#The Bodyweight of the World

[phantomrose96]

The timeline for Pikmin 2 is so funny because like, Olimar's been missing-presumed-dead for an entire month (rightfully so, considering how very dead Olimar should have been with the events in Pikmin 1) and he escapes by the skin of his teeth and beelines it back home with the desperate desire to see his wife and children who've probably been starring on Dateline: Hocotate every day for the last month to be grilled about their tragically missing father.

And instead. Instead. The absolute literal second Olimar's ship docks down, his fucking boss of all people comes running out of the woodwork and shakes him by the shoulders going "Terrible news Olimar your new coworker fucked up and now we're $10 million in debt! Go immediately back to that planet you escaped from and hunt its wildlife to extinction in order to collect enough valuable treasure to pay this off."

Like we're not even gonna let Olimar brush his teeth huh? Not gonna shove some antibiotics in him for the undiscovered foreign pathogens clinging to his suit? This man survived 30 days on 10 days of emergency rations and probably a few bulborbs once he got hungry enough to no longer care about the parasites. Not a hello? Not a 'you're alive'? Not a coffee?

What the hell does this even look like from the President's perspective? Your shipwrecked presumed dead employee whose life insurance policy paperwork is sitting on your desk shows back up out of the literal sky, down 20% of his bodyweight covered in superficial injuries smelling like gangrene and carrying himself with the haunted and (no, dare I say, passionate?) look in his eyes of someone who has learned to indiscriminately kill for the sake of survival.

And your first thought is "oh thank god my single competent employee isn't actually dead. I need to exploit him as soon as possible."

President's so fucking lucky Olimar is both a broken salaryman and also deranged enough to find wonder in the hostile world that so very wants to rip him to pieces. If I were Olimar I'd have killed President and Louie on the spot.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Proud VIII

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: A friendly against Barcelona

Alexia isn't used to being dispossessed.

It happens, of course.

It's impossible for a footballer to get through their career without being dispossessed at least once.

But, still, people always think twice when coming up against her.

But there's a flash of a jersey at her side and the ball is stolen from her, instantly taken and turned back around to her goal.

Alexia turns as well, watching as you easily dodge between Mapi and Ingrid, go one on one with Cata and slot the ball home.

This friendly between Bayern Munich was rushed through right before the start of the season, probably something about it making good money.

But, still, both teams are fit and ready and Barcelona are already three goals up to none.

Three goals up to one now, Alexia supposes

The name Harder ripples on your jersey as the other Harder, Pernille, pulls you into a hug.

You're Frido's niece, the one that used to play for Arsenal but moved to Bayern to be close to your mothers again.

Alexia has never played with you before. She racks her mind to think about whether you played at the World Cup but she's pretty sure that you didn't as Eriksson runs past to celebrate with you as well.

She knows you're definitely part of the Sweden team now, a super sub rather than a member of the starting eleven.

You're good.

Very good.

And brave enough to steal the ball from her, pick apart the defence and go one on one with the goalkeeper.

Your drop into the midfield was flawless.

A goal made by you for you.

Eriksson has her hands on your cheeks as she talks to you, a proud smile on her face as she talks.

You're grinning back at her as the rest of the team slap you on the back in congratulations.

Harder, the older one, is also still by your side, ruffling your hair as you try to squirm away from her.

Alexia finds herself acutely aware of you for the rest of the match, the way you invade the midfield when you're needed, the way that you weave through the lines, the way that you seem to create chances even if they don't really come to anything.

It's a few minutes into injury time of the first half and Bayern have won a corner.

Alexia tries to slot her way between you and Eriksson but Eriksson refuses to shift from her place at your back and Alexia frowns.

She tries to force her way through but Eriksson stays firm, gripping your shirt tightly.

Eriksson glares at Alexia, daring her to try and get between you again.

Alexia acquiesces.

It's only a friendly anyway.

The ball comes in and Alexia realises that she should have pressed more, should have forced her way between you.

With no Barcelona player marking you, you've got ample space to get yourself into the air.

You're easily one of the smaller players on the pitch, not small-small but you're still young. You've still got a lot of growing to do. Surely those tall Scandinavian genes Alexia sees in Frido and Ingrid and Caro will kick in soon.

You're not small-small but you're still smaller than most anyone else so it's impressive the amount of height you get, easily a head higher than everyone else and it's clear the ball was aimed at you.

You jerk your head to the left, angling the ball neatly into the net and Eriksson's got you by the waist before you've even landed again.

"Morsa!" You laugh," Let me down!"

Eriksson's laughing too as she easily keeps your bodyweight up into the air.

"Magda!" Harder's laughing too and Alexia can do nothing but stare. "Let her down."

Eriksson keeps you in the air for a few more seconds, shaking your body before letting you drop.

You land neatly on your feet as the rest of the team come over to congratulate you.

"Yeah," Frido says in the locker room at halftime," Magda and Pernille are so proud of her. Last season was a good one at Arsenal for her. They're happy to have her back with them. You know, this is the first time they're all playing together?"

Alexia purses her lips. "She's good."

Frido grins. "I know, right? She's great."

Alexia would prefer if you were much less good even if this is only a friendly. She doesn't like knowing that such a great young player isn't safely in the folds of La Masia and the Barcelona system.

Call her selfish but she thinks some of the greatest players in the world come from La Masia and their Barcelona education. There's a reason La Masia students grow up to dominate the Spanish team. A reason that the international girls easily worm their way into their own national squads.

A reason why Barcelona is such a dominant force.

But here you are, fresh out of Sweden, fresh from Arsenal with impeccable technique and football IQ. You see passes before they even happen. You intercept interceptions before they even happen.

You press and drop back like a dance and Alexia almost swears as Eriksson plays out from the back.

She goes to pass to Stanway and Alexia moves to intercept but you're already dashing across her body, intercepting what should have been an easy move for Alexia to make.

You dance away from her tackle, faster than her and run up the pitch.

Irene was subbed on at half time but she barely gets close to you as you turn around her body.

It looks like, for a moment, that you'll take the shot yourself, leg already winding up.

Cata comes out from goal to block you off.

But you square it directly to Harder, who slots it into the waiting gap.

The match ends up three-three and Alexia can accept that. At least they didn't lose.

You've played amazingly well and Alexia can't help but keep watching you from a distance.

Eriksson and Harder are both crowded around you, smiling and joking around with you, beaming smiles on their faces.

"She doesn't really look like either of them," Alexia notes.

"She's adopted," Frido says by her side, grinning as well," Magda and Pernille adore her though. They love her so much."

"I can tell. She's smart."

"Definitely. She got full marks in her Economics exam last year and-"

"I meant on the pitch, Frido," Alexia says," When does her contract with Bayern run out?"

Frido laughs, already moving away to join you and your mothers.

"You can't just steal every young player for Barcelona!"

Alexia purses her lips.

She can certainly try.

[teddybeartoji]

thinking abt satoru and little gumi... satoru wants gumi to like him so fucking bad. he needs it. of course, he acts like he doesn't; he acts like the cockiest, most arrogant man in the world but deep inside, we all know that he just wants to be loved and accepted. he does want to fit in and he does want this young, little grumpy boy to just like him.

satoru realizes how ridiculous that sounds but he couldn't care any less. it's hard work - the boy is... surprisingly hard to crack. satoru has learned that he does have to keep his voice just a little bit down or else he's being targeted by megumi's burning side-eye beam and satoru isn't a big fan of it.

(the times satoru has gone to his room to sulk just because his plans just don't seem to be working is embarrassing.)

(he hates feeling like this.)

he spends hours on searching up things and topics that megumi has mentioned, but he has learned that he cannot wordvomit about everything he's learned right away. megumi is teaching him so many new things without even knowing it. satoru is more patient than ever; waiting for the opportune moment to casually bring up the one little detail that's been circling around in his head since he started talking to the boy.

he also buys everything for him. megumi looks at a book for two seconds and satoru is buying it for him. food and snacks? already in the grocery basket. a new shirt? new pair of trainers? he's swiping his card without a second thought. shoko teases him for spoiling the boy but he just shrugs it off. what's the point of having all this money if he can't spoil his friends and family? ridiculous.

and it's not like megumi wants a lot anyway. the second he catches onto satoru's antics, he gets more careful with his gaze. he's very put off by it at first - why is he doing this? why is he spending so money on him? they don't even know each other all that well? but as time passes, megumi starts to let go a little. he starts eyeing things just a bit more - a book, a cd, a video game console; the "thank you's" are very quiet, but they're there and it's enough for satoru.

one thing that satoru refuses to hold back on though, is physical touch. he ruffles the boy's head whenever he can, he will sling his arm (and most of his full bodyweight) over his shoulders and he will pinch his cheeks. this is something megumi will just have to tolerate. satoru won't let a tiny prickly sea urchin change his whole being just because he's a little crabby. satoru adores him. a lot.

(megumi reminds him of someone.)

though gumi doesn't really show it, even less say it - he does, kind of, appreciate satoru's efforts. the thing is that megumi finds it hard to admit it even to himself because it's... weird. he simply doesn't know how to accept satoru's growing fondness for him just yet.

but he too, will learn.

slowly but surely, satoru will (unknowingly) teach him how to let in the warmth, how to smile without feeling the urge to hide it behind his hands. megumi will learn patience as well, he will learn tolerance. they're a family now; satoru will wipe away his tears and megumi will give him a hug – it will all make sense soon, they both just have to give it some time.

[fairytalelover33]

Are Those Tears?

Thorin x Female Reader

Prompt: When Thorin stares death in the face, you both realize your feelings for each other may be a little stronger than friendship.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Some slight blood/gore, mentions of death, Thorin being a softie for once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could have prepared you for this journey. No amount of training would have sufficed. The whole company making it this far virtually intact was a miracle within itself. You had all survived attempt after attempt on your lives. It seemed that the odds of completing this journey were in your favor, having escaped each encounter with mere scrapes and bruises.

But this time you might not be so lucky.

The muscles in your arms and core ache, as you cling desperately to the branch of a fallen tree on the edge of a cliff, your legs dangling hundreds of feet above the ground. You can hear the grunts and bellows of your incapacitated comrades, confirming that they are in the same predicament as you. The snarls and howls of the Wargs add to the cacophony, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You realize that the only thing keeping the large predators and their riders from swooping in and slaughtering you all is the blazing fire surrounding the tree you all cling to. Azog the defiler sits astride a white Warg, pacing back and forth in front of the wall of flames separating them from you. You see Azog and his mutt pause in their pacing, the pale orc's scarred face hardening.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

"Thorin, no!" Balin exclaims quietly. You lift your head as a large boot plants onto the tree trunk next to you. The figure makes his way past, through the flames, towards the pale orc. The long dark hair, peppered with streaks of grey, the broad shoulders, the determined stride. It was unmistakably Thorin.

No.

A sudden wave of desperation crashes over you, making your stomach turn. You just want to reach out and grab him, yank him back. You want to scream, to beg, to yell at him to just turn around. Your breathing becomes ragged, and one quiet word manages to claw its way out of your throat, repeating over and over under your breath, like a prayer waiting to be answered.

"No. No. No. No." Thorin's steps do not falter, his sword glinting in the light of the blazing inferno that lines his path. It feels as though the world is moving in slow motion as Thorin charges the pale orc, armed with his sword and his shield. His Oaken Shield. How life has a funny way of coming full circle. Azog the defiler guides his pale furred Warg in a mighty leap from the boulder he had been perched upon.

The blow dealt to Thorin as the white Warg collides with him in mid-air snaps you back to reality with a rush of dread. The force of the beasts bodyweight stops Thorin in his tracks, sending him crashing to earth. Reality sets in as you hear the rest of the company fighting the pull of gravity, straining to hold on to the strand of life that is this fallen tree.

Azog wheels his pale beast around, charging at Thorin once more, and sending a bone rattling blow of his mace to the dwarf's chest, knocking him back to the ground. A pang hits you directly in your heart, and flows through your bloodstream, some desperate feeling you can't quite place seeping into your very bones. You don't understand the feeling well enough to give it a name. All you know is that it gives you enough strength to muscle yourself up with a strangled cry, huffing and gritting your teeth as you clamber up to the trunk of the tree. You can barely feel the heat that burns the palms of your hands, red and raw from clinging to the rough bark of the tree branch.

The Hobbit, Bilbo, seems to have the same rush of bravery that you do, and you see his small form scramble up to the trunk of the tree, pausing to take one deep breath to right his turbulent mind before charging into the fray, armed with his little elvish knife.

The wretched hound of hell clamps its jaws around Thorin. The sickening sound of Thorin's ribs cracking reaches your ears, making your head swim. You can feel yourself call out his name in agony, but it sounds like someone else's voice is coming from your mouth as you stumble a few steps along the fallen tree. You right yourself in time to see the mutt toss Thorin like a farm dog tosses a snake, his form crashing onto a patch of hard rock on the hillside.

"(Y/N)!" Balin shouts as you start hauling it to where Thorin lays, hot on Bilbo's heels. "No, Lass! It's too dangerous!" No response comes from your lips, your mouth set in a grimace as you have a clear view out to where one of the Defilers minions is preparing to behead Thorin. He lies pinned upon the rocky ground, his breathing ragged, teeth clenched in defiance as he grasps around desperately for his sword.

You quickly overtake Bilbo, and with a muffled grunt you stiffen your shoulders, tackling the Orc with the force of your body weight, bowling it over. You can hear Azog's roar of dissent as you stop the orcs deadly blow mid swing. A sharp pain explodes like a lightning strike in your right shoulder, making you cry out. As you and the orc tumble away from Thorin, the filthy monster rolls atop you with a snarl, pinning you down. You struggle futilely beneath it, flailing like a madman, grasping for something, anything to protect yourself, and finding nothing. The orc raises its armored fist, pulling back to deliver a skull crushing blow.

Suddenly, the orc shrieks, blood spewing from its mouth, spraying you in the face. It falls to the side, revealing a fiery eyed Bilbo, delivering continuous blows with his small, but mighty blade. You gasp for air, viciously wiping your face with the sleeve of your tunic and scrambling away.

You crawl to the barely conscious form of Thorin, not caring about the rocks and twigs scraping your skin through the thin fabric of your clothing. Ignoring the shooting pain in your shoulder, you pull yourself up to your knees, cradling his head in your lap. His half-lidded gaze holds yours for a moment, as if trying to see into your very soul. A thin sheen of sweat coats his face as he murmurs a single word, before slipping into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

"(Y/N)..." Thorin breathes out softly. If you had not been watching his lips move you would have assumed you imagined it. His eyes flicker shut, his ragged gasps slowing to shallow breaths. Tears well up in your eyes as you brush some of his sweat drenched hair from his regal face.

"Just hold on. Please." You whimper helplessly, gazing down at him. You look up to see the heart wrenching sight of Bilbo all alone, standing his ground as the monsters descend upon you, his hands shaking as he holds his sword at the ready. The hobbit plants his feet, swinging his sword wildly around in an attempt to intimidate the foes before him. Sparks fly from the burning portion of forest that surrounds you, and you feel a deep sadness, wondering if this is truly the end of your adventure.

You take another moment to gaze down at Thorin. You trace his face with your eyes, trying to memorize every feature and contour. Running your thumb over his cheekbone in a way you would have never been brave enough to do before, a sigh escapes your lips. With a shaky breath, you lean down, hesitating for a moment before pressing a feather soft kiss to his forehead, holding back the tears that threaten to spill. Wishing more than anything that you had been brave enough to tell him how you feel, you now vow to not go down a weeping, helpless mess. You hold back your tears, forcing yourself to stare defiantly back at the group of vicious carnivores that approach the three of you.

One of the Wargs snaps its head to the side, sniffing the air. A sudden battle cry makes you start, and you whip your gaze in the direction of the commotion. Your spirit lifts as the unmistakable figures of Fili and Kili come charging in from a gap in the flames, tailed closely by Dwalin. They attack the Wargs and their riders swiftly, slicing and hacking with their weapons. You try to get up to help, but your energy is sapped from wrestling the Orc. You opt to be a close-range protector to Thorin, crouching in front of him, your fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword that you spotted lying a few feet away.

A vicious noise that you didn't know you were capable of making tears its way through your throat as a Warg stalks toward Thorin with a snarl. You grip the hilt of the sword tighter, your knuckles white as you prepare to fight tooth and nail to protect Thorin. You shift on your feet as you crouch low, poised to spring up and drive the blade straight through the roof of the beasts' mouth and into its brain.

Before you get the chance, a giant flurry of wind and feathers scoops up the Warg, the beast yelping as it is hurled unceremoniously from the cliffside. You scramble back slightly, your mouth falling open as you look to the sky in disbelief and slight fear.

Eagles bigger than you have ever seen circle the cliffs edge, swooping in to snatch and dispose of the Wargs and their riders. Some of the mighty birds use the wind from their wings to fan the flames that burn the forest, singeing a group of mutts. You feel a moment of peace, but it doesn't last long. Your eyes widen slightly, terror etching your face as one of the birds makes a beeline for you.

"Wait. Wait! WAIT!" You shriek, as the giant bird envelops you in its claws. The fur of Thorin's jacket, which you had been holding on to, slips from your grasp as the creature tosses you off the edge of the cliff. You tumble through the air, screaming bloody murder, before landing with a thud on the back of another eagle, knocking the wind out of you slightly. You curse under your breath as you gasp for air, trying to regain your bearings. Your eyes scan around, realizing that every member of the company was either caged safely in the claws of one of the Avians, or sat comfortably atop one.

You hear a rage filled roar in the distance as the eagles whisk you all away. You feel a pit in your stomach, realizing that Azog is still alive, and you know that he will never stop hunting down the line of Durin. Your stomach drops as your worried mind flickers back to Thorin. You try to spot him, your eyes scanning each of the birds. The morning sun makes it nearly impossible, partially blinding you. You tuck your face into the soft feathers you sit upon, tears pricking your eyes as you pray the eagles will land soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Groggily lifting your bruised and battered head, you scan around, realizing the eagles are making their descent. They all circle slowly down, landing atop a rocky spire, where you can see for miles around. Your eagle lands last, and your heart drops as you see Thorin lying still upon the flat ground, the company standing around him. You slide down from the back of the eagle, crumpling slightly as your legs hit the ground. Fili and Kili appear at your side almost instantly, supporting you under your arms as you try to regain your balance. You wince as Kili bumps your shoulder, hissing through your teeth.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" Kili asks in concern, releasing your arm slightly.

"Yes, I just... never mind me." You tear your eyes away from Thorin, finding Bilbo a few feet away. You pull away from the brothers, limping over to hug Bilbo. "Thank you." You whisper, pulling back and meeting Bilbo's gaze. He nods, and nothing else needs to be said. Bilbo is smart enough to be able to read the emotion behind your eyes. Your hand rests on his shoulder, and you both smile softly before you turn your gaze back to Thorin.

Gandalf kneels beside Thorin, his hand hovering over his face as he murmurs some spell over his unconscious form. You can feel the tears of desperation welling up in your eyes as you look on helplessly, silently begging whatever God is listening to please, let him live. You can feel yourself shaking as the company waits with bated breath. Then, his eyes finally flutter open, the dwarf drawing a deep breath.

Hot tears fall from your eyes, and you don't bother to stop them. You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. He lives. He clambers to his feet, aided by Dwalin and Kili. He shakes them off, the angry look on his face surprising you all. He locks eyes with you, before flickering his gaze to Bilbo.

"You two." Thorin says in an accusing tone, glaring at the both of you. A confused look crosses your face, the rest of the company looking on.

"What were you doing?" Thorin snaps. "You nearly got yourselves killed!" Your eyes lock onto his, and you don't bother wiping the tears from your face as you stand bewildered.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden?" Thorin hisses, stalking towards you. "That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?" You hold his gaze, teary eyed as he looks between yourself and Bilbo, seemingly berating you. He pauses for a moment, the rest of the company sharing glances in disbelief.

Emotion suddenly takes over Thorin's face. "I have never been so wrong, in all my life." He steps forward, embracing Bilbo, patting him on the back. You could almost laugh at the look of shock on Bilbo's face as he tentatively returns his hug. Thorin pulls back, meeting Bilbos eyes with an apologetic look. "I am sorry I doubted you."

Thorin's eyes turn to you, his face softening as he looks at your tear-stained face. He takes the few steps to close the distance between you. The company becomes rather quiet as he silently approaches, his eyes never leaving your face. He stops in front of you, pausing, and you sniffle slightly, looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Your heart stops as his rough hand rises to your face, gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he wipes away a fresh tear.

"Are those tears, Amrâlimê?" Thorin murmurs, making your heart skip a beat. He brings his other hand to your face, wiping away the rest of your tears, even as your eyes well up more. "No more of those." He says quietly, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose against yours gently, before pulling back to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He murmurs, his eyes scanning your form. His hand still cupping your jaw gently. You shake your head, your eyes locked on his. Kili speaks up at your lie, knowing you are indeed hurt.

"She hurt her right shoulder." Kili says, before falling silent with an apologetic look. You glare at him, sighing in defeat as Thorin calls over Oin to take a look at your shoulder.

"What about you? You definitely need to be checked out, Thorin." You say sternly as thorin guides you to sit on a rock a few feet away. A small smile graces his face.

"I appreciate your concern. But you come first." He says softly, making you blush profusely. He gives a nod to Oin before stepping away to speak with Gandalf. Fili and Kili make their way over to you, giving each other a knowing look. You narrow your eyes at them before tugging on Kili's sleeve, making him kneel down to your level on the hard ground as Oin examines your shoulder.

"Kili, what does... Amrâlimê mean?" You ask inquisitively, as you know minimal Khuzdul. The brothers share another look, smiling at each other.

"You will find out in time." Kili says cryptically, standing up with a grin after giving you a pat on the back. You give him an exasperated look, cursing as Oin adjusts your shoulder. The brothers turn away with smirks plastering their faces, leaving you to ponder what Thorin could possibly have said.

[creativewritersposts]

bodyweight - Lando Norris

summary; Lando Norris x reader

Lando's world feels like plastic until you forget how imperfectly perfect you are in his eyes.

warning(s); mention of self hate, angst, insecurity, FLUFF, maybe grammar errors

author's note; little reminder you're perfect the way you are ❗

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

You're standing in front of lando's mirror, starring at your tummy, thighs and arms.

After seeing your own body, you don't want to eat your fresh made lasagna anymore. Last week you walked in lando's paddock for the first time ever as his girlfriend you're ashamed of yourself.

These girlfriends look perfect. They could wear a garage bag and could model for designer. You can wear your prettiest dress and couldn't reach their level.

"What are you doing in my gym?", Lando looks sceptical to you, doing a workout. It's not like you're a couch potato but you're rarely doing workouts, more sporty activities outside.

"working out" you reply whilst doing sit-ups under a breathless voice. You sweat your ass off, but you need to change your body.

"Going to shower with me after your workout? I like your leggings", a smirk escapes his mouth, leaning on the door.

"I'm not hot", you give him a death stare after doing the last sit-up.

He gives you a confused look but doesn't think much, coming closer, giving you a quick kiss and leaves the room.

Maybe you just have a bad day after work.

"Babe I left you a little bit lasagna, tasted really good!", Lando scrolls through his phone and looks up to see a fresh showered, pretty girl.

"I'm not hungry", you groan. You're frustrated. You really want to eat it, but damn it's not good for you.

Lando puts down his phone, screen turned around on the kitchen counter. "You need to eat, baby", Lando worries, coming closer, "you worked 10 hours today" and places his hands on your hips.

"I need to lose weight", you roll your eyes.

Crossing over your arms before your chest. "what the heck, why?", he's outraged. "I'm not a model", you are pissed, "but you're normal and I love you for that", Lando kisses your nose, touching your neck.

"All formula one girlfriends are literally perfect and I'm the black sheep!", you argue out of frustration.

Lando breathes out, "I don't care much anymore about bodyweight", in a clear, calm way. "But everyone else does!", you argue back, again.

"Show me where you're too fat?", Lando raises his eyebrow.

You show nonverbal to your thighs, arms and stomach.

He moves his head hysterically to the left and right, "that's the most bullshit I've heard of years!".

He grabs your wrist, "I can help you with workouts but please eat! For me you're perfect the way you are. I can scream it on my next race, everyone will hear it", he speaks out his mind and kisses your lips softly.

"I hate workouts", you mumble under a kissing break.

"I know", Lando giggles.

[anthonysperkins]

Clarence "Clancy" Ross, 1st place 🏆, 2nd overall 🥈

Hearst Metrotone News, Jun. 17, 1955: NAMING "MR. UNIVERSE" – The search for the perfect male! In London, husky candidates from 20 countries vie for the coveted title of 'Mr. Universe.' The muscle men of the world, both pros and amateur, are here flexing their biceps like crazy! Even far India is represented; bodybuilding has become an international sport. Some admiring ladies take measurements of Clancy Ross, one of four U.S. entrants. Looks like his has what it takes! But the judges award the professional title to Canada's 35-year-old, Leo Robert, 'Mr' Hercules' for 1955! By the way, here is Mickey Hargitay who takes the amateur title for the U.S.!" Muscle Builder, September 1955, page 22: Weider Men Sweep Mr. Universe Contest – "[...] Here are the highlights of the event. In the professional division, Tall Man's Class, Weider Booster Clancy Ross won the top spot, hands down. In the Medium Height Class, Leo Robert, Weider Pupil and Booster won in a walk-away. The judges who had the inevitable job of deciding between these two perfect men for the title of Professional 'Mr. Universe', finally awarded Leo Robert the title. It was close, and while we are delighted that our pupil Leo won, in fairness to Ross we must mention that the long trip from California to London took a lot out of him. He fell victim to the flu two days before the big event and competed against doctor's orders, weighing only 187 pounds instead of his regular 202 pounds bodyweight knowing that he wasn't in top shape. Only conjecture is possible when considering the outcome if Ross hadn't been ill."

[neoplatinum]

i promise to love you forevermore - part 2 | minatozaki sana

summary: the minatozaki group is far bigger than you expected

pairing: heiress!sana x reader

themes: arranged marriage au, fluff, angst, tension, lots of elitism, conglomerate power-hungry side characters, implied sex, misamo!

wc: 3.2k

(series masterlist)

"the minatozaki's request your presence at the 2024 annual ball." you say to yourself as your fingers run through the beautifully golden lettering imprinted on thick cardstock. lined with the minatozaki family crest pressed at the bottom. you turn the invite in your hand, it's been so long since you've attended the annual ball. but now, as a minatozaki, your presence is expected.

ever since you married sana, your life has gotten busier, often attending the conglomerate events as a figurehead for the family. leading the discussions on expansions of the family's power. sana often wants to ditch the events altogether, claimed they were too stuffy and business-y.

"baby, come here." sana complains, she often gets like this. soft with want, attention seeking and wishing for your comfort even if you're in the same room together.

"sana sweetheart, look at this." you walk towards her across the wooden floor, invitation still in hand. you pass it to her, and her eyes groan at the sight.

"is it already time?" she checks the event date.

"i thought you enjoyed the annual ball." you comment.

"i liked them when i was five and playing princess, now i feel like a zoo animal at the events." she says and leans onto your body. using it to hold up her bodyweight.

"i see, but we must go."

"yes. mother will have my head if i miss one."

"hey, at least i'll be there with you this year." you offer, pushing her down to massage her shoulders. "how does that feel?"

"mm, good, thank you darling." sana rewards you with a quick kiss. and then you hear the sound of your son wailing, in his bassinet. you walk up to him, picking him up and bouncing him in your arms.

"is he hungry?"

"no," you check his diaper, "stinky." you take the baby to the changing station. expertly changing his diapers and putting some baby powder, and then shoving him in sana's face.

he babbles and tries reaching out to sana, small grabby hands trying to pull at sana's face.

"aww baby, you are too cute!" sana snuggles into haruto, she claims that babies have a special 'baby' scent, one that makes them so adorable.

"oh also, you'll meet my cousins. the branch families." you're confused what she means.

"branch families?"

"yeah the minatozaki is the main family, but we also have branch families." she caresses haruto, giving him forehead kisses and he continues to babble. you would do anything for them.

you grab sana's face, cradling her jaw as you pull her into a sweet kiss. her eyes are a little unfocused after, you rocked her world.

"what was that for?"

"for being perfectly you." you reply, slipping on your shoes.

--

being escorted by bodygaurds feels a little more reasonable, as you have haruto in your arms. him playing with the collar of your shirt, tugging on it as he hugs you. sana walking by your side and being followed by a team of people that would lay down their life for you.

"sana." you start, "you ready?"

she nods, but you can feel the hesitation from a mile away, you squeeze her hand for support. and walk through the giant wooden doors. the chatter of the ball quiets with the entrance of the new minatozaki head family, and the first heir, haruto minatozaki.

you're dressed in a traditional kimono, hair gelled and pressed so stiffly. sana is in her traditional kimono as well, hair done up with beautifully golden spear keeping it together. you think she looks like a goddess like this.

the minatozaki family crest displayed in stitching on the back of both your kimonos, and little haruto's as well. the crowd claps at the sight of you three, and sana bows deeply. you do the same as well. then the crowd goes back to their discussions.

in the corner you see two women, they blend into the background, but their eyes are trained on you like hawks. you wouldn't have spotted them if it weren't for sana.

"these are my cousins: momo and mina." and you look at the two woman, they don't give you a smile even though you have your hand extended and head bowed deep.

"nice to meet you." its short and curt, like a military leader. momo shakes your hand, and you try not to wince at the hand strength. you try your best to shake it back.

mina is more gentle with her hand shaking, but her eyes don't convey that, eyes of a predator watching their prey.

then they spot small haruto's arms stretched out towards them. and their eyes light up, momo picking up your son to bounce him around.

the two women leave to mingle with other guests, showing off your son. and you grab your hand, massaging it from being crushed by momo's hand.

"momo is, very strong." you say to sana, and she laughs.

"momo and mina trained to be soldiers for the family. so that's probably why, but also i'm the youngest and the only heir. so they're protective." it makes sense, the main family didn't have sana until later. so sana's the cherished sole her of the minatozaki main family.

she loops her arms around yours and drags you away. "don't worry about haruto, he's in good hands." she whispers to you as you search for him through the crowds.

"hello mother." sana bows at the sight of her mother, you bow too.

"glad to see you both, i think i saw haruto with momo earlier." she comments, and you see a genuine smile as she makes a beeline for her grandchild.

"i'm starting to think she loves haruto more than me." sana pouts at the idea, you just laugh and reassure her that all parents are like that. sana gets whisked away by a nosy aunt, and even though she whispers "help me!" over her shoulder, you just laugh and let her get dragged away.

suddenly you feel a chill up your spine, and you turn around to see mr. seki walk up to you.

"great to see you!" that devilish smile never fails to make you shudder

"likewise, mr. seki, how are you enjoying the ball?" you ask politely. ever since he found out you were to be married to a minatozaki: he's gotten more and more persistent with his requests for a major bonus.

"it's lovely, the minatozaki's always know how to host an event." he starts, a deep bellow of a laugh, commenting on the grandeur of the hall. you nod along in agreement, but mostly to move this conversation along.

"i wanted to speak to you about something." his demeanor completely changes, he stands stiffly, nearly towering over you.

"in private?"

"yes, in private." with a signal his security starts moving with him, and you follow behind, being taken away from the main hall.

--

"please have a seat." mr. seki points to the couch. you sit down, ready to hear him lecture about seniority and the importance of shareholders.

but then he drops the biggest bomb on you.

"did i ever congratulate you on your marriage?" he starts.

"oh no need for all that, i'm sure it's very much implied." you offer.

"my apologies, let me present to you a wedding gift. see here," and on the table are photos of sana seen outside drunk and making out with various women and men. even with the dark and grainy zooms you recognize your wife. "is your wife, cheating behind your back. were you aware of this?"

"mr. seki, these are huge accusations against my wife." you lean in, eyes boring into his. he smiles at the sight, your interest is peaked.

"of course, we would never want groundless accusations." he then takes out another set of photos, much clearer and front and center is a photo of sana, undeniably her. even with her hair tossed back and her neck exposed. "so tell me, do you recognize your wife in the photo?"

he sits back as he tosses another drink. you stare at him, eyes wide and anger boiling all over. you feel yourself buzzing like a dog ready to bite.

"well?"

"mr. seki, i suggest that you keep my wife out of your mouth if you'd like to keep your tongue." you stand up, and his security team rises out of their seat, hands on their guns.

"oh i will, if she keeps her tongue out of other people's tongues. you know the minatozaki would never let this be a headline. they'd probably kill me for leaking this actually. but as a concerned uncle, i thought you should know. " his eyes dancing playfully, like he's got you in your clutches.

"mr. seki, watch your tone."

"or what?" his security force steps up.

"would you really like to find out?" you toss a knife right by his ear, nearly clipping it. the men are ready to launch at you, but he puts his fist up, stopping them. he sits up straight, getting up and buckling his blazer.

"i'll have you know something, you could kill me ten times over, but it'll never erase the fact that she's cheating on you." he smirks, patting you on your shoulder, he leaves the room.

leaving you with a table full of photos of sana, you stare at it, tucking it away into your pocket.

--

the thought sits in your head for weeks, days spent in a daze at the sight of sana. she's still as bubbly as ever, but you can't help but let the green monster grow ten-fold in your chest.

every morning at lunch you stare at her, every night at dinner you stare at her. whenever she's at her vanity you stare at her.

what else is she hiding?

so against your better judgement, you hire a private investigator. one that'll tail sana for information. track all her patterns and behaviors, who she's seeing, when she's seeing them, for how long and most importantly why she's seeing them.

you have her tailed for weeks, until it comes back to bite you in the ass.

you're busy bouncing haruto on your lap, letting him play with his toy as he babbles. he reaches out and takes your pen out of your breast pocket. chewing on it, biting into the steel body.

"haruto no! that's my pen, don't bite on that." you take the metal pen out of his mouth, and when he looks like he wants to cry, you shove his toy back in his face. and like that he's distracted again.

"emi, please take haruto." sana's voice is sudden, you didn't even hear her walk in.

emi walks in quickly, grabbing haruto out of your hold and walking out, closing the door behind her.

sana walks up to the desk, arms crossed, jaw tensed and eyes glowering at you. "do you have something to tell me?"

"sana? no i don't."

"let me ask you that one more time: do you have something to tell me?" she leans forward against the desk, face inches apart.

"sana, what's going on?"

"that's what i want to know." she walks around the desk, right next to you. "i was out with momo and mina earlier, and momo found someone tailing us. they both nearly beat him to death, and he coughed up your name, you mind telling me why he's tailing us?"

"sana, please."

"please what?" she cocks an eyebrow, "i don't appreciate being followed."

"i...i got a tip that you were...seeing other people." you explain, "i needed to know for myself."

"so instead of asking me, you hire someone to tail me, all to see if im cheating?" she's quick on her feet, just like her mother. "i swear i will rain hellfire on you if you don't answer me right now!"

"yes, i did. i had to know."

she paces back and forth, finger in between her teeth.

"why do you care?" sana questions you.

"i do. of course i do." you respond. its honest, although you aren't explaining the reason in full.

her eyes are ablaze, challenging you. "why?"

you get up, needing to make a little distance from sana. she's just so intimidating when she's mad. just like her mother.

"i wanted to know because he wanted to leak it to the press." and that's not a lie, but it's also not the main reason right now.

"are you serious?" she throws the pile of photos onto the floor, the ones you handed to the private investigator. they're stained with blood, probably his if you had to guess.

"yes."

"well you don't have to worry. the minatozaki group owns all the media outlets." she sigh, frustrated at you. "i'm not cheating."

she walks right out of your study, making a beeline to the grand staircase. you chase right after her on her tail. with her dodging all your questions. she enters the bedroom and throws two big luggages on the bed.

"where are you going?"

"packing my bags, or should i tell that to your PI too." she bites out, her voice venomous and her movements rushed. she's tossing all her clothes in the suitcase, not bothering to fold them.

"no need, i'm sorry sana. for sending a PI after you." you try and calm her down, standing in front of her suitcase.

"is that all?" she stops with a dress in one hand.

"and for accusing you of cheating." you continue. she side steps you, continuing to shove clothes into her suitcase. and you stand there, unsure of what to do. sana's never left so suddenly.

"sana please don't leave, we can talk this out!" you urge her, as the butlers descend down the stairs with her luggages in hand.

"what is there to talk about, you don't trust me enough so you had to send someone to monitor me." she pushes a finger into your chest.

sana leaves for weeks. you feel yourself get antsy when she doesn't reply to your calls or messages, unless they're related to haruto. so under that guise you offer to drop off some toys for haruto, but mostly to corner sana so she'll hear you out.

--

with the infrequent visits to the main minatozaki estate, you still always feel lost inside. the large main estate is surrounded by minor estates. tall cement walls lining the the acres of land away from the prying eyes of the public. you sit in a minatozaki black sedan, flowers in hand and a bag of haruto's toys in the other.

being reclined in polished leather seat, the car begins rolling forward into a side road, disguised behind rows of moving trees and a thick wall that sinks into the ground.

you being to really notice the size of the minatozaki power. outside are men and women all dressed in all black, ear pieces and sunglasses. all with that signature bowl cut hair, you gulp at the sight. they all eye your car as you roll into the outdoor garage.

you're pat down, taking out all your items from your jacket. they even begin inspecting the toys and flowers in your hand. you sigh as you watch them whisper to each other in coded language. and then a wooden door open, disguised as a panel of the wall, and out steps momo and mina.

both of them eyeing you with the same look they gave you at the ball.

"sana's waiting." momo begins to walk, meanwhile mina waits for you, impatiently. you pick up the pace walking through the tunnel, large stone slabs under your feet, and glass displaying the lush green open gardens in the minatozaki estate.

they don't utter another word, rhythmic measured steps as they fall into the same tempo with each other. measured steps even if they are different heights. you try and match their step, nearly tripping, but you catch yourself.

then you see her, far away, in a deep brown wooden gazebo, intricate japanese carpentry displaying the minatozaki crests on the panels, you quicken your step to get to her, but momo places a hand to stop you.

"you may not know much about us," momo nods to mina and she nods too, "but we know everything about you. one wrong move and it'll be like you never existed. don't underestimate the minatozaki power."

then the two women disappear, falling in line with the other security groups that are circulating the estate. you fix your tie, a little intimidated by the watching eyes, every direction you look there's someone staring you down.

you walk up the wooden steps into the gazebo, sana looking away and a tea cup in hand.

"hello, sana."

"haruto's toys?" her hand is extended.

"they're here, in this bag." you hand her the bag, and she looks into it, nodding to you before dismissing you.

"wait sana, please, could you let me explain myself?" you sit down next to her, her eyes faraway.

"you explained yourself pretty clear last time." she says, taking a sip of her tea, setting the cup onto a tray.

"i don't think i did, please let me explain myself." she doesn't say anything. eyes trained on that lone duck in the pond.

"i, for a very very stupid reason, wanted to tail you. because it's harder to open the can of worms of who we are to each other. we married out of convenience, but to me, you are my wife, my only love. i needed to know if you see me the same way. or am i still someone you married for convenience?"

sana stares at you, more specifically the flowers you brought, her favorite. and the wedding band you still keep on your finger.

"then let me make this very clear. you are mine. and i am yours. there is no one else in the picture." she stands up, handing you a usb stick, "i found out your anonymous tip, mr. shugo seki of seki industries, 62, married with two children and five grandchildren. four mistresses and six children out of wedlock. $12 million in gambling debt. he's been taken care of."

she takes the flowers from your hand, sniffing them and smiling at it, before returning back to her authoritative demeanor.

"and i'll explain myself once, those photos you were presented were in the very early stages of our marriage, long before haruto. i haven't been with anyone but you for a very long time. now tell me, is that clear enough?"

"no, i think you made it very clear." you flip the usb stick in your hand, "what is in this?"

"the original raw files of the photos. if you want the dates for proof, it's all in there." she says, letting you continue to flip it around in between your fingers.

you toss it into the pond.

"don't need the proof?"

"no, why should i?" you smile at her.

"let me also make it clear, if i catch you, with anyone, i will behead you myself; do not forget it's until death do us part." she tugs you close, whispering it into your ear and you shudder. grabbing your tie, and smashing her lips against yours. pulling away with a smirk.

you don't doubt for a second she will. "understood."

"good, haruto will be up in an hour," she grabs your hand, and tugs you along the wooden bridge to the main house. "you better make it up to me before then, okay?"

you blush at that but nod, "yes, mrs. minatozaki."

--

a/n: if sana talked to me like that 😍😍😍😍 misamo in the house and we all cheered! the idea for branch families is inspired by naruto LOL (which i actually believe is true to historical japanese family systems). and a thank you to @footzanginamaurin @blaymine @d3viant0n3 @moonpheus @im--yoong and also the anon who requested for a part 2!! stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

[ronearoundblindly]

Drabble Birthday Ask!

Reader finally 'catches' the thing Steve's been hiding... it's that he's tired. He's tired, and he thinks it's non-inspiring or embarrassing or a burden, and he has been acting weird to cover for that.

Steeeeeeb!!!! Yes of course some TLC for Stevie. Excellent. Would recommend. 11 out of 10. Always give him the peace and safety! (Don't hate me though; it's just a bit of established relationship fluff!)

I am uncharacteristically skipping the part where you confront Steve about this. Yes, that's right. Remain calm. Ro has passed up the opportunity to write an argument. Hold your applause. WC idk but probably 2k or less (bit of a surprise at the end, too 🤭)

It's so easy.

It's just so damn easy to lose track, to keep going, to repeat. One more conversation. One more chore. One more hour. One more day. One more.

More. Constantly more.

Steve is very good at giving more. He is consistent, constant, incessant, but you can see now that despite his unending strength, your husband can't hide that drawn, fragile look behind his eyes any longer.

Sometimes, that's life.

"Actually, scratch that shit," Tony says with a flagrant point to your face as you chat. "Life is always like that. I know what Big Guy needs, don't you worry. Consider it sorted."

This speed-date style convo tumbles through a ten-second-savoring of tea. You got one cryptic sentence about 'how you're doing' in before Tony perfectly translates your meaning.

For once, more is unnecessary. He knows.

Stark, however, doesn't even have a moment to finish the turn up of his lips in a smile before his watch is pinged.

His eyes focus to the inside of his glasses. "Go for the World's Most Fashionable Hero," he deadpans, wandering off with his mug clasped like a lifeline in his hands.

Yeah, you know that feeling. Wit's End must be as contagious as pinkeye 'round these parts.

Steve's been silent for the last hour of the car ride. He checks the address. He checks the map. He checks the road. That's it.

Music he usually hates has been playing for fifty-one minutes and counting. No reaction.

Clearly, you were right to ask Stark for help.

The gravel drive up to the cabin is bumpy, and Steve apologizes for having to go so slowly.

"Almost there. I think it's--yeah, there. Okay, we're here." Your husband flips the key back and out of the ignition, a stunted sigh forcing it's way past his tight shoulders, immediately opening the door and heading for the trunk. "I'll get the bags. You get the--"

"Steve? Will you come with me for a sec?"

He looks at you--really sets his eyes on you--for the first time since loading the car.

"What's wrong?"

You crunch up to the short staircase to the long porch. "Just come up here, please."

It takes another wave of your hand in encouragement before Steve abandons the small duffels and totes. He's not used to leaving a man behind. He's got a mission. He's supposed to finish the job. Always one more thing.

More. Constantly more. That's Steve's life, and he does it without complaint. Never, ever complaining, even when he should.

His heavy, tired feet fall hollowly on the wood.

"We're starting now," you chirp, excited to surprise him.

Steve tips his bodyweight to lean on the banister, crossing his ankles before crossing his arms, his head down while sneaking a squint-and-blink to try and bounce his energy back.

"Sure, what's first on the list?"

"Oh, no," you correct. "The list is mine. Those are my activities for the weekend. You are here."

His brow furrows. "What? You're gonna--"

"Steve." You gently hold onto his arms. "I mean, you have nothing to do. Not a single thing. And I don't care where you do it, but you will be doing nothing all weekend. Sleep in the bed, on the couch, on the dingy over there, hell, right here on the porch swing. It doesn't matter. It's your rest, but you must rest."

"What about--"

"Nope."

"Or if--"

"Uh-uh, definitely not."

Steve looks slightly panicked. "Dinner?" he tries in a last-ditch effort to be useful every minute of every day.

"There is a bag of stuff that I will be dumping into a crockpot and walking away from, so, no, you can't do that either."

He's still not sure, eyes glassy and flickering about.

"There's fruit for breakfast, veggies and dip for snacks, and we don't have to even turn on the stove unless we want to. Now--" you release him "--I'm putting stuff away and--"

Steve opens his mouth to argue.

"--and not one word out of you. Not one, sweets. Go. Be free. Sleep. Stare at the water, or a wall, or the ceiling for all I care, but you have nothing else to do today. Okay?"

His eye twitches, a half-hearted glare melting into a challenge in his tight jaw.

"Okay???" you prod.

His hands fling out in defeat. "You told me not to say a word," he whines, automatically making his way back down the stairs.

"No bags," you scold.

He whips around, almost muttering.

"No bags." You rush down and past him toward the car. "And I will bring you looser clothes to sleep in."

"You--"

"AH!"

"But--"

"What did I just say, Rogers?"

Now he just looks petulant, a familiar mood in your household.

You stubbornly point to the cabin. "Go on. Git!"

He watches you bring in the mindfully-light bags you packed up for the trip, pouting and scowling in equal measure.

Steve has to show off at least once by snatching up a bit of potato that rolled across the counter in the transfer of dinner.

Instead of thanking him, you shove a t-shirt and thin sweats at his chest.

He fakes an oof of surprise and traps you for a quick kiss before going to change. He does leave you alone for the rest of setting up.

Steve is dead asleep on the deep, two-seater porch swing when you head to the little work shed, his knees bent so he faces in, his forehead buried in cushion to block out daylight, already snoring softly.

You have to hold your hands to your chest so as not to touch him. Tears of joy prick your eyes seeing him relax so quickly.

Steve can follow orders when he wants to, you think with a smile.

In the garden shed, Pepper has all the cool crafting things, and you putz around with some wood pieces and paints for a couple of hours. You walk the perimeter of the cabin to find some nice wildflowers for a table centerpiece, mixing delicate stems of blue buds with expansive wisps of white and little pops of yellow. You attempt to figure out the dingy but decide against going on the water alone yet. Maybe tomorrow.

At no point does Steve move.

When you walk up to the house, fist full of flowers, he's out cold, softly swaying in the breeze as the gusts pick up in the afternoon.

You snack and listen to music in your headphones, doze in the bed after the sun warmed you a little too much, and then wake to the smell of stew.

The beep of the crockpot wakes him.

Bedhead and pillow mishmarks on his cheek look great on Steve Rogers.

Without argument, he washes his hands and sits at the reclaimed wood table.

Steve says only two things:

"Thank you" when you set a large bowl in front of him, and "can you pass the salt?" after he taste-tests the meal.

He reads a book until falling asleep for the night with you, curled with his knees bent again.

He does well.

He keeps resting, multiple times with his book open on his chest, barely to halfway after hours and hours of holding on to the browning paperback pages.

He rests in the bed. He rests on the couch. He rests (again) on the porch swing. Finally, he rests in your lap while you both float on the lake in the dingy.

He rests with you by his side. He rests with you in his arms. He rests even when you leave to do something else. It's exactly what you wanted, what he needed, and how it should be.

Steve mumbles a fair few things, but the most important thing is that none of it is important enough to articulate. He doesn't have to talk. He doesn't have to be heard. He doesn't have to be understood.

He only has to rest, and he's following orders well. He's completing his mission.

It is truly fascinating how close you can feel without words--okay, so you two aren't completely non-verbal for the weekend, but there are no long conversations. After being married for a while, those are not entirely necessary. You know each other too well for all that; Steve simply feels the stigma of being weak and tired from his youth.

He holds himself to a different, impossible standard. He thinks of it as pushing the limits of his serum, as offering everything he has to others, as respecting those he cares for by shouldering burdens. You think it's stupid.

It is the only stupid thing Steve Rogers does.

Now, after days of resting, you're pretty sure Steve knows he was being stupid.

You hope he knows he can ask for help or a break whenever he wants, before he needs it this badly.

To your great delight, Steve gathers up his things that were left around the house, but he leaves the actual packing to you. This is very helpful in keeping the final surprise.

He's watching the water, sitting up in the porch swing for once with an arm thrown over the back, an easy, calm smile stretched across his face, the first you've seen in months if you're being honest.

Steve gestures for you to join him, but you bite your lip and check the gravel drive.

Exactly on schedule, an engine revs and wheels crackle over the gravel.

You wink at your husband just as excited shouts ring out from Tony's fancy car.

"Papa! Papa! Look what Morgan and I found at the beach!"

"I made you a seashell necklace, Momma. You, too, Pops."

Your children race up the porch steps and jump into the space below Steve's arm.

His smile is still easy, but perhaps a little more excited than calm.

More. Constantly more.

But it's not all tiring...

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay

@rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

[flusteredmoonn]

when emma falls in love; james potter

summary: "when emma falls in love, i know that boy will never be the same," in which she lights up his whole world, and everyone can tell, – the points in james' relationship where everyone can see he was utterly besotted.

tags: (SFW), fluff, drabble??, fast paced, implied gryffindor!reader, implied pre-existing relationship, she/her pronouns, third person y/n.

words: 700+

speak now tracklist. request.

their relationship had been fairly new. they hadn't even knew one another that long, and everyone was convinced that she was a distraction for the boy, away from his infatuation with lily evans. the relationship was destined to be short lived.

and so the girl didn't get her hopes up.

but she had been having a bad day, and she hadn't seen her boyfriend all day. nor, had she seen her friends, or anyone she could truly reach out to. the girl felt stuck, like she was trapped in a never ending cycle of classes and overcrowded hallways.

until the clocktower had chimed for lunch. she was able to make a swift exit from her current class, and dart toward the openness of the great hall. yes, there would be chatter and she would likely be equally as overwhelmed, but the space wasn't as constricting.

she had reached the hall, stepping through the threshold of the large oak doors. her shoes clicking across the flagstone as a particular group of gryffindors had watched her enter.

"uhm, james.." peter squeaked anxiously, gathering the bespectacled boy's attention rather effectively.

"yeah, pete," the boy brushed off, still picking at the food on his plate.

"is that, uhm, your girlfriend? by the door?" he asked, gesturing with his head in the vague direction of the entryway.

james might as well have given himself whiplash with the haste which the boy turned his head around, a goofy smile dancing on his lips. pushing himself away from the gryffindor table, he bound over to her, a spring in his step as he oozed with excitement.

as he approached, he could see the discontent on her face, his own mirroring her expression in an attempt to locate the cause.

"heya y/n," james excitedly exclaimed, opening his arms to her as he became at arms length. she jumped at the opportunity to hug the boy, resting almost her entire bodyweight on him.

"hey jamie," she mumbled into his shoulder, released an exasperated sigh as they continued their embrace. "are you alright?" he pulled his head away from her slightly, to examine her face, a mild look of annoyance still present on her features.

"yeah, today's just been a lot, sorry jamie," y/n used the nickname once more, which further instilled his worry toward her. he ushered her back to where his friends were situated, putting food on her plate and making sure she ate, deciding to try to unpack her feelings later in the day.

however, once staying in his presence over their lunch period, the girl felt herself relax. and his friends observed as the boy became equally relaxed upon seeing her calm.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

rain pattered rhythmically on the cobbled stone pathway as james and his friends began to make their way back to hogwarts castle from hogsmeade. his arm was slung over y/n's shoulders as they dodged the open air underneath the awnings. the boys laughed with one another, referencing several of their inside jokes.

the village was a ghost town, each of the people of hogsmeade were taking refuge in their houses as they waited out the rain. the only people who appeared to be out as the street lamps flicked on were themselves, and other students who had stayed out slightly too late.

the music shop stood across the road. string instruments charmed to softly play a melodic rhythm to match the sound of the rain. y/n began to sway as she walked through the village, matching the beat of the music she played.

stepping away from james, she grabbed his hands, and swung them in time with her swaying.

it didn't take long for james to understand that she was trying to dance to the music, and he removed himself from the conversation with his friends.

he pulled her out from the safety of the awning, and into the pattering of the rain. he moved his hands down to her waist, and clasped her hand with his other, swaying her gently in a slowed waltz. his friends noticed their sudden silence, sharing a laugh amongst themselves for a beat, before continuing their walk back to the castle.

the pair continued dancing with one another romantically, in the rain, the tempo of the charmed music changing to match their rhythm as their surroundings faded away and all he could see was her.

short one to get back into writing

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 30 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You only get two nights alone with Bradley in Palm Springs, and you're determined to enjoy every minute of your honeymoon. Bradley isn't so sure how you'll feel about the gifts he bought for you, but you light up when you see them. While the weekend felt too short, going home means you both get to see Everett again.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing, smut

Length: 5600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Bradley held your hand the entire way to Palm Springs as the two of you softly shared your ideas for the future. It was dark outside, and there was no traffic, making for a peaceful ride. You had changed out of your wedding dress into some leggings and one of his tee shirts, but you still looked as beautiful as you had earlier at the ballpark when he slipped your wedding band on your finger. Right now you were talking about going to Disney World when Everett had a school break, but the details didn't matter to Bradley. He was happy going anytime you wanted. 

"I've never been to Florida. I've barely been out of California, and even then, just for work conferences in Minneapolis in the middle of winter," you told him, rubbing your soft fingers along his rough ones. "But you've been everywhere."

Bradley contemplated his response for a beat. Sure, he'd been all over the world with the navy. He'd seen a lot and been able to act the part of a tourist at times, too. But he'd never experienced this before. "Yeah," he agreed, turning down a desert road. "But this is the first time I've had a home since I was a kid, Kitten. I'll take you and Ev anywhere you want to go, happily. And then we can return home where everything is perfect. Home is where the Phillies room is."

Your laughter filled the Bronco as the lights of Palm Springs came into view between the mountains. Bradley navigated the last few miles to the hotel, and then he helped you out before grabbing both bags. The night was cool, and you had goosebumps on your arms when he touched you there, but your lips were warm and inviting. "I love you," he whispered. "Let's go to our room."

He wasn't sure if it was the chilly air that made you shiver or his words, but he was planning on showing you how many different ways he could love you over the next two days. Emotionally and physically. It only took a minute to get checked into the small boutique hotel, and then you were leading the way to the room, occasionally grinning at him over your shoulder. 

As soon as that door was closed and you said, "Oh, look how pretty-" Bradley had his mouth on yours as he pushed you up against the door. "Coach," you gasped, pliant in his arms as his hands found their way up inside your shirt. 

"You feel so good. So soft," he whispered, voice harsh as you started to pull the shirt over your head. As you stood there in your white lace bra, nipples peaked against the decadent looking fabric, he said, "You're my wife."

The way your body arched into his as your head tipped back against the door made his eyes go wide. He wrapped his big hands around your hips and hauled you to bed, pressing you down underneath his bodyweight as he dipped his hand into the elastic waistband of your pants. You were so wet. He shouldn't have been surprised. And now you were getting a little loud as he stroked your clit. That didn't really surprise him either. 

"I like you loud," he grunted, taking a minute to wrench your tight pants down your legs and drop them to the floor. You were perfect, writhing around, gasping his name in your white thong and matching bra. When you reached for him, he tried to slow his pace, tried to get himself undressed, but he just couldn't.

So the first time he made love to you after you got married, Bradley still had his jeans mostly on, and your pretty panties were pushed to the side to accommodate him. He managed to get your bra off as you ran your hands along his neck and up into his hair, and then you pulled his shirt off for him. But the urgency to be with you was still there. He hoped it never went away.

"I love you, Coach," you gasped, keening loudly as he sucked on your tits and got you off with his fingers and his cock. And then he came for you, messing up your thong when he withdrew, watching his cum seep out of you and onto the bedding. 

"We're gonna destroy this room," he whispered, taking in your body and the way you were gently stroking your tits in the aftermath. 

You bit your lip and watched him stand at the foot of the bed. "Let me know when you're ready again. I have an idea for that couch."

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

As soon as you got cleaned up from round one with Bradley's undershirt back on, you dug around in your overnight bag. And then it became abundantly clear that Molly packed your overnight bag with a specific agenda in mind. Yeah, she packed your toothbrush, face wash and makeup. Sure, she packed your phone charger and vitamins. But when it came to clothing, all you had with you was your leopard print bathing suit, one of Molly's bodycon dresses, and lingerie. And more lingerie. And new lingerie that you'd never even seen before. 

"Bradley!" you called out to your newly minted husband who was in the bathroom. You stormed over to the door and pushed it open to reveal him washing his hands. 

"Yeah, Baby?"

"Why did you let Molly pack my bag?"

He gave you a funny look. "I thought she'd know better about what you'd want to bring here than I would."

You laughed and shook your head. "She packed it for you. Not me. There's nothing in there except sexy underwear and one skin tight dress."

Bradley's grin grew as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I'm gonna thank her right now."

"When I'm wearing an inappropriately short dress to dinner tomorrow night, that's on you and her," you told him, strolling out onto the balcony that overlooked the pool. 

But he was right behind you, pressing himself against your back as you leaned against the railing and looked out over the desert lit up by moonlight. "This dress? How short we talking?"

You pushed your butt back against him and whispered, "You'll think my pussy is on your dinner menu."

The way he groaned in your ear and wrapped his arm around you left little doubt in your mind that he was ready for round two. "How about for a midnight snack?" he asked, reaching beneath the shirt you were wearing and running his rough hand up your thigh. His lips and breath were hot on your neck as you wiggled your butt. He hissed, "I want you."

"You just had me," you replied, biting your lip as you watched the few people below who were having a late night swim. And then he was slipping one long finger down along your slit and pushing it inside your pussy, still messy with his cum from a little bit ago. 

"Well, I want you again." He was kissing the side of your neck now as you contemplated whether or not it was a good idea to do this on the balcony. "How could I not want my sexy wife?" 

Okay, so you were going to let him fuck you on the balcony. 

While your room didn't have any exterior lights shining, it wasn't so dark up here that you were completely hidden. And the wrought iron railing wasn't going to help hide much, but you were already getting excited just thinking about it. When you bent a little more at the waist so your bare butt and thighs were rubbing against the front of his shorts, you looked at him over your shoulder and whispered, "You wanna?"

With a groan so loud you were afraid the people in the pool might look up, he withdrew his finger from your pussy. "I wanna." And then you squeaked as he wrapped his forearm around your belly and ground himself against you. "You gotta keep quiet, Kitten." And then he bent you a little more, and you could feel the cool night air on your slick opening before he yanked down his shorts and filled you up. 

You weren't prepared to take him right then all at once, and Bradley had to cover your mouth immediately as you braced your hands on the railing.

"I love it when you get loud," he grunted next to your ear as he started thrusting. When you licked his palm, paying special attention to his wedding band, he slipped two fingers inside your mouth. "But that should keep you quiet."

Bradley fucked you so hard and fast while you watched everyone in the pool, you were ready to cum after a few minutes. His fingers had you literally drooling, but his mouth was on your neck, and he was whispering how good you were for him. 

"You gonna cum, Kitten? I can tell you are." His voice was ragged now as he squeezed your breasts through the shirt, stroking your nipples with just enough pressure that he had to add a third finger to your mouth to keep your moaning quiet. And then you came on his cock, legs shaking and back arched, drowning in the pleasure he was giving you. 

"I'm close," he whispered. "You can take it." Then he withdrew his fingers and grabbed your hips with both hands and fucked you even harder. When he came, you bit your lip. There was a couple getting out of the pool, and they glanced around as Bradley finished. He slipped out of you, his warm cum coating your inner thighs as you stood. You kept yourself in front of him as the couple glanced your way briefly, but Bradley was too busy singing your praises next to your ear to notice. 

"I can't believe we did that," you said with a shy smile as you spun to face him. 

Bradley smirked as he tucked himself back into his shorts. "I still want to know what you have planned for the couch."

"Maybe I'll show you tomorrow."

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

Bradley woke up the next morning with your naked body wrapped around him and a strip of sunlight streaming in through the sliding glass door. Your diamond ring was sending little bursts of color along the ceiling and the walls as it reflected the light, and the splotches of orange and green and purple danced across your face as you started to move. Your long eyelashes fluttered as you opened your eyes, and your lips curved into a smile just for him.

"I love you, Coach," you whispered, the reflected colors moving down your body before you slid your hand away and leaned up to kiss him. 

He cupped your cheek and whispered, "Mrs. Bradshaw," between kisses. 

It was just a few seconds before you were riding him, putting on a show and letting him touch you all over. Bradley loved the visual of you sliding up and down his cock, getting a little louder with each motion. "You're gorgeous," he groaned, caressing your thighs and hips with his big hands. "I can't believe I have a wife. A fucking MILF at that."

You laughed and leaned down to kiss him, anchoring your hands against his shoulders as you continued to fuck him just right. When you and he were spent, you were draped across him again while he was still buried inside you. "I'm hungry," you whispered, kissing his neck. 

"Room service? I wasn't really planning on sharing you with anyone else until dinner."

You pouted up at him as he played with your paw print charm. "I want to go in the pool."

He nodded. "I'd kind of like to see what our balcony looks like from down there. I swear that couple last night saw us." Your soft moan let him know what he suspected; you found it more sexy than upsetting that someone may have seen part of that. Some knowledge to keep tucked away for next time. "Let's go check out the cafe."

"You're so funny," you told him, easing yourself out of bed and leaving his messy cock resting against his abs. "I. Don't. Have. Any. Clothing."

Bradley laughed as he stood as well. "Put your sexy leopard print bathing suit on, jungle kitten. The pool bar will serve us food."

He watched you pull on your bathing suit as you muttered some unfriendly things about Molly. "At least she gave me flip flops."

"You can always buy something from one of the shops downstairs," Bradley said, lacing his fingers with yours and coaxing you down to the lobby. 

But what started as a search for a dress or a cute outfit for you quickly turned into something for Bradley and Everett. 

"Check it out!" he said, holding up a child's size baseball jersey that said Palm Springs Vintage League. "They have some for adults, too."

You flipped over the price tag and balked. "Ev doesn't need it for two hundred dollars."

Bradley frowned. "But he and I could match. All three of us could, if you want one too, Kitten."

"He'll outgrow it by next year."

He stood there and just stared at you. He had a son now. Kids outgrew things as they got older. The thought was really unsettling to him as he held up the little jersey, much like the Bradshaw one that you had gifted to him yesterday. It was adorable, and Everett would love it. "I don't even know what size he wears," Bradley muttered, checking the tag for a different reason. 

"He's usually a 7/8," you replied casually. But when Bradley went silent again, you asked, "What's wrong?"

He swallowed hard and said, "I just... don't know that kind of stuff about him. You know? I feel like I know a lot. Like I try to pay attention. I know what he likes and doesn't like. I know that he loves the Phillies and science class and pancakes and swimming. I know that he doesn't have any allergies, because it was on his fact sheet for tee ball." You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed her sternum though his shirt. "But, Kitten... I didn't know what size he wears. And I don't know his blood type or anything like that. What if something happens to him when he's with me? What if there's something important I should know and I fuck it up?"

"His blood type is A negative," you said, squeezing him a little tighter as he gripped the hanger in his hand. "And you're not going to fuck anything up, Bradley."

"I accidentally taught him a bad word last week. And I accidentally kind of told him what a sugar daddy does."

You burst into laughter against his chest, shaking in his arms as you tried to calm down. "Okay, but that's not the end of the world. And honestly, both of those are pretty funny now when I think about them. But you care about Ev so much. You went and got him from Danny's house when I called you."

He kissed your forehead. "Don't talk about Danny," he growled. "Hate him."

"See? You're nothing like him at all! You think Danny knew Everett's blood type? Or what size he wore? The difference is, Danny didn't care to know those things at all. You do. And you'll catch on to more now that you live with us."

Bradley nodded and took a deep breath. And when he left the shop holding your hand after purchasing three of the jerseys, you didn't complain about the price at all. 

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

After you ate brunch on an oversized lounge chair next to the mid century modern pool with Bradley, you fell asleep while he watched the Padres recap on his phone. Your body was sore from last night, but he kept his arm wrapped around you, stroking your skin softly with his fingertips. 

As you dozed on and off, you muttered to Bradley, "Will you text Molly or Bob and check on Ev? And see how Ev's future cousin is doing?"

"Already did about an hour ago," he replied, taking your hand and kissing your fingers. "All good. Ev and Bob went on a hike. And apparently Molly ate some vegetables for the baby but washed them down with gummy bears."

"That sounds right," you murmured, yawning and stretching. "You wore me out, Coach."

Bradley looked at you from under the bill of his cap. "I thought you promised me that your pussy was on my dinner menu."

The waiter who was walking by snickered, and you tried to hide your face. "Bradley," you groaned. 

"Well, is it on my dinner menu or not, Kitten? I'm starving for it."

"You're insatiable."

"It's our honeymoon. But I'm going to take you on a longer trip just the two of us. Because as much as I love Ev and want to know everything about him, I love you, too. And I love my dinner menu."

You ended up jumping in the pool to get him to stop, but he came splashing in right behind you. When he swam over to you, he grabbed you and you clung into him. "Remember the tee ball pool party?" you asked as he swiped his hair back from his forehead.

"Remember it? Kitten, that was our first kiss."

You bit your lip and pressed the tip of your nose to his. "Got a little spicy in the clubhouse kitchen."

"Bob caught us," he said with a smirk, wrapping his arms around your waist and carrying you over to the side of the pool. "He knew I was head over heels."

"I was so embarrassed!"

"And just think, pretty soon he'll probably be your brother-in-law. Uncle Bob."

You smothered his face in kisses and said, "I love my family."

And you really meant it, even as you were squeezing into the stretchy bodycon dress Molly had packed so you could go to dinner. It didn't look as good on you as it did on her, but it honestly wasn't terrible. 

"Holy shit," Bradley grunted. "Molly needs to let you borrow that indefinitely."

You rolled your eyes. "She's going to want it back. I'm sure Bob-"

"Do not finish that sentence!" he practically shouted. "I want to enjoy the erection I'm going to have later, okay?"

You started laughing as you covered your mouth with your hand. "Let me finish my makeup, and then we can go." You touched up your mascara and your lipstick. Okay, now you did look pretty hot. Tight red dress. Red lips. Dark eye makeup. 

"Ready?" you asked, strolling out of the bathroom and slipping your feet into your black heels. Your eyes settled on a wrapped box that was placed on the foot of the bed. "What's that?"

Bradley's smirk made your heart race. "Just a little something I got for you. For us."

You pressed your lips together. "Am I allowed to open it now?"

But he shook his head. "It's strictly for after dinner, Kitten."

Your mind was racing. Maybe he got you some kind of new lingerie? Or a toy? You thought of so many sexy things as he led you downstairs to the restaurant with his hand on your butt. 

When you looked up at him through your lashes, he whispered, "You look perfect." The thing was, you felt perfect. You had never felt a fraction of this love and excitement with Danny. You never felt starved for attention now, and neither did Everett. You felt adored and listened to and understood. It made you want to do something crazy like drop to your knees and give him a blowjob in the elevator. 

You managed to hold it together as you did have to ride down to the wine cellar restaurant with an elderly couple. But just barely. You let your knuckles graze Bradley's cock through his pants with intent. And he grunted in response, his pupils blown wide. 

"Just wait, Kitten." His voice sounded threatening, and you had to squeeze your thighs together. And that feeling didn't improve as you and he sat side by side with glasses of merlot and an enormous steak that you shared along with countless sides and crusty bread that made your mouth water. 

"I love it here," you told him before he fed you some steak from his fork. "This  is my favorite dinner. And the wine is incredible."

He kissed your cheek and let his lips and mustache trail back closer to your ear. "Get as tipsy as you want, Baby. But don't get drunk. I'm going to need your consent for what's in that little box on the bed, okay?"

A shiver ran through your body as you turned to face him. He had his hand on your thigh, tucked up underneath the tiny dress, and his mustache felt rough against the shell of your ear. 

"Okay," you agreed. But after another glass of wine, you could barely keep your lips off of him in the dimly lit restaurant. You were honestly so ready to go back to the room when he held up a dessert menu.

"What would you like?" he asked, stroking your leg. "I'll be having your pussy for dessert, but why don't you pick out something sweet to take back up to the room?"

You couldn't remember what you ordered, but it must have been cheesecake. You were holding the to-go container and rubbing yourself all over Bradley in the elevator twenty minutes later. He had lipstick on his shirt collar, and the top few buttons were undone. He was flushed a pretty shade of pink, and you arrived back at your floor just as your hand went to the button on his pants. 

The wine went to your head, but you weren't quite drunk. But it was hard to walk in your heels now, so Bradley carried you as you held your cheesecake. "Are you gonna fuck me, Coach?" you asked when he reached the door and unlocked it with one hand. 

He kissed you and set you down as the door closed behind you. "I want to, Kitten. But first, I'm going to get changed, and then you can open that box, okay?"

You nodded and watched him undress before pulling on just a pair of gray sweatpants. "Why are you putting clothes back on?" you whined stomping one high heel on the floor. 

He chuckled and shrugged. "It's gonna be a minute before we get down to it. And I don't want to distract you, Baby. Now come here." He pulled you closer by your hips before letting his hands slide down to the bottom of the dress. Slowly, he pulled the fabric up your body and over your head. You moaned, completely bare for him. "Fucking gorgeous," he whispered, running his fingers down the valley between your breasts. 

When you tried to kick your heels off, you whined his name, "Bradley, please. I want to open the box." The gold wrapping paper looked so enticing. 

"In a minute," he promised, kissing your shoulder. "How do you feel about keeping the high heels on?"

You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "I'll keep them on for you."

"They'll match perfectly," he crooned, sucking gently on your neck. "With these." He reached for the box and handed it to you, his cheeks still flushed with pink. 

But now your husband looked a little apprehensive as you tore into the gold paper and gently removed the top of the box. You gasped, gaping up at him before looking back down at the pretty burgundy velvet with gold accents. "You want me to...wear these?" you asked him in barely a whisper.

He ran his hands slowly up and down your sides. "Yes. The collar has your name on it."

You set the box on the bed and pulled out the matching collar and leash. There was a charm dangling off the collar. Mrs. Bradshaw. 

"But only if you want to, Kitten," Bradley reassured you in his sweet voice. 

You let the warm velvet and the cool metal meet your hands for a few seconds. They were pretty. You liked them. You liked the idea of wearing them. When you looked up at him, you held your hands out. "Put them on me?"

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

Bradley was actually living in his wildest fantasy at the moment. He was married. To you. He had a home and a family. And he was very gently tightening a collar around your neck while he placed soft kisses to your bare shoulder. 

"Fuck," he groaned, pulling away to get a good look. You were nibbling nervously on your lip, your hand coming up to feel the charm. The tag. You were tagged with his name. His cock was so hard in his sweatpants, he thought he might cum right now. And he hadn't even finished clasping the leash to your pretty collar yet.

Both were a deep red velvet, so satisfying looking against his skin. And once the leash was hooked on, he was throbbing.

"How do I look, Coach?"

"Mmm, you look like my sexy Kitten. Will you let me take some pictures of this? Maybe a little video? Use it to get me through my next deployment."

"Of course," you said, rubbing yourself against him as he held his camera up and took a few photos. 

"God damn," he groaned. "You look incredible, Baby." Then you took the end of the leash and put it in his hand. 

"Don't be too rough," you whispered, kissing the corner of his lips. 

"Never, Kitten," he promised, backing up toward the couch. As soon as you felt the tug, you followed him, your high heels clicking across the marble floor tiles. He loved the sound of it. He loved the look of you. And when he sank down onto the couch, he took a few more photos before tossing his phone aside. "Come on up here," he whispered, rubbing his thigh. "I know you like this."

You were practically purring as you straddled his thigh and eased yourself down so your perfect pussy was resting on his sweatpants. Bradley shortened the leash and yanked softly until your tits bounced and you slid higher on his leg. And then you started to grind, and Bradley kissed along your collar as he kept the leash taut. 

"I knew your pussy would be on the menu."

When you let our head tip back, he pulled a little harder on the leash so you were whining as he cupped your ass. "This is exactly what I wanted to do on the couch."

"God, Kitten. You're a dream come true."

He let you lean forward to kiss his lips and play with the hair at the back of his neck. You tasted like wine. Your nipples were hard. Your pussy was soaking his pants. Intoxicating. 

Then you whispered, "I'm your pet," before you delicately licked his mustache. 

"Jesus Christ," he grunted as you licked his cheek and his ear like a cat. You were the hottest thing he'd ever witnessed, and you were riding his thigh. "Lick my cock," he commanded, tugging on your leash until you were forced down between his legs. 

You looked up at him and then started to lick at the wet spot you left on his pants, and Bradley was helpless to force you to stop. Your tits were bouncing as you licked up your silky wetness before reaching for the elastic band and pulling his pants down. You pulled his sweatpants clean off of him and wrapped both hands around his aching cock. His tip was so red, it looked purple. 

When Bradley yanked on the leash, you licked the underside of his tip and looked up at him. Every little kitten lick sent a jolt of pleasure through him. He was panting your name as sweat broke out on his face and chest. "You're the hottest thing I've ever seen, Baby." Truly, the sight before him was almost too much. He reached for his phone again and started recording a video. 

You looked at the camera, licking him with short strokes of your tongue and smiling a little sheepishly. "Tell me, who's big cock are you licking, Kitten?" 

Then you whimpered and said, "My husband's."

"A little louder, Baby," he said, snapping the leash, making you whine. 

"My husband's big cock!"

"God, I love you." Now you were taking him between your lips and sucking on him. He let you go for a few minutes, enjoying the sight of that little gold charm hitting your perfect skin as you bobbed and gagged. But he knew what else he wanted to do as he set his phone down again.

When he yanked on your leash, you responded instantly, releasing him from your mouth with a little pop. "Go climb up on the bed, Kitten." He let the leash out a bit so you could stand, and then he stood and pulled you toward the bed. "You like this, don't you?"

"I love it," you replied with a grin before you crawled up onto the bed on your hands and knees. You knew what to do. You presented him with your ass and pussy. You were his pet right now. His very well behaved pet. His cock was still wet from your saliva, and when he pushed himself inside you, he yanked that leash back. 

"Bradley!" you screeched, barely able to keep your hands on the bedding with how he was making your back arch. 

"You can do it, Baby. I know you can." As he stood there and fucked you, he watched you spread your legs a little wider. Your back arched beautifully. Your fingertips scraped for purchase on the bedding. "That's it."

Bradley fucked you so hard as he pulled on the leash, you couldn't even talk. But you were grinding back into him as you made little sounds. He was addicted to this. He let his free hand come up to rest on your lower back before easing it down along your ass. So close. He was so close. Your pussy was gripping him, and it was the most beautiful sight. He could watch this all night long. But he was going to cum. 

He let go of the leash, grabbing at both hips as he started to slow his thrusts down. "Fuck!" he barked leaning down to kiss along your collar. And he filled you up, rubbing his hands along that pretty ass before watching his cum drip out of your pussy and onto the bedding. 

You rolled onto your back and reached for him, that Mrs. Bradshaw charm shining in the lamplight. When you made no more to unclip the least or take off the collar, Bradley crawled onto the bed next to you. "I love you," he whispered, gathering you against him with so many kisses, feeling your high heel graze his calf.

"We'll do that again, right?" you asked, raking your fingers through his hair. 

"Whenever you want it," he promised. "I'd give you anything. You must know that."

You closed your eyes and smiled. "Feed me the cheesecake."

A minute later, Bradley was sitting back against the headboard with your back pressed to his chest. He had his arms wrapped around you, holding the fork and the container, and you were taking bites and moaning softly. You were still wearing your collar. 

"I can't believe we have to go home tomorrow." You opened your mouth for more of your dessert. 

"I miss Ev," he whispered, earning a kiss to his chin. "And I can't have him riding around in Bob's truck too much, or he might start to like it better than the Bronco."

"Never," you gasped, and Bradley fed you the last bite. Then you yawned, and he helped you get ready for bed. "You wore me out again, Coach."

"We're just getting started."

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

Late the next morning, after a very leisurely room service breakfast and sex in the shower, you and Bradley were on the road back to San Diego. Your body was so sore, and you were wearing Bradley's gray sweatpants and one of his undershirts. Molly really was the best sister in the world for only packing you the necessities. 

You had your hand resting on Bradley's on the seat between you while you sipped some coffee. The radio was playing an oldies station, and Bradley knew all the words. The desert was giving way to some suburbs and you thought you should text Molly and Bob and let them know you'd be there soon. 

When Bradley flipped his hand over and tightened his grip on yours, you turned to him with an expectant look. His voice was deep and steady as he said, "So what's the plan? How soon can I adopt Ev?"

Your heart was so full that now it was overflowing. "I'll call my lawyer tomorrow." 

"First thing tomorrow," he replied with a smile. "Thanks for sharing your son with me."

You wanted to thank Bradley for loving Everett, but as tears stung your eyes, you just couldn't. Because this was just simply what you and Ev should have had all along. Now you were both getting top tier adoration, but you deserved nothing less. 

"Yeah," you whispered, leaning across the seat to kiss his cheek while he drove. "I'll call first thing in the morning."

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

Just sitting here thinking about Coach Bradley wearing a collar and leash of his very own. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 31

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@xoxabs88xox

[anantaru]

rough zhongli… from behind….. 🙁🙁🙁

cw. rough, fem! reader, a little feral

zhongli was delirious to how you’re feeling, labored breathing parting from his lips— his cock was glazed with your arousal which he would immediately ram back into you, flooding it over your walls because how could he not?

he‘s so effected by how you‘re clenching down, desperately whining for him to make you cum before fluttering your hole around his girth again. It’s overwhelming— your needy cries are followed by a long drawn-out sob, yet little do you realize it‘s only heightening the burning desire in his blood.

forthwith, he’d let you know how crazy your puffed up pussy was turning him, how it was still, not enough. not even a little bit.

your ass was prettily perked up as he was sliding his cool palms under your ribcage, swatting you into him. but now, under his blown out pupils, he watches your raw squirms, the way you’re messily smearing your pussy into his erection and turning needier— your longing was clearly insatiable and so was his.

yet don’t be fooled because thankfully, zhongli wasn‘t done with you yet, he only just started.

he‘s pressing down on you with his crushing bodyweight, thrusting and drumming his cock past your sticky cunt and leaving it in— so you could get a real good taste of how he’s throbbing, even though he knew you were awaiting more friction, waiting until it was you who was creaming on him with the excess amount littering down all over your hole and crevices.

but the ache, that painful burn in his cock was climbing all over his body and soul. zhongli was beginning to have a hard time holding himself back for you.

"stay— stay like this beloved." his tone was fading low and he feels you crumble under him, breathless and in a trance— because no one in this world was on par with his level of intensity.

zhongli patches you up real good, over and over until you‘re moulding and quivering under his body, eyes beaming and crisscrossed as you whine out his name all shy and sweet, grasping for air, "zhongli— zhongli!" and he wonders if you had already lost your mind— then he grits his teeth and whines when you send another shockwave through his cock by how turned on and wet you were. how open and …vulnerable.

he might be the next one to spiral from your needy traces when you milk his cock through soft squeezes, letting go and clenching down again, over and over because his shaft was so warm and fitting too, filling you up and throbbing within your pulsing walls.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[gardenofnoah]

turn me like a beast / hold you to the floor

tags: nanami kento x reader, princess!reader, violence, injuries (minor), non-graphic descriptions of hunting, medium burn, sort of enemies to lovers but mostly scared strangers to unfortunate lovers, the fall of a dynasty, character death (sorry), reincarnation, bittersweet ending. mdni.

wc: 6.5k ish

notes: for @medusashima’s collab—indulging myself (and y’all) in my take on one of my favorite stories. i hope you like it 💘 this is based on the tale of the two fossils found wrapped up in each other in an unlikely pairing (which is made even better by the fact that it is not fiction and it happened!! love is real nerd!!). there’s a really phenomenal webtoon called burrow (by saige9) that makes me cry and that y’all should read immediately. anyway, enjoy. love u

summary: the world is at its end, and an unlikely pair finds solace in each other. to love is an animal thing.

it shocks you, how gentle a tug it takes to unravel everything that you were. only a thing between two others—before: a princess on a hill, the unraveling, and who you’ll be after.

your feet stomp clumsily over dirt and jagged rock—softened soles split open easily with each stride. but, ever your grandmother's frightened little rabbit, not even that searing pain is enough to thwart you in your descent down the hill—away from what is surely certain death. nothing but the animal need to survive pushing you forward—to get to whatever comes next.

it happened too fast—the only way a dynasty can fall to those privileged enough not to notice the slow decline of the society around them until it's too late. your family spoke of pockets of uprisings as if they were fictitious and theoretical—some grandiose, far away prediction of the old crone that haunted the village below your compound, and certainly not the men concealed by shade of trees that had been pruned by your family for centuries, salivating but patient for the perfect moment to strike.

and then they were dead. all of them but you.

a childhood of exploring the grounds of your family home proves useful in knowing without much thought which paths lead farthest from the carnage at your back, but your fright makes you uncoordinated—mechanical in your stride. the price to stop for even a second is far too high, and the hounds that howl after you in the dark serve as a constant reminder of the consequence of hesitation. so, bruised and bleeding, you keep on.

you run until your lungs threaten to collapse and then on farther. your feet carry you through unfamiliar wood, but in your rush, your brain rationalizes that the repercussions of trespassing cannot be much worse than what's behind you. and that seems to be the truth—right up until the real consequence drops out of the tree above you and pins you to the earth below, a blade to your throat.

gritted teeth snap too close to your face. you hear a deep voice—maybe a deeper threat, something to raise the hair on the back of your neck if you could only focus on the words. the world spins and your mind struggles to make sense of the sudden stop in motion, but something far more animal inside you decides that it's had enough. against any remaining survival instinct, you feel all tension bleed from your body—the stranger's face comes into clearer view right as you go limp underneath him. resignation wins out—your limbs wouldn't move if you pleaded with them to.

blond eyebrows meet hairline as your attacker is caught off guard by your forfeiture. "what are you—"

once distant howls growing nearer cut him off. he looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowed at something he cannot yet see. you watch from outside yourself as he turns back toward you. dark eyes meet your own and you see the decision make itself—in one instant you are free of his bodyweight, and in the next you are weightless as he hauls you over his shoulder.

he makes it no more than 10 feet down the path before the last bit of adrenaline leaves you and is replaced by a sudden, blinding pain with no identifiable source. you feel it everywhere—all of the seemingly inconsequential injuries catching up with you now that you've stopped moving. the receding tree line is the last thing you see before the world goes dark.

.

..

the warmth that surrounds you is decadent. you curl into it, reluctant to break the spell of sleep. but then you remember.

you shoot upright, sending at least three layers of blankets rolling off of you. you pinch the fabric of the top one between your fingers—alpaca. not native, but farmed here over the last century or so. you know (and had been told) that it was unbecoming of a princess to hold so much commonplace knowledge. but then again, status matters little now, and this blanket is soft. you're grateful to know the beast it was made from.

it hurts, but you coax your head into swiveling around to survey your surroundings, surprised when you find that it's very clearly someone's home. it's old—some of the wooden boards that line the walls have started to bow against the nails that drove them into the framework of the house, and daylight peaks through the cracks. the bed you rest in can barely be called that—an old futon cushion atop bundles of straw. but it's warm, and you slept. someone has been taking care of you. the thought is sobering; the anxiety that comes with it is enough to hold you to the bed for the foreseeable future.

but your stomach growls, and the bodily betrayal forces you to move. you do it slowly, kicking both feet out from under the blankets. to see them bandaged is startlingly unexpected.

your memories until now are fuzzy at best, but the last thing you distinctly recall is the feeling of sharpened metal biting into your skin. there are few ways you can fathom connecting the dots from that moment to this—swaddled in blankets with your wounds tended to. it leaves you on edge.

on two feet, you sway a bit—the hunger feeds the vertigo that spins the surroundings in your peripheral. one hand braced on the bed now behind you, you blink until things settle. you take a step forward, and the pain is shocking—your feet are clearly more injured than they'd felt at the time, but there is only one way out of this room. you press on.

the heavy wooden door opens into a one room cottage. it's old, and not in the well-loved and well-lived way—the dilapidated structure and lack of any real homely qualities tells you immediately that it's current inhabitant is more of a recent opportunist than a longtime homemaker. that distinction mattered little now, though, and you suppose you should be grateful for your stranger's resourcefulness.

you creep further into the room without a sound until you find yourself in the middle of it. crouched and defensive, until the realization hits you—you see all four walls and are perplexed to find that you are completely alone.

the room is little more than a crooked wooden table and a futon pad on the floor. there are remnants of a fireplace in the center of the room—mortar and brick crumbling up wooden slats toward the roof, but still useful with still-burning embers inside. truly, it's more primitive than livable—there are weapons and tools strung up along the wooden panels of the walls, and animal hides hang in any space between metal and wood. but it's warm, and it's a reminder of what is at stake. what should spur anxiety brings only confusion—when cost of survival is so high, why add another body to the burden?

you forget yourself until the heavy fall of footsteps outside the door reignites your adrenaline. you watch, wide eyed and frozen, as the door picks a fight with whoever is on the other side of it. a weight smacks solidly into it once, twice, and a third time before it opens with a heavy groan. in the daylight, your captor is revealed to you.

hard eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, and then narrow in suspicion. you're still as he takes in all of you, and suddenly very aware of the nightgown you escaped your home in, still hanging off your body. you fight the urge to withdraw into yourself—you know it’s not the time to cower.

he eyes you for a moment more, and then drops a heavy pack on the floor next to him, and busies himself with unloading. you watch as he pulls out tools that look unfamiliar to you—though you suppose any tool would. it's not as if you or your family ever had a need for them.

you watch him work and are surprised to find that he's...handsome. jaw set at a hard angle with scars that wrap around the slope of one side, he's rugged in a way you'd never been taught to find appealing. he is unlike the men that sought after your hand with promises of riches and comfortable living. he is unlike anyone you've seen before, truthfully.

"um—"

"is there something you need?"

his coldness stuns you for a moment. you're not sure what you were expecting—you'd no real reason to anticipate any kindness from the man, but the care by which your feet were wrapped had led your mind in that foolish direction anyway.

you fight the urge to draw your limbs into yourself like a startled turtle. "oh—i just. wanted to thank you, i suppose. for helping me."

he looks up from his sorting to meet your eyes, and the disdain in them feels like a physical wound. he drops the tool in his hand with a sharp thud against the floor, and it makes you jump.

"once you've healed, you will leave."

you exhale sharply. it makes sense, of course—it is no small ask of him to allow you to stay even until you're healed. even so, the reality of the world that awaits you carries a weight to it—it lurks around the periphery of the tiny cabin, waiting for you to poke your head out.

then comes the loss—the blood that still stains your fingertips and the hem of your nightgown. you bow your head—out of shame or grief, you're not sure—and turn on your heel, right back into the room you came from. you shut the door behind you quietly, and you don't make it to the bed. you sink to your haunches and gravity pins you there, head in hands as your mind reintroduces you to each of the ghosts that now have a tight grip on both your ankles.

.

..

it's dark when you emerge, once again driven by hunger or thirst, or some other base need to stay alive despite every glaring sign not to.

you commit yourself to stealth—to staying out of your stranger's way, as much as you can before you take your leave. the dark of the cabin hides you in your trek out of your hiding place—unfortunately, it also hides the solid object on the floor, laid directly in front of your door. your foot catches it and it clangs, the metallic echo ringing in your ears.

you curse under your breath, bending down to feel around in the blackness for whatever you hit. you startle when your fingers hit something unexpectedly soft. you squint, and suck in a breath when you realize what you're holding—a piece of bread. rather, half of a loaf, with a cut of meat nearby, on the metal plate that you’d kicked. you blink, like if you do it enough, the mirage will dissipate and leave only dark wood behind. but it doesn't—the bread gives some as your fingers squeeze around it as if to test it's trustworthiness. you decide to stop looking the gift horse in its mouth, and recede back the dark of your room, food in hand.

.

..

oddly enough, it becomes a regular occurrence. you grow accustomed to expecting a plate of food by your door every night—a seemingly ironic luxury, given your reality now. you hardly see your stranger—you've no idea when he has the opportunity to leave food by your door unnoticed, give his penchant for absence. puzzling still is that the food you're given varies, as if he intends for you to have a fully balanced diet in the middle of a societal collapse.

he doesn’t stop at the food, either—after a few nights spent in your room, he makes his first real appearance in the daylight. a knock at your door rouses you from what’s become a habit of mid-afternoon naps, in lieu of staring at the splintered walls of what was quickly beginning to feel like a cage instead of a place of healing. you pull the door open to find your stranger towering over you—leering down at you with the same discontent he had before. only now, he holds something in his hands, and extends them to you.

“there’s a stream at the edge of the boundary.”

he thrusts what’s in his hands to yours, and you realize that it’s clothing—not in the best shape, but certainly better than the blood-crusted nightgown you still wear. he says no more, and for once you’re grateful for his curt demeanor. he turns on his heel and stalks out of the cabin, back to whatever the outside world has to offer him. after a moment, you follow his path, for the first time since you’d arrived.

it stuns you for a moment, how sinister the land looked in the dark, and how different it looks now. the sun shines hot down on the wheatgrass that sways gently in the breeze. it picks up a lock of your hair and you feel lighter with it.

you walk where you assume you should—down a thinly-worn path between the grass. you find it eventually: a small stream, just wide and deep enough for you to bathe in if you crouch. you turn your head to each side, squinting in your search for prying eyes—you find no one, but it’s still wholly uncomfortable to undress in the open like this.

your reservations leave you the minute you step into the water. warmed by the sun with a sweeping current, you let out a guttural moan that would’ve certainly earned you a chastising from your grandmother for its crudeness. you can’t help it—the caked on dirt and grime dissolves under your fingers and leaves you feeling better than you ever have. there is a slight sting in the soles of your feet—that it is slight is surprising to you, and a harrowing reminder of the clock that continues to tick out of your favor.

.

..

days bleed into weeks. your feet heal earlier than you expect them too, and the guilt you carry is worse than the wound. you know you’ve reached the end of your stay, but you can’t get yourself to leave. not when your stranger still insists on taking care of you. the anticipation is sickening—instead of sitting and waiting to be shooed away, you decide to earn your stay. hard work for someone who’d never worked a day, but the determination proves stronger than the fatigue.

you clean. it’s the only thing you can think to do, and truthfully, it’s necessary. you haul water in old containers on your shoulder from the stream, and you wash the dust away until the floors shine and the windows are clear again. you do this everyday—finding something to clean and fixating on it until the sun reaches the other side of the horizon. today is no different—you set your sights on the ash in the fireplace, using a metal pan to scoop it into a stray tarp to carry outside when you’re done.

you’re almost finished when you hear the now familiar sound of boots scraping the stone outside. you tense, but you don’t stop, pulling another pile of stale smelling soot onto the tarp as your stranger opens the door. you hear him stop behind you, but you don’t turn.

“what are you doing?” the tone is not as harsh as you’re used to—a little fatigued, mostly inquisitive.

“cleaning,” you say softly, pulling up at each corner of the canvas and watching the ash collide into neat little heaps in the center, “i’m almost done—i’ll be out of your way.”

you get to your feet, discard in hand, and turn to look at him. his strong brow furrows as he looks at you, like there’s something about what he sees that he can’t understand. against your best interest, your curiosity gets the better of you.

“i’m sorry, it’s just—i never learned your name.”

the look he levels you with makes you wish you’d never asked. his expression gives away nothing, but it tells you enough.

“how are your feet?”

your stomach drops—all of your attempts at earning your place for naught after all. but you stand in front of him now—to lie to him would be foolish at best.

you can barely raise your voice above a whisper. “healed.”

he studies you for a moment more, and it’s too much for you. your eyes fall to a crack in the floor, and distantly you wish you’d shrink down to slip inside of it, never to be seen again.

“tomorrow i will show you how to trap.” he gruffs, finality lacing his tone. your eyes snap to his but he’s already turning, half way out the door before he stops. he turns his head, eyeing you over his shoulder.

“kento,” he mutters, barely audible and strange meeting your ears, “my name is kento.”

and then he’s gone again—leaving you standing there with a hand full of dirt and no way to discern your left from right as your world tilts on its axis, if only slightly—but noticeable and disruptive all the same.

.

..

you don’t sleep well that night—startled out of a twilight sleep in what appears to be the dark hours of the morning by the rapping of knuckles on your door. kento nods to you in a greeting of his own, turning swiftly on his heel and heading toward the front door. you follow him dutifully, pulling over your shoulders the blanket you’d snagged before you left the warmth of your bed for the chill of the morning. the grass is cool and dewey under your bare feet, and it’s a quiet luxury you find yourself reveling in as you pad along behind him. you can hardly see him in the dark and yet you keep up, somehow—you know there’s too much at stake to lag behind.

true to his word, he teaches you how to trap. solely by doing—few words are exchanged between you as he trudges into the stream and hauls out a weaved basket attached to a rope, fastened to the shoreline by a stray branch. the light that creeps over the horizon begins to illuminate his work—silvery tails gleam as they flick back and forth from inside the cage. you know better than to be sad, but you feel it anyway. it’s silly to feel a kinship with the creatures, not even sentient enough to know that there is no escape for them—but you know, and the weight of that is a tangible thing.

he teaches you how to prepare the fish, then—and you get through it, if not only through sheer determination to not throw up in front of kento. the sun rises and illuminates other opportunities to learn—he teaches you about the native plants, only in simple directions of pointing to a patch of green with an accompanied “don’t touch”, or “fine to eat”. it’d feel patronizing if it wasn’t all so overwhelming—he had a knowledge of things you’d never dreamed of before. all you can feel is excitement that he’s willing to share it with you.

as the sun begins to set, he brings you to the garden—a small patch of land, seemingly unassuming until you step inside. there are fruiting plants everywhere you look—fat, red tomatoes and vining, prickly cucumbers, complete with rows of leafy greens and cabbages. you can’t begin to imagine how he’d managed to grow all of this by himself. his nightly food gifts start to make more sense.

you work side by side, pulling ripe crop from each plant and placing them into a metal canister—usually used for mechanical purposes, but at the end of the world, you find many uses for what you have. you feel emboldened somehow with your hands in the dirt next to his, and the words leave you before you have a moment to reconsider; you tell him of where you’d come from, and of your descent down the hill. you think of the kin you’d left behind, and you feel detached as you tell him of the loss—an observation if nothing else, as if you’d sat on a shoreline and watched the tide flood in.

he doesn’t react—not to your noble status, and not to the death—he’s quiet as he moves on to each plant, only the pattering sound of what he harvests hitting the tin bottom of his canister. you don’t mind—there’s no reaction you’d expect or find helpful, and for some reason, his presence is enough. you find it odd that weeks ago his footsteps incited real fear in your veins, and now he’d spent the day teaching you new ways to be useful. it was a strange and intimate gratitude, but one you felt nonetheless.

you find you see him more now, with your newfound ability to contribute and the determination to do just that. days are spent hauling fresh catches out of the stream, and hunting down small mammals to supplement your diet. you watch him closely—the flex and twist of his torso with the pull of the bow, the way he narrows his focus to the fluffy little thing that scurries among the leaves. with the twitch of a finger, the arrow flies toward its target—there is a screech, and then a sobering quiet. for the first time in your life, you pray—quietly, for the creature with the same instinct to survive that drives you to take its life.

“here,” kento says, handing the bow to you, “try it.”

you wrap your fingers around the wood and do as he asks. it’s deceptively heavy—the tension of the bow makes it nearly impossible to draw back with your own strength. focused and determined not to fail in front of him, you nearly jump out of your skin when his hands cover your own.

“there’s no trick to it,” his voice is gruff but gentle and far closer to you than he’s ever been, “just pull back, like this.”

he guides your hand backward with his own and the tail of the arrow follows—at your back, you feel the muscles in his chest ripple with the effort.

“focus,” he breathes, and you fight a shudder at his proximity, “listen.”

and it’s hard to hear anything over the roar of blood in your ears, but you try, blinking in an effort to snap out of whatever trance kento has put you in. it takes a moment, but then you hear it—the crinkle of leaves beneath tiny paws.

“take a deep breath.” kento allows you to move the bow where you want to, and you try to focus your aim. a bushy tail flicks up behind the underbrush—you train the point of the arrow right below it. your heart thuds wildly in your chest, and suddenly you’re worried that the bow might slide out of your sweating palms, impaling you instead.

“let it go.”

you do as he says, and the ringing in your ears drowns out the sounds of short-lived suffering. he lets go of you then—you don’t notice he’s come to stand in front of you until you feel the rough pad of his thumb swipe gently across your cheek. you blink, your own fingers reaching up to find tears you don’t recall ever shedding. your eyes meet his, and they burn with an intensity you’ve never seen in him before. but he’s not angry—you feel no compulsion to apologize for whatever is happening to you. he takes the bow from your hands, and slings it over his back.

“we’ll go back now,” he says quietly. you follow him up the path, and the tears don’t stop until you reach the cabin. you wonder who exactly it is that you’re crying for.

.

..

you don’t know what it is about the nights that follow that lead kento to decide to stick around, but there’s a part of you that’s glad he does. above all else, you knew better than to question it. he doesn’t say much—he never does—but you’re more than happy to fill the silence. you suppose you owe him the opportunity to know you, after all he’s done for you—you’ve no idea how to quantify the gratitude you’ve felt over the last few months. you do what you can.

“there’s a story my grandmother used to tell,” you murmur, eyes to the fire that crackles in front of you, “i used to sit at her feet while she brushed my hair. she only ever told it to me—it was like a secret between us.”

the wood pops and spits an ember at your feet. you watch it blaze bright, the tiny thing—one last attempt to catch before it snuffs itself out. “there was a princess that lived high in a tower built to protect her from the bandits of the neighboring empire. she was only ever allowed to walk the grounds of the palace under the safety of a full moon. one night, as she crept out of the tower under the cover of the dark, she’s lured into the dark forest by a witch. she promises to grant the princess any wish, for a price.”

your eyes catch kento’s, and for once, his expression is not indifferent. he is here with you in this moment, and it warms you more than the flame. “of course she wishes to be free,” you continue, waving a hand at its inevitability, “and the witch turns her into a hare. and in the original story, that’s the end of it. there’s a lesson there, right?”

“but in my grandmother’s story, it’s the best thing that could’ve happened to the princess. she’s free to hop around to her heart’s content. all she does is eat greenery and lay fat in her den until she dies a natural death after a long and happy life.”

you hear what you think is a scoff from the man next to you. your eyes roam kento’s face, and you think there might even be a hint of a smirk there. it thrills you.

“the tale of an optimist,” he offers quietly, and it’s not bitter.

“she was,” you murmur, “until the end, she was an optimist.”

it’s quiet between you for a moment, save for the crackle of the fire.

“i’m sorry you lost her.”

you smile, and it hurts. the tears well up before you can stop them.

“it’s unfair,” you croak, despite yourself. you’d done well to put up a good front in front of kento—humbling, to see how quickly it could be undone.

you startle when you feel a warm palm close around your clenched fist. “it is unfair,” he says, eyes meeting yours.

the warmth is profound, again despite the fire that heats your cheeks. you find yourself leaning into it until you’ve tucked yourself under his arm. he’s tense, but allows it.

“tell me something about you,” you whisper thickly, needing to think of anything else. he hums, tipping his head back. you sneak a glimpse of the curve of his jaw, glowing between shadows cast by a flickering flame. scar tissue curves and shimmers as it tenses.

“we were a group,” he murmurs, still looking up at the old, wooden boards, “myself and some of the neighbor children. there were no family units, there— we created our own.”

you’re so quiet you think you can nearly hear him piece together the memory in his mind. you know he’s gifting you something precious, so you don’t dare speak.

“we were too young to be running around alone, but there was nowhere to go. we knew enough to dodge the militias that would burn through each village. we thought we did, anyway.”

“the elders were kind. they brought in as many of us as they could on nights when the trucks would come down the road. but we didn’t have parents or homes, and they couldn’t take in all of us.” he pauses, sucking in a long breath. it shifts you when his chest expands. “i was small enough that i was able to fit through a hole in the crawl space under a home. Yu tried, but he wasn’t fast enough.”

“he was my best friend.” kento’s voice is quiet, and more fatigued than you’ve ever heard it. it’s unnerving, seeing his humanity laid out so plainly. “he tried to run, but they caught up just as quickly. they would’ve just taken him to a work camp, but he put up a fight.” he says it with a small smile, like he’s proud. “they shot him and left him there to die.”

if there was a way you could be closer to kento, you’d have found it by now, but you find yourself trying to sneak up under his ribs anyway. trying to find a way to siphon his pain into yourself, if only for a moment.

“you were brave,” you whisper, having nothing else to say except for that—for what feels obvious and true. he scoffs, but you can hear the grief behind it.

“maybe,” he says, arm tightening around your shoulders, “i don’t think i’ve ever felt that way.”

you hum, a low and sympathetic thing, fighting the urge to nuzzle into his chest. it’s strange, how easy it is to default to such animal inclinations when there’s no need to abide by arbitrary customs. there is only the two of you here, and the urge to comfort kento is strong.

“will you let me do something?”

he glances down at you out of the corner of his eyes—narrowed in distrust, despite baring his most tender bits to you only a moment ago. you push past it.

“here,” you say, sitting up and out from under his hold, “sit here.”

“on the ground?” he’s not so much incredulous as he is confused—and you’ll take what you can get. you nod, an appeasing sort of grin teasing the corners of your mouth.

his eyes are still narrowed when he goes—crouched in defense like you wait with bared teeth instead of open arms. still, he moves to sit before you—facing you. you laugh a little, endeared.

“i meant for you to turn—“

“no.”

you’re snapped back to reality then—to the present moment, with this man that kindly took you in but does not trust you. you take in a slow breath, careful not to flinch under the weight of his stare.

“okay,” you murmur, reaching up to pull free from your hair the comb that tethers it in its knot, “that’s okay.”

your hair slips down over your nape as you pull the teeth of it free—hard and familiar in your fingers, you offer it to him like one would a scrap of food to a feral dog. an heirloom made of deer bone—your family’s own commitment to using all that you were given, even if it was in excess. a reminder of a luxury that never felt like one until now.

“is it okay?” you ask, pulling up on your own bravery to keep his stare. after a long moment of careful deliberation, he nods tersely.

you lean forward slightly, careful of his space, and let him see the comb as you reach up. he jumps when the dulled prongs meet his scalp, but you stay the course. you pull it through the blond strands—longer than they were when you first met, the dulled ends slipping through with each pass.

you sit back to look at him after a moment. there’s no resistance, nor is there any enthusiasm—but you trust that he’d stop you if he was uncomfortable, so you keep going.

you lose yourself in the task, pulling (or pushing, from where you sit in front of him) the carved bone through his hair. you allow him the privacy of a reaction—eyes focused only on the strands that flit away from the teeth of the comb.

so focused, it seems, that you have to suppress the jerk of your leg when he leans up against it. the quick glimpse you allow yourself gores you—his eyes now closed, head cushioned by the soft of your thigh. looking more childlike than you’ve ever seen him in the months you’ve spent every minute with him. you see flashes of him as a boy—small and without scarring or a reason for haunches to raise in fear or rage. you think of him laughing—rolling in mud and being scolded by an otherwise kind woman instead of squeezing his way through jagged, wooden boards to save his life. never knowing the sound of a shot ringing out in the street.

you tuck your face into your shoulder—determined to hide the tears and your grief on his behalf. determined to let him feel this, whatever it is, and be a safe place for him to do it. to be the strong arm and the kind hand for him now—the one he can give his precious trust to.

the fire crackles and the mourning is heavy in the air—but kento is alive beneath your fingers, and your own heart beat is a heavy and reassuring thud inside your chest.

.

..

he is a rose in bloom, in the nights that follow. tightly coiled and still with all of his thorns, but in bloom nonetheless.

he becomes something of your shadow. where he lingered out of distrust he now hovers with intent—comically so, his large body folding itself in the small confines of the makeshift kitchen while you wring out linens in the sink. it’s clear that something has shifted between you—though what, you’re unsure. your mind tells you he is finally coming around to you. your heart yearns for something more than just his trust, though you are not unaffected by the weight of that trust alone.

he is never more than an arm’s length away. he leaves in the darkened hours of the morning to hunt, and is somehow back before the sun rises to wake you. that was another shift—he hadn’t asked you to join him on a hunt since that night. he hadn’t asked you for anything after that, really. he sleeps nearer, too—you’d been under the impression that he’d been sleeping outside until he wound up at the foot of your bed, sleeping still like a guard dog. you didn’t have the heart to ask him about it—you just left the candle burning and turned away from the door. he was owed privacy in his vulnerability, and you give him that.

and however hard to read the man may be, you feel some discontent at not pulling your weight, so you try your best to anyway. patching up holes in the wooden exterior of your home. sealing the windows with fur and fat to beat the chill of the creeping fall. you know that the garden tending is cyclical with the seasons—the cold calls for heartier vegetables. you pull and preen until your fingers swell, aching.

and there he would be—watching you, as always.

“hard work for a princess,” he mutters through something suspiciously similar to a smirk. you level him with a glare—the heat of which is immediately snuffed out in comparison to the heat of the cloth that he wraps around your wind-bitten hands. the heat of his body before yours is a close second to the warmest you've ever been despite all of the holes you'd still yet to patch.

“i hardly remember ever being one now,” you murmur, leaning into his side as his thumbs swipe over your palms—needle pinpricks left in their wake, even through the fabric.

he scoffs, his hands engulfing yours in his warmth. "are you not still?"

"i suppose, technically." you shrug, letting him crowd you over to the old, torn up futon that you'd been using as living room furniture. he'd been doing a lot of that lately—pushing you to relax. itching to take a weight from you. he arranges you to his liking, wrapping one of the woven blankets around your shoulders. "i was meant to be made into more than that, you know. before the uprising."

kento only raises an eyebrow at you. you shrug, past the point of shrinking from his silence. "my family had paid a sizeable dowry to have me married off. an heir in a neighboring village, supposedly. only my grandmother was against it, in her own, quiet way. she took to calling me her rabbit, after her story. she wanted differently for me."

there's no mistaking the way kento stiffens. there's no reason for it, nor is there a justification for the way you want to placate him. you do it anyway.

"maybe it's for the best," you say, waving your hand as if to dismiss the whole thing entirely, "i'm not exactly the noble type, now."

you watch him deflate. he nods sagely, the smirk pulling at his lips again. "surely you're the most frightening princess i've ever met."

you turn your head to watch him settle in next to you—another new behavior, seemingly unbothered by the proximity that he no doubt was unfamiliar with. "what's that supposed to mean?"

his teasing grin fades into something a little more forlorn. "when i found you, i expected you to be afraid. i wouldn't have harmed you—i only wanted to scare you off."

you huff. "that wasn't very nice."

"you weren't afraid though. it was unnerving."

"oh?" you grin, reaching to poke him in the ribs. "you were afraid of me?"

he reaches for your hand and pulls it to his lap. "i was sad for you. it wasn't a resilience—it felt as though you were broken."

it hurts, you decide, to be known like this. how simple things had been when he'd only left you provisions at your bedroom door and left you be. now you'd gone and allowed your heart to run freely ahead without a tether. you'd no way of preparing for the injury that freedom would cause.

"you pitied me," you mutter, unable to keep the bitterness from your tone. the mood shifts between you, and something inside you wants to resent him for it. how warm it had been inside the delusion—the world in which you both exist in this space as equals, brought together by fate and want and nothing else.

"no, not pity." you startle at the feeling of his fingertips as they brush a tendril of hair from your face. "you reminded me of myself. i didn't want you to be alone."

"why take on that burden?"

kento hums, pushing his fingers through the hair at your temple. despite yourself, you lean into the touch. "maybe i didn't want to be alone, either."

you blink, the sentiment working its way into your head. it lands significantly south—deep in your chest with an ache you can't describe. you reach for the wrist in your peripheral, stopping his movement and keeping him close. "is that all?"

"no." his admittance is a whispered, strained thing. you're close enough that to tilt your head back brings his jaw to your lips. the ghost of your breath along his skin makes him shudder, and you feel the fingers in your hair flex into a grip.

"what else, then?"

he ducks his chin to nose at your cheek. your eyes flutter closed, mind empty of all that swam around in it only a moment ago.

"my rabbit," his bottom lip brushes against your own, "what else is there but you?"

.

..

the weather changes and the gods grow restless.

you both feel it at the first chill of the year. there’s no graceful turn of the seasons—the air is bitter and cold, and you know something is coming. there’s little time for play, so on the last few warm evenings of fall, you take advantage of it. or you try to—you drag kento into the stream to soak in the dwindling rays of sun, but the knowledge of what is to come weighs heavily on you both. he holds you up in the current—body to body, only breathing. you can't get close enough—to reach inside him and carve out a space for yourself would still not sate the longing you feel.

that wretched something shows it’s face soon enough. the first snow is harsh, collecting in heavy banks against the roof of the house. the wood sags under the weight and the cold creeps in through the wood until the fire is no longer enough to warm the house in it's entirety—only the small space in front of the mantel that you crowd around. you and kento don’t talk much these days—to speak takes energy you don’t have to spare. he is doting as he always is—making sure you are covered in every layer of fabric and fur he can find, but something is wrong. you know the worst is yet to come. you feel it in the way kento holds you too close during the night; it’s never warm enough.

at first there is hope. kento has his food reserves and you'd preserved some of what you’d gathered. but a week of snow turns to two, and two weeks turn to two months. the rations get smaller and the two of you get hungrier. by the third month, you understand that you will not be spared the gods’ wrath. you see the punishment for what it is—a utilitarian consequence to all of the bloodshed by man. you do not have the energy to mull over the unfairness of that. even if you did, the gods do not concern themselves with what is fair—you know that now. the light inside you fades with every new inch of snowfall.

but kento is kind, despite your insistence that he be otherwise. he pulls from his own warmth to add to yours. your dinner portions are always bigger, even if it means he goes without eating entirely. it’s in vain, of course. neither of you will live through this. you scold him for pushing the last of his food on your plate and he doesn’t bother to respond. he only watches while you eat, like he can’t rest until he knows for sure that you have eaten all he has to offer you. you chew through tears and the only comfort is the hand that reaches to wipe them from your cheek. it’s a painful end, wasting away like this. watching kento fade away.

it's when you can smell death's approach that you know with certainty that your humanity has fled for a better place. the thing that remains in you—that keeps your heart beating, that coaxes your lungs to inflate—is purely animal. and it's out of that same primal need that you close the distance between kento's frail body and your own. in the silent chill of the night, the warmth between you may be merely a hallucination now, but you feel it all the same. there is no pain anymore. only a pull into a sleep you want so badly to slip into.

you don't cry—you use the last of the strength in your body to tuck yourself under kento's chin and curl around him in some intimate display of what exists between you. of what has existed this whole time.

"if this is the end," you murmur, knowing that it is, "i'm happy that i'll leave this world with you."

the knuckles that brush against your cheek are sharp and gnarled now. you've never known a touch so tender. it’s odd to speak—to shatter the intimacy of the silence that’s floated around the both of you for much of the last few weeks.

"do you know now?"

if you close your eyes, you can pretend that the man in your arms will live to see the morning. that this is merely pillow talk, and the sun will wake you with warmed skin in a few hours.

but you don't let yourself turn away. it's striking, how even with his last few breaths, kento manages to use them worrying about you. you wonder if he's done it the whole time. you do know; you realize with unmistakable clarity that you'd know his love anywhere, now. you nod, feeling his thready pulse against your forehead.

"i do. you'll have to forgive me for not seeing it sooner."

you feel him scoff—an inappropriate use of dwindling breath that makes you laugh, too. "there will be plenty of time to show you in the next life, my rabbit."

a brief bitterness curls up your spine—the unfairness of all of this creeping back up like a rising tide. how cruel it was to have settled on the loneliness of a life without love, just to be shown the magnitude of a life with it in the final months of your own.

but it recedes in the next moment, because there is no more time to grieve. you can only feel grateful, now—to leave this world saturated in all that kento has given you.

cracked lips brush the skin of your temple—he has no real energy for a proper kiss, but the desire to comfort is strong between you. you spend the next few, precious moments counting the breaths that rattle inside his chest, grateful for every one cycled through.

in the silent hours of a darker morning, there is a light only the two of you can see. shrouded in the glow, he is so beautiful.

with all of your strength, you call him by his name, one last time. "until next time, my love."

epilogue

if the notion of certainty is alive in anything, it is in the way that fable and folklore are sure to be born and born again out of gatherings of beings with mouths to speak it. one such example is the jagged, snow capped hills of Akaito—a new village comprised of all walks of life, the one commonality between them being their displacement during the fall of the Zaiaku dynasty almost one hundred years prior. built overtop the remnants of survivor settlements crushed under the Great Snow, all who inhabit the land know well of the blood that has stained the soil and pay mind to honor the loss of life in their own ways—namely in storytelling. this great coming together eventually gave way to a new mother tongue for the telling of a new bed time story to bleary eyed babes in the middle of the night: the tale of the Akaito lovers—the wolf and the hare.

as the story goes, villagers who have been bestowed some unearthly dose of luck by the gods may catch a glimpse of an unlikely pair—a formidable looking white wolf with scarring across its broad body, and its counterpart: a fluffy and downright regal grey hare. one might catch them romping around in the dusting after a fresh snow, or preening one another under a shaded tree in the heat of the summer. depending on who tells the tale, it might be the case that if a person is truly fortunate and determined to wait out the dark of night, they might even be gifted the sight of the duo curled around one another, sleeping peacefully in a protective and loving embrace under the light of a waning moon.

as with all fables, the story is altered with every new tongue that speaks it, and one day the tale will vanish from the minds of the younger generations completely. but for now, it is ripe in the minds of the young and old, the latter of which are very certain that it is no mere fable at all.

[kxmisato]

♡ 11:00PM — WRIOTHESLEY

↳ note: this is a rework of an old fic from my old blog bc wriothesley has been on my mind

↳ song rec: only by leehi

it was around 11pm, and the smell of pekoe and pine overtook your nose along with the scent of wriothesley’s natural musk. the faint moonlight that peaked through the window of his bedroom doesn’t distract or disrupt the exhaustion that’s overtaking your brain and making your eyelids feel heavy.

wriothesley’s arms were wrapped around the middle of your back, rubbing light circles on the exposed skin from your shirt being bunched up. your head rested on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of it as he breathed. the gentle sound of his heartbeat and light breaths could be heard alongside your own.

it was nice. having moments like this with wriothesley. talking about your day if you hadn’t seen each other, sneaky inside jokes that were accompanied by light laughs, and asking what’s on each other’s mind.

there was a warmth that surrounded you, it was his duvet and sheets lazily thrown over the two of you but as well as wriothesley’s body heat, which you happily accepted. he was making sure to hold you impossibly closer to his chest to protect you from the cool night time air of fontaine.

wriothesley also enjoyed having these moments with you. he liked how you curled yourself up in his chest, he liked hearing your feather-light breaths as you exhaled, the way you try to fight the tiredness in your eyes but ultimately succumbing to it. it was nice.

as you fall into the deepness of sleep, you feel him peppering light pecks on the top of your head and forehead before whispering a faint ‘goodnight, i love you’. you think that you said it back before reaching the destination of your sweet dreamscape, but you don’t.

it doesn’t matter to wriothesley if you didn't say it back before falling asleep, because he already knew that you did.

your bodyweight atop his, head resting on his chest and the trust of taking care of your sleeping body was enough for wriothesley to know that this was one of the ways that you say ‘i love you’ back to him.

before wriothesley himself fell into his own realm of sleep, he thought about how it felt like you two were the only people on teyvat. here in this tiny room, under a thick maroon blanket, it was just the two of you .just the two of you against the world. yeah… that sounded nice to him. being able to take on anything together, side by side forever, would be the best part.

[saintmurd0ck]

cherry red

masterlist

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

summary: you and frank break into a vintage car dealership to scope something out for agent madani, and it turns out that you have a little time to spare before the drop happens

warnings: mentions of cocaine (no drug use), breaking and entering, the FBI lmao, shameless flirting, calling frank big boy, pain kink if you squint, (very little) spit because how else do you up frank's pleasure *gunshot*, unprotected p in v, creampie, goodbye i'm going to bed

a/n: for everyone who agrees that frank should be called 'big boy', this is for you!!! also this is my first full length frank fic lets fucking go

There’s not a sound but the rustle of your clothes as you case the dealership, Frank following closely behind you. He looks over his shoulders—a cautionary measure, despite the fact that the owners are on the other side of the world—before thumbing at the light switch on the wall.

Fluorescent lights flicker on in stages, a steady, low hum of electricity filling the space. Your eyes squint as you adjust to the brightness.

Frank looses a bated breath. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” you affirm, casting your gaze across the almost-cavernous, windowless room. Rows and rows of vintage cars stare back, their timeless, luxurious finishes glinting in the white light.

“That’s gotta be worth more than…” you trail off, looking down at your hands.

“Twenty-two million dollars. This room alone,” Frank finishes.

You swear, stepping forwards to skim your fingers along a chromed side mirror, then bending down to check your reflection. “So what are we looking for again?”

Frank sets his duffel bag down onto the reception desk, careful not to disturb the fanned business cards adorning the surface. “Guns, coke, contraband,” he lists. “Whatever we can find.”

“Hmm.”

“What?” Frank asks, bewildered. His attention snaps to you.

“Is there a car in particular we’re looking for?”

“Honestly sweetheart, I dunno. If we gotta sweep every single one, that’s what we gotta do.”

You push up off your knees, weaving in and out of the cars. “Before the auction, yeah?”

“S’right,” he grunts, pulling out a silver crowbar. “Smart girl.”

Ignoring the heat now searing your face, you focus on trying to name the cars, although you really only recognise a few of them.

Your eyes warily glaze over a black 1962 Chevrolet Corvette, its headlights polished to perfection. Next to it there are a number of vintage Ferraris, one Aston Martin, and a newer model Rolls Royce in the corner.

But one car in particular snags your eye, knocking the breath from you.

Frank whistles. “She’s pretty.”

You shoot him an incredulous glare, slightly offended he’d say that about the car and not you.

He’s not wrong, though.

It’s an old Mercedes. A 1961 Roadster, you think, marvelling at the almost pearlescent ivory paint restoration, the perfectly polished hubcaps, and the smooth leather interior of the deepest cherry red. You’re transfixed as you hear the engine in your mind, the revving beneath your feet, feeling the phantom breeze ruffling your hair as you speed down the highway with no destination in mind.

“You know what I think?” Frank says, clearing his throat, but you’re caught in your fever dream, music blaring from a shut-off radio that’s only active in your head. “I think…” he trails off, voice dropping to a bare whisper.

You whirl around as a loud clang drags you back to the present, one of the gleaming Mercedes-Benz hubcaps laying flat on the ground.

“What the hell, Frank?” you glower, eyes widening.

He responds with a grunt as he moves to the driver’s side, leaning his bodyweight into the crowbar as the next hubcap pops off.

Your hands fly to your face as he continues to move around the car, vandalising it beyond—

Oh.

The corners of Frank’s mouth curl into a wry smirk. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

He motions for you to come over, using his crowbar to pry out several small, duct-tape-wrapped packages from inside the wheel. “Dumbest fuckin’ hiding place I’ve ever seen.”

He pats the passenger door. “Gotta give it to ‘em, though. Moving drugs through cars at an auction? It’s a Ponzi scheme, but a goddamn good one.”

“This what I think it is?” you ask, crouching down next to him, irresolutely turning one of the bricks over.

He nods, pulling a knife tucked into his boot before sticking it into one of the packages. He dips his hand into the opening, rubbing what looks to be a white powder in between his fingers.

“Time to call Madani,” he grits, placing the brick back on the ground. “Could you do that f’me, sweetheart?”

Biting your lip, you pull out your phone to dial Madani’s number, wincing as Frank digs out the rest of the cocaine from your beloved Roadster. In eager anticipation, she picks up after the first ring, and the drop is arranged for 2.30 AM.

That leaves you thirty minutes to spare.

“So, Frank,” you remark, tucking your phone back in your pocket, “do we need to check any of the other cars?”

He sets the crowbar on the ground, getting up to lean against the front passenger side door. “Nah,” he replies, folding his arms across his chest, “FBI’s problem now.”

The growing smile on your face turns suggestive. “Guess we have time to kill before they show up, hm?”

Frank cocks his head. “And what’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart?”

You stride towards him, reaching out your hands to uncross his arms so they lay straight at his sides. Trailing the tip of your index finger up his chest, you circle the outline of his mouth. It catches on his bottom lip as you drag it back down, and he shudders at the lightness of your touch.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, big boy?” you grin.

He moves off the car, rolling his eyes as you saunter to the driver’s side, brows furrowing as you go to unlatch the door. The red leather is cool beneath you as you slide in, hands instinctively going to grip the wheel. Imagining the engine roaring to life, you press your foot down on the accelerator, as far as it’ll go.

“You’re playing with me, aren’t you?” Frank chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

“Maybe,” you muse, aware of the mischievous glint in your eyes. “If that’s something you want.”

“You haven’t had any of the white stuff, have ‘ya? ‘Cause you’re sure acting like it.”

“Dick,” you swear. “We’re surrounded by nice cars, Frank. How do you expect me to behave?” Taking your hands off the wheel, you twist in your seat to face him. “Surely they’d have the keys here somewhere, right?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, like they’d keep the keys to a four hundred thousand dollar car here.”

“Awww,” you pout, “but I wanna go for a ride.”

Frank’s ears perk up. “S’that so?”

You lean back against the seat, running your tongue over your lips. “In this car.”

“What, and you think I can help with that?”

You bat your eyes at him. “Don’t get too flattered, but I think you’re the only person in the world who can help with that right now.”

“Right now?” he shoots back. “Just right now, huh?”

“Shut up and get over here before I rescind my request, Castle.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him move that fast, because he climbs into the passenger side, scrambling to get you on his lap.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hands finding your waist, guiding you back and forth over his hardening cock. His breath fans your neck as he nips at your pulse, spreading his legs apart on the seat.

You tip your chin downwards, your lips messily crashing into his, his mouth—his body—warm and supple against yours. He shifts his hips, slotting himself between your thighs and into the one place you need him most. At this rate, the friction of your clothing is almost too much to bear, but you’ve always been one to toe the line between pain and pleasure.

Especially when Frank’s involved.

Your body clenches as he palms your clit, groaning your name into your skin, etching kisses along the curve of your jaw. He skirts the hem of your top, slipping his tongue into your mouth before lifting it over your head, leaving it in a scandalous pile on the driver’s side.

“Naughty girl,” he laughs dryly, adding your bra to the pile along with his own shirt. “Tell me this isn’t what you thought of first when you saw the car.” He stiffens as you catch his bottom lip with your teeth.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying it,” you croon, the jovial note of your amusement diffusing itself into the vast space of the dealership. Your fingers roam along the plane of his stomach, feeling his abs contort underneath your touch. “Pretty boy.”

Resting his hands on either side of your spine, Frank swipes his thumbs over your nipples, intently staring as you throw your head back, rolling your hips into his. You squeeze your thighs into his sides as he seals his mouth over one of your breasts, flicking his tongue over the pebbled flesh.

“Bruise—“ he groans, his voice caught in a hoarse whisper. Oh, right, you remember, looking down at the purple splotch stretching across the ribs on his right side.

But you don’t let up, not when he’s driving you mad and touching you like this. You dig your knee into the bruise lightly, waiting for his body to seize, for his panting to echo before putting it back down on the seat.

“You’re a fuckin’— animal—“

Something compels you to do it again, but he slaps your leg away, retaliating by sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You cry out his name, the echo of it thundering in your ears.

“Dick,” you gasp, slamming your palms into his chest. You gripe at the fact that he loses himself in a quiet sort of laughter, and that he’s all chiseled muscle and not putty in your hands.

“You insulting me or s’that what you want?”

The mirthful gleam in his eyes flicker as he looks you up and down, waiting for your next move.

“Fine,” you say, a little too scornful considering the situation you’ve found yourself in, moving to undo his belt. Pausing once to take your own pants off, your fingers move deftly to unbutton his jeans before you tug them down and off his legs. Not taking your gaze off of him, you brace one hand on his shoulder while the other slowly creeps up his thigh.

Frank squirms beneath you, his lips pressing into a thin line as you cup his balls. Your breathing turns shallow as you wrap your hand around his shaft, running your thumb over the precum glistening on the head of his cock.

“Fuckin’— shit—,“ he hisses as you squeeze him. You hinge forward to nip his earlobe, to whisper filthy nothings in his ear, but he bucks his hips upwards, almost reflexively.

And that is something too good to pass up.

“Feel good, Frankie?” you ask, moving to stroke him up and down, ensuring your pace is just shy of what he likes on himself.

“Mm—“

“I think this’ll feel better,” you interject, pausing to spit on his cock.

Frank’s mouth parts in a wide groan at the added lubrication, and the way you’ve so brazenly spat on him, narrowly missing the priceless cherry red leather. Not that having sex in this car isn’t already brazen to begin with.

Clambering back onto his lap, you nudge his cock into your opening, coating him in the slick of your arousal. You press your face against his cheek as he pushes himself inside you, moaning into his mouth at the sensation of his thick head stretching you out. It burns, but it burns so fucking good.

He grits his teeth as he eases you down on him, guiding you inch-by-inch until you're so full you can barely breathe, your core tightening to the point where you wonder if he can feel pleasure at all.

He reminds you that yes, in fact he can, because he's cursing under his breath, gripping the dashboard so goddamn hard you think he might leave half-moon marks in the shape of his nails. He jerks his hips into yours, driving himself so deep you see stars for a second, whispering into the trance of your intimacy that you're his girl and that you feel so fuckin' tight he might burst at any given moment.

Now accommodated to his size, you fling your arms around his neck as you begin to move, resting your forehead against his. You roll your hips in languid, circular motions, fingers curling in the short hair at the nape of his neck.

"God fucking damn, Frank," you whimper, switching to bounce on his lap, holding onto the top of the seat for extra support. He sends you into a catatonic state of delirium as his thick cock hits deeper in this position, and soon you're squeezing around him, crying his name and falling over the edge of satisfaction.

Frank buries his face in your tits as you collapse onto his chest, your body still moving to the rhythm pounding inside your head.

"Hey, hey sweetheart," he says gently, moving to caress your jaw. "You okay?"

You flash him a weak smile, holding out a thumbs-up. "Keep going, Frank. M'not done yet."

"You sure?"

Raising your hips only to slam them back down on his seems to give him the reassurance he's seeking. Thrill shoots up your spine as he pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around your waist.

His tone is nothing short of wicked. "I do as I'm told, yeah?"

He drills himself into you, setting a ruthless pace, mouth roving over every accessible inch of bare skin. You thank every god you can think of for making this place soundproof, because the two of you would be so incredibly dead if anyone could hear the sounds coming from your mouth.

You fall apart on his cock more times than you can count, burying your face in his neck as Frank's thrusts become more erratic and sloppy, his strokes faltering with every passing second.

"M'gonna cum for you," he groans, throwing his head back against the seat and lurching his arm towards the top of the windscreen. He presses one last open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone as his hips stutter, spilling every last drop inside you.

"Fuck," he whispers, his cock twitching as you finally muster the energy to get off of him. He looks down at himself, horrified, and you follow his eye line to the mess on the seat between his thighs.

You choke, caught between a laugh and a gasp, equally panicking at how you're going to clean it up and possibly more importantly, how Madani isn't going to figure out what you've just done.

"Guess we can call this hard evidence for the FBI?" you sputter, trying your best to swallow your growing smirk.

Frank's cheeks turn red as he blows out a breath. "S'alright. This belonged to an asshole and it was gonna be bought by an even bigger one." He shrugs. "If I can't put 'em down, this is the least they owe me."

"You know Frankie, sometimes your logic is flawed, but I think you're right on this one."

He goes to smack your ass, but as you pull your panties on, your phone lights up in the footwell of the car, its shrill ringtone deafening to your ears.

MADANI

You glance at Frank, a humorous expression dancing across your face. "Good timing, huh?"

"Ain't that right."

tags {x} for all my frank girlies!!! <3 (I'M SORRY IF I FORGOT SOMEONE I'M SO NOT OK RIGHT NOW)

@marvelswh0re @murdock-and-the-sea @itwasthereaminuteago @munsonownsmyass @reborn-rekall @castlesnchurches @chellestrash @darlingshane @chvoswxtch @stress--relief @pedrito-friskito

[alessiathepirate]

Scream

REFLECTION: Stu Macher x fem!reader; Billy Loomis x fem!reader

Summary: As she looks around the shrine, she can't help but reflect on how she has become who she is...

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.

This is the craziest thing I've ever written... I hope you'll enjoy reading it :)

Warnings: SPOILERS! (for mainly Scream 1, 5 and 6), unhealthy relationships, mental instability, blood, violence, referenced death

•••

Walking around the shrine and examining the collection of sold evidence made her realize that she is walking down memory lane. The knives, the clothes and the memories of the people who once owned them were all parts of her life; were all parts of her actions and then the consequences of those which made her into who she is today.

She wasn't the only one thinking that. It was enough to look at everyone else's expression to know they too were overcome by memories. They were all parts of the still ongoing franchise, they are still playing their parts in it, even if nowadays they have new friends to either suspect or worry about.

The most interesting and with that scariest part of the shrine was the costumes. All of them thoughtfully put to place, still holding the blood and DNA of both victim and killer.

That was the aspect she seemed interested in. Walking up towards it, ignoring the others' voices got her to a whole another world.

Nothing else, but her and the costume, her and her memories, her and her reflection on the glass.

'Billy Loomis' was carved into the cabinet where the glass ended, making the whole thing look like a trophy. It was one perhaps, but not without its pair. She never understood how only one was thought about as the original, when clearly two should've been put behind that glass.

Looking at the costume and then at the knife while she could see her reflection, let some pushed away memories up to the surface.

They were either memories from 1996 or the years before that and even though she should've thought about them as the lies and as the worst memories of her life, she liked those - maybe a bit too much. Even though everyone except the psychos out there thought about Woodsboro and about Billy Loomis and Stu Macher as a very dark part of a long timeline, she couldn't agree with them. She accepted that they are right. Murders aren't acceptable, threats aren't acceptable... But other than her moral code nothing else in her wanted to see that.

She didn't want to see that, because 1996 was the best year of her life - and the years before that held her happiest memories.

She remembered how she befriended the boys - Billy and Stu - and how through them she got to know Sidney, Tatum and Randy. But even though she liked all of them, her relationship with the two boys was stronger than others.

"I thought you invited me over to study." she remembered herself saying on a winter day after she arrived at Stu's place. Even now thinking about is, she still wanted to laugh at how quickly they took her backback and helped her take off her coat.

"Yes, but this is more important than some sappy project about Romeo and Juliet." Stu explained after he threw her backpack next to the coat hanger, stopping her from picking it up. He then put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her towards the living room.

"You mean the Hamlet. We have to make the project about the Hamlet. Sidney has to make one about Romeo and Juliet."

"Whatever! We can do that later, but now look at what we've got for you."

She looked at Billy with a smile. He held a video tape in his hands.

"What's that?" she asked with a small giggle, because Stu put his whole bodyweight on her as he hugged her and they almost fell.

"We'll have a movie night. We never had one with you so now it's time to make up for the lost time."

"All right, you've got me." she chuckled after she got out of Stu's grip, because he started to tickle her. "What are we watching?"

"You said you've never seen Halloween-"

"So let me guess, we are watching Halloween?"

They did. And they most definitely haven't done any schoolwork that day. They just sat on the couch with her in the middle. She had some popcorn in her lap. Her back was pushed against Stu's shoulder while her legs were stretched out across Billy's thighs.

And the amout of information she recieved... They used this and that for blood, they did this scene like this, that actor can be seen in another horror movies as well... It wasn't annoying at all. In fact she hadn't had more fun watching Halloween since that day.

The only problem they had was the fact that she wasn't scared - at all.

"What, you want me to climb on top of you in fear?" she joked and threw a piece of popcorn at Stu after she saw his expression and deduced the things he wanted to say. "Besides it's pretty hard to get scared if I have to sit between two experts who spoil everything."

She wanted to say that they were friends. And they were, she knew they thought about her as a friend at the start as well. Even though later she understood that that day they just wanted to test her and her fears. They wanted to see her reactions to know if she's really who they thought she was.

But later there started to be one issue in that friendship. Friends don't kiss. They don't make out or cuddle like couples do.

God, how awful she felt! She couldn't look Sidney or Tatum in the eye for weeks, and she had to avoid the boys for a while.

Her first ever kiss happened between her and Stu. It was very close to the end of a school year and his parents were away again. She had that strange feeling in her chest that said she's letting him down if she lets him be alone in that house. So she went there and baked some cookies with him to make sure he's happy - even though she's never seen him make the smallest frown.

And then it just happened.

First they joked around, made a mess in the kitchen and were about the start cleaning when he leaned in and kissed her.

Her first reaction was to freeze and just stand there in shock. But later she kissed back and held onto his shoulders, fearing she'll fall.

She didn't.

Her waist just touched the kitchen counter.

Thinking about it still made her stomach feel empty, her throat dry and her cheeks red. It was the softest kiss she's ever shared with anyone. She never imagined Stu to be able to kiss someone softly, but it seemed like she was wrong.

"This- isn't right." she said after the kiss ended and the sudden guilt overtook her. "You are dating Tatum. She's my friend. This isn't-"

"Why can't it be right if it feels good?"

She left his house that afternoon in a hurry, afraid to look back, knowing that if she did she'd go back in a heartbeat.

Kissing Billy Loomis was a whole another dimension. She knew he knew about what happened; she later realized he used that knowledge to weaken her and get what he wants.

He climbed through her window one evening and after she let him in, he started some small talk with her about movies. He didn't ask her about Stu or about the kiss, he just talked about the smallest things possible.

"Are you okay?" he later asked, after she answered with short sentences.

"Yeah."

"You're a horrible liar." he said with a smirk. "I can tell. I've known you far too long."

And that sentence alone made her tell him everything. And after he comforted her and hugged her, he ran his fingers along her cheek and then her hair. She looked up at him with a slight blush.

"Can I kiss you?"

That evening she had her second kiss with Billy Loomis, knowing she's the worst friend in existence.

It was a lot of back and forth from then on, until everything seemed to get back on track... Until the murders started to happen.

And during those days when the attacks happened, when she wasn't comfortable staying home alone they weakened her. During those moments they started to form a weird understanding - they are friends, but with something else... They had some great movie nights, they hugged more than usual. She started to feel happy, living in denial.

And then at that party the reveal happened. The reveal that changed everything. She still remembered the blood, the way Randy was lying on the ground. The house she knew like the back of her hand became something unknown and scary. She remembered how scared Sidney was, she remembered the betrayal she felt when she had to look the boys she loved in the eye.

It was like she was in a movie they were explaining all those times. Almost everything felt familiar yet surprising. The twist was right, the corn syrup was from Carrie, the 'we all go a little mad sometimes' line was known by her... She knew everything yet she was still surprised.

But the way they spoke to her, the way they touched her or hugged her with that wicked grin on their faces was something soft. Something what felt comfortable and good.

And then...

"-final girl." her eyes became teary as she looked at Billy who still kept Sidney at the counter with the knife. She was thankful she didn't have to look at the edge of it. "Every horror movie needs a final girl. Remember when we explained it to you darling?"

She did.

"Well guess what, you got that role in our movie."

And she understood. She understood why they watched all those scary movies with her, why they explained all the production secrects...

But making her partake in it also meant they were sure she'd never snitch them out. And as she watched them she realized she wouldn't.

"Are you okay?" she got back to reality as a hand touched her shoulder.

"Yeah. I am. I just- remembered something." she answered as Sam, the daughter of Billy Loomis stood next to her, looking at the costume as well.

"You knew him, right?"

"Yes." she answered, not daring to tell the whole story behind that knew.

They stood there next to each other as she thought about Stu and Billy again. The blood after they stabbed the other was gushing from the wounds. And as they raised the knife again and again she saw her reflection on the bloody iron. Her reflection what was full of worry, but the fear was completely missing.

"Do you ever think about him?" Sam asked making her consider what she should reply.

"Sometimes, but it's more like a them. You can't have any memories of one of them without the other."

"They went crazy and stabbed you... I guess it really is hard to think about just one of them. Or about anything happy with them."

" 'We all go a little mad sometimes.' " she quoted, but after realizing Sam doesn't know the meaning of the sentence, she continued: "I still have some happy memories, you know. They played their roles quite well."

She touched the right part of her stomach, where the scar was still visible. The wound she got from them wasn't deep. They made sure it wasn't. But it still hurt, no matter how much Stu hugged her.

Looking at the costume behind the glass made her realize how much she misses them. No matter what they've done, what they made her into, she still loved them. They had a special kind of connection. She was their final girl - that part of the plan worked out flawlessly.

Sam opened the cabinet and she examined her expressions with a raised eyebrow.

"We need a weapon. For defense." she explained and took the still bloody knife.

"You aren't like him, you know. At all." she said, looking at the way Sam is holding the weapon as she took the handle of the cabinet and pushed Sam back a little.

She took a deep breath before she slammed the glass door shut, almost being unable to hide a smile at the sound of glass breaking. She looked at her reflection one last time as it broke to millions of tiny pieces.

Sam jumped a little and she could already hear Gale calling out from behind her.

Moments later she was hugged as different people muttered 'it's okay's. They thought it was an accident, it was completely accidental.

It wasn't. She just doesn't like injustice.

Gale was hugging her. She didn't know the truth, nor did Sidney or Kirby. Sometimes she thought maybe Randy has been the only one who suspected something.

She hid her feelings well and she burried the fact that she wanted Billy and Stu to succeed deep in herself.

As she looked at Ethan Landry above Gale's shoulder she noticed the slight headtilt and curious smile he couldn't hide. He turned towards detective Bailey for only a second, but it was enough for her to know the truth.

Their eyes met.

She tried not to smile as she acknowledged that they are now sharing each others secrets. After all: it takes one to know one.

[saltminerising]

"there's no way everluxes could fly with those wings it just isn't realistic" my guy none of the wings are realistic bc the art would be (at least) 90% wing. the biggest bird in the world needs an 11-foot wingspan to move less than 30lbs bodyweight, there's no way even a 50-foot wingspan is moving thousands of pounds of your beloved imperials. you are on the made-up creatures website. all of them are equally made-up