.

“No, thanks,” you answered, gazing at him.

His T-shirt strained against his biceps, one flesh and one vibranium. You could still smell his cologne from the small distance across the room, amber and cedarwood. Warm, comforting, dominating. All the things he was to you.

Not the monster he sometimes believed himself to be.

You eyed him as he poured himself a shot of whiskey, the need to soothe him coming forward when you caught a distant look in his eyes. He didn't even make a move to down his drink as he set his hands on the counter and stared off. Maybe he couldn't give you the details about what happened, but you could take care of him.

Because as much as he sometimes had to have control over you, both of you had power in your relationship.

“Bucky?” You gently called out, pulling him from his trance. “You can talk to me, even if you have to keep some things to yourself.”

His shoulders dropped as he sighed. “Three months.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Three months since we started this,” he answered.

You realized he was right when you remembered the date. It felt longer yet still brand new. “Yeah. Three great months,” you smiled.

A knot formed in your stomach when he didn't smile back. “And you still feel safe with me?” He asked, gripping the counter so hard you thought it might crumble in his hands. “You really trust that I won’t hurt you?”

Your smile slipped, the questions like a punch to the gut as you walked toward him. You stopped a foot in front of him to give him some breathing room as he made eye contact. Where had that come from? What happened to make him question that?

“Of course, I feel safe. Not only do I feel safe with you and trust you, I know that you won't hurt me. You will always take care of me,” you said with fierce determination, yet with a vulnerability you couldn't hide. “If I didn't believe that, I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t submit to you.”

You told him the same thing the day you two agreed on this arrangement. He wasn't your boyfriend, but he wasn't like your ex. He wouldn't just throw you away without a second thought or ignore your needs. You also had faith in him that he wouldn't harm you.

And as much as you trusted him, he trusted you that much more. If he didn't, he wouldn't have called you in the first place. That meant he still trusted himself around you.

He looked away and asked above a whisper, “Do you still think I'm a good man?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation, your heart aching when his jaw clenched. “Bucky, look at me, please.”

He slowly made eye contact with you, a storm swirling in his stare.

“You are a good man,” you stated, needing to reach the part of him that believed it. “And it doesn't matter how many times you ask me that, my answer isn't going to change. Ever.”

Bucky was silent, his breathing the only sound in the space. You were worried that you said the wrong thing before he pushed himself away from the counter. Instead of moving back when he approached, you stood firm, ready to brace the storm. You sometimes felt like a mouse confronted by a lion when he got close, but it sent a thrill through you. Because you meant what you said.

You trusted him and he made you feel safe.

“I just had to hear you say it,” he whispered as he cupped your face.

A fire lit within you as Bucky captured your mouth with his. There was care and tenderness beneath the hunger and you found yourself clinging to his arms as you kissed him back. No one before him had ever kissed you with such desire, such passion. It had you chasing his lips when he pulled away too soon.

“Now go to my room, get undressed, and kneel on the bed facing the headboard,” he ordered, his voice low and allowing the words to sink in just in case you had any objections. Because he was done talking and ready to play.

So were you.

It took you a moment to answer since you had to bite back a whine. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered, feeling his eyes on you as you walked to his bedroom.

You focused on keeping your breathing even as you shed your clothes, taking a moment to fold them before you set them on the chair in the corner. The only time you left your garments on the floor was if Bucky put them there or had you put on a show for him. It was his space and you respected it.

He hadn't told you how long to wait for him, but your heart thumped as you knelt on the queen sized bed. You didn’t see any toys as you glanced around, but there was water, snacks, wipes, and the soft blanket you loved waiting on the nightstand. It took a moment for you to spot that there was a blindfold and scarf on top of the blanket. Your womb clenched in anticipation, an exquisite feeling knowing your patience and obedience would reward you.

Bucky walked through the door a minute later and shut it behind him. The energy shifted completely, both of you ready for each other. As much as you wanted to lift your gaze and look behind you, you kept your eyes downcast as he approached the bed. He cupped your cheek once he was close enough and forced your eyes to meet his.

“My beautiful angel,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your skin as you glowed from the praise. He reached for the scarf and ran his fingers across the silk as he glanced at you. “As much as I hate to cover those beautiful eyes of yours and restrain you, I want you to concentrate on my touch tonight. Just let me have you.”

A shiver rolled down your spine as you nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Hands behind your back,” he said, moving to secure them once you did so. The silk was soft against your skin, almost as soft as the kiss to your shoulder. After years of being restrained, you knew he felt guilty at times taking your control away. The difference was you gave yourself to him willingly. “Tell me your safewords.”

“Green is good. Yellow to pause,” you stated, testing the scarf. He never bound you too tight, but it was enough that you couldn’t slip your wrists free. “Red to stop."

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You turned your head a fraction so he could slot his lips properly over yours. Gentle, yet hot enough to melt your insides. “My good girl.”

He maneuvered you so you were in the middle of the bed and spread your knees a bit further apart. He joined you on his knees, still fully clothed. Casting your gaze down again, you bit your lip when you saw the prominent bulge in his pants. A hand came up to grasp your chin before you could stare for too long and lifted your head. If you were still wearing your panties, they would’ve dampened from his darkened gaze.

“So beautiful and all mine tonight,” he said.

“I’m yours, Sir,” you whispered, the word “always” unspoken.

“And I know you were staring,” he smirked, his fingers working the button and zipper of his jeans. His impressive cock sprang free once he pushed his underwear and pants down far enough and you wished you could lean down and swirl your tongue around the large head. “Greedy angel. Just desperate to have my cock in you.”

“Yes, Sir. Please,” you begged.

He made a show of lifting the blindfold before he slipped it over your head, your body tensing up when your world went dark. Sight was one of the senses you relied on the most. It helped you absorb most of the world around you. And now it was temporarily gone. It felt like your heart would burst from your chest as you breathed a bit heavier. But Bucky was there, softly touching your face until you relaxed.

“Breathe, angel. I’ve got you,” he whispered, drawing a gasp from you when his lips touched yours. His hands mapped your body, brushing along your breasts down to your thighs. You felt him everywhere. “Color?”

“Green,” you whispered as a hand moved around your back and forced you to arch. He was careful not to hurt your arms. “Please.”

Your head fell back with a moan as his lips closed around your nipple. You could practically feel that he looked up at you as he gently suckled. A wave of arousal crashed through you as he pinched the other. No one had ever lavished your body with such attention the way Bucky did.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmured against the swell of your breast. “Helpless. Trembling. Needy.”

You didn't mean to let such a wanton moan escape, but he made you feel needed. He made you feel wanted. It was a beautiful thing to surrender to him.

“And I love that I'm the one you trust to take care of you.”

“I trust you with my life, Sir,” you moaned.

And your heart, even though he had the power to break it.

Your chest suddenly felt colder when Bucky pulled his mouth and hand away and you shook from the loss of his heat. His vibranium hand touched your torso to remind you he was close when he shifted closer to you on the bed. You gasped when he dragged his hand down and you were helpless to do anything but feel when it slid between your legs.

“You're doing so well for me,” he said, his teeth grazing your neck as his fingers spread your sopping folds. He teased you, letting you soak his metal fingers as you mewled. He lightly bit you again when he replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding along your slit, but not pushing inside you just yet. “You want me inside you? You need me to fuck you, don't you? Tell me.”

Your cheeks flamed as you whined. “I need you to fuck me, Sir,” you said, trying to widen your thighs to take him in more.

“I will. I'm going to give you everything you need,” he rumbled, gripping your hips with strong and capable hands to keep you still. “And you’re going to let me ruin your pretty little pussy with my cock.”

You panted with want at his possessiveness. Filthy words were something you never thought you’d hear from someone associated with The Avengers and they kicked your body into overdrive. You ached to have him split you open. “Ruin me, Sir.”

In one swift move he lifted you, pulled you into his lap, and buried himself to the hilt. Your mouth fell open as you let out a cry, every inch of his cock stretching and making itself at home in your welcoming cunt. You couldn't brace yourself on his shoulders with your hands behind your back. You couldn't see the ecstasy in his eyes as he let you adjust to his size, but you didn't have to. Not with the way he dug his fingers in and groaned against your shoulder.

He took you to heaven when he was inside you.

“Color,” he said against your skin, thrusting his hips up once.

“Green,” you moaned, reminding yourself to stay still when you wanted him to move. “So green.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, gently kissing up to your ear. “Keep being good while I bounce you up and down on my cock.”

Your eyes fluttered behind the blindfold as he pulled you up and slammed you back down on his cock. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your heart beat frantically in your chest. It was difficult to string thoughts together, but they all went back to him and how good he made you feel. How he made you feel beautiful.

Flaws and all.

“It’s like your cunt was made for me, angel. Practically crying all over my cock,” his voice was smoky as sounds of pleasure tumbling from your lips. The next moan was softer when he slid a hand up to your neck, resting it there as the other kept your hips flush against his. “You deserve to feel good because you are good. So fucking good.”

Your lower lip trembled as a sob worked its way to your throat, “Thank you, Sir,” you whimpered before he squeezed.

“And I. Deserve. You.” He punctuated each word with a deep thrust. You didn’t have to see his face to know the fury that surfaced. “My angel. Mine.”

It overwhelmed you as he bounced you in his lap, sinking you down onto him again and again. His thrusts were almost unforgiving, but the hand on your throat didn’t tighten anymore. He couldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m your angel, Sir,” you moaned as he reduced you to a needy wet mess.

“I wanna tear you apart,” he growled against your lips. “And put you back together so you still feel me when you fucking breathe.”

“Tear me apart, Sir,” you gasped, a plea for him to use you more. Your thighs hit his as he thrust up and all you could do was take it. He touched places inside you no one else could reach, physically and emotionally, and you never wanted it to stop. “Please!”

“Tell me you need me to come inside you and I’ll let you come,” he ordered, the hand on your neck squeezing a fraction. “Say it.”

“Come inside me, Sir,” you begged.

“Bucky,” he breathed against your lips. “Say. My. Name.”

Your next breath was shaky. He always had you call him “Sir” on nights like this. Why was this different?

Your orgasm began to crest, but you couldn’t let go until you gave him what he wanted. And he’d give you what you needed. “Come inside me, Bucky,” you exhaled. “Please.”

He swiped his thumb along your pulse with a deep groan, his cock still driving up into you. “I will after you come,” he promised, his tongue sliding past your parted lips and pulling away all too quickly. “C’mon, angel. Come for me. Show me you’re mine.”

The sob you tampered down earlier resuraced, wrenched from your throat as you came. Your release continued, practically leaking around his cock as tears slid out beneath the blindfold. You were beyond rational thought as pleasure spiraled through you, vaguely aware that he thrust through it to chase his own end.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” He grunted, pulsing hotly inside you as he filled you up.

Both of you panted as you continued to drift from euphoria, your heart still beating wildly. You were warm, but your body shivered as he lifted you up. Your combined release slid from your aching cunt once he slipped free. You floated and wanted him to catch you, but you couldn’t put your arms around him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered when you let out a whimper. He made quick work of untying your wrists so he could lay you down properly and wipe away the tears still on your cheeks. “I’m going to take the blindfold off.”

Your eyes stayed shut for a moment when Bucky removed it, but you cracked them open when you wanted to see him. Your vision slowly cleared as you blinked a few times, your mind still floating as he came into view. He called you an angel, but he was the one who had a halo around his head at the moment. A gorgeous angel who had unrightfully had his wings taken away. He smiled like he wanted to eat you alive, but his touch was nothing short of tender when he brought his hand to your face.

“So fucking beautiful. You did so well for me. Fuck, I just wanna clean you with my tongue and fill you up all over again,” he praised as you clenched around nothing and whined. As hot as it sounded, you needed a bit of rest after that. “Not tonight,” he smiled, keeping a hand on you as he grabbed a wipe.

A reason he had everything close by was because you craved his touch after sex. If he ever got too far away, you whimpered and reached for him. It made you feel needy, but he assured you that he needed to keep touching you just as badly.

It just wasn’t fair that he looked so composed.

Bucky continued to shower you with soft praise as he cleaned you up. It didn’t take him long before he wrapped the soft blanket around you, trembles moved through your entire body as he put his arms around you, too. He took aftercare very seriously. It was a way for you to feel cared for and nurtured while allowing your body and brain to return back to normal. He never wanted you to experience negativity or sadness after any sort of session, especially an intense one.

You were aware that he moved you closer in his arms and rested his cheek against the top of your head, but you weren't ready to speak yet. It always took you a minute to come back to yourself and he was never one to rush or push you. If relaxing in his embrace was what it took to return to the world, he was more than content to keep you in his arms.

At least, that was what he told you.

You opened your eyes after a few minutes. Your heartbeat was back to a steady rhythm, but you still weren't ready to move yet. You were warm and safe. Bucky was there to take care of you. But what about him?

Had you taken care of him?

Bucky had a faint smile on his face when you lifted your head, his shoulders relaxed and eyes soft. Like he was at ease with everything around him. “Welcome back, angel,” he whispered, peppering your face with light kisses.

“Hey,” you smiled tiredly, your voice a little hoarse as you brought a hand to his hair, happy that you could touch him again. Judging by the way his eyes slipped shut for a moment before he opened them, he missed your touch, too.

“You okay?”

“I am and so are you. You're okay.” It wasn't a question. Whatever haunted him earlier was gone.

For now.

He didn't tear his gaze away as he reached for the water behind him, which you gratefully accepted as he put it to your lips. “You amaze me, you know? You just came back to yourself, but you're talking about me being okay.”

“Isn’t that why you call me?” You asked with a small frown, taking another large sip. “To help you?”

His brows furrowed. “It’s not just about me. This is about you, too.”

You took one more drink before you could say something stupid. Yes, this was about you, too. How he didn't push too far. How he’d hold you after sex and talk with you because those things were important to you. How he made you feel cherished and wanted for a short while.

You just didn't want to admit that he was a constant in your mind. But would it be so wrong if you did? Even if he’d never date you, didn't he have a right to know how you felt?

Communication was key and you would have to eventually tell him if those feelings persisted.

“It’s about both of us and I just want you to be okay,” is what you said because it was the truth.

He set the water aside and cupped your cheek, his calloused hand a little cool, but nice. You almost wished you could hide from his knowing eyes, but he didn’t press you for more. “I am now,” he said, swallowing a little. “I just couldn't let you see me tonight.”

Worry filled his eyes like he may have upset you, but you shook your head. You had seen his scars, but he was never obligated to show you his body. “You're letting me see you now,” you said, scooting closer as he brought your wrist to his mouth to kiss it.

You thought about how the evening played out. How he asked if you thought he was a good man. How he demanded that you speak his name. And how he said he deserved you. Either something happened while he was gone or someone said or did something to get to him. You wished you knew what it was since he didn’t expand on what had been eating away at him before.

“And before you ask, you didn't hurt me,” you told him, knowing the question was coming. You appreciated that he cared enough to check.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good because I’d never stop hating myself if I did,” he admitted, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “You don't deserve that kind of pain.”

Your heart swelled, not letting any past hurt enter your mind. He made you believe that you deserved better than what you had. It was a good feeling.

“Neither do you. And that's a reason why safewords exist. Both of us can use them,” you reminded him. Like aftercare, he took the words seriously. He listened to you. And if he ever got overwhelmed, he had every right to stop it the same way you did. “So no self-hate tonight.”

He huffed in mock annoyance. “Yes, ma’am. And speaking of self-hate,” he teased, tilting his head to look your way. “I really don’t want to go to therapy tomorrow.”

There was a forced calmness in his blue eyes as you assessed him. “You still don’t like your therapist,” you stated.

One of the conditions of his pardon was that he had to go to therapy. It was meant to help him process his thoughts and past experiences in order to work through them. Though he didn’t tell you what went on in his sessions as it was none of your business, he didn’t keep it a secret from you that the doctor was far from his favorite person.

You wondered if Bucky told her about you.

“What’s there to like?” He asked.

You smiled a little, knowing better than to poke the bear and say she probably wasn't that bad. “Well, being able to speak to someone who provides non-judgemental and empathetic support is one thing.”

“That’s why I like talking to you,” he said, the affection in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh,” you said, not sure what else to say.

Moments like that made you think he cared. No, that wasn’t right. You knew he cared about you. But hearing things like that made you feel like there was hope for more and he wasn’t ready for that.

Hope was both a wonderful and dangerous thing.

“Have you met anyone else?” He asked suddenly, moving his hand to your back.

It was a question Bucky asked every time he had you over. He said from the start if there was another man in your life that you’d rather be with, someone who could offer you more, he’d step aside. There wasn't anyone else. You didn't want anyone else.

And while it was admirable that he would walk away if that ever changed, your heart ached at the thought that he’d easily let you go. Because at the end of the day he wasn't ready for a relationship. Not yet.

Even if he was, who said he wanted one with you?

“No, I haven't met anyone,” you said, feeling the warm breath of his exhale against your skin as his hand moved up and down your back. It relaxed you more and you found yourself fighting a yawn. “Have you?”

“No,” he chuckled. The crinkles by his eyes made him look carefree. “Not since you saved me.”

You shut your eyes, afraid that tears would well up if you looked at him. “I didn't save you. All I did was buy you a coffee one afternoon,” you whispered dismissively.

That day changed your life.

“I’m going to let that slide since you're sleepy, but I’m going to remind you when you're wide awake that you did a lot more than that,” he spoke. He held you a little tighter when you stayed quiet. You were more tired than you thought. “Get some sleep, angel. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You let your eyes shut at his command. “Thank you for taking care of me, Bucky.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

There was something else unspoken in the air, but a tender kiss to your forehead stopped you from reading too deeply into it.

In the morning, he’d send you back to your place after he made you breakfast. He’d text you later to make sure you were okay. He would continue to check in and you would do your best not to fall for him more. Because one day he wouldn't need you anymore. You didn't know when that day would come, but tonight you could indulge in the fantasy that Bucky wanted you to be his girl.

Permanently.

I just want these two happy and together. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lubrumalis]

ghost character analysis

tw: spoilers from ghost mw2 comics, nsfw, dead dove do not eat, mature content.

this is pretty much a part 2 to ghost headcanons except with more lore and analysis (im still not sure if reboot ghost has the same backstory as the og ghost).

ghost is not a cold, calculated, ruthless man. maybe in a separate au or something, but theres a huge difference between ghost and simon riley. in fact, we need to understand that the reason he even chose ghost as a new name for himself is because of all that's happened to him. his family got killed, he got tortured by roba, and had to eliminate many men on his own. before that he was simon, not ghost. in the comic he literally calls the child hostages he was saving ‘sweetheart’ and ‘love’. hes not that mean and cold yall

we know that PTSD does shit to it's victims, ghost lost his entire family and had no one. think of it as a coping mechanism to have a new name to be known as.

ghost is a ruthless killer. simon is just some guy.

ghost sets himself to an incredibly high standard of discipline. i think it's intuitive that military boys will need to be punctual and organized to some degree, but ghost takes this to a whole other level. considering his father's abusive behavior (explained by his disturbing statements said to simon, is a drug addict, and beats simons mom) his home life was likely chaotic as a child.

in the mw2: ghost comic (issue #3) it specifically stated the following: "discipline, precision, control. these are what riley built his whole life on. break those down and the dark stuff begins to ooze out..." again, this is probably a form of trauma response to his childhood.

so what does this lead to? well firstly, this probably means his room is incredibly tidy and organized (monotone design i know :,c).

would never in his life touch drugs. this is a promise he made to himself.

also kinda proves that ghost aint a reckless guy. he thinks things through before doing it.

ghost isn’t that hypersexual. theres no way of knowing his history with women, but i like to think ghost is not that horny 24/7 and needs a fuckbuddy. in the mw2 comic, he was on a mission and was in an area full of prostitutes (wasn’t actively on duty, but on his way) when they tried to hit on him he politely rejects one of them, and later tells them to fuck off😀 so yea contrary to popular belief i dont think he really enjoys one night stands or the idea of being entertained by random women. in fact, i hc he might actually be a virgin or just have a really low body count.

ghost is a feminist!😁 (misandrist too). ok let me reword that, ghost doesnt like men and respects women. one of the reasons why he doesn’t want to be around prostitutes and do one night stands (his father killed a hooker in front of him, very traumatic) is because he thinks the concept of quick, casual sex is not good for society and dilutes the value of meaningful relationships. but also, remember the discipline, precision, control thing? its apart of his principle. but also, in the comic, sparks (soldier he worked with) knocked out and attempted to rape a woman, ghosts literally looked disgusted and called the police (also why he’d never do that himself, i dont get the hcs that say he does). ghosts seen how his dad treated his mom and absolutely hates abusers. anyways onto misandry—i think ghost internally thinks men are violent and disgusting (ghosts would choose the bear over the man, even though hes a man) mainly because throughout his military career majority of the bad stuff hes seen was done by men, so hes much more relaxed in a room of women vs man. ghost thinks his dad is the epitome of pure evil (canon! he said this to his therapist). this doesn’t mean hes scared or hates all men tho!

ghost isn’t close with tf141… including soap. now before you attack me let me explain. sure, he trusts them to some degree, but i dont think they naturally just hangout when they’re not deployed. in the end we need to understand they are SAS soldiers, they are working a real job that mainly consists of them shooting and dismantling others. considering ghosts betrayal in the past (in the comic, a few soldiers ghost previously worked with killed his entire family 😢) he isn’t gonna just trust his teammates because theyre his teammates. im also pretty sure they all live in different cities while not deployed. tf141 probably all want to separate their job from their personal lives, which includes each other. but onto soap, i dont think him and ghost have a deep brotherly relationship. but i think they care about each other, but exchanging some dad jokes and bantering doesn’t mean they’re suddenly soulmates or brothers. think about it… you and you’re co worker joke around sometimes, never hangout outside of work, and now people are shipping you and calling the two of you besties. makes no sense.

ghost is extremely patriotic. in the comic (i reference this way too much but theres SOOO MUCH LORE i recommend reading it) ghost tells his teammates the reason for joining the military: queen and country, right after 9/11. he also said “the world has changed”. interestingly enough army enlistment did actually skyrocketed after 9/11 attacks, ghost was among them. he probably thought ww3 was about to happen, or that ‘theres no more peace’ or whatever. i hc being obsessed with soccer too lmao and getting mad if english teams dont win. also his playful banter with johnny “get us a tea?”. probably very proud of his british heritage.

ghost doesn’t have much friends. hes a really, reallyyyyy lonely guy. i hc him as an introvert in the first place, but trust issues make this worse. in the comic, he was literally in the newspaper for killing his family and then killing himself (he didnt, he was framed that way tho) so its likely most of his formers friends probably think hes dead. ghost likely got some sort of amnesty or exemption from the military after knowing he didn’t actually kill his family, but whats in the news stays true to the public. even if he does have friends he probably doesn’t share feelings with them or form a long term bond.

ghost is extremely cynical. this is obvious tbh, but i think ghost believes hes going to die in the middle of a battlefield, shot or stabbed, a painful death, body left to rot for weeks, and no one to remember him. just like that. and he accepts that fact too.

ghost isn’t a picky eater. growing up in an abusive household where his parents couldn’t hold a stable job, he had to eat what there was. some days he settles for cheap beans and toast and when people call him out for it, he tells em to fuck off😀

ghost is emotionally fucked up, probably kind of depressed. i mean this guys been through hell: got sa’d, buried alive, had to dig through underground dirt and worms with a jawbone, tortured in horrible ways, had his entire family killed, abusive dad, and the weight of his grey morales because he killed lots of people as a soldier. wow! would you look at that list, itd be more strange if he wasn’t emotionally fucked up after was has happened😅. even when tortured, seeing his family dead, ghost was never shown to have cried in the comic. i hc hes emotionally numb. however, i do think hes emotionally MATURE and able to communicate his emotions, but hes still emotionally fucked. for example a scene where he was talking about his experience with roba (guy who tortured ghost) and ghosts father to a therapist. i think ghosts may be traumatized, but this doesn’t stop him from attempting to get help and communicating how he feels and thinks about this world.

ghost wears a mask... not because hes insecure and traumatized it's to separate ghost from simon riley. first of all he learned the consequences of revealing your identity during deployment, in the comic, he reveals his face in missions before his family got killed. i think he wears a mask because 1) its practical, no one knows who he is, 2) an analogy for himself to remind him simon riley, his original identity, was dead the moment his family was murdered, this SAS soldier with a skull mask is GHOST (yes this is canon, ghost references in the comic!).

in issue #1 while some kids were being held hostage, he starts telling his life story to them to calm them down/distract them from the bad situation. this is his explanation to why he wears a skull mask, word by word: "I bet you're wondering why I wear these bones on my face. It's a tribute to an old friend of mine. He's dead now, but man if he wasn't the baddest motherfucker on the planet."

in issue #6, when ghost was trekking through a jungle in the middle of nowhere attempting to kill roba (a drug lord that started this all, brainwashed soldiers to kill ghosts family), he was never caught. ghost himself, the narrator, says that "even for a single man to get through the jungle, the patrols, the wall, the security... well that man would have to be a ghost."

however, im still a little confused whether or not reboot ghost and 2009 have the same backstories. reboot ghosts mask is more realistic and his look is much more intimidating, his reason for wearing that kind of mask is probably psychological warfare (getting milena the financier to speak up about makarov). i think 2009 ghosts reason to wearing a mask is more personal compared to reboot.

BUT WHAT ABOUT AN S/O???

i think ghost is the guy to not have one in the first place. obviously. but i lowkey think if he had one and really liked them, he would commit. in fact i find it hard to imagine hes a player or isn’t serious about relationships. when his brother tommy got addicted to drugs and fucked up his life, simon quit the military until tommy got 100% better and married. yup. he stayed to help him recover, for years. thats how loving and committed this man is🥹🥹.

ghost would not cheat on his s/o. i can't stress how important this hc is, because it's so out of character for him to do so. sure, guys in the military statistically have higher divorce rates, incidences of infidelity, and much more red flag stuff, but knowing what happened to him, he would never do that. doesn't matter how stressed, lonely, sexually frustrated this man is; he would not cheat on his partner. this guy has been through far more stressful situations and got through it, you think hes gonna cheat because hes stressed because of work?

its not sunshine and rainbows or absolute toxicity being with him. it's not really a mix of both either. ghost isn't that princess treatment, super squishy and cuddly, sweet guy who likes fluffy stuff. he definitely isn't the toxic guy who leaves you with mixed signals either.

hes quite the gentleman when it comes to approaching relationships, hes seen how his dad treated his mom, and ghost wants to do the exact opposite. i believe ghost likes to use the traditional courting methods when dating someone: gifting flowers, paying for dates, holding the door open (ladies first typa guy!!), the old fashioned stuff. idk if i should point it out again but this guy DOES NOT FW modern dating practices, he wouldn't download dating apps, or start 'talking stages'. i dont think he would write love letters just because hes not very good at writing poetry or expressing his feelings in the first place.

theres still downsides to being with him. the long distance, the time being apart (months and months). but i dont think he'd go as far as being emotionally avoidant.

also something really random ive noticed is that 2009 and reboot ghost are very different, personality wise. i like to think that 2009 ghost represents simon riley much better, but the reboot ghost actually gives the essence and character of what a 'ghost' in the military is.

more random headcanons:

simon prefers dogs over cats because dogs are loyal and stay with you until the end (stereotypically)

hates snakes and spiders

probably wouldn’t do 50/50 on dates, he pays!

avoids saying manchester slang when deployed

drinks and smokes. not always. he’s disciplined but he still does that stuff.. hes a british guy in his 30s whos kinda depressed, grew up with adults around him smoking 24/7, whatd you think😀😀 (its canon that most of tf141 smoke anyway)

listens to 80’s rock music. its canon that his mom enjoys the band siouxsie and the banshees :)), he probs does too

shaves his beard

is actually confident hes not bad looking. dude, hes 6’2, in shape with a jawline🙄

i don't enjoy hcs of ghost being the scariest out of tf141 (appearance wise yes). but soap seems much more scary imo, he was the youngest guy to pass SAS selections in the history of the UK military, and was nicknamed soap because of fast and good he is at cleaning up 'messes' (basically killing people).

id arguably say ghost is the most compassionate out of 141, if we're talking about the OG 2009 one.

[okkotsuus]

"YOU'RE AS BEAUTIFUL AS THE DAY I LOST YOU" (katsuki b.) !

features: katsuki bakugo

contents: fantasy au. angst. hurt/comfort/more hurt. mutual pining. barabrian!katsuki. fem!reader. childhood friends to lovers to strangers to lovers again. kidnapping. grief. crying. implied panic attack. major character death. no beta we die like men. 3.9k

notes: i've been yearning desperately to make bakugo say stoick's famous line from httyd2 (my second favorite movie)... if there's interest i'm considering continuing this into the canon verse with it being these two 'reincarnated'.

tagging: @saexy (for enabling and encouraging me in killing off characters) & @meristryker (for enabling me in the gc like a real one)

never in all his life did the great katsuki bakugo think that he would ever love someone enough that he could die. watching the loving smiles of his parents, the gentle caress of his father's hand to soothe his mother's unbridled anger: it made his stomach churn.

yet, at the tender age of seven, while on a trip to a nearby village to discuss the war shifting on the horizon, he finds himself absolutely smitten by their chieftain's daughter. wide e/c eyes peeking out from behind her mother's leg, hands clutching onto the hem of the long skirt.

katsuki finds himself enamoured in that instance, seeing sweet you, looking at the boy with such curious eyes. he stomps over to you: temper even fiery in his youth. his hand grabs onto yours as he hauls you out from behind the safety of your mother.

under the dim candlelight of the meeting room, flickering flames cast dancing rays across your skin. his chubby little face is scrunched into a scowl, tugging you out of the room and into the courtyard with a tenderness that betrayed his expression.

"i'm katsuki and you better not forget it!" his pitchy voice calls, still dragging you behind him. he looks over his shoulder, soft red eyes narrowed in what was an attempt to be intimidating.

but when he sees the relaxing of your eyelids, falling slightly in contentment, with a warm smile that rivals any feeling of victory: the mask of indifference slips in a blink of an eye. red dusts over the slops of his face, baby-fat painted the same carnelian as his eyes. his small hand grips tighter onto yours, as if he never would let you go.

your chubby little face stretches as your smile widens into a toothy grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. "got it, katsuki, i'm y/n!" he swears your voice is just like the lullaby his mother would hum while rocking him to sleep, bringing a rush of warmth through his chest.

that day, katsuki bakugou falls terribly in love with y/n l/n.

the two of you are deemed inseparable, hands always connecting like opposing poles of a magnet. pinkies intertwined stronger than any woven cloth. it's as pure and innocent as it can be.

if one were to see y/n, then it was irrevocably certain that katsuki was a few steps away. it sends rumors spiralling through the lands that there will be a union between the bakugo barbaricum and l/n dynasty. you're only eight when there's an attempt made for your hand.

the thought of two families as powerful as you and katsuki's joining was a fearful thing to many. it spelled doom for many weaker civilizations, those who had dug their own graves with their actions.

your family, blessed be you to have been born to loving parents in a world such as this, easily rejects the many proposals. the l/n dynasty is in a state of power where they are not forced to fend for their village: allowing you this freedom.

running through the streets of his stronghold, chasing each other for the sake of some game that was the farthest thing from either of your minds. katsuki feels whole when you are at his side. the world doesn't seem so ugly, he doesn't feel so angry, everything sings the hymns of the heavens.

he can't pull his ruby eyes off of your form by the age of fifteen. the katsuki you had known, baby-faced with a slight stutter, has began to fill out into a man. his shoulders broaden and begin to carry thick cords of muscle. the chubbiness of his cheeks begins to give rise to sharper angles. his whiny voice is pushed aside by a more gravelly tone. he shoots up like a sprout, hunching over slightly in faces that used to fit him so easily.

but he isn't the only one who is growing into his frame. your shoulders soften at the corners, collarbones visible with every slight movement. your baby fat begins to settle and collect on your hips, rounding them. those toothy grins of yours become framed by pretty lips, always looking soft as a pillow. clothes that used to drape over your like a sheet now feel tighter in certain places, stretching over curves that popped up overnight.

the two of you don't know what to do with yourselves, stolen looks when the other isn't looking. you still hook pinkies, but the touch sends flares of heat running up the back of your neck. it's like you were just meeting each other for the first time all over again.

katsuki feels like a damn sap with the way his heart thunders under his skin: threatening to burst out. he's too taken to notice the heat that was rising to your face whenever he was around, the way your hands nervously would grip onto the swaying fabric of your skirt. too blind to see that you were just as infatuated with him as he was with you.

hurried words, lingering touches, sneaking glances, the two of you had every hint of love right in front of your faces. yet, there's a hesitance that lingers in the back of young minds: afraid that falling in love would end up with no one catching them.

unsurprisingly, katsuki is the one who jumps first. it's a quiet night, the moon is high in the sky. his breath puffs out in front of him like smoke, winter beginning to show herself once more.

you looked too beautiful under the soft azure glow that the celestial sky casts upon you, he simply couldn't bear another moment without you known how much his very soul ached for you.

on the eve of his sixteenth birthday he whispers the words like a prayer, voice softened and gentle for once in his life. "y/n... you plague my every waking thought, i cannot let my heart beat any longer without it being yours."

e/c eyes widen as your head snaps to him, lips parting in shock. katsuki beats you to it, rough palms (once baby-soft) cupping your cheek with a tenderness he was unaware he possessed.

the stars illuminate the sunkissed slopes of his cheekbones, showing the fine lashes that fan out over his eyes. katsuki was ethereal, in every sense of the word, it catches your breath in a hitch. your mind stumbles through everything you could say right now, desperately trying to find the perfect response.

but when the pads of his thumbs drag over the apples of your cheeks, leaving a buzz in the wake of his touch, all rational thought leaves as you allow words to flow like a stream. "i have loved you longer than i have known you, katsuki." your voice is hushed, only filling the small space between the two of you: like a secret that only he and you would ever know.

it sends a trill up your spine when his eyes visibly soften, his face had been growing more and more sharp by the day but only when he was with you did the curve of his cheeks soften. he turns back into a boy around you, as you turn back into a girl when held so gently between his hands.

katsuki surges forwards, nose clumsily knocking against yours, teeth colliding with your own. he's inexperienced, never having kissed a girl, much less even though of kissing anyone but you. you both are a mess, giggling softly through messy pecks smearing over each other's faces. it feels like you're both those giddy kids once more, chasing the other through the cobbled streets of your village. he makes your heart sing.

it was even harder to be apart from him now, hands fully clasped together as you walk through the streets of either of your hometowns. yet, no one is surprised. neither of your parents nor his even bat an eye when you announce the courtship at a family dinner.

love is as natural as breathing for you and katsuki. inherently you have always known exactly what the other needs. he knows just how much you like the wildflowers that grow en-route between your homes. you know just how much he likes when you rise on your tiptoes and press a kiss against the corner of his lips.

it's young and dumb, a rush of big emotions and smiles that stretch your cheeks so far they ache. once you both are eighteen, katsuki turns the courtship into a betrothal. an elegant gold ring, with a garnet slotted right in the center, it sits pretty on your ring finger. his band is thicker, small e/c gemstones scattered along the surface. when in battle he loops it through a chain around his neck: pressing a kiss to the ring before charging forwards.

the world has known y/n l/n and katsuki bakugo have been in love for nearly twelve years, official for three, and betrothed for one. the bakugo barbaricum and the l/n dynasty have began making their plans to unify upon the wedding. it sparks a wave of unease in the badlands.

all it takes is an emissary sent from the dark forest for your world to crumble into shambles. a demon who seems to be the land's scourge reincarnated, hand that turn all to ash, pillages your beloved village. he comes in tow with a mimic and a fire mage. destruction rains as you are brought to the center as their singular demand is you.

your eyes lock with the demon's red eyes, a color that had made you feel so safe until now. the hair on the nape of your neck stands pin-straight as his hand extended towards you: palm up.

a flurry of emotions rush through you like a burst dam, memories of katsuki at the forefront. you want to be selfish, to damn him and his band of criminals to hell, to fight back despite the gravity of the situation. but he is bringing terror upon the people you swore to protect with your life.

so, you step forwards, soft hand sliding into his own. never had a rough palm felt like daggers against your skin, never had you so violently despised the way carmine shines in the light of blue flames.

to save your people, your family, the home you have known your entire life: you go. swept away in black mist. the last thing you see of that place is the bakugo horde rushing towards the gates, your eyes lock with katsuki's before the void claims you.

katsuki lets out a guttural scream as her charges head first into the miasma, falling onto the ground as the last wisp flows just through his fingers. his fist slams against the ground, hands gasping at the dirt you had just been on. he allows himself to cry in front of someone other than you, a wail echoing through the ruins of your village.

that day, you disappear off the face of the realm. no matter how many search parties are sent into the dark forests in the badlands, they all return empty-handed (if they return at all). katsuki keep his ring around his neck, so it beats against his bare chest with every movement: like a reminder of how it felt when his heart actually beat .

scars wind around his arms, around his biceps, over his forearms, across his shoulders. his face is hardened, permanent frown on the lips you used to kiss so tenderly. he's angrier than ever, fuse short as his attention span.

he is a shell of the man he had been, going through the motions of survival but never truly being alive.

this persists for a grueling two years. for seven-hundred and thirty days. for seventeen-thousand five-hundred twenty hours. he is separated from the only person that has ever felt like home, the woman he has loved longer than he knew how to read.

he masks it behind his ego, boisterous laugh to hide the ringing in is ears that hadn't been able to stop. he's more violent the field, less forgiving when in training with kirishima. the explosions that thunder from his palms produce a blackened smoke that lingers and settles in his lungs like a fog.

yearning hits him late at night when he lays alone in bed, a bed that you had once shared with him. silent tears pour, running down the sides of katsuki's face as he stares blankly up at the ceiling. his breath feels short as his chest heaves to get air in. the man's mind is clouded with the look on your face as those bastards took you. he can still remember every single little twitch of your expression when you finally saw him. he remembers the way your breath hitched. he remembers the tears that began to pool at the corners of your eyes.

but, most of all, he remembers not seeing you: for what feels like the first time in his life.

katsuki cannot recall when he finally fell asleep, or if he ever even truly did. his dreams are plagued with you anyways, so the line between memory and dream is thin as a tightrope.

he has a dream that he makes it in time to save you and wakes up alone. that one sticks with him for months, hanging over him like a shadow. if he was only a minute sooner, a stride faster, reacted quicker. maybe you would be in his arms right now instead of gods know where.

relief comes in a rumor that circles in a tavern that a woman with h/c hair and e/c eyes was spotted wondering through the dark forest. katsuki doesn't hesitate, he makes no effort to send out a scout party. he rides at dawn, horse hooves beating against the grass in a frenzied gallop as he makes his way into the badlands.

none of the rouges or thieves hope to stand a chance with him, the smart ones don't even try. he vanquishes the less fortunate with a single swing of his cutlass. the man doesn't stop to rest, only to water his horse and allow it to graze while he catches a brief nap.

his horse comes to a stop right outside the dark forests, whinnying in rejection to enter. katsuki doesn't blame the poor thing, this was the kind of place people went with no intention to come back from. he dismounts, not tying his horse off: it would return with a whistle.

the forest is eerie, yawning opening that is reminiscent of a gaping mouth. but he didn't fear. because at this point, he'd rather not come back if it meant he wasn't coming back with you.

footfalls crunching against leaves and sticks echo through the dim lit treeline. the canopy is so thick that it completely obscures the bright sunlight katsuki has just been under: the perfect place for criminals to hide. the trees creak and groan, as if the land itself was breathing and living.

only when he hears the snap of a twig does he stop, his head snaps around, a flash of h/c darting just out of the corner of his visions. the man's heart stops as he stumbles to pursue, not minding the whipping of low handing branches against his face. not when he could see you darting through the underbrush.

he finally sees you in the full when you run into a path dead-ended by brambles. it's really you. y/n, his y/n.

but you look over your shoulder with such a forlorn look it makes his heart ache in his chest. you don't believe that it's really him. "toga, this isn't funny, it's cruel to keep making me see him." your voice is rougher than he remembered, as if your throat had been worn. it makes his fists clench at his sides.

the mimic had been wearing his face, just to torment you?

just the thought of it sends a rage burning deep in his chest. he has no way of knowing what you have been through. katsuki couldn't protect you: like he always feared he would fail to do.

his steps toward you are hesitant, ruby red eyes softening the second he sees your face. his heart is pounding out of his ribs, it makes him wonder if you can hear it.

a rough hand reaches up to roughly tug the chain that held his engagement band around his neck, the links snapping and clattering to the ground. he doesn't even look at it. with a gentleness, he holds out the ring to you.

your eyes dart back between the metal and him, hands tentatively reaching for it. the thundering race of your heartbeat is all you can hear. your hands, once soft, now rough as his bush against his own as you roll the ring between your fingers.

katsuki's heart breaks when he feels the callouses on your fingertips. he lowers slowly to his knees in front of you, tears fighting their way to prick at the corners of his eyes. he looks up at you like you are the light in the world, a goddess before him. in a way, you are, because he had prayed to every deity to hold you again, even if it was only once more.

"you're as beautiful as the day i lost you." his words come out in a rasp. thick emotion coursing through his chest; nearly choking him.

he watched your eyes widen, tears pooling as you too crash onto the ground. your arms wrap tight around his neck, face pressed side-by-side with his own. strong arms encircle your waist in an instant, pressing you closer with an urgency.

"katsuki... oh gods, katsuki..." you don't even know what to say, just repeating his name like a desperate prayer. your cheeks are wet and your chest aches but you don't care, because he's finally here.

lips clash desperately, just as messy as the kiss the two of you first shared five years ago. it's a mess of teeth and tongue as your fingers tangle into ash-blonde hair, his hands finding the back of your head and your hip. he sucks the breath out of you, as if wanting to absorb you into his being.

and you'd let him if he asked.

carmine eyes search for e/c, his hands cupping your cheeks as he pulls back to study your face. it's like you never left. your eyes are tired, there's some grime on your cheeks, a soft scar above your eyebrow that you've had since you were thirteen.

the softest smile spreads on his face, forehead pressing against yours as his lashes flutter shut. katsuki lets out a deep sigh, one he had been holding for nearly two years now.

warmth blooms in your chest as everything finally settles back into place like puzzle pieces. your hearts beat in sync, you draw breath when he exhales, everything is right in the world once more.

but your heart skips a beat as your eyes open to see that cursed white hair with horns peeking out from below it. tomura shigaraki. a wicked smirk on his lips as he's leaned back against a tree, simply watching.

your hands grip tighter onto the back of the shawl draping over katsuki's shoulders, breathing turning shaky and ragged.

no. no. no. they couldn't take this from you. not again. not after how hard you fought to escape the league just at the fleeting chance of being able to see the man you love. this had to be some cruel joke, right? a trick of the light, maybe...

even you aren't naive enough to believe that, your eyes close as you lean against katsuki, head burying into the crook of his neck. your fiddle with his hands to slip the ring back onto it's rightful place on his third finger. a part of you had already resigned to being ripped away again.

after two years with the demon, you learned firsthand what shigaraki was capable of. and you were not going to allow katsuki to find it out as well.

your legs shook as you stood, a weak smile given at your lover's confused look. "i'll always love you, 'suki, you know that." his eyes widen as his head nods, brows furrowing.

"then let me keep you safe."

carnelian irises widen in realization as his head turns to look back, growl ripping from his chest at the sight of the scourge of the realm's protege. his hands immediately reach for the hilt of his sword, explosions popping in his palms.

but you're already beginning to approach. katsuki seizes you in one arm, hauling you away like the day you first met. he runs through the forest with you: knowing that shigaraki would not allow the both of you to leave.

he bounds over winding tree roots, holding you steady and tight against his chest. the impending sense of doom begins to crawl up the back of his neck, but he needs you to be safe.

with you in his arm, he stumbles out of the forest, shrill whistle leaving his lips as the sound of hooves grows closer. with ease he sets you up on the saddle, but he does not join. you realize immediately what is about to happen. "katsuki-"

"no. it's my turn to keep you safe, y/n. i've always loved you, and i always will. in every life i will find you, and in every life, i will protect you." his words bring tears to your eyes as you desperately stake your head, sobs bubbling past your lips.

shigaraki creeps out of the forest and he delivers a harsh smack to the horse's haunches, sending it galloping away. within a second later a hand is reaching through katsuki's chest, mocking laugh against his ear.

"how heroic. i'll make sure you die slow, barbarian."

never in all his life did the great katsuki bakugo think that he would ever love someone enough that he could die.

that was until he lay on the edge of the forest floor, lifeblood leaking from the gaping hole in the center of the chest. but he wasn't anguished: because he died for you, the only person who he would ever love.

okkotsuus 24

[ebbpup]

posting about this au cause i like it

more about it under here

timeline time!!

(This part is also like, a headcanon for the canon timeline) so wanda and cosmo leave for vacation, its pretty soon after they stop living with timmy, so maybe when peri is 9-10. they leave him in the care of Cosmo's parents, however it can be difficult for them so other fairies (probably some of the main ones we see outside of the family) would look after him. there were lots of expectations set on him due to how powerful he was at birth and his family history so he always pushed himself to do as good as he could! He even got a scholarship into a really good school!

now, here is where the timeline diverges, while for the canon timeline, Peri keeps trying, gets into a good college/university, becomes a fairy godparents, ect. ect. but not here, when he's about 16 he's tired of all the pressure put on him, he wants out, he envies the humans and wishes he could have a life like that. so why doesn't he? he packs his stuff and leaves. he's figured out how to give himself more human proportions but he has to wear a beanie and a jacket to hide his wings and crown. he manages to find a new family (he says his bio parents are dead), goes to a normal school and starts living a normal, "human" life.

eventually he is able to move out of home and into the apartment complex along with 3 roommates (will design them soon, probably). he gets into college/university and is able to do an online course (of what? idk). his life is good! he hasn't seen anything magical in years! nobody knows where he is (they are aware he is missing in fairy world but have no idea where he could be, not even Irep [or, still Foop since he doesn't know that Peri changed his name] knows where he is)! everything is good. everything is peaceful.

he has no idea that his parents have moved in a floor below him, he only finds out once he runs into the new family in town. Peri bumps into Hazel in her family, that's where the first comic takes place. They keep bumping into him and decide to invite him over for dinner since he seems like such a nice guy and has been very welcoming, Hazel suggests that they invite Wanda and Cosmo too since they've also been very welcoming and they decide, sure why not! By this point Hazel knows that Cosmo and Wanda think that Peri might be their kid since they have told her, and she's gonna give them the opportunity to talk to him! The dinner is a nightmare for Peri, dodging every single question that could reveal his identity, they can't know that he's their son, he can't go back to fairy world! luckily Hazel's parents don't really leave so they can't ask him directly, but the questions do get close. eventually the dinner ends and he can go home.

Que his parents constantly looking for him and Peri hiding, so many occasions of them just missing him. They've probably told others in Fairy World about how they've found him, even Irep finds out (who is now pissed at the name change). So eventually not only is he hiding from his parents, but sometimes others will also try to find him because like dude you went missing as a teenager of course they are looking for you.

also, Peri needs a job and gets hired as a babysitter to look after Dev. Dev and Hazel becoming friends is a nightmare for him.

[crescenthistory]

Miracles All Around

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Reader

Synopsis: When the world is equally as complicated for you and your partners to navigate post-war as it was pre-war, you are given the opportunity to find your forever peace in the same place you found your forever love. AKA: the Marauders' journey to being hired at Hogwarts.

Words: 6.9k

Warnings: set after the first wizarding war (that had a canon non-compliant semi-happy ending), references to death and grief, mental and physical health issues, lycanthropy discrimination, short war flashback at the start

Tags: fem!reader, use of y/n, not betaread, established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff, lots of crying, lots of kissing, supportive partners, found family, alternate universe, some snape hate, icon minerva mcgonagall, the black brothers got a happy ending, dorlene didn't

A/N: this is perhaps my favourite au to ever au, i love this universe, and i hope you will too<3 there is more to come for them

The tears were streaming more rapidly from your face than Sirius had any chance to wipe away, even with his hands cupping your cheeks a bit roughly. Your own arms were occupied by James’ circling your whole body into a massive bear hug behind you, his cheers a vague echo in your ear.

Everything was buzzing. Nothing felt real.

You won. It was over. It’s all alright.

It was Remus’ eyes seeking out yours beside you, forehead covered with matted tawny curls pressed against yours. They were the kind of brown that can be best described as amber; it became your favourite colour years ago. His gaze was loving and insistent, as if he aimed to anchor you to the moment with it. You think maybe he did.

Another few bodies slammed into your little huddle, essentially creating some unorthodox group hug on the muddied field turned battle ground… turned field again? The battle was over, there were fanfares in the background, more highly ranked officials finally stepping foot after the 20-something year olds did the hard work and defeated the final members of the Death Eaters. Your friends smelled of sweat, blood and smoke, and you had never been happier.

Another sob made its way up your throat, creating a haunting choir with the cries from what you thought was Lily, Mary and Sirius. James shook behind you too, but you were uncertain if it was with laughter or cries – both would be appropriate. Remus’ forehead was still pressed to yours and you felt his tears trail down his nose onto yours. They were warmer.

You were all warm, you were all here. 

Just as you could start feeling the tips of your fingers again, the shock wave that hit you the second the last dark wizard dropped fading, you were jostled by Sirius ripping himself from your arms and pushing himself vigorously through your huddle of people.

With fear still ready to be deployed at any moment, adrenaline soaring, your head snapped up to follow his movements, legs ready to run to help him – when you saw him launch himself into another boy with black curls, tackling him to the ground. Your fear seeped away the second you saw this was not an attack; this was a hug. A long awaited, well deserved hug. 

For his sake, you pretended you didn’t hear Regulus’ hiccuping sobs as he clutched to his big brother’s shoulders, for once in his life not upset with Sirius dirtying his clothes. Sirius’ cries were just as unrestrained if not more, whispering celebrations and praise. When you felt the tremoring behind you this time, you knew in your bones that James was crying. You leaned further into him and dragged Remus with you as you looked towards your last lover, all encompassed by each other.

“We did it,” you murmured without thinking.

“We made it, dove.” A kiss, two, three to your sopping wet face. 

There would still be endless lists of tasks to do, nothing was ever truly over. But even the officials surrounding you knew this to be a crucial moment for you, and did not disturb as your makeshift family embraced and settled with the fact that even with all that was lost, you ended up with each other.

You could finally breathe. 

​​・・・・・​​⟢

And then you were there again – on a slightly too small seat on a magically fast train headed straight for Hogwarts with months until the next departure, feeling a giddiness that was all too familiar in its warmth yet made a stranger by the years of cold you had endured.

“I cannot believe they are actually letting you step foot back in the place.”

Remus shook his head in faux disapproval, eyes filled with mirth as he waited for James’ reaction. His fingers were skillfully peeling your clementine for you without looking, a tradition established in third year.

“Of course they are!” James exclaimed haughtily, almost clambering up into Sirius’ lap to point an accusatory finger at Remus. “I made that place more fun than it had ever been.”

“Um,” Sirius scoffed. “I think you mean we, don’t you, honey?” James waved him off with a yeah, yeah motion. Remus exchanged a look with you as if you were in on some hilarious secret together.

“All I’m saying is that if Minnie hasn’t received a proper warning that her four favourite students are returning as faculty, she might have a heart attack.”

“Careful Moons, or I’m going to start thinking you don’t want me here, and marriage licences aren’t easy to revoke these days.” 

Your heart was full.

What does one do when the dust settles? How does one react when the sun rises at last and you want to revel in her touch despite your churning stomach?

At first, none of you had an answer to that. Your makeshift family, your pack as Sirius often insisted on calling it, only partly jokingly, at least had the luxury of sitting with a shared feeling of coming up empty. 

Once the dead are buried and the living are hugged, the world is meant to keep turning. It was all you had wanted, it was what you fought so hard for. Only to find that the ‘normal’ you returned to faces its own challenges – more mundane in nature, yet no less violent in sentiment. James with his grief, Sirius with his trauma, Remus with his affliction. It makes it hard to respectively enjoy jobs, keep jobs and even be offered them in the first place.

As for you, the war settled into your bones deeper than you were willing to admit, though you were confident your boys were well aware. Distance became your biggest enemy, chokeholds grasping at you whenever it grew, even if it was just for a grocery run or a short shift. Focus is the least of your priorities when it feels like lives are on the line, and employers don’t much appreciate that, especially when you know they aren’t actually. 

It felt unjust to complain when it was so much more than what most got. You were blessed with keeping your very closest close, though you felt the losses as well. 

Still, you wanted to burn the world down for not being what they were promised, what they gave it all for.

Remus had it the worst. His missions for the Order were arguably some of the most demanding any of you were put through; grueful transformations and roughhousing with werewolves, cosplaying as everything he always hated within himself. You shouted from the rooftops that your boyfriend – and then husband – was a war hero.

The Ministry labelled him a risk.

While James, Sirius and you were offered positions either in or with the Ministry in the immediate aftermath of war, as an extension of gratitude for your services and a requirement of proven talent, Remus barely got a measly medal. One he can put on his resume, sure, but that will be instantly overshadowed by the flagged tab from the Ministry regarding his registered lycanthropy. 

If Remus could not find work, you refused to leave him be with his thoughts and his pains in the flat. You tried to do things together and while your atoms sung at his presence, you both grew heavier by the day. James and Sirius did what they could as they surfed through different positions in the Ministry, both to strategise Remus’ way into employment through their connections and to brighten the moods.

Complicated days are those in the after. It was all you could do to hold onto each other’s strengths like buoys in the dwindling storm.

Lovely nights of intimacy, painful conversations ran through over and over again until they felt more soothed, reliving the small joys you missed when you thought them obsolete; stargazing, steaming tea, folding socks. Kisses for the emotional pains, back massages for the physical ones

“Where’d you go, dovey?”

Remus’ voice gently pulled at your mind’s sleeve, tethering you back down to him with a careful look and a rueful smile. His tawny hair was messy by the evening you had spent curled up in bed, riding out your separate flares. His time with the werewolves had worn his already aching joints thin, while your stint that went awry in the second year of war resulted in thundering magical headaches, residue Crucio’s singeing through your nerve endings. It made it easy to fall into the trap of flashbacks whenever the pain revisited, prompting Remus’ more prominent worry.

You flashed him a soft smile to ease it, mulling it over. “I don’t really know. Nowhere. Everywhere. I’m alright though, lovely boy.”

With a quiet grunt, he shifted his hips so he could lay down beside you where you were wrong-side up in the bed, head by the foot. A warm hand stretched out to cup your cheek, thumb gently saying hello. “Your thinking furrow says otherwise,” he murmured.

Though it wasn’t necessarily funny, you laughed at his analysis. “My thinking furrow?” you questioned, leaning into his touch.

A small smile eventually spread across his face as Remus lifted his hand to smooth out a – nonexistent, in your opinion – furrow between your brows in reply.

“It comes up whenever you float away.” You didn’t have to make him explain what float away meant; you all had different ways of phrasing yourselves, but you were in agreement about what it referred to as you carried the burden together.

You hummed in consideration. “I wasn’t away away, at least I don’t think. Just reflecting. Pondering if you’d like.”

Remus shook his head in adoration. “I do like. You, that is.”

You needed no more encouragement to lean forward and plant a sweet kiss on his lips. “I like this. That’s what I was thinking about, for the most part.” You toyed with his collar with one hand, fingers brushing against the slight freckles scattered on the skin beneath it. “How grateful I am to be able to be here with you like this. How much I wish I could give us the world you so deserve. Who I’d like to have a chat with about the fact that I can’t.”

His eyes went from soft to adamant disturbingly quick. “It’s alright, dove, I’m fine. I don’t want you to have to worry about all of that.”

He never did, did he?

“What do we not want our sweet girl to worry about?” James asked with a grin evident in his voice even before he entered the bedroom two seconds later, and once he did, it was on full display. Still sunny, but with more clouds than when you first fell in love with it.

“Jamie,” you cooed in greeting, carefully exiting the bed to pull his body flush against yours and allow your heart to settle with having almost everyone in your vicinity once more. If James was home, Sirius surely was not far behind.

Remus waited for James to come to his side before he pecked him in greeting, instantly delving into James’ day at work, how he was feeling, what he wanted to do, and anything that could get the conversation away from the worry in question. Oddly enough, his adamance not to be a burden and instead serve as a loving pillar beneath you all, only made you more certain of your conviction.

It took you a few days to work up the courage to do it, but the need to be useful, to provide, to build overtook your lingering fear of stepping outside or exerting yourself.

You didn’t tell the boys – something they would come to marvel at for years after, unbelieving that you could have kept a ‘secret’ in such an open house, regardless of your insistence that it wasn’t a secret, just an unspoken plan.

You did not tell them, not before you had owled back and forth with the one woman who has a solution to everything and a shared undeniable soft spot for the three troublemakers turned battle leaders turned husbands, namingley Minerva McGonagall. Someone who knew of Remus’ condition without viewing him differently, someone with the stiff upper lip needed to take on the Ministry, someone who, after Dumbledore’s final sacrifice in taking down Lord Voldemort, became Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Someone who, upon your letter pouring it all out, did not hesitate to inform you that the professor’s suites easily could transform to house four people at once.

While you always expected her support, you did not know to anticipate her eagerness, considering how much headache some in your little polycule had brought her back in the days. Yet, she informed you in how she had been extra particular about what staff she hunted down to replace the various positions vacated by the many losses of war – those who fell in battle, those who fled without looking back and the occasional few who made unsound choices – and already had her sights on you. Despite the fun of your youths, you had proven yourselves over countless Order meetings with McGonagall and even the occasional shared mission. She saw how able James was to lead, she saved and was saved by Sirius one treacherous night, she planned a visceral attack with you, and when she was unable to heal someone, Remus was the one who had stepped up. More importantly, she had seen how you kept the Order afloat the same way you would family members, with an attentiveness most professors could only dream of capacitating, let alone share.

“Truly, I fear you four were made for this,” she had confided in her final letter before you told your boys.

When you did, you orchestrated a date night huddled together on one of the sofas in your townhouse, legs and hips all muddled together beneath blankets as you chatted away, dishes long since put in warm water to be neglected while you cared for one another. James and Sirius shared stories from work, most of them to complain about the ridiculousness of the rigid structures behind it all, while you and Remus spoke of the different projects you had taken on at home.

With the lull in the conversation caused by the slight downwards twitch of Remus’ lips, a display of his displeasure with only being able to contribute with projects, you took your opportunity.

“Actually,” you started slowly, sitting up straighter while tightening your hand around James’. All faces were already in your direction, and you could tell the perk up at the tone of your voice. “I have found an opportunity that we might want to discuss what to do with.”

Despite making your voice soft and positive, you could see the weariness in Remus’ eyes, feeling as if you could read his thoughts rushing to assume the worst.

It was written all over his face: she’s got a job far away, she is more capable, she is leaving me. You ached to ease it.

“An opportunity?” Sirius questioned, his own eyebrows tellingly shot up.

“I spoke with McGonagall.”

For a moment there was silence. Then, James eyed you with nervous entertainment. “Old Minnie?”

“I reckon you shouldn’t call her that,” you teased, nudging his shoulder slightly by moving yours that was pressed up against him. “Especially if we decide to do this. She would be our employer.”

“Employer?” Sirius asked.

“Our?” That was Remus.

“There are several vacant positions at Hogwarts after the war, and McGonagall – should I call her Minerva? I don’t really know, either way, she–” You took a deep breath. “She thought of us four for the opportunity. Together.”

“You mean as professors?” James’ brows were furrowed together and you could see the clogs turning. You were unsure of how he would react.

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, toying with the hem of Sirius’ shirt that you had thrown on. “She figured James for Flying–”

“I’m sold.” James interrupted you with an oncoming beaming grin, looking between all three of you. “Quidditch? Professor? Oh, Merlin, I’m sold.”

“Prongs, let her finish baby,” Sirius urged through a laugh. James had the audacity to blush a little, nodding as he turned his attention back on you.

Before you could continue, you couldn’t resist giving his cheek a quick kiss. “Yes, you would be Quidditch professor, love. And referee, by default.”

You turned your attention on Sirius, who seemed to still be entertained by James’ reaction, but picked up on your gaze quickly

“There were several positions open that might work for you, but I suggested Astronomy.” You phrased it almost like a question, nervous to be caught misjudging your own partner’s skills and interests. “I know you always loved it so, and you were so great at explaining everything to me before our OWLS.”

Sirius’ smile softened and he reached out to grab your cheek with one hand, reassuringly rubbing his thumb up and down. “That would be the ideal subject, doll. Good choice.”

At last, you turned your attention to Remus, whose gaze was apprehensive, inside of his cheek nudged in between his teeth. He was uncharacteristically quiet, his usual hums of approval and disapproval absent. You could read the hundred questions on his tongue, even with his mouth closed.

“We went back and forth on what would have been the ideal solution, and, while I fully support whatever we decide on… I think it’s a good one, Rem.” You took a steadying breath. “You and I would teach Defense Against the Dark Arts together. McG– Minerva said we had more than proven ourselves capable during our studies as well as the war. We would set up a schedule where we teach some classes together and some separately, on a monthly cycle – that way you would have no ‘absences’ to explain away, it would just be part of the timetable that you have some time off. One week of joint classes, one week of just me during the full moon, one week of joint classes and then one week of just you during your prime period. When we’re not teaching, we will be doing ‘research’ for the subject and writing academic literature, the same solution Professor Tinkwilt had in second year, remember?”

You recognise you were almost ranting towards the end, but you had a burning need to explain yourself in full, to show him how you thought of everything. “Since we would all be going and living together, you three can continue with the moon routine you had while we were in school. I could even finally become a registered animagus like we always talked about.”

Throughout your speech, Remus’ lips had begun to part, eyes wide as he took everything in, yet his face remained impassive. James squeezed your hand to show support.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Remus said at last, squirming a little under all three gazes gauging his response. “That seems too good to be true.”

“It’s true,” you whispered, fighting off emotions and an oncoming Crucio headache from the stress of it all. “Minerva said even Dumbledore had spoken of the possibility of hiring you, Remus, back before–” You cut yourself off before your voice could break. James’ hand moved from yours to wrap around your front in a side hug. “It was you he thought of first, gave her some ideas about how to circumvent the Ministry. She said she knows how and is willing to take on the fight. If that is what we all want.”

“Is it?” Remus asked then, avoiding facing this himself. “Is it what you all want?”

James and Sirius looked between each other before looking at you and Remus.

“I never fancied myself a professor,” Sirius mused. “Didn’t really ever think about it. But the idea doesn’t bother me – I think it might be nice, yeah? It’s like one of those stand up gigs every single day, except you also get to take and give points like a maniac. And talk about Astronomy.”

Your smile was growing while regarding his fond gaze at the thought – then, his face fell and your stomach dropped. Sirius made a horrified gasp. “No,” he whispered. “If we do this, everyone’s going to know how ridiculously intelligent I am. I’ve worked so hard to build a reputation as the hot one.”

Both you and Remus swatted each of his arms.

Sirius made a faux shriek, diving forward from where he was squished between the sofa pillows to hide in Remus’ lap – where, despite him being one of the perpetrators, he found instant peace. 

James acted as if nothing had happened. “I think being a Flying instructor would be bloody awesome. I always wanted to work in Quidditch before all else went to shite, and I love kids. And I loved Hogwarts. Sounds kind of perfect, does it not?”

“We did love Hogwarts,” you said through a beaming smile. Taking in your family considering this massive step.

“And you, dove?” Remus caught your attention. 

“What about me?”

“What do you want?”

The sincerity, the insecurity laden on his face made your body tense with the want to jump on him and hold him in your arms forever. How is it possible for one boy to love you so much? And for you to get to keep him?

Your heart was growing surer and surer that you were on the right path.

“I actually was the one who reached out to Minerva about the idea first,” you admitted somewhat shyly. “That was when she told me she was already considering us, though she said she worried about disrupting any peace we had by asking; I assured her she wouldn’t. I do think I want this – but only if you do, too.”

Remus’ eyes flickered. “Would it be wrong of me to want it? Bringing a threat into a castle filled with children was never a safe idea in the first place, but to do it again indefinitely?”

You all cut him off with shaken heads and various protests before he could spiral down that road. 

“Absolutely not,” Sirius said adamantly, popping his head up out of Remus’ lap to cup his cheeks between his two large hands. “You never were and never will be a threat at Hogwarts, sweetheart.”

“And angel’s right, we have the routine established and prepared already,” James added. “A far more secure one than the one we have now over on the farm. The Shrieking Shack could do with some renovations, but it’s foolproof. Not to mention you have Pomfrey on guard should you get inured, who is still much better than Sirius and I at tending to you like that.”

“Y/N’s quite alright with it,” Remus murmured, shooting you a teasing smile. Warming up.

You leaned forward to bring his gangly hands into yours, tracing his veins with your fingers. “Apart from being hard on yourself, what do you actually think, baby? Do you want to? Because if you don’t want to, we absolutely can say no.”

Renus shook his head minutely – just enough for you to catch it and your heart to settle.

“No, no, I… I want it.” Remus’ voice was rough with emotion and you could catch him working through potential tears. That felt significant; Remus was the one who had cried the least since the war, which you didn’t think was necessarily a good thing. “I actually always wanted to be a professor, if things were different.”

You tightened your hold on his hands and enunciated every word clearly as you whispered, “Things don’t have to be different, Remus.”

A single tear slipped down his face as he cracked a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded ardently, taking the opportunity to lean forward into a quick kiss. “You’re saying yes?”

“I’m saying yes,” he whispered.

“Merlin,” James sighed, slumping back in his seat. He brought his hands up to his face to rub at it, as if trying to ground himself and feel real. “Gods, are we really doing this? We’re doing this? We’re going to work… at Hogwarts?”

“I– yeah, if– if you’re sure?” You were sputtering but didn’t care to be embarrassed – you didn’t have to with them.

“I think we’re sure.” Sirius was grinning as he looked between all of you. “Good Godric, Minnie is going to regret letting us back in so much.”

James and Sirius started all but jumping excitedly in their seats as they laughed, your shared shock finally tipping over into seemingly delirious laughter, unsettled in the feeling of knowing where you’re going. The feeling of finding it.

In their celebration, you climbed over Sirius to set yourself down in Remus’ lap, who circled his arms around you on instinct. You let your fingers brush over his left cheek, the one the tear had traced. You kissed it softly.

“This is happening?” he whispered in awe.

“If you want it to, pretty boy. We’ve found a way.”

Remus dared to let himself grin. “You’re bloody amazing.”

That was the point where he tackled you into James’ front, lathering you in kisses and holding you in ways that tickled. Sirius quickly slid in between you, first to “defend your honour” before quickly joining in on the kissing instead. 

In between gasping laughs, you suddenly remembered one of the best parts, sitting up where you were caged between all three lovers with your eyebrows shot up. “Wait! Sirius, I forgot to tell you one of the best parts.”

“Me?” Sirius asked, pointing at himself almost alarmed. 

Your grin turned almost smug, deeply satisfied with being able to share the news. “He hasn’t told you yet because he was unsure of how to break the news when it involved seeing each other less often. But now that you’re going as well–”

Sirius perked up, eyes going wide as he realised where you were going with this.

“Regulus was offered a position as well. He’ll be going with us.”

The sound that escaped Sirius was neither quite a laugh nor a scream, but was decidedly loud. “WHAT?” was all he let out before shooting out of his seat as if he had been spelled away. Before you could tell him more he was running over to grab his wand, halfway through a turn when he stopped to say “Be back in a jiffy, hot stuff.” 

Then there was a pop of apparition, and you were three people on the sofa instead of four.

“Which one of us is hot stuff?” you questioned bemusedly.

James waved in a so-so motion with his hand. “I think we collectively are the stuff.”

“Ah. Charming.”

“What subject will Regulus teach?” Remus questioned then. He reached out to scoop you up from where you had toppled half-over at Sirius’ departure, holding you close to his chest.

“Arithmancy and alchemy.”

James rolled his eyes good naturedly. “What a swot.”

“That’s a lot coming from someone who is about to be a professor,” Remus volleyed, reaching out to squish his cheek. 

“Who would have thought you can just become a professor? Don’t you have to, I don’t know, turn 150 years old and write a book first?” James had that aloof expression he wore when he was thinking out loud, and you couldn’t help but kiss him soundly, leaving him with an even dumber expression afterwards.

“Usually, there’s more of a process to it, yeah. But, even almost a year later, society is still kind of rebuilding. There is space to bend the rules, and Minerva said she believes our time with the Order substitutes any further education or book-writing.”

He hummed as if that was enough of an answer for him. You suppose it should be.

“Anyone else?” Remus murmured with his lips against the back of your neck. You shivered in delight at the touch.

“Hm?”

He chuckled. “Anyone else who will be brought onboard the teaching staff that we should know about?”

“No one but Regulus has accepted the position yet, and I don’t think anyone but us has been in talks with her yet, with the term still being so far off. But I know that she is considering asking Lily about Potions or Muggle Studies and Mary about Herbology.”

Both boys grinned at the possibility, James squeezing your calves in his lap with excitement. “It will be almost like a family reunion, then.”

You smiled unruly at him, sensing the grief in his eyes at his own words. “Yeah, almost baby.”

“Why is Lily considered for both Potions and Muggle Studies?” Remus asked, diverting away from the sensitive topic while spirits were high. “I mean there is nothing that witch can’t do, but Potions was by far her superiority.”

This was the first time a frown was brought onto your face, one James caught immediately and furrowed his eyes at as if it was a personal offense. “You’re not going to like this one,” you started off, hoping to ease them into it.

“Gods, what is it?”

“She’s also considering Snape for Potions.”

The two boys consequently interrupted each other with indignant exclamations at the revelation. 

“No, there is no way they are considering that bloody git,” James all but seethed. “After all he did? To Lily?”

You sighed, agreeing with their sentiments but able to do little about it. “I know, baby. But Dumbledore vouched for him and gave him clemency for his work as a double agent, and he is incredibly skilled. We can just hope he will say no.”

Remus slumped in his seat at the prospect, letting his forehead fall against you. 

“Does this change your answers?” you asked wearily, not having considered that it might.

“What? Angel, no, this is quite literally the perfect solution. I’m not letting Snape take that away.” James quickly assured you, squeezing in even closer to you and Remus, kissing the latter’s hair from where he was resting. 

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I think I’m really quite excited.” You were almost shy in your revelation, less so when you felt Remus’ lips curl against your skin.

James kissed your nose while laughing. “I can’t believe I’m about to be dating a professor.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter, we are doing a little more than dating,” Remus replied haughtily, to which he was bombarded with his own tickling kisses.

Laughter rang through your living room for months on end as you packed and prepared and – to everyone’s remaining shock – studied to prepare for your new life. Or, in some ways, your old life, with some significant improvements. 

Hogwarts was once your home. It felt almost cosmically right to return to it after defending it with your life. It was evident to you; this is what you do when the dust settles. You rediscover what you love.

“Getting cold feet?”

Sirius’ shoe nudged into yours on the floor of the spacious compartment of the hurrying train, loving smile plastered all over his face. You had zoned out at their gleeful bickering, clementine long since devoured, and sticky fingers happily laced with Remus’ beside you. 

The professors' compartments of the train were at the very front, with bigger and softer seats, much to your partners’ enjoyment, as they loved to splay themselves out over everything. It was odd to be somewhere you had been so many times, yet have it feel like a new environment in some ways.

“Are you projecting, Siri?” you teased in turn, manoeuvring your own shoe to hook behind his. “If you’re going to make a run from it before you’re faced with Filch again, you have to do it on your own.”

He barked a laugh, earning him James’ full attention as the bespectacled boy who preened in his lovers’ happiness. “Just checking, dollface. You grew so quiet I feared you might just stay on the train when we get there.”

“And leave poor Minerva alone with you three? I would never.”

You and Sirius wore matching grins as you stared each other down, only distracted when Remus on your side placed his chin on your shoulder in his slumped position. “What were you thinking about then, beautiful?”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly and kissed his forehead. Sirius pouted in envy and you held out your hand for him to grant you his, bringing his knuckles to your lips as well, feeling him melt at even the lightest touch.

“I was thinking about how we got to here. And then, even better – where we will end up,” you revealed with a smile you once thought you may never wear so easily again.

James let his head drop backwards as he stared at the ceiling. “Who would have fucking thought? Not me, that’s for sure.”

“True, but when is it that you do think, Prongs?” Remus quipped from beside you.

“Oi! You kiss my wife with that mouth?”

“Happily.” Remus’ hand snuck up from where it rested around your shoulders to tangle in your hair, bringing your lips down to his in an overstatedly tantalising kiss, tongue already out to sweep across your lips. 

The sound of protests mixed with laughter from the other side of the compartment. You were eternally grateful for the lack of windows on the doors, yet you melted into the kiss nonetheless, never one to back down from teasing James.

When you came apart, Remus sported a smug smile he otherwise never flaunted, raising an eyebrow at James as if to say “and what about it?”

James was huffing in faux indignation, but his cheeks were tainted a beautiful red. Sirius looked more hungry than he ought to be on a train full of students.

“You know you cannot be doing that in the halls at Hogwarts, right?” James made out over what sounded like a gulp.

“Sure I do; ‘s why I did it now.” Remus’ Welsh accent always grew thicker when he was being teasing like this, a side of him James inspired more than anyone else.

“I wonder whether the little shits will be able to pick up on it,” Sirius mused.

“The little shits in question being our students?” you questioned, to which all three boys nodded without hesitation. Right. 

“Pick up on what?” James asked then.

“Us. All of us.” Sirius’ eyes were flashing with the entertainment of someone planning thousands of scenarios and pranks all at once.

You all agreed not to keep it a secret should it come up, but to avoid the topic of your relationship with the students explicitly. Sirius had wanted not to have to change your dynamics and how you functioned together, while Remus wanted a certain atmosphere of distance and professionality with the students, and this was the perfect solution and compromise.

“With the way you lot behave, I reckon they’ll pick up on it within the first week,” you said with a faux sigh, to which Remus poked you in the side.

“Oh, is that how it is?” James raised an eyebrow at you, flashing his white teeth brightly. “How about we make it interesting, Mrs. Potter-Lupin-Black?”

“That is not my name,” you choked through a laugh at the same time as Remus rolled his eyes at James’ antics.

“Details, details.” James waved you off. “My question still stands.”

You righted yourself in your seat, letting Sirius’ foot go to plant yours more securely as you regarded James. You could tell the former boy’s eyes were steadfast on you. “What kind of interesting are we talking about, Professor Potter?”

“Godric, I love these new titles of ours,” Sirius sighed dreamily, leaning forward to rest his head on your knees now that you had edged to the end of your seat. With your eyes still on James, your hand automatically found his black curls, carding through them affectionately.

“We know you do, pup,” Remus quipped teasingly, earning him a blind slap on the leg from Sirius. “But yeah, what kinda interesting, Jamie?”

James had a devious look on his face synonymous with your Hogwarts years. “I reckon that we, in true Marauders fashion, should make a bet. How long it will take for the students to realise that some of us are dating, how long it will take to realise all of us are dating, or who they will guess first.”

Sirius’ head shot up at that with a scoff, clearly the expert on the matter. “Obviously, they will guess Moony and dolly first, they will be teaching a class together.”

“Uhm, no, have you heard yourself around us before, Sirius? Your flirting is outrageous at best, scandalous at worst.” James seemed to mull his over. “And Moony is too secretive and elusive, most people wouldn’t guess he acts on his feelings.”

“I feel like I should be offended by that?” Remus said in the form of a question, bunching his brows together in confusion. You patted his leg consolingly. 

“If you’re going to talk about brazen flirtation, you have to take a look in the mirror, James Potter,” you added to the conversation. You weren’t sure who would be guessed first, but you wanted to add to the drama.

“Whatever do you mean, angel?” Everything about his face in that moment could be described as devilish. 

“I’m placing my bets, Moony and Dolly, no questions,” Sirius declared. 

“Cool, then you’ll lose. I’m betting you and either Remus or Y/N. Actually, it will be Remus because he blushes more easily.”

“I do not. It’s going to be Sirius and Y/N.”

“You’re all wrong, it will one hundred percent be James and Sirius. You two are incorrigible with each other.”

“Great. Then we’ve got ourselves one solid bet.” James was beaming, like this was the last piece of a puzzle coming together before the official start of your new adventure. It made you grow soft once more.

Sirius not so much. “What’s on the table, though, dearest Prongsie? What are we betting on?” There was an evident challenge in his voice, curiosity too.

James seemed to be thinking hard to come up with something enticing enough. “If we want to make this truly interesting, the winner gets to decide what the prize is. A free for all card.”

Remus shook his head immediately. “I don’t trust either of you with that kind of power.”

“I thought you said you trusted me with your life?” Sirius queried teasingly, though thread a bit more carefully given the reference.

“I do. But not with anything you want.”

“And what do you mean either – are you not worried what Y/N would do?” James questions in false offense.

Remus looks at you sideways with a lopsided smile. “Nah, not really.”

James and Sirius both nodded as if to say “yeah, that’s fair”.

You cocked your head at him, narrowing your eyes. “I say we do it. Bets are placed, whoever is correct in who is commonly assumed or declared to be in a relationship by students first gets to decide what they win – within reason.”

Sirius scoffed lightheartedly and opened his mouth to interject, but before he could, you continued. “And Lily gets to decide what is within reason. She will also be the one to determine when a couple is actually assumed by the students.” 

Immediately, Remus places his hand on your thigh with a squeeze, almost as if in appreciation or approval and nods emphatically. “This is why we keep you around dovey, that’s the perfect solution.”

“I’ll give you a couple more reasons to keep me around.” You mirrored his earlier overly sensual kiss, dragging him to you by your fingertips beneath his chin, kissing him with tongue for but three seconds before pushing him back in his seat. He looked dazed and you all laughed.

“Enough of that now, I’m feeling left out,” Sirius declared, moving forward abruptly to scoop you up and place you sideways in his lap beside James, who immediately lifted your legs into his own lap. Sirius kissed all over the side of your face and neck, humming happily.

“Pardon, and what does that make me now?” Remus said scornfully, crossing his arms over his chest where he was left alone on the bench.

“Slow,” James replied through a grin. “Come here, silly.”

And though he huffed with faux contempt, Remus did move over to their bench, where James turned sideways so he could slot Remus between his legs, facing you and Sirius. 

You sighed as you settled into this new arrangement, pleased with touching all of them with at least some part of your body, with hearing their voices laced with contentment and seeing the warmth return to their faces in real time.

Certain feelings might never ease out from your bones, but if you knew one thing for sure, it was that living at Hogwarts with the loves of your life and giving fresh-faced students the same childhood you were awarded there, you might get pretty damn close.

As you could see the castle emerging on the horizon, just some dozens of minutes away, you let a smile take over your face. It felt like there were miracles all around.

[seraphont]

I assume given the caption of your most recent comic that you don’t plan on including any additional disassembly drones in your au. What do you think the in universe explanation is for N, V and J being the only ones left? Like were all the others taken out by sentinels? Did they run out of worker drones to prey on and over heat? Did some also rebel and make it off world?

yap sesh below, couple of things that are in my brain about the other dd's based off of canon for my au:

there were clones of the most 'efficient' drones, ergo I think these are just cyns favourites (V, N, and J) which are deactive until its predecessor kicks the bucket. the only ones to retain their personality (and perhaps a semblance of morality)

it's very likely the other DD's are simply running on bloodlust and orders, them having a lack of 'personality' and all, might be a nod to them just being blankslates, constantly in huntmode.

the diassembly drones were likely only deployed to areas surounding Cabin Fever Labs to infilitrate and clear out WD's. im assuming this is one of the sparse hubs of human bases (and in turn worker bases), so DD's werent wide-spread across the planet. Cyn was also beelining for the pit that lead straight to the core.

Highkey I think our squad retaining their personalities (no matter how twisted they got from trauma), made them less efficient than their blankslate counterparts, maybe a reason why they showed up late to the lab parties. that or they were just the focus group for making Spires (we still dont have an in canon reason for why these were important to construct).

from the looks of it, the other DD's had found Camp Cabin Fever long before our idiot squad did, there was a pile up of bodies afterall. I doubt these ones had clones. and if we're going off of the alphabet naming scheme, theres not many DD's left from this.

Im sure theres a spare feral DD out there, perhaps they'll die from overheating, too much of a tan from the sun, or just shutdown from lack of commands on the solver's defeat. either way, they're sparse or have died out. though its fun to think about if they can regain a semblance of their former selves again, if theyre fixable.

sidenote jokingly, I like to think of our DD's as the personality hires.