#They are going to have one hell of a time trying to get through to him but Kon will make sure nothing bad happens in the mean time

[literary-dolly]

communication is key

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k warnings: sexual humour, implied sexual content (non-explicit), mention of insecurities

Jason accidentally leaves a comm behind in your apartment - it would be rude not to have a listen, right?

It’s safe to say your evening is currently painfully boring.

Make no mistake, scrolling through Netflix is a treasured pastime most days. Somehow, it just wasn’t scratching the itch alone on a Friday night, disappointed and aching for the presence your boyfriend.

Jason had left for patrol roughly an hour ago. It was supposed to be your night together – both of you had made sure to make time in the calendar to go on a long overdue date. Between your work and Jason’s late-night patrols (which often left him fast asleep until at least midday), it was difficult to orchestrate time specifically for the two of you. Yes, you ate dinner together most evenings, often casually basked in each other’s company as you tinkered around your shared apartment, but it wasn’t the same as date night.

Jason had been more than a little pissed when he’d gotten a phone call from Dick asking him to help with the patrol this evening, face falling as soon as the caller ID lit up his phone. Bruce had to rush out of town, he’d claimed, and they needed the extra manpower after a recent Arkham outbreak. You’d known the moment Jason’s shoulders sagged that he would go. It was in his nature as a vigilante. Presenting him with the opportunity to save some poor, unfortunate Gothamites was like dangling a bone in front of a dog and not expecting it to bite.

You tried not to let it sting. When Jason had confessed to you about his alter-ego, you’d known that there would be certain sacrifices in your relationship most would not have to contend with. You doubted there were many people who were jealous of the amount of time their boyfriend spent with the Penguin. It was an unconventional set-up by most standards, but the two of you made it work. It was only on the odd occasion that you truly felt the impact of Jason’s ‘career path’.

The silence in the kitchen had been deafening when he’d hung up the phone. It’s not that you were angry with Jason, or Dick, or anyone for that matter. You were just disappointed. You’d kept your mouth clamped shut as best you could out of fear that if it opened, words would trickle out in the heat of the moment you’d come to regret later on. Clearly, your silence was statement enough, because Jason had only pressed a kiss into your hair with a quiet promise to make it up to you before retreating into the bedroom to get ready for the long night ahead of him. He knew better than to press the issue.

As a result, you were perched on the couch exactly where Jason had left you. The absence of any plans you’d had for the evening left you restless, unable to settle into any particular task. And fucking hell you were bored.

It's just as you go to retreat into the bedroom to try and sleep off your lingering frustrations that you hear the crackling from the bookshelf tucked away in the corner, a short static sound that cuts through the silence of the apartment. It takes a few seconds for you to spot it, the tiny earpiece shoved behind an old, tattered paperback. Jason had been working on his suit earlier in the week, and you’d overheard his curt conversation with Bruce on the phone about needing a new set after breaking his old ones.

Not so broken, clearly.

Your curiosity is piqued enough to venture over to the shelf, plucking the tiny object up carefully to avoid breaking it any further. You’d seen Jason tinker with them before, most likely to scramble the tracking features that came with most of the tech Bruce had given him in recent years. You can hear the muted mumble of conversation, not clear enough to make out any distinct words but enough to know that there was a lengthy talk being had on the line.

It’s not your proudest moment as you slot it into your ear, and definitely, most likely, a severe invasion of privacy. Guilt twangs in the pit of your stomach, but hey – if Jason’s allowed to follow you home from the bodega to make sure you don’t get mugged in the precious fifteen seconds it takes, you can listen to a few minutes of radio chatter, right? You’re just looking out for him. Want to be close to him.

Yeah, right.

It’s uncomfortable, designed to be completely moulded to Jason, and there’s a persistent hum that won’t seem to fade (definitely a little broken) but the voices come to life almost instantly.

“I’m just saying, Empire Strikes Back is by far the superior film, and I won’t hear otherwise.”

“Must you fill our ears with such incessant chatter, Drake.”

“Codenames. And I don’t know, Robin, he’s kind of cooking.”

You recognise the final voice as Dick – the only member of Jason’s family you’d had the pleasure of meeting despite your nearing year-long relationship. It hadn’t been on purpose, naturally, Dick had spotted the pair of you in the window of a coffee shop and rushed over to corner Jason before he could formulate an escape plan that didn’t involve blowing up your favourite date spot. Jason had honest-to-god hissed when he saw his brother approach, and for a split second you were certain he was going to throw his tea over him.

In spite of Jason’s grumbling, you’d taken an instant liking to the elder. He was charismatic, exuberant and kind, and quite frankly it was hard not to bask in the warmth of his presence. As soon as he’d left, however, Jason had sworn that you were never going to meet the rest of his family if he could help it – and thus far he’d kept his promise.

Still, you were aware of the players on the board from the pieces you’d gathered in time spent with your boyfriend. The second voice, you had correctly identified, was Damian – or the Demon Brat as Jason often took to calling him when he came up. You have to stifle a laugh at his bravado. Much like the picture your mind had painted, the kid definitely had an aura about him.

That just left Tim, the first voice. Jason mentioned him the least of all of his siblings, and you found that when his name came up Jason seemed to shrink into himself somewhat, sometimes fading away, seemingly lost in memories he couldn’t quite escape. You knew that Jason had a troubled relationship with most of his family members at one point or another, having been spared the specifics, but your gut told you that there was something about his relationship with Tim that cut a tad deeper than the rest.

It was strange, to finally put voices to names. You can’t help the small smile that curves on your lips.

“Right, fess up, who taught Nightwing about ‘let him cook’,” A female voice rings out.

You filter through your previous conversations with Jason as you try to figure out who it could belong to, rapidly considering the vague descriptions he’d given you of Steph, Cass and Babs. It doesn’t take you long to decide it’s most likely Stephanie.

“Hey – could I not have just, I don’t know, learned about it myself?”

“Not likely, they probably didn’t have the internet until you were, what? Forty?”

“Tough talk coming from a girl who gave The Last Jedi five stars on Letterboxd.”

“You did what?”

“I must admit, Spoiler, that is disappointing.”

“Do any of you ever shut the fuck up?”

Your body thrums at the last one, and a breath tears its way out of your throat. Jason. It throws you off balance to hear him so brusk, a fire in his words that he rarely brought to the conversations you had - in your experience, it was typically reserved for when he stubbed a toe or let the pasta boil over on the stove. His voice sounds somewhat thick, and your stomach churns at the idea that your demeanour from earlier had rattled him so deeply.

You were well acquainted with Jason’s compulsion to work; he was completely and utterly addicted to it. So much so, that you’d failed to consider just how disappointed he might feel about missing your date too.

As if on cue, Tim’s voice rings out, “Aww, Hood’s upset because he was going to wine and dine his girlfriend tonight.”

“Red Robin…”

“I was being polite the first time, now I’m telling you. Shut the fuck up.”

The statement throws you a little, hearing Jason’s family discuss your relationship as though it were a common topic. The scraps of information Jason had given you about them were so few and far in between that you could only assume he had been the same on the other side of it. Quickly, you realise, that he probably had been – you could hazard a guess coming from a family of famed detectives didn’t exactly make it easy to keep secrets.

“I refuse to believe that Red Hood has a partner,” Damian’s words are impossibly snide, “Who could possibly want to spend any more time with him than is absolutely necessary?”

You make out a few giggles after that, namely Tim and Steph, who seem to be basking in the concept of making Jason as miserable as possible. It’s Dick that steps in to shh them, chiding Damian with a measured tone that you’re sure could only have developed from years of dealing with this exact situation. The babble continues back and forth for a few minutes, and you can almost feel yourself beginning to sink into sleep as you listen to them bicker, someone occasionally slipping in some useful intel about a warehouse or rogue sighting. 

The line goes quiet when Jason lets out a harsh, “Oh, fuck!”

A pulse of lightning seems to shoot its way down your spine, and it takes more than you thought yourself capable of to not scream down the comm line.

“Hood?”

“Red Hood?”

“Hood, you okay?”

“Hood, status report, now.”

“I’m fine,” Jason bites out, a little bemused if nothing else, “My hip and knee are just stiff. Getting colder outside, ya’ know.”

The silence is deafening for a few seconds, and you can’t claim to know where everyone’s thoughts sink to, but you could guess it was to do with Jason’s sordid history.

That is, until Tim pipes up dryly, “So, what is that, like, rigor mortis?”

“Oh my god.”

“That’s so not okay, dude.”

“Holy shit.”

You wait eagerly in anticipation to hear Jason’s response. You couldn’t claim to know every detail of Jason’s past – it was something the two of you were slowly working on together. He was understandably cagey at the idea of talking about his experiences, so you never pressed, instead allowing him to offer up bits and pieces of information in his more vulnerable moments. In spite of that, you knew that Jason had died. There wasn’t another plausible explanation for the giant Y-scar that stretched its way across his chest. You’d worked for a long time on getting him to feel comfortable enough to be around you without a shirt on, comfortable enough to know you weren’t going to turn tail and run just at the sight. He hadn’t told you how or why – but the look in his eyes when he stared in the mirror for a second too long was enough to let you know it was certainly no fairytale.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when a deep, rumbling laugh filters through the earpiece, and you’re struck with the image of Jason perched on a rooftop somewhere chuckling to himself as he watches over the city. Within seconds there’s an orchestra of maniacal cackles pouring through the comms, and you’re fairly certain that the only one who isn’t laughing is Damian.

“Hood, does your partner know of your death and resurrection?”

Jeez, Damian, way to soften the blow.

Dick quickly jumps in to chastise his brother, sounding increasingly more exasperated with every word, “Robin, you can’t –”

“Yeah, she does,” Jason’s voice is surprisingly earnest, “Don’t think it bothers her, not really.”

Tim and Steph jump in almost immediately to make outrageous kissing noises, crooning Oh, Hood and I love you, Hood and other slightly more inappropriate comments. You’re certain if you looked in the mirror the colour of your cheeks wouldn’t be far off Jason’s helmet.

“Honestly, you two need to stop behaving like I don’t have your exact coordinates,” Jason huffs out, but you can hear the twinge of humour in his words. He’s not angry, not at all, if anything you’d say he was finding it funny.

“Seriously though, Hood,” Steph’s voice is somewhat strained from laughing, “When are you going to introduce us?”

“Never.”

“Come on, man.”

“Dick got to meet her!”

“I would be interested in assessing the capabilities of this civilian.”

“Yeah, well, she’s more than capable.”

Now that has a little more bite to it, and your chest swells with pride at Jason’s defensiveness. You’d always felt a tad insecure about how you compared to the rest of the people in Jason’s life – surrounded by superheroes, metahumans, and some of the most proficient individuals in the world. You were just a civilian, and in your opinion, nothing all that special. But Jason had always made sure that you felt equal, that the differences in what you did outside the walls of your apartment had no bearing on the fact his world started and ended with you.

 “So… does the mask stay on when you get freaky or –”

“Steph, don’t make me come over there, you know I will.”

“Codenames.” Honestly, you can’t help but respect Dick for his seemingly unwavering patience, although you could guess it might be due to the noticeable absence of Batman himself to rein in his children in his place. “Spoiler, we have a child with us.”

“I don’t understand Spoiler. What is getting freaky–”

“Please,” Dick’s begging now.

“Oh, B is gonna have fun with that when he gets home.”

“Pfft, you think B is going to know what getting freaky means?”

“You know that means he’s going to ask us, right?”

“Shit.”

Your brain starts to feel fried just listening to them. And the most obscene part of it all is that you can hear them fighting, subduing local criminals while simultaneously having one of the weirdest conversations you’ve ever been a party to (well, secretly a party to). You have to place the earpiece on the other side of the room and retreat into the bathroom to let out what could be a laugh or a scream – you can’t be sure.

Unsurprisingly, when you slot the earpiece back in again, the conversation has shifted.

You only catch the end of Tim’s words, but it’s enough to send your entire body into a state of shock, “– when the wedding happens.”

“When the wedding happens,” Jason bites out breathlessly, clearly in the middle of some kind of confrontation, “Your sorry ass isn’t going to be fuckin’ invited.”

And the comm line erupts.

“When the wedding happens?”

“WHAT?”

“Guys, fuckin’ hell, I didn’t mean it like –”

“I’m presuming this means you have a ring, yes, Todd?”

If you weren’t already sat, you’re certain your legs would have given way underneath you. The room is spinning, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of the world shifting on its axis and you can feel your heart vibrating in your throat.

You and Jason had never made any point of talking about marriage. It had come up casually, as it did in the conversations of most couples – but you had never had any particularly serious discussions about the subject. You, for one, had avoided it out of fear of spooking Jason, whom you’d already spent enough time coaxing out of his shell without potentially scaring him back in again. You had no idea that it was something that he was thinking about.

Of course, you wanted to marry him. From the moment he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, you’d known that he was the only option.

“One last time,” Dick’s voice tears you from your thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. It sends a chill through your entire body and for a brief second you can envision what it would be like to be confronted by Nightwing on a bad day. “Codenames. I don’t care if you don’t think anyone is listening –”

“Funny you say that. Someone is listening.”

It’s a woman’s voice. That must be Babs.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Abort. Abort. Abort. Immediately.

If you thought the comm line had exploded before, this was an atomic bomb. It’s a cacophony, instantly. Not the casual chattering over each other of minutes prior, instead it’s angered shouts, concerned whispers and vehement speculations about who it could possibly be.

The last thing you hear when you drop the earpiece into the garbage disposal with a sickening clang is Jason’s concerningly enlightened ‘Oh shit’.

You’ve been lying in bed practicing pretending to be asleep for an hour when Jason finally peels through the bedroom window. It takes everything you can muster to regulate your breathing, steady your heartbeat and lay still enough to feign unconsciousness.

The telltale rustling of Jason pulling off his costume as quietly as possible is enough to make you let out a barely-there sigh of relief. There’s a fleeting sadistic pride that burns in your chest at the thought that you’ve fooled the mighty Red Hood.

“So, where is it?”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Maybe if you don’t answer, he’ll just lay off –

“I know you’re awake.” You nearly jump up to the ceiling because he says it directly into your ear and you didn’t even hear him move from beside the window. Fucking vigilantes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you borderline whimper, and abruptly realise if you were going to double-down you probably should have done it with a bit more authority.

“Really, sweetheart? That’s what we’re going with.”

You roll over ever so slightly, just enough to pull your face from the pillow. Jason’s eyes are practically glowing in the dark of your bedroom and his face is not even an inch from yours. He’s close enough that you can make out the ever so slight sweaty dampness of his hair, that you could trace the freckles and scars alike that are dotted across his face – you can also make out the unmistakable curve of his lips, upwards ever so slightly at the corner.

“Garbage disposal.” The words come out quicker than you thought was physically possible and could potentially be mistaken for the creaking of a door in a different context given the pitch of them. You’re not sure if you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest or tied to your foot and subsequently flung into a river.

The silence is painful. Agonising. It’s too dark to completely make out Jason’s expression, his body completely still. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing.

And then he starts to shake, shoulders first, before the rest of his body follows. He collapses onto his side of the bed, jolting the mattress, and the vibrations are enough to confirm your suspicions. He’s laughing his fucking head off.

“You put it in the garbage disposal?” There’s disbelief lacing his words, and his own question only sets him off again. You throw a weak punch at his arm out of fear of him waking the neighbours.

“You’re not mad?” Your disbelief matches his own as you finally flip over to face him, now draped in the moonlight pouring through your bedroom window.

His laughter subdues, and he pauses contemplatively before sighing, “I probably should be. But, no, I’m not. I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t do the same fuckin’ thing.”

That’s the only signal you need to traverse the bed at break-neck speed, throwing yourself into Jason’s arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck. Without missing a beat, his arms come around to draw soft patterns up and down your back, and he lets out a relaxed hum of approval.

“I’m sorry about tonight, baby,” he won’t quite look you in the eye as he says it, and you can practically feel the guilt emanating off of him, “I know how much you were looking forward to it. We were looking forward to it.”

“Jay,” you sigh, raking a hand through his hair, “I love you. What you do makes you who you are, if I couldn’t accept that your aggressive vigilantism was going to have to come first sometimes, we wouldn’t be together.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your neck with a soft mumble, “I love you too. Too good f’me.”

“Shut up and go shower,” you giggle, shoving him away, “You stink, pretty boy.”

Jason feigns offense comically, drawing back with a scandalised grin and a shake of his head. You instantly feel the loss as he clambers out of bed, keeping your hands against him for as far as you can reach. There’s a quaint smile on his face as he begins to saunter over to the bathroom. God, you love this man.

“Jay?” You call, just before the bathroom door clicks shut.

“Yeah, princess?”

“I like your family. They seem nice.” You get little more than a grumble in response, and you’re not sure there were any discernible words in there to begin with as he pulls the door to again.

“Oh, and Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that thing Steph said – uh, you know – about the mask?”

You can hear the echo of Jason’s forehead smacking against the doorframe through the wall.

microsoft word giving me italics is like Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to humanity - best believe its a power i'm going to abuse

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it, leave me alone.

[brawberryz]

⎯⎯ Blind Love

⎯⎯ Jason Todd × Blind! Reader

Note: English is not my first language/ inspired by the manga Veil

TW / None,i just a little drabble

Snow fell in torrents through the city streets.

The snow painted the streets a white color, giving life to this dead city.

Your footsteps echoed through the cold city streets like a small tinkling sound.

You stood out among all the citizens, having such a charming yet simple style.

Your cane tapped the ground as you walked slowly down the street.

You were supposed to get to your new apartment, but you were lost, and being blind wasn't much help either.

Maybe you should have asked for a guide, but you wanted to be independent.

You grew up your whole life in a very overprotective family because of your disability, which bothered you.

They treated you like you were made of glass, as if you were going to break at some point.

You were tired of so much overprotection, so you decided to move to a new place.

But apparently you overreacted and ended up moving not only to another city but also to another country.

You were so confident in yourself. You didn't even notice you were lost, and someone like you on the streets of Gotham wasn't the best idea.

You were so distracted by your thoughts that your cane collided with someone's foot, causing you to stop dead in your tracks when you heard a small sound of pain as your cane hit the stranger.

"Ah! Excuse me..."

You said embarrassedly, apparently you ended up colliding with a stranger who was sitting on a bench.

It was only your first day here and you'd already messed up. You apologized several times without letting the stranger speak.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't hurt you, right?"

A small, awkward silence formed between the two of you until the stranger deigned to speak first.

"Don't worry, I've taken worse hits."

He said ironically. You just nodded, still embarrassed, but you could feel the man getting up and you could feel his imposing figure in front of you.

It's not that he's shorter, it's just that he was too tall.

"Wow, you're really tall!" You said without thinking about your words. You were someone who tended to say things without thinking, and that sometimes got you into trouble. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"No, calm down, it's okay."

Jason noticed from your nod. You weren't from this place. It was easy to spot someone new when they'd spent their entire life in this city.

"Hey, do you know this place?"

You asked suddenly, handing her a small piece of paper with all the information she needed written down, but they seemed to have forgotten that you were blind.

"Oh yeah, sure."

Jason took the paper as he read it, but all he could think about was how a person could stay with their eyes closed for so long.

Those doubts, though, were answered after seeing the cane and how you couldn't read something as simple as this paper.

Noticing that so late made him feel like an idiot.

"You should go straight and then turn left. On your right, you'll find your destination."

He said, trying to be as clear as possible. You just nodded happily and then took out your cane again.

"Thank you so much for the help!"

You said before returning with your slow steps. Something in him told him he should follow you and keep you safe.

You were new to Gotham, and your blindness made you easy prey for criminals.

Besides, he was a hero, or a good antihero, but he still had a desire for justice and to protect others, and he couldn't let someone like you walk the streets of Gotham.

"Careful, there's a staircase there!"

He yelled at you from afar when he saw you about to step on a step wrong. You just turned your head and nodded with a small laugh.

"I know, you shouldn't worry."

Your steps were slow but refined as you climbed the stairs. Something in Jason's chest burned every time he sensed something dangerous for you.

He had only met you a few minutes, but he already felt strange.

What the hell was happening to him?

"Are you sure? Is there no one to accompany you, or are you alone?"

He asked curiously, and you just nodded, not paying much attention.

You didn't need anyone's protection. You'd spent your whole life being overprotected, and you didn't need anyone else to worry about you.

"You shouldn't worry. Besides, let me warn you, following me won't get you to Wonderland."

Jason just arched at your sudden comment.

"Do I look like Alice to you?"

You could only let out a small laugh at the man's question.

"Well, maybe a little, but don't be offended, it's my favorite story!"

'She laughed...' That was the only thing Jason could think when he heard your laugh.

"Well, maybe you're right," he said as he approached you. "I almost fell into a hole today. It was an open sewer, and I almost fell in because I was too distracted."

"Ah..." You nodded, surprised but a little curious about the man's story. "Oh! Right, I haven't introduced myself. I'm (Name)!"

You felt like an idiot now. You'd spent a few minutes talking to the man, but you weren't even able to ask his name or introduce yourself properly, where were your manners!

"(Name)..." He said, repeating your name as if he were tasting it in his mouth. "You can call me Jason, Jason Todd."

"Nice name," you said, about to say something, but you were hesitant. You didn't know if you should ask him for help or not. But this was your only chance. "Sorry for asking, but do you know any places where we could get tea?"

After walking all over the city, your thirst and appetite had grown, and you thought a good cup of tea would solve everything.

"Uh, well, I know a place. But it's a bit far from here-"

"Really!"

You interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. He just nodded.

"I don't want to sound annoying, but..." You swallowed before continuing. "Could you take me to that place? I'm new around here, and you know...um."

Jason quickly understood the point. He knew you didn't want to seem useless, but he knew you needed help now.

"Yeah, sure. I hope you don't get bored with my company, though. I'm not one for words."

You shook your head in amusement.

"I don't think so. Your company can't be worse than walking down the street alone."

An inaudible laugh escaped Jason's lips. You were a very direct person.

But now that he had you closer, he noticed something. He felt like he'd seen your face somewhere.

And apparently he was right. You looked like one of those models. He saw your face for the first time when he was patrolling as usual.

Your presence was plastered all over that huge billboard that could easily light up an entire street.

Apparently, you were famous, since he'd seen your face on many posters and magazines, but he decided not to ask and kept his curiosity to himself.

"Could you give me your arm?"

"Uh-"

Before he could say anything, you answered.

"I wouldn't want to hit someone with my cane again, so you could be my guide and my eyes?"

"Oh, of course,"

He said, embarrassed, finally understanding what you meant.

You wrapped your hand around his arm and pressed against him. A small blush appeared on Jason's cheeks.

It was just the cold, right?

The blush didn't mean anything. He was just cold, or was that what he wanted to think?

Anyone who saw the two of you would think you were some kind of married couple.

"Now you'll check for any holes, right?"

You said with a small chuckle, reminding him of that incident he'd told you about.

"Of course, I'll try not to be so distracted this time."

You nodded at his comment.

Jason guided you through the snowy streets, slow steps following you as you could feel the cold breeze hitting your face.

You felt happy because after a long time, you had met someone; besides, he seemed like a nice person.

Maybe leaving home and being independent wasn't so bad.

Because if you hadn't, you would never have met him.

And he would never have met someone like you.

Maybe the two of you meeting was a coincidence or a piece of fate.

Or maybe the two of you were meant to be.

I think you should stop overthinking things. If you keep doing this, you'll most likely get some kind of headache.

The important thing is to live in the future.

And stop looking at the past

Jason is so Aleksander Code

Maybe I'll do a part 2 if I'm not too lazy

[manmuncher777]

Visiting kuna while he’s in prison. Eughhhh 😈😈😈 especially if he gotta go buzz 😩

Awh hell yeah nonnie, you just like me fr. Enjoy my love🌟🌟

18+ MDNI SMUT

“I-I” you stuttered out, unable to come up with an explanation that might soothe the feral man beneath you. Nothing good coming to mind

“You-You. You what sweetheart?” His gruff voice rings in your ears, snapping you out of your brain fog. Visiting your boyfriend in prison had it benefits. Especially when hes a well known gang member. It allows for certain perks. Like him being allowed to have your visits in his room, a room that he doesnt have to share. For this you were very glad, seeing as you were straddling sukuna on his bunk, having a very private conversation.

“Come on baby, use that big girl brain of yours and tell me, I wanna know.” Sukuna had been in prison for months now, and each night you were getting lonelier and lonelier. And of one of the nights you were missing him… badly. Deciding to write him a letter, describing exactly how badly you needed him, what you wanted him to do to you, and if that wasnt enough you included a few photos of yourself to show him how much you missed him. Only that had now backfired on you as you realised you had riled up an imprisoned man, and now you were going to have to face the consequences

“ I wanna know exactly what you were thinking when you sent that to me.” Huge hands that previously rested on your hips now travelling to your ass, holding the flesh tight through your skirt. Pressing you down onto his growing buulge that was highly visible in his orange jumpsuit

“Because to me, thats just not fair, teasing me with those fucking Polaroids, looking all pretty and shit when you come and see me.”

“Kuna��” your voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. No actual words flowing though your minds, only filthy thoughts of the man beneath you. Face flushing as he speaks. All you can do is try and focus on what hes saying to you, but that same feeling if need you had the other night is now crawling up your spine, soaking your little panties.

But Sukuna wasnt happy with that reaction, he wanted more from you. He wanted to get you as needy as you had made him that night.

The air in Sukuna’s cell is thick, charged, the tension palpable. His hands, lazily resting on your ass, don’t move—but his smirk? That deep, knowing smirk is a weapon in itself. He lounges against the cold wall like a king on his throne, utterly at ease.

And yet, it’s you who feels trapped.

Because his eyes, dark with amusement and something far more dangerous, trace the curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes, the way your breath hitches every time he exhales against your skin. He’s enjoying this—enjoying you—and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

If you weren’t going to talk about the letter, he was just going to have to tease it out of you.

“So,” he purrs, tilting his head. “A little bird tells me you’ve been thinking about me.”

Your body tenses at his words, mind buzzing with so many thoughts, but you force yourself to answer him, doing your best to cling onto he little resolve you have left. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His chuckle is low, taunting. “Oh, don’t play coy now, sweetheart. Not after that filthy little letter you sent me.” His fingers flex against your thighs, not quite gripping, just there, a reminder of how easily he could control the situation if he wanted to. “What was it you said? You couldn’t stop thinking about me—” he drags the words out, watching your reaction closely, “—about my hands on you?”

Your stomach twists, heat rushing up your neck. “I—I didn’t—”

“Oh, you did.” His grin widens, razor-sharp. “You even described exactly what you wanted me to do to you.” His eyes darken as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Such a dirty little thing, putting it all in writing. You wanted me to read it and ache for you, is that it?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you try to push away, but his hands slide up to your waist, keeping you firmly in place. Not squeezing, not forcing, just holding—a warning.

He tilts his head, feigning concern. “Look at you. All flustered. You weren’t so shy when you were begging on paper.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His lips are so close now, brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Should I remind you exactly what you wrote? Word for word?”

You shake your head quickly, a rush of embarrassment flooding through you, but he just hums in amusement.

“Mm. No? Shame. It was my favorite bedtime story.” His tongue clicks, mock disappointment laced in his tone. Then, with deliberate slowness, he exhales against your neck, letting his breath ghost over your skin. “I wonder… if I touched you now, would I find you as eager as you claimed to be?”

Your breath stutters, thighs instinctively pressing together, pressing yourself onto the bulge beneath you. And that’s all the reaction he needs.

His smirk sharpens. “Ahh… There she is.”

And you realize—he’s not done playing with you yet. Not even close.

“Now what was it you said?…:His hips subtly shifting upwards into your, pressing himself deeper into you. Knowing it was driving you wild. Fake pondering as he recalled your writing “You wanted my fingers, because yours couldn’t stretch out that pretty little pussy like mine do.”

“I- um” your eyes flit about the room, struggling to stay locked on his, his predatory gaze watching your every move

“How badly you missed my cock, deep inside” One of his hands trailing around to press on your tummy gently, right where his cock would show when he fucked you.

The words dying in your throat as he gives you a Cheshire Cat like grin. You were fucked.

“Tell me girl, did I get that right?” His pearly white teeth flashing as he spoke, fully aware he already knew the answer.

A small nod was all you could muster. But that was enough for him.

Sukuna’s hands slide lower, skimming the hem of your skirt, and you feel the ghost of his touch against your thighs—light, teasing, deliberate. He hasn’t even moved to lift it yet, but you swear your breath is already hitching, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

“What’s this?” he murmurs, dragging the tips of his fingers along the fabric. “Wearing something so short to see me… were you hoping I’d take it off?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his grip finally tightening, just enough to make you squirm. “Come on, sweetheart. You had all that confidence when you wrote to me. Tell me…” His fingers inch under the fabric, knuckles brushing against your bare skin. “Did you get wet thinking about me touching you like this?”

A sharp gasp escapes you as he pushes your skirt up, exposing more of your thighs. The cool air kisses your overheated skin, and you reflexively grab his wrist, a weak attempt at stopping him.

He laughs at the gesture—deep, rich, cruel.

“Oh? Now you want to act shy?” His other hand trails up your back, slow and possessive. “Should I stop?” His voice is a mockery of innocence, but the look in his eyes is pure hunger.

Your silence betrays you.

His smirk deepens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And then—so agonizingly slow—you feel him peel your skirt down, the fabric dragging over your thighs, your knees, your ankles until it’s gone, discarded on the floor.

Sukuna leans back against the wall, gaze devouring the sight of you. “Now, that’s better.” His hands settle on your now-bare thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “You look much prettier like this, trembling in my lap.”

His lips curl as he watches you, his next words laced with dark amusement.

Sukuna hums, dragging his palms up your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. He spreads his legs a little wider beneath you, making sure you feel the hard press of him beneath you, and fuck, you can’t stop the way your body tenses at the realization.

His smirk deepens. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His fingers skim higher, brushing over your inner thigh—light, teasing, barely there. “You were so bold with those little Polaroids… don’t tell me you’re already getting shy?”

You bite your lip, trying to glare at him, but it only makes his smirk widen.

Sukuna leans in close, lips ghosting against your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice dropping into something dark and syrupy, “when you wrote that letter… were your fingers between your legs?”

A sharp inhale. Your whole body heats at the question, and the moment you hesitate, his hand slides up—fingers just grazing over the heat between your legs.

Your hips jolt instinctively, and he fucking laughs. You can feel your mind slowly slipping with each passing moment, struggling to keep composure

“Ohh, you were, weren’t you?” He clicks his tongue, amused. “You really laid in bed, all alone, spreading your legs and touching yourself while thinking about me?”

You should deny it. You should push away that smug grin of his, but the way his fingers press a little firmer against your clothed core makes any coherent thought vanish. Prickles of pleasure flow up your skin as you finally get the touch you had been missing.

He watches you struggle, loves how easily he’s unraveling you. “Didn’t even have me, and you still came all over your own fingers, huh?” His voice is so mocking, so cruelly sweet, and then—without warning—his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear.

Your breath stutters.

Sukuna exhales a low tch the second he feels it. “Holy fuck.” His fingers slide through the slick heat of your needy cunt, languid, slow, as if testing just how drenched you are for him. His smirk sharpens. “You’re soaking.”

You bite back a whimper as he drags his fingers through your folds, spreading your wetness, moving in agonizingly slow strokes that make your thighs twitch. His free hand grips your waist, keeping you still in his lap

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters, mostly to himself, the edge of a chuckle laced in his words. “Knew you’d be a mess for me.”

And then, just when your body starts to tense, when you need more, he pulls his hand away.

You make a noise of protest before you can stop yourself, and he grins. “Oh? You want more?” His slick fingers trace teasing circles against your inner thigh, refusing to give you what you so clearly need. “Then ask for it, sweetheart.”

Your pride fights against the growing, unbearable ache. You try to grind against his thigh instead, desperate for any kind of friction, but his hands are there, holding you in place.

“Ah, ah,” Sukuna tuts, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “You’re not getting shit until I hear you beg for it properly.”

His fingers stroke your thigh again—so fucking close, but still not enough.

You shudder, swallowing your pride. “Please.”

His smirk darkens. “Louder.”

You glare at him, breath shaky. “Please, Sukuna—”

And fuck, that’s all he needed.

He shoves his hand back between your legs, two fingers sliding inside you in one slow, deep stroke—so smooth, so effortless, your walls stretching around him as if your body was made to take him.

You choke on a gasp, clenching down around his fingers, and he groans against your ear. “Ohhh, there it is,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction. “That pretty little cunt was just waiting to be filled, huh?”

His fingers pump into you at a leisurely pace, dragging along every sensitive spot inside you, curling slightly with every deep stroke. Your head tips back, breathless, aching, because it’s still not enough.

Sukuna’s fingers work you open slowly, deliberately, making sure you feel every deep stroke, every lazy curl of his fingers against that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble. His other hand is firm on your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you don’t squirm away from his relentless teasing.

“Fuck,” he groans, watching the way your body reacts to him, the way your walls clench around his fingers every time he drags them out just to push them back in, deeper, rougher. “You’re so tight. Haven’t been properly fucked in a while, huh?”

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your thighs tensing around his hips. He smirks. “Poor baby,” he muses, voice dropping, “Makin me feel bad for not being there to fuck you properly”

He buries his fingers inside you to the knuckle, pressing against the soft, spongy spot deep inside you that has you gasping, nails digging into his skin.

“Ahh, there it is,” he laughs. “That’s the spot, huh?” His fingers curl again, harder, pulling a sharp cry from your lips. “Yeah. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. You gonna cum for me already?”

Your head tips back, your body rocking forward instinctively, chasing every stroke of his fingers, aching for more. But Sukuna sees it, sees you getting desperate, and instead of giving you what you need, he slows down.

Your breath stutters, a frustrated whine spilling from your throat as he deliberately drags out every motion, keeping you right on the edge without letting you tip over.

Sukuna grins against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “Tch. Look at you,” he murmurs, amused. “So fucking needy.”

He presses a kiss to your pulse, almost mockingly sweet. Then, with a slow, devastating thrust of his fingers, he curls them just right—just deep enough, just sharp enough—

And you break.

Your whole body tenses, pleasure ripping through you as your walls flutter around his fingers, your breath coming in broken, stuttering gasps as the tension inside you snaps. Your thighs shake against his hips, your nails scraping down his arms as you ride it out, grinding helplessly into his hand as he works you through it.

Sukuna groans, his free hand gripping your waist as you tremble against him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, drinking in the sight of you coming apart in his lap. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. So fucking messy.”

His fingers don’t stop until your body jerks from oversensitivity, and only then does he pull them out—slow, teasing, dragging it out just to watch you shudder.

Then he brings them to his lips.

You watch, dazed, as he licks the slick from his fingers, humming thoughtfully as he tastes you. His eyes darken, tongue dragging over the pad of his thumb as he smirks.

“Always miss your taste sweets.”

He tilts his head, gaze flickering over your wrecked expression. “Think you’re ready for my cock now?”=

Sukuna’s fingers leave you aching, your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks, but he doesn’t give you a moment to recover. No, he just smirks, eyes burning as he watches you struggle to catch your breath, utterly wrecked in his lap.

Then, with a sharp grip on your hips, he grinds up against you, letting you feel just how painfully hard he is beneath you.

You whimper, hips jerking forward instinctively, and Sukuna groans low in his throat, his fingers tightening against your skin. “Ohh, fuck,” he drawls, head tipping back for a second before his gaze snaps back to you, hungry, dark with something ravenous. “You feel that, sweetheart?”

You can barely think, let alone answer.

He chuckles, teeth flashing. “Of course you do. You’re already rocking against it, huh?” His hands guide your hips, forcing you to grind against his length, the thick heat of it pressing between your slick folds. “Tch. So fucking desperate.”

Your breath shatters as he moves your hips again, forcing more friction against your already aching clit, and the sensation sends lightning through your veins.

“You gonna let me fuck you now?” Sukuna mutters against your ear, voice thick with amusement, but fucking starving at the same time. “You got me so hard, you better be ready to take it.”

He shifts beneath you, one hand reaching down to free himself, and when you feel the hot, heavy weight of his cock slap against your slick folds—thick, unrelenting, already leaking at the tip—your whole body shudders.

Sukuna smirks. “Ohh, I know you’re wet enough for it, but—” He grips his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick but not pushing in. “—I wanna hear you beg for it first.”

You whimper, grinding down against the head of his cock, desperate, but he just laughs.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good girl and tell me how bad you want it.” He presses his tip just against your entrance, teasing, mocking, but refuses to give you more. “Or else I’ll make you sit here and fucking wait for it.”

His free hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back slightly, his mouth grazing your throat.

“You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

His cock nudges at your entrance again, but still—still—he doesn’t push in.

And with the way your body is aching, the way his fingers are digging into your hips, the way his breath is so fucking heavy against your skin—

You know.

He’s going to make you beg for it.

And he won’t stop until you’re screaming his name

But you can’t help it—your body is on fire, still desperate for him, and every breath feels like it’s drawing you closer to the edge again. Sukuna leans back, his smirk never fading as he watches you struggling to even form a coherent sentence at this point

“Missed your cock so bad Kuna~” you whine out pathetically, hoping he would show you mercy and give you exactly what you had been craving

Sukuna chuckles, low and dark. “You really thought I’d let you get off that easy? Tch, you’re adorable.” His hand snakes around to your back, fingers digging into the soft skin there, and he pulls you closer—pressing your body flush against his. The heat of his skin, the weight of him, it drives you wild all over again.

His lips brush against your ear, his voice a gravelly whisper. “You’re going to take every inch of me, aren’t you?” His words send a shiver down your spine. “All that teasing? I’ve been waiting for you to beg for me. You wanted me, now you’re going to take it.”

With a sudden, fluid motion, he grips your thighs, pushing you higher up his lap. You feel the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing, just barely brushing you. His smirk is cruel as he watches your face flush with the need. “Go on, sweetheart. Show me how much you want me.”

You don’t need him to say it twice. With a sharp, needy gasp, you push down onto him, feeling his length stretch you, fill you as you sink down slowly, painfully, inch by inch. The stretch is almost too much, but the ache is exactly what you’ve been craving.

Sukuna’s eyes close for a moment, his lips parting in a low groan as he feels you grip him. “Fuck, that’s it. Such a tight little cunt. So fucking perfect for me.”

You rock your hips, hands gripping his shoulders for support as you start to move, his body perfectly aligned beneath you. Each thrust you make is slow, deliberate, a mix of pleasure and need, the way his hands dig into your skin, urging you on. His grip tightens with every movement, guiding you, making you feel every inch of him as he shifts beneath you.

But he doesn’t let you forget he’s still in control. “You’re so fucking desperate,” he mutters, voice thick with lust. “Cumming on my fingers like that, and now you can’t even think straight. Pathetic.”

Your body shudders with each word, the way his cock fills you deep, pushing you to the edge of insanity. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time. You push harder, riding him, needing more, needing everything.

Sukuna’s hand finds your throat, squeezing lightly, not enough to choke you, but enough to make your breath catch in your throat as he pulls you forward. “Come on. You’re close, aren’t you?” His voice is low, commanding. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you need it.”

“P-Please! Kuna, need it so bad”

The way Sukuna’s hands grip your hips, guiding your movements as he watches you unravel, it feels like he’s claiming every inch of you—every piece of your will, your dignity, your ability to think straight. He’s controlling the rhythm now, forcing you to take him deep, making you feel every inch of him. His eyes are intense, burning with something darker than lust—something deeper, something possessive.

“Look at you,” Sukuna growls, his chest rising with every breath. “I’ve waited so long for this. You… you make me wait, tease me, and now you’re finally giving in. Isn’t that right?”

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind spinning, body on fire, each movement more desperate than the last. But Sukuna doesn’t care. He’s not slowing down. He’s chasing his own pleasure now, pushing you harder, deeper, rougher, making you feel every inch of his cock, every thrust.

“You like that, huh?” Sukuna snarls, pulling your body flush against his, his teeth grazing your neck as he watches you struggle to keep up. “You love to tease me while im locked up in here”

His words only seem to make it worse, your body clenching around him with the reminder of what started all this. He remembers, and now you’re paying for it.

“I’ve missed you,” he admits, almost as though he’s surprised by it himself. His voice drops low, and for the briefest moment, there’s a sincerity to his tone that almost makes you forget he’s the King of Curses. “Missed how you taste. How you feel. How good you are to me. How you stayed with me”

He doesn’t give you time to process the weight of his words. Instead, he slams into you harder, faster, your body shaking with each thrust. He’s relentless—determined to take every ounce of control, making sure you’re his.

Your body is a mess of sensation, the pressure building, rising higher and higher with every thrust, every growl of his voice. The way his hands are gripping your body—like he’s scared you’ll slip away, like he’s afraid of losing you all over again—pushes you to the edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with lust. “Tight. Perfect.” His grip tightens, and you feel him hit even deeper, the force of it pushing you toward the brink.

You can barely think now, only feeling—only craving the release that’s so close but seems just out of reach. His words—his confession of missing you, his twisted affection—sends something raw through you, unraveling every last shred of control you had left.

And then, without warning, he shifts his grip, pulling you harder down onto him, and that’s all it takes. The pressure inside you snaps. The orgasm rips through you in waves, overwhelming your senses, and you let out a ragged cry as you come apart in his lap. Your body shudders, spasms of pleasure wracking you as he holds you steady, refusing to let you go, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Sukuna doesn’t stop, though—his thrusts become more frantic, chasing his own release, but he doesn’t let go of you for even a second. His fingers dig into your skin, pulling you closer to him as he moves faster, his voice rougher now.

“Fuck,” he groans, his movements becoming more erratic. “You’re so fucking perfect. Cumming on my cock like the perfect girl you are”

And then, with a final, brutal thrust, he’s there, spilling inside you, his body shuddering as he grinds against you, his breath hot against your skin. For a moment, he just holds you, both of you tangled up in the aftermath, trying to catch your breath.

His hand slides to your back, holding you close. “I’m not letting you go,” he mutters, almost like a promise—or a warning.

You can barely respond, your body still trembling from the intensity, but you feel him stiffen slightly, his grip tightening even more possessively around you. His lips brush your ear again. “You’re mine, you know.”

[shikaizer]

skyfall. paigebueckers x reader

while paige is away for a game, a accident had occur resulting to you having a miscarriage, when paige found out, she started to crash out.

angst. heavy emotions. miscarriage.

It was supposed to be a normal afternoon, a quiet saturday, paige had left before dawn for her away game.

you remembered the way she kissed your cheek, her lips lingering just a little longer than usual, she’d been nervous about the game, sure, but mostly about leaving you alone.

at 6months pregnant, you'd both finally begun to breathe easier, the worst of the nausea had passed, the baby had a strong heartbeat, and your last ultrasound had brought nothing but smiles and tears of joy.

“you sure you’ll be okay?” paige had asked, standing in the doorway in her travel jersey and windbreaker, her duffel bag over her shoulder “i could ask geno to let me sit this one out.”

you’d laughed, trying to reassure her. “And miss the chance to score on (ENEMY TEAM dont wanna put any team here 😵) i'll be fine, paigey, i promise.” she had texted you around noon.

“Miss you already, ”

you sent her back a heart and a photo of the nursery you'd been working on, little cloud decals half applied to the wall, a basket of clean onesies waiting to be folded, you were determined to finish it before she came home.

that was the plan, fold some laundry, drink your smoothie, take a nap, instead, when you went to sit down and grab the next pile of baby clothes, your balance shifted, your foot caught the edge of the rug, and your body twisted unnaturally, you stumbled backward and your tailbone hit the sharp edge of the wooden arm of the rocking chair.

the pain was instant, a piercing, electric shock up your spine, you cried out, grabbing at your belly instinctively, trying to breathe through the pain, but then you felt it, warmth, pressure, a gush.

you looked down and saw blood pooling beneath you, your scream ripped through the house.

your best friend, Sam, had just stopped by to drop off smoothies, she burst through the door moments later, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene, your body crumpled on the floor, blood staining your leggings, the soft beginnings of your nursery now soaked in fear.

“oh my god, oh my god—dont move, dont move, okay?” she said, dropping the drinks and pulling out her phone “im calling the hospital, we are going right now, hang in there.”

you were too far gone to respond, the only word you managed was “paige.” sam nodded, already dialing her, the call connected on speaker.

“hey babe! we’re warming up, whats up?”

“PAIGE.” sams voice was shaking “its bad, she fel, shes bleeding, a lot, im taking her to ER get here now, please.” a beat of silence, and then paiges voice cracked through the phone, terrified “what do you mean she fell? what happened?!”

“she hit a chair, shes in pain, her water—just get here, now!”

you were unconscious by the time paige arrived, she hadn’t even changed out of her jersey, her hands was shaking so badly she could barely sign the visitor paperwork.

the nurses face told her everything before words could "im sorry" the woman said gently "she lost the baby, shes stable now, but… it was too early there was nothing we could do." paige felt the world fall out from under her feet.

you woke up in the sterile quiet of a hospital room, an IV in your arm, your body aching, hollow, paige was standing at the window when your eyes opened, she looked like she aged a decade, hair a mess, hands clenched at her sides, her jaw tight.

you turned your face slowly, barely managing a whisper "paige…” she spun around so fast the chair behind her nearly toppled "your awake” she said, rushing over, but then, before she even touched you, something in her cracked, her voice wavered “what the hell happened?” your throat tightened “I fell. the chair—”

“you fell? what are you even doing? i told you not to lift, not to move too fast, i told you, didnt I?” your eyes widened, stung “i wasnst lifting anything, paige, i was folding baby clothes, i tripped on the rug, I—it was an accident.”

“you shouldnt have even been doing that alone!” she snapped “why didnt you just wait until I got back?” you felt the tears coming, hard and fast “what, so this is my fault now?”

“i didnt say that” she barked, but her voice broke mid sentence “i just—dammit, you promised you’d be careful!” you turned your face away, blinking hard “you think i wasn’t careful? do you think I wanted this to happen?!"

paige’s mouth opened, then closed again, she looked like she didnt know what to do with all the fury, grief, and guilt warring inside her.

the hospital discharged you two days later, they wheeled you out with an empty belly and a folded piece of paper with the words "spontaneous preterm labor" printed in clinical ink, but no amount of paperwork could explain the ache in your chest, or the haunting quiet that followed you home.

paige hardly spoke the entire drive back, one hand gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, and the other hovered near your thigh wanting to touch you but too afraid she’d break you more.

at home, she helped you into bed, drew the blinds, and wrapped the comforter around your body like armor, then she kissed your forehead.

“i’ll be right back” she said softly, she didnt come back, not for hours.

You eventually found her in the nursery,she was sitting on the floor in the half painted room, her knees pulled to her chest, a little cloud decal had peeled halfway off the wall, dangling just above her head, the bassinet you picked out together still sat by the window, untouched, perfect, waiting.

paige was staring at the floor, unmoving, except for the slow shake of her shoulders, you walked in quietly, still sore, still bleeding lightly, both inside and out "paige?” your voice broke on her name.

she looked up and for the first time since the hospital, you saw it, she was gone, her eyes were swollen and empty, her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Then suddenly she snapped “i cant fucking do this" she whispered

“this, here.” she gestured wildly to the walls, the crib, the folded baby clothes still waiting in the laundry basket “i walk into this room and I can hear them crying, i see you lying on the floor in my head over and over and over every time I close my eyes, its like its happening again.”

you stepped forward, heart cracking “paige—” she stood abruptly, knocking over a stack of unopened baby books “i should been here! I should been home!” her voice rose, raw and ragged "you told me you were okay! i should known better, i should known something was wrong.”

“you couldnt have known” you cried, reaching for her “dont do this to yourself—” but she stepped back, almost like she couldnt stand your touch “i dont know how to breathe in this house anymore” she admitted, and that was what broke you.

you watched her shoulders heave, her fingers curling in her shirt like she wanted to tear it from her skin “every time I walk past the fridge, I see the sonogram, every corner has a ghost in it, and im trying, i swear, im trying to hold it together for you, but im drowning.”

"i dont need you to hold it together" you said, voice shaking “i need you to fall apart with me.”

paige blinked through a fresh wave of tears, she looked so young then, so wrecked "i dont want to feel this” she whispered.

“neither do i” you said “but if we dont feel it together… were gonna lose everything, paige, not just the baby, us too.”

she finally let you touch her, you wrapped your arms around her as she collapsed into your chest, sobbing uncontrollably, her body trembling with every breath, the grief tore out of her in jagged pieces, screamed into your shoulder, cried into your hair, that night, you lay tangled together on the nursery floor, not saying a word, just existing in the wreckage.

masterlist.

🔖 — @addl0vee @tndaqlwifwy @mrsarnold @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @paige05bby @azzisbueckers @paigeluvvr @giavonnii @taylynbueckers44 @jupitermoonbaby @shootingstarrrrr @dalilahissilly @luldejamleer @d7dream @gabbyygoo @bravemode

[atalana]

i say this as someone who is a huge shakespeare fan, who has read most of his plays quite a bit, who did a theatre degree with a whole class on shakespeare that i not only passed with flying colours but was literally awarded best written essay to come out of the university that year (a competition i didn't know everyone was entered into until i won it by comparing romantic conventions between taming of the shrew and as you like it) - the first thing i do when studying a new play is watch it

hell if it's one i know but haven't studied in a while i'll watch it again. it's shakespeare, people are performing it all the time, you can find hundreds of adaptations free on the internet. sometimes that's high budget globe theatre or similar produced ones, but also there was at least one essay on macbeth where i found someone's $0 budget version on youtube and just put that on again before writing it

play scripts aren't meant to be taken as novels. i work in theatre, and the script is maybe 20% of the story at most, it's the intent and action that matters. and yes, shakespeare was very deliberate in his word choice, and you can analyse it for centuries as people have been doing, but you also will never see the full impact of it if it's not up on its feet. especially if you struggle with the language barrier (and there's absolutely no shame in that)

stories live on by conveying emotion, not intellect. and emotion comes from people. a novelist has the difficult job of trying to create only through words what normally you'd need a person to convey. a playwright doesn't have to

if you had to read shakespeare plays in high school and they were just boring and you didn't get it? that's completely normal, reading shakespeare plays from scratch with no ability to either act it out or watch it be acted is one of the most difficult and tedious tasks you can go through. go watch an adaptation or twenty instead, it'll be way more fun and you'll be making shakespeare proud

the fact that so often ppl are told to read shakespeare rather than watch it is so weird. like yeah sure reading it can help u get the language and stuff. but it’s meant to be watched. imagine your favorite movie or tv show episode. and then imagine how much less fun and interesting it would be if u just read the script instead of watching it. Shakespeare meant for his works to be watched and performed not read. not saying u can’t get something out of reading them obviously. just saying the way it’s taught and presented to ppl is often fundamentally flawed. 

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 10

Summary: The boys are back in the Arena

Content Warnings: Reader's Still Drugged; Canon Typical Violence, Mentions of Blood, Gore and Death

Author's Note: Thank you all for your kind words and messages, your support truly means so much to me! You're all amazing and I appreciate every one of you. <3 Updates moving forward might still be a little sporatic, I have a lot going on right now, but I'll try to keep you updated as we go. Rest assured that I truly love this story and it'll keep progressing, maybe just a little slower.

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

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The Arena looms overhead, a Titan blocking out the blazing summer sun. Gold and crimson flags flap angrily in a rare summer breeze, beckoning everyone for miles to come see what wonders might lay inside today.

Starlight trots through the crowded streets with ease, despite my swaying form. I don’t remember getting in the saddle. I don’t remember waking up.

Everything feels foggy, muddled like soup in my skull. What the hell happened to me last night? 

My hands tremble as I hold the reins, a dull burning sensation under my skin making my muscles feel taut and tender. Every bump in the saddle makes my head pound; my whole body feels like a bruise. 

The Praetorian keep me surrounded as the crowd thickens, the crimson plumes atop their glittering gold helmets like streamers in the wind. None of them had spoken on the ride over--not that they usually did, but the silence feels deafening this time around, especially as they tighten around me, close enough to touch as beings crowd in around us.

“Rebel fucker!” Someone screams in my direction.

A rock hurtles through the air, bouncing hard off one of the Guard’s helmet, nearly knocking him from his horse. 

“Illyrian whore!”

I shift in the saddle, head foggy; my mates should be behind me, right, that’s why it’s so bad? We’re going to the Games today? But the space behind me is empty of the males that have become so dear to me and it takes me too damn long to process why. Last night seeps in like a fog, crawling forward inch at a time until I remember.

My head whips back towards the arena. Shit!

“Get me inside!” I snarl at the nearest guard as another rock whizzes past my head. Seems Anise was right about the rumors in the city, at the very least. At this point, I’ll take the insults and rocks being hurled at me instead of my mates, but this is a distraction I can’t afford right now.

Anise must have slipped me something more before sending me on my way this morning. The sluggishness feels like it might be mirthroot. A sharp pain shoots through my chest. She’d really drugged me and then passed me off to the Guard like it was normal. She’s supposed to be my family.

The Guard pushes through the crowd with some difficulty, still dodging rocks until they can get me to a side entrance. The front is clogged with protesters and champions alike, the path blocked by too many screaming people for it to be safe. One of the Guard bodily hauls me off Starlight and practically drags me in through a heavily guarded iron door, only pausing to make sure it’s locked behind me.

Glad to see I’m finally making an impression in the city.

“This way, Highness,” the Guard says gruffly, gesturing down the stone hall. We’re somewhere in the upper levels of the catacombs beneath the main viewing area, not close enough to the barracks to hear the gladiators, but not close enough to an exit to hear the crowd preparing either. If something happened down here, no one would hear me.

My legs sway uneasily beneath me and it is an effort to not lean my weight against the wall. The drugs aren’t weaning!

“I need to see my champions,” I insist, my voice as shaky as I feel.

“You’ll see them from your booth,” he counters, un-anchoring a torch from the wall to help us see the path better in the dark. 

“Before the fight.”

He’s a young Guard, newer, I haven’t seen him often enough to know his name. “New rules, I’m afraid. Too many tamperings with the gladiators. Everyone is to go directly to their booths by order of the Emperor.” He gestures with the torch for me to follow him. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but those are my orders.”

To hell with his fucking orders! Those are my mates! I need to know that they’re ready! That the armor I found works. 

He reaches out a hand like he might drag me, then drops it, thinking better of it. At least he’s a smart male. 

I should try and run. My head feels like it’s made of stone as I turn to get a better look around. Everything is the same opaque stone that it would be easy to get lost, and it’s not as if they’re putting up signs directing the way down here. If I could touch the bond, maybe I could follow it down into the barracks, but with it being so buried..

They’d come for me, if our places were switched. If it had been me dragged away in the middle of the night, it wouldn’t matter if they’d been drugged, it wouldn’t matter how many guards there were to stop them, they’d come for me.

“Highness, please don’t make this difficult,” the Guard sighs. 

“I need-” Gods my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton! Everything is moving so godsdamned slow! “-Need to see that they are properly prepared for this fight. I don’t trust that my competitor’s didn’t bribe their way down there already.”

“I can assure you they didn’t.”

I square my shoulders, wincing around the tenderness at the base of my neck. “And what should the word of a simple Guard mean to me?” 

The belligerent princess voice usually works, but this only makes him frown. “You would have me go against the Emperor’s orders?” He challenges.

Footsteps sound down the tunnels behind him, stopping the words in my throat as a shadow inches closer. But not my shadow. Not the one I really want to see. 

I know the footsteps. Know the heavier crunch of the right heel against the earth is from an old battle injury that never quite healed right. 

“Causing a fuss, are we?”

“Your Majesty!” The Guard bows swiftly, the plume of his helmet brushing the floor he’s so low.

I make sure I’m not leaning against the wall. 

Father’s slate gray eyes assess me, a wolfish grin splitting his usually stoic features. He’s in a better mood than he was at the Senate Meeting, that’s for sure. 

I clench my skirts in my hands, trying not to make my fists so obvious. Of course he’d fucking be here waiting for me! Why wouldn’t he ever give me a moment of peace?

“I was just telling my Guard that I need to check on my gladiators,” I say, voice low. Maybe the obvious submission in my tone will keep him from hearing the way it still shakes. Maybe if I pretend hard enough to cower like the good little daughter he wants, he’ll overlook whatever he thinks I was planning on doing down here.

His grin broadens. “And I’m sure Lucius explained the new rules to you?”

Lucius straightens, trying a little too hard to look proud. “Yes, Your Majesty, I did.”

Father gestures back the way he’d come. “Then let’s not waste any more time, shall we?”

I can’t run for it now.

If I felt anything other than hollow, I think I might have burst into tears, but even my emotions feel out of reach, locked behind an invisible wall. I’m aware of them distantly, like they’re not truly my own. 

I follow numbly, hands still clenched in my skirts. I wonder if he can tell that there’s something off about me; if he can even recognize my mannerisms enough to know I’m under the effects of something. 

“You look uneasy,” he says, like he can hear my thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder if Brannagh and Dagdan’s powers come from his side of the family, if perhaps he too possesses the mind reading skill and has simply never chosen to announce it as my cousins have. It certainly would give reason for his distrust in people, or why I could never  get away with anything as a kid.

The tunnels take us closer and closer to the seating area of the Arena, the noise of the crowd starting to filter through the walls. Every step towards it feels like someone is dropping stones into the pit of my stomach. I’m not going to be able to see them. I wasn’t able to prepare them.

“I didn't sleep well,” I lie.

“Nervous?” He taunts.

I square my shoulders, trying to remember what my courtly mask looks like. Trying to fight off the mirthroot and regain control of my composure. My body doesn’t feel like my own; I have to find a way to make it mine again. “Excited.”

Disappointment flickers in his eyes like the twinkling of the torchlight. A small victory. Did he truly think I’d be so easily beaten?

“Kallias’s Orc has quite the reputation,” he counters, clasping his hands behind his back, a move that has always made him look superior. 

“As do Illyrians.” I remember then, the ribbons I’d purchased at the market yesterday. There was never an opportunity to find a way to hide them in my outfit somewhere; Anise had stolen that from me too. I can’t even quietly support them. 

“There are rumors,” he begins as we draw near to a familiar set of stairs. This is the way we’d come in last time, on the way to meet my mates that fateful day. “Of your… affections.”

“You do not believe in rumors.” I counter.

“I believe they all start somewhere,” he growls.

I make sure he goes up the stairs first, just to ensure I don’t end up taking another tumble down the worn steps. “I am to be married, am I not? Do you really think so little of me as to assume I would ruin that chance?”

“To spite my efforts, yes I do.” 

Lucius pauses at the door, waiting for a signal that it’s all right for him to open it. The Emperor comes to a halt next to him, dwarfing him. The poor male shrinks against the wall to try and give his precious ruler breathing room.

If I was in control of myself, I’d be biting back bile, but there is nothing inside me, perhaps that might actually save me in the end. “I would not debase myself with a couple of slaves just to spite you, Father. As I said before, I only mean to make up for my absence and help the Empire in whatever way I can.”

He huffs as he motions for Lucius to open the door, spilling sunlight into the tunnel. The burn doesn’t register as it should. I force myself to put a hand up over my eyes just so it looks like I feel the sting they all do. What the hell was in that serum?

We find ourselves along the winding pathway that leads to the various booths and bench seats that line the massive Pit. Overhead, hanging from the rafters of the awnings enchanted to keep out most of the heat, hang the flags of the various houses that own and sponsor gladiators, the brightly colored emblems snapping in the breeze.

“Speaking of your soon-to-be husband,” Father says and that devious glint has once again returned to his eyes. 

Shit! Me and my big mouth!

“I asked the main contenders to sit with us today. It looks good for your image.”

This day keeps getting worse and worse!

“Contenders? As in more than one?” 

We follow the path past the first two levels of seating, passing the bench seats where the middle classes can mingle, their sections filled to capacity, vendors with trays of food screaming at the top of their lungs to promote their wares; the second for the upper class, all well off but not favored, equally as crowded, though the shouting is for the betting tables instead of snacks. The third level is for the Elite, Father’s favored few, with their own booths, separated from each other by gauzy curtains and lounges covered in pillows. It is not the most ornate thing in the Empire, despite the gaudy display of gold embellishments and the servants waiting with palm fronds to fan any belligerent senator who beckons. The wine flows freely and servants flitter about to place their masters’ bets so they never have to leave their recliners. Food comes in silence, offered on golden platters, brought to the lips of beings who’ve never lifted a finger a day in their lives by hands that have no choice but to submit to this degradation. 

“I have three,” he says as we draw near to his booth. More of the Praetorian wait for us, standing at attention with spears as tall as they are in hand. “I’m curious to see how well they fit with you, so I invited them to watch with us.”

“You say that as if you would consider my opinion on the matter.”

He grins at that. “I suppose that’s true, but I want to know who will be capable of putting up with you. Most people aren’t as forgiving as me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood, though I still cannot feel the sting. 

The Guards part the curtain blocking my view of the booth aside, and three males turn to greet us.

It’s going to be a very, very long day.

Honestly, at the rate my life has been going lately, the fact that the first male to bow and greet us is Eris doesn’t even surprise me. The red-headed scoundrel was bound to find a way to weasel his way in with my Father with or without the blackmail, but I’m sure my lack of enthusiasm when I broached the subject with my Father the other day helped influence his opinion greatly. 

“Eris,” Father says in greeting.

The Autumn male bows first, long hair nearly brushing the floor, before coming up to take my hand and kiss the back of my knuckles again. At least Azriel isn’t here to see him this time. I don’t think he’d survive another interaction without trying to put his hands around the male’s throat. 

“Highness,” Eris purrs. “It’s a pleasure, as always.”

“Likewise,” I have to at least pretend to be pleasant. I don’t really know what to expect from him now that I’m the fly trapped in his web. Usually I just watch the spider hunt from afar, but I like being caught even less than watching other people be caught. 

He steps aside, the picture of courtly manners, to let the next contender for my hand through. Tamlin looks about as thrilled to be here as I feel. So at least we’ll be miserable together. 

“Highness.” His bow is stiff, awkward, shoulders locked nearly to his chin. He is one of the youngest senators and it shows; wealth and power have not yet given him a complete air of superiority, unease still coats his movements. I give it a few more years before the prestige goes to his head; which has to be why Father has him as a top contender. Right now, Tamlin is moldable, a walking slab of clay for the Emperor’s skilled hands to shape into whatever type of puppet he sees fit. And vulnerable to boot, the trouble in his province with the Tythe means he’s in desperate need of both direction and approval, and if marrying me gives him that, well, he’ll swallow whatever unease he feels and do it for the sake of his position.

“Senator.” Honestly, I think out of the two, Eris might be the lesser of the two evils. If this draws out for long enough and I do have to go through with a wedding, Eris might be more inclined to give my leash some reach. Tamlin, by that time, will be eating out of Father���s hand and I’ll have lost any opportunity to get out.

Tamlin steps aside with the grace of a large animal in a room full of glass, broad shoulders bumping into a Guard’s chest as he tries to not slam face first into Eris. The red headed bastard doesn’t move either, just grins. 

The final contender is a surprise, with Father’s prejudices, the fact that he’d consider a Nephilim at all is shocking. Senator Romulus keeps his great, feathered wings tucked tight behind his back as he bows, salt and pepper curls sweeping over his tan forehead. He’s old enough to be my Father! It’s an effort not to turn and look at the Emperor to see if this is some kind of joke. He can’t really mean to offer me to Romulus?! The male’s last two wives died under “mysterious circumstances”.

“Highness, it’s an honor.”

I’m suddenly grateful I don’t have the capacity to feel anything, because I don’t think I would have been able to keep my voice neutral or the sheer horror off my face. Eris really is looking like my best option at this point!

“Senator,” it’s a miracle my voice is steady. “What a surprise! I thought you were back home dealing with matters of the court still.” Matters being a rebellion, which has to be the exact reason Father picked him. I’m certainly not dragging the figureheads of a separate rebellion into his province after he squashed one himself. 

“I’m quite adept at dealing with traitors,” he says, smoothing his large hands over his finely decorated toga. The deep purple fabric, edged in gold matches one of the banners that flies from the rafters and I wonder if there will be more than Illyrian rebels in the Pit today. 

“I hear you’ve been having trouble with your own?”

A very pointed question, but I’m less worried about my answer and more about what Eris might say about it, if the grin on his face is any indication of what’s about to happen. My eyes narrow on him with enough venom that he spins dramatically, calling for a drink. 

Bastard. The last thing I need today is to have to monitor every little thing that comes out his mouth.

I move around the three large males to find my seat, hoping the air of dismissiveness makes it clear how much of this conversation I want to have. “It’s been an adjustment, but it is coming along better than most people seem to believe.”

Eris is watching me with a wicked glint in his eyes over the rim of his goblet and Mother help me I’d take my shoe off and hurl it at his head if I didn’t have to explain myself for it. 

“Keeping them at your residence instead of here with the other gladiators was certainly a bold move, Highness,” Romulus continues, weaseling his way around Tamlin in a move that is incredibly graceful for someone with wings, to steal the seat beside me. 

He’s close enough that I can smell that leather and citrus scent of him. Only the drugs keep me from crinkling my nose in distaste, the scent acrid and harsh in my nostrils. 

“Keep your enemies close, and all that.” I reach for a goblet of wine myself; at this point if the Emperor decides to poison me, well at least I can get out of this damn booth. 

“A reckless decision,” he counters. “It lends ear to the Capital’s gossips and puts you in unnecessary danger. I’d never allow my wife to be in such a precarious position.”

The first real feeling I’ve felt all morning flickers through the fog, rage making my teeth clench. 

“You haven’t earned her hand yet, Romulus,” Eris sneers from his seat behind me. 

The Emperor watches the exchange with amusement, as if this is just another part of the day’s entertainment. 

“I wouldn’t either,” Tamlin mumbles, voice soft in comparison to the others. There’s a lot of fanfare and music coming from the level beneath us, I almost didn’t hear him speak over it. 

Romulus turns to face Eris, weathered face crinkled in a snarl. “I should think the work your Father had to do to keep your whore of a Mother in line would have taught you to keep your females on short leashes.”

Flames erupt in Eris’s eyes, sparks flying from his ringed fingers. 

“Mind yourself,” the Emperor chides, his Guards shifting behind him to reach for their weapons. 

Eris draws a deep breath, teeth pulled back in a sneer, “Watch your mouth, Nephilim.”

“How is Hellion these days?” Romulus presses.

I’m damning myself to a life of misery. Any retribution or show of discomfort on my part guarantees that Father will pick whoever makes me the most uncomfortable, just to get back at me for making a scene. But I can’t sit here and listen to this. 

Maybe a couple weeks ago I would have just kept my mouth shut and my hands in my lap, but I can’t be that girl anymore.

I move like I’m trying to set my goblet on the arm of my chair, but purposefully leave it on the edge so when I let it go it tips right into Romulus’s lap.

The Nephilim jumps out of his seat with a shout of surprise, wine dripping down his toned legs.

The look in Father’s eyes is enough to tell me he knows he’s won, but all I see is gratitude in Eris’s. 

“I’m such a clutz!” I feign embarrassment as a servant with a towel comes over to help. “I’m so sorry, Senator!”

Romulus snatches the towel with a huff. The color of his clothes will hide the worst of it, and the summer heat will dry the wet patch between his legs quickly, but he’ll be sticky for the rest of the day; a small victory. 

“It’s a miracle you haven’t already married her off, Your Majesty,” Romulus snarls at my Father, as if he hadn’t heard me. 

“I’m sure you could find a way to keep her in line, Senator,” Father returns. 

My heart is in my stomach, but at least that means the drugs are finally weaning. 

The servant cleans the rest of the spill off Romulus’s seat and I slide a couple coins out of the purse on my belt and into her hand for the trouble, even as I continue the show of apologizing like I really, truly regret my actions. 

Romulus continues to huff and mutter under his breath, but never directly addresses me for the slight, probably due to the company. This would be a much different circumstance if we were alone, of that I’m certain. 

When another round of drinks makes its way into our booth, it’s Father that snatches it from my hand before I can do anything else with it, a warning glare to behave thrown my way. I duck my head in feign embarrassment and try to make myself as small as possible in my seat, letting them strike up another conversation around me as males typically tend to do in my presence. I can pretend to be small and cower as I used to in the face of their misogyny, just as Mother always taught me. I find myself trying to imagine what she would think of me now, but my mind does not have to wander far. She would be just like Anise. 

A sharp spike of pain filters through the fog. Am I to have no family left at all?

The horns sound, telling the crowd to find their seats before the festivities begin. Amarantha arrives with the twins in tow as the second warning blares. Dagdan leans drunkenly on his sister, already grumbling about the betting pool. Brannagh’s slate colored eyes land on the males around me, brow furrowing when she finds their usual seats occupied by Eris and Tamlin. 

“Looks like you’ll have to find another booth,” Amarantha hisses at them. By the fire in her eyes, it looks like the twins have been doing what they do best and making a nuisance of themselves. Good, it keeps her mind off my mates for a little while. I haven’t forgotten how she’d looked at Rhys the last time she’d seen him.

“Uncle,” Brannagh starts to whine but Father merely motions a hand for the Guards to deal with it and my belligerent cousins are promptly escorted from the overly crowded booth. 

“Quite the family,” Tamlin huffs under his breath. 

“I’ll remember to lock up the wine for the wedding,” Eris says with a grin as he reclines in his seat, long legs stretched out before him, a hand behind his head. He’s reigned in the fire that lives beneath his skin, tamped it down and shoved it into a neat little box where it can be hidden. Perhaps we have always been more alike than I’d ever bothered to notice. I know Azriel will hate it, but perhaps he could be a useful ally one way or another. I will have to bring it to their attention when this is over.

If we all make it through the day. 

The Games Master takes his perch on the podium across the Pit from us, the platform jutting out just slightly to allow the whole arena to have a good view of the gaudily dressed Fae in a ridiculous wig. The mage in all black beside him casts an enhancing spell and the shrill voice of the Games Master echoes through every corner of the arena. “Welcome, welcome! To all our esteemed guests!”

Bookies make their way through the booths, collecting our bets before they close the booths for the show. Eris and Tamlin don’t place any. Romulus frowns at me before scribbling down a number, and I manage to sneakily see Kallias’s Orc written under his bet. 

I don’t bother to shy away from his withering stare as I write out my mates’ names in the margins, and scribble out a number that would make most people faint. I’ve never bothered to look at the exact amount of my inheritance, it’s never been an issue. I don’t even think the number will be a dent. But when they win, that money goes to Illyria, or what’s left of it. 

Amarantha makes sure to tell Father exactly how much she bet against my mates, hoping for a reaction. I remain facing the Pit floor, ignoring her. 

The Pit looks no different than last time, the floor muddy and uneven, littered with bones and debris and scattered, rusty weapons. The section of the wall the Giant had knocked over has been seamlessly restored, not a crack or chip in paint to be seen. It’s as if we never left; it’s a very strange sense of deja vu. 

I send up a few silent prayers to Fortuna and Victoria for my mates’ continued favor, and a third to the Mother in thanks that the Pit is not under water. At least they will have an advantage in that department. 

Worry worms its way into my chest and I focus on my breathing. There are too many beings here watching my every move for me to start chewing on my lip or fiddling with my skirts. I need to keep my mask in place. 

They will win. They will be fine. They will come back to me. One breath, then another. They will win. They will be fine. They will come back to me.

The Games Master announces the first match and Romulus sits a little straighter beside me as some of the remaining rebels from his province are dragged into the Pit in chains.

“Your prisons must be full if you have this many rebels to bring back with you, Senator,” Amarantha muses. 

There are twenty in total. Twelve fighting men, their bare chests tattooed with Nephil runes and battle blessings, all now slashed through with a blade in a public display of humiliation. Three women, their wings bent and broken, some of the feathers missing in chunks like someone had ripped them out by the fistful. Two elders, their backs bowed with age; city officials perhaps. But the last three…

I shut my eyes against the image. The three boys can’t be more than fourteen! Their cheeks still youthfully round and tear streaked. They stand in a semi-circle, away from the others, wings trembling behind them. The chains around their wrists are too big for them, slipping up nearly to their elbows. Their dark hair and bronze complexion remind me too much of mates for my liking, making their place here all the worse. 

“You brought children?” I snarl at the Senator.

“I brought rebels, Highness,” he says curtly.

“They are not even old enough to be out of school.”

“Age has no factor in rebellion, Daughter.” Father chastises. 

He can’t do this! He can’t!

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tamlin wince, but he says nothing. He does nothing in the face of such cruelty. 

Eris meets my gaze and shakes his head subtly in warning. This is not a battle we can have here.

Cowards!

I turn my attention back to Romulus, who smooths a hand over his drying toga like it’s the most entertaining thing in the world. “Take them out of there.”

Across from us the Games Master calls out the rebels' crimes and gets the crowd going as he hypes up their opponents. 

“Too late for that,” Romulus shrugs as the gates open. 

Three Chimera’s come bursting out the gates before they’re fully opened, causing the iron to catch on the lever system that opens them, keeping them locked half way out into the arena. 

If the boys could get back into the tunnels, would they be safe? Was that allowed?

The Nephilim rebels descend into chaos as half of them try to find weapons, and the other half try to run, all while they’re still chained by the wrists to each other. The lion head of the first beast tears through two of the fighting men before they can even turn to find a discarded weapon on the Pit floor. 

The crowd cheers wildly at the first sight of blood. 

The three boys stay together, bent down looking for something in the mud. One of them manages to find a big enough rock, and he frantically bashes it against the chain that connects him to the elder who has curled up into a ball on the floor, wings wrapped around himself like a cocoon. Another grabs a rusty sword from a discolored rib cage on the floor. The weapon is too big for him, his small hands shaking as he tries to get a grip on the worn hilt.

I can’t stop myself from clutching my skirts as I offer up every prayer to the Mother I can think of. 

Some of the rebels rally, using their chains to their advantage as they manage to loop it around one of the beast’s necks and drag it across the Pit floor. The creature makes a terrible howling sound as they slowly cut off its air supply. 

The third beast goes for the weakest link, charging at the second elder with its gaping maw open. 

The elder stays rooted to the spot, weathered head tilted upwards to the sky, hands outstretched. “May the Mother greet me with open arms. May her favor carry me to the Afterlife. May her wrath find those who have wronged me,” he prays.

The crowd boos him.

The female he’s chained to digs her heels into the mud, gripping their joint chain with both hands, trying to pull him out of the line of danger, but he won’t budge. 

Goddess forgive us!

I will hear that crunch of bones and the female’s screams until I draw my dying breath. 

One of the boys falls onto his knees, retching up the contents of his stomach, even as the other manages to finally break the chain that tethers them to the first elder with the rock. He and the one with the sword grab the third boy under the armpits and drag him behind the shelter of a large boulder as that third Chimera abandons its meal to come enjoy the other elder. This one doesn’t pray, and the shelter of his wings around his body only hides his view of his impending doom.

The rebels that managed to take down one of the beasts take a long time to untangle the now bloody chain from the thing’s neck, costing them precious seconds as another launches towards them. One of the females gets her hands on a ruined spear and hurls it with a scream, but the shot goes wide, barely clipping the beast’s ear. She goes first, pulling the next male with her into its jaws. 

I’m going to be sick! The fog is beginning to lift more and more and the title wave of my emotions is almost too much to manage at one time. I find a spot on the wall to fixate on, willing myself to breathe, to not let it overtake me, shoving each into their own quaint little box in the back of my mind. There will be time to let them out later, right now, I need to stay in control. 

A feat easier said than done when the beast finishes off the elder and sets its sights on the boys peeking over the boulder.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Please, they're just children! I don’t know what Goddess I’m praying to any more, what deity I might beg to spare them. I keep a death grip on my skirts. Would a jump from the booth into the Pit kill me? Could I land with enough time to save them? If my powers can be touched just a little, maybe it would be enough…

I lean forward, muscles tensing. They’re running out of time! I have to move and I have to move now--

From the darkness of the half open gate, movement catches my eye. My stomach plummets; not another beast! It moves too fast to track at first, nothing more than a dark blur that rolls out from under the bent iron and hurdles forward. Time slows, I’m suddenly aware of the spraying of dirt as something moves across the Pit floor. The shouts of the crowd feel muffled and far away.

The Chimera prowls closer as the boy with the sword steps out from behind the shelter of the rock, weapon outstretched in his trembling hands. He screams at the monster, voice cracking in an attempt to be brave.

The beast lowers itself into a crouch, serpentine tail switching across the floor, splattering mud in all directions. 

A scream starts to work its way up my throat, my body still too sluggish to follow my command to get out of the seat in time to do anything.

And then a blast of red energy knocks the beast off its path.

Time comes flying back in a rush, the cheering of the crowd turning to shock and outrage. 

“Get back into the tunnel!”

Cassian!

The Illyrian puts himself between the beast and the boys, wings fully outstretched shielding them from view. 

“What the fuck?!” Amarantha drops her goblet of wine, splattering crimson across the floor.

I can’t stop myself from putting a hand over my mouth, nearly choking back a sob. My selfless, stupid mate.

“Go!” Cassian bellows, every bit the General.

The boys can barely be made out from behind Cassian as they sprint for the open door as fast as their legs will carry them, sword forgotten in the mud.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to try and keep the tears at bay. They might kill him for this, he has to know that, and yet he’d come anyway. I don’t know how he’d gotten past the Guards that monitor the tunnels, but he’d done it. 

“Can he do that?” Tamlin asks. 

“No!” Romulus snarls. “Your Majesty, you must do something about him!”

Much to my surprise, my Father shrugs. “If he dies now instead of against the Orc, so be it. What’s one male going to do against two Chimeras?”

The beast gets back on its feet, shaking its massive head to try and right itself again. Cassian crouches low, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting like he just might try and wrestle with it. He’s not wearing the armor I bought him, his chest bare and… bruised? He didn’t have those bruises when he’d been at the house. But the bandage around his thigh is not blood stained, the stitches still hold. 

“You will let him get away with this?” Romulus asks incredulously. 

“We will see what happens,” Father shrugs. “I’m entertained for once.”

The beast stalks forward, ready to pounce and Cassian waits until it moves to launch into the air, using his wings for momentum to get himself up and over the thing’s head. With the tender spot of its back exposed, he has the right angle to hurl another crimson tinted blast of energy at it, effectively breaking its neck. The Chimera crumples to the floor with a howl and Cassian lands hard in the mud, wincing just a bit under the pressure it puts on his wounded leg, beside the spear the female had thrown earlier. He then lifts it high and drives it through the creature’s skull as it twitches and howls at his feet. 

Relief settles into my bones and I find myself leaning back in the seat with a sigh. For the first time all day I can feel that tiny little tether in my chest that links me to my mates and I run a mental hand down it affectionately. I hope he knows, whether he cares what I think or not, how incredible I think he is. How brave and good he is.

There’s still one beast left, and five of the Nephilim still chained together. The boys have made it into the safety of the tunnels, and none of the Guards have tried to shove them back out. I hope that’s a good sign. I will inquire as soon as this is over. There has to be something I can do for them too.

“Here!” There’s a length of chain still attached to a severed arm, and one of the male’s tosses it to Cassian. To his credit he doesn’t bat an eye as he catches the mutilated appendage but it certainly makes my stomach turn.

He works in tandem with the other rebels to use the chain to trip the charging beast and it flips end over end until it slams into the wall.

There aren’t enough words to describe the pride I feel watching him with them. They might have never interacted before, might never see each other again after this, but they have a common goal here. They are gladiators together; fighters with a common enemy. Race or creed doesn’t matter; they are of one mind and they move like they have always fought alongside each other. 

This is how it should be, in everything. 

Cassian still has the spear and when the creature tries to stand he hurls the rusted weapon right through its eye! 

Under different circumstances I would have stopped to admire the rippling of muscle, the gleam of sweat trailing down every ridge and dip in his bronze chest; every bit of him is sculpted for battle. But it’s a battle that’s not over and the realization quickly sours the moment.

“The money he has cost me,” Amarantha snarls at my Father, the only one here who would dare speak such things to his face.

Father runs a hand over his beard thoughtfully, “I’m sure the payout of the next fight will be reward enough.”

The Nephilim file out the broken gates, only eight total compared to the twenty that started. The remains of the others litter the Pit; no attempts to move them are made. Cassian doesn’t even try to walk out, he knows what comes next. He simply collects his spear and waits.

The relief at this first victory is short lived. 

“Well that certainly was entertaining, don’t you think?” The Games Maker calls.

Cassian tilts his head to look up at where the pompous male stands and raises his middle finger at him. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep back a laugh. He is reckless and foolish and yet I think I admire him all the more for it. 

Eris snickers behind me. 

Romulus crosses his arms over his broad chest with a huff. 

“Now, who’s ready for the real show!”

The crowd goes wild, chanting for Kallias’s Orc. The senator’s booth is a few down from ours, far enough away that I can just barely make out where he stands on the balcony, waving for his fans. 

I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t so distracted watching the tunnels, waiting to see Azriel and Rhys. Seconds tick by like hours, my ears straining to hear footsteps from the tunnels--as if I could ever possibly hear something that far away under the din of the crowd, but hope tints everything in shades of possibility. The crowd continues to chant, louder and louder as time continues to tick by. 

I risk a glance at the Emperor, who reclines on his throne, sipping a goblet of wine, eyes bright and… excited. When was the last time my Father was excited about anything?

I look to Amarantha next, if he’s planning anything, she’ll know about it, and it will be much more plain on her face. Her pointed nails scrape absently through the hair of the slave reclined at her feet, other toying with the fragment of bone that hangs around her neck. A surefire sign she’s anticipating something, but aren’t we all?

Dread crawls its way up my insides; maybe I was too distracted about who their opponent should be to focus on what else they might encounter in the arena. It is an effort not to bite the inside of my cheek as two figures finally step out of the ruined gates into the Pit. 

I miss Azriel’s shadow around my ear. I hadn’t truly noticed how great a loss the silence of the bond had been until they were standing there, unable to really hear me. I can feel a glimmer of them there, in the darkness, but nothing like it was. 

When they step out into the light, Rhys’s eyes are on me in an instant, roaming every inch of me like he’s assessing why he can’t reach me. 

Every muscle in my body screams for me to get to him as I take in the bruising around his eyes, the dried blood along his lips. The marks are a twin to Cassian’s and Azriel’s, the dark purple marks smattered across their skin like freckles. None of them are wearing my armor. There’s not an arm guard or chest piece in sight, just their boots and pants, ripped and blood stained. 

My powers simmer deep beneath the surface, a flash of feeling breaking through and then suffocated. Someone beat them before they even got out here! It is an effort not to turn and glare at the Emperor. I don’t have to wonder hard about who that someone was. 

He’ll pay for this! For every last cut!

The crowds’ cheering turns to booing and cursing as the three step into the center of the Pit, collecting weapons as they go.

“Quite the crowd favorite,” Tamlin sneers. 

“You encountered them in your province, did you not?” The Emperor asks. 

“Once or twice,” Tamlin admits. “I made it clear they weren’t welcome.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from telling them to shut up as Kallias’s Orc lumbers out of his side of the Arena. The male is monstrous! As tall as Cassian and twice as broad, leathery skin a patchwork of scar tissue. The left side of his temple sags over an eye that’s too cloudy to be functioning; nose bent at an odd angle. Each breath is a rumbled wheeze as he stalks to the center of the Pit, a belt of wicked looking daggers already around his chest.

Azriel assesses him from head to toe, calculating, then inclines his head towards Cassian as they silently confer. They seem to have a language all their own, no words or even Rhys’s abilities necessary. I can practically see them forming the battle strategy with just the movement of their eyes. 

I’d breath a little easier about my choice if the ground beneath us didn’t start rumbling. 

I risk a glance at my Father as one of the Mage’s standing with the Grandmaster starts furiously waving his pale hands, blue sparks of magic flying from his skeletal fingers.

“I think you’ll like the entertainment, daughter.”

My stomach pitches violently as the Pit floor cracks and splinters like old wood. Cassian’s arms pinwheel, trying to keep his balance as the ground beneath his boots suddenly shoots into the air! It happens so fast he gets airborne, wings flapping hard to try and find his balance again.

The Orc tips his swollen head back and laughs as the ground to his right sinks like a crater, a billow of steam rising in its wake.

Shit! The blast of heat from the quickly disappearing earth is unmistakable, the air tinted with a hint of sulphur. That’s lava!

Rhys grabs onto a jagged piece of earth that shoots up into the air as the rest of the ground beneath him crumbles into a pool of fire. 

“Lava?” Eris asks incredulously. Of all the crazy things this Arena has seen, it’s never been something like this. The ground continues to shift and rise, new pieces of steaming rock rising from the depths as others sink beneath the boiling waves. 

This is a new low. 

“The last challenge was too easy, the Gamemaker had plenty of complaints for me.” The Emperor takes a sip of his wine with a shrug. “I let him get creative.”

I have to stop this! This has to be some kind of bad dream! The drugs in my veins are making me hallucinate. 

That has to be it, right?

Azriel perches precariously on a thin strip of rock, arms outstretched to keep his balance. If he tips backward by even a hair, he’s going right down into the lava! 

Our eyes meet for a brief second and everything around us momentarily falls away. The grin he sends me is cocky, roguish; he winks and then he dives, rusted knife in hand, right on the Orc’s head!

Cauldron fucking boil me!

The ground the Orc stands on is not big enough to maneuver in, he has enough time to duck his lumpy head and take the full brunt of the blade and Azriel’s weight right on his shoulder. Azriel uses the momentum of the fall to swing himself up and around to another patch of safe ground a foot away, leaving the blade embedded out of the Orc’s reach. 

“Fucking hell!” Romulus hisses beside me.

Azriel’s barely got his footing before Cassian makes a flying dive, spinning in dizzying circles like a bird of prey around the moving pieces of earth to blast the Orc with a wave of red tinted magic that makes blood spray. 

The crowd gasps as the Orc’s ear goes flying into the lava and the male falls to his knees gripping his head. 

This fight might actually be over faster than the last one!

The coordination the three of them have is breathtaking! The moment Cassian flies out of the way, Rhys is there, leaping from rock to rock until he can get close enough to blast the Orc off its perch with a wave of star tinted ether. They’re movements are flawless, picking up right where the other left off with no room in between. This is a rhythm they’ve found a thousand times.

The Orc tumbles, slamming into jagged pieces of rock, hands scrapping for purchase, managing to catch itself at the last possible second. It dangles not more than an inch above the bubbling stream of lava.

Beside the Gamesmaker, the Mage’s hands move furiously and the piece of rock rises higher and higher, until the Orc can find a new place to stand on.

Cheater!

“Wonderful! Look how agile Kallias’s competitor is!” The Gamesmaker declares with an exaggerated clap of his hands. 

If it had been Cassian, the rock would have sunk. I should have been prepared for fowl play, but the obvious sight of it has me biting the inside of my cheek. 

A servant comes to wipe the sweat off the Mage’s brow as he continues to select which pieces of the Arena to sink or float. What I would give to have Azriel’s shadows! To be able to use them to distract the Mage and keep the playing field level! Sometimes the pieces separate mid way through their ascent and float like boulders aimlessly across the air until they hit the Arena walls and crumble. 

This makes people cheer all the more, as if this is a new interactive mode of the fight for their entertainment. 

Rhys finds his footing across a spinning boulder, trying to get the right angle for another blow and right as he finds one, small grooves in the arena walls open with a clunk and flying discs come shooting out like arrows!

What now?!

The disks are fast, zipping across the Arena with a buzzing noise not unlike a bee. One hits Rhys right between the shoulder blades and the contact makes a wave of crackling energy pulse from the center, skittering across his bare skin, filling the Arena with the scent of burning flesh as he tumbles from his perch and lands hard on a piece of rock three feet beneath him.

“RHYS!” Cassian screams as he dives down after him, racing to get there in case the ground drops out from under him before he stops twitching.

“New toys of yours, Your Majesty?” Romulus inquires.

My mate lays there on his back, eyes glazed over, muscles spasming in waves that I can see from my damn seat.

I have to stop this!

“My Mages have been working for months to get them just right,” the Emperor says proudly. “It’s taken quite some time to get the spellwork and disc shape just right, but with proper training, I hope to send them out with our armies to handle larger… opposition.”

Romulus rubs his hands together gleefully. 

“This is our first official testing before we begin mass production.”

Goddess! He just found a huge fucking upper hand and he’s using my mates as test subjects to get the finer details right. I need to get them out of there now!

The Orc finally manages to get his bearings again, and with a shout, he jumps up, using his hands and feet to find purchase in any and every shifting rock and climbs his way towards where Rhys lays, the easiest prey out of the three. 

Azriel, weaponless now with his blade still in the Orc’s shoulder, chases after him anyway, leaping from spot to spot, but the faster he tries to climb, the more the ground shifts beneath him! Every time he starts to catch up, his perch suddenly shoots down into the lava, taking him right back to where he started each and every time. 

My stomach shoots itself into my throat. I need to think and think fast! Jumping down there isn’t going to do them any good, not when my powers still slumber, no matter how deep I try to dig. No amount of panic breaks through the fog to drag them back to the surface. Anise has thoroughly ruined any chance I had at using them to save my mates. 

If I make a scene, would it be enough? 

Cassian throws a blast of energy but it goes wide. His wings still give him the advantage, the ground won’t be his problem, but just when I think he might reach Rhys first, another one of those disks come hurtling across the Arena, slamming right into his chest!

The carefully crafted mask I’ve managed to hold onto by a mere thread cracks, a choked sound slipping out of me as I try to bite back a full scream. Romulus’s attention is now fully on me as Cassian plummets towards the lava.

“Highness?”

Azriel’s not going to get there fast enough, nor will the Gamemakers’ Mage give him the footing he needs to get there. His only shot is to throw out a blast of blue tinted magic at one of the spinning boulders. It spins like a top as it hurtles across the Arena, right into Cassian’s path. He’s falling too fast, his body hits the rock and bounces like a ball. It’s only by some miracle, some divine influence that the trajectory of the fall knocks him right into Rhys and the two of them don’t slide right off their perch!

The Emperor’s looking at me now, brows raised inquisitively. 

Welp, here goes nothing!

I fan myself with my hand. The stress has sweat clinging to my skin anyway, might as well use it to my advantage. “I don’t feel so well.”

I can practically hear Amarantha roll her eyes. “I told you she wouldn’t have the constitution for this.”

“Let’s get you some water,” Eris suggests.

I let myself go limp and slump in my seat so fast I accidentally fall right out of it as I pretend to faint. 

Romulus curses.

Father just sighs. “Useless fucking girl.”

Somebody with a palm frond runs over to fan me to try and cool me off as I keep my eyes shut and my breathing shallow. 

The seconds tick by and I hope and pray that my Father is so vindictive he’d actually pause the Games just to make me watch them later once I’ve recovered. It’s one of the few cards I can play. 

It’s Eris that lifts me off the floor and back to my seat, the cinnamon and ember scent of him clinging to my damp skin as he scoops me off the floor. 

“Should I fetch a healer?” Tamlin asks.

My Father huffs and I hear him shuffle around for a moment, then he tosses a cup of water directly in my face!

I let my body react on instinct, jerking upright with a splutter and cough worthy of a theater performance. 

Not a single person outside the booth has noticed. 

“Dramatic as always, daughter,” Father sighs as he goes back to his seat. 

A servant remains to fan me, the only face aside from Eris that looks genuinely concerned and not irritated. 

The match continues to play out before us completely and utterly unhindered by my antics and my heart sinks into my chest. 

Father calls for another glass of wine and takes a sip, watching as the Orc inches closer to my mates. “Wouldn’t want you to miss such an important moment, now would we?”

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

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[jamieroyjamieroy]

“I’ve been the cause of some bad blood.”

“No one meant to exclude you Evan.”

“Nobody is looking at us Evan.”

“I think you’re adorable but I don’t think you are ready.”

“I didn’t cut things short because you behaved badly, I did it because I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Well that’s not true.”

“If I had known I never would have used that word. I do not think you are a himbo.”

“Evan that is so sweet.”

“You’re an incredible guy. Big hearted. Hot as hell. Funny. Impulsive.”

“No matter how bad I want to be I’m not your last.”

“If I were to move in with you, you wouldn’t mean to, you wouldn’t plan for it but you would end up breaking my heart. And I don’t think I could deal with that.”

“Got it.”

“I have a shift later. Evan thank you for last night. It was fun.”

Buck stands in Eddie’s his kitchen looking at the breakfast that was loving prepared for him and thinks about all the times Tommy has forgiven him for putting his foot in his mouth. All the times Tommy has softened the blow as he left him behind. Again and again and again. He knew he messed up as soon as he stopped talking and saw Tommy’s face fall. Buck bangs his head on his fridge door. There is a rattling inside from how hard he thumped his head against it. Opening the fridge door he sees only the bare shelves. Opening the freezer door he finds a bottle of champagne. God he is an asshole. Tommy wanted to try again. Tommy has been thinking about calling him for months. Tommy has been driving by the loft.

Buck didn’t get to tell Tommy how many nights he laid awake wanting to call him. Buck didn’t get to tell Tommy how many hours he spent baking so he wouldn’t call him. Tommy has no idea how many shifts Buck annoyed everyone with his incessant questions about whether to call Tommy or not. Tommy has no idea that Buck couldn’t look at another person and want them the way he wanted Tommy. The way he still wants him. Racing out his house barefoot and carrying the bottle of champagne Buck is going to chase him down and tell him. He isn’t letting Tommy go this time. He can’t be so close to getting everything he could ever dream of and letting it slip through his fingers. Not again. He only hopes Tommy doesn’t run too fast. Not that Buck will stop this time. He knows who he loves and it’s about time he told Tommy it’s him. It will only ever be Tommy that has his heart.

[mandoalorian]

meet cute [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Congress & Carnality Prologue

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Moving to New York was supposed to be a fresh start. You didn’t expect to cross paths with a stranger who offered a helping hand—or that fate would throw him back into your life in the most unexpected way. Now, navigating a new job and an enigmatic boss, you start to wonder if this city has more surprises in store than you bargained for.

Word Count: 3100

Tags/warnings: 18+ fic series. employer x employee.

Masterlist

congress & carnality masterlist

Brooklyn was alive with the hum of the city—horns blaring, distant laughter floating through the air, the occasional shout of a street vendor trying to make a sale. The summer heat had begun to cool with the setting sun, but your skin still stuck to the fabric of your shirt as you strained to lift the last of the boxes from the moving van.

It wasn’t going well.

You gritted your teeth, adjusting your grip on the heavy cardboard box labeled BOOKS – HEAVY AS HELL in thick marker. You had been ambitious, thinking you could handle moving all your things alone. Your new apartment was on the third floor, the elevator was out of service, and your arms were already aching.

"Come on, come on," you muttered under your breath, trying to shift the weight in your hands. Just a few more steps to the front door—

"You need a hand with that?"

The deep voice startled you, making you jump. You turned too quickly, and the box wobbled dangerously in your arms, your grip slipping. Before you could react, strong hands reached out, steadying it with ease.

"Whoa—got it," the man said smoothly, catching the box before it could meet the pavement.

Your heart pounded, both from the near disaster and the sudden presence of him.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark t-shirt that stretched across his chest in a way that made your stomach flip. His dark hair was a little longer, pushed back like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. But it was his eyes that caught you—steel blue, sharp and assessing, yet softened by something unreadable.

He was handsome. Like, ridiculously handsome. And familiar.

“I saw you from across the street,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck. “Looked like you needed a hand. Forgive me for overstepping, ma’am.”

Ma’am? Was this man trapped in the 40s? “No you’re all good,” You swallowed, clearing your throat. "Uh—thanks."

"You sure you got this?" he asked, glancing at you with a teasing smirk as he easily lifted the box like it weighed nothing. "Looked like you were about to start a wrestling match with it."

You narrowed your eyes. "I had it under control."

"Right," he drawled, clearly unconvinced. "That's why you were losing?"

Your lips pressed together, but despite yourself, you let out a small huff of laughter. "Fine. Maybe I was struggling a little."

"Kinda figured," he said, shifting the box effortlessly under one arm. "Where to?"

You hesitated. "You really don’t have to—"

"Third floor?"

You sighed in defeat. "…Yes."

"Then I’m helping."

You knew better than to argue with someone who looked like they could carry your entire bookshelf up the stairs without breaking a sweat. You grabbed a smaller box to at least pretend you were contributing and led him toward the building.

"You new to the area?" he asked as you climbed the stairs, barely winded. Meanwhile, your legs were already burning.

"Yeah," you panted. "Just moved here for work."

"Work, huh?" His voice held a note of interest.

"Technically nowhere yet," you admitted with a dry laugh. "I have an interview tomorrow."

"Big deal?"

"Could be. It’s for a political assistant position."

His steps faltered just for a second, so brief you almost missed it.

"Politics, huh?"

"Yeah. Not my first choice, but… I need the money. And I figure it’s a good stepping stone."

He hummed, unreadable. "Well, if it’s meant to be, you’ll get it.”

You raised a brow at that, watching him effortlessly balance the heavy box in one hand. His other hand, clad in a single dark leather glove, flexed as he adjusted his grip.

Your curiosity got the better of you. "What’s with the glove?” 

His expression didn’t change, but there was the slightest pause before he shrugged. "Fashion statement."

You smirked. "Oh, sure. You just had to be the guy who wears one leather glove in the middle of summer."

"Exactly," he said smoothly. "Real trendsetter."

You laughed, eyeing his physique. "Are you a bodybuilder or something?"

He grinned, a soft blush kissing his cheeks when he realised you were checking him out. "Something like that."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "You’re being very mysterious."

"Am I?" His smirk widened.

"Yes. And it’s suspicious."

"You think I’m suspicious?"

"A little."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe I just enjoy keeping you on your toes."

Your stomach did an unexpected flip at that, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on not tripping over the stairs.

When you reached your apartment, he set the box down effortlessly while you huffed and wiped sweat from your brow. He turned to you, rubbing his palms together as if dusting them off.

"There you go. Least I could do.”

You hesitated. "Thanks… I uh— I appreciate your help,” You said awkwardly, extending your arm to shake the man’s gloved hand. You registered the weight of it, a strong and firm grip. “Do you live round here?”

“Ah, no,” The man replied. “Used to. Was born here, actually. But that was a while ago and everything looks so different now. I hardly recognise it,” You quirked an eyebrow. The man appeared no older than 40 and you could’ve sworn the neighbourhood hadn’t changed that much.  “I live in uptown Manhattan.”

You laughed. “Wow, fancy,” you tutted, jokingly rolling your eyes. “How come you’re here in Brooklyn?”

“Promised I’d meet with Sam for a drink later, he’s a friend, I mean, he’s actually more of a headache,” he replied, clearly unimpressed with himself.

“You know I didn’t catch your name.” You laughed. In the past five minutes you’d learned the name of this Brooklyn-born body builder’s friend and discussed his keen eye for fashion trends, and yet, you didn’t even know his name. 

Something flickered across his face, a split-second hesitation. Then, smoothly, he said, "Bucky."

Bucky.

The name stirred something in your mind. But before you could dwell on it, he was already backing up, a small smirk on his lips.

"Good luck tomorrow," he said. "Hope you get the job."

You wanted to say something else—to ask if you’d see him again. But the words caught in your throat, and before you could untangle them, he was already turning down the hallway, disappearing into the stairwell.

You sighed, shaking your head. If it’s meant to be…

Yeah, right. What were the chances you'd ever run into him again?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Late. You were so late.

When your eyes fluttered open that morning, it was already too bright outside. Too bright meant one thing—you had overslept.

The moment you turned your head to check the time on your phone, panic set in like ice in your veins.

8:43 AM.

Your interview was at 9:30 AM.

In Manhattan.

Your stomach dropped.

"Shit—!"

You flew out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets as you scrambled to the bathroom, fumbling to brush your teeth while simultaneously yanking a hairbrush through your tangled strands. Your carefully planned, professional morning routine? Completely out the window.

By the time you threw on your blouse and blazer—both slightly wrinkled—and snatched up your bag, it was already 8:57.You bolted down the stairs of your apartment building, the adrenaline in your veins the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

The subway was packed. Of course it was—rush hour in New York.

You squeezed yourself into the train, clutching onto the pole with one hand while you rifled through your bag with the other, checking for your resume.

Crumpled.

Great.

The train lurched forward, and you stumbled, mumbling a curse. Your reflection in the dirty subway window revealed wide, stressed-out eyes, flushed cheeks, and a shirt that looked like it had been rolled into a ball before you put it on. Fantastic first impression.

The train ride felt eternal, every stop stretching time like torture.

By the time you finally made it to Uptown Manhattan, you were sweating. You raced up the steps to street level, nearly twisting your ankle in your heels as you sprinted down the crowded sidewalk.

The office building came into view, towering over you with its sleek glass facade. You skidded to a stop inside, gasping for breath as you approached the receptionist.

"I'm—I'm here for the—interview," you panted, pushing hair from your face.

She barely glanced up. "Mr. Barnes is expecting you."

You straightened, trying to regain a semblance of dignity. Mr. Barnes? The name meant nothing to you. You nodded, smoothing your clothes before pushing through the doors.

And then—you froze.

Because sitting behind the massive mahogany desk, was Bucky.

Your Bucky.

Except… not your Bucky.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

Oh. Oh.

His smirk was slow and smug, his eyes filled with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.

"Surprise," he murmured, a coy smile playing on his lips.

Your stomach plummeted.

Oh, shit.

The straight navy blue suit was very different to the black tec-top he was wearing when you had met him yesterday. His hair had been combed back with a little product placed in it to keep it from falling out of his face. You stood there, still, like a tin of milk, blinking in disbelief at the Congressman you were stood before. 

“Well, you could at least take a seat, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled, pulling your seat out like a gentleman. 

Your legs moved on autopilot, your mind still reeling as you sank down into the chair. You tried to steady your breathing, smoothing your clammy hands over your skirt as you forced yourself to focus.

He walked over to the drinks trolley, picking out a crystal glass. “Want a drink?”

“Wa-water would be good,” you swallowed, stiffly sitting into the chair and taking your crumpled resume out of your purse, doing your best to straighten it out the best you could. 

“You’re thirty minutes late,” Bucky acknowledged. “But your shirt is inside out so I won’t be too harsh on you.”

You gasped looking down at yourself. He was right. How had that even happened? 

Bucky handed you the glass of ice water and slid into the chair, opposite you, behind the obnoxiously large mahogany wood desk. 

“You're staring.” His voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing as you tried to form words. Any words.

"You—You're him!" you finally sputtered. “Congressman James Buchanan Barnes!"

“Just Bucky is fine," he corrected, his lips twitching. "But yeah. Still me."

Your pulse thundered in your ears. "You're—You're a Congressman?"

His smirk widened. "Something like that."

You shot him a glare. "That’s the same thing you said when I asked if you were a bodybuilder."

"I was being vague for a reason."

"You—!" You exhaled sharply, gripping the folder in your hands so tightly the edges crumpled. Your eyes scanned your resume one last time before handing it over to him. ”This is the political assistant job?"

"That would be correct."

"And you’re the one hiring for it?"

Another nod.

You could kill him.

Bucky only watched you with a maddeningly calm expression, clearly enjoying your struggle to process reality. This was still an interview. Your interview. And you were going to nail it—whether or not the man across from you was someone who had once carried your heavy-ass book box like it weighed nothing.

Bucky leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "So," he said, voice settling into something more businesslike. "Tell me why you want to work for me."

You straightened, lifting your chin. "I'm interested in politics, and I think working as a congressional assistant would be a valuable step in gaining experience."

He arched a brow. "But not your dream job?"

You hesitated. "No," you admitted. "But I want to learn. I want to understand how things work from the inside."

His sharp blue gaze studied you for a long moment. "And you’re okay working in a… morally gray environment?"

Your brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Bucky sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Politics isn't exactly clean. There's a lot of… persuasion, deal-making, bending the truth."

You swallowed. "I can handle it."

That made him smile. It was small, approving.

"Alright, then," he said, leaning back. "You’re hired."

Your eyes widened. "What?"

"Congratulations, sweetheart." His grin was teasing. "You just became my new assistant.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Bucky led you through the winding halls of the congressional office, his presence steady beside you. The space was sleek—wood-paneled walls, modern glass partitions, the faint hum of ringing phones and muted conversations filling the air. You tried to take it all in, the sheer gravity of where you were now working.

You had just started feeling like you could breathe again when Bucky turned a corner and led you into an open office space filled with desks, most of them occupied by young, fast-talking, coffee-fueled staffers who barely spared you a glance.

But one person did notice you immediately.

She was perched against the edge of a desk, legs crossed, her deep red dress fitted to perfection. She had long honey blonde hair, pristine makeup, and an air of effortless authority that made it clear she was used to being in charge.

Her gaze swept over you in an instant—assessing, calculating. And then she smirked.

"So, this is the new girl?"

You forced a polite smile, ignoring the sharp prickle of discomfort that ran down your spine. "That’s me."

Tara’s eyes flicked over to Bucky, amusement dancing in her gaze. "I see why you hired her."

Your stomach clenched at the implication.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Bucky cut in smoothly, his tone firm. "Tara."

She glanced at him, feigning innocence. "What? It’s just an observation."

"You promised to play nice," he reminded her.

She hummed, tilting her head at you. "I am being nice."

You arched a brow. "I'd hate to see what not nice looks like."

That seemed to amuse her. "Oh, you’ll find out," she said lightly before pushing off the desk. "Welcome to the team, sweetheart." With that, she strode past you, the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.

You exhaled, finally turning back to Bucky. "Well. She seems charming."

Bucky chuckled. "You’ll get used to her."

"I doubt that."

His smirk grew. "Tara’s tough, but she’s good at her job."

You folded your arms. "Is she always like that?"

"Like what?"

You shot him a flat look. "You know what."

He sighed, rubbing his jaw. "She’s protective. She likes to test people."

"Test people? Or test me?"

Bucky’s lips twitched. "A little of both."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push further.

"Come on," he said, nodding towards the exit. "You survived your first day. That means you deserve a reward."

You frowned. "A reward?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Coffee. On me."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The café Bucky led you to was small, nestled into a quiet corner of Manhattan. It had warm lighting, the scent of roasted espresso beans filling the air, and a cozy charm that made you instantly feel at ease.

You stepped inside, grateful for the slower pace compared to the chaos of the office. Bucky guided you to a table near the window, and as you sat, you let out a long breath.

"Better?" he asked, watching you.

You nodded. "Much."

A barista came by to take your orders—Bucky got a simple black coffee, while you opted for something with far too much sugar and whipped cream.

As soon as the barista left, you looked at him, narrowing your eyes playfully. "So. Congressman Barnes."

Bucky groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can just call me Bucky, y'know."

You smirked. "Oh, I know. But I’m still reeling from the fact that you didn’t tell me you were a politician when I met you."

"I didn’t lie to you," he said innocently. "I just… didn’t offer unnecessary details."

You scoffed. "Not unnecessary! You made me think you were some guy who just walked around offering free labour to people moving into their apartments."

He shrugged. "Maybe I am that guy."

"Yeah, and maybe I’m the Queen of England."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. I’ll admit it—I should’ve told you."

You leaned forward, propping your elbows on the table. "Why didn’t you?"

His smirk faded just slightly, his eyes darkening.

"Would you have acted differently?" he asked. "If you knew who I was?"

You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated. Would you have?

You weren’t sure.

He saw the conflict on your face and smiled knowingly. "Exactly."

You huffed. "Still. You let me ramble on about my job search when you knew you were the one I was applying to work for!"

He grinned. "That was my favorite part."

You kicked him lightly under the table.

He chuckled, reaching for his coffee as the barista returned with your drinks. You took a slow sip of yours, savoring the warmth, before glancing at him again.

"So, tell me," you said. "What exactly does being your assistant entail?"

Bucky smirked. "Keeping me in line."

You snorted. "That sounds like a full-time job and overtime."

"You’re not wrong," he admitted. "You’ll help with scheduling, policy briefings, liaising with the press. And, sometimes…" He hesitated. "You’ll deal with people like Tara."

You made a face. "Ah. So ‘babysitter’ should be in the job description."

He chuckled. "Something like that."

There was a moment of quiet between you two, the soft hum of café chatter around you.

Then Bucky spoke again, his voice softer this time.

"I wanted to ask you out for coffee the other day," he admitted. "When I helped you move."

Your breath caught.

"But I chickened out," he continued, looking down at his cup. "Figured I missed my chance."

You tilted your head. "And now?"

"Now?" He looked up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. "Now, I finally have an excuse."

Your pulse stuttered.

Fate.

You had told yourself that if it was meant to be, you’d cross paths again.

And here you were.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave @pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs @abitofblues @ferretferretferret @helen-2003 @notreallythatlost @opheliagreenaway @flowerluvr @lil-riddle-kiddle

[if you want to be added or removed from taglist, lmk<3]

[twinkrotica]

1. probably misgendering and anything to do with incest roleplay or wtv

2. 2 years

3. yes but like. as in anything over 5 inches is a no go. i am NOT a size king unfortunately

4. probably my ex boyfriend who randomly asked me to misgender him in the middle of sexting without talking to me about it first

5. yes 💔

6. nowhere yet!!

7. hair pulling, collaring, edging, overstim...the list just goes on 😭

8. no thank god . i think i probably would kms

9. in general i like my chest and thighs least and i like my eyes and stomach most xd

10. i like that im pretty funny most of the time but i hate that sometimes i cant read the room

11. uhhhhh nothing

12. never ? 😭

13. anything anal sex. like NO back the actual hell away ❤️

14. eyefuck a hot guy for like 30 seconds straight and look away like nothing happened

15. that my bf was here :-(

16. my bf running his fingers through my hair

17. NOOOOO ABSOLUTELY NOT. NEVER EVER . NO

18. uuuhhhhhh.h i already have

19. i dunno i dont pay attention i just either hope i get the courage to kiss them or they kiss me. i really domt care i overthink too much to pay attention

20. uhhh i havent been given any i just rawdog it

21. all of them ? hello??

22. both!!!!

23. none :-(

24. like probably 7 1/2 most days

25. if im stalking their likes and they have a bunch of like. misgendering or detrans or incest kink shit there thats immediately a red flag 2 me personally

26. my bf . duh

27. no tbh. like when we're dating i dont care if you think someone else is hot but the moment you cheat im just done with you . like im a rly romantic person so like all that gay shit i said was for nothing like errrr what.

28. any as long as its from my boyfriend :3c

29. sorta?

30. nope

31. yes :3

32. no amd i dont plan on it!

33. no thank god 😭

34. no. hello why did it repeat

35. nope

36. nope

37. nuh uh

38. if ur fingering someone. you NEED lube. doesnt matter if theyre wet already its better to be safe than sorry!!! also. pls relax your fucking fingers 😭 nobody wants to get their insides poked at instead of fucked. also BODY LANGUAGE. PLS. UNDERSTAND IT.

39. hand holding duh

40. evening or night

41. trying to get out of the habit of being dead silent!!!! like im so used to not making any noise but like. i kinda have to so he knows im like. actually enjoying whats happening

42. like probably an hour, it doesnt just have to be kissing and touching either you can literally just look at me and. boom waterfall

43. the OPPOSITE because what if someone else watches it

45. mostly tired and extremely hungry/thirsty

46. i was explaining how i most likely had a chipped molar and my bf said "oh which one is it?" and i said my right lower molar and he was like "i just said that because i wanted to have my fingers in your mouth" LIKE HELLO blunt much...but like. you dont have to ask WAIT WHO SAID THAT

47. not like excessively but yea

48. uuuhhh none because hashtag anorgasmia probably.

49. its. its sex. how is it incest we're the same person. and how is it masturbation we're in different bodies. its sex between 2 people. hello

NSFW asks cuz the other lists are too big or too boring, limit of 3

1. What's your biggest turn-off?

2. What's the largest age gap between you and a sexual partner?

3. Does size really matter?

4. Who was your worst sexual partner?

5. Have you ever faked an orgasm?

6. Where's the riskiest place you've done it?

7. Do you have any unusual fetishes?

8. Have you ever been caught in the act?

9. What do you like least and like most about your body?

10. What do you like least and like most about your personality?

11. What's the craziest thing you've done to attract someone's attention?

12. When's the last time you were flat-out rejected and how did you handle it?

13. What's your biggest sexual fear?

14. What's the most flirtatious thing you've ever done?

15. If one wish could come true right now, what would it be?

16. What's the strangest thing that ever turned you on?

17. How do you really feel about anal?

18. How far would you go to land the partner of your dreams?

19. Do you like when someone else makes the first move?

20. Best dating advice you've ever been given?

21. What's the best kiss you've ever had?

22. Do you prefer to give or to receive?

23. Most outrageous sex dream you've ever had?

24. On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is your sex drive?

25. What's a red flag for you in a relationship?

26. Who would you have fucked if you thought you two would never be caught?

27. Do you think a relationship can come back from cheating?

28. What's your favorite kind of kiss?

Have you ever...

29. Sent nudes to someone?

30. Had public sex?

31. Had phone sex?

32. Had a threesome?

33. Accidentally sent nudes to the wrong person?

34. Had a threesome?

35. Sexted while at work?

36. Fucked someone at work?

37. Watched porn with someone else?

38. What is something you wish people knew about sex?

39. What's your favorite way to show casual intimacy?

40. Do you prefer morning or evening sex?

41. What's the most challenging part about sex?

42. Ideally, how long does foreplay last?

43. Does the idea of recording porn with someone turn you on?

44. What's the last thing you came to?

45. Do you feel tired or energized after sex?

46. What's the hottest thing someone has ever said to you?

47. Do you like the scent of sweat?

48. What's the most memorable orgasm you've ever had?

49. Is fucking your CLONE incest or masturbation?

50. Ask me anything!

[bluebutterflytattooed]

Loser Lesbian Ellie Williams x Mean Girl Reader

CHAPTER THREE

The next day, you feel like an absolute mess walking into school. Your hands are shaking, your eyes are darting around in search of Ellie. Shit, you were too stressed this morning to even make your daily chai.

Of course, you don’t look like a mess. You have on low waisted jeans from Hollister, paired perfectly with a pink crop top which no one will ever know that you thrifted. Your lips are perfectly glossed, your jewelry shines, your hair is straightened and flowing down your back.

No one will know about the terrible mistake you made last night.

Except for Ellie, of course.

The girl that you see immediately, the very moment you walk through the school doors. She’s wearing her usual weird emo get-up, black jeans, extremely fucked-up Conversse, and a flannel over her band t-shirt. The same band t-shirt from the post you liked last night. She looks happier than usual, satisfied with herself almost. It’s like she’s waiting for you.

Your suspicions are confirmed as she immediately approaches you. You curl your lip at her, hating that you have to look up at her slightly.

“What the hell do you want, Williams?” You snap, adjusting the tote bag that’s slung over your shoulder. You know exactly what she wants, but you will not give her the satisfaction of even more satisfaction.

“I think you know, Y/N,” She says, grinning. You hate her stupid smile, all toothy and genuine. It’s like she’s teasing you, instead of the other way around. “What were ya’ up to last night?”

“It’s creepy that you want to know so much about me,” You say, staring straight ahead as you walk towards the girl's bathroom. You don’t need to use it, you’re just trying to find an escape from this conversation. “Especially about my night time activities.”

You realize all too late that some could take that sentence in a sexual way. You wince at yourself as Ellie raises an eye brow. She could use some eyebrow gel, you think to yourself.

“Um, alright…” She trails off awkwardly. “I’m talking about the, uh, post you liked. On Instagram.” Her voice has turned into practically a squeak. You smirk at how high pitched her tone has become, at her nervousness, at how small she seems despite the couple of inches she has on you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrug, still refusing to look directly at her.

“Yes you do, I know you do!” She protests. “Why were you stalking me?” Her formerly mouse-like voice becomes accusatory.

You swallow hard. There’s no getting around this. She’s going to become persistent and more annoying than usual, like a pesky little bug. A mosquito, perhaps. A fly that just won’t die no matter what. “Because your account is so fucking stupid, and I needed something to laugh at. You’re like a Disney princess, with all those animals,” You finally turn to look at her, crossing your arms and looking Ellie up-and-down. “You don’t look like a Disney princess though. Maybe one of the Seven Dwarfs, though.” You laugh at your own joke, even though it sounds more like a giggle than you intended.

“More of a princess than you are,” It’s rare that she’s sassy back to you. She usually just takes your words and disposes of them as soon as you leave her alone. “But are you su-u-u-ure you didn’t like my account? That one post?”

“Oh my god, Williams,” You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “You’re so desperate.”

She opens her mouth to retort back, but the bell rings for first period, cutting off her words. You shrug at her, walking off to class and swiping lipgloss over your perfect lips, pleased that conversation is over and done with.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You should’ve known that your time without Ellie and the constant reminder of the ‘Instagram Incident’ wouldn’t last for long. It’s your last class of the day, one of your favorites to be honest since you get to be creative: Film. It’s rare in school that you get to let loose a bit, lose the popular, mean girl persona and be creative and fun.

The only downside to this class is that Ellie Williams takes it too, ever the nerd.

You sigh heavily as you take your seat in the classroom, surrounding my quiet gossiping conversation and laughs from classmates that don’t have to worry about concealing themselves for the sake of social status. Not long after you do, Ellie comes into the class, her stringed earphones in as always, likely playing some indie band no one has ever heard of. You scoff at her, the noise barely audible. Somehow, Ellie notices and casts you a dirty look. You ignore it.

The class begins soon enough, the teacher, Miss Hanson, talking for a while before she announces a group project: a short film on a life changing event of your choice, fictional or not. It’s a prompt that you like, considering that you have had many life changing events yourself. You’re ready and excited for the project, already coming up with ideas in your yellow notebook, until Miss Hanson begins to assign groups of four, reading off of her attendance list. It’s not as if you dislike the people in this class, but you don’t exactly like them either. Most of them are weird and don’t wear deodorant, which happens to be your greatest pet peeve of all time.

Everything is going well, you’re still excited, until Miss Hanson’s voice rings out through the room: “Y/N, Ellie…” Followed by two other classmates: Dina and Riley. They’re both friends with Ellie, which makes this so much worse. You’re about to be surrounded by people that, some time throughout high school, you have made fun of.

It feels like it’s been years by the time you finally make your way over to Ellie, Dina, and Riley’s table. You drag your feet, refusing to look up from the floor, and once you’ve sat down, refusing to look up from the notebook in front of you. The chattering at the table dies down as soon as you settle into your seat.

“Y/N,” Dina says curtly, addressing your presence with a civil hello.

“Hi,” You mumble. Your usually larger-than-life voice and persona has been diluted to nothing. Is it guilt you feel? No, it can’t be. You are anything but a guilty person filled with regret.

“We’re going over ideas for the topic,” Riley tells you. You finally look up, nodding at her. With a glance around the table, you can tell that Riley is not happy to see you, Dina looks indifferent, not even negative about it, and Ellie?

Ellie’s freckled face has turned bright red.

Not that you’ve noticed she has freckles. Because you have not noticed that.

“What was your idea, Els?” Dina turns her attention to her best friend. “You were saying it a minute ago.” Ellie’s face gets even redder, which makes you almost laugh.

She mumbles something indecipherable under her breath, looking anywhere but at you. Dina giggles at her shyness and holds a hand to her ear, almost mocking Ellie. “What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you.” She says in a sing-songy tone.

Ellie rolls her eyes at Dina. “We could do something like, apocalypse-y, y’know? There could be a sickness, or zombies, or a creepy fungus. That’s a super life changing event, since it’s on a large scale. It could be about a girl, who’s travelling around and…” She trails off, realizing the incredibly stupid rant she just went on.

You smirk and stare at her, leaning back in your seat, all confidence and bravado come back to you. “Oh my god, you’re a nerd. A fungus? That’s-”

Riley cuts you off with a snarl in her voice. “Amazing, Ellie, it’s a really good idea. Kind of a coming-of-age thing, yeah?” She’s smiling at her friend warmly. This wholesome exchange causes a burn to run through your body. You’ve never had a friendship that close, so understanding and true. You’ve never let anyone know you well enough to experience something like it.

“Yeah exactly!” Ellie smiles back, which you take notice of. It’s not a toothy smile, but her lips press together and turn up at the edges. You can tell that it’s genuine. It makes her look-

No! Ellie Williams is not cute, you’re just tired from stressing all of last night and getting no sleep.

“And Y/N, you could be the actor. You’re photogenic enough to be filmed.” Dina adds. Your stomach drops. You don’t want to be filmed being vulnerable and moving through life as an innocent girl in a world of trouble. You’ve done that enough in real life.

“Um, I-” You start, but Riley cuts you off again. Your eyes narrow at her in frustration.

“That’s perfect! What do you say we go to Ellie’s house after school and really get started on stuff? I can bring milkshakes!” She says, filled with enthusiasm. Your stomach drops in terror. Ellie’s house? Today? Being filmed?

Although milkshakes do sound good…

You think for a while as Ellie and Dina agree to the plan for after school. Is it really worth it to put yourself through this? Who knows how long you’ll be at Ellie’s, surrounded by cameras and people who hate you. You could just pretend like you have plans after school, or-

“Y/N?” Dina asks kindly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?” You look at her, embarrassingly confused, your cheeks turning pink.

“So, can you come to Ellie’s?” She asks, cocking her head at you.

Without even thinking, you say: “Yes.”

——————————————————————————

…heyyy. so i KNOW i already posted a chapter today BUT i’m just so excited about this series. it’s about to get so so exciting next chapter, i’ll probably post it tomorrow.

a few things

PLEASE i need a name for this book, preferably something film related

how slow-burn do you want this to be?

i adore you guys so much!

-blue 🦋

@macaroni676 here’s your tag!!

[my-pjo-stuff]

No but you know what would be a fun AU? You know what would be the absoloute height of comedy?

Frat Boy Luke AU.

An AU in which nothing went wrong in Luke's life at all. May never went mad, which meant that Luke never had to run away and was raised in atleast relative way. He visits CHB normally by going there at 12 and since he doesn't exactly want a quest in this 'verse, Hermes sees no reason to give him one.

Lukie boy procceds to be the fuckboy himbo he was always meant to be as he's chilling somewhere in Conneticut or whichever state his College is in and lives his best life. He meets Percy and the gang in lieu of their wild roadtrip through the US during TLT and decides to pick 'em up as hitchhikers after clocking them as demigods. (Alabaster takes Luke's role in this universe and still steals the lighting bolt and pins it on Percy)

Just imagine being Percy, going through absoloute hell as you attempt to figure this whole demigod thing out while trying to save your Mom. Only for some 19 y/o teenager to drive by in his convertible, taking one long look up and down you and your friends and then tells you to get in his car.

My homeboy Luke has no idea what the quest even is about. Frankly said he has zero intrest in the demigod world and thanks the gods he no longer has to visit camp since he does still have distain for them. But also he wasn't called CHB's resident big bro for no reason.

Percy has no idea who this guy is, but also Grover and Annabeth seem pretty relieved to see him. Luke asks if they want McDonalds, Percy says yes. Luke proceeds to get him some junk food. And while Luke can't exactly come along to help them, he does drive them a nice chunk of their journey.

Our MCs proceed to run into Luke in increasingly random ways over the entier course of the books. Percy get's increasingly exasperated at the coincidence of it all. Luke decides to offer him alcohol instead of McDonalds by the time BotL rolled around.

[megapteraurelia]

neighbour!kuroo who offers you to stay with him until you've found a new apartment — a small part of him hopes he doesn't seem too eager, another small one wondering if being so close to your ex is going to end up hurting you, but the biggest part of him really hopes that you'll say yes regardless.

who thinks that kenma would snort into his hand if he could see the level of excitement kuroo has to swallow once you agree, apologise for taking up space only to agree vehemently again.

everyday, in the morning when both of you found each other in the kitchen, he opens the newspaper wide for any new apartment postings while you scour the internet; the smell of coffee and breakfast soothing and familiar. a flat far away enough from your ex-boyfriend that you don't have to worry anymore, but secretly he hopes that it's not so far away that he won't ever see you again.

neighbour!kuroo who bids you goodbye when you leave for work first, waiting at the door until he sees you board the elevator safely lest your ex-boyfriend gets the prime idea of harassing you on your way out.

who cackles to himself at the notice hanging on the wall in the entrance hall: the landlord asking for the culprit who taped a tenant's mailbox shut to come forward for community service or to face a fine upon refusal.

kuroo thinks he's got enough money to pay double the fine. (he does plan to mess with it again — to maintain his youthfulness, of course.)

neighbour!kuroo who learns that your work place is not that far away from his own. who wonders if it's far too forward to ask you to spend lunch hour together down the street at the really good coffee shop.

whose heart stutters when he gets a call forwarded from an unknown number only for his ear to meet your voice to ask whether he wanted to meet up for lunch.

(his assistant, looking through the glass wall, raises her eyebrow at the fist pump he throws into the air; her other joining in as soon as she watches kuroo trying to tame his hair but to no avail — stubborn as the head it sits on.)

kuroo also happens to forget to mention that he doesn't like almond paste but when you excitedly show him your favourite pastry with hopeful eyes, lashes caressing your cheeks, a wide grin on your face, he can't help but put his entire life on the line fighting the blush that theatens to overtake his own.

for a second he thinks of refusing, but then he tries the almond riddled pastry, anyway.

he does not like it.

neighbour!kuroo who gets off work half an hour earlier and waits in front of your work place so that he could drive both of you home.

who, with a cocked eyebrow and a sharp retort ready on his tongue, notices a familiar loser linger around the entrance.

"i sure as hell hope you're not here to see who i think you wanna see," he says, looking down his nose at your ex. kuroo, who makes sure to bear his teeth in a resemblance of a sharp smile, who delights in the shifting of uneasy eyes, "but in case you need a reminder of why to stay away, i'm more than happy to help out."

who acts brilliantly inconspicuous once you walk towards him; your boyfriend long gone, shooed away, bullied away, sneered away. (he didn't even have to try that hard.)

neighbour!kuroo who finds it easy to match his long strides to your shorter ones; whose hand swings next to yours. now and then, your knuckles meet his for a split second in a way that makes him want to take your fingers in a tight hold so they can't tease him anymore.

you tell him about an interview you booked for an apartment viewing, excited, asking him whether he had time on the upcoming wednesday at 11 am.

he doesn't, but he says he'll be there with you, anyway.

who tries to ignore the little stab through his ribcage at the thought that he would lose out on your presence before he could even enjoy it to the fullest.

neighbour!kuroo who sends you a smile, void of any cutting edges, eyes crinkling, and tells you, "let's look for more viewings at home."

whose chest squeezes in consolation when you gift him a smile back and nod as you eat the same damn almond pastry; when you don't correct him about home.

neighbour!kuroo who innocently forgets to remind you of looking for more viewings, and instead relishes in the space you occupy on his couch next to him as you settle in with hot tea and a blanket to tackle on the many movies you borrowed from the library.

who gets into a routine with you of making breakfast, washing dishes, saying goodnight and good morning, bickering and teasing, late-night talks and dawn-kissed chats.

who thinks that really, maybe you could just stay here.

taglist | @takes1 @origamipivo @sailanne

@monikosman1311 (i know you didn't ask for a tag, but since you asked for a continuation in the first place—)

[somuchforahobby]

Misunderstanding

Summary: reader is a detective for the NYPD and arrests Bucky

Word count: 900

Tags: Banter + flirt / Canon Timelapse? What is that? / you’re sarcastic girl!

Warnings: you’re a cop👹

Author’s note: Had this idea while watching Matt Murdock flirt with a DA in DDBA so… hope you enjoy!

— * — * — * — *

“NYPD HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!” You announced yourself at the alley where two men were having a fight.

You kept your gun pointed at one of them while your partner handcuffed the other.

“I was trying to help” one of them said, defensively.

He had dark hair and blue eyes, and damn was he handsome. But it wasn’t the first time a troublemaker happened to be cute and tried to get away with it, and like hell you’d let him.

“Well thank you for your service, officer.” You said with sarcasm as your partner moved to cuff him as well.

“It’s Sergeant.”

“Oh?” You scoffed, “well we’ll ser about that at the station.” You quipped, putting your gun back in the holster and guiding the suspects to the car.

You walked into the interrogation room, carrying a folder below your arm. If before you were amused by the alleged sergeant now you were fuming.

“Good night, Sergeant Barnes.” You announced. He was sitting still, both hands below the table.

“Hello, detective.” His blue eyes scanned you.

“I am sure you paid a good amount of money for faking your records, and as much as I respect the work you put into this” you dropped the folder on the table, “you shouldn’t have been so stupid as to use a man born before world war two as your cover.”

His lips curved on a smirk.

“So” You sat on the chair in front of him, opening the folder, “why don’t we start with a name, Mr. Barnes?”

His eyes were focused on you, a slight glint on them. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

You scoffed, “Listen, I have the night shift so I have nowhere else to go, but I’m guessing a guy like you is losing a valuable Saturday night, so let’s try again.”

“A guy like me?”

You controlled the impulse of rolling your eyes to this fucker’s audacity to tease.

“Name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes”

You dropped the pen in your hand, sighing.

“That is my name” His eyebrows rose, “by all means, call my Captain.” The slight smirk remained on his lips.

Another sarcastic scoff left your mouth, “who is your Captain, Uncle fucking Sam?”

The smirk deepend, “Steve Rogers”

You matched his smirk, “oh I know him!”

“Really?”

“Yes! My nephew is under his command as well. He’s got the posters and all!” You gestured with your hands much to his annoyance.

“I’m serious”

“Oh, he is too! Little guy’s got a shield and all”

His eyes turned white, “call him”

“Sure thing, I’ll send him a code through my walkie-talkie”

He scoffed, looking away from you.

“You got in the middle of a mob investigation, sir. I don’t think you are a bad person but I need to know what you were doing there. The more you delay the truth, the worse the charges will be.”

He did not say a word.

“Alright, moving on. What were you doing earlier tonight, at 11 pm?”

“I was following Kuznetsov”

You focus on writing down the answers, “why?”

“I had some questions”

“Such as?”

“The red room”

You turned back to him, “is that some sort of strip club or?”

“No!” He yelled, his mouth was curled and brows furrowed. He was offended you asked.

“What is that?”

“Is a place where little girls are trained to become assassins and spies. I promised a friend I’d get information.”

Your brows furrowed, this guy is completely fucking crazy. “And what’s your friend gonna do?”

“Tear it down, of course.”

“Of course” you repeated like it was the most logical answer you have ever heard. “And did you get the information?”

“No, you interrupted my interrogation.”

You smiled, “my apologies, Sarge. I’ll try to get that intel for you.”

“Y’know, we could be having this conversation somewhere nicer”

And there it was, you smirked and returned your eyes to him, “you think so?”

“I’m certain, doll.”

“It’s detective for you, Sargeant.”

He smirked, “of course”

You sighed, trying to ignore the nerves on your knees his flirting brought, “are you employed?”

“Mmm” his head leaned back, “I don’t think so, no”

“Let me rephrase, who’s your boss?”

His gaze returned to you, “ya applying?”

Focusing your sight on the file in your hands, you took a deep breath to control the flush of your cheeks, “how clever, Sarge. Next time I’ll ask about your daddy.”

“Not if I beat you to it” he muttered.

“Excuse you?” Your voice regained the authority tone.

“Are you alright, detective?”

Your gaze returned to him, “perfect, why?”

“Your heart rate raised”

This time you did not suppress the eye roll while you closed the file, “sure thing.”

Standing up from the chair you looked back at him, “seems like tonight you’re either sleeping in jail or in a mental institution, buddy.”

He scoffed, “I can’t go to jail.”

“Haven’t I heard that before?” You muttered as you walked towards the door.

“No, seriously,”

A loud thump made you turn with your guard up.

“I can’t walk into a jail”

His hands were on the table now, but one of them was black and gold, like a… prosthetic?

You stared while the wheels of your brain worked, that could only mean that—

“Sergeant Barnes, my apologies” you walked to him, hurrying the handcuffs’ key on your hand as you took them off him.

He stood up with a smug smirk. “Nice to meet you, detective” said with a hand towards you.

You shake it, your cheeks burning in embarrassment, “I apologize for the misunderstanding. It won’t happen again.”

His lips were pressed in a shy smile, “I wouldn’t mind if it did”

[zvdvdlvr]

Hear me out, house will not use nicknames with his significant other but he will (and never admit it) love when they call him babe, love, darling, all of those. He will also love when they show physical affection (again, never admit it)

No you’re so right about this. Because you can bet your life savings House will look displeased and bitter and probably sigh a little bit whenever you come up to his side and lace your fingers with him or even stop by his office (if you work in a different department) and greet him with a ‘hey, love’ and kiss on the cheek. You can BET he’s gonna remain unfazed and look downright CONSTIPATED- especially if the ducklings are in the room- but you know what else you can bet? He won’t say anything against it, he won’t move away from your touch, and he sure as hell won’t complain.

Because hey, the head of diagnostics has a reputation to uphold. So he can’t shoo you away whenever you see House and Lisa getting into their argument and step into the office to fix House’s collar and touch up the lipstick stain on his neck that he ‘forgot’ to wipe off before clocking in.

I think there has definitely been a time when House had to treat a child who was super reserved. The kid refused to utter more than a sentence at most, wouldn’t offer help, and only stared at House and the team whenever they tried to get answers. This is where you come in. After hearing enough complaints from Greg, you decide to try to work your own pediatric magic. You make sure to bring three packs of green Jello- one for you, Greg, and the kid. That little olive branch got through to the kid that you were friend, not foe. And when Greg eventually came by to check the kid’s vitals, he saw you posted right up at the kid’s side, listening to them tell stories about being the fastest swimmer in the class and how they could play with cats for houuuuuuurrsss if their parents let them.

Then you offered him that little smile Greg would look for in a room of people and his eyebrows relaxed. “Did you know your doctor is my own husband?” You tell the kid. “He’s pretty cool, I promise. Greg, come sit with us, love.”

He can’t say no- won’t say no. Greg finds himself ambling over to you as you open up his Jello and slide your spoon in it. “Here, baby,” you murmur, handing it to him. “Did you know your patient here can do three whole backflips underwater without getting dizzy?”

Greg would have been find to eat his Jello if that was the end of it. He’d listen to his patient yammer on about what it is that kids do and only pay attention whenever you said something. But his plans were dashed to smithereens when you scooted your chair closer to his looped your arms around his and leaned on him- all while keeping conversation with this kid up. Greg ignored the skip in his heart- willed it to go away. But with you rubbing your thumb so tenderly on his hand, all he could think about was you.

[capricorn-the-goat]

“You… realize that hell is supposed to be a punishment, right?”

“that’s debatable, but sure, let’s go with that premise.”

“This… isn’t looking very punishment-y.”

“I mean yeah it kind of is a punishment, but it doesn’t have to be torture.”

“that’s-… somewhat true, but not the point. There needs to be a deterrent for being sent to hell in order to encourage people to choose the right path in life and be a good person. That doesn’t work if- is she getting a mani-pedi?”

“Half of the people on earth right now don’t even believe in the idea of hell.”

“… again, still not the point.”

“Alright… so hell is supposed to be a separation from the big guy upstairs, from the good and beauty of the universe? That’s the basic premise that this cosmology of afterlife is built on?”

“Correct.”

“And isn’t separation from those things punishment in and of itself, like that one seraphim philosopher said that one time?”

“technically correct, but…”

“then what am I doing wrong?”

“This isn’t inherently a punishment. These people are living the same lives that they were back on earth.”

“exactly. See those TVs? We’re broadcasting roughly 50 channels down from Heaven, plus like one or two channels playing reruns from earth shows. They see that there’s something better, but they only experience a small part of it.”

“your point?”

“what I’m doing is punishing them through omission, like I just said. They know there’s something better out there; that there’s something infinitely better than what they have now, and that their chance to get that is gone. They can experience pleasures here; they can gamble, swim, live in “luxury”, but they’ll only ever experience the height of pleasure that human life would be able to provide. Eventually? They’re gonna get bored of it. They’ll keep chasing that high until they hit the glass ceiling, and will see that pleasure stretch forward infinitely, out of reach. They’ll be able to experience everything they want, and even more. It might take centuries, but eventually they’ll do it, and after that, they’ll get bored. They’ll get miserable. Maybe they’ll fight, or just lay down and try to die, but they’ll never be able to. And the entire time, they’ll see that there was something greater that they chose not to go for. It may take centuries, millennia, eons, but eventually it’ll happen. And if they’re lucky, that won’t happen before the big guy decides to start clearing out space down here.”

“…”

“F*cking hell man.”

“is it too much? It feels like too much.”

“no no, it… definitely fits the criteria.”

“Ah ok, cool. I’m gonna test it out for the next century or two, see how it goes.”

You are an angel sent down to Hell every half-century for a routine checkup. One day, you find it completely remade. It is now a luxury resort without a single scream to be heard. When you confront the Big Man, he simply says "Meh, got bored."

[vshiftsss]

STORE OWNER BY DAY, STREET RACER BY NIGHT - (STREET RACER DR INTRO)

engines revved and growled all around her, attempting and failing to intimidate the up-and-coming racer. no one really knew her yet. not when she was the last car to pull off, and the first one to overtake everyone and finish first. no one knew how much of a threat she was; how scared they should be if they depend on that prize money to keep them afloat.

seraph didn't come here to lose. she never did. no, she came to these races to prove a point. to show her mother that she could still have fun and win. even though she wasn't keen on the idea of telling her mother the ins and outs of how she got to these races, the thought was what counted. she was going to win damn near every race and have fun doing it. because she could, and she would. seraph's eyes flitted back and forth between the track and the racer beside her, his jet black car a stark contrast to her pure white one. his windows were tinted to hell, but she could still see the outline of his head. the way it was tilted towards her, seemingly examining the competition. she almost wanted to wave. to wish him luck with a smile she knew would be taken as a taunt. she held back, however, directing her eyes back to the long expanse of asphalt just waiting for her to speed across it, overtaking all her opponents with ease.

"racers, get ready!"

seraph settled back into the smooth cream leather of her driver's seat, one hand resting languidly on the wheel. she was in control here. no matter how new she was, no matter how many people underestimate her, she would still end up at the finish line first. there was no doubt about it. 3.

seraph could almost hear the collective deep breath every racer on that track took—could almost feel the sense of safety and confidence that washed over everyone. she smiled to herself, resting her hand on the gearshift. she had this in the bag. 2.

in her peripheral, she caught that same racer glancing over. his gaze permeating through the thick glass of her windows. was he trying to intimidate her? throw her off-balance?

why was it working?

1.

seraph straightened up in her seat, trying her best to avoid the glances of the mystery racer. he didn't matter. the only thing that mattered was winning this damn race.

GO!

...

that night was the first time serafina had lost since her first race. she couldn't get over how cocky the winning racer had been— ghost, the announcer had called him —and how she could see the shit-eating grin in his eyes, even when he had a balaclava over his face. the simple thought evoked an unnatural amount of irritation in sera's heart, one that disturbed her enough for her to stick the wrong key into the lock of her record store, deep groove.

she couldn't dwell on this all damn day. there were more important things to deal with, more pressing matters to attend to. like the heaping piles of unorganized records she had left behind last night. the ones she had left behind to go to that race, only to lose and embarrass herself.

an annoyed expression overtook her features, though she quickly schooled it. deep groove opened in an hour, and sera needed to sort at least a chunk of these records before those doors opened.

so with a sigh, she got to it. putting away various vinyls, even when the store eventually opened. sera couldn't greet the first customer properly, not with this steep task. she opted for a simple "welcome to deep groove" and got back to work.

the customer didn't end up buying anything—as per usual—so serafina didn't have a reason to glance outside. she didn't have a reason to stare past the glass door for just a moment and see a familiar jet black car sitting out front.

if only she had known that her newfound rival had stepped foot onto her property...and that he would become a regular she would grow fond of.

END OF POST - HAPPY SHIFTING!

divider.

tags... @visualcve @avelineshifts @julianasversee @miaojune