#THE LITTLE HAMMER TURNED INTO A SCOOP | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

noredemptionhere · 3 months ago

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𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 ฅᨐฅ

pair: sevika x cat!reader (saw a headcanon about it and i had to write it so yeah—y’all are cats now)

cw (may be spoiling for some readers): angst, implied threat of assault, mention of violent acts, Intense themes.

the rain hammered down on zaun’s rooftops, turning the city’s grime slick and glistening under the dim streetlights. the storm was fading now, its fury softening into a tired drizzle, but sevika barely noticed.

didn’t matter if it was raining or not. didn’t matter if the city was burning. she was too damn exhausted to care.

her feet dragged over the cracked pavement, her body moving on autopilot. the day had been long—boring, frustrating, a waste of time. but at least home was close. just a few more blocks and she could collapse into bed with a drink, maybe forget today ever happened—

kitty.

sevika’s lips curled into a smirk, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. her gaze dropped to the small, trembling shape loafed up on the curb, soaked to the bone.

you.

the little tuxedo cat she always saw loitering around her block, the one that somehow had her wrapped around its tiny, manipulative paw. right now, though, you were nothing but a wet, miserable fluffball, shivering violently under the weight of the storm.

sevika felt something in her chest twinge. just a little.

“still alive, huh?” she murmured as she approached, voice low and teasing.

your head shot up immediately.

sevika. your favorite human. your greatest admirer. your devoted follower—

mocking you. in this weather. in this unforgiving rain.

oh, the agony.

oh, the disgrace.

oh, the horror—

your pupils blew wide with fury. you would not stand for this. not after everything you’d suffered tonight. your tiny, frozen paws lifted, claws twitching, your fluffy little butt shimmied in place—

you were about to fuck this bitch up.

and then you were already being picked up.

just like that. effortless. humiliating. one second you were preparing for battle, the next, you were scooped up in one firm arm, held against her warmer figure. your tail twitched. your ears flattened. betrayal. complete betrayal.

meanwhile, sevika just smirked, rubbing your damp fur with her thumb as she muttered, “dramatic little shit.” with a sigh, she pulled you closer to her chest and started walking.

…fine. you’d allow it. for now.

sevika held you in her human hand, rough but surprisingly gentle. the little flunky had some manners, after all. you blinked, eyes darting around the towering buildings, the slick streets, the distant neon glow of signs flickering in and out of focus. damn.

humans were so tall and-

why the fuck were you even letting her pick you up?

before sevika could process what was happening, your tiny, soggy paws went straight for her hair. you attacked with the desperation of a street cat betrayed, ruffling, batting, yanking at the dark strands with reckless abandon.

sevika barely reacted. just blinked. then sighed.

“…seriously?”

the next thing you knew, her—still human—hand had latched onto the loose folds of fur at the back of your neck.

and just like that, you froze.

paralyzed. useless.

oh, you hated humans. they had so much privilege. too much.

all you wanted was to go full picasso on her stupid… beautiful… gorgeous face—WHY WAS THIS SO HARD.

and then—oh.

home.

sevika stepped into her apartment, her soaked, exhausted frame dripping rain onto the floor as she carried your limp, fluffy, utterly defeated body inside. still dangling.

she flicked her wrist slightly, turning you just enough so you were forced to stare at that same gorgeous face you’d been fuming over seconds ago.

“just for the night,” she muttered, eyes half-lidded as she kicked the door shut behind her. “don’t get used to it.”

sevika barely spared you a glance as she set you down on the worn-out couch, her movements slow, heavy, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to her.

you, on the other hand, were going through it.

your fur was soaked. you smelled like wet pavement and despair. and worst of all? you were still thinking about her face.

you hated it here.

a heavy sigh pulled you from your spiraling. you lifted your head just in time to see sevika strip off her drenched clothes and—oh.

she was… big…?

you knew she was big, obviously—you weren’t blind. but now? now, without layers of fabric in the way, without armor to obscure the long planes of muscle and the way her skin glistened in the dim apartment light—

your brain short-circuited.

your tail flicked wildly behind you, betraying every single thought you were desperately trying to suppress. your eyes followed her around as she changed into something softer.

sevika barely noticed. she grabbed a towel from the back of a chair, ran it through her damp hair once, then—without warning—tossed it onto you.

a muffled noise of indignation left your throat. the audacity.

“yeah, yeah,” Sevika grumbled, flopping onto the mattress without ceremony. “dry yourself off and don’t piss on anything.”

she didn’t even bother looking at you. just stretched out, rolled onto her back, and closed her eyes.

you, beneath the weight of the towel, were losing your entire mind. this was not okay. this was not fair. this was straight unjustness.

because now, suddenly, you weren’t thinking about tearing her face to shreds anymore.

now, suddenly, you were thinking about how warm she looked.

and you wanted in—now, you had a new mission.

with zero hesitation, you padded up to her and—oh.

𝒐𝒉.

her chest was soft, warm, and perfect.

perfect for sitting… so you did.

with a slow, deliberate motion, you stepped forward, settled yourself, and curled up right above her soft, bi-…

you forced the thought away. nope. not thinking about that. you were a respectable creature. a dignified being. sevika shifted just slightly, her forearm still draped over her face, and then—slowly, lazily—she moved it.

her forearm slid away, revealing tired eyes, hooded and half-lidded with sleep, gazing down at you.

she didn’t say anything. just blinked once, twice.

then—quietly, almost amused—she cooed.

a deep, throaty sound, so soft, so low, you almost didn’t catch it.

but you did—and it ruined you.

sevika was already half-asleep when she felt it.

a small, warm weight, right on her chest. right there.

she cracked one eye open, and—

…well. there you were.

fluffed up. wide-eyed. absolutely deranged.

sevika smirked. “comfy?”

you were not.

you were having a crisis.

because right beneath you—beneath your tiny, trembling paws—was the softest place you’d ever been in your entire life.

you didn’t even know humans could be this soft.

your tail flicked violently behind you, ears twitching at every small rise and fall of her breath. you were aware. hyperaware. of the warmth beneath you. of the gentle, steady rhythm of her breathing. of the way her scent wrapped around you like a drug.

her smirk deepened.

and then, just to be a little shit, she brought her flesh hand up—slow, deliberate—before running a single, lazy, heavy finger from the top of your head down your spine.

your entire body shuddered.

sevika chuckled, low and deep. “thought you hated humans,” she murmured.

you did. you really did.

…so why the hell were you purring?

you didn’t mean to do it. you really didn’t.

but sevika was warm. and the rise and fall of her chest was soothing. and her scent—tobacco, wood, something steady and safe—was starting to lull you into a comfortable, heavy daze.

your little body relaxed. your tail flicked once, then stilled. and before you could think too hard about it, you let your head drop—right onto the soft warmth of her chest.

her smirk didn’t fade—but her hand, still lazily resting against your fur, shifted just a little. a single, absentminded stroke down your back.

neither of you said anything.

you just melted.

she sighed, slow and deep. heavy limbs. heavy bones. finally, finally letting herself sink into the bed, into the warmth, into the quiet.

and then, with your tiny, purring body curled up right there against her chest—sevika slept.

the golden strands of morning light stretched across sevika’s face, warm and gentle. her brows furrowed, a faint twitch of irritation at the sudden brightness—

her eyes snapped open.

and there, draped over her body like she belonged there, was the most gorgeous woman sevika had ever seen.

soft skin, bare and warm. limbs tangled effortlessly with hers. and— sevika’s gaze trailed up—cat ears. a tail.

what the fuck?

one second, she was flat on her back, frozen beneath an unfamiliar weight. the next—

a startled gasp. a tangled mess of limbs.

and now—

now she was on top of her.

the girl—the not-cat, the stunning, soft-skinned, very-much-naked girl—was now pinned beneath her. warmth against warmth. a body sevika didn’t recognize but somehow knew.

her breath hitched.

fluffy, twitching cat ears. a tail.

skin. bare skin.

sevika’s mind blared warnings she couldn’t process, too caught up in the sheer heat of it—her hands, planted firmly on either side of the girl’s head, her thighs caging her in, her pulse thundering in her ears like a war drum.

and then—

“sevika?”

soft. dazed. a little confused.

sevika went still.

she swallowed hard, jaw tight, eyes flickering down—too far down—before snapping back up.

this wasn’t happening, she was dreaming—she had to be dreaming. because if she wasn’t…

if this was real—

then she was so unbelievably fucked.

“don’t. you. dare.” sevika’s voice was low, rough, each word sharp enough to cut. her fingers twitched against your waist, grip firm but not tight. “tell me you’re the cat i took in last night.”

you blinked. your gaze dropped—slowly, painfully,—to your very, very naked self.

“AHHHHHH!”

sevika flinched. actually flinched at the sheer, ungodly pitch of your scream. her grip loosened on instinct, and you—wild, panicked, freshly human you—sprung up, bolting upright on her bed, eyes darting desperately across the room for anything to cover your naked ass with.

sevika stared. long. hard. silent.

her jaw clenched. her fingers twitched. her eye actually fucking twitched.

and then, with zero expression on her face, she moved.

she reached blindly to the side, grabbed the first thing within reach—a blanket, thankfully, and not a knife—and threw it at you like she was tossing out the world’s most inconvenient trash.

a muffled, struggling noise from under the fabric.“mmmph—”

a few flailing limbs, some aggressive untangling, and then—finally—you managed to sit up, a disheveled mess of tousled hair and wide, panicked eyes. the blanket was now clutched around you like a lifeline.

sevika dragged a slow, heavy hand down her face.

“start talking.”

you swallowed. shifted. finally settled with the blanket wrapped tight around you.

“…i-i’m a human,” you said, hesitantly. then, with jazz hands: “ta-da?”

sevika didn’t react. didn’t blink. just stared you down with the cold, unyielding patience of someone debating whether to commit a crime.

“…i’m gonna throw you out the window.”

you tensed, gripping the blanket harder. “i don’t know, okay! i was probably too tired to hold my shape while i was sleeping—”

sevika’s eye twitched again.

and yeah. yeah, she was definitely going to throw you out the window.

sevika was gripping the bridge of her nose, her entire morning ruined before it even started.

“so let me get this straight,” she said, voice tight. “you—” she jabbed a finger at you “—are the same little furball i picked up last night.”

you, now comfortably wrapped in the blanket, sitting cross-legged on her bed, with your tail flicking lazily behind you, just nodded. smug.

“mhm.”

sevika inhaled. deeply. counted to five. “i’m losing my fucking mind,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

you tilted your head, ears twitching. “that explains why you looked so stupid when you woke up.”

her hand dropped. her eye twitched.

“…what.”

“i mean, i wasn’t that surprised.” you shrugged. “maybe you just don’t have enough brain cells—”

sevika lunged.

“SEV—”

you barely dodged, scrambling back with a yelp, tail puffing up as sevika chased you off the bed.

“i took you in,” she growled, stalking after you as you clumsily backed up, knocking into furniture. “i dried you. i let you sleep on me.”

you gulped. “you were warm?”

sevika cracked her knuckles.

“I’M SORRY—”

“no, you’re not.”

sevika’s voice was low, rasp, and so, so unamused. she stalked forward, each step slow and deliberate, forcing you to stumble back until your tail bumped against the dresser.

“i am… i swear—”

“you lied to me.”

you gulped. “technically, i never said i wasn’t a human—”

sevika’s eye twitched. “you slept on my chest and purred.”

your ears flattened. “it was an instinct—”

“you licked my neck.”

your face burned. “i was being AFFECTIONATE!”

“by sleepin’ on me?!”

“YOU WERE WARM—”

sevika exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was physically restraining herself from committing a crime. you took the opportunity to inch away, moving towards the bed, only for sevika’s gaze to snap up, sharp and threatening.

“where do you think you’re going?”

you froze. “nowhere..?”

she huffed. “damn right.”

for a second, silence. you stood there, awkwardly, tail swishing behind you. sevika kept glaring, arms crossed over her chest like she was trying to keep herself from strangling you.

“…you’re really mean.”

a scoff. “i took you in.”

“you threatened to throw me out, like, two minutes ago.”

“i should throw you out.”

you gasped. “i’d die!”

“not my problem.”

“you’re heartless.”

sevika rolled her eyes, already turning away, but you weren’t done.

“maybe you really don’t have enough brain cells to process all this.”

sevika went rigid. then, slow, deliberate, she turned her head, glaring at you with a look that could’ve killed a lesser person. “…say that again.”

you took an instinctive step back. “i said—uh—”

“say it again.”

your hands fisted around the blanket covering you. your ears twitched. your tail fluffed up.

“…i said you look really pretty when you’re mad?”

sevika cracked her knuckles.

“wait—”

you were already scrambling onto the bed when her hand shot out, gripping your ankle with terrifying ease.

“nooo!” you yelped, kicking uselessly, but sevika just hauled you back like you weighed nothing, flipping you over with one hand.

you landed with a thud, sprawled out on your stomach, before a solid weight settled onto the small of your back.

oh. oh no.

sevika was sitting on you, her thighs caging your hips.

“you think you’re funny?” she mused, pressing down just enough to keep you trapped beneath her weight.

you squirmed. “n-no?”

a hum. “could’ve fooled me.”

you let out a tiny, pitiful whine, ears flattening against your head. sevika just smirked, clearly enjoying this.

this was it. you were doomed. trapped forever.

…

your ears perked up and your tail flicked when your eyes flickered toward the bedside table, where the clock sat in plain view. the green numbers glowed in the her bedroom.

“you’re one hour late on silco.”

sevika froze.

“…what?”

you turned your head, smug, eyes twinkling. “you were supposed to meet him an hour ago.”

a curse. sevika was already moving, shoving herself off you and grabbing her tank top, yanking it over her head and wore the rest of her clothes with a muttered “fucking hell.” —you sat up, watching her get ready all quiet and soft, tail flicking.

she paused only once, glancing at you sharply. “how the hell did you know that?”

your ear twitched “you- you were mumbling about it in your sleep.” you smiled and continued. “something about getting up earlier than usual.”

sevika’s nostrils flared.

and then—she turned back to you.

slow, heavy steps.

sevika took her time walking back over, heavy steps measured and slow. deliberate.

you shrank a little, ears twitching, gripping the edges of the blanket tighter as she loomed over you.

“listen carefully.” her voice was low, edged with something unreadable. “stay put. don’t try to leave. don’t peek out the window. don’t let anyone see your fluffy ass.” she leaned in slightly, gaze dark. “and don’t even get me started on what i’m gonna do to you if you touch the furniture.”

you gulped.

then nodded.

big, wide, puppy-eyed.

sevika exhaled through her nose, a smirk tugging at her lips. she reached out, just for a second—fingertips grazing the underside of your jaw, a slow, teasing drag.

“atta girl,” she murmured, and then she was gone.

the door clicked shut behind her, and you—now completely, utterly alone—let out a shaky breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

the room felt colder.

you swallowed again, pulling the blanket tighter around you, tail flicking once against the mattress.

…you missed her already.

the apartment was quiet. too quiet.

you stood there for a moment, bare feet against cold floor, wrapped in the blanket sevika had thrown at you.

and now she was gone.

you sighed… it wasn’t like she’d been nice—she was grumpy and threatening and rude, but at least she was there. someone to talk to, to argue with. now, with her gone, the silence felt too thick, too heavy, pressing against your ears.

your tail flicked behind you, uneasy.

the apartment wasn’t big, but it felt empty without her. the space between the walls stretched too wide, the air too still.

you shuffled out of the bedroom, blanket still wrapped tight around you, and padded into the living room. the couch sat there, empty, cushions slightly indented from use. you eyed it longingly.

but sevika’s words still rang in your ears.

“don’t even get me started on what i’m gonna do to you if you touch the furniture.”

you shivered.

nope. not worth it.

so, instead, you turned to the carpet—plain, rough, but better than the cold floor.

carefully, you curled up in the corner, pulling the blanket close, tucking your arms beneath you.

it wasn’t much. not as nice as sevika’s bed. not as soft as her arms, and the warmth she showed when people weren’t looking—wasn’t there too, but it was something.

your tail curled around you, your ears twitching at every small noise, and eventually—slowly, hesitantly, still feeling a little lonely—you fell asleep.

12:36 AM

you woke up to the sound of the city—distant engines growling, the occasional laugh or shout from the street below. the apartment was quiet, warm. body still sprawled out on the carpet, sleep marks pressed into your soft cheek.

you’d slept well—well enough that you had no idea what time it was. all you knew was that it had to be past midnight. zaun was alive down there, fucking around with repulsive cheap weed and even nastier liquor.

you didn’t like them—just like sevika observed earlier—you despised their vile, disgusting nature. keeping your cat form was the only way to adapt. it wasn’t your favorite…

but it kept you alive.

you weakly got up, the soft blanket slipping over your bare skin as you stumbled forward.

sevika’s bedroom. that’s where you needed to go. you rubbed your puffy eyes, looking for the glowing green numbers on the clock beside her bed.

12:37 AM. past midnight, indeed.

you turned back toward the living room, your brain still pulling at half-formed thoughts—fragments of the night before. sevika had seen you. as a human.

for the first time, she saw you, felt you, understood you.

but did she understand the want? the neediness of being near her?

probably not. and that was fine. at least she was alive and in one piec—

nope. wrong consolation.

at least she was alive—zaun was shit for everyone.

your eyes flickered toward the window, its cheap curtains dulling the neon glare of the city outside. you still remembered sevika’s warning—her strict order not to let anyone see ‘your fluffy ass’.

but come on.

she was paranoid. insane, even. nothing was going to happen. she just had to go all dominant on you about it.

you made up your mind. you were going to spend the rest of the night waiting for her, tucked by the window, watching her walk home like some love-struck teenager. the neon lights, the dim moonlight—it was a vibe you loved too much to resist.

so you wrapped yourself tighter in the blanket, leaned forward, and peeked out.

…see?

nothing happened.

the streets were packed. people swayed in drunken clusters, cars honked like it was fresh 12:00 pm. sure, there were plenty of high, nasty-looking men, but how would they even notice you all the way up—

“fucking hell, man—how much did sev pay for all of that?”

your breath stopped.

fucking hell, indeed.

you yanked your head back inside, heart hammering. that was too fast. too fast. how had they even seen you?

your ears strained, every muscle in your body frozen as you listened. you could hear them speaking below, filthy words tumbling from their mouths—

then one of them asked, “sevika isn’t up there, right?”

and you knew.

you knew exactly what they were going to do with that information.

hide.

your brain screamed it at you. fucking hide.

your body moved before you could think, scrambling for the first place that came to mind. the couch. under the couch.

your trembling, soft body slipped under the tatty piece of furniture—hyperventilating, your heartbeat skyrocketing.

no. no, you weren’t hidden enough. you weren’t safe. but you still had hope—maybe they wouldn’t break in. maybe sevika was too terrifying for them to risk it—

then the door slammed open.

and closed softly, with a blood-chilling click.

“aww—look at that little thing.”

you felt your stomach drop.

they saw you. they fucking saw you.

but how? were you breathing too loud? shaking too much? was your blanket showing? why were they so fast?

footsteps. getting closer.

you could hear their voices, dripping with amusement, filth spilling from their mouths like it was second nature.

you just wanted to live for a moment. like every girl you’ve known.

a hand wrapped around your ankle.

your eyes squeezed shut, tears soaking your cheeks, breath choking out of you—

the door opened again, softly. not in a rush. not with panic. it opened softly, like an owner coming home after a long day.

the air shifted. and the grip around your ankle was gone.

every breath in the room—except for one—hitched at the same time.

and then they stepped forward. no urgency. no hesitation. just presence—terrorizing confidence that mocked them, dared them to move an inch.

a sound of metal clicked into place—gear shifting, a blade locking into position, followed by a wet, sickening squelch and a raspy gasp. alike to the sound a cow makes when it’s butchered.

the sticky sound of blood splattering across the carpet.

more gasps—disbelieving, stumbling.

then the dull thud of a body being thrown at the rest of the men.

and a whisper.

her whisper.

“take him and leave.”

𓍯𓂃⋆˙⟡

the door had barely clicked shut, sevika didn’t move. not right away. she just stood there, blade still locked in place, blood dripping onto the floor. the only sound in the apartment was your ragged, uneven breaths—sharp little gasps, barely keeping up with your racing heart.

then—

two hands. rough, warm. closing around your ankles.

you barely had time to process before you were being pulled forward, dragged gently from beneath the couch. your fingers weakly grasped at the fabric, legs trembling as you were guided out into the dim, neon-lit room.

your blanket was slipping. the only thing covering your bare skin. you could feel the cool air prick at your burning cheeks, at your neck, at your collarbone. you were shaking so hard, crying so much—choked little whimpers slipping out, body curling in on itself.

and then a touch. soft. fingertips trailing over your cheek, catching a stray tear.

a voice. low, quiet.

“poor baby.”

you hiccupped. something between a sob and a gasp, your vision blurring worse.

“shh, sweet girl… i’m here.”

her arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, lifting you with no effort. before you could even think, you were being settled onto her lap, legs straddling her waist, your face pressing against her shoulder.

sevika’s hand curled around the back of your head, tucking you closer, her other arm tightening around your back.

“breathe.”

your fingers weakly grasped at her top, body still trembling, but the warmth of her—the safety of her—was already seeping into your skin.

her lips brushed against your hair.

“i’ve got you.”

she didn’t ask if you were okay. didn’t tell you it was over. because you weren’t, and it wasn’t.

your body was still fighting itself—lungs burning, breath coming in uneven gasps, fingers curling tighter in her shirt like you’d fall right through if you let go.

sevika shifted, adjusting her grip, her metal fingers tracing slow, steady circles along your back. her touch was deliberate, careful—like she was letting you feel the warmth of her, the weight of her, the undeniable presence that meant safe, safe, safe.

“deep breath, sweet girl.”

you tried. you really did. but it only came out as another choked sob, your lips parting against her shoulder.

sevika exhaled through her nose, slow. deliberate. her palm slid up, finding the back of your neck, fingertips pressing into your scalp, grounding you.

“again.”

this time, you felt it—the steady, controlled rise and fall of her chest against yours. how she was breathing for the both of you, waiting for you to catch up.

so you did.

your shoulders jerked with the effort, but you breathed.

“that’s it,” sevika murmured, her voice sinking into your skin.

the praise unraveled something deep in your ribs. your eyes squeezed shut, fresh tears spilling over, your arms wrapping around her neck in a weak, desperate grip.

sevika didn’t speak after that. didn’t move. just let you fall apart in the safety of her hold, the apartment swallowed in thick, neon-lit silence.

you weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. long enough for the shakes to lessen. for your breath to finally steady.

long enough to forget the blood drying on the floor, the echoes of those voices, the cold, suffocating weight of fear.

sevika’s fingers brushed against the base of your skull. “you tired?”

you nodded, your face still buried against her.

“come on.” she shifted, lifting you again, so effortlessly that it made something in you ache.

her bed. that’s where she was taking you. where you should’ve gone in the first place.

she sat on the edge, keeping you in her lap, waiting.

you stayed there.

sevika’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, her thumb brushing the curve of your jaw.

“gonna tell me what happened, kitten?”

you flinched. something about the demand, the certainty in her voice—it shattered whatever was left of your restraint.

“i’m sorry,” you gasped. “i’m so sorry. please don’t—don’t throw me out. i won’t survive, i swear—i swear i’ll die, sevika, i—”

you choked, shaking your head, words tumbling too fast, too broken—

“i tried—i tried, but my body—it’s too tired. i can’t—I can’t shift again—” your breath hitched. the panic climbed so high, so sharp it was almost unbearable—

a hand slid along your back, broad and grounding.

you weren’t sure if she was speaking at first. then, you heard it—a low murmur against your hair.

“breathe, baby,” she muttered, slow, steady. “i’ve got you.”

you couldn’t. your chest felt too tight, your ribs locked up, and you swore you were shaking so hard you’d slip right through her fingers.

sevika shifted. pressed you closer until you had no choice but to melt into her, her warmth swallowing you whole. one arm stayed firm around your waist, pinning you against her, while her metal fingers traced slow, grounding circles into your lower back. deliberate. steady. keeping you right here.

she started to rock you. barely noticeable at first—just the gentlest sway, like she was trying to ease you out of it without even thinking.

your fingers curled tighter in her cloak. a sob wrenched itself from your throat, your body jerking with the force of it.

“shh,” she hushed. her breath was warm against your ear. “i’ve got you, you’re not going anywhere.”

you squeezed your eyes shut. your body was still fighting itself—lungs burning, breath coming in uneven gasps, but sevika didn’t let up.

her hand slid up, curling around the back of your head.

you barely registered the motion until she was guiding you in, her grip firm, holding you against her shoulder. keeping you from pulling away. keeping you from falling apart.

her thumb brushed the base of your skull, tracing light, soothing strokes. then, in a voice so quiet it barely registered— “again, breathe.”

your ribs ached from the effort, but you did.

a shaky inhale, a stuttering exhale.

sevika hummed, low and approving, forehead pressing to your temple.

“good job.”

your throat closed again. fresh tears spilled over, hot and helpless, streaking down your cheeks.

“i can’t—” your voice cracked, high and broken, and sevika hushed you before you could spiral.

“yes, you can,” she said, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

your breath stilled.

so close.

not a kiss, not really. just the warmth of her, the steady press of her lips barely touching the skin right beside yours.

her hold tightened around you, so solid, so unshakable, like nothing in the world could move her.

a few minutes passed. your breathing had evened out, the panic fading like a distant echo. In its place, there was only warmth—gentleness so steady, so all-consuming, it almost made you dizzy.

sevika hadn’t let go. hadn’t rushed you. hadn’t demanded anything at all.

she had just been here. and you were so fucking grateful.

not just for her presence, but for how lenient she was. how understanding. you had always known there was something softer beneath the sharp edges of her—hidden, buried, waiting.

it’s just that no one had ever been worthy enough to see it, to experience it.

…did that mean you were? but she barely knew you… maybe you just looked too much of a mess to ignore..?

you were still trembling in her arms. soft, fragile. barely breathing right.

sevika could feel it—every shaky inhale, every tiny, broken sound against her throat. and fuck, it did something to her.

she had seen people terrified before. begging, crying. she’d seen it in the pits, in the streets, in the eyes of men who knew they were about to die.

but this wasn’t the same.

this wasn’t some coward pleading for mercy. this was something else. it was the kind of fear that settled deep in the bones, clawing from the inside out. the kind that didn’t go away.

she exhaled through her nose, slow and steady, letting the heat of it brush against the crown of your head.

“breathe,” she muttered again. a command. a reassurance.

she felt you try—felt your chest rise, then hitch, then shudder all over again.

not fucking enough.

sevika’s hand slid lower, palm smoothing down the curve of your spine. not in a way that meant something. not now. just a steady weight. a reminder.

you’re here… and you’re safe.

you hiccupped, your hands twitching against Sevika’s shoulders. your fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak, clinging.

sevika’s jaw tightened.

“you’re okay,” she muttered, pressing her metal hand against the small of your lower back. holding you closer. holding you up.

you made a noise—soft, breathless. Almost like you wanted to believe her.

sevika leaned back slightly, just enough to see your— red-rimmed eyes. tear-streaked cheeks. your lips were parted, trembling with something that wasn’t quite words, and sevika took you in. every inch of you. every mark left behind from the night.

she lifted her metal fingers, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your cheek.

“look at you.” her voice was low, quiet. almost a whisper.

you swallowed thickly. your lips quivered.

sevika’s hand shifted, her knuckles skimming along your jaw, tilting your face just enough.

the corner of your mouth—soft, flushed, damp with tears.

sevika leaned in, pressing her lips there. barely. just the ghost of a touch. a quiet thing. an unspoken promise.

she felt you go still. the tiniest, sharpest inhale. like you didn’t know if you were supposed to pull away or fall into it.

sevika didn’t give you a choice.

she pulled back, watching you carefully, keeping her metal hand firm against your back.

you didn’t know how much time had passed. how long you had been sitting there, wrapped up in the warmth of her, the weight of her arms, the slow, steady drag of her fingers tracing along your back.

you were breathing now. not perfect, not steady—but breathing.

sevika shifted just slightly, her breath ghosting over the top of your head. then—low, quiet

“…how many do you have left?”

you blinked, slow, heavy. still lightheaded from all of it, still sinking, still—

“…what?”

“your lives,” she muttered. “how many?”

you let the words settle. you weren’t sure. you had never counted.

for a moment, you thought about telling her the truth. that it didn’t matter. that if she had thrown you out, if she had let you go—if she ever let you go—

but instead, your voice came out soft. steady.

“…enough.”

sevika let out a huff. low, almost amused, and her grip tightened.

“good,” she murmured. “don’t waste another one.”

your breath hitched. not from fear, not from panic—from something else you weren’t willing to name at the moment.

slowly, your fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak again, grounding yourself in the scent of her, the warmth of her, the way she was holding you like you were something to keep.

the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“…nine lives.” a quiet inhale. hen, softer, truer

“and none without you.”

you felt the way she stilled. the way something shifted in the air—heavier, deeper.

her metal fingers found the base of your skull, dragging slow, steady lines along your skin.

sevika exhaled, her voice a murmur against your temple.

“that’s right, kitten.”

you closed your eyes. let yourself sink.

let yourself stay.

#sevika #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika x fem!reader #arcane

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p0orbaby · 6 months ago

Text

Spend the Night with You, Spend My Life with You

summary: sex, snow and three little words

warnings: SMUT 18+, strap use

a/n: these two are so hopeless it hurts

word count: 3.5k

part 1

The edge of the kitchen island bites into your stomach as Alexia pushes you forward, her hands gripping your hips with a steady, deliberate pressure. You splay your fingers across the cool marble, desperate for purchase, but the smooth surface offers nothing to hold on to. When her hips snap forward, the shock of it ripples through your entire body, a gasp catching in your throat.

Your hand shoots out instinctively, grasping for anything to ground you. It lands on the hammered copper bowl at the edge of the counter. The movement sends it spinning off balance, and a dozen oranges tumble onto the floor, rolling in lazy, chaotic arcs. The bowl clatters noisily, a sound that echoes off the tiled walls. Neither of you reacts. You’re too far gone.

Alexia leans into you from behind, her chest pressing against your back as her hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, her touch both reverent and possessive. The weight of her against you is grounding, her skin hot where it meets yours. Her lips find the nape of your neck, and she bites—hard enough to sting, hard enough to make you gasp again.

You feel her breath against your ear, hot and ragged. “You’re perfect,” she murmurs, the words almost swallowed by the sounds of your own shallow breathing.

Your head falls forward, your forehead brushing the cold marble. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the weight of her hands on your hips, the way her fingers dig into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“Alexia,” you breathe, her name tumbling out of you unbidden, as if it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

Her answer comes in the way her hips press harder against yours, the rhythm she’s set becoming a language all its own. There’s nothing else, nothing outside the space you’ve carved out together. The world could be ending, and it wouldn’t matter.

Her movements are sure, deliberate, her hands sliding from your hips to your stomach, then lower, fingers brushing over the heat of your skin. You shudder beneath her, your legs threatening to give out, but she holds you steady, her strength a reminder of the control she wields effortlessly.

“Look at me,” she commands, her voice low but firm, cutting through the haze that clouds your thoughts.

You lift your head, craning your neck to meet her gaze over your shoulder. Her eyes are dark, endless, and they pin you in place more effectively than any touch ever could. There’s something in her expression—a tenderness that feels at odds with the raw, almost brutal edge of what’s happening—and it makes your chest tighten.

“I love you,” she says, and the simplicity of it leaves you breathless.

It’s the first time she’s said it, the first time either of you has dared to name this thing between you. And even though you’d already come to terms with your feelings in the quiet of your own mind, hearing it out loud is like a punch to the gut.

You turn your head back, pressing your cheek against the cool surface of the counter, unable to face her for more than a moment. But her hands are insistent, guiding you upright, pulling you back against her chest. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close, while her free hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet her eyes again.

“Say it,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear.

You hesitate, the words lodged in your throat, but the way her eyes soften—hopeful and unrelenting—undoes you completely.

“I love you,” you admit, the words breaking on a gasp as her hand slides lower, her touch erasing any lingering doubts.

The air between you shifts, heavy with something unspoken but deeply understood. Her mouth finds yours, the kiss urgent and messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling as if she’s trying to devour the words you’ve just given her.

Your legs shake, and she senses it, so she pulls out and scoops you up with an ease that borders on arrogance. Your thighs lock around her waist instinctively, the movement both desperate and defiant, and your arms loop around her neck like you might otherwise drift away. She doesn’t falter, doesn’t pause. She carries you as if you weigh nothing, as if your feverish kisses and clumsy, grasping hands don’t threaten to frustrate her with every step.

You’re not sure where she’s taking you; there’s no plan, only the friction of her fingertips digging into the backs of your thighs and the insistent pressure of her mouth on yours. You lose yourself in the motion, in the heat of her skin beneath her shirt—a cotton button-down you vaguely recall unbuttoning in a fit of impatience. It’s pale blue, maybe linen, and creases easily, but somehow, on her, even its rumpled state looks deliberate. The kind of effortless chic that you hate to admit you envy.

The bedroom is the goal, you think, until it isn’t. Until the two of you crash onto the rug in front of the fireplace. A soft furnishing you remember buying on a whim—hand-woven by a fourth-generation family in the Atlas Mountains, the kind of purchase that implies you’re a person with taste, with distinction. It’s soft in some places, coarse in others, but all you can focus on is the way Alexia’s body moves against yours, her breath hot against your neck, her hands mapping out territory she already owns.

“God, you’re perfect,” she murmurs, her voice rough, a little breathless, and it’s absurd how much the words undo you. You feel her lips against your collarbone, then lower, her tongue tracing a line along the curve of your breast before she takes your nipple into her mouth. Your back arches, your breath catching, and you’re distantly aware of the way your legs tighten around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

The fire is building, frantic and all-consuming, and you’re helpless to stop it. Not that you want to. Not when her hands are on you, coaxing, demanding, grounding you in a way nothing else ever has. You lose yourself in her touch, her voice, her everything.

Time becomes a blur after that. The weight of her body, the press of her hands, the sound of her voice—low and rough and threading its way through the space between you—it’s all-consuming. You don’t remember when you stopped thinking, when you let go of the need to control the situation, or her, or yourself. But it’s somewhere between her mouth finding yours again and the sheer mess of your limbs tangling together, her strength pinning you exactly where she wants you.

When it’s over, when the storm of her finally settles into something quieter, her head resting against your shoulder and her breath warm against your neck, you remember.

“We’re late,” you announce, your voice cutting through the silence with all the grace of a car alarm.

Alexia doesn’t move at first, her body still draped lazily over you, hot breath tickling the damp skin of your neck. “What?” she hums, not lifting her head.

“Skiing” you say, as though it’s obvious. “The booking. The gear hire. The… everything.” You gesture vaguely toward the coffee table, where your itinerary sits, printed and highlighted and unnecessarily laminated.

She looks up then, and for a moment she just stares at you, blinking, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Then, to your utter dismay, she starts laughing. It’s not a small laugh, either. It’s full-bodied, rich, and entirely at your expense.

“You’re joking,” she says between breaths, though it’s clear she knows you’re not.

“I’m not,” you insist, pushing her off you, though the movement feels like betrayal—like cutting the power to a film just as the climax hits. “The lift tickets were pre-booked. There’s a window. A strict window that were going to miss”

“And whose fault is it that?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yours,” you reply, deadpan. “You’re the one who decided to… well, distract me”

Alexia laughs again, a soft sound that’s warm and infectious and entirely too easy to forgive. “Distract you? That’s rich, coming from the person who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves”

“Don’t deflect,” you say, sitting up to make a point this is in fact very serious. “Do you know how much coordination it took to set this up? The calls? The emails? The back-and-forth with their useless website that doesn’t recognise international postcodes? And the ski instructor alone was a nightmare to book. He’s apparently some kind of legend—teaches everyone from A-listers to politicians to royalty. His name’s Pierre, which is almost too on the nose, but I digress. The point is, he’s probably been standing there for twenty minutes now, wondering if we’ve been mauled by wolves”

She grins, shaking her head, and there’s something infuriatingly fond about the way she looks at you. “You’re very dramatic”

“No, I’m being organised,” you counter, scrambling to your feet and reaching for your discarded shirt. “This was your idea, remember? ‘Let’s try skiing,’ you said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ you said”

“It will be fun,” she says, still seated on the floor, her hair dishevelled, her shirt hanging off one shoulder. She looks maddeningly good like this, like she belongs in some high-end editorial spread titled Après Passion.

“Not if we miss the slot,” you mutter, pulling your shirt over your head and avoiding her gaze. “Do you know what happens if you’re late? They give your spot away. To people on a wait list”

She doesn’t move immediately, instead she sits there on your hand-woven rug watching you with an expression that’s equal parts fond and exasperated. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re like this,” she says, her voice teasing.

“Like what?”

“Frantic. Bossy. Pretending you don’t care when you obviously do”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “Just get dressed. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can go back to not caring”

The beginner slope—charmingly nicknamed “Bunny Hill”—is far steeper than Alexia had anticipated. She stands rigidly at the edge, her boots clipped into rental skis that are alarmingly bright, the sort of neon green you associate with aggressive cycling brands or obnoxious trainers. You wonder if they’re intentionally loud, designed to help instructors spot the inevitable bodies sprawled across the snow.

Beside her, you’re dressed in a Moncler ski suit so pristine it practically sparkles in the sunlight. The stitching is quilted in perfect geometric diamonds, and the fur-lined hood is deliberately oversized, framing your face like the edges of a Vogue cover shoot. Your skis are top-tier: Fischer RC4 World Cups, chosen partly for their reputation and partly because the matte black matches your poles. You’ve already waxed them twice this season, though they probably didn’t need it. Your goggles, Oakleys with custom polarised lenses, sit snugly over your face, and you’re already warm, thanks to the base layer that cost more than the deposit on your first flat.

Alexia is, as always, frustratingly nonchalant. Her goggles, brand-new Oakleys you’d insisted on buying for her, sit slightly crooked on her face, the strap twisted in a way that makes your fingers itch to adjust them. The matching jacket, a sleek, insulated Patagonia shell in a shade of deep red that complements her complexion, fits perfectly—though she wears it like it’s just another hoodie tossed on before training. The trousers, Arcteryx, are so crisp they almost crackle, the tags having been snipped off mere hours ago. She looks every bit the part of a seasoned skier, though her posture suggests she’s waiting for the whole ordeal to be over so she can sit by the fire with a hot drink.

She shifts awkwardly, her poles dragging in the snow. “This is steeper than I thought”

You glance at the slope. It’s a nursery hill. Literal children are whizzing past with confidence, some barely old enough to tie their own shoelaces. A mother is halfway down, calling encouragement to a toddler in a lime-green snowsuit who is spinning in place, his skis forming an accidental snow angel.

“You’ll be fine,” you say, perhaps too casually, because she turns to look at you, her eyes narrowed.

“I’m not used to this,” she says, gesturing vaguely at the expanse of white in front of her. “You didn’t mention it would feel so… exposed”

You shrug. “You’ll pick it up quickly. You’re an athlete”

“Exactly, I don’t want to break my leg before the season starts”

Her caution surprises you. This is Alexia Putellas, who spends most of her life hurling herself into situations where bones break as casually as fingernails. But now, faced with the prospect of skiing, she’s hesitant, almost timid. It’s endearing, if not mildly irritating.

Pierre, your instructor for the day, is waiting at the bottom of the hill. His presence alone feels like an Arian tourism advertisement: flaxen hair, sharp cheekbones, and a jawline you could slice cheese on. His ski suit is a garish shade of blue, the logo of a the resort emblazoned across his chest. He waves at you both, teeth so white they practically refract the sun.

“Everyone is going to laugh at me,” Alexia mutters, her grip tightening on her poles.

“Maybe, but Pierre doesn’t count,” you say, ignoring the way she winces at the name. “He’s Swiss. They’re born on skis.”

She takes a deep breath and adjusts her goggles, the anti-fog coating catching the light. “Alright. I can do this”

She can’t do this, you quickly learn.

The moment she pushes off, it’s clear she’s underestimated the logistics. Her knees are too stiff, her weight too far back, and the skis seem to have a mind of their own. She picks up speed alarmingly quickly, her arms flailing in an almost cartoonish attempt at balance. You watch in horror as she veers toward the edge of the slope, narrowly missing a child who stares after her with wide-eyed bewilderment.

“Bend your knees!” you shout, though it’s futile.

Somehow, she manages to slow herself down enough to come to an abrupt, awkward halt halfway down the hill. She’s breathing heavily, her face flushed—not from exertion but from what you suspect is a mix of terror and mortification.

“What was that?” she calls up to you, her voice high-pitched.

“You were leaning back,” you reply, sliding toward her with an ease you know she finds infuriating. “Your centre of gravity was off”

“No shit,” she mutters, bending over to adjust her boots.

When you reach her, you make a show of stopping gracefully, your skis forming a perfect parallel line. You stand over her like an insufferable authority figure, which, let’s be honest, you are.

“Look,” you say, your tone breezy. “It’s all about weight distribution. Shift forward. Use your knees to absorb the movement. It’s physics”

She looks up at you, incredulous. “Are you seriously quoting physics to me right now?”

“Would you prefer I quote Pythagoras?”

“I’d prefer you stop being smug”

You grin. “I’m not being smug. I’m being helpful”

She scowls, but there’s no real venom in it.

Eventually, she makes it to the bottom, though not without incident. She topples twice, once taking out a marker pole and once nearly colliding with Sven, who watches the whole debacle with the stoicism of someone who’s seen far worse.

“I’m retiring,” Alexia declares when she finally comes to a stop, her skis splayed at an awkward angle.

“You’re fine,” you say, brushing snow off her jacket.

“I’m not fine. My pride is in pieces”

“Pride heals faster than a broken leg,” Pierre says, his tone unhelpfully chipper.

The lodge, when you finally retreat to it, is a welcome reprieve, a perfect cliché of alpine charm. The interior is all dark wood and exposed beams, the kind that might be reclaimed or might just be faux-rustic, it’s hard to tell. Roaring fireplaces anchor every corner, their stone mantels adorned with garlands of holly and pine cones sprayed with artificial snow. The air is thick with the scent of mulled wine, damp wool, and wood smoke, mingling in a way that makes the space feel both comforting and mildly suffocating.

Alexia slumps into a seat near the fireplace, tugging off her goggles with the dramatic sigh of someone who’s just endured a life-altering trauma. She drops them onto the table, where they skid across the varnished surface before coming to rest against a cast iron candleholder.

“I hate this,” she announces, slouching low in her chair like a moody teenager who’s just been told to tidy their room.

“You don’t hate this,” you say, sliding into the seat opposite her and unzipping your jacket with far less fanfare. “You hate not being good at it”

She glares at you, her jaw tightening in that way it always does when you’ve hit the mark. It’s the same glare she gives referees when a call doesn’t go her way, and it’s just as ineffective now as it is then.

“Admit it,” you press, unable to resist poking the bear. “You’re annoyed because skiing isn’t something you can dominate after five minutes of practice”

“I’m annoyed because skiing is stupid,” she retorts, though the defensive edge in her voice gives her away. “Who even decided sliding down a mountain with sticks strapped to your feet was a good idea?”

“Norwegians, probably,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Blame them”

She grumbles something in Spanish, too low for you to catch, but the sharpness of her tone tells you it’s probably an insult aimed at both the Norwegians and you.

Before you can tease her further, a server appears with hot chocolates. They’re obscene—decadent monstrosities served in oversized ceramic mugs. Each one is piled high with whipped cream, dusted with cocoa powder, and garnished with sugar-dusted gingerbread stars precariously balanced on the rim. A stray marshmallow floats in the froth, its edges beginning to dissolve.

Alexia stares at hers like it’s personally offended her.

“What?” she demands when you burst into laughter.

“Nothing,” you say, though your smirk gives you away entirely. “It’s just… not very you, is it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Nothing,” you repeat, though you can’t stop yourself from glancing pointedly at the gingerbread star perched on her mug like it’s auditioning for next year's John Lewis Christmas advert.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” she mutters, picking up a marshmallow and lobbing it at you without warning.

It hits your sleeve, leaving a faint, sticky smudge of melted sugar on your Moncler jacket. You look down at it, then back at her, your expression perfectly deadpan.

“Childish,” you say, flicking the marshmallow back at her.

She dodges it with the expected reflexes of someone who captains her national team, though the movement is so exaggerated it draws the attention of the couple at the next table. You give them an apologetic smile, but Alexia just grabs her spoon and scoops an alarming amount of whipped cream off her hot chocolate.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn, raising a hand in mock surrender.

Her smirk is pure mischief as she leans forward, balancing the spoon precariously. “You started it”

“And best believe me, I’ll finish it too,” you say, though your tone lacks conviction.

She takes this as permission and flings the whipped cream in your direction. It lands squarely on your shoulder, and the entire room seems to pause as you stare at the mess now streaking your ski suit.

“You're five,” you say flatly, reaching for a napkin.

“You deserved it,” she replies, utterly unrepentant, leaning back in her chair with a victorious grin that makes your stomach flip in a way you’re starting to find annoyingly familiar.

You shake your head, suppressing a smile as you wipe the sticky smudge off your sleeve. The lodge hums around you—soft chatter, the occasional clink of glasses, the crackle of the fire—and yet it feels like the world has narrowed to just this table, just her.

She’s still grinning when you glance back up, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. It’s infuriating. And addictive.

“You’re a pain,” you mutter, more to yourself than to her, but she hears it anyway.

“Yet, you still love me,” she quips, her tone light, teasing, but there’s something in her eyes—something unguarded and fleeting, like a glimpse of light through a crack in the curtains.

It makes your chest ache, but not in a way that hurts. It’s the kind of ache you feel when you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, when everything finally clicks into place.

You shrug, trying to play it cool even as your pulse stumbles over itself. “Maybe I do”

Her grin softens, just slightly, and for a second, it feels like the world pauses. The fire crackles, the snow falls softly outside, and all the noise of the lodge blurs into background static.

Then she picks up her mug, takes an exaggerated sip of her hot chocolate, and smirks. “Lucky me”

Lucky her indeed.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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keferon · 6 months ago

Note

TexAid continues to rot my brain I hope you don't mind I had an idea for Shockwave. Warning for mentioned super unethical experimentation.

====

Vortex didn’t remember the first day his dad had brought him to work. He’d been too young, young enough to have stars in his eyes about giant robots and a desire to be tested by the cool machines his dad worked on, according to what he’d been told. The standard idiot child.

Of course that had been where him being standard had ended.

But that meant he had grown up at the facility, that he knew it better than almost anyone else and knew everyone in it. Which was why he was currently keeping his cockpit shut tight even as First Aid kept hammering the button to open it.

Shockwave, the only pilot to ever make it to retirement was on the other side of his one way red glass visor staring like he could see through it. Maybe he could. Once upon a time he had been kind. Once upon a time he had actual eyes instead of the bionic yellow glow that shrunk and grew as he focused it.

His mech had had a fatal accident, one that should have killed him too. But Shockwave hadn’t been lucky enough to die, instead he had been a test subject, to see if machine and human could get just a little closer to being one.

Vortex had never liked any of his pilots enough to care but looking at Shockwave made him mentally promise First Aid that he would never let him live if he got heavily wounded in a fight. If Vortex was dying he’d take the other man with him as a mercy. Better that than this, having everything he was scooped out.

One metal hand came up to tap on his glass, like he was knocking on the door of a house. “Vortex let me meet him, I want to see why this one is special.”

First Aid stopped trying to open the visor and slunk back behind the pilot seat and if Vortex could relax he would have at having him less exposed. Vortex wondered if he should chew First Aid up a little? Make him less special? But it was too late.

The only consolation was that his reputation as a pilot killer protected First Aid, made him too valuable to let him be dragged down into Shockwave’s lab for tests that weren’t a guaranteed success.

Shockwave continued, “Wouldn’t you like to have a body again? The first mech to human full-translation. You're an ideal candidate for obvious reasons.” But of course that wasn’t what he really wanted. No Shockwave’s real project was human to mech translation, more than what had been done to him, on a grander scale than replacing most of a human with a machine. Shockwave was large, but he was still person sized.

Vortex had been smart enough to keep his existence at rumors and Shockwave couldn’t prove he was in here. He was trying to use First Aid to lure him out.

He felt First Aid’s hands tighten on the back of the seat, as if he was ready to fight being pulled away from it. But Vortex kept his cockpit closed and after a long time Shockwave sighed and turned away. “Well perhaps once you get bored of him, just leave him in usable pieces.”

Vortex watched him jump off the gangway and heard the sound of metal hitting the ground below him before easy footsteps. For a moment he was jealous of what Shockwave had, but not at that price. Even after he was gone it took a long moment before Vortex let his cockpit open. It took longer for First Aid to leave it.

OH DAMN…

YOU KNOW WHAT. As much as I love Senator Shockwave. The Idea of him being that creepy fucking scientist really fits here oh my god

Previous Next

#tf mecha universe #ALSO VORTEX BEING PROTECTIVE OVER FIRST AID #YS PLEASE #WONDERFUL FJFNNFJFMVNV

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valeisaslut · 1 month ago

Note

what are reader’s and ellie’s MOST traumatic life moments or childhood i just need to know this i LOVE shit like this

oh. babe. you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

i’ve been WAITING for this one. i’ve had this little heartbreak tucked away, saved under my sleeve, because if i dropped it casually y’all would’ve sobbed yourselves into another plane of existence. but... since you asked... i will deliver.

Collide rockstar!ellie’s most traumatic life moments:

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 the last time she saw her mother she doesn’t really remember her mom’s face. just a blur of auburn hair, a cold hand pushing her toward joel’s front porch. the door slamming shut behind her. the smell of rain and car exhaust as a blurry figure walked away, not looking back once. joel scooped her up, mumbled something like “you’re safe, kiddo” but she wasn’t stupid. even at two years old, she knew. the first person who was supposed to love her didn’t. some nights, when she’s alone and high enough to let the cracks show, she still dreams of that door. closing. again. and again. and again.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 being told she was a mistake. at nineteen, bright-eyed, full of raw talent and hope, sitting in a fancy office in LA signing her first deal. some big-shot exec laughed too hard at a joke she didn’t understand, leaned back and said, “guess your dad forgot to wrap it up, huh?” everyone laughed. she smiled. she went home and smashed her first guitar against the wall. stared at herself in the mirror until sunrise, wondering if her whole life was just one long accident.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 losing joel in slow motion no screaming matches. no slammed doors. just... less. less texts. less visits. less warmth in his voice when he called. until the only thing left between them was old songs and heavier silences. sometimes she sees dads hugging their daughters backstage at shows and it feels like a knife between her ribs. joel never stopped loving her. he just didn’t know how to love her through the wreckage.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 catching joel’s voicemail after not speaking for six months she didn’t listen to it right away. she couldn’t. but one night, drunk and high and lonely, she pressed play. his voice, crackling and old and tired: “i’m proud of you, kiddo. no matter what. just... stay safe, alright?” and then nothing. just static. she still has it saved. she’s never answered.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 the first time the stage felt like a curse sold-out show. lights flashing. the crowd screaming her name like a prayer. and she stood there, guitar in hand, heart hammering, feeling absolutely nothing. not pride. not joy. just a black, sucking emptiness so loud she thought it might swallow her whole. and she realized: this was the dream. and it was still killing her.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 the groupie incident. it was early fireflies era. ellie was nineteen. young, cocky, drunk on success and whiskey. the tour was everything she'd dreamed of—loud, messy, free. the fan found her backstage. older, confident, too confident. flirted with her like they already knew each other. said all the right things in all the wrong ways. the kisses turned sharp. the hands got too fast. and the woman—god, the woman wouldn’t shut the fuck up. kept whispering “joel miller’s kid” against her mouth, like it was dirty talk. a kink. kept asking "is your daddy proud now?" between bites against her jaw.

ellie froze. laughed it off, weak, because what the fuck was she supposed to do? tried to pull back but the woman dropped to her knees, trying to take care of her. touched her like she was owed something.

ellie shoved her away hard enough that the woman stumbled back laughing, calling her a tease.

ellie left. didn't tell anyone. showered until her skin hurt. locked it away somewhere dark.

and after that night? she swore she'd never be vulnerable like that again. swore she’d never give up control like that again. she'd top. she'd be the one in charge. always.

(there were nights when someone's hands brushed too close to her throat and she flashed back. when someone kneeled too fast, and her whole body locked up. no one knew why she tensed. she just smiled and said she’s picky.)

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 the night the drugs stopped being fun. it wasn’t dramatic. no ambulance, no near-death collapse. it was quiet. she was alone in a luxury hotel suite she didn’t even remember booking, scraping up a line with a hotel key card, staring at her reflection in the marble bathroom counter. eyes glazed. skin pale. soul gone. she snorted it anyway. and realized she didn’t even want to get high anymore. she just didn’t know how to be alive without it.

Collide popstar!reader's most traumatic life moments:

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 the day her grandparents found out she liked girls she grew up really close to them, deep in the south, raised on sweet tea and silent judgment. she loved them deeply. but that day, the kitchen smelled like cornbread and disappointment. her grandma’s hands shaking over the table. her grandpa’s voice sharp as a knife: “you’re going to hell.” she was sixteen. just figuring herself out. she slept on the floor of her best friend’s bedroom for two weeks after that. they still call ellie “your friend” on the phone. like your love was something shameful. something less.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 the moment she started hating her own body — they told her she had the “perfect popstar face.” but her body? every photoshoot. every fitting. “we love you, babe, we just need you a little tighter in the waist.” “just a few pounds, sweetheart. you’ll thank us.” at 18, she was living on black coffee and air, stepping on the scale twice a day, crying in hotel bathrooms when the number didn’t drop fast enough. sometimes she still pulls at the skin on her stomach, even when ellie kisses every inch and calls her perfect. some lies are hard to unlearn.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 being booed on stage after being outed her first tour. small crowd. industry showcase. utah. someone leaked a photo of her kissing a girl at a party. they booed before she even opened her mouth. she smiled. sang the whole set. then threw up backstage, shaking so hard she couldn’t unzip her own dress.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 being used by her own label signed at seventeen. bright, obedient, hungry. they told her she could be america’s sweetheart if she just— smiled more. wore the short skirts. let them pair her up with a fake boyfriend for PR. handed her a packet with new hair colors. hobbies to start talking about in interviews. every day, chipping pieces of herself off to stay marketable. there’s still a contract framed in her manager’s office with her seveteen-year-old signature with a heart on it. sometimes she wants to burn it.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 the day she realized success doesn’t cure loneliness 3 mtv moon men. debut album. one of the most successful debuts in pop’s history. photographers screaming her name. champagne on her lips. legends of music clapping and smiling for her. and no one she loved in the crowd. the afterparty felt like a wake. she went home alone. took the awards out of her bag. stared at them for a long, long time. then shoved them into a closet and closed the door.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 being laughed at by her own family about her dreams and sexuality not even cruelty. not even rage. mockery. “baby girl, nobody from here makes it.” “when are you gonna get a boyfriend? oh.. right.. i forgot.” “music’s cute. not a real job though.” every family barbecue, every graduation party. smiles just a little too wide. hands patting her shoulder like they already knew she was gonna fail. every charting single now feels like a middle finger they’ll never see coming.

bonus trauma moments bc i'm evil and i have so much secret lore ab this i feel like im gonna explode:

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 ellie once showed her mom’s old photo to jesse in a moment of vulnerability, only for him to accidentally leave it at a hotel room. it got posted online. he apologized a hundred different times, but tabloids ran it for months. and it made ellie barely talks about her real life anymore. it’s why she hides the realest parts of her.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 reader got her first real paycheck from her music, bought her grandma and mom flowers and concert tickets, and her grandma said, "we don’t celebrate sin here.” her mother only nodded. didn't even look at her. she left the flowers on the porch. and cried all the way back to LA.

and they carry all of this—their bruised knuckles, their wounded hearts—into each other’s arms. sometimes fighting it. sometimes failing. always trying.

because trying is still loving. even when it hurts.

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wildflowersandvibranium · 18 days ago

Text

Waltzing Rescue

Pairing: 40s Husband!Dad!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader Summary: While raining cats and dogs outside bucky spends a perfect evening with the love of his life , and the light of his life. Ft alpine iykyk Word count: 1.8k ish warnings/tags: nothing!! Fluff Fluff more Fluff , Kissing , you and bucky have a daughter , set in 1940s/50s , no hydra bucky survives train fall! If I missed anything let me know!!

author's note: after all the angst here’s my apology but don’t worry more angst coming for all the angst lovers ;) TYY for every reblog comment like! It means the world as always 💖🌷

requests always open! 🫶🏼 masterlist pinned!

The storm rolled in quickly that evening , pouring thick sheets of rain as it hammered down on the rooftops of Brooklyn like earth had a score to settle and was winning.

Streets glistened silvery-black beneath flickering lamplight , puddles swallowing boots and tires alike. But Bucky Barnes wasn't in a rush.

Just escaping the tiring day of his job. The brunette had something precious tucked beneath his coat lapel.

The tiny thing had been crying out under a fire escape , soaked to the bone , shivering and no bigger than a teacup. Fur like cream now a muddy grey.

Eyes a deep stormy blue looking up at the matching pair.

He didn’t think twice , just scooped the kitten up and stuffed it under his jacket , right against his undershirt where it could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

By the time he pushed open the front door of the Barnes’ brownstone , he was soggy , completely drenched. Hat dripping , coat soaked clean through , a puddle forming beneath his brown brogues.

“Sweetheart?” he called into the hum of home.

The warmth hit him first , the crackling fire still ablaze and alive from when he first left that morning.

That, and the smell of a home cooked supper . Meatloaf and gravy , biscuits fresh from the oven , as always .

A quiet melody swirled from the record player in the living room filling the home — something smooth , something soft , but the real music was the sound of your voice.

“In the kitchen , Hun! And don't forget to wipe your feet , Barnes!”

He grinned widely to himself . His name. Now-also yours. He liked when you used it. Made him feel like he was home.

With careful hands , he peeled off his coat and hat , setting them on the hook just in the entry of the house , before gently cupping the damp little kitten and holding her close to his chest. As he cooed promising her she was safe.

You appeared in the doorway, wiping your hands on a floral printed apron covered in flour from your dinner prep.

“What in the —?” you began , brows knitted together staring at your husband holding a little ball of damp fur.

“She was out in the rain,” Bucky spoke , giving you a lopsided smile.

“Couldn’t just leave her. Look at ‘er. You ever seen somethin’ so pitiful?”

The kitten blinked slowly , meowing once-turned into a silent yawn before burrowing into the crook of his arm.

You sighed, shaking your head , exasperated but already melting at the sight and now story. “Put her by the burner. It's still hot , it'll warm her right up. Im’a go find find some milk.”

He stepped inside, leaving a few damp footprints on the wooden kitchen floor.

“James , dear , your socks,” you warned with a smile.

“I know, I know, I’ll mop it up .” He gently placed the kitten in a small basket near the burner , padding it with one of Maggie’s old baby blankets she's now too grown for. “There ya go, sweet girl”

As if understanding his words , the kitten gave a grateful sigh and curled up against the fleece.

The kitchen now smelled like heaven on earth . You were spooning mashed potatoes onto the green ceramic plates when the sound of feet pattering overhead reached both your ears.

Margaret or Maggie as you both affectionately called her.

Before either of you could call up the stairs for her to slow down , the thumps turned into a quick patter down the hallway — and then there she was: three-years-old , hair wild and dimpled cheeks , dragging her stuffed white fluffy wolf her dad got her when she turned two , by the tip of its tail.

“Daddy!” she shrieked , making a beeline for him , her voice still rounded by toddler babble.

Bucky crouched just in time to catch her mid-leap , lifting her high in the air as she squealed and threw her arms around his neck.

“Hey there , baby doll!” he laughed , twirling her once , braid whipping around before tucking her under his chin. “Miss me?”

She nodded against his chest , then pulled back , wide-eyed nose scrunched , just like he did when he laughed- it melted your heart seeing the resemblance of the pair.. “You wet, Daddy.” she squeaked, pushing back off his chest , still in his firm hold.

“Don't I know it , rained like cats and dogs .”

He winked at you over Maggie’s head. “Even brought home one of the cats.”

“Where at daddy?” she asked with big eyes searching.

“She's sleeping right now warmin’ up , but you can see her after supper.”

He replied , swaying them gently to the rhythm to the song currently playing.

As you set the plates on the table, the record in the parlor changed , a new song drifting in , smooth saxophone and velvet like vocals .

It was Maggie’s favorite. You didn’t know why she’d chosen it , but every time it came on , her eyes lit up.

Sure enough, she gasped. “Dance song!”

Bucky grinned, already knowing what came next.

“You wanna dance, baby?”

“Yes dance , Daddy,” she demanded, pointing toward the living room.

“Well , you heard her,” he said, casting you a look of mock defeat as he swung her onto his hip. “Anything for my best gal.”

He carried her into the parlor and gently set her down — then placed her chubby little feet on top of his leather shoes , like they’d done a dozen times before.

She held onto his thumbs , her cherub-like hands only fitting one of his inside her grasp. She had a wide smile showing her tiny teeth , and let out a delighted giggle as he started to sway them.

They danced slowly , like it was the most important moment in the world.

For him it was. His girl choosing to dance with him will be the biggest gift he could ever receive.

You leaned against the doorframe , watching the love of your life twirl the light of your life that you’d made together in your shared love.

They continued just like that , in the golden lamp light of a stormy evening. The kitten purred quietly by the stove. The room smelled like love biscuits and safety.

“Daddy,” Maggie mumbled, resting her cheek against his middle. “You so tall.”

He chuckled, voice low. “That’s ‘cause you’re small , doll.”

“You my best friend,” she added, closing her heavy eyelids as they continued swaying gently.

Your throat tightened. And Bucky's eyes , instantly glassy.

He looked up at you , eyes full of something deep , full and aching in the best way. The kind of love that only came after war. After survival.

You beamed at him , brushing a tear from your cheek.

Oh how you two were the luckiest.

Later, after dinner , after dancing , Bucky carried Maggie upstairs. She’d fallen asleep halfway through telling them a story about seeing a squirrel splash in a puddle in the street making you both laugh.

She curled up against his side like a kitten herself. Warm and at peace.

He laid her gently in her small bed , brushing a lock of her chestnut hair from her forehead and pulling up the quilt you had made her when you were still pregnant with her.

Then he stayed there a moment longer, hand resting on her back as she breathed slow and deep. At rest.

When he came back down the stairs , the storm had quieted to a whisper against the windows. You were in the parlor, folding a blanket over the kitten’s basket.

He crossed the room in slow steps , you began to say something but were cut off by him taking your face in both hands , and kissing you , long and sweet.

“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling back enough to see in your eyes the same ones he fell in love with , and now the same ones that sparkle at him through your daughter , his thumb brushing your cheek gently as he spoke. Sincere–

“For this life. For her. For you.”

You cupped his face right back, feeling the slight scratch of his overgrown stubble , the warmth of his strong jaw.

“You’re home now,” you murmured softly. “You don’t have to thank me for something we built together.”

He exhaled, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I’ll still say it. Every day if I have to and even that won't barely express the love I have for you and our baby girl.”

You smiled. “Well, that’s mighty sweet of you , sergeant.”

He chuckled. “You think the kitten’ll stick? Maggie is already obsessed and i might have some names picked out. ” He smiled sheepishly

“She hasn’t moved in an hour, Buck.”

“I was talkin’ ‘bout you. You think you’ll stick with me and keep her?”

You wrapped your arms around his waist. “With you…always , but maybe talk to me before bringing any other strays in , alright?”

“Hey , you let me in now didn't ya?” he grinned that lopsided smile that never failed to make butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“I did , best darn thing I ever did , besides maggie.” you whispered, sealing your words with a soft peck.

The kitten stretched in her sleep. Upstairs, Maggie murmured in her dreamy state.

And James Bucky Barnes , home from the war, kissing his wife slowly and lovingly as thunder rolled soft in the distance — wrapped in the smell of baked bread , the warmth of hearth , and a kind of happiness no army nor calling could ever take from him.

-end

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #writing #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes pov #bucky barnes masterlist #bucky x reader #wildflowersandvibranium #the winter soldier #40s bucky barnes x reader #fluff Bucky Barnes #husband bucky barnes #dad bucky barnes #bucky barns x y/n

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writeriguess · 29 days ago

Note

Hi, could you carry on the story Father Of The Year that you wrote where it's during the last battle and somehow dabis daughter shows up trying to defend him, she'd be like at least 11 at most 14 in this ideally, and he is all like "not my daughter!" And has to protect her from the super confused pros?

author's note: Love this request <3 It also gave me a chance to open my tear canals. I imagined her to be 12 for balance.

Part 1

The battlefield was chaos—smoke and fire, screams and the clash of Quirks colliding. The ground was cracked and scorched, the air thick with the scent of burning debris. But none of that mattered to her.

She pushed through the crowd, dodging frantic bodies, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. She had to find him. She had to stop him.

Then—

"Hey, you!"

A voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

She barely had time to turn before a burst of wind sent her stumbling back.

A Pro Hero landed in front of her, mask cracked, eyes hard. "You—you're with him, aren't you?"

Her breath hitched. "What—?"

"Don’t play dumb!" Another Pro landed beside him, flames flickering at their palms. "You're Dabi’s little sidekick, aren't you? What, trying to sneak behind enemy lines?"

Her blood ran cold. "No! I—"

A flash of light—an attack. She barely saw it coming, her limbs frozen in terror.

And then—

A roar of blue flames.

"BACK OFF!"

A dark blur slammed between them, and suddenly the heat in the air was suffocating. The Pros jumped back, their attacks fizzling out as a wall of fire erupted in front of them. The flames cast long shadows over Dabi’s frame, his breath ragged, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

But it wasn’t the fire that made them freeze.

It was the look on his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" he snarled.

The first Pro hesitated. "What—she was—"

"She’s a kid!" Dabi barked, his voice laced with something unfamiliar—panic. "She’s not part of this!"

The second Pro’s eyes flickered between them, realization dawning. "Wait, why do you—?"

Dabi stepped in front of her, his stance radiating pure, unfiltered wrath. "Touch her again," he growled, "and I’ll burn you where you stand."

The flames flared, and for a second, neither Pro moved. They just stared—confused, wary, shocked.

Because this wasn’t the Dabi they knew.

This wasn’t the merciless villain who burned down buildings and laughed in the face of destruction.

This was something else entirely.

"Dabi," one of them started cautiously, "who is she?"

His jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck tightened.

Then, without another word, he turned, scooping her up in his arms.

"We’re leaving," he muttered.

She barely had time to process it before he was moving, carrying her away from the battlefield, the Pros too stunned to follow.

Dabi’s grip on her tightened as he moved, his mind racing, barely registering the chaos around them. His breath came fast and uneven, adrenaline still burning hot in his veins.

Because right now, Dabi was staring down at the one thing he had never expected to see in the middle of this hellstorm.

Her.

Your daughter.

His daughter.

His heart was still hammering from the near miss—if he’d been even a second slower, that Pro Hero would have—

Dabi grit his teeth, his grip on her shoulders tightening as he crouched down to her level, his eyes wide and furious. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Tears welled up in her big, terrified eyes, but she didn’t shrink back from him. Didn’t flinch. “I—I had to find you—”

“No.” His voice was sharp, like snapping metal. “No, you didn’t. You were supposed to stay home. With your mom. Safe.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “But you—” She sucked in a breath, her voice cracking. “You’re gonna die.”

Dabi froze.

The words hit like a gut punch. A slap to the face.

He stared at her, his body stiff, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

“I heard Mom,” she sobbed, her hands gripping his coat. “I heard her say you weren’t coming back. That you were gonna—gonna burn yourself out just to kill him.”

Dabi exhaled harshly through his nose, his jaw clenching so tight it ached.

“Is it true?” she whispered, her voice shaking.

He didn’t answer.

Her breath hitched. “Is it true?!”

Dabi sighed, running a hand down his face. He looked exhausted. “Kid…” His voice was quieter now, hoarse. “You don’t understand.”

She shook her head violently, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “Then make me understand! Why do you have to go? Why do you have to leave us?”

Dabi shut his eyes for a second before opening them again, softer this time. “Because it’s the only way.”

“No, it’s not!” she choked out. “You can come home! You can—”

“I can’t.”

His voice was steady. Unwavering.

And it made something deep in her chest crack wide open.

She hiccupped through her tears. “Why? Why can’t you just come back with us?”

Dabi exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his next words carefully. “Because this is something I have to do.”

“No, it’s not,” she argued, shaking her head desperately. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do.” His grip on her shoulders was firm, but not unkind. “I know you don’t get it now, but one day, you will.”

She clenched her hands into fists, curling them into his coat. “No, I won’t! I’ll never understand why you’re breaking your promise!”

Dabi flinched.

She saw it. The way his fingers twitched, the way his throat bobbed.

“…I know,” he muttered after a long pause.

She sniffled, shaking. “Then don’t do it.”

Dabi swallowed. “I have to.”

Her little hands yanked at his coat, shaking him. “No, you don’t!”

Dabi pressed his lips into a thin line, looking away for a second before sighing and dragging a hand down his face.

“I know this is hard for you to hear, kid. I know it hurts,” he said, voice rough. “But I was never supposed to be here forever.”

Her breath hitched.

Dabi hesitated, then rested a hand on top of her head. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far, y’know? And I sure as hell never thought I’d be someone’s dad.” He huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “But then you and your mom happened.”

She bit her lip, staring up at him with wide, wet eyes.

“And for a while,” he continued, voice softer now, “I actually thought maybe— maybe I could have somethin’ like that. Somethin’ real.”

She sniffled, holding onto his coat like a lifeline.

“But this?” He gestured vaguely toward the battlefield, toward the fire and blood and ruin. “This was always where I was gonna end up.”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You can change it. You don’t have to do this.”

Dabi sighed. “I do, kid.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Why?”

His face twisted, something pained flickering behind his eyes. “Because if I don’t, then everything I’ve done—everything—was for nothing.”

She hiccupped, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

Dabi sighed again, his shoulders slumping. “I know I’ve done bad things. A lot of bad things.” He forced a small, dry smirk. “And you, of all people, know that.”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile.

Dabi’s smirk faded.

“But I can’t let him win,” he said, his voice quieter now.

She swallowed hard, her throat raw. “I don’t care about winning! I care about you!”

Dabi’s breath hitched.

She wiped furiously at her face. “I don’t care if you’re a villain! I don’t care what you did! I don’t care if people are scared of you! I’m not scared of you!”

Dabi exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “…I know.”

She let out a choked sob. “Then please don’t leave us.”

Dabi stared at her, his lips slightly parted, his hands twitching at his sides. He looked… lost. Torn.

And then, slowly, he reached out, resting his hand on her cheek, his thumb swiping away a tear.

“…I wish I could stay,” he murmured. “I really do.”

She shook her head, gripping his wrist. “Then stay.”

Dabi sighed, his other hand coming up to ruffle her hair.

“…Guess I did kinda screw myself over, huh?” He let out a dry chuckle. “Made you too damn stubborn.”

She sniffled, pouting. “Not my fault.”

Dabi hummed, his fingers brushing lightly against her scalp.

“…Alright,” he muttered after a long pause. “Tell me somethin’, kid.”

She blinked up at him, sniffling. “W-What?”

His face was unreadable. “If I stay… what happens next?”

She opened her mouth—then hesitated.

What would happen next?

Would he just… come home? Go back to the tiny apartment they shared? Pretend like none of this ever happened?

She wasn’t stupid.

She knew the heroes would come for him. That they’d never stop hunting him. That their life would be even more dangerous than before.

But…

Wasn’t that better than losing him completely?

“…We figure it out,” she said softly. “Together.”

Dabi was quiet for a moment, and then let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "You're naive, kid."

Her stomach twisted. "I'm not!"

"Yeah, you are," he muttered, voice rough. "You think we can just walk away? That we can go back to the way things were? Like the heroes won’t hunt me down? Like I won’t be looking over my shoulder every second for the rest of my life?"

She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling against his coat. "We can figure it out! We can hide, we—"

"Hide where?" Dabi cut in, his eyes dark and tired. "We've already been running for years. You think that suddenly changes if I turn my back on this? If I let that bastard live?"

She flinched at the sharpness in his tone, but she didn't back down. "But—Mom—"

Dabi clenched his jaw. "Your mom deserves better than this."

"She deserves you!" she cried, her voice breaking.

Dabi exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on her arms. "No. She deserves a life where she isn’t waiting for the knock on the door that takes me away. Where she isn’t crying herself to sleep, wondering if tonight’s the night I don’t come back."

She sucked in a sharp breath. "But you do come back. Every time."

He went still.

For a second, just a second, something flickered in his eyes. Something raw.

"...Not this time."

Her heart stopped. "No."

Dabi swallowed, his voice quieter now, but just as firm. "I don’t get a happy ending, kid. That’s not how this story goes."

She shook her head violently, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You promised."

Dabi shut his eyes for a second, as if trying to steady himself. "I know."

"Then keep it!" she pleaded. "Please, Dad, just this once—"

Dabi flinched.

It wasn’t the first time she had called him that. She had been calling him "Dad" for years, in her soft, matter-of-fact way, like it had never been a question. But this time—this time, something about the way she said it made his breath catch.

Maybe it was the way she sobbed it. Maybe it was the sheer, broken desperation in her voice.

Or maybe it was because, deep down, he had never really believed he deserved to hear it.

His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for her. As if, just for a second, he was considering staying.

But then—

His face hardened.

"...Someday, you’ll understand," he murmured. "Why I had to do this. Why I had to break that promise."

She felt something inside her shatter. "No, I won’t!"

Dabi’s lips twitched into something almost like a smile. Sad. Resigned. "Yeah," he muttered. "That’s what I said too."

And then he pried her hands from his coat, slowly, carefully, as if trying not to break her more than he already had.

She thrashed, sobbing. "No—no, don’t do this—please—"

Dabi pressed his forehead to hers for just a second. A brief moment. A stolen goodbye.

"...Take care of your mom, alright?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

And then—

He let her go.

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #todoroki #touya x reader #todoroki x reader #touya #touya todoroki #dabi #x reader #x you #x y/n #my hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader

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hayhenna · 4 months ago

Text

"Falling Apart"

Life on the Oro Jackson was never dull, but today was especially ridiculous.

“ACHOO!”

With a violent sneeze, Buggy’s left arm detached and flopped onto the deck.

“Ah, crap—wait, no!”

Before Buggy could react, his right leg gave out, his torso slid sideways, and his head rolled clean off his shoulders, landing with a dull thud at Shanks’ feet. His limbs were now scattered around him like a poorly assembled action figure.

Shanks stared down, holding back a laugh. "Well, that’s new."

Buggy’s floating hand weakly flipped him off.

"I swear to Roger, if you laugh, I’ll—ACHOO!" His nose popped off this time.

Shanks finally lost it, doubling over with laughter. “Buggy, you’re literally falling apart.”

“No shit, genius,” Buggy groaned. His detached arms twitched, but no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t reconnect properly. His powers were too weak from the fever. “Ugh, I can’t even put myself back together! This sucks.”

Shanks bent down, scooping up Buggy’s head and holding it in his hands. Buggy’s cheeks were flushed—not from embarrassment (yet) but from the fever burning him up.

“Alright, come on. Let’s get you to bed before we lose more pieces of you,” Shanks said.

Buggy let out a tired grumble. “No way. I don’t need your help.”

Shanks gave him a pointed look. "Buggy. You are literally disassembled on the floor."

"…Fine."

Getting Buggy to the infirmary was an adventure on its own.

Shanks had to carry Buggy’s head under his arm while gathering his limbs one by one, all while dodging the amused looks of the crew. At one point, he nearly tripped on Buggy’s knee rolling across the deck.

“Oi, Shanks,” one of the crew members called. “That’s some puzzle you got there.”

“Shut it!” Buggy’s head snapped, but it just made him cough.

By the time they reached the infirmary, Buggy was too exhausted to complain anymore. Shanks pieced him back together the best he could—some parts still refused to attach properly, leaving Buggy’s hand backward and his foot twitching randomly.

“Looks like you’re gonna be a little crooked for a while,” Shanks teased.

Buggy shot him a tired glare but didn’t have the energy to argue. He just sank into the bed, exhaling heavily.

Shanks sat beside him, watching as Buggy’s usual fiery attitude dimmed under his exhaustion. For the first time, Buggy looked… peaceful.

“You’re being quiet,” Shanks said, folding his arms. “That’s kinda weird.”

Buggy huffed weakly. “Too tired to yell at you, dumbass.”

Silence stretched between them, comfortable but unfamiliar. Then, Buggy muttered something so low that Shanks almost missed it.

“…I’m glad it’s you.”

Shanks blinked. “Huh?”

Buggy turned his feverish gaze toward him trying to reach his hand. "If someone had to take care of me… I’d rather it be you."

Shanks’ heart skipped a beat.

Buggy’s usual sharp, taunting expression was softer now, his long eyelashes casting shadows against his flushed cheeks. His pale skin was tinged pink, the fever making his chest rise and fall faster than usual, each breath shaky. A bead of sweat slipped down from beneath his headband, trailing along his temple before disappearing into his messy blue hair.

Shanks swallowed. He had seen Buggy angry, smug, cackling like a madman—but this? This was new. And it made his pulse hammer in his ears.

“W-Where is this coming from?” Shanks asked, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up his neck.

Buggy sighed, half-laughing. “Remember that time I tried to storm off during a fight, but my legs went the other way, and you had to chase them down?”

Shanks grinned, forcing himself to focus. “Oh yeah. That was hilarious.”

Buggy rolled his eyes but smirked a little. “Yeah, well… you always pick up my pieces, huh?”

Shanks’ throat went dry. There was something about the way Buggy said it—so casual, but so genuine.

Before he could figure out what to say, Buggy leaned in slightly and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Shanks’ brain completely short-circuited.

“…!!!”

Buggy smirked at his reaction. "Ha. You’re blushing."

Shanks, still flustered, grumbled, “You definitely aren’t sick enough if you’re still teasing me.”

Buggy chuckled, but his eyelids were drooping now, exhaustion finally winning. As he drifted off, Shanks watched over him, his own hand brushing over where Buggy had kissed him.

…Yeah. This wasn’t so bad.

----

End ♥️🩵

#buggy the clown #shuggy #one piece #shanks x buggy #red haired shanks #buggy one piece #shanks #buggy #one shot

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liliacamethyst · 2 years ago

Text

Sneak Peak Part V - Web of Eternal Dawn

“Drop the child, Miguel.” the figure warns.

With an unimpressed raise of his brow, Miguel retorts, “Go home, Miles.”

Gabriel, now more settled, looks up at Miguel with adoring eyes, already halfway back to sleep. But Miles’ persistent voice booms through the little room. "Miguel, step the fuck back from the baby, and let's settle this outside. NOW."

"Kid, this isn't a fight you wanna fight," Miguel warns, gently lowering the now sleeping Gabriel back into his crib.

But just as the situation seems to have reached a tense standoff, the door bursts open, revealing you, fully clad in your spider-suit, ready to fight, fury painted on every feature. Flashbacks of the past, filled with anger, pain, and fear, cloud your vision upon seeing Miguel bending over your son.

"Sunny, I can explain—" Miguel starts, but your reaction is swift. With a well-aimed web, you pin him to the nearby wall, rendering him immobile. Miles, clearly taken aback by your rapid response, stammers, “He... uh... was trying to... take Gabriel again. I saw it?”

Miguel's eyes, though pinned, glitter dangerously. “Cut the crap, kid.”

You had heard enough, and you fired webs at his mouth, silencing him. Standing tall, you demand, “What the hell is going on?”

Your heart hammers against your ribcage, an overpowering nausea threatening to bring you to your knees. Not again, you beg internally, this can't be happening again. The biting sensation of deja vu feels like a punch to the gut.

As if reading your panic, Miles lifts his hands in a placating gesture, but your focus narrows solely on your sleeping baby, peacefully oblivious to the tension in the room. Swiftly, you cross the distance to his crib, gently scooping him up, trying your hardest not to stir him. Every instinct screams at you to get away, to protect your child from the unpredictable scene.

You barely register Miles' words of apology or his attempt to follow, reacting instinctively by sending a web in his direction, narrowly missing him and instead encasing Miguel against the wall. With him momentarily restrained, you leave the room.

Miguel, however, almost effortlessly shrugs off the sticky restraints, ripping the webbing from his face. He's pissed, furious even, seething at the situation. Anger boils at the goddamn circumstances, but above all, his ire is directed at this noisy kid. Damn, Miles, can't he just go bother someone else? This isn't his fucking business. It's his mess to fix, his responsibility, and he needs to make things right. Why does Miles have to complicate things even more?

With a tension thick enough to cut, Miguel turns to Miles, "What do you want, kid?"

Miles, glares defiantly, his voice dripping with loathing. "You, gone. Either in some forsaken universe or dead."

Miguel sighs, running a hand down his face, his weariness evident. "Fine, do whatever you wish. Kill me, banish me, torture me. Whatever your little heart desires. Let me first make sure that they are safe. I won't fight you, Miles.”

Miles pauses, disbelief flashing across his face. "You serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Miguel retorts, his gaze piercing.

Miles takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "You're a monster, Miguel. Maybe not a murderer, but still a monster."

"I know what I am." Miguel admits, his voice breaking ever so slightly and without looking back leaving Miles speechless.

Miguel hesitated at the window, on the precipice of leaving. But something - be it fate, spider-sense, or sheer reckless longing - pulled him back. He silently treaded through the apartment, drawn to a soft melodic voice.

There, in the dim room, you stood. Without your mask, vulnerability framed your features, eyes closed, a cascade of hair down your shoulder.

You swayed gently, singing a lullaby, with little Gabriel secure in your embrace, his breathing even and deep. This sight, so full of love and tenderness, tore through Miguel. It was a clear representation of everything he yearned for, of the life that slipped through his fingers, so vivid he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

His heart ached, thinking of the life they could've shared, of waking up to this exact scene every day, of being a part of this little family. The regret was suffocating him in its weight.

You sensed him before you heard him, before you smelled his perfume, warm and woody with a hint of something spicy. He smelled like the shower gel he uses when you both took long showers, the walks you used to take in the woods on Earth 99, discussing plans for the HQ, but you just enjoyed holding his hand. He also smelled like your pillows after he disappeared in the morning, a scent tinged with abandonment. He smelled like a thousand things you couldn’t place, but foremost, he smelled like one thing, and you just hated that thought. Home.

You finally broke the silence, your voice soft and wearied. "What are you doing here, Miguel?"

He swallowed, voice raw. "I needed to see if you were okay."

A sad smile played on your lips. "You're too late for that."

Ahhhh, you guys are amazing! Please share your thoughts, and don't hesitate to suggest how you'd like the story to end – I might just include it! Let's turn this into a group project. I was close to giving up on the story, feeling not good enough. I love writing and creating, but anxiety often gets the best of me. Your kind messages, (which yes, I read and cherish every single one) have helped immensely. I'm so grateful and want to return all the positivity back to you. Wish I could hug each of you! ☀️

@ieatmunson @buggiecrawls @strawberriesareprettycool @lux-thebimbo @hk-4ever @invaderzim13 @hannah-goulll @arivh @alwayslegendarymoon @deputy-videogamer @560ria @myconglomerateromance @mateihavenoidea @alwayslegendarymoon @shibble @pagesfalling @kurooyy @regretfulmoth @crazysandwichlady2p04 @ poet-dae @rev-hellfyr @suya-x-syx @daimiyu @lazy-idate @jenniferdixon05207 @lostprince @amplsblog @eternalsams @cubinhodegelo @ prvttystvr @dabi-hawksbrainrot @noxiousfeline @maeplayscello @everyoneluvsvane @vinskyspuff @snazzajazz @yuuuumii @loreleis-world @fuckub @shugrcrush @fandomsinthegalaxies @vladersira @greatstudentbird @avengersinitiative2012 @therealnekomari @xiangping-28 @tanchosanke @tulipsc @tonystank1011 @la--figue @pingpongfingfong @ash-tronomicall @spardaenjoyer @venuswash3re @sofi786 @ranpuwo @sayonaratoyou @fuckthatfeeling @k7a4 @mxjss @rizahawkeye1380 @sinnamongirl @soosheee @cheezit-luv3rr @ransbatonowo @azurerose010 @azestar12334 @muertethekid @jay-joy @staronus0buttercup @mashiromochi @iseizeyourmom @salty-sister @aryjai @surhii @sinning-fae @gel0517 @hinata7346 @princessfuckyou @danyisawesomedontdenyit @typicalife-101 @arabell13 @thekinghazzastyles @sockears @perfectprofessorloverapricot @mkissad @spiritndrain @melovetitties @ihateuguys @honeycriess @pinkbearddragon @yrlocalsimp @savagemickey03 @beiroviski @vanilla-sweets @autismsupermusicalassassin @itsjstz @wifeofnatasharomanoff @alleo-i @jxsoook @saint-chlorine @novausstuff @canary58143 @amal31 @belle643 @ellahlour @akyino @give-me-cats-or-give-me-death @daemonlover @jiminling @forever1kay @chixkencxrry @nessrin @noelsilly @crispmarshmallow @rfvuhhvbin @johfaam @cenkisabibl @rosseyblog @pixiepaintt @pissboyazzy @couchpotato2006 @youcantseem3 @burningfishkidlamp @hellsingalucard18 @mimooyi @riverflowsanywherebuthere @desmanchaprazeres @dorck26 @seasaltjackal @cupcakeandkisses @lost-in-thevoids @starlightaura @stained-tea-cup @yarri0 @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @rizzie-lovee127 @shirasakai @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @hiptobesquare13 @iloveplayboicarti @cosmoscoffeee @spaceemeeatt2 @bblouifford @aisyakirmann @xdarkcreaturex @lotustv @fenrysashryver @bri-loves-sunflowers @azrealbanerstark @lostaudfound @ithechipmonk @bby-lupin @mortallyscrumptiousmilkshake @hxlytrin @laennetargaryenskywalker @angi531 @namjooningera @stevenknightmarc @vr00m-vr00m @itsmadamehydra @blep-23 @alastorhazbin @bluevenus19 @bxdbxtxh15 @mrs-ohara09 @strangetrashblog @embersfae @animez96 @thekidscallmebosss @missdragon-1 @navyyoo @harmonics0537 @1206kju @chiharuundead @ahleeyuh @amyg1509 @kiruoris @rvnd0m-th1ngs @vallaufeyson @roses-and-grasses @enalofi @janeety @ash-aragami @peachycreamysmut @saltyllamakidwombat @3zae-zae3 @soupinacan444 @thepassionatereader @lukasdreamland @miracleangel19 @blackqueengold @yosistairl @adv3rs1ty @walkingtravesty97 @girlbloggingisamentalillness @rocketstyx @joined2023lol @whatdudtheysay @thatshouldgoonahat @eileen201804 @nuhteyam @panassbitch @ahoeformyself @abyemayiamay @stevenandmarcslove @froginmygarden @yunamaii @polireader @st0rmyt @delusional505 @enesitamor @groovycass @teamowolverine @blueoorchid @ausara23 @cyberv0dka @danika1994 @rawegggohan @mysteriousmeaning @defiance749 @rinx35 @tamales78 @saucypeanuttt @mitskistannn @shinydragoneagle @rorytrusov @shoyosdoll @sleepycow21 @urdads-gf @okgenic @nim360 @chuckle-nuts @trashybebe @cowabummwerdude @fresa-luna @fjordg @perkip3nguin @randomficlover @skylarlyn823 @prettysbliss @sajova @xxtipherethxx @yeahnotf @pendeja4bts @shoxji @mysingularitybts @moon-alexys00 @szaplsdropthealbum @kibo-ichiro @ace-mothman @shadowdaddysposts @emmytheinsecurepinata @darksunemiku @inafantasyworld10 @kyezofficial @beanstock7 @awesome-animenerd @levermilion @elliellielliesgirl @ thesimpybitch @jasontoddsfavoritechair @athena-portgas @redhoodedtoad @strawnanamilk @bijuu-naginata @chaimantis @ef4iryone @1-800-call-a-milf @idcalol @eddiesb3dstainss @rootintootincowboi@6billionyearsold @xiaolanternn @etherealkistar @mitzukichan18 @quackimilktea @my-goverment-is-a-dictator @bxbyyyjocelyn @teramjna @morilemochi @chompwoman

@vanillacoffeeology @calicoootalks @shine101 @mental-illness-is-my-friend @myhomethesea @janedah0e @st4rrlighttt @imnotyourbcbe @1lyyff @marsbars09 @migueloharaapologist2

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otsalezu · 1 month ago

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College Cat AU Sneak Peak

This is just chapter one! These chapters are gonna be shorter than the Crashing Down ones, as this is mostly a fun side fic based off of @dark-lord-of-awesomeness Cat Stan AU! Okay chapter below the cut cuz its pretty long

Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, who was raised a proper Christian boy, knew all sorts of things about demons. He grew up hearing stories and urban legends about them and being taught to never trust anything that seemed like one. He wasn’t, however, told that they would come in the form of his college campus’ honorary mascot.

It had all started during the first few weeks of his and Ford’s second year at Backupsmore. Fiddleford had been heading towards his engineering class when, with a start, he realized he’d forgotten his thermos of coffee. He’d cursed a bit, checking his watch and deciding that it was worth the risk of being a little late. The professor, a fellow Southerner with a similar passion for the subject, loved him enough to excuse the odd tardiness. He hadn’t thought much of the rustling that came from the dorm, thinking that Ford had simply also forgotten something. When he neared the door, he’d thought his first prediction was correct. The man going through his desk had Ford’s face and curls. However, that was where the resemblance ended. Stubble lined his worn face, and glasses didn’t rest upon his crooked and obviously previously broken nose. His hair was long and matted, splayed around his shoulders in a greasy mullet. The clothes that hung off of him were too casual and threadbare to be from Ford’s closet. And the final discovery, the one that hammered home the wrongness for Fiddleford, were the man’s hands. Five fingers each, he noted with horror, as the man picked up his driver’s license and snorted.

“Heh. Diddlefuck Hard-on McSuckit.”

Despite the situation, Fiddleford made an offended noise. Jokes about his name were nothing new, but hearing a stranger who’d broken into his dorm make them must have been the final straw. The figure turned towards him, cursed loudly, and then…disappeared? No, he hadn’t disappeared. He’d simply changed. Where the man had once stood was now Nikola, the campus cat. In its mouth was the driver’s license, which dropped to the floor as the cat made a run for the door. Fiddleford quickly scooped him up, before remembering the situation and dropping him again like a hot coal.

“You! Just what in the hell are you?!”

“It’s a cat, F. Are you feeling alright?”

Ford pushed past him, and the cat quickly escaped as he did. The two men were left alone in the room to survey the mess on the desk.

“Moses, did a bomb go off in here?”

“I–the cat–you were–”

“Really? The cat? You’re telling me Nikola opened these drawers and took out all the papers?”

“He was a man!”

Ford gave him a cautious side-eye,

“Are you…?”

“God dammit Ford, I’m not high!”

“...Whatever you say. Don’t you have a class?”

“Don’t you?”

“The professor was sick, and I heard yelling. Which was apparently you terrorizing Nikola. What’s your excuse?”

“I’m…”

Fiddleford rubbed his head. Had he really just hallucinated the whole thing? The mess on the desk could have been a prank, and sleep had been scarce lately. It was more likely he was seeing things than the campus cat being a shapeshifting Ford look-alike.

“I’m not feelin’ too good.”

“Clearly. Do you need anything?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Probably just a migraine.”

“Alright. I’m headed off to the library.”

And that had been the end of that, or so he’d thought. Seeing “Nikola” around campus—especially their dorm—became a common occurrence for him. Going through their things, eating unattended leftovers in the cafeteria, lurking around the local cafes. The man would grin at him and wave, before being replaced by that familiar shaggy brown cat. This was frustrating enough. He was never able to get a camera out fast enough to take a picture, and the man always seemed to stay far from Ford. In human form, that was. Ford adored the hellspawn in cat form, often letting the cat sit on his shoulders or lap during study sessions. Sure, Nikola may have been the campus cat, but most people thought he belonged to Ford. It was a fair assumption, the way the cat always made a beeline for him.

Now, about four months into the year, Fiddleford was running out of ideas. Nikola and Ford seemed to only get more fond of each other, which was making Fiddleford’s job of subtly protecting Ford from the demon harder than ever. He’d started by keeping around a rosary…which disappeared from his nightstand the next day and appeared around the neck of the man. He’d laughed—laughed!—and mouthed a smug “thanks”, before turning back into the cat. He doubted he’d be able to catch the cat for an exorcism, not that he wanted to touch it at all. Any indication he gave to Ford that the cat may be dangerous was met with incredulity and a lighthearted jab about the first day Fiddleford had seen it shift. He was really, truly, at the end of his rope. He had begun absentmindedly sketching the design for a holy water spraying robot when Ford burst in, grinning.

“Fidds, what do you know about anomalies?”

#stanley pines #gravity falls #gravity falls au #gravity falls fanfiction #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #cat stan #cat stan au

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caitified · 4 months ago

Text

FOUND

NIKA MUHL X FAMILY READER

notes: starting to write for nika, feel free to request.

nika was always talking about how much ana loved basketball. every day, without fail, she’d go on and on about how your two-year-old daughter was so interested in the game already, how she dribbled her little ball around the house, how she sat on nika’s lap during games and watched every play like she understood what was happening.

so, of course, nika thought it would be a great idea to take ana with her to the seattle storm’s training facility for the afternoon. it was supposed to be simple—she’d bring ana along, let her see the court, maybe let her toddle around while nika got a light workout in before you picked her up later.

but it turns out, letting a two-year-old run around a massive basketball facility is a terrible idea.

nika loses ana

nika had looked away for two seconds. two seconds. one moment, ana was sitting at the edge of the court, happily bouncing a mini basketball against the floor, her chubby little hands clapping every time she caught it. the next moment, when nika glanced up from tying her shoe, ana was gone.

nika’s heart stopped.

“ana?” she called, scanning the gym.

nothing.

her stomach dropped.

she jumped up, jogging toward the empty bleachers, peering behind the chairs, then running toward the locker room. her accent thickened with panic. “ana?! baby, where are you?”

nothing.

her heart was hammering against her ribs now. she was seconds away from calling security, anyone, when she heard a tiny giggle.

nika froze, then turned toward the weight room.

and there she was—ana, her ana, standing right in front of a massive mirror, giggling at her own reflection, completely unbothered.

nika exhaled the breath she’d been holding, knees almost buckling in relief. she ran toward ana and scooped her up, pressing a million kisses to her soft little cheeks. “you scared me!” she murmured against her skin.

ana just blinked at her. “mommy, look! i see me!” she pointed to the mirror, grinning.

nika groaned, squeezing her tighter. “yes, baby. you see you.” she ran a hand through her curls, pressing one last kiss to her forehead. “don’t ever do that again, okay?”

ana, still grinning, nodded like she understood. nika didn’t believe her for a second.

you show up

fifteen minutes later, you walked into the facility to pick ana up, expecting to see her happily playing with nika like usual. instead, you were met with nika sitting on the bench, ana curled up in her lap, absolutely glued to her.

you frowned. “what’s going on?”

nika let out a long breath, looking like she had aged ten years in the past hour.

before she could answer, ana perked up at the sound of your voice and wiggled out of nika’s arms, sprinting toward you with all the energy in the world. “mommy!”

you bent down, scooping her up. “hi, baby.” you pressed a kiss to her forehead before looking at nika, who still looked so stressed. you raised an eyebrow. “what happened?”

nika groaned, running a hand down her face. “i lost her.”

your eyes widened. “you what?”

nika held up her hands. “for, like, five minutes! she disappeared, and i—” she exhaled, looking at ana. “this one decided to go admire herself in the mirror instead of staying on the court like a good girl.”

you couldn’t help it—you laughed.

nika narrowed her eyes at you. “it’s not funny! i almost died.”

you smirked, shifting ana in your arms. “well, guess who i found?”

nika glared, unimpressed. “you’re so funny.”

ana, completely oblivious to the stress she had just caused, giggled. “mama silly.”

you kissed her chubby cheek. “i am silly.” then you looked at nika, softening. “but seriously, she’s okay. you’re okay. she just loves an audience.”

nika sighed, finally standing and pulling both of you into a hug, her long arms wrapping tightly around you. she pressed a kiss to your forehead, then one to ana’s curls. “never again,” she muttered.

ana, nestled between the two of you, just giggled again. “again!”

nika groaned, burying her face in your neck. “she’s going to kill me.”

you just smiled, rubbing her back. “welcome to parenthood, babe.”

#wnba x reader #wnba imagine #wbb x reader #wbb imagine #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #nika muhl x reader #nika muhl #nika mühl

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avocado-writing · 1 year ago

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Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his gn crush confessing to him while obviously waiting for rejection?

absolutely my love, here you go!

Astarion

Is not surprised you’re confessing (he knew how you felt it wasnt subtle lol), but is surprised that you seem so defeated about it

sort of annoys him? Upsets him? Of course he’s going to feel the same way, how can you think so little of yourself? He’s of the opinion that you’re wonderful. it’s so easy to fall for you.

but then he hesitates: he knows how easy it is to think poorly of oneself. He can’t judge you too harshly.

takes your hand, tells you that you’re lovely, and invites you out for coffee the next day. just the two of you. his heart skips a beat when you light up.

Gale

admires how courageous you are. can see you’re shaking as you admit your feelings.

”why do you think I wouldn’t feel the same way? you are one of the most spectacular people I’ve ever met. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I’d be lucky to have you.”

smiles when he sees how you start to grin, puts his hands on your waist and brings you in for a kiss.

if you’re a magic user dancing lights erupt from you because you’re so overwhelmed ✨

Wyll

Oh, sweet Wyll. Gobsmacked that you think he’d turn you down.

takes your hand and guides you somewhere where the two of you can be alone.

when you have your privacy he asks if he can kiss you.

you feel heat rise in your cheeks but nod, and he gives you the most astounding first kiss you’ve ever had lol

then he takes you out for dinner and holds your hand across the table the whole meal

(when you’re together properly he makes jokes the whole camp was asking “wyll they won’t they” about the two of you and you groan lmfao)

Halsin

another one who takes you to a private place to talk.

brushes your hair out of face and then cups your cheek in the same gesture, begins to wax poetic about how perfect the oak father made you and how you are without fault.

has echoed your feelings for a long time now and is glad you made the first move which takes a lot of the weight off your chest

he scoops you up in his big arms and swings you around until all the worry is gone and you’re laughing 💕

Dammon

his heart hammers in his chest when you tell him. he’s only a blacksmith!!!! he doesn’t know how to handle this!!

I imagine you confess to him while he’s working at his forge so that not all of his attention is on you, it’s better to soften the blow when he says he doesn’t feel the same.

puts his tools down, takes off his gloves, and holds your hands. tells you he’s admired you for a long while and is glad you feel the same.

you squeak when he kisses you but his soft touch keeps your grounded ❤️

Rolan

is offended how nervous you are (you don’t find him THAT intimidating do you?! He’s been trying to be nice because he likes you!) - and also a bit annoyed because he’s been working up the courage to confess for ages but you got there first

”Good, I like you too >:(“ “you do?” “Yes >:(“ “then why do you seem so grumpy about it?” “I’m not grumpy! >:( >:( >:(“

you kiss him on the cheek and he’s so flustered he loses control of the spell he was transcribing and magic missiles his office window to pieces lol

Zevlor

this is a battle of the least self-confident lol. you’re like “I don’t think you like me” and he replies “my dear you have so many better options than me”

so it turns 180, with you convincing him that you do like him and listing all his merits!

eventually youre at a stalemate. and then you just kiss each other, trepidatious at first and then getting more passionate as you relax 💕

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callme-holly · 6 months ago

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Hello!

So I came across your post about The Outsiders requests and if you are still taking them I have one! And if you don't really like the sound of this or don't feel comfortable writing this that's more than okay!

But, if you are comfortable with it..

I was thinking a Darry x Reader where the reader is drunk and Darry brings her to his place and takes care of her. Stuff like where she is in one of his shirts that is way to big on her, and like if the other boys are being to loud he will get very defensive and tell them to quiet down since the reader is hungover. Just little things like that in it.

Thank you!! <3

𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 [𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚/𝐧 : i kind of really love this

The whole room spun as Darry set you carefully down onto the couch, your mind reeling, feeling sluggish and heavy with fatigue. It’s not like you’d meant to get drunk; it had just sort of happened; one drink turned into two, and then another, until you were a stumbling, giggling mess.

It hadn't taken long, however, for the novelty to wear off, the initial pleasant buzz dissipating and leaving you feeling nauseated and tired, your eyelids growing heavy with each passing second. If it weren't for the fact that Darry was currently holding onto your shoulder in an attempt to support you, you probably would have passed out right there on the couch without so much as a second thought. He was trying his best not to look worried, but, even in your inebriated state, you could see the way he kept biting at the edge of his lip, the slight furrow of his brow giving him away entirely.

It’s not like you were the only drunk person in the room; the other boys were far worse off than you. Two-Bit and Steve were practically tripping over themselves, and Dallas had dragged himself off home, refusing to accept the help offered. Soda hadn’t consumed a single drop of alcohol, yet he was still bouncing around, laughing loudly, and to anyone who didn’t know him personally, they would think he was just as wasted as everyone else.

A sharp sting of pain tore through you, hammering at your skull as Steve let out a particularly shrill cackle that seemed to reverberate through the room, causing you to wince. You closed your eyes and let your head thud back against the cushions, trying desperately to focus on anything but the dull throbbing behind your eyes.

“Hey, darlin',” Darry's voice sounded soft, barely above a whisper, as you felt his cool hand gently press against your forehead, smoothing down the hair that fell in loose waves over your face. “What’d you say we go run you a nice bath, hm? Might help with that hangover.”

You don’t have the energy to fight him on the offer; in fact, a warm bath sounds almost heavenly right about now. The room spins again as you nod numbly, limp in Darry’s arms, as he scoops you up and carries you slowly towards the bathroom, the voices and shouts of the other boys becoming more and more distant until they’re nothing but a muffled hum behind the closed door.

Your mind swims, and you struggle to stay awake, blinking your eyes rapidly to clear them before they start drooping shut. Darry is still speaking, though you can’t seem to make out what he’s saying, his voice sounding too quiet for you to be able to pick apart the words. He spends a few moments fussing over the water, making sure it's not too hot, before turning back to you, carefully removing your clothes, and setting them aside to be washed later. His movements are gentle and slow, and you lean against him, relying heavily on him to keep you upright, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you.

He wraps his arms around your waist, cradling you close to him, his chest pressed against yours as he holds you close, guiding you to the tub with the same care as someone who is handling a small child. He lowers you gingerly into the water, fingers carding through your hair as you sink into the warmth, letting the heat consume you entirely, your eyes finally fluttering shut and a contented hum leaving your lips.

You feel weightless, completely relaxed, your body drained of everything except for the sweet, blissful sensation of Darry’s hands running through your hair and over your shoulders.

“Better?” He murmurs, his thumb stroking softly across your skin, drawing a hum of affirmation from you.

“Better,” you answer, your own voice slurred with exhaustion. “Much better.”

Darry smiles faintly at you, kissing the top of your head in a way that could only be described as tender. He washes you slowly, massaging shampoo into your scalp with practiced hands and scrubbing down your body with careful deliberation. Every once in a while, one of his hands leaves your side to stroke lightly across your cheek or to brush away a stray lock of hair sticking to your face.

You don’t remember when he started talking to you, mumbling under his breath about how he’d told you to go easy on the drink, nor do you know when he’d started to drain the soapy water surrounding you, leaving you cold and shivering. Your eyes are still half-lidded, your mind hazy, your body heavy with sleep. But Darry keeps murmuring to you, brushing kisses across your cheeks and jawline, your forehead, your temple. His voice is soothing, low, and rich with a hint of something you can’t place, that southern drawl coming out as thick as honey.

A towel is draped loosely over your shoulders as Darry guides you out of the tub, making quick work of drying you off and sitting you down on the edge of the closed toilet seat. He kneels down in front of you then, his large, calloused hand resting on your knees, flashing you a small smile.

“Do me a favour and wait here. I’ll go get you something to change into, alright?”

You can only nod in response; any other answer would be deemed unacceptable, and you’d be made to wait here regardless.

You watch as he disappears into the hall, thecacophonyy of shouts and laughter reaching your ears the second the door opens, only to be muffled just as fast as it swings shut with a barely audible click, leaving you alone. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to force away the heaviness clinging to your limbs, the fuzzy feeling beginning to creep into your head, and the headache pounding behind your eyes.

You don’t know how long you’re sitting like that, trying your hardest not to give in to sleep, but after a while, Darry steps back into the bathroom, a glass of water in one hand and a pile of clean clothes in the other. You blink blearily at him, watching as he kneels before you once more, setting the clothes aside and bringing the glass to your lips.

“Take a few sips for me, sweetheart. It’ll help the headache.” You comply, accepting small sips until your stomach decides it's had enough and you're forced to pull back, a slightly disgruntled expression on your face. Darry doesn’t force the issue, simply removing the towel and dressing you in nothing but his shirt and boxers, both items hanging off your frame loosely, the fabric soothing against your skin.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re burying your face into his chest with a quiet whine, pressing yourself firmly against him, your arms clutching his waist like a lifeline, as if you're afraid he'll leave if you ever let go of him.

Darry chuckles softly in amusement, rubbing your back reassuringly, his chin resting atop your head.

“I think we should get you in bed,” he whispers, his voice rumbling deep within his chest, sending a shudder down your spine. “I'll get the boys to quiet down, and then I'll come join you, yeah?”

“Okay,” you murmur, nuzzling closer to him, closing your eyes. You feel his arms tighten around you, holding you close, enveloping you in warmth as he presses a gentle kiss into your hair.

You want to ask him not to go, to keep hold of you and never let you go, but you also know it won't be long before he's beside you once more, pulling you tightly into his embrace and promising he will never, ever, let anything happen to you. And you trust him more than anything in the world.

#the outsiders x reader #darry curtis imagine #darry curtis headcanons #darry curtis x reader #darrel curtis x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #dallas winston imagine #steve randle x reader #johnny cade x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #soda curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #pony curtis x reader #two bit matthews x reader #two bit x reader #two bit mathews x reader

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joy99x · 8 days ago

Text

Sugar-Coated

Modern!Scara x Reader

TW!! Emotional manipulation, super cutesy but controlling reader, SO MOE, humiliation kink, masochism, NSFW tension, reader matches his freak, power imbalance, I’m cringe but I’m free

Note: I just got my nails done and I should’ve gone for pink😭

You skipped into the room with a singsong hum, twirling your sleeves as your eyes landed on the sullen figure on your bed.

“Kuni~”

Scaramouche flinched at the way you said his name—soft, high-pitched, sing-songy and syrup-thick. It made his spine tense like a snapped wire. He hated that. He hated that stupid nickname. He hated how your voice curled around it like a tight ribbon. He hated how it made his ears feel hot and his heart stutter just a little too fast.

And yet, you always wore that look— sweet, warm, innocent, fragile as porcelain.

Your voice dripping honey laced with poison.

You leaned up on your toes, eyes shining with mischievous glee. “Or are you still sulky because I yelled at you yesterday?”

He grit his teeth. “You didn’t yell—you humiliated me.” The words shot out before he could soften them. But what was the point? You didn’t soften yours yesterday. In front of all those people. Aether, Albedo, Arlecchino and gods— Tartaglia.

“Oopsies~” you giggled behind your hand. “You just looked soo ridiculous when you were trying to act all angry. So serious and pouty.”

His fists curled in his lap. He didn’t answer— just like he didn’t yesterday. Just narrowed his eyes like a kicked cat ready to strike.

He hated how he’d frozen up yesterday, he hated how his brain turned into mush the second your look changed into something much, much colder. He should’ve barked back. Hell, even storming out without saying anything would’ve been better. Instead, he just stood there. Mouth slightly agape, heart pounding against his ribcage like it wanted out, the hotness in his cheeks creeping lower and lower not because of anger but with something more degenerate.

“You’re mocking me.”

“Am I?” Your giggle, light and careless, echoed in his mind. You plopped down beside him, dress puffing like a cupcake around you. The contrast was…something. Scowling him and your sickeningly sweet smile. “But you like it, don’t you?”

“No.”

“But your hands…” You leaned in with a smug look, you pressed his cheek with your finger, your nail, sharp and polished, digged enough to hurt but not enough to draw blood. Shame. “They’re shaking, like they always do when I raise my voice. Were you thinking about it all day? All scooped up in your room?”

Did you hear? No, he did everything to muffle his…voice. Even stood so low to bite his pillow like a dog. Did you see? Peeked through the door maybe? It couldn’t be, he made sure it was closed shut.

He jerked away like your touch burned.

“I wasn’t—” His voice cracked. “That’s disgusting.”He turned away, cheeks burning.

“I’m not some pet to be laughed at.”

“Noooo, you’re worse! Way worse!” your eyes gleaming with cruel delight. “You’re a total loser Kuni.” Your voice suddenly dropped. “A lonely little stray who’s obsessed with me. Isn’t that precious?”

He shot up from the bed so fast it creaked beneath him. “Don’t talk down to me.”

You blinked up at him innocently, voice soft and teasing. “Why not? You like it enough to touch yourself after.”

Breath gone. Mind blank.

He froze, a shudder running through his spine.

Your smile widened.

“Don’t you dare lie. You totally do! You like when I call you mean names in my serious voice. You like being owned, don’t you?”

His eyes darkened with pain, like the words physically bruised him. He looked like he wanted to vanish.

You tilted your head, expression softening into a tender pout. “Aww… don’t go quiet now. That’s no fun…”

He couldn’t speak. His throat had closed, heart hammering too fast, too loud.

He wanted to deny it. To curse at you. To shove you away.

But instead…

He slumped back down, defeated, like a marionette with its strings cut loose.

“I hate you,” he muttered. Weak.

You leaned forward, fingers curling gently to cup his -now paler than usual- face. “You hate how much you love me.” A tender whisper “You’re so pathetic it’s like—totally adorable~”

He trembled—like he was barely holding himself together.

You brushed your fingers through his soft bangs, leaning in so close your breath skimmed over his lips, warm and teasing.

“You gonna cry again for me, Kuni? I promise I’ll kiss your tears away if you say ‘pretty please’”

He let out a strangled, broken sound—half sob, half moan— like he didn’t hate himself enough.

And you just beamed.

“Yayyy~! You’re such a doll when you’re falling apart!”

#genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #sub!genshin #masochistic #genshin scara #scaramouche #scara x reader #scarameow #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #yandere x you #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scaramouche #yan!scaramouche x reader

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rista-senpai · 15 days ago

Text

His little tease

pairing: Isagi Yoichi x f!reader

summary: You are his number one fan, number one supporter, number one in everything, especially in his heart. However, you are also his biggest tease…

tags & warnings -> fluff, sweet, reader loves to see her boyfie blushing, nothing but pure bliss of young love

The final whistle blew.

As your boyfriend’s cleats slammed into the ball one last time—clean, perfect, unstoppable—it soared past the keeper and into the net.

The crowd went wild. The stadium roared. And all you could do was grin, heart hammering in your chest. He did it again. Yoichi freaking Isagi.

You were proud. So proud you could cry, if you hadn’t had something more important to focus on: your mission.

Because as much as you loved cheering him on, there was something you loved even more—watching that boy crumble into a flustered mess whenever you decided to poke at his shy little heart.

And tonight? Oh, tonight was perfect.

He always got blushy when you flirted, no matter how tame the comment. You could just hand him a water bottle and say, “For my favorite player,” and he’d turn bright red like you’d proposed marriage. It was cute—adorable, even—but let’s be honest... a little too easy. And maybe, just maybe, you were a tiny bit addicted to that reaction.

You weren’t exactly born to play football. But you were born to be a menace—and lucky you, your boyfriend was a sweet, trusting target who never saw it coming.

As the team jogged toward the locker room, basking in their victory, you leaned against the metal railing near the players' exit, waiting with a little smile tugging at your lips. You had your coat pulled tight around you, casual and unsuspecting.

But underneath?

Just your cutest top and those high-waisted shorts Isagi always tripped over his words for.

He spotted you instantly—of course he did—and his eyes lit up like he’d scored another goal. A tired, breathless laugh left his lips as he jogged over, cheeks already flushed from the game.

“Y/N!” he grinned, arms open wide. “Did you see that last goal?!”

“Mmhmm.” You stepped forward, letting him scoop you into a hug. “You were amazing, baby.”

He clung to you, sweaty and warm and glowing with adrenaline. You nuzzled into his neck for a moment… then leaned back slightly, a mischievous spark in your eyes.

Time for phase two.

You slipped your arms out of your coat sleeves and let it fall down your shoulders in one smooth motion.

Isagi blinked. And blinked again.

“B-BABE!” he yelped, hands instinctively shooting out to pull the coat back up. “W-WHAT ARE Y-YOU DOING?!”

Around you, a couple of his teammates turned with curious glances—one of them actually wolf-whistled. Isagi turned crimson from his neck to the tips of his ears.

“Y-You can’t just—You’re wearing that? Right here?!” he sputtered, doing his best to shield you with his body, as if his 5’9 frame could become a portable wall.

You tilted your head innocently. “What? You don’t like it?”

“N-No! I mean—yes! I mean—I do—but—!” He looked around in panic, then whispered harshly, “Everyone’s watching!”

“Well, I didn’t hear you complaining the last time I wore it,” you teased, voice soft against his ear. “At your place. Remember?”

Isagi looked like he was about to die.

One of his teammates passed by and chuckled. “Yoichi, is this your girlfriend? She’s got more confidence than our entire front line combined.”

You offered him a little wink. “He’s shy, but he’s mine.”

Isagi buried his face in his hands. “You’re actually going to kill me, aren’t you…”

“I’d never,” you whispered, looping your arms around his neck. “But I will keep teasing you until you finally stop turning into a tomato every time I do.”

“I CAN’T HELP IT!” he wailed.

You laughed so hard you had to grab his arm for balance. He looked like a kicked puppy and a flustered prince all at once — unfairly cute and helpless in the best way.

Once the team started filing into the locker rooms, you finally pulled the coat back up over your shoulders — not because you were cold, but because poor Isagi looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.

“Hey,” you nudged him lightly. “Wanna walk home together? I’ll even promise to behave…”

“You’re lying,” he said instantly, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Only a little.”

He rolled his eyes but grinned, cheeks still pink. “Fine. But no more outfit reveals in public, okay?”

“No promises,” you sang, looping your arm through his as you walked side by side through the quiet parking lot.

—

The evening air was cool, crisp with leftover excitement from the game. You walked slowly, mostly because Isagi kept stealing glances at you and missing steps, which made you giggle every time.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered, nudging your shoulder.

“Like what?”

“Like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

You smiled. “I do know what I’m doing. You’re just fun to fluster.”

“You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

“…maybe.”

You beamed.

He pouted for a second, then bumped his hand gently against yours. When you didn’t pull away, he intertwined your fingers shyly — his palm warm, his grip soft.

There it was: your favorite Isagi expression. Quiet smile, glowing eyes, lips pressed together like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like he still got nervous just holding your hand.

“You’re really proud of me, huh?” he asked after a pause, almost shy.

You squeezed his hand. “Always. That last goal? Straight-up beautiful. You’re getting better every time I watch you play.”

Isagi scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to keep his cool. “I just… wanted to impress you, y’know?”

“Babe. You impress me by existing.”

He nearly tripped over a pebble.

“I hate you,” he whispered, red again.

“No, you don’t.”

“…yeah. I don’t.”

You both stopped at a vending machine near the corner — a tiny routine you shared after every match. Isagi always got the same orange sports drink. You usually picked something fruity or sparkling.

He paid before you could argue, like he always did, and handed you your drink with a proud little smile like he’d just bought you diamonds.

“Thank you, star player,” you said, taking a long sip. “Must be nice having fans who buy you drinks.”

He looked away, embarrassed. “You’re my only fan that matters.”

“Say that again, a little louder?”

“No.”

“C’monnn—”

“No!! You’re going to bully me again—”

“Too late,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head on his shoulder as you both stood under the warm streetlight glow. “You’re too cute. I’m never letting you go.”

He mumbled something that sounded like “You’re the worst,” but his arms circled around you just as tightly.

—

By the time you reached his place, the moon was climbing higher in the sky, silver and soft. The streets were quiet. The city had calmed down. But your heart hadn’t.

“You wanna come in for a bit?” he asked. “Just… to chill.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to. But because his eyes looked so hopeful, and you weren’t sure your own heart could take it.

“Okay. But no FIFA rematches tonight,” you warned. “You rage quit last time.”

“You elbowed me while I was shooting—!”

“Accident.”

“Liar.”

You laughed and followed him inside, where everything smelled like fresh laundry and orange soap and boy. His room was neat — because you’d cleaned it last week — and his bed had the blanket you gifted him, the one with little soccer ball prints and hearts. (It had been a joke. He used it anyway.)

You flopped onto his bed dramatically. “Yoichi Isagi. Today, you were amazing.”

He joined you, lying beside you, arms under his head. “Thanks… really. It’s always easier when I know you’re watching.”

You turned your head toward him, cheek pressed to the pillow. “You’re gonna go pro one day.”

He looked over at you. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

His cheeks flushed again. “Thanks. For being there. For always being… you.”

You grinned. “You love me.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I really do.”

“Good.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek — light and soft and feather-sweet. “Because I love you too.”

He buried his face in the pillow.

“STOP—”

“WHAT DID I DO—?!”

“You’re gonna kill me, I swear!”

You cackled and tackled him with a pillow.

And just like always, he let you win.

Taglist: @mitsurisupporter @milabyxz @shadyyouthcloud @cjafjatkstke @fianur @sky-casino @lemonninq @raspberrizzz @lavishlyjayda @blackqueen2k17 @livlikelove @uobasu @sylviatherosairy @jammycheese @reth66@storacy @pikusururu @bubera974 @stormnightingale @emmathecouchpotato4583 @alebrasil0101 @amayakurusu13 @misakicchi @snowy-violet @daiyanomoichi @maria-trisha @cruziival72 @xtremlyxtra @xxeclipze @vesselofwinter @vandrirrand0m @ssolarsystm

I hope you guys like this one! I am a fan of Isagi and wanted to write something for him, but I hate aging up characters, so I ended up writing fluff. I can't believe I actually did it! Kaiser's up next, but I don't know if it's in the next fic or the one after. I'm still thinking...

Anyway, that's it from me. Take care! <<3

#fandom #fanfic #writing #writers on tumblr #hope you enjoy it!#bllk #blue lock #isagi yoichi #isagi x reader #isagi x you #blue lock isagi #yoichi isagi

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