#and I haven’t been able to figure out a way to fix it yet

[dinitride-art]

looks at ao3, finds nothing new that I want to read right at this moment (probably a fic in there I’m gonna end up reading later and being like woah this is great! But I don’t have the energy for that right now). Goes to my own works page. Stares. Glances over a multi chapter fic (incomplete), moves on. Sees another multi chapter fic, my baby, (incomplete) but… there’s not much else left to do. What if… no. I couldn’t. I- I shouldn’t. But… maybe… if I opened the document I could just… look and see

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (07)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 8.1k

Aliyah's Notes: the way i wanted this chapter to be around 5k... but anyw, the ending to that chapter is pretty good so y'all can rest in peace lmaoo but problems are coming hehehehehe

The sound of her heels clicking on the pavement cut through the evening air, each step echoing louder than the last. You barely registered the chill of the evening as her figure came into view—Chiara Romano, arms folded over her chest, her expression a delicate balance of innocence and something unmistakably venomous. A small, mocking smile played at the corners of her lips, her gaze roaming over you with the kind of appraisal that felt like a slap.

Beside you, Rafe tensed, his gaze hardening as he straightened, clearly prepared for whatever barbs she had in store. You forced yourself to stand taller, meeting her gaze with a coolness you could barely muster.

“Chiara,” you said, injecting a polite edge into your voice that you knew was as fake as her smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, I just felt like things ended a bit... strange at the party,” she replied, her tone sugary sweet yet laced with something bitter. “Especially after seeing the headlines about you.” She let out a small sigh, as though feigning concern. “I couldn’t help but worry.”

A sharp laugh almost slipped from your lips. The headlines. She was talking about the recent media talking about your “potential” relapse… which were true. News of your recent struggles had been going viral, and she was here to dangle them in front of you. The reality of your relapse was raw, but admitting it—especially to Chiara—was out of the question.

“Did you, now?” You kept your voice light, your smile tight as you watched her closely.

“Of course,” she nodded, her eyes darting pointedly between you and Rafe, her expression softening with feigned empathy. “Us girls have to look out for each other,” she added, a hint of mock sincerity weaving through her words. “I just hope Rafe’s taking excellent care of you. I mean, if he’s able to.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes or worse—to let your anger slip through. Instead, you returned her smile with a casual shrug. “He is, thank you,” you replied, forcing your tone to stay neutral. “And I’m doing just fine. I haven’t relapsed—.”

“You sure?” she pressed, her voice a touch too innocent. “You look... thinner than I remember.”

You felt a twisted sort of satisfaction creeping in, an internal smile that you kept hidden. It was strange—almost absurd—but her attempt to make you feel small, to jab at your insecurities, did the opposite. She said it to be cruel; she thought her words would cut you deeply. But instead, they landed somewhere softer, failing to sting the way she intended.

Rafe’s voice cut through the tension, his tone sharp and commanding, filled with an authority that even you hadn’t heard from him before. “Alright, that’s enough,” he warned, his words laced with a chill that could silence a room. “Keep talking like that, and you’ll be the one making headlines.”

Chiara’s gaze flicked to Rafe, her lips curling into a sly smile, undeterred by his warning. “Oh, Rafe, always so protective,” she cooed, her tone dripping with mock innocence. “I thought we were past all that. After all, we did come here together.”

You blinked, the words sinking in like a stone dropping into still water, each ripple spreading through you. “You… came here with him?” you asked, keeping your voice steady, though your heart was pounding.

Chiara’s smile widened, a hint of triumph in her expression. “Of course. We just thought it’d be convenient, didn’t we, Rafe?”

Your eyes shifted to him, searching his face for any denial, some sign that this was just another one of her games. But Rafe stayed silent, his expression tinged with guilt, lips pressed together as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.

He had, in fact, come with her.

The air thick, with Chiara’s truth and Rafe’s guilty silence. Every moment he said nothing, the disappointment pooled deeper in your chest, twisting painfully.

You crossed your arms, your gaze hardening as you looked at him. “Convenient?” The word slipped from your mouth, laced with bitter disbelief. “Convenient for who, exactly?”

Rafe opened his mouth, struggling to find the right words, but nothing came out. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he might deny it, try to explain. But his shoulders sagged slightly, defeated, as he glanced away.

Chiara’s voice broke the silence, her tone feigning sympathy. “Oh, don’t be upset. It’s not like you’re the only woman in his life, right?” She leaned back with a satisfied smile, clearly relishing the wedge she’d managed to drive between you.

“Alright, you know what?” you said, forcing a calm into your voice that belied the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “I don’t really care what arrangement you two have. But what I’d like to know, Chiara, is why you’re actually here. What do you want?”

Chiara’s smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before she recovered, her expression shifting to a mischievous glint. “I’m here to support my father’s event, naturally,” she replied smoothly. “But I couldn’t resist the chance to catch up with Rafe and see how… everything’s going with you two.”

You felt the anger begin to surge again, but you reined it in, straightening and lifting your chin. “Then let’s hope tonight’s as memorable as you’re expecting.” You threw a final look at Rafe, disappointment flickering in your gaze.

With that, you walked toward the car and sat in the passenger seat, forcing yourself to ignore the ache in your chest as you disappeared into the throng of people.

From the corner of your eye, you watched Rafe and Chiara exchange a few heated words. His jaw clenched as he spoke, his eyes narrowed in a way that told you he was holding back the anger simmering just beneath the surface. Chiara, on the other hand, looked anything but apologetic, her expression smug as she responded with an air of indifference. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but every movement, every flash of irritation in Rafe’s eyes only deepened the tight knot of frustration in your chest.

Before long, they finally turned, heading toward the car, and you forced yourself to look away and just focus on the city lights ahead of you. The silence that filled the car was thick, unbearably tense. The engine hummed beneath you, but the weight of everything unsaid made each passing second feel longer. You kept your eyes on the window, refusing to break the silence, even as your exhaustion began to creep in, your eyelids growing heavy.

Just as you started to drift, you felt him lean forward, his breath warm against your ear as he broke the silence, his voice low and soft. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, the apology laced with a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

You exhaled sharply, holding back the initial pang of anger. “You’re sorry?” you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you finally turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. “For what, exactly? For keeping me in the dark? For thinking I wouldn’t notice you driving here with her?”

Rafe’s expression softened, his guilt evident as he held your gaze, searching for the right words. “It wasn’t like that. She… she just showed up. I didn’t think—”

You scoffed, cutting him off. “That’s the problem. You didn’t think. Or maybe you did, and just didn’t care to clue me in.” As his apology hung in the air, you couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, refusing to look at him. “So what, Cameron? You thought I’d just sit there and take it?”

He shifted closer, his voice strained. “I told you, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t invite her. She just… she knew I was coming here, and it felt easier to—”

“Easier?” You turned in your seat to face him, disbelief and frustration clear in your eyes. “Easier for who, exactly? Because it sure as hell wasn’t easier for me.”

Rafe’s gaze dropped, his fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel. “Look, I know how it looks, but… she was already in the car before I could even think about it. I didn’t want to make a scene.”

You narrowed your eyes, unimpressed. “So, you thought the best plan was to just go along with her? To let her be seen with you, knowing exactly how that would make me look?”

“Y/N, I know I messed up, okay?” He leaned closer, the regret in his eyes almost palpable. “I was just trying to keep things calm. I didn’t want it to turn into something it didn’t have to be.”

“Oh, so you didn’t want to ‘make a scene’ with her, but now you’re perfectly fine with making me feel like an idiot?” you shot back, folding your arms. “How considerate of you.”

Rafe let out a sigh, rubbing his temples. “Can’t you just trust that I was doing what I thought was right?”

You rolled your eyes, the bitterness evident in your tone. “I don’t trust you.” You turned away, staring at the passing lights outside. "And you’re only apologizing now because you got caught."

He was silent for a moment, the weight of your words settling in. “I don’t want to keep doing this, Y/N,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to feel like this… like I don’t care.”

You laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Then stop giving me reasons to feel this way.”

You leaned against the window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the passing city lights. During the car ride, Chiara, for once, seemed to get the hint and kept her mouth shut, though every so often you caught her glancing at Rafe through the rearview mirror. Rafe, on the other hand, drove with a steady determination, occasionally glancing at you as though he was waiting for you to say something—anything—that might break the unbearable quiet. But you refused to give him that satisfaction, and instead, kept your focus outward, on anything but the two people in the car with you.

As the car rolled to a stop in front of the charity venue, Chiara was quick to jump out, immediately making a beeline for her father, who was waiting near the entrance. The flash of photographers’ cameras lit up the scene, and she threw a gleeful smile their way, basking in the attention as she reached her father’s side.

You took a steady breath and turned to Rafe, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry every ounce of frustration you’d been holding onto. He was watching you, his expression caught somewhere between apology and uncertainty.

“Alright, Cameron,” you began, forcing a professional tone. “Let’s get this over with. We need a story to tell about how we met, so listen to me; we met through a mutual friend at some rooftop party in the city. You were immediately smitten.”

“Smitten?” he repeated, arching an eyebrow. His mouth curved into a playful grin. “Strong word there. Don’t know if I’ve ever been ‘smitten.’”

“Well, you have now,” you said without missing a beat. “We sat at the same table, and you told me some fake, but charming story about how you don’t like crowds and would rather be anywhere else.”

“So, I’m just a liar?” he said with a grin.

“Yes, apparently,” you said, your voice flat as you rolled your eyes.

“That’s deserved, alright,” he shrugged, and leaned closer. “But, let’s make this fun. How about we tweak the story a bit? Let’s say you chased me down after that rooftop party, practically begging for my number.”

“You must be high,” you scoffed, looking at him like he’d just suggested the earth was flat. “No one would believe I’d chase after you. Besides, I’d rather walk across hot coals than let people think I was desperate for you.”

Rafe gave a lighthearted shrug, clearly entertained by your reaction. “Alright, but if anyone asks, I’ll just say I was the reluctant charmer who had to be convinced.”

You couldn’t help the sarcastic laugh that slipped out. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘charm’ like ghosting someone for two weeks.”

He winced but quickly recovered, that easy smirk slipping back into place. “Ouch. Alright, I deserved that one too. But admit it, you’d be impressed if I played hard-to-get. It’d add some mystery to our ‘relationship.’”

You deadpanned, “It’d add some credibility if you remembered the actual story. Try to keep up with the backstory, Cameron. We’re supposed to be in love, remember?”

Rafe placed a hand on his heart, feigning a wounded expression. “So cruel. Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you’re just brushing me off like I’m nothing.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “How does that feel, huh? To be brushed off?”

His smile dropped immediately. “I’ll stick to the script. Mutual friends, a little bit of rooftop magic, and me falling head over heels. Got it.”

“Good. And try to remember: we’ve been dating long enough that you’d know basic things, like my favorite color and the fact that I don’t like seafood.”

“Got it,” he said with a nod, giving you a mock salute. Then, with a sly grin, he added, “Anything else I should know? Like, if you’ve got a celebrity crush, maybe?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to smile despite yourself. “This is a charity event, Cameron, not a middle school dance. Stick to the basics, and we’ll be fine.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, boss. Just wanted to know if I’ve got any competition out there.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Trust me, you’d know if there was competition.”

The banter fell into a comfortable silence, the tension lifting slightly as you both prepared for the performance ahead. But as you glanced out the window, watching Chiara drape herself over her father’s arm like she owned the place, the humor faded, and a steely resolve settled over you.

Rafe must have noticed, because he leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. “Hey, I know tonight’s going to be… less than ideal,” he said, his tone softening. “But we’ve got this. Just follow my lead if things get tricky, alright?”

You looked at him, skepticism still lingering, but his sincerity caught you off guard. “Let’s just keep this professional,” you replied, but your tone was gentler, almost reluctant.

“Deal,” he said, giving you a small, genuine smile. “Let’s make ‘em believe it.”

With that, he opened his door and walked around to your side, offering you his hand as you stepped out. You hesitated, then took it, maintaining a cool composure as camera flashes went off around you. The crowd erupted in a flurry of clicks and flashes, and you could already hear the low hum of voices speculating about the two of you.

Rafe leaned down slightly, his hand resting lightly on your back as he guided you forward. “Smile like you’re the happiest you’ve ever been,” he whispered, his tone playful but warm. “And maybe… just pretend you don’t want to strangle me for a few minutes.”

You tilted your head, flashing him a fake, overly-sweet smile. “Oh, trust me, that’ll be the hardest part.”

He chuckled, giving the reporters a charming wave as he leaned in, whispering back, “Keep smiling like that, and people might actually believe you like me.”

You leaned in closer, maintaining the smile for the cameras. “Don’t get too comfortable. This is just for show.”

“Right,” he whispered, a teasing glint in his eye. “But if we happen to have a little fun, is that so bad?”

Before you could answer, Chiara’s voice rang out over the crowd, all fake sweetness as she greeted her father, loudly proclaiming her excitement for the event. You caught Rafe’s eye, sharing a look of silent exasperation.

“Stick to the story. Don’t slip up.”

“Got it, boss,” he whispered back, his tone lighthearted as he gave you a quick wink. “Let’s go give them a show.”

You sipped your champagne, feigning interest in the event as your gaze flickered over the crowd, hoping to find something—anything—to break up the monotony. Conversations about Rafe’s latest matches, your recent shoot for Vogue, and even the upcoming Chanel campaign rolled through the evening like clockwork, the same pleasantries exchanged over and over. Rafe played his part perfectly, always flashing that magnetic smile, leaning in as if every word you said was his world. You kept a poised expression, smiling when necessary, but each compliment and question blended into the next, leaving you restless.

Just as you managed to suppress a yawn, a commanding voice sounded from behind. “Y/N Y/L/N, the woman of the hour.” You turned, and there stood Charles Kensington, a CEO of one of the event’s largest sponsors, known as much for his relentless pursuit of younger models as for his cutthroat business strategies. He extended a hand with a smirk that was more predatory than friendly, his gaze sweeping over you with an appreciation that lingered far too long. “I’m Charles Kesington. It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” you replied politely, giving him a polite smile as you shook his hand. “And congratulations on your company’s recent acquisition. Impressive move.”

Charles smiled, clearly pleased. “Ah, you’ve been keeping up, I see. You’re as sharp as they say.” His gaze lingered, a touch too intense, and his hand remained over yours a second longer than necessary. “And I must say, even more beautiful in person. Your upcoming campaign with Chanel is already causing quite a buzz.”

Rafe’s arm tightened around your waist as he turned to face Charles, his smile polite but lacking warmth. “Nice to see you, Charles.”

Charles nodded at Rafe, though his attention stayed firmly on you. “I’ve seen your work everywhere recently,” he said, his voice dropping into an intimate tone. “Chanel made a wise choice—although I’d argue that any brand would be lucky to have you representing them.”

“Thank you,” you replied coolly, catching the faint annoyance in Rafe’s jaw as it clenched. But Charles either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“You’re too kind, Mr. Kensington,” you replied, ignoring the way his eyes drifted over you. “And thank you. I’m honored to be working with such a renowned brand.”

“Oh, please,” he said, dismissing the formality with a wave of his hand. “Call me Charles. You know, I’d love to see you star in one of our campaigns someday. I’d love to discuss a potential collaboration over dinner,” he added, his voice lowering just enough to feel like a private invitation, despite Rafe’s presence.

You forced a polite laugh, though you felt Rafe’s grip tighten again. “Thank you, Charles. That’s very generous but—”

Rafe cleared his throat, the sound deliberate. “Actually, Y/N’s schedule is pretty packed for the next few months,” he said, his tone friendly but laced with an unmistakable edge. “With the Chanel campaign, her other upcoming works, and our time together, I’m not sure there’s room for much else.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, glancing at Rafe with an amused smile, as if he’d only just noticed him standing there. “Ah, Mr. Cameron. Quite a lucky man, aren’t you?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, but he managed a tight smile. “I’d say so.”

Charles leaned a bit closer, his attention fixed back on you. “Well, if you ever find a free moment, I’d be more than happy to take you on a tour of our headquarters. You know, just to chat about future opportunities.”

The thinly veiled invitation hung in the air, and you felt a slight discomfort, but you kept your smile in place. “Thank you for the offer, Charles. But as my boyfriend mentioned, I’m quite busy these days.”

Charles’ gaze flicked between the two of you, his smile widening slightly, clearly enjoying the tension he’d stirred up. “Of course. I understand entirely,” he replied smoothly, offering you a final lingering look before excusing himself.

The moment he was out of earshot, Rafe turned to you, his expression thunderous. “What the hell was that?”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “What was what?”

“That guy was practically undressing you with his eyes,” he muttered, his tone low and irritated. “And you didn’t seem too bothered by it.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Maybe because I don’t see the point in making a scene over a harmless conversation.”

Rafe scoffed, his hand still firmly around your waist. “Harmless? That guy was two seconds away from asking for your number.”

You rolled your eyes, barely managing to hide your smirk. “Jealous, Cameron?”

Rafe’s gaze hardened, and he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you think I’m just going to stand there while some old fucker tries to flirt with you, you’re wrong.”

The intensity in his voice sent a flicker of satisfaction through you, though you kept your expression neutral. “Relax, Mike Tyson. It was just a conversation. It’s not like he’s the first man to ever show interest in me.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing, “he should know you’re off-limits.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, amused by his possessiveness. “Is that right? I don’t recall signing any contract that says I’m ‘off-limits.’”

His grip tightened, his face a mixture of frustration and something else—something deeper, something he was clearly trying to suppress. “You’re my girlfriend and about to become my wife, consider it an unspoken rule, then.”

You felt a thrill at his words, but you kept your tone casual. “If that’s the case, maybe you should make it more convincing.”

He leaned closer, his hand brushed against your cheek, fingers lingering just enough to send a spark through you. “Convincing?”

His eyes never left yours, flickering briefly to your lips, and you could feel the heat building between you, a tension that seemed to stretch out endlessly. The hum of the event around you began to fade, and suddenly, it was as if there was no one else in the room—just the two of you, drawn together by something that felt far more complicated than a simple arrangement.

His breath, warm and steady against your skin, made your pulse quicken. You found yourself instinctively closing your eyes as his face came even closer, the space between you narrowing with every passing second. The moment was electric, charged with an undeniable pull that you could no longer ignore.

For the briefest moment, you forgot all the reasons you’d been upset with him in the first place. His proximity, the way he looked at you, the way his lips seemed so close—it was almost impossible to think about anything else. You ached to feel him again, to taste his lips, to feel the weight of his body against yours. All that mattered was the way your skin burned for him, how every nerve in you seemed to come alive at the thought of him touching you again. You wanted him. 

Desperately.

But just before his lips touched yours, a familiar voice cut through the quiet intensity.

"Y/N! There you are!” Aisha’s voice was bright and unapologetic, carrying her trademark liveliness that filled any room. Startled, you and Rafe pulled apart just in time to see her approach, her arms outstretched and a radiant smile on her face.

You could only laugh as she practically tackled you with a hug, pulling you in tightly. Standing just a few inches taller than you, her warm brown skin glowed against the dark emerald of her satin dress, a color that complemented her deeply curly hair that cascaded freely around her shoulders. Her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes sparkled with joy, her makeup accentuating her features with a natural, dewy look and a bold cat-eye makeup.

"Oh my God!" you managed through your laughter. "I had no idea you’d arrived already."

She finally released you from the hug but kept her hands on your shoulders, looking you over with a proud, glowing smile. “As if I’d miss this! You look absolutely breathtaking, girl—that dress was made for you. No one else could do it justice.”

You spun around, letting the fabric fan out as you struck a playful pose. “You really like it?”

“Like it? I am in-freaking-love, are you serious?” she squealed, and the two of you burst into laughter, clapping your hands together with giddy excitement. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You pressed a hand to your forehead, sighing dramatically. “I’ve missed you way more—can you believe it’s only been a year and I’m already involved with a white man? Truly, how crazy is that?”

Aisha’s gaze snapped to Rafe, who stood a little behind you, clearly surprised to be noticed so suddenly. You stifled a laugh as he shifted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Aisha's eyes narrowed slightly as she took him in, her gaze appraising and unblinking, as if she was assessing him for every possible flaw.

“Rafe Cameron, meet Aisha Patel—my best friend,” you said, tugging Aisha closer. “Aisha, this is Rafe, my... boyfriend.”

She didn’t say a word, just let her eyes scan him from head to toe with a critical intensity. You recognized this familiar expression—it was her way of warning anyone interested in you that hurting you would come with consequences. She always put your partners through this silent scrutiny, hoping to rattle them and make it clear they had to earn her approval.

Rafe, though clearly aware of her intent, extended his hand, maintaining an uneasy but polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Aisha.”

For a split second, she didn’t budge, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make him shift uncomfortably. You quickly grabbed her hand, easing it into his before she could escalate the standoff. “She’s usually much friendlier, I swe—”

“My dad has a gun,” she said quietly, her tone so flat it made the tension in the air sharpen. “And he taught me how to use it.”

You laughed a little, trying to ease the weight of her words. “She’s just kidding… right?”

But she didn’t break. Her gaze stayed fixed on Rafe, unwavering. “Only one way to find out, Rafe Cameron,” she replied coldly.

Rafe’s eyes flickered, and after a long moment, he dropped his gaze with a tight nod. “Guess I know where Y/N got her threatening techniques from,” he said with a small grin, the usual smugness back in his voice.

His expression, so casual and light, cut deeper than you expected. It felt like he knew exactly what he was doing, toying with a conversation he’d read from a distance and kept deliberately unanswered. He’d seen your texts, read every one of them, and left them cold and untouched. You felt the hurt creeping up in a way that left you exposed, vulnerable in a way you swore you wouldn’t be around him.

You pulled in a slow breath, forcing your face back to neutral, hoping Aisha wouldn’t notice the flicker of pain in your eyes. She turned to say something to Rafe, and you straightened, pulling your walls up as fast as you could, sealing the hurt beneath a calm you’d mastered. Just one more second, and no one would ever know.

Aisha leaned forward, curious but amused. “So… how’d you two meet?”

You shot Rafe a quick look, and he gave a subtle nod, leaving you to tell the story. “We met a few months back at this party,” you started.

“Rooftop party,” Rafe corrected, unable to resist chiming in.

“Right, a rooftop party,” you agreed, giving him a playful look. “And the second he laid eyes on me, he was enchanted—absolutely down bad,” you teased, letting a smirk cross your face.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, giving a mock-serious nod. “Completely leveled me. Could barely walk straight after that.”

“Completely down bad,” you agreed, tilting your head with a smile. “Apparently, my beauty was just too blinding. He had no choice but to come talk to me, and once he did? Well, he realized I was so much more than a pretty face. He was hooked on how charming, funny, and—”

“And how sassy she was,” Rafe finished, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary.

Aisha looked between the two of you, raising an eyebrow. “Sassy with you? Really?”

Rafe laughed, running a hand through his hair. “That mouth of hers—I swear, there’s not a single day where she’s not giving me that attitude,” he added with a soft smile in your direction.

“Interesting… Very interesting.” Aisha looked between you two with a grin, shaking her head. “And, what happened after that?”

Rafe leaned back, crossing his arms as he tried to act casual. "Well, after that, I pretty much chased her down just to get a date," he said with a smirk. "The rest is history."

You rolled your eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, he’s underselling it. He spent weeks trying to get my number, asking me out every day on Instagram, but I wasn’t having it. I kept hearing all these things about him…"

"Like what?" Aisha leaned in, eyes widening in anticipation.

"That he was a total player," you said, pausing for effect, earning a gasp from Aisha that you matched with a knowing nod. Meanwhile, Rafe just chuckled, shaking his head at your theatrics. "I know, girl!" you went on, shooting Rafe a playful look. "But he finally convinced me to go on a date… and he actually wasn’t so bad. So I gave him another shot, and, well…" You shrugged, glancing over at him with a smile. "Here we are."

Aisha took it all in, folding her arms and tapping her fingers thoughtfully.

“Wow,” she said, eyeing him with newfound curiosity. “I didn’t peg you for the persistent type, Rafe. Especially not with someone like my girl.”

Rafe shot her a confident smile, though there was a quiet warmth in his expression that didn’t quite match the usual cocky bravado. “Yeah, she’s special. Knew it from the moment I saw her.”

You couldn’t help the warmth that rushed through you at his words, a sudden rush of affection you hadn’t expected, especially not in front of Aisha. There was something in the way he looked at you that made the air feel thicker, charged with something unspoken. It sent an unexpected flutter through your chest, a reminder that underneath all the tension, the public facade, and the expectations, there was still something raw between you—something that felt real in a way you hadn’t quite anticipated. 

“Smooth talker, huh?” you teased, nudging Rafe lightly with your elbow. “You’re really laying it on thick tonight, aren’t you?”

Aisha’s sharp eyes flicked between you both, her protective instincts clearly on high alert. “Yeah, I’m picking up on that. But just so you know, Rafe, I’ve got my eye on you. You hurt her, and you won’t just be dealing with me, you’ll be dealing with my dad, too.”

Rafe’s lips curved into a smile, but there was something more guarded behind his eyes now, as though he recognized the weight of her words. “I get it,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Aisha seemed to size him up for a moment longer, letting the silence stretch just enough to make the air thick with tension. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she gave a slow nod, her stance softening just a little. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it,” she said, her tone easing. “But I’m still watching.”

You felt a strange sense of pride at that. Aisha had always been fiercely protective of you, and while it sometimes grated on your nerves, you knew deep down it was just because she cared. No one had ever had your back the way she did. You weren’t sure if Rafe fully understood that yet, but from the way he glanced at her—slightly uncertain, but respectful—you could tell he was beginning to get the message.

“Enough of the heavy shit,” Aisha said, breaking the tension with a clap of her hands and a sudden bright smile. “This is supposed to be fun, right? I’m here to celebrate, and I’m done with the interrogation. So, let’s have some fucking fun!”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine as you clinked your glass with hers. The champagne sparkled in your hand, and for the first time that evening, you felt a sense of relief. The weight of the conversation had shifted from uncomfortable to just... amusing. Aisha was nothing if not relentless in her approach, but you appreciated the way she could lighten any situation, especially when it felt like the pressure of your fake engagement was hanging over your head like a storm cloud.

“To my best friend and her very determined boyfriend,” Aisha toasted, her grin widening. “May you both drive each other crazy for a long, long time!”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Aish’. Really. A long, long time,” you echoed, sipping from your glass as she gave you a knowing look.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere began to shift. The crowd mingled, voices rose and fell in an endless tide of conversation, and the hum of background music seemed to fade into the distance. It felt like the world was in motion, but you and Rafe were standing still, caught in some kind of unspoken orbit that neither of you could quite navigate. 

People came and went, exchanging pleasantries, business deals, and compliments, but you and Rafe couldn’t seem to look away from each other. Even when he was speaking with someone else or laughing at a joke Aisha made, you felt his presence, heavy and undeniable.

You’d told yourself that tonight was about putting on a show for the cameras, about playing the part of the perfect couple, and you had every intention of sticking to the script. But as the night wore on, you realized how hard it was to keep pretending when Rafe’s touch lingered just a little longer than necessary, when his eyes followed you across the room with that possessive intensity you couldn’t quite ignore. There were moments when you caught him looking at you like no one else mattered, and for a brief second, the walls you’d so carefully constructed between the two of you threatened to crumble.

It wasn’t just the way he touched you when no one was looking, or the way he’d half-smiled at you in the middle of a crowd, as if sharing some private joke. It was the small things—the subtle ways he’d let you know he cared, even when he was keeping his distance. How his arm would brush against yours when you stood next to each other, how he’d glance at you in the middle of a conversation, as if checking to make sure you were still there, still paying attention. How he’d subtly reposition his hand on your waist, or how his thumb would brush against your back when you’d lean in close to hear something better.

And then, there were the moments when it seemed like neither of you knew how to deal with the chemistry that crackled between you. You’d both been avoiding it for so long, keeping your emotions buried under layers of professionalism and convenience, but tonight, it was becoming harder to ignore. The closer you got, the more the lines between what was real and what was fabricated began to blur.

A sudden vibration in your pocket startled you, pulling you out of your reverie. You slid your phone out, heart still racing from the interaction with Rafe, and your eyes immediately landed on the name that made your stomach drop: Mom.

Your heart skipped a beat as you unlocked the screen, only to see a simple message that made your blood run cold:

“Y/N, we’ve heard the news. This is a disgrace. This is not how we raised you. You’re nothing but a joke.”

You blinked at the message, trying to process it. News? What news? You hadn’t even talked to them in years. 

Before you could think further, the sickening feeling in your stomach intensified. Without even realizing it, you clicked over to the news app, and the headline that greeted you nearly stopped your heart:

“Rafe Cameron Engaged to Model Y/N Y/L/N: A Surprise Announcement”

Your pulse spiked, your fingers trembling as you scrolled down. The article was filled with blurry images from earlier in the evening, showing you and Rafe sharing moments too intimate for the cameras, your faces filled with a mix of affection and tension. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It wasn’t supposed to be this fast.

How could this have leaked?

Your chest tightened as a suffocating wave of panic hit you. You could feel your breath quicken, the world around you suddenly feeling too small, too fast, and you couldn’t catch your breath. You looked around the room, your vision blurring as the walls seemed to close in. The voices around you grew muffled, the lights too bright, too harsh.

“Y/N?”

Rafe’s voice pulled you back to reality, but it was distant, like it came from a far-off place. You tried to focus on him, on his familiar blue eyes, but everything felt off, like you couldn’t quite make sense of what was happening.

The phone dropped from your hand, and before you knew it, your vision went dark. Your breath hitched in your chest as your body trembled with the onset of a panic attack. It felt like everything was spiraling out of control, and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

And then, in the midst of it all, you felt it—something slipping from your bag pocket, a small metallic sound against the floor. But you couldn’t focus on it. Not now. Not with everything else overwhelming you. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out the noise around you as you tried to steady yourself, hands trembling at your sides.

You heard the faint clink again, but you were too far gone, too panicked, to care.

Rafe’s arms were around you before you even realized he was there, his voice low and urgent. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” His hand was on your back, guiding you gently but firmly as he led you outside, away from the noise and chaos of the event.

“I—I—” Your words faltered, and you gasped for air, trying to calm your breathing, but it was like your lungs had stopped working.

“Shh, just breathe, baby, okay?” Rafe’s voice was steady, guiding you through it like he’d done this before. His hand was pressing into your back in rhythmic motions, trying to ground you. “You’re okay, I promise.”

You leaned against him, trying to steady your frantic breathing, but it was hard. Everything felt so chaotic, too fast. The news. The message from your parents. Rafe. Your relapse. The engagement. The shame. The eyes on you.

“I… I got a message from my parents,” you managed to gasp between breaths. “They already know... the news... I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready for any of this, Rafe.”

His face softened, but there was confusion in his eyes. He looked like he didn’t fully understand, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he just nodded and gave you a reassuring squeeze, his arms enveloping you in warmth. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ll figure this out. I’ve got you, okay?”

You buried your face in his chest, as if you’ve been doing forever, the tears finally coming, and you didn’t even try to hold them back. Your body shook as the sobs wracked through you. Everything felt like it was falling apart, all the control you’d tried so hard to maintain slipping through your fingers. The fake engagement, the pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations, the constant balancing act—it was too much.

“Shhh,” Rafe murmured again, his voice a steady, comforting presence against the storm inside you. “You’re okay, baby. We’re gonna get through this.”

Still shaking, you pulled away slightly, wiping your face with the back of your hand as you tried to steady yourself. Rafe didn’t push you away. He just stayed close, his hands hovering near you, ready to catch you if you needed him.

“I can’t… I can’t do this. Not like this,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you spoke. “Everything’s happening too fast. I didn’t expect it to go like this, Rafe. I didn’t plan for my parents to know about this. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

He seemed to register the panic in your voice, though he still didn’t fully understand why it was affecting you like this. Still, he didn’t question you further. He just nodded again, that protective instinct rising in him. “Alright, we’ll get you home, okay?”

You nodded quietly as he draped his jacket over your shoulders, the fabric warm against your skin. If you weren’t so caught up in your emotions, you might have found the gesture cute. “Yes, please…” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Just relax, okay? I’m right here.”

Before you knew it, he was guiding you toward his car, his hand firmly but gently around your arm as he helped you get inside. The drive home was a blur, your mind a chaotic mess of racing thoughts. You tried to fight the exhaustion pulling at you, but it was useless. As soon as you buckled your seatbelt, your body seemed to give up the fight.

You curled up against the seat, closing your eyes, and within minutes, you were asleep. The quiet hum of the car as Rafe drove was the only thing that kept you tethered to reality.

Rafe glanced over at you every few moments as he drove, the concern never leaving his face. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you tonight, not since the moment the tension between you had grown so palpable. He could feel it in his chest—the fear that something would go wrong, that something would happen to make everything fall apart.

As he looked at you now, sleeping peacefully, he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him. He didn’t understand it—didn’t fully understand what was happening between the two of you—but the depth of concern he felt for you surprised him. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d wanted to protect you, how he’d wanted to be there for you when you needed it the most.

But now, as you slept, he realized something he hadn’t allowed himself to admit before: he didn’t want to lose you. The idea of seeing you hurt, seeing you break down, sent a pang of guilt through him. He hadn’t planned on this feeling, hadn’t planned on the way he’d come to care about you, but it was undeniable now.

Being away from you for two weeks made him come to a few undeniable realizations. He missed you—more than he’d like to admit. He missed the way your smile lit up the room whenever you looked at him, the playful roll of your eyes when you thought he was being ridiculous. He missed the banter, the little jabs you’d throw his way, always keeping him on his toes. Most of all, he missed hearing your voice, the way it grounded him in ways he never expected.

He regretted everything—the distance, the silence, the mess he’d made—and he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to make it right.

The car approached your apartment building, Rafe slowed down, glancing over at you one last time. You hadn’t stirred for a while, and he didn’t want to wake you up too abruptly, but he knew you needed to get out. He gently reached over and brushed your shoulder, speaking softly.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice careful as if not wanting to startle you. “We’re here.”

You blinked a few times, slowly coming to, the remnants of sleep fading from your face as you sat up straight. For a moment, you looked around, trying to get your bearings, and then your eyes landed on him. You offered him a small, grateful smile, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said softly, your voice still hoarse with exhaustion. “I really appreciate it.”

Rafe nodded, watching you with a mixture of concern and admiration. “No problem. You okay now?” His voice was gentle, but there was an undertone of worry that you couldn’t miss.

You gave a quiet sigh, nodding. “Yeah… I think I just needed some air.”

He stayed still for a second, waiting, as you unbuckled your seatbelt and started to gather your things. The quiet moment lingered before you stepped out of the car and made your way to the front door of your building. Rafe stayed in the car, just watching you, his gaze never leaving you. His chest felt tight again, but this time, it was different. It wasn’t fear of something going wrong—it was the simple concern of wanting you to be safe, wanting you to be okay.

As you reached the door, you fumbled through your bag, checking the contents. You muttered to yourself, growing more frantic as you checked again. A few seconds later, you pulled your head up in alarm.

“Shit…” you whispered under your breath.

Rafe’s gaze sharpened as he watched you struggle, a sense of urgency in your movements. He opened the car door slightly, ready to ask if something was wrong.

“Everything okay?” he called, his voice laced with concern.

You turned back, your eyes wide with panic. “I—I can’t find my keys.”

His brow furrowed. “You sure you didn’t leave them in the car?”

You shook your head, feeling your heart pound in your chest. “I’m sure I brought them with me. I always check for them before leaving... but I can’t find them. Oh god…” Your voice trailed off as the panic began to rise again, a wave of dread settling in your stomach.

Rafe’s gaze softened. He could see the distress building in you, and for a split second, he wished he could take that weight off your shoulders.

“Hey,” he called, getting out of the car now, taking a few steps toward you. “Maybe you dropped them inside, or—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice shaking. “I’m sure I had them when we left the event… Oh my god…” You froze, your hands hovering over your bag again as realization hit you like a ton of bricks. “I dropped them,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Rafe, but he heard you clearly. “When I… when I freaked out. I must’ve dropped them at the event. Damn it.”

You turned around, scanning the ground as if your keys might miraculously appear, but you knew deep down they were long gone. You quickly pivoted and rushed back toward Rafe’s car, your anxiety spiking with each step. Rafe watched you for a moment before following closely behind, his own mind racing as he processed the situation.

“Shit,” you muttered again, coming up to his car and looking inside like you could find your keys by some miracle. Rafe sat there, waiting for you to catch your breath before he spoke. “I’m sorry… I know this is a mess. I just—everything’s falling apart tonight. I didn’t expect any of this, and now… now I’ve lost my damn keys. I don’t know what to do.”

Rafe could see the exhaustion on your face, the mental and emotional toll of the evening weighing heavily on you. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel more alone in this.

“It’s alright,” he said, trying to calm you, his voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.” He thought for a second, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. “I can call a locksmith, or we can check inside the building for a spare key. Maybe someone can help.”

You were already shaking your head, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I… I don’t want to bother anyone. And I don’t want to stay out here all night.”

Rafe saw how visibly shaken you were, how overwhelmed you seemed by everything. The night had gone completely sideways for you, and he couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone, stuck in your apartment, still frazzled.

“You could stay at my place tonight…”

chapter eight

[thesecondhandwoman]

HEXED HEART

Ambessa x f!reader

Summary: Recently, Piltover has fallen weak ever since the hexcore stopped working, and the scientists who may have been able to fix it (Heimerdinger, Jayce, Viktor) had disappeared, leaving Ambessa frustrated. However, when she heard news of you, an intelligent scientist, possibly having the skills to fix it, she immediately took action. Even if it meant using a hint of sweet manipulation.

The remnants of Piltover smoldered under the weight of its own hubris. The once-bustling City of Progress was a shadow of itself, its streets quieter, its golden spires tarnished. The Hexcore had faltered, leaving the city vulnerable, its famed defenses useless.

In her laboratory perched high above the city, you worked tirelessly. The other brilliant minds—Heimerdinger, Jayce, Viktor—had all disappeared, leaving you to hold the fort. You were the last hope of Piltover, though the burden had grown suffocating. Every attempt to stabilize the Hexcore had failed. You stared at the latest iteration of your work, frustration and exhaustion gnawing at your edges.

The heavy thud of boots startled you from your thoughts. You turned to see soldiers, clad in Noxian red and black, entering your lab. At their helm was her. Ambessa Medarda, the warlord who cast a shadow wherever she walked. She was as commanding as the stories claimed—tall, statuesque, and radiating an aura of power that seemed to fill every inch of your lab.

She appraised you with sharp, calculating eyes, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“I’ve been watching you,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk but edged with steel. “Piltover’s lone genius. Working herself into the ground to save this broken city.”

You squared your shoulders, attempting to summon the confidence that exhaustion had stripped away. “If you’ve come to ridicule me, I assure you, I don’t have the time.”

“Oh, I didn’t come to mock you,” she said, stepping closer. Her soldiers fanned out, blocking any potential escape routes. “I came because Piltover’s failures can serve Noxus. You can serve Noxus.”

Your blood chilled. “I don’t serve anyone.”

Ambessa chuckled, low and amused. “Not yet.” She closed the distance between you in a few strides, her imposing figure towering over yours. “But you will.”

Before you could retort, she reached out, her gloved hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch was startlingly gentle, disarming. You stiffened, but Ambessa merely tilted her head, her gaze softening, her smile turning warmer.

“You’re exhausted,” she murmured, her tone shifting to something softer, almost tender. “This city doesn’t deserve you. They’ve wrung you dry, haven’t they? And still, no thanks. No progress.”

Her words hit a nerve, and she saw it in the flicker of your expression.

“I—” you began, but her fingers against your jaw silenced you.

“You deserve better,” she said, her voice a near whisper now. Her thumb traced the line of your jaw, her touch featherlight. “A mind like yours shouldn’t be wasted on people who only know how to take. I can offer you more, darling. Resources. Freedom. Respect.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her gaze pinning you in place. It was intoxicating, the way she looked at you—not with disdain or pity, but with something that felt dangerously like admiration.

“You just want to use me,” you said, though the words came out weaker than intended.

Ambessa smiled, a sly curve of her lips. “Of course, I do. But I’ll give you what Piltover never could. I’ll make you feel like the treasure you are.”

Her hand slid from your jaw to your neck, her thumb brushing over your pulse. You were hyper-aware of her closeness, the warmth radiating from her as she leaned in. Her lips grazed the corner of your mouth, a ghost of a kiss, before trailing along your cheek to your ear.

“Do you feel it?” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “The power we could wield together?”

You shivered despite yourself, torn between resistance and the allure of her promises. She was weaving a net around you, each touch, each word drawing you tighter.

Her hand slid down to your shoulder, her fingers kneading gently, soothing the tension that had built from days—no, weeks—of relentless pressure. You hated how easily she read you, how her touch seemed to draw out the ache you’d buried beneath sheer determination.

“I don’t… I can’t just abandon Piltover,” you stammered, though the conviction in your voice wavered.

Ambessa chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that sent a shiver down your spine. She pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her expression equal parts understanding and predatory.

“Who said anything about abandoning them?” she cooed, tracing her fingers along the edge of your collarbone. “Think of it as… redirecting your efforts. Piltover has taken everything from you. Why not take something back?”

Her lips ghosted over your temple, and you felt a strange, heady mix of indignation and desire. Every instinct screamed to resist, to fight back against her intoxicating manipulation. But her words had rooted themselves in your mind, growing like thorns around your resolve.

She pressed closer, her presence overwhelming as her other hand cupped your cheek. Her thumb brushed over your skin with a tenderness that contradicted the raw power she emanated.

“I see the brilliance in you,” she murmured. “The kind of brilliance that could reshape the world. But brilliance needs the right soil to grow, and Piltover has done nothing but starve you.”

Her lips found your jawline, a soft, lingering kiss that left your heart pounding. You hated how your breath hitched, how her words sank deeper, wrapping themselves around your doubts and frustrations like a vice.

“I could give you everything,” she whispered, her voice dripping with promise. “Imagine a lab equipped with anything you could dream of. Resources, soldiers to protect you, and the freedom to create without petty councils and politics dragging you down.”

You hesitated, your mind a whirlwind. “And what would you demand in return?”

Ambessa leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, her smirk sharp but her eyes still softened with that feigned tenderness. “Only your cooperation. Your brilliance, dedicated to something greater than this dying city.” Her hand slid down your arm, fingers curling gently around your wrist. “And, of course, you—with all your fire and passion. A partner. An ally.”

Her lips found your wrist, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin there. It was such an intimate gesture that it left you reeling.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

Ambessa smiled again, her confidence unshaken. “I never lie, darling. I may manipulate, I may seduce, but I always tell the truth.” She lifted your hand to her lips, brushing another kiss over your knuckles. “You’ll see. The only chains you’ll wear with me are the ones you choose.”

You trembled, torn between the iron will you’d cultivated in solitude and the dangerous allure of her promises. Her every touch, every word, was carefully calculated, but there was a kernel of sincerity in her eyes that was impossible to ignore.

And then, her tone shifted, low and husky, her lips brushing against your ear. “Or you can stay here,” she murmured, her voice laced with a mockery so subtle it felt like silk slipping over a blade. “Alone. Frustrated. Watching this city crumble around you while you waste away in obscurity.”

The weight of her words settled over you like a storm cloud. The enormity of your failure, the futility of your work, pressed down harder than ever.

Ambessa saw the flicker of doubt in your eyes and leaned in, her lips brushing over your cheek again, her hands sliding to your waist. “Don’t think of it as surrender,” she whispered. “Think of it as liberation.”

Her lips finally found yours, soft and coaxing, her hands firm yet tender as they held you in place. For a moment, the world around you faded, leaving only the intoxicating warmth of her touch, the relentless pull of her presence.

When she finally pulled back, her smirk returned, triumphant but still laced with that maddening, feigned care.

“Take your time,” she said, stepping away as if to give you the illusion of choice. “But know this—I won’t wait forever. And neither will Piltover.”

She turned, her soldiers falling into step behind her, and the door shut with an ominous finality, leaving you alone in the silence of your lab.

Your knees buckled as you leaned against the nearest table, your mind spinning. You hated her, hated how easily she unraveled you. But you couldn’t deny the truth in her words.

And deep down, you wondered if the world Ambessa promised might be worth the price of your pride.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The silence of your lab was suffocating in the wake of her departure. You stood there, still trembling, your hand resting against the edge of your desk as if it might hold you together. You could still feel her touch, lingering like a brand on your skin, a reminder of the impossible decision she had presented.

Stay… or go?

You hadn’t realized how much you had needed an escape, how desperately you had longed for someone to see you beyond your failures. Ambessa had touched that part of you with ruthless precision. She had peeled away your pride, exposed the vulnerability that you’d spent so long burying beneath equations and inventions.

And now, you stood at the precipice of something you had once sworn to avoid.

The thought of continuing alone in Piltover, watching everything you had worked for crumble—your research, your hopes—seemed unbearable. The weight of it all crashed down on you like a ton of stone. Ambessa’s words, laced with promises of power, resources, and recognition, were beginning to sound like the only way out.

You closed your eyes, feeling your resolve slip through your fingers like sand.

Her touch had been gentle. Too gentle, and that had terrified you. She was a master at breaking down walls, and the way she had looked at you, with a mixture of admiration and something darker, had set your pulse racing. You had wanted her to touch you.

No, you needed her to touch you.

No more endless days in solitude. No more futile attempts at saving a city that didn’t care.

With a shaky breath, you made your decision.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Later that night, you stood before the door to Ambessa’s private quarters, your hands clammy, heart hammering. You’d walked here with purpose, though the journey had felt like an eternity. Every step had only brought you closer to the inevitable—an alliance forged in the heat of desperation. You knocked once, and the door opened before you could even pull your hand back.

Ambessa stood there, her expression unreadable as her eyes traveled over you.

“You’ve come.” Her voice was steady, but there was a gleam in her eyes that hinted at the satisfaction of a predator about to claim its prize.

You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but you refused to let it show. “I’m here,” you said, your voice firmer than you felt, “because I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Ambessa stepped aside, her lips curling into a smile. “I knew you would come around.”

As you entered, the lavish, dimly lit room seemed almost too luxurious for someone like you, but there was something intoxicating about it. The rich silks, the scent of something sweet and foreign in the air—everything spoke of power and control, the very things you had been so desperate to grasp.

Ambessa closed the door behind you with a soft click, and then she turned to face you, her eyes now intense with anticipation. “Tell me, darling… what is it you truly desire?” she asked, her voice low and coaxing.

You hesitated, but only for a second. Then the truth spilled from your lips. “I want to be… seen.”

Ambessa stepped toward you, a predatory smile playing on her lips. “Oh, I see you,” she purred. “I see you more clearly than anyone ever has.” She reached out, her fingers grazing your cheek with deliberate slowness, as though savoring the moment. “And now, I’ll make sure you’re never unseen again.”

She cupped your face gently, tilting your chin upward, and her gaze softened, as though she were savoring the power of the moment. “You were always meant for something greater than this city. But you needed a catalyst… someone to help you realize your true potential.”

Her touch was almost tender, but the undercurrent of control never left. She leaned in, her lips brushing your forehead with a softness that contrasted the fire in her eyes.

“I can give you everything,” she whispered, her voice filled with honeyed persuasion.

A heat bloomed in your chest, rising to your cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the burning spark of surrender. Every part of you that had been torn between resistance and the seductive pull of her power now bent toward the inevitable.

You nodded, the words tumbling out in a quiet confession, “I’ll help...”

Ambessa’s lips curled into a triumphant, almost possessive smile. “Good.” She leaned in, her mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was both commanding and consuming. It was gentle at first, a slow burn that deepened with every press of her lips, every brush of her tongue. She held you with an intensity that made your knees weak, her hands roaming with practiced care, tracing your sides, your back, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat of her body against yours.

When she pulled back, breathless but satisfied, her fingers trailed down your spine, sending shivers of anticipation through you. “You belong to me now,” she said softly, her voice wrapped in a possessive sweetness. “And I’ll make sure you never regret it.”

You trembled, feeling the weight of her words settle over you, and for the first time in a long while, you realized you didn’t mind. You were hers. Completely.

In her arms, under her gaze, you were no longer the scientist who had failed. You were a tool—her tool—ready to be shaped and molded into something greater, something powerful. You had agreed, out of weakness, yes—but in that weakness, you had found something that felt like freedom.

And as Ambessa’s lips met your skin once more, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw, you wondered if this, this was what it meant to truly be seen.

[sarahowritesostucky]

Happy Little Family

📖"Taking Back What's His"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6170

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, rape, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

This chapter: You try one last, desperate ploy to escape, but it doesn't exactly work out. And James hasn't come alone. The next time you wake up, you're a long way from home.

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one" pchelka = "little bee"

2. Taking Back What's His

(Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

He says something to you, after. Words that might as well be in his native Russian, for how well you take them in. But they're soft, and reassuring—he’s pleased. His body weight moves off the bed.

When you finally open your eyes and blink up at the ceiling, it’s the softest baby pink all around the edges, like smoke curling into your vision. It’s nice, peaceful. Feels good-all-over in that way that painkillers do. You haven’t experienced it since the last time you had sex with an alpha.

Which James unfortunately seems to have figured out was with him, almost two years ago. 

“Oh, kotenok, You haven’t been fucking anybody.” 

You’re still in the afterglow, mind muzzy, all of your previous panic and fear blunted near to the point of erasure with how nice it feels to float, when you hear James’ pleased chuckle from where he’s getting dressed. He comes back and leans over you. “Hey Sweetheart. Feeling good?” 

You frown at him, though it takes a concerted effort to make any expression of displeasure. You want him to know you aren’t happy, that this state he’s fucked you into isn’t real. You want to slap that smug fucking look right off his face. All you manage to come up with is a pouty little “no" that makes James laugh.

“Come here.” He fixes your dress, then helps you up off the bed. He seems to be checking to make sure you’re steady on your feet before he lets you stand on your own. “You good?”

“M’fine.” He knows you too well, knows how intense it can be for you, how strongly you react to him. You avoid his knowing gaze. You’re not completely useless like this. You can still remember everything that’s going on, can still remember June. “Please,” you say again, trying to change the tone of your voice. “Let me give her to Hilde.”

James rolls his eyes. “Right, right. Your friend across the street.”

“Please James?” You look up at him, pink edges all around his face, so pretty. Goddamn him. “She’ll be safe there.”

Again, something passes through his eyes too quickly for you to identify. It might be annoyance. He sighs, and the look, whatever it was, is gone. “Sure thing, Doll. Babies need a lot of stuff. You might as well pack up what she needs.”

You nod tearfully, going to your closet to grab a bag. He follows close behind, sending a clear message that he’s not planning on letting you out of his sights while you do this. James isn’t stupid, you’ll give him that.

In the nursery, June is happy to see you and wants you to pick her up. You talk to her in a sweet, placating voice as you go around the room grabbing different things that she’ll need and stuffing them in the bag. At this point you know to be grateful for the haze. Even as it tapers off, it’s blunting the sorrow that you know would otherwise have you sobbing and your voice clogging with tears. This way at least, you’re able to keep June thinking everything is alright. This way she isn’t scared. 

It’s when you’re crouched beside the changing table, stuffing diapers into the bag with James behind you that you get the idea: Downstairs: the kitchen: in the drawer. Your gun.

You stop moving long enough that James notices. “What’re you doing? Come on.”

You stand back up. Yes. You have to do it. This is the only chance you have at getting out of this and not losing June. You lick your lips nervously before turning back around to face him. “I … have to get her bottles and stuff from downstairs,” you say, hoping that the lingering post-coital haze is enough to keep your true intentions off your face. Your eyes flick up to James, who’s squinting at your tits.

“Bottle?” He starts to smirk, and you glare at him.

“Yes. Asshole. I won’t exactly be around to feed her, now will I?” 

His face softens at that and he gives you an apologetic look. “Right. Well go on, then.” 

You move for the hallway, realize he’s not following you, and turn back in confusion. He’s beside the crib, holding his hand out for June to touch. Your heart leaps from your spot in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I’m waiting right here until you come back upstairs,” he says, his message clear. 

Your pulse picks up, but you force yourself to nod. You’re useless without that gun. You have to get to it. He narrows his eyes at you while June giggles and reaches for his wiggling fingers. “No games.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and turn and head for the stairs. 

It’s pure torture to move at a casual speed, especially as your mind is clearing and the fearful emotions returning. In the downstairs hallway, you check once over your shoulder that James hasn’t followed you, then pick up your pace, hurrying into the kitchen and heading straight for the drawer where you keep the gun.

Your eyes tear up as you maneuver past the digital lock that you installed for nothing. June’s still crawling. She never even got old enough to toddle over here. You press the code into the keypad, cringing when it does its quiet little two-tone ‘beep’ at being unlocked. You wait, heart in your throat until you hear the mechanism moving, then rip open the drawer. 

Your heart stops and your brain freezes and all you can think is: No. No, no no— 

“Looking for this?” 

You whirl around, and there he is: standing on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the sink as he holds your only weapon in his hands.

His face is relaxed, Goddamn him, as he pretends to ignore your horror and instead holds the gun up to flippantly inspect it. “I have to say, Doll, I’m impressed. I would’ve expected some puny girl gun. Ruger, Derringer. But this?” He turns the Skorpion in his hands, and chuckles softly when he sees the cartridge. “Jesus. You really wanted to blow a hole in somebody, didn’t you?” His eyes finally drag up to you, the hand he’s holding the gun with dropping down by his side as he starts walking over, slowly, step by step, eyes boring into you with a growing anger.

Oh shit. Dread curls in your gut but you’re frozen. Bolting now wouldn’t even get you to the staircase. He presses in close, pinning you against the countertop. He brings the gun up and nudges your jaw with it, leaning in and breathing in your face, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find it, vorishka?”[little thief]

He’s taunting you with your own failure, and you can’t stop the whimper that breaks from your throat at having your one and only plan foiled so pathetically easily. “James,” you plead, “I didn’t—”

“Shh sh sh. None of that, now.”  He’s speaking softly, sweetly, but he’s furious. He drags his lips over your cheek and the barrel of the gun you stole from him over the other. “So what was the plan? How were you going to kill me with my own gun? Pop upstairs and shoot up the nursery?”

“N-no.”

“Ah. Right. You’re smarter than that. You would’ve waited for me to come down and see what the fuck was taking you so long, or put it in the duffle and waited until we dropped the whelp off at the neighbors. Is that it?"

You sniffle and nod, angry at him for being such an all-knowing asshole. “You can’t hold that against me,” you say, trying to defend yourself.

He nods thoughtfully. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose you’re right. I can’t blame you for that.” Your shoulders start to relax, that is until he pulls back to glare at you and holds the gun to you again, this time pointing it right underneath your chin. He looks angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “But do you know what I can hold against you, Little thief?” Your face pinches in fear, sure that you’re about to be shot, and he digs the muzzle cruelly into your skin, forcing you to look at him. “The fact that that pup up there is ten months old, and I’ve never even fucking seen her.” 

Your eyes widen as you realize: he knows. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he beats you to it.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell she’s mine?” 

“James,”

“All this time!” he hisses, hurt lancing through his features. “You kept her from me! What gives you the right?” 

“I—I didn’t—”

He growls and pushes away from you, several steps back, glaring. “Nothing, is the answer you’re looking for. You had no right to do that.” 

You try to edge to the side, but freeze when he straightens his arm and points the gun right at you. “James, wait …”

He aims it at your face, but then lowers it for a center mass shot, which is what really convinces you you’re about to die. “Say goodbye, mamochka,” he says, with steely eyes and his finger curling over the trigger. 

It’s a submachine gun that fires in three shot bursts, or fully automatic. Either way, you know you’re about to be riddled with bullets, so you start to hyperventilate. It’s an embarrassing reaction, but at least you have the dignity of knowing what your last words on this earth would’ve been. “Don’t hurt her,” you gasp.

His eyes fill with rage and he pulls the trigger. 

… Nothing happens, but you’re bracing so hard that it takes you a full two or three seconds to realize it. Then, when you do realize it, and you see James standing there looking grim but completely unsurprised that you haven’t been shot, all of the breath rushes out of your lungs. You feel like you’re about to faint, which is apparently what he’s waiting for. 

He ejects the empty magazine, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really thought I’d do it, didn’t you?” He takes a step forward, but pauses when you flinch back. “What the hell have you convinced yourself that I am?” 

You step back again when he moves. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, don’t,” he whispers, mocking you. “Don’t what? Don’t take back what’s mine? The mother of my pup? A pup I didn’t get to see grow or come into this world?” Your breath hitches with emotion and he doesn’t miss it, the bastard. “Yeah,” he says darkly. “You robbed me of that. But I’ll get over it, don’t worry.”  He leers up and down your body in its flimsy sundress. “I’ll be putting another one in you real soon.”

You see red. Fury sweeps through you and stings your eyes, roars in your ears. You grab the nearest thing to you, which is the edge of the utensils crock on the counter. It spills over and your hand closes around the handle of the meat mallet. You cry out and swing at him, wanting to smash his smug fucking face to smithereens. 

“Woah-ho, easy there.” He laughs and takes a surprised step back, as though you’re nothing but a tantruming child. “Stop being so dramatic.”

You growl and lunge for him again, but cut off in a shriek as someone suddenly grabs you from behind. The meat mallet clatters to the floor as you’re hauled back against the hard body of another man. One big arm wraps around your middle, and the other holds a cloth up at your face, pressing it over your mouth. “Mmph!” you yell out, muffled, and get a huge inhale of chlorine-like smell into your lungs for your trouble. You hold your breath and thrash, but it’s less than useless. The person holding you is large and strong. When you try to headbutt him, it doesn't even clip his chin. You bring your hands up to try and claw at the hand holding the cloth over your mouth, but your nails meet metal instead of skin, and you gasp in another inhale of chemicals as you realize who it is. “Mmph!”  

James steps up close, smirking fondly as he watches you fighting the urge to inhale. Eventually he tuts and reaches up to cup your cheek. “Shhh, omegechka. Stop. Stop fighting now. It’s all over.” 

“Nngh!”

“Just take a deep breath and go to sleep. Everything’ll be alright, I promise. Just relax.” You whimper as you feel yourself running out of air, knowing that your body’s going to force you to draw breath in a second. James leans in and kisses your forehead tenderly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, just as your vision starts to fade out, “or our daughter.”

The smell of professionally scented, circulating air hits you first, and then the taste of old pennies in your mouth. Then, a gradually increasing sense of awareness of your body in space and time. At first you think you're somewhere very bright, as colors and rainbows dance through your lashes, but the more you blink your eyes open, the more the brightness fades and your vision comes into focus.

And there he is: holding a crystal tumbler and looking like he's been waiting for you to come round. "Well hello there, Sleepyhead,” he says. “Welcome back." He takes a sip of whatever it is he’s drinking, the ice cubes clinking softly against the sides of the glass. He looks totally relaxed.

You sit up straighter in the seat where you’d been slumped, moving your tongue around inside of your dry mouth and trying to remember what happened. And then reality hits you in waves, each one more devastating than the last:

James—He found you. 

June—She's not there.

"How're you feeling? Thirsty?"

You blink, dazed, a few lingering specks still floating at the edges of your vision. You look around the room you’re in, clocking your surroundings. Windows, cabin—Shit. You're already on a plane. Pressure builds rapidly at the backs of your eyes as you fight not to cry, thinking of your baby girl left behind, never getting to see her again.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

Bucky’s eyes sharpen on you when your stifled sob breaks out and you throw a hand over your mouth. "Steve,” he says, still watching you in concern. “Get her a bottle of water."

“Sure thing, boss.”

And then the worst realization of all: You look over and see the winter fucking soldier walking down the aisle, holding your baby.

They've got June.

Your eyes widen and you make a distressed little ‘meep’ of a sound. “Steve!” you blurt, and he turns to face you. He looks surprised that you’ve spoken directly to him. He’s not wearing his usual black mask, but he still looks huge and intimidating, and it’s like seeing a wild animal right next to your baby—dangerous, wrong. Your mouth works uselessly as you stare at his hands on June’s body: one supporting her head, and the metal one scooped under her butt. You see her back rise and fall steadily through her bumblebee onesie and you realize that she’s asleep. “I-is she okay?” you ask, heart in your throat. 

Steve’s eyes narrow at you, but he nods curtly. “She’s fine.” 

Across from you, James scoffs, drawing your attention back to him. “He’s going to put her down. There’s a crib in the back. She’ll be fine,” he says, when he sees you stiffen in protest. “You and I have some catching up to do, vorishka.”

“I thought we did that back in my bedroom,” you snap.

“You still want the water?” Steve asks.

“That’s okay.” Bucky keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll take care of her. You just stay back there with pchelka while she sleeps.” 

Steve nods, and you can’t help yourself. “Wait! Please. Please give her to me. Steve?” You sit forward with your arms outstretched, but can only watch helplessly as the other man obeys Bucky and ignores you, disappearing back into the next section of the plane. Bastard never did like you. 

“She’ll be fine,” Bucky assures you. “Just sit back and relax. We won’t be in the air for too long.”

You hate it, but you do sit back in the chair. James won’t hurt her. You know that. Especially now that you know he knows. You look around the cabin, taking in the wide, leather seats and gleaming wood finishes. There’s a couch, tv, a bar. A fucking electric fireplace. It's the sort of luxury you used to go starry-eyed over; incredibly rich men, fat or old or ugly, tripping all over themselves to spoil you.

… Only, James was never any of those things.

“This is your plane?” you ask, dragging your hand over the arm of your seat.

James smirks. “What? You thought I’d kidnap you and then fly commercial?” 

You purse your lips at his joke. “I guess not.” You relax back, trying to get your bearings. It is bad news that you’re already on a plane with him. You’ll be landing at his private airstrip at the Siberia compound, which gives you no middle ground to run. You bite your lip as your thoughts race and you try to think of anything you might be able to do once you get to—

“Stop it,” James says quietly, drawing your attention back to him. He’s giving you a stern look. “You barely got away before, and that was on your own. Now we’ve got our daughter. Anything you try will put her in unnecessary danger and you know that.” He shakes his head, some of that sadness from before creeping back into his eyes. “You’re not leaving me again, omegechka.”

“I’m not?” you echo, stuck in place by his stare, by the memories you share with him, and the fear you have of what he’s planning for your punishment. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m just taking back what’s mine, Sweetheart. You do realize that?” You fail to answer him and his gaze hardens just a little bit. “That’s okay. You’ll see it eventually. This isn’t a bad thing. If you had just stuck around a little longer instead of lying to me and running off, then you would’ve seen it before, and we wouldn’t have to be going through this right now.” He raises his drink to you in a little salute. “You, me, and pchelka? We’re going to be a family.”

You don’t refuse the water he gives you, or the drink that he mixes for you, after. If James wanted to keep you drugged up until reaching Siberia, he certainly could’ve done so without allowing you to wake up on the plane. You’re only conscious right now because he wants you to be. And because you know that, you don’t protest the drink he prepares for you over at the bar. To be honest, a stiff one actually sounds really good right about now.

“Thank you,” you murmur as he hands it over, still unmoored by this drastic shift in circumstances. A few hours ago you’d been safe in your cottage, then suddenly you weren’t. One minute you’re sure you’re about to get a bullet in the face from this man, and the next, he’s got you sipping thousand dollar vodka on his private jet, calmly explaining how he intends to keep you and force you into some twisted form of domestic bliss. 

“I had a whole renovation done for her,” he tells you. “Pchelka will have plenty of room to play and grow.”

You frown, hating the idea of your daughter growing up in that cold, Siberian fortress. You don’t care if he’s bought her an indoor waterslide and a herd of ponies. It’s no place for a child. “What does that mean?” you ask grumpily. “That word: chelk—? You keep using it. You can’t just rename my daughter.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he wipes it away fast. “Pchelka means little bee. The outfit you put her in has bees on it.”

“Oh … Right.” You love that set. It’d been another gift at the shower, from Hilde.

“And she’s my daughter too,” James says tightly.

You gulp at the bitterness in his tone, at his eyes boring into you with reproach. It’s silly, but you do feel bad about hurting him in this one way, at least. “Her name is June,” you offer quietly.

His face draws tight with emotion that’s impossible for you to decipher. Mostly you just sense hurt coming off of him, tingeing his scent and making it into something mournful and awful. He stares at you for a long time. “You made me think you’d lost it,” he eventually whispers. “How could you do that to me?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry.” 

“No you’re not. You’re just sorry that I found you.”

“I saw you kill people, James!” you cry. “I saw who you really are. I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

His mouth ticks up at the corners. “Oh, Sweetheart. You’ve got no idea who I am, or what I’ve done for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes gleam and he lifts his drink, tipping back the last of it. “Do you even remember where we met?” 

You frown. “Of course.” You’d met him on a yacht, off the coast of Greece. At a party you’d been paid to attend as one of a flock of similarly hired ‘pretty girls’. Five hundred bucks just to sit around and drink cocktails for a few hours and make whoever owned the yacht look like a successful playboy. James had taken one look at you and made it his mission to charm you off of that boat with him. And you’d fallen for it, hook line and sinker. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he says disdainfully. “Don’t know how lucky you really are. I saved you.”

You scoff. “You’re no different from those boat guys. You think you’re so special, God’s gift to omegas, I get it.”

“No,” he grits. “You really don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t know! I know what I saw. All over the floor of your goddamn office. I slipped in it for Christ’s sake!”

“Right, right. The men you saw me kill,” he says, referencing the scene you’d walked in on just before you’d faked your miscarriage and fled. “You were eavesdropping outside the door, weren’t you, Little thief?”

You jut your chin out. “Yes. So what?” 

“You know, I’d always assumed you heard the entire conversation. Now I realize I was wrong.” 

“What?”

He laughs under his breath—at your expense, you suspect. “Who exactly do you think they were?”

“Your business associates. The same sort of underworld, black market scum as you. Only they didn't work for you. You screwed them over and they were there to collect what you owed them, and you murdered them instead.”

James scoffs and smiles angrily, sticking his tongue into his cheek as he looks away in frustration. "Figures," he mutters.

“What?” you snap. “You’re gonna deny it?”

“I’m not denying anything. But I killed them for you.”

“Oh please. Just stop it. Stop lying! I know what you do for work.” 

Granted, you'd been a little slow on the uptake back then, too enamored and swept up in the whirlwind romance with your first Alpha that you hadn’t ever stopped to wonder where his money came from, or where it was he jetted off to “on business” every few days. It’d taken a year for you to piece it together, to see the true magnitude of the enterprise he ran, and how dark it really was.

Sitting in front of you now, he doesn’t deny it, which only bolsters your disdain for him. “I don’t want that in my life,” you hiss. “Arms dealing, drugs, smuggling, mercenaries. And apparently human trafficking as well.”

His eyes flash. “They don’t call it that, you know. It’s called the ‘skin trade’.”

“I don’t care.”

He gets up to go pour himself another drink at the bar. “Right,” he snaps, like you’re an idiot. “You’re so fucking naïve, krasotka [pretty (n.)]. So convinced that I’m the devil. But you have no idea how much worse it could’ve been for you.”

“You threatened to sell your own daughter before you figured out she was yours!”

Refusing to be provoked, he returns to stand right in front of you, forcing you to look up at him towering over you. “I knew she was mine from the second I walked in that house,” he says, making your breath catch. 

“How?”

He smiles nastily and takes a sip from his drink, then sets it aside. He leans over you with his hands on the back of your seat, caging you in. You can smell the expensive alcohol on his breath as he gets in your face and tells you, “I put that baby in you, moya omegya. She’s a part of me. You think I wouldn’t be able to figure that out? Think an Alpha doesn’t know the scent of his own flesh and blood?”

You tense, fighting not to shrink away. “You’re making that up.”

He chuckles lowly and puts his face right next to yours, cheek to cheek, savoring your reaction. “Sweetheart,” he purrs, “I may not have forced a mating bite on you back then like I should have, but there are other ways to leave your mark on someone.” He dips in to kiss your neck, right over your unbitten glands. “I found you by your scent,” he whispers. “Sniffed you out.”

You shiver at his hot breath on your skin and the deadly soft tone of his voice. The way your body responds to him isn’t anything you can control, and he knows that, but it still makes you flush with embarrassment when he takes a deep inhale in the bend of your neck and hums with satisfaction when he smells the effect he’s had on you. “I wouldn’t have sold her anyway,” he tells you, pulling back and picking up his drink. “I want you to know that. I don’t participate in the skin trade.”

You swallow thickly, watching him watch you as he waits for you to react to him in some way. You don’t know why you believe him about this one thing, but you do. “But you’re aware of it,” you say. “You know it happens, and you don’t do anything to stop it.”

His jaw works in frustration. “I’ve interfered a time or two, when I could get away with it.”

“Well, aren't you a hero.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps. “I said I’ve done what little I could. These men make a lot of money dealing in omegas, and they don’t take kindly to being stolen from.”

“I can imagine.”

“No,” he mutters into his drink. “You really can’t.”

There’s something oddly bitter in his tone, like he's working hard not to tell you something. You bite your lip and watch him for a minute. “... How much?” you ask.

“What?” His eyes darken when he figures out what you’re asking. “No.”

“Tell me.”

“It depends,” he grits, glaring at you. "Now cut it out."

Sober, you might have; but half a vodka spritzer after nineteen months of no alcohol has you bolder than you usually would be. You look down at yourself, feigning flippancy. “Well what about me? How much would I go for?”

“Kotenok,” he warns lowly, growling when you continue to press him with a snotty little, 

“Come on, I thought you were such a dangerous criminal? You can’t even discuss a little human trafficking with the weak omega you just trafficked?” 

He probably knows you’re trying to antagonize him, but he still rises to the bait. He sits back and lets his eyes drag over your body in a way that makes your pulse pick up. “Well,” he drawls, “you just had a baby. So that’s less right there.” Your nostrils flare angrily and he gives you a look. “You’re the one who asked,” he reminds, waiting until you give him a nod to continue. He gives you another onceover, this time lingering in certain places longer, a softer look in his eyes for the softer parts of your body. He almost seems to get distracted. He catches himself overindulging and looks away, like it’s hurting him to consider you this way. “Most people want their omegas untouched,” he says quietly. “Especially if the buyer's alpha, which they usually are. It’s an instinctual thing for us. We’re very driven to possess. We don’t like to share.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you mutter.

His gaze snaps back to you, a painful amount of familiarity in his eyes. “You’dve been a couple million, back when we first met.”

Your eyes widen. You weren't expecting that. “But … I wasn’t even a virgin.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I said untouched, not virginal. Not in that way. Alpha buyers want unbonded and never bred, first and foremost.” He leers at you. “Not that there aren’t some who’ll pay a little extra to pop a girl’s cherry. But that’s not the main thing they’re looking for, when they buy.” 

You scowl. “Right. So I guess I’m damaged goods now."

“Oh no, mamochka,” he says seriously. “You’ve only gone up in value in my eyes. Though believe me when I say I’m more than happy to contribute to the depletion of your market value." He raises his glass to his lips, looking darkly pleased. “You’re not for sale, and you never will be. You’re mine.”

You're embarrassed to be the one to break eye contact first, but you can’t keep listening to him talk about how much he likes you and watching him look at you like you’re his most prized possession. With any other man you’d just be disgusted, but James has always had a knack for getting you flustered, and he knows it. There’s always been an inexplicable pull between the two of you, and he knows that, too. It’s the main reason why you've always refused his attempts to bond you. You're terrified of what it’ll be like after, since you already know how pathetically helpless you are around him without a bond.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you mumble quietly. “Where is it?” 

“Just down there.” He nods in the direction behind you, opposite from where Steve had gone with June.

You press your lips together and get up without looking at him, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time you’re walking away.

“Don’t take too long in there, kotenok,” he purrs from back in his seat. “Or I’ll have to come in after you.”

In the bathroom, you splash water on your face and lean against the sink, looking at the girl staring back at you in the mirror. You blink, and she blinks, but it feels like you’re looking at another person, someone you don’t know. She looks fragile. Tired, and dazed. June’s been sleeping through the night for months, but it’s been a hell of a day.

You scrutinize your reflection, smoothing your dress and tucking your hair behind your ears, thinking about how you have zero makeup on. Then you scoff at yourself for caring what you look like in front of him. You think about how much you’ve changed in the seventeen months since you ran away. Not just physically, but mentally. You’ve had to be so strong. For June, for yourself. It’s been awful, and lonely, and you’ve hated yourself for not being able to stop missing him. 

You sniffle and splash more water on your face, grumpily thinking that postpartum hormones are so much worse than the pregnancy ones. You grab the towel off the wall, but freeze when you bring it up to pat your face dry and get a smell of it.

Oh.

You whimper, unable to keep from pressing it harder to your mouth and nose and inhaling deeply. It’s James’ scent, and it smells so good. It smells like Safety and Love and Alpha. You hear the sound of your own, needy mewl and you gasp, yanking the towel away from your face and tossing it into the sink, trying to keep your shit together. You brace your hands on the counter and glare at your reflection to tell her to stop it, stop it, stop it, but all it takes is seeing your lower lip quiver, and soon your entire face is collapsing in long-repressed sadness. You turn away from the mirror with a pathetic noise, throat aching from the urge to keen. 

Why does this have to be happening?! You’ve tried so hard, for so long. To be strong for June, to get over him, to move on! You bury your face in your hands and choke on a wrenching sob. You know you have to be quiet, have to stop, have to pull yourself together before he—

A soft knock comes from outside the bathroom. “Doll?”

You whine and hastily search for a lock on the door, but there is none, and James hears your crying and pulls the door open. “Honey,” he mourns when he sees you. “What’s wrong?” 

You push past him, hurrying in the direction he isn’t blocking. “Leave me alone!” you cry, hating the blubbering in your voice that makes you sound just as weak as James thinks you are. You arrive in a perfectly made up bedroom with no point of egress other than the one you arrived through. You whine in distress, circle around helplessly, and then throw yourself onto the bed when he arrives at the doorway looking worried. “Leave me alone!” you cry, curling onto your side and pulling one of the pillows down to bury your face in. At least it isn’t suffused with James’ scent. You still cry though, unable to keep it in anymore now that you’ve started.

He tuts sadly from the doorway and comes into the room slowly. He stands there for a long minute, silent, before he sighs and his weight comes onto the bed. “Sweetheart,” he says.

“Just leave me alone,” you whine miserably. “Go away!”

“Shh sh sh.” He curls up behind you, arms around your waist and legs pushing in behind yours. He kisses your shoulder and hugs you, but it only makes you cry harder at how achingly familiar it is. “It’s okay,” he murmurs between kisses. He doesn’t try to get you to stop crying, or ask you what’s wrong. He seems to know exactly why you’re breaking down, and he simply devotes all his efforts to helping you calm down in your own time. “S’okay, s’okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he keeps saying, soothing you with a deep rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’ve got you now. It’s all gonna be okay. Shhh.”

At first, his placating makes you angry, but not enough to stop your crying, and once that tapers off from sobs to quiet, sniffling tears, you can’t seem to dredge up the anger anymore. It isn’t there. 

“You feeling a little better?” he asks kindly, gently tucking your hair behind your ear and then hugging you again.

You whine when you feel his lips against your neck. “I’m fine,” you rasp, voice coming out scratchy from all of the crying. You cringe and scrub your face into the pillow in embarrassment. “Just got a little sad.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, giving you a supportive squeeze. “That’s okay.”

You hate how he says it, because it’s obvious that he knows why you were crying: Poor, sad little omega, bawling her eyes out over how much she’s missed her Alpha. He nuzzles into your neck, telling you it’s okay and that you’re allowed to cry. As much as you hate him being able to see into you so easily, you’re just grateful that he isn’t rubbing your face in it right now. The way he's holding you and comforting you feels good. You don’t fight to get away from him.

The two of you lie there together for what feels like a long time. Once you’ve stopped crying and are only giving the occasional sniffle for your runny nose, he goes back to running his hand over your side. It’s a gesture of comfort. He’s not groping you, but even still, you blush at the vulnerability of it. You find yourself glad that you’re facing away from him. 

The plane shifts noticeably, and James’ hand pauses on your hip. “Pilot said we’re landing soon,” he murmurs. “Should probably go and get pchelka up.”

You sniffle and fight off the urge of resurfacing tears at hearing him reference June. One day of knowing his daughter and already he’s got a nickname for her. You should be annoyed by that, but instead it just makes your heart squeeze with emotion. “Pchelka,” you whisper, trying out the word. 

“Yeah.” He hums happily and kisses your shoulder one last time. “Little bee. Come on. Let’s go.”

You don’t think about how it’s far too soon to have arrived at your destination, until you’re back in the main room of the cabin on the way to where Steve disappeared with June, earlier. You pause at the windows, peering out at the landscape. “This isn’t Russia,” you say, confused. The plane is definitely descending, but you’ve only been in the air for a few hours at most. “James?” you ask, as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Together, you both look out at the looming mountains and turquoise waters below. “Where are we?” you breathe.

James rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs happily. “Home,” he says. “We’re home.”

A.N.: See? Much less Rapey! Plenty more mega-dub con to come though, so don't you angst-lovers worry. Thanks for reading!💖Sarah

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[paluding]

The Sims 2: 20th anniversary - Gigantic Baby Costume Updated

This thing is cursed, you say? How dare you.

Since I learned how to add face morphs to meshes, I thought to myself “what better way to celebrate this anniversary than updating this classic, this piece of Sims 2 history, this iconic masterpiece by bootsbrisket?” Of course all credits go to them!

Download here: SFS / GD

Please read all the details under the cut if you want to download this!

Here’s all the changes for my version of this costume, which basically makes it so it’s actually, in fact, a real giant baby, not a costume anymore lol:

-I split this into two pieces: the body, found in fullbody outfits, and the head, found in the custom hairs section. This makes it so you’ll see the baby head on the pie menu, instead of the Sim’s head that’s wearing it underneath.

-Both pieces are available for all categories, unisex and ages range from young adult to elder.

-Added all face morphs using the original toddler face as a reference.

-Replaced the bones assignments on the body, this time using the toddler diaper outfit as a reference. Now they’ll look smoother.

-The body outfit replaces the original cc by bootsbrisket, so delete the original one if you have it. The head is a new piece of cc hair. You’ll probably find the head at the top of your custom unnatural hairs catalog, and the body buried (no pun intended) all the way at the bottom of the outfits catalog, right before the maxis clothing, due to how old the original one is.

If you want to see this thing in motion, here’s this video capture I took of them rapping while testing 🔥

Known issues:

-Due to how the Blender plugin works for the Sims 2, I haven’t been able to avoid making the head look bright in CAS. This is a sorta common issue that’s easily fixable using Milkshape3D, but again, I could only use Blender for the head mesh. Luckily, there’s Lazyduchess Overly Bright CAS fix, which I totally recommend you use to avoid this minor annoyance.

-While the eyes are fully animated and open and close as they should, the direction they look at won’t be animated. Haven’t figured out a way to implement that into a custom mesh yet.

-When the baby head opens their mouth, the nose’s Sim underneath might clip a little bit inside the mouth. Not very noticeable, but if you want to avoid this, you can make the Sim with an invisible skin like this one by MDP.

-This is something the original mesh had too: due to the size of the giant baby, there might be some clipping with itself in certain animations. Nothing too bad though I think.

And last but not least, some small tips to set up this Giant Baby character:

When the Sim wearing this goes to the shower, they’ll change into their naked adult bodies, which might look pretty creepy. Fortunately, there’s a way to make this outfit showerproof: the Never Nude trait and mod by Hexagonal Bypiramid! Change all the Sim’s outfits to the baby body, most importantly their swimwear, and place the Never Nude trait on their inventory.

Same goes for job outfits. If you want this Giant Baby to follow their dreams and pursue their professional career, they might change into something else when they go to work. For this I recommend the Job Outfit Stopinator by episims. Same as the other one, install the mod and place the object in the Sim’s inventory to prevent them from changing into job outfits.

And voila! You now have a fully functional Giant Baby Sim!

Want more screenshots of this majestic baby? Here ya go:

… Why am I taking this weird thing so seriously, you ask? Well, why wouldn’t I? I may be a little too perfectionist, even for stuff like this 🤓

Anyway, happy birthday Sims 2! 20 years and still going like a champ 🎉

God I love this game.

If you find any issues, please let me know! I have absolute Splatoon brainrot right now playing the Grand Festival 😬

[scoops-aboy86]

Your Smile Is My Favorite

Prompt Used: Summer reading (@thehairandthebanished) and cheesy pickup lines (@softsteddieseptember) | Your Smile Is My Favorite | Rating: T | CW: mild body image issues | Additional Tags: chubby Steve Harrington, gay Eddie Munson, pining, bizarre communication through intricate pickup line rituals, Robin loves these two idiots

I wrote most of this while on a 11 hour car trip, I’ll post it to ao3 later. 🥱 Still the 4th in my time zone though!

It’s hard to stay absorbed in a book when Steve Harrington is swimming laps in his little red shorts, but Eddie is managing. 

Sort of. Kinda. 

Okay, not really. Or at all. 

But he’s read Return of the King so many times before that he can fill in any paragraphs his eyes accidentally skim over from memory, so it’s fine. And he definitely rolled high on stealth by being smart enough to bring sunglasses, because Middle Earth has nothing on his view of Steve’s chest while the guy does the backstroke. 

Earlier in the summer Steve would have been poolside with Eddie and Robin, sprawled out in the sun snacking on pizza and chips with them and letting Eddie draw him into their umpteenth debate on which is better, Coca Cola or Mountain Dew. Now he’s going at it in the pool like he has something to prove, or diving in over and over while complaining about his form. 

Which, Eddie thinks, is a very fine form indeed. He’s thickened up some since their harrowing adventures last Spring Break, transformed from merely good-looking to downright beefy in a way that makes Eddie’s mouth water and fingers twitch with the urge to rake through that tantalizing chest hair, test the give of Steve’s deliciously softer pecs and stomach. It’s starting to become a problem. 

As if Aragorn, son of Arathorn, would have an easier time concentrating on a book about the Party’s adventures if Arwen were parading around in front of him while scantily clad, Eddie thinks, trying to make himself feel like a little bit less of a pining loser. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Robin says, sounding bored from the next lounge chair over. She hasn’t even looked up from her own book. 

Eddie considers protesting. He could; they’ve never actually discussed the way they’d clocked each other as queer during Spring Break, he has plausible deniability. 

Instead, he says, “Got a camera you can loan me, Birdie?”

She snorts, sliding her bookmark into place as she turns towards him on her lounger. “No, but now that we’re talking about it, can we talk about how your crush is visible from, like, space?”

“He is not!” The protest tumbles out of him before Eddie even thinks about it, and his cheeks immediately flare red under layers of sunblock. It’s not like Robin would talk about the way her platonic soulmate had recently put on some extra weight like that, Eddie is just a moron. Well, he’ll just have to blow past it and pretend he’d been… bluffing about his crush not being Steve. Yeah. “Uh, I mean. Fuck, I’m not being too obvious, am I?”

Robin’s grin is smug, and definitely a little bit at his expense. “Not really. You’re super easily distracted when there’s more people around, so the kids haven’t picked up on it yet.” She glances back at the pool and the expression softens to amused affection. “It’s written all over your face right now, but I’m pretty sure dingus over there has this fixed idea about your type being all dark clothes and leather and tattoos. He’ll never figure it out on his own, completely hopeless.”

That’s a relief to hear. Eddie relaxes beneath the shade of his poolside umbrella, glances down at his book again… 

And snaps it shut and scrunches up on his side to face her too. He’ll be able to find his place again later, more or less. The occasional splashes of Steve reaching one side of the pool and flipping around to swim back fades into the background for the first time all day in the face of this new, unexplored conversational territory. 

“So,” he says matter-of-factly. Because he’s reconciled with this a long time ago: Robin has literally helped save his life a number of times, she’s safe. “Clearly you’ve got me all figured out. And there’s no way you could be around that all the time and still get anything done without being… oppositely inclined.”

She nods, and the teeny tiny bit of him that had been braced just in case he was wrong relaxes. “Yeah. I don’t see the appeal, but I’ve literally seen a few girls walk into things when they catch sight of him.”

Eddie snickers, like the hypocrite slightly wired on nerves and relief that he is. Curbs, trash cans, the glass doors of Family Video… he’s been there, done that, and been forced to turn it into a bit so no one catches on to what all of those instances had in common. (Steve smiling at him. Steve looking at him. Just, Steve.)

“Not as many lately though,” Robin confides, a little sad. “Shallow bitches.”

“Shallow as hell,” Eddie agrees. One hundred percent. “They have no idea what they’re missing out on.”

“It’s taking a toll on him,” she continues. “You know, how his hair kinda deflates a little when he’s bummed out? Those great big puppy dog eyes come out and it’s all—” her voice drops in a possible Steve impression “—‘Is it me, Rob? What am I doing wrong?’”

Eddie huffs a wordless disagreement with that whole sentiment. Wrong with Steve? Wrong with Steve? There’s nothing wrong with Steve, in his opinion. Badass scars, heart of gold, hair of the gods, and a little more meat on his bones making him even more solid and dependable? Sign Eddie the fuck up. 

Sure, there’s also the nightmares and a general jumpiness whenever the phone rings or lights flicker or a radio starts to crackle, but the same can be said of pretty much everyone in the Party, Eddie included. It’s perfectly understandable after everything they’ve been through, the number of times they’ve helped save the world. 

“I think that’s why he’s leaning so hard into swimming again,” Robin adds. And even though she seems totally casual, there’s something… not pointed, exactly, but definitely not dull behind her words. She’s giving him a look that Eddie can’t figure out, because he just doesn’t have the same kind of in-tune-ness with her that she and Steve display on a regular basis, having conversations with nothing but stares, blinks, and funny eyebrow twitches. 

He tries anyway. Even pushes his sunglasses up into his hair for a clearer look, but message not received. Frowning, he glances over his shoulder at the pool again. “Because he’s… upset about not going on dates lately?”

Not that Eddie had been paying attention or anything. Not that he’d daydreamed hopelessly a few times that it was because Steve was hung up on him, lingering a bit more than necessary when dropping off and picking up the kids on Hellfire days. Inviting Eddie to hangout days like this. Taking Eddie up on it whenever he offers to smoke the guy out, usually when they both have dark circles from sleeping poorly blooming under their eyes and everything about the no longer in peril world around them feels like too much. Springing for fast food whenever they get the munchies, since Eddie supplied the grass…

“Because he thinks there’s something wrong about him,” Robin corrects, “that he needs to work out.” 

Oh. What—oh. Eddie blinks, reorients, and realizes that the thing he hadn’t been able to read before is concern. “But… he looks so good,” he says dumbly. 

Steve is self-conscious about his weight? Oh no, that won’t do at all. Eddie’s mind is already racing through ways to reassure their friend that he looks great, fantastic, amazing, all the positive adjectives that he knows. He wants to build Steve up, make sure he knows that there are definitely people who would absolutely jump at the chance to be with him. 

Or, you know, right here. Or something. 

Splashing sounds draw his attention back to the pool, and it’s Steve wading up the shallow end towards them, apparently tired out for the time being. And Eddie… panics. 

“Damn, Harrington,” he blurts out, “is it hot out here or is it just you?”

Which is. It’s. Something out of that terrible pickup lines book one of the Corroded Coffin guys found at a yard sale a few weeks ago—he can’t remember who exactly, maybe Jeff?—that they’d all howled over, reading the worst ones out loud in ridiculous voices. Why the hell is that what popped into his head?

Steve pauses with one foot still in the pool, squinting at him. “Uh… It’s definitely hot today. Are you… overheated or something? I could get you some ice water.”

“No, I’m good,” Eddie manages. And then, because he’s an idiot, he continues, “Have I told you lately that you’re very attractive? You must eat magnets for breakfast.”

He catches a glimpse of Robin out of the corner of one eye. For a second he hopes that she might step in and save him from himself, but nope; her face is frozen in a look of appalled fascination. No help coming from that quarter. 

“I,” Steve starts, stepping the rest of the way out of the pool and putting both hands on his hips like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “Dude, are you high?”

If only he were. The proximity of Steve’s naked, dripping wet chest and the gentle roll over the top of his swim trunks seems to have roughly the same effect on him though. 

“Nope,” Eddie squeaks. His face feels incandescent, and he can’t even blame it on a sunburn. And still he opens his mouth again, because he’s already gone this far, might as well commit to the bit. “But we should smoke up later, sweetheart. I think weed be really good together.”

That one wasn’t from the book. It’s an Eddie Munson original. If death took him now, he would not hate it. 

Steve looks to Robin, who shrugs and throws him a towel. He catches it and starts drying his hair, returning his attention to Eddie with a perplexed look. “Low blood sugar?” he asks, and it takes a second for Eddie to place that Steve is still trying to guess why he’s being so weird. 

As if the Freak of Hawkins needs something so pedestrian as a reason. 

“We can order pizza,” Robin suggests in a strangled voice. She’s trying so hard not to laugh, which is good. Probably. 

Eddie can muster a little gratitude for that, right up until he opens his mouth again and “Oh, are you craving pizza? Because I’d love to get a pizz-a you” falls out. 

… Maybe he does have low blood sugar. Or, like. A brain tumor or something. 

Steve sends Robin another look, then shrugs and heads inside the house. Presumably to order pizza, and hopefully for Eddie’s sanity to put on a shirt. 

As soon as the glass door slides shut behind him, Robin whips around and whisper yells, “What the hell was that?!”

Eddie throws himself back on his lounger and covers his face with both hands. “I don’t know. I wanted to cheer him up, make him feel good about himself or something, but—”

“And you thought hitting on him would do the trick? Very badly, I might add!”

“Oh, like you know anything about what works when hitting on dudes!” Eddie shoots back, even though she’s right. So very right. Cruelly correct, to a poor gay man who is suffering. 

He rolls over on the chair, only putting a knee or elbow through the plastic straps beneath him a few times before flopping face down and tugging his own unused towel over his entire head. It’s almost restful under there. The lounger cradles his face a little too high because the back is still angled slightly up for, you know, lounging… and Return of the King is dry and solid under one shoulder, twisting his frame a little oddly, but other than that…

~

By the time Steve comes back outside, Eddie barely notices. He feels slow and drowsy from the heat, everything muffled by the towel. But he does hear a scrape over the concrete beneath him and cracks an eye open to peer through the gaps in the chair. 

It’s a slice of pepperoni and extra cheese on a paper plate, positioned directly below his head, right where he can smell it. 

Fuck, okay. He can’t not get up for food freely offered. It’s just not how Wayne raised him. 

“There you are,” Steve says brightly when Eddie emerges and resituates himself with the plate in hand. “Feeling better? Seemed like the heat was getting to you there.”

“Must’ve,” Eddie replies with a weak laugh. “Thanks.” For the pizza, and for allowing him some semblance of dignity to fall back on after… whatever that had been. Because Steve, above all else, is a good dude; something Eddie has been all too aware of for over a year now. 

Steve passes him a can of Mountain Dew and taps his own Coke can against it like a toast. “Don’t mention it. And, uh, Eds…” He’s starting to smile, just a little. “I know this is going to sound cheesy, but I think you're the gratest.”

Somewhere to Eddie’s other side, Robin chokes on her drink and has to cough a few times to clear it. 

Eddie just stares, jaw dropped open and feeling flushed all over, heart in his throat. Even with his hair still wet and smelling strongly of chlorine, Steve has somehow retained that signature swoop. Maybe he fixed it while he was inside, procuring pizza and slipping into an old and raggedy high school gym shirt that makes him only slightly less biteable. 

And that smile, fully bloomed now and brighter than the afternoon sun. Like he’s decided, playfully, to meet Eddie at his level no matter how dumb it is. 

“Alright,” Robin rasps. “Okay. I’m just gonna go inside to finish my summer reading while you dingi do… whatever this is.” Followed by the creak of her chair as she clambers off. 

“Don’t mess with the thermostat,” Steve calls after her. He turns slightly to do it and releases Eddie from his tractor beam stare, letting Eddie breathe again—when had he stopped doing that? And then those hazel eyes are back on him, hypnotizing. “Well? Cat got your tongue, or do you have any more?”

The words are… different, now that they’re alone. Quieter. Steve is leaning forward slightly, legs over the side of the chair as he faces Eddie. Elbows on his knees and Coke can dangling forgotten from one big hand. His stare is intense in a way that is almost too terrifying to try to read into. 

Eddie wets his lips nervously. “No, I… I’ve got more.” He sits up a little straighter, turns to put his feet down on the shaded but still warm concrete and face Steve head-on. “I’m no photographer, but I can picture us together.”

It sounds, feels, almost terrifyingly like a confession. 

Steve’s grin gets impossibly brighter and Eddie is back to not daring to breathe, because what is happening. “Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I smile.”

Which is. That’s. Does he? Eddie is having some sort of out of body experience trying to think back. 

The part of him that’s still anchored in bones and nerves and skin takes a deep breath. Committing to it. 

“Of all the beautiful curves on your body, your smile is my favorite,” he hears himself say, and it’s probably the plainest, most honest words he’s uttered in his entire twenty-one years of life. 

It’s not like he thinks Steve is going to punch him for saying it. Or even for saying it like that. Good dude, inescapable. But he wasn’t expecting the guy’s eyes to go big and molten, or for him to swallow hard, all while that amazing smile never dims. 

“I’m… Shit, I’m going to give you a kiss, Eddie. If you don't like it, you can return it.”

And then Steve leans forward, and does. 

~

Half an hour later, Robin comes back outside to check on them and finds the two young men twined together on one lounger. Steve is sprawled half on top of Eddie, who looks like he’s holding him in place with both legs and teasing a half eaten slice of pizza against Steve’s mouth. Steve snaps at it with his teeth, and Eddie yanks it away but then goes back in to tap it against his lips anyway with a laugh, loose and easy. Happy. 

They both look so happy together. 

She knew it. All she’d had to do was get those two pining idiots talking about something real—even if Eddie had surprised her with a deeply unexpected means of doing so. Whatever, he’s weird, nothing new there. The important thing is that her plan to end her two best friends’ ridiculous mutual pining for one another had worked. 

And Steve hadn’t believed her when she’d insisted that the metalhead definitely doesn’t think it’s a bad thing that his clothes all fit a little more snug these days. Ha. One more tally on her own You Rule column. 

Feeling magnanimous, Robin decides to wait until they’re done with lunch to turn the hose on them. 

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @irishvampireboy @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

[lupinsweater]

Hi! I’m super new here but i’m Latina as well i’m Venezuelan!!! I was recently in England and it was funny to see how people were so so curious about me being latina. I think it was a little shocking for them since I speak english with an american just fine maybe with the tiniest hint of an accent/i get tangled up or pronounce things strangely. would you mind writing something about that for remus? so happy to see another latina gal on here!!!! love ur work <3

thank you so much to 🦉 for requesting this! i’ve had almost an opposite experience because i’m mixed, so i hope i was able to express this in a way that makes sense! most people don’t believe i’m latina until they see my mom or my brothers🫣 i’d love to explore this character more though! it was so special for me to be able to write. love to you!🤎

Remus Lupin x Latina!Reader 💌 1.1k words

♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡

The familiar hum of the Hogwarts Express rattled beneath your feet as you boarded the scarlet steam train. You were excited to be heading back to Hogwarts for another year, the castle feeling more like home now than the place you grew up in. You dragged your trunk through the long corridor, glancing into each compartment in search of an open seat, but most were already packed. The train was moving now, and you started to feel a little self-conscious as you wandered aimlessly from compartment to compartment.

Just as you were about to give up and try squeezing into a full compartment, a familiar, unpleasant voice caught your attention.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

You whipped around to find Severus Snape standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest and his dark eyes fixed on you with the same disdain he’d shown since your first year. He never missed a chance to make a side comment, and it seemed this year wouldn’t be any different.

“Still wandering around like you don’t know where you belong?” Snape said, his voice dripping with malice as he approached you. His lips curled into a cruel smirk as he added, “Or maybe you just haven’t figured out how to ask for directions yet.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore him as you made to brush past him and further down the corridor. You’d dealt with Snape’s snide remarks for years, but the insult still stung. He’d never been able to get over the fact that you didn’t fit his narrow idea of who belonged at Hogwarts. For some reason, your background made you an easy target for his cruelty.

Snape stepped in front of you as you attempted to maneuver around him, blocking your path. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or is it just that you don’t understand me?”

His voice slowed deliberately as he spoke, each word exaggerated as if he was speaking to someone who couldn’t comprehend him. The mockery was all too clear, and the corridor suddenly felt too small, the space between you and him suffocating.

“Merlín ayúdame,” you muttered under your breath, taking a deep breath. “Get out of my way, Snape.” You hoped that would be the end of things, but he just smirked wider.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Snape taunted, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction over your flustered state. “Can you try again in English? Maybe I should repeat myself just to make sure you know what I’m saying.”

“Or maybe,” a voice interrupted from behind you, “you should shut up while you still can.”

Your head turned sharply to see Remus standing in a compartment doorway, his wand in his hand, though he hadn’t drawn it yet. His usually calm expression was hardened into a glare, his eyes locked on Snape. You had always known Remus to be the more level-headed member of his friend group, but you could see that he had his limits when it came to Snape.

“Loony Lupin,” Snape sneered, his eyes locking onto him. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“I’m afraid it does,” Remus shot back, giving Snape a grin that didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m a Prefect now, remember? I believe I can take away points from you if you keep harassing other students. And you’re doing a pretty poor job of it, by the way.”

Before Snape could respond, another voice chimed in, “Yeah, if you’re going to be a git, at least try to be clever about it, Snape.”

James Potter stepped out into the corridor and stood beside Remus, grinning like he’d just won a thousand Galleons. His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, but his wand was out, held loosely at his side in a clear warning.

Sirius Black was suddenly at James’s other side, his arms crossed casually as a smirk graced his face. “What’s going on out here, Snivellus? Already picking on people before we’ve even made it to the castle?”

“Mind your own business,” Snape retorted, his eyes narrowing as his face twisted in frustration.

“Funny,” Sirius snapped back, leaning against the doorframe of the compartment he had just been sitting in. “That’s what we were doing before we heard you making an idiot of yourself out here.”

Snape opened his mouth to retort but floundered, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Come on, Severus. Surely you can come up with something better to do than mocking someone for speaking more than one language?” Remus said, his eyebrows raised as he rested a hand on your shoulder comfortingly. You felt much more grounded with his physical support, and you felt your confidence return slightly as he continued, “That’s weak, even for you.”

Snape’s face flushed red, clearly caught off guard by the sudden united front defending you. He huffed, unable to come up with an excuse for his behavior, before turning abruptly, his robes swishing dramatically behind him as he stalked away.

“Pathetic,” Sirius muttered, shaking his head in disgust as he watched Snape disappear down the corridor.

“Unbelievable,” James added, huffing. “People like him never learn, do they?”

Remus, still glaring in Snape’s direction, squeezed your shoulder gently before turning his attention to you. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, though the knot that had formed in your chest hadn’t quite loosened. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that,” Remus said gently, his expression softening now that the immediate tension had passed. “He’s an idiot.”

“And a coward!” Sirius chimed in, coming over to give you a playful nudge. “You don’t have anything to prove to anyone. You’d think after all these years, he’d have come up with some better material.”

James grinned, leaning forward. “Exactly. We all know you’re brilliant.”

“By the way, your English? Impeccable. Honestly, better than Remus’s,” Sirius said, jerking his head towards the scarred boy.

“Oi!” Remus said, though he was smiling down at you and you could tell he wasn’t bothered.

“Come on, then. There’s room in our compartment. No need to sit by yourself.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the kindness in his eyes was genuine, and you knew the boys wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Alright,” you said with a small smile as you followed them into their compartment. As you settled into your seat, the familiar buzz of the train beneath you and the laughter that filled the room eased the sting of Snape’s mockery. You knew that there would always be people like him, but with people like Remus, you knew you’d never have to face it alone.

[princessbrunette]

i need a longer blurb of jj teaching reader how to smoke 🙏🏻 possible shotgunning

i was hoping someone would ask teehee ♡

suggestive themes down below, mentions of weed etc

jj cringes at himself as he taps the cracked screen of his iphone, hitting play on the spotify playlist titled simply with the leaf emoji — a subtle and yet juvenile nod to it being his smoking playlist. what kind of nerd actually has a playlist made and ready to hit play when hanging out with a pretty girl, he thinks — cheeks a little red under the dim light. his shitty speaker hiccups and splutters before playing the music smoothly, just as he comes to drop down beside you on the comfy old couch.

“anyway, fuck uh— i don’t remember. it doesn’t matter.” he waves a hand, pushing his heels into the ground to lift up his hips so he can pull the rolled J out his back pocket.

“your concentration is terrible.” you tease with a giggle, legs tucked beneath you. he recalls you looking particularly adorable in that moment, and his brain malfunctions for a second as he looks at you before he forces out a response.

“uh… yeah — i got that letter thing.”

“adhd?”

“thats the one.” he presses his fingers tightly around the compact J before patting his front pockets for a lighter. “you smoke?”

it was the first time you’d had the privilege of hanging out with just JJ alone. you were sarah’s friend, and had tagged along with her to a few pogue hangouts when she’d started dating john b. you all seemed to get on well as a group, and you were pretty meek and shy most of the time — which they found pretty endearing, so they kept you around. you were harmless, and brought an oddly charming sense of innocence to their reckless and vulgar world. you’d started harbouring a little crush on JJ since you’d met, all smiles and doe eyes whenever he was up to his usual nonsense. he was loud and untameable, but always made an effort to behave around you. the special attention made you melt.

“JJ you’re yelling.” pope would accuse and the blonde would hold his hands up.

“sorry.” he’d apologise before turning specifically to you. “sorry. those pretty ears. shouldn’t be hearing that.” he waves it off and continues with whatever rant he was on, but your smile doesn’t go away for like 2 minutes.

his effort didn’t go unnoticed by the pogues, and since you weren’t technically a pogue yourself — and it wouldn’t be breaking any pogue rules, john b and sarah specifically had encouraged the two of you to hang out alone, leaving JJ the keys to the chateau. it made total sense to them, john b desperately wanted jj to be happy (and to get some, from a nice girl.) and sarah was enthralled by the idea of double dates based off ideas she’d tucked into a pinterest board. whilst the blonde was infamous for making bad decisions, he wouldn’t let turning down alone time with a pretty girl be another on his extensive track record.

you eye him where he sits beside you on the small cushy couch, shifting a little — springs clinking beneath you suggesting it may have been a pull out bed. “i’ve never… i haven’t done it before.” you shrug, embarrassed. you envied the pogues in that way, whilst you’d been sheltered your whole life up into adulthood, they’d been able to explore themselves and figure out what they like.

his eyes widen a little and his mouth forms a surprised little ‘o’ shape, before nodding quickly and stuffing the J back into his pocket.

“what are you doing?” your brows furrow.

“don’t wanna make you feel weird, if i smoke ‘n stuff.” he waves a hand dismissively and you shake your head with wide eyes, sitting up a little in your seat.

“oh, no i don’t mind! don’t let me stop you.” you smile as reassuringly as you can. he looks at you for a moment, fixing his hat on his head before pausing a little and turning more toward you.

“totally shoot me down if you don’t wanna but…” he pulls the J back out, slowly and cautiously like it’ll scare you if he moves too fast. “you down to learn? heard i’m quite the teacher.” he smirks, but there’s a friendly twinkle behind his eyes that just makes him so approachable and non-intimidating that you feel completely safe.

“m’kay, yeah, i’ve always wanted to know what it feels like.” your voice is soft behind your wide smile and he wants to slap himself for staring at you for so long.

“alright, that’s the spirit.” he mirrors your grin, tossing his lighter in the air and catching it.

“i didn’t know smoking was something that needed to be taught.” you comment, shuffling a little downward so you can lean against the couch more— getting as comfortable as you can in your sweet little sundress. you were sat so close now you could feel his body heat radiating onto you, and it was doing something crazy to your stomach. that, and the way he looked, manspreading casually on the couch, white tee and black sweatpants, frowning in concentration as he presses the joint between his lips, holding a flame to the end of it until it glows and then shaking out the flame.

registering your words, he sends you a little face of mock offence that makes you giggle. he inhales deep and holds the smoke in his lungs, voice strained when he responds. “nah, this shit is an art form. ‘course it can be taught.” exhale. you find you’re holding your breath too.

“yeah this’ll be good for your first time, asked my guy for somethin’ weaker cos’ i didn’t want you to think i was bein’ a weirdo or whatever, smoking you out with the strong stuff so i can be creepy. i know some guys do that.” he rambles before taking another shorter toke, brows creased as he concentrates on his mini review.

“you bought weed especially for hanging out with me?” you smile kindly and he gapes for a millisecond, holding the J between his fingers and he blinks, caught out.

“yeah.” he shrugs. “s’like buying you flowers. but better.” he shuffles closer to you on the seat. before you have time to overthink the flowers comment, he’s carefully holding the joint to your lips, his own eyes wide and already a little glossy.

“i’m nervous.” you giggle, briefly holding his hovering wrist to stabilise you both.

“hey, you’re in good hands i swear, i’ll look after you.” he promises, free hand cupping your cheek with a teasing but far from unkind expression. “you’re my little baby tonight.” it was made to be a joke but your stomach does a little somersault.

“‘kay.” your lips brush the tip of the J and he has to force himself not to think something inappropriate.

“what i want you to do is breathe in and then hold it, ‘kay?” he instructs and you do so, eyes looking to him for guidance. it burns and tickles your throat at the same time but it’s not awful, you don’t even cough. maybe this is rare, because he grins when you squint— holding it in your chest. “atta girl! see, you’re born for this. breathe out for me.” his voice is closer, and therefore quieter, more intimate. you’re a lightweight by nature, so by your second toke the delay starts to unwind and you start feeling a buzz.

sativa by jhené aiko starts to play through the cheap speaker by the time you’re really feeling it. he’s talking to you the whole time, talking you through it, praising you. your whole body feels hot and you revel in the euphoria of feeling so safe and comfortable in someone’s presence. you lean against his shoulder a little, giggling over a little anecdote he told you about his day with pope.

he’s grinning with pretty pink eyes, turning to look down at you, really look at you close up. his heart stammers because you’re so damn beautiful and he nearly chokes on smoke. that would have been embarrassing.

“you’re cute.” he lifts his cap for a second, running a hand through his hair and you tilt your head, joint still clasped between your fingers.

“really?”

“totally. i’d complain about anyone else getting lipgloss on the joint, but you’re cute so you’re allowed.” he jokes and you’re off again, leaning more into him as you chortle. his arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer until your head rests against him. he looks down at you, a warm smile bordering on chuckle spreading across his face at the way you’re gazing up at him like he hung the moon and stars for you. “y’wanna learn something else?” he offers and you’re slow, but eager— eyes widening hazily and nodding clumsily.

“alright. y’trust me, yeah?” he adjusts his position a little.

“mhm, yeah i do JJ.” you’re all dazed and openly crushing. he seems pretty into it and you’re glad, because someone a little meaner might find it pathetic.

he takes your hand holding the joint and brings your fingers that clasp it to his lips, where he then takes a hit. his palms encase your jaw, pulling your face to his. he pulls ever so slightly, so your mouth gapes before he’s breathing the smoke slowly into your mouth. your heart hammers, and your hands are frozen but you get the hint and inhale, feeling the second hand burn. you open your eyes, not remembering having closed them and he’s staring at you— and you don’t get the chance to pull away because he’s closing the gap again and pressing his lips fully to yours.

you let out a quiet moan at the surprise, the sound from your throat a lot more vulgar than intended and he pulls back after a moment, eyes flickering between yours.

“sorry.”

“dont be. i wanna do it again. can we?”

“the smoking thing or the…” he trails off as you lean in slowly, a curious and sweet expression tainted with a glossy haze of intoxication and lust. you’d never been like this before with anyone, hell— you’d never felt like this.

you press your lips to his, kissing him simply before pulling back. your brows pinch together and be bites back a smile, thumbing at your cheekbone.

“wh’sthe matter?” he whispers.

“there’s more you need to teach me.” you bat your eyelashes at him and he feels himself wake up from the waist down, subtly adjusting himself.

“well we got all night.” he teases before leaning in, this time his mouth taking the lead. the joint is put out and forgotten about as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your swollen lips. “didn’t i say i was a good teacher?”

[my-claws-are-hard]

cagefighter logan!

a/n: i can’t believe i haven’t seen anyone else do this yet 😭 it’s all i can think about

summary: you met logan during his years of cage-fighting and the two of you hit off quickly. now you’re by his side as he fights.

pairing: mutant! f!reader x logan howlett

warnings: no smut, references to cheating (she doesn’t actually cheat), sort of gorey death.

three years ago today, you met your boyfriend, logan howlett. you noticed he was a mutant right off the bat, coming out of the cage without a mark to show for it. and you wanted him. bad.

you still looked back on the day you met fondly, reminding yourself of what you were able to catch.

it was late, the bar was near closing when you saw him alone, not an unusual sight, as he drank his victory. he hadn’t even put his shirt back on, and you nearly purred when you saw his dog tags hanging loosely from his neck.

you were going to be here awhile anyway, as you were hired to set up these matches from time-to-time, so why not have some fun?

making your way to him, you sat down, and you caught his eyes lingering on you from your peripherals before turning back.

“saw you out there,” you said as you eyed his body yourself.

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you hummed, scooting too close to him for comfort, “impressive, dethroning the five year long champion with no scars to show for it. matter of fact, been eyeing you for a while. how peculiar that you haven’t got a single scratch.”

he turned his attention to you, narrowing his eyes. “look, lady i don’t know what your guy told you, but i won that fight and i don’t care how—“

you cut him off with a laugh. “easy, tiger. i never said i was with that shithead.”

you saw his muscles soften, but he kept his guard up.

“you seem tense,” you purred, “i can fix that.”

he turned his head back to you, leaning away to create space between you two. “sorry, ‘m not sharing my winnings.”

“do you make exceptions for your kind?”

in the blink of an eye, he grabbed your wrist, leaning in as he glared down at you. “you got a problem?”

you smiled back at him, snaking your free hand up behind his neck. “as long as you don’t have a problem with this.”

before he could ask what you meant, he smelled something and looked down, seeing flowers blossom from your palms. they were red, smelled like sweet roses and bubblegum and. . . something else.

“those poisonous?”

“smart boy,” you praised, closing your palms to make them disappear. “knew you were worth keeping around.”

“what’s a mutant doin�� all the way out here?” he asked you, his grip loosening on your wrist.

“should ask you the same.”

he leaned in closer, your noses now touching. “gotta pay for this somehow,” he told you, referring to his drink.

“likewise.”

you slithered out of his grip, your other hand trailing up his chest until you reached his dogtags.

“it gets awful lonely up here,” you pouted. “cold, too.”

you could taste your victory when his hand reached for your jaw, thumb trailing down.

“why don’t we fix that, then?”

you pulled him in by his dogs tags, and victory sure tasted great.

the loud ring of a bell snapped you out of your thoughts, signaling the end of the first round. you stood amongst the crowd, obviously in the front as you watched logan’s stumbling figure. you could tell he wasn’t in the zone.

“come on, baby, kick his fucking ass!” you yelled.

“down in front!” a man yelled behind you.

“say it to my ass!” you yelled back.

“only if you’re offering!”

of course, you were at all of his fights, not only because you organized most of them, but to keep him tamed. throughout the years, other men started noticing his lack of scars, and they took it as a challenge.

“hey, pal, how’s that cracked rib going?”

the two of you were sat peacefully in the corner of the bar, you behind him as you massaged his tense shoulders. and you didn’t enjoy being interrupted.

“better than your nose,” logan quipped.

the man’s face tightened, and it looked painful as the bandage on his nose shifted. “wanna say that again?” he threatened, attempting to pick logan up by his undershirt.

immediately, logan tensed, standing up to push the guy back, but he persisted. “you don’t wanna do that, bub.”

“oh, i think i do, sideburns,” the man assured. “i’ll enjoy knocking the teeth out of your smile.”

you watched as logan’s fist came up to the man’s jaw, a telltale sign he was going to unsheathe his boney claws. not wanting to get chased out of town, you wrapped your hands around your boyfriend’s chest, guiding him to sit back down.

“heel, boy,” you whispered sultrily into his ear. “don’t waste your time on this chump, baby, you already won, remember?”

one of your hands trailed down his clothes abs as your other went back to easing the tension from his shoulder. you felt him relax into your touch.

the man still glared at you, growling in frustration. “this ain’t over, buddy.”

yes, it was, you decided. “give me a second, baby, i’ll be back,” you assured logan with a quick peck on the cheek, walking up to the man.

“listen, how about me and you discuss this. . .” you strategically looked logan’s way, making sure he wasn’t looking and lowered your voice, “away from prying eyes?”

the guy’s sneer turned into a smirk, clearly satisfied with this turn of events. “say, ten minutes in the bathrooms?”

“behind the building,” you told him. “wouldn’t want him to hear.”

he walked away, satisfied.

“what the hell did you do?” logan asked, lighting a cigar.

“taking care of competition,” you simply stated.

he raised an eyebrow at you. “what happened to keeping a low profile?”

you made your way back to him, sitting on his lap. his free hand rested on your hip.

“i should be asking you that, thought you wanted to stay here. can’t do that if you skewer his head.”

he blew the smoke away from your face, rolling his eyes. “don’t wanna stay here. this place is a dump.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing a hand to his jaw to make him look at you. “aw, come on, it’s not that bad. you got me.”

“guess, you’re right,” he murmured.

“of course, i am, now give me some sugar,” you told him, inhaling the smoke he blew out, feeling his lips.

you did end up meeting the guy behind the building, promising that if you weren’t back in a few minutes, that logan could step in. and as expected, the man was already there.

“what took you so long?”

you shrugged. “oh, you know, gotta tell him i’m fine on my own. he tries so hard to protect me, doesn’t let me do anything by myself.”

he scoffed. “figured, guy’s got a mess going on up there.”

you walked up to the man, who immediately grabbed your ass to pull you in closer. you wrapped your arms around his neck, inhaling his scent. sweat and whiskey. typical. you started off by kissing your way up slowly until you reached his ear.

“where do you get off insulting my man?”

before he had time to respond, you pressed your palms flat against the man’s ears and he gasped. you focused your energy on the vines you were summoning, and soon they started growing out of his mouth and nose. still seeing he was alive, you concentrated harder and saw blood trickling down from his eye sockets.

“come on, you piece of shit,” you said to yourself.

a few seconds later, and two large oleander flowers appeared in place of his eyeballs. you let go, watching his body collapse onto the snow.

you heard the heavy metal door open and saw logan’s head around the corner.

“thought i told you to wait inside,” you reminded him.

“and i told you i don’t want to do that,” he responded. “so much for keeping it on the low.”

you waved the man’s body off, “he can’t say anything if he’s dead.”

he knew you were right, so he didn’t put up a fight. “why don’t we head back inside? it’s half off all drinks for another hour.”

the sound of another bell rang, this time indicating the end of the first round and for a two minute break.

you immediately climbed onto the railing, hanging onto the metal fence as logan scanned your features. “what’s wrong, honey? you’re losing out there.”

“i know,” he mumbled, running a hand down his sweat-covered face. “m’tired.”

“but you gotta keep going, baby. i know you can.”

he groaned to himself, resting his forehead against the metal. “that’s the fucking problem, i can’t.”

then, an idea popped into your head. you pecked his lips through the small gaps, surprising him. “even if i told you i’m not wearing panties?”

his eyes quickly scanned your body, seeing your old ripped top that revealed your stomach and denim shorts that rode up the curve of your ass.

the bell rang, and his break was over.

you lowered yourself back from from the fence, a few boos following.

in the ring, logan faced his opponent. “this has been fun, bub, but now i’ve got to get back to fuck my girl. it’s our anniversary, you understand.”

needless to say, logan ended up knocking the guy out. he went straight for you as he walked out, not accepting water or a towel from the crowd. he immediately held your face as he kissed you with so much force it made you stumble back, but he caught you. he always did. you could smell the sweat off of him and feel his heartbeat with your hand, and it only made you crave him more.

“told you, you could do it,” you teased, keeping him close with his dog tags.

“yeah, yeah,” he breathed out. “now why don’t i enjoy my anniversary gift?”

—v

part ii?

[cyber-streak-2]

Finally decided to talk about my Fan Continuity again—mainly with revealing the rest of the characters that I just haven’t mentioned yet. But with this one, I’m going to put everyone together—ones I’ve already mentioned (with new bits), and the ones I haven’t yet.

Again, really everyone is still around (besides a few), but these ones are all the more main ones.

I would’ve done this sooner, but I just kept forgetting.

Autobots:

—

1: Optimus Prime: They/Them/Themself, He/Him/Himself, (FtM):

The leader of the Autobots, who, only a short time ago—three months, to be exact, had still been Orion Pax. However, that changed thanks to the Matrix of Leadership, changing them into a Prime.

Residing on Earth with his Autobots, Optimus Prime is still grieving over the loss of their Conjunx Endura, Elita-1, while quickly growing protective of the others, and promising to stop the Decepticons—not wanting anybody else to suffer.

—

2: Wheeljack: He/Him/Himself, They/Them/Themself, She/Her/Herself:

One of the most well known Autobot Scientists... and in general, despite the known fact that a lot of their inventions tend to malfunction or blow up in his face. Although, they are still one of the only remaining ones on Earth.

They stick around, helping out the other Autobots, but the scientist has some... issues, that they’ve been trying to fix for a while.

Shortly after the arrival to Earth, Ratchet and the Dinobots suddenly went missing, with Wheeljack making it his personal mission to find them. All while dealing with an unfortunate change that happened because of an encounter with a ‘Con, and one of her inventions.

—

3: Ambulon: They/Them/Themself:

The only remaining Cybertronian medic that resides on Earth—due to First Aid’s death back on Cybertron, a... situation, involving Pharma, and Ratchet’s disappearance not all that long ago.

After leaving the Decepticons, and officially becoming an Autobot some time before leaving Cybertron, they discover that some treat them far better than how others treat Mirage, another former Decepticon.

Shortly after the switch, Ambulon suffered permanent damage, which still affects them in some ways, they remain a medic, helping their fellow Autobots. They can’t fight anymore, though.

—

4: Mirage: He/Him/Himself, They/Them/Themself, She/Her/Herself:

An outlier with the ability to turn invisible, as well as creating holograms of anything. While Mirage may be an Autobot now, back before the arrival on the new planet, they had originally started out as a Decepticon.

Despite the side that they are on now, Mirage takes notice to certain Autobots who just... seem to not trust her, or like her—considering him a spy—which doesn’t help when Mirage has been a little... suspicious, as of late.

They are tired of all of this.

—

5: Cliffjumper: He/Him/Himself, (FtM):

An Autobot who, while seeming to have trouble trusting others—fellow Autobots included—seems to trust Mirage the least. He doesn’t want anything to do with them, but she’s still with the team... and the two keep getting put together.

Shortly after arriving on Earth, Cliffjumper was captured, and during that time, clones were made of him—all planned on being used as soldiers for the Decepticons. Which... leads into moments (quite often) where he and the clones are easily mistaken.

Cliffjumper has been shot at more times than he can count because of this.

—

6: Pipes: He/Him/Himself, She/Her/Herself:

An Autobot who had originally been a very excellent spy... until she made a horrible mistake, and the Decepticons figured out who Pipes really was, and what he had been doing among them.

Now fully back with the Autobots, Pipes is on a lengthy road of recovery from being crushed after the Decepticons figured everything out. Despite not being able to do much, the minibot is still trying to find ways to help... and to not worry anyone with some other problems.

—

7: Scrounge: They/Them/Themself:

An Autobot who... well... nobody can exactly remember too much about them—Scrounge died years ago during the earlier days of the war, but stuck around with everyone as a ghost—but it doesn’t seem like anyone can see them.

Scrounge has obtained several tasks that they want to accomplish:

1: Find Blaster—they learned from listening to the others that he went missing, alongside others.

2: Discover a way to let the others see and hear them... maybe they could try possession?

3: Find their arm—they lost it right before their death, and has constantly been wanting to finally try and retrieve it.

4: Finally join the After/Allspark.

—

8: Sunstreaker: It/It’s/Itself:

An Autobot who, upon it learning of the others suddenly disappearing, never thought too much of it (except for happiness when involving the Decepticons). But then it’s brother disappears, too, and Sunstreaker decides to do something about it.

Aside from trying to figure out where it’s brother is, Sunstreaker can’t help but feel like it’s being... drawn. To where? To who? It doesn’t know. It’s just trying to take in the sights and find it’s sibling—the strange feeling can wait.

—

9: Rewind: He/Him/Himself, (FtM):

An Autobot who is seen typically recording—but for a while, he wasn’t seen at all. Like Ratchet and the rest, his fellow Autobots assumed he was taken—except he seemed to be the only one who returned.

Although, Rewind claims that he doesn’t remember anything—nothing is recorded, either. So, perhaps something else happened... but there is certainly something off about how he’s been acting since he returned. Rewind doesn’t want to talk, though.

—

10: Dinobot: They/Them/Themself:

Originally a neutral for a good half of the war, Dinobot eventually became an Autobot after a few things happened—including a chat with Optimus Prime. They know a few of the Decepticons personally.

Despite knowing all of the more major issues—dealing with the Decepticons, finding who all is missing, etc—Dinobot is dealing with a more personal thing, and seems to frequently disappear.

—

11: Ultra Magnus/Minimus Ambus: She/Her/Herself, It/It’s/Itself:

The Second in Command to the Autobots, and close to Optimus Prime—the two having known each other from years before the war ever started.

Ever since others started disappearing, among all of the other problems, Ultra Magnus has been... really stressed. She hopes that she can get to the bottom of this.

—

Humans:

—

1: Andie Gray: She/Her/Herself, He/Him/Himself:

A human who, while on his way to get to his college classes, stumbled across a fight between the Autobots and Decepticons. Despite trying to ignore all of that, she still ends up getting roped into everything.

After a more proper introduction, Wheeljack is made her guardian. And despite the fact that he’s more focused on personal life things, he still sticks around, and decides to help the scientist out.

Andie communicates through sign language.

—

2: “Raven” (Real Name Unknown): Any Pronouns:

A younger human who, while running around, stumbled across a long-gone Cybertronian, and Censere—who hadn’t expected to be seen—neither of them had expected this to happen.

After an introduction, with Raven giving a fake name, the two decide to stick with each other... but there are things that she doesn’t plan on telling Censere—like how he’s hiding.

—

Other:

Rampage: It/It’s/Itself:

Rampage (or “X” to some), used to be held in some sort of facility in another Universe, before it had a chance to escape—taking it, which led it both out of the facility and out of that Universe, ending up in a new one.

It shortly meets Transmutate—who isn’t the one it vaguely knew from the other Universe—who also seemed to have gone through a similar situation.

Teaming up and sticking together, the two have to worry about... a lot, such as others from each of their universes coming to catch the two—especially Transmutate.

—

Transmutate: She/Her/Herself, It/It’s/Itself, They/Them/Themself:

She was originally held in an old facility somewhere in a different universe, before hurriedly taking a chance to escape—quickly discovering that, after jumping through a portal, that it led them to another universe, too.

After arriving, it quickly met Rampage—a different one—yet it also seemed to go through a similar situation. The two decide to team up and stick together... but there’s a lot to worry about.

It has abilities that it cannot control.

—

Censere/The Necrobot: They/Them/Themself:

Censere... or as everyone else knows them as, The Necrobot—a neutral who seems to catalogue the deceased—yet also thought to not exist.

Residing on Earth, they were alone... until a young human managed to spot them while they were listing a Cybertronian off. At first, they thought that would be it—but the two kept seeing each other, and eventually, the two made the decision to stick together.

—

Krok: He/Him/Himself, (FtM):

A Monoformer that is haunted by events from his past—which causes him to see... spirits (those are real?)—and the leader of a small group called “The Scavengers”. Years before the others, he first met Spinister, after the surgeon repaired him.

His time with everyone has, so far, been... chaotic, that’s for sure. But, it quickly becomes worse when, after a visit to a planet, they all discover that they are being tracked and chased—but nobody knows why or by who.

—

Spinister: They/Them/Themself, It/It’s/Itself:

Spinister, a rather strange (in everyone else’s optics) surgeon, who, years ago, ran into a severely damaged Krok. It didn’t know who did this—but it never asked. After fixing him, Spinister never left.

Out of everyone, they notice how Krok seems to understand them the best—but it’s still somewhat a mystery to the monoformer—there are certain things that Spinister keeps to themselves.

However, one thing that is known, yet still a mystery... is that Spinister seems to see and hear the spirits that hang around Krok. Yet nobody else can.

—

Misfire: Any Pronouns:

Misfire doesn’t remember much of anything—and he isn’t all that sure on the reason why. But, they do know that they have a terrible shot... everyone learns that quickly.

It’s the newest member, the others having met her and vise versa after the flier got into some trouble at the bar the others were visiting, before joining.

He’s not all that worried about what they can’t remember.

—

Crankcase: No Pronouns:

Crankcase, a Pilot, who before joining the Scavengers (being the third to join), used to be a member of the DJD—but has no intention on telling any of the others this—figuring that it doesn’t matter.

The only explanation Crankcase has ever given them was that the pilot used to work for someone, before deciding to leave—but when doing so, was wounded—receiving the nasty head wound.

Kaon and Vos were the cause of it.

—

Fulcrum: They/Them/Themself, He/Him/Himself:

Fulcrum, a Decepticon who... isn’t all that sure on what he was doing in an old, seemingly abandoned, lab—which was where he ended up meeting the others—being the fourth to join.

Unlike Misfire later on, they can remember everything... except for anything involving the lab—they just can’t remember why they were there, or their time in it. They... feel weird, and can no longer transform, among other unfortunate details.

While dealing with the chaos of the Scavengers, they slowly start to realize why they were there...

—

Decepticons:

—

1: Starscream: No Pronouns:

A Decepticon, who, originally, was the Second in Command, even after everyone arrived on Earth. But, when Megatron suddenly disappeared without a trace, Starscream finally became the leader, much to the disappointment of the other Decepticons.

Starscream is going to make sure everything stays like this.

—

2: Soundwave: They/Them/Themself, It/It’s/Itself:

Originally the Third in Command, they became the new SiC after Megatron’s disappearance, and when Starscream became the new leader... which is quite unfortunate.

They were the first to notice everything happening—other Cybertronians just disappearing without a trace, for example—not just Megatron. Ratchet, Wheeljack’s Dinobots, all of its minicons...

Deciding to get to the bottom of this, Soundwave starts digging—wanting to find its true leader and its minicons.

—

3: Thundercracker: He/Him/Himself, (FtM):

After Megatron’s disappearance, with Starscream becoming the new leader, and Soundwave becoming the new SiC, Thundercracker found himself with the position of the new TiC.

Ever since he’d arrived on Earth, among the more major situations, the Decepticons have noticed how strange he’s been ever since... practically the first day.

Sure, they know certain things—like how he created a film once, a month or two after the arrival. But... what’s going on now? Thundercracker wants to keep it a secret—he doesn’t want anything bad to happen—or, more simply, for anyone to be bothered.

—

4: Megatron: Any Pronouns:

The original leader of the Decepticons, and an old friend of Optimus Prime’s before the war—having considered the mech like a younger brother in a way. They were still around during the first month on Earth... but then something happened.

Megatron doesn’t know what’s happening. Doesn’t know that it’s not just him that’s missing. Doesn’t know where he is. Everything feels weird.

He’s not sure what’s going on, but she’s going to escape—after all, knowing Starscream most likely became the leader... it’s not going to let that remain for much longer... and it’s not going to let anyone else destroy the Prime.

—

5: Tracks: He/Him/Himself, She/Her/Herself, They/Them/Themself:

A Decepticon who had been a spy for some time... and was also the first one to discover that there was another spy—Pipes, and informed the others so that they could deal with the minibot.

After a few weeks of being on Earth, Tracks ran into a human... and although she’s a little iffy about humans in general (but doesn’t necessarily hate them), they really like this one—a lot.

The other Decepticons know of what is going on—but don’t exactly do anything about it—there’s more important things to worry about.

—

6: Tarantulas: He/Him/Himself, (FtM):

A Decepticon scientist with a beast-mode—others typically stay out of his way, only coming to the mech if they absolutely need to—nobody approached him at all the day that his creation went missing.

Throughout most of his time on Cybertron, he spent his time working on another Cybertronian—a son—who others heard Tarantulas refer to him as “Ostaros”.

On Earth, Tarantulas discovered that Ostaros was just.. gone—he vanished. Unsure where to start, Tarantulas teams up with Soundwave, wanting to find his son—but not really caring about the others that are missing.

—

7: Nightbird: She/Her/Herself, (MtF):

A robot, but not exactly a Cybertronian—she was created by Tarantulas shortly after arriving on Earth, but the scientist had no clue what to really use her for... but, after Ostaros went missing, Tarantulas and Soundwave decided to use her for assistance.

Nightbird is still getting used to, and processing, a lot of things—she hasn’t been alive for all that long. She considers Tarantulas her father.

—

8: Red Alert: He/Him/Himself, (FtM):

A Decepticon who... nobody has exactly seen much of—mainly as of recently. The others decide not to bother him—none of them know what to do, but they figure it has something to do with everything that has been happening recently.

Red Alert typically stays back in his quarters... unsure of what to do about the situation(s) in front of everyone. He wants to help, but is terrified of disappearing, too—what if one of his fellow Decepticons is causing it? It could practically be anyone who is causing all of this—which is unfortunate.

But, he wants to figure it all out.

—

9: Makeshift: It/It’s/Itself:

Another robot—but not exactly a Cybertronian—who was created by Tarantulas back on Cybertron—also considering the scientist a father. Thanks to Tarantulas, it is able to shapeshift into any Cybertronian.

It doesn’t care all that much on the situation that’s going on, but even if it did, it’s more focused on its current mission—pretending to be one of the Autobots.

—

10: Jazz: She/Her/Herself, He/Him/Himself:

A former Autobot, but something happened back on Cybertron to make her leave and join the Decepticons—something that he prefers not to speak about, and something that the others don’t ask about.

While she’s not exactly a medic, she still has enough medical skills to be considered one—and he has a lot to do, considering that the others come back wounded a lot.

—

11: Skybyte: They/Them/Themself:

A Decepticon with a beast mode—shark, to be exact—and a Decepticon who isn’t all that sure on what’s going on. They know of the war and similar things... but, they accidentally got into a pod years ago, and ended up on Earth way before the others.

They were awoken by Jazz and Tracks after the two found them, and brought back to the current base. Skybyte is still surprised by everything that’s happening—which nobody told them about for a while, having forgotten.

Skybyte never really fights, spending time on other activities and projects.

—

Tags: @aecholapis @bramble-b0t @novafire-is-thinking @kawareo @critcallylowhp

[skriblee-ksk]

Ki****’s Home

The children brought to the ******* Island during the year **** were named after flowers.

Ki**** was the brightest in her cohort, both in terms of intelligence and personality.

However, that was exactly what made her the worst subject.

Instead of properly participating in the activities meant to measure the children’s abilities, she was always distracted. Always compassionately helping or curiously asking.

Although seeming to hold no malicious intent, she was still a hindrance. An unpredictable, troublesome child.

In fact, she was the Father’s ultimate failure.

Someone who was too valuable to be discarded, yet too disobedient to be contained.

Even punishments seemed to have little effect on her, as she always returned to her natural state a few hours later.

One day, the Father lost his patience. He stepped up instead of the researchers and tried to fix Ki**** on his own.

It worked for the day. Ki**** completed all the activities as she should have been all along. Even if the results were worse than usual, she had been predictable. Obedient.

That day, when the best children were moved to the reward room, the Father handpicked a gift for Ki**** as a reward.

Since he had proved that Ki**** was able to do what they told her to, he expected no less from her.

Unfortunately, the next day, Ki**** had reverted back to her old habits.

She really did try her best to do what was expected. She really wanted to do her best, she did.

One thing all children in the lab hated to hear was that their best was, in fact, not their best. That their greatest efforts were not enough.

In fact, they would have rather died than heard that.

The Father was disappointed.

And that would be Ki****’s last time in the reward room.

Ki’s backstory that no one asked for!!!!!

Her backstory usually doesn’t play a pivotal role on the medias I insert her into, but it does give a few clues on her behavior and personality. Also I just think she’s tragic because she dies so early. My daughter :(

I actually made Ki during like. 5th grade, so the world where she originally resides in is my OC world (the one with Kristal in it (u can find her in refs btw, if you haven’t seen her yet)).

Generally, Ki**** was a girl who talked with and helped her cohort, even at the cost of being labeled disobedient. She prioritized helping the rest of the children than acing her ability tests (even though she had no reason to. Like she wasn’t even older than them, the cohorts are separated by birth date year).

She placed high on pop quizzes testing intelligence every time, but otherwise if someone else seemed to struggle, she would flat out NOT do any of the work and instead would help them or ask questions in their stead or even just give up on the work to do something else, so they could never measure her correctly. This made it impossible to figure out if she’d be of any help with the Father’s research (which I will not disclose as of now).

Yeah, that’s generally it!

Now, an answer to a few (nonexistent) questions!

1. Why does the Father include the word “the”?

It has “the” in the same way you’d call a creature under your bed “the” Monster.

2. Is Ki’s purple ribbon the gift the Father chose and would she still wear it if she found out about her past?

Yes

Yes :(

3. What are some similarities and differences between Ki**** and Kiyuu?

Similarities: Obsessive organization abilities, intelligence, and they’re both searching for home.

Oh and they both love the scent of the sea and cream puffs, and general things like that.

Differences: Kiyuu develops to become, in a sense, less “helpful”? She finds out most people at NRC like to be seen as someone who can handle things themselves if they wish to, and it’s really just awkward if Kiyuu keeps eagerly volunteering for anything. Like, at first it’s nice, but then it just becomes like, “does she think I’m helpless or something?” Anyway. Yeah. Kiyuu here gains some snark too, just as a defense mechanism. She needs to spit back once in a while.

Taglist (ask to be added!!): @kathxrat-01 @distant-velleity @scint1llat3 @elenauaurs @boopshoops @lumdays @venaue @jewelulu @thehollowwriter

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

March 10th

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1. Alright, I’m in need of some help finding a fic! I remember a few things but haven’t been able to find it yet in my history and I apparently didn’t bookmark it like a dumbass! Anyway, I remember that it was canon divergent around the time of Sunshot, I remember that JZX is stabby because he’s half Yu and they’re the clan where you have to be inventive as well as stabby to earn your place? The Yunmeng trio go to Meishan to get help and I believe Yanli is sect leader so it might be a no golden core transfer fic? The thing I remember most is that JZX kills Wen Xu himself (with a poison knife?), and the intricacy of the traps you have to work through in order to get into Meishan territory. Hopefully this is specific enough! Thanks! @belovedmuerto

FOUND! Moments of Revelation by meyari (T, 133k, ChengSang, WangXian, XiYao, POV JC, Canon Divergence, Temporary Character Death, Character Death, not anyone we care about, Time Travel Fix-It Self-Sacrifice, Torture, Chronic Pain, Chronic anxiety, Grief/Mourning, PTSD, Chronic Mental Health Issues, Assassination, renamed MY, Families of Choice, Unreliable Narrator(s), Demonic Possession)

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2. Hi! I'm looking for a fic I've read where wwx reincarnates and lwj tries to say i love you to him but wwx keeps on deflecting or just says thank you. I think lwj also tries to make wwx fall in love with him again because wwx is afraid to give his love to lwj again after what he did to him. AHHHH I really need to read it againnn!! Thank you so much for your help!

FOUND? When the Words Stop Coming by mrcformoso (T, 7k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Canonical Character Death, Love Confessions, Rejection, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Trauma, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending)

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3. Hi! i'm looking for a fic: omegaverse. yllz!wwx and general!lwj, more or less. at the start the two don't know each other (iirc), and lwj has basically been sent to negotiate with wwx, ideally for a surrender. they decide to have a duel and it becomes clear part way through that wwx is an omega. lwj kind of loses control of his instincts and bites wwx as like, a dominance thing in the fight, but then things get kind of hand (in a sexy way). i think they get together after that? thank you <;3 @motherfuckingnazgul

FOUND! take a chance on me by gremlinsae (E, 9k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Accidental Bonding, dubcon, Swordfighting, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Canon Sexual Dynamic, Scenting, Badass WWX, Banter, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Royalty, cw: discussion of omega trafficking and sexual assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault)

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4. Shifting through my read history continues to be an exercise in making myself cross-eyed, so: looking for a fic where JC is under the impression that LWJ lost someone (he thinks it's probably LSZ's mother) because of WWX. In one scene, he's eavesdropping on the junior quartet from an indoor balcony. Then some years later he realizes that the person lost was actually WWX himself; what helps him come to this conclusion is a song WWX used to sing that he overhears LSZ singing a modified version of while on a night hunt(?). @linderel

FOUND! sing to the clouds in summer by stiltonbasket (G, 28k, JC & WWX, JC & JL, wangxian, JL & LSZ & LJY & OYZZ, 13k words of JC figuring out that LSZ is his nephew, ft. LXC and NHS the overprotective uncles, and LWJ giving JC death glares, Family Secrets, Reconciliation, Sad JC, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Podfic Available)

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5. Hello! I’m looking for a fic where it’s single dad!lwj and his babysitter was abusing a yuan ?? Or left him somewhere. and WWX sees it, realizes he’s a lan and says the kid is lucky because chances are he knows who his dad is. Then he calls LWJ’s law office to speak with him?

Sorry it’s so vague that’s all I remember lol. Thanks for all that you do for this fandom!❤️

FOUND? 🧡 Yiling Salon: Hair, Nails and Piercing by TriviasFolly (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hairstylist AU, Hairstylist WWX, 5+1 Things, Fluff, Experimental style) Not sure if it's the best fit, based on the summary, but it made me think of that fic

FOUND? five years gone by quillifer (E, 14k, WangXian, Mpreg, a/b/o dynamics, Alpha WWX, Omega LWJ, Breakup/makeup, Miscommunication, Pregnant Sex, consent is king, soft sad and horny, Happy Ending, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, Unplanned Pregnancy)

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6. Hi Mods. You guys are doing a fantastic job as always with this blog. It's definitely become my miracle drug for all things MDZS. On that note, HELP! I can't seem to find a specific canon-divergent WX story. Two monks/rogue cultivators find unconscious WWX after he's been strangled by JC. They take him in. He learns art/crafting from them. They adopt him. He only runs into LWJ between commissions and travel with his master. He makes the village a Wen sanctuary and helps the common people in SSC @jovialtyrantdreamer

FOUND? 🔒 Away from Trouble by Ilona22 (M, 15k, wangxian, Alternate Universe, Not JC Friendly, WangXian Get a Happy Ending)

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7. hi... could you help me find a fic I read a while ago? wwx and lwj are trapped in the turtle cave... without energy... they do double cultivation (through sex*)

Time passes to the part where wwx is given hi core jc

When WQ removes WWX's core, he discovers that he was pregnant...

It's not Omegaverse

FOUND! Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal)

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8. Hello it's me again!! I remember reading a fic where Wei Wuxian could control dead animals. There was this particular instance of a black puppy owned by Jin Zixuan which later turned into a yao? I have forgotten the rest since I read it a couple of years ago.

Again thank you for your amazing work!! @yilinglaobunny

FOUND? 🧡 a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke ( M, 180k, WangXian, Arranged marriage, Canon Divergence, Hurt/comfort, Light angst, Canon typical violence)

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9. Hi! I’ve been looking for a fic for a while that I read about a year ago. I was wondering if you knew it? It’s Wangxian and they become friends in the Cloud Recesses Arc. But while they’re studying there, they learn that they can use their golden cores to sort of fuse into one person. All the cultivators can do this in this au. It’s a multi chapter fic, but I don’t remember much else about it other than it was really good and I haven’t been able to find it since. 🥲 @0utertale

FOUND! ❤️ Gentians in bloom by teawater (M, 251k, WangXian, XiQing, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Political Marriage, Dysfunctional Family, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, LQR bashing (not really), POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Eventual Happy Ending, BAMF WWX, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, madam yu bashing (again not completely), MXY Deserves Better)

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10. i sent this before but i think it might've gotten lost last round, im looking for a modern au where lan zhan lost track of wy after he claimed to be the father of wq's child and they bailed. wy wasn't the child, jc was, but jc dumped her when her family had troubles and then claimed she "slept around" when wy claimed his baby; wy, naturally, punched him about it and raised ayuan. lz is ashamed of abandoning him during the scandal when they meet again years later but they work it out and wq coparents

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11. Hey I’m trying to a find a fic but I only remember one scene

It’s might be a time travle fic idk

It’s where wwx got the swords back from the wen indoctrination camp and when thanked he says consider it there jiangs contribution to the war

And nmj noticed this and his wording bc of the state the sect is in(madame yu might be alive in the fic I can’t quite remember) and admirers how he’s doing that feather then just taking all of the credit for himself @zerokogane

FOUND! Half of my soul by Asphodel_Meadow (T, 8k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Fix-It, 5+1 Things, kinda soul bond but with their golden cores, POV Outsider, POV Alternating)

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12. Looking for a fic I read a while back— teenage/sunshot era LWJ time travels to the future and wakes up in bed with WWX. I clearly remember LWJ freaking out when WWX wakes up because there’s a baby in WWX’s arms.

FOUND? These Two Most Powerful by stiltonbasket (G, 4k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, Married Life, Family Feels, Parenthood, Temporary Amnesia, Time Travel, it’s amnesia but it feels like time travel to LWJ, wangxian have more babies, and they are the cutest buns, not your average amnesia fic? there’s no drama here tbh, just soft husbands carrying on with fatherhood, And loving each other, Mild Angst, Happy Ending)

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13. hi! i'm looking for a fic where lz moves into wy's apartment because of the cheap rent but it's cheap because wy has like 2 panthers(?) living with him. i rly hope it hasn't been deleted cause i've been searching for a bit and can't find it

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14. hello! this is for the fic finder, there was this fic I remember specifically bc of one scene with jc. essentially, there was a little girl that fell into a lake in lp, while her mother was busy doing smth on a boat?? it was harvest season, I think. I remember that both jc and wwx fell into the lake to find the little one and what made me remember that fic was that jc lit up the whole lake with zidian. I think it was a long fic and in the end he also married the girl's mother. oh I'm pretty sure that jyl and jzx were alive too but I could be wrong.

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15. Hi! I am looking for a fic.All I remember is that Wei Wuxian arrives to the cloud recess and he meets Wanji. He talks about his future special one that when he fights and claims them he wants everyone to know that. But instead Lan Zhan corners him several times outdoors and in the library. And in the end Wei Wuxian is the one being claimed. I think I read it on ao3 and that this author had several good works. But I can't find them now 😭

FOUND? teeth on my waist (i come undone) by martyrsdaughter (E, 20k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Public Claiming, Sexual Tension, Obliviousness, Canon Era, Cloud Recesses Study Arc Exhibitionism, Public Humiliation, Dom/sub, Bondage, Masturbation, forced presentation, Dubious Consent, Knotting, Come Marking, Come Shot, Non-Consensual Spanking, LWJ and WWX Have a Breeding Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Some Feminized Language, Subspace, Rimming)

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16. hii can you help me? there is a fic i thought i added to marked for ltr but i cant find it anywhere :(

it was about jin ling hurting wei wuxian after his identity reveal in the carp tower, but the wound was way more serious,, i think in the fanfic's description was "jin ling got more time to rethink everything after wei wuxian blah blah" or smth similiar; also i'm pretty sure there was a tag about stomach infection or stomach wound infection basically a fic about wei wuxian being hurt lol

thanks&lt;;3 @r3n-vy

FOUND? Sorry and Thank You by Morgana_avalon (G, 57k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, JL & LSZ & LJY, JL & NHS, LXC & NHS, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, JL suffering an emotional breakdown, JL stabbing WWX at the Jinlintai, Introspection, canon divergent but also canon compliant, Bad brother JC (but not too bad), NHS taking an interest in JL, painful and infected stomach wound, LXC to the rescue, WWX & LWJ are married, WWX has no golden core, NHS's hand fan is not what it seems, NHS is a determined little devil)

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17. There's a fic where they used incense burner again and Lwj is sentient but wwx-in the dream he's freshly resurrected wwx-is not. Lwj fucks him and Wwx is pleading with him to stop But then Lwj says in his ear, "you like it when I rape you.

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18. Hi! I'm looking for a fic where, post Fall of Lotus Pier, JC chokes WWX to death and his corpse is found by LWJ. Sadly I don't remember any more details. Thanks! @lucicarebloggs

Found?🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, WangXian, SongXiao, XuanLi, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

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19. Hi! 🤗 I'm looking for a fic.

I don't remember much, but I remember some scenes. The idea of the story was something like if you can't beat them, join them to your sect. WWX doesn't create the Wei sect, but everyone seems to think so. Meng Yao gets locked up in Yilling and becomes something like the administrator of WWX. NHS has an information network and gives everyone a messenger bird except WWX and WWX makes a dead bird serve him. A crow, I think. I think NHS also brings them food and helps improve the town. And I also think he makes the design of Wei Ying's sect's robes.

I don't remember more, but I know that I really liked the Fic and it was long.

Thanks! I hope you can help me find it. 💕 @wangxiansgirl

FOUND! if you can’t beat them, recruit them by moeblobmegane (T, 228k, Wangxian, NHS & WWX, WWX & WQ, Time Travel Fix-It, Conspiracy, Spies & Secret Agents, Team as Family, Found Family, Burial Mounds, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Pining, Morally Ambiguous Character, Rumors, Politics, Developing Friendships, Good Uncle LQR, Demonic Cultivation, YilingWei Sect)

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20. Heyy! Looking for a fic where lwj was a single parent, I don't remember the other details but it came out that jyl (who was friends with lwj) was sending baby pictures of a-yuan to wwx to help him recover/keep going. Can't remember which fic this was. @vulpeculatee

FOUND! box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, single dad lwj, Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let lwj have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)

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[zaynmirrors]

A/N:

Hello all! New fanfic here. Let me know if you want to start a tag list. If you guys have any ideas for chapters, anything! I take requests, it just takes me a minute to upload them. Let me know what you think!

Tw: eventual smut, abuse (not from current characters), mom!reader, youngmom!reader, children, others I haven’t thought of yet.

Pairing: Eddie Munson & Mom!Reader.

Dustin Hendersons older sister

FIGURE YOU OUT:

Chapter 1

When Dustin had invited his friends over he didn’t anticipate his sister and niece falling asleep on the couch before they were supposed to arrive. 

His original plan had been to have a movie marathon but now he was unsure if they’d both be able to sleep through the noise. He’d known you were up practically all night, he’d heard the frustrated groans and heavy feet even from his room at the top of the stairs.

Normally his well behaved niece would sleep through the night and barely even fuss but the poor two year old was battling an ear infection. “Dude do you think we’ll wake them up if we just watch the movies?” Mike asked hushed as he looked over at the back of the older woman. 

“Look I don't want to wake either of them” Dustin sighs quietly, “Y/N was up all night” Lucas made a sympathetic face, and glanced over at the subtle movement of Dustin’s sister. 

When y/n graduated highschool, she had run away with her lover leaving their mom distraught. Y/N returned almost a year later, heavily pregnant, crying about how her supposed highschool sweetheart had left her. 

Y/N didn’t really like to talk about it in detail, Dustin understood that there was more to it but never pushed. He was happy his older sibling was back, and enjoyed being an uncle. 

The loud banging on the door startled the boys, all eyes looking to y/n. The banging continued, causing Dustin to scramble up and jerk the door open. “Dude” he hissed looking up to the curly headed senior. 

The smile on Eddie’s face faltered, confused at the not so friendly greeting, “that’s no way to greet a guest Henderson” even his normal speaking voice was boisterous.

“My sister’s asleep on the couch” Dustin spoke quietly causing Eddie to try and peek around the foyer to see for himself. He gave an apologetic smile and pushed past the younger boy. 

“What’s the plan, boys?” Eddie asked, trying to be quiet. They all shrugged, unsure what would be quiet enough to not wake the two fast asleep on the couch. 

Dustin spoke “y/ns usually a deep sleeper” shrugs and continues, “we can just try going ahead with the movie marathon” The rest of them nodded in agreement, Dustin went to the kitchen and began gathering snacks, the others followed in order to help. 

Y/n jolted awake, unaware of the group of teens in the kitchen, or the repeat senior who was supervising them. She looked down making sure the small child wrapped in her arms was still asleep. 

She took the opportunity to unwrap from the child and stand, stretching. Y/n took the blanket off the back of the couch covering the toddler with it. The quiet chattering of the teens had reminded her of Dustin’s plan. She felt awful as well as embarrassed. 

Y/n made her way to the kitchen and leaned against the frame, “if I ordered pizza would you boys eat any?” This caught the kids off guard causing them to jump, y/n chuckled not aware of the taller man on the other side of the room. 

They talked amongst themselves and then nodded in agreement that pizza would be good. “I’ll go order, Dustin can you-“ she didn’t even need to finish her question before he nodded understanding to keep an eye on the toddler. 

Y/n called the local pizza place putting in a decent sized order. Treating the teens was the least she could do, especially as she’d realized they had tried to be quiet and still were. 

She took the opportunity to freshen up, which just consisted of fixing the loose ponytail and brushing the sleep smell off her breath. Y/n wanted nothing more than to curl into the bed and go back to sleep, but that wouldn’t be fair to either Dustin or her child. 

The outfit that was currently being worn was fine, she was going for comfort rather than impression. When y/n came back out and glanced over at the couch her child slept on, tucked into the corner of it was a tall curly headed man. 

Dustin had mentioned Eddie before, however, the thought of him being what looked to be almost her age never crossed her mind. He looked at her child as if she was a bomb waiting to go off. Normally she wasn’t much of a worry, but there was no telling today. 

“Here let me-” Y/n  started and bent down to pick up her child to give Eddie more room, as he was frantically telling her it was okay. Jovie was picked up carefully and carried to the room she shared with her mother. 

Mike smirked and looked at Eddie, “Scared of a baby Munson?” Eddie went to say something but stopped when y/n walked back into the room and spoke, “What’re we watching?”

Dustin had no qualms against his sister joining, she was into just about the same things he was. “I think we’re going to watch a bunch of horror movies” he looked to the rest of the group to make sure they were in agreement. 

“Oh! In that case-” she held up a hand, hurrying off to her room again, this time returning with a stack of movies. “Steve dropped these off” Dustin carefully took the stack and looked through it, passing the tapes to each of the boys to get approval.

“Half of these are new releases” Mike states, in shock. Y/n shrugged unsure of what to say, though she knew the gesture was more than just friendly from her babysitter. She wouldn’t entertain the idea. 

“You guys cool with these movies then?” Dustin asked and each of them voiced an agreement. He made quick work to start up the first movie, while y/n paced waiting for the pizza afraid that the doorbell would wake up her child. 

Eddie made his way to the foyer once the smell of melted cheese wafted into the living room. “Need help?” he asked lowly, y/n gasped not expecting the voice behind her. “Sorry,” he apologized. 

Y/N shook her head, “No, you’re fine.” Said nothing else handing over two boxes of pizza. He made his way back to the living room strumming up excitement with the food. Y/n follow behind him shortly after, as she went to set her two boxes down an all too familiar cry erupted. “Fuck, I’m sorry boys” everyone but Eddie mumbled out a dismissal, not caring about the one small cry. 

She went to go check on the ill child, Jovie stood in her crib, face crumpled in a grumpy expression. “What is it grumpy butt” y/n asked as she picked up the disheveled child. “Hungry?” Jovie nodded, placing a small hand over her left ear. “I know, time for medicine.” Jovie fussed, y/n bounced her trying to soothe the child “Hey, Uncle Mike and Lucas are here” This seemed to perk the child up. 

Y/n smiled as she made her way back to the living room, “My and Lu!” Jovie shouted grabbing everyone’s attention. Making grabby hands at the two boys sitting next to one another.

“Hi Jo” Mike said just as excited, albeit fake enthusiasm. Mike also knew y/n disliked- no hated her child being called Jo. So this was his way of annoying her like any “normal” sibling would.

Jovie’s feet made contact with the floor and went to the two boys, dustin looked over them catching y/ns attention “want me to wait?” He’d been asking about the movie, she shook her head not wanting to throw more of a damper on their movie night even more than she already thought she had.

Dustin went ahead and started the tape while y/n grabbed the medicines from the kitchen. “Come in booger butt” she said sitting on the floor in front of the couch that still held an enamored Eddie.

Eddie watched as y/n expertly spooned each fruity smelling liquid into the toddlers mouth, then rewarding with small cut up bits of pizza. As if they still wouldn’t taste like the gross fruit flavored medication. As much as Eddie wanted to watch the movie, he’d be completely fine watching her all night.

Y/N barely made it through the first movie, Eddie noted when he had glanced from the screen to her. The child however was wide awake, being entertained by Dustin at least at the moment.

In between movies Dustin laid a blanket around his older sibling careful not to wake her, especially as he places a couch pillow behind her neck. It was clear to Eddie, Dustin cared deeply for his sister almost more than some siblings would. Eddie may have thought her ex or baby daddy or whatever, was just a piece of shit and left her to raise the baby on her own. Which is why Dustin cared so much.

Two more movies down and everyone decided to pause for a bathroom break. Eddie was the first back to his seat, noticing the toddler sitting in the middle of the couch as if waiting for him to return, “heydoh” she said clearly trying to say hello.

“Hi” he said, unsure what was happening. Then looked around for Dustin, “I’m Eddie” he continued holding out his giant ring clad hand.

Jovie examined his hand and took her tiny one wrapping it around his pointer finger. He’d almost melted at the gesture, never having an interaction like this before.

She tried to say something but whined placing a hand over her left ear. Eddie looked down to y/n to see if the sound had woken her up but she might as well have been dead.

“Your ear hurt?” Jovie nodded in reply to his question. He glanced around the room trying to find the medicine or grab Dustin’s attention.

Dustin who had overheard was already preparing the medications came over and handed the small measuring cup, “how do I-“ Eddie went to ask but was ignored, he swallowed down the anxiety.

Jovie instinctively opened her mouth ajar, Eddie carefully placed the rim of the cup against her lips and tipped it back. She coughed causing Eddie to curse “oh shit”

“She’s fine” Dustin stated, “she’s dramatic, aren’t you Jovie” she giggled like she knew exactly what he was saying to her. “Thanks for doing that”

Eddie mumbles a no problem as the child crawls in his lap. His arms fly up into the air unsure of where to put them. Jovie made herself comfortable in his lap, uncaring of who he was and focused on the movie. One that he wasn’t sure she should even be watching but if Dustin wasn’t concerned; He wasn’t going to be either.

Hours went on, the Hendersons’ mom had come home to a living room full of sleeping teens and her grandchild. She let them be and went on to bed herself, y/n awake, panicked as she was unable to find her daughter. She stood looking around only to find her tucked away in Eddie Munsons arms as he laid flat across the couch. She smiled softly at the sight contemplating on pulling her from his arms.

Y/n had no intention of waking him up but she’d feel safer if her daughter was asleep in her crib. As she tried to gently take Jovie from his arms, they tightened around her slightly and y/n decided to not worry about it. Her brother wouldn’t be friends with some weirdo, right? She made sure to place a blanket over the both of them, once she was satisfied that Jovie wasn’t going to roll off the couch she made her way back to her bedroom, changed her clothes and crawled back into bed.

Chapter 2

[ryuichirou]

Can we see some of your figurines? 👉👈

Omg Anon, yes of course!!

Luckily, you have the most perfect timing because I started reorganising them not that long ago (+ because I have Katsu around right now to take all the pictures while I’m working lol). It’s still not perfect, but for now this is how they look.

Also, sorry for the quality… My phone isn’t the best for taking pictures.

Aniplex Azul! He is very gorgeous and I am trying to make him a little shrine; I already put a little cauldron with coins under his shelf, and I’m planning to decorate his surroundings with some fish tank accessories. His shelf is actually a little plastic showcase thingie they use for candy at stores. Azul is the biggest candy of them all lol

Here are the rest of my twst figurines + a bunch of nendos and lookups. Also Souko! Don’t mind her broken whip, I’ll fix it one day. She is very dear to me because she is a gift from Katsu (Azul too!).

Idia’s sitting down figure is absolutely perfect by the way. I am very happy it’s finally mine. And Vil too!! <3 Vil’s face is much prettier than I thought it would be (what a wild thing to say). And then there is Azul… who sits like a teacher and bullies his husband to the wall…

Some other guys. We haven’t watched Legend of the Galactic Heroes yet, but I got these figures the moment their pre-orders popped-up because I figured we’ll end up enjoying these dudes eventually. And if not, I’ll just sell them…

Also yes, I have three Atobes. I miss Prince of Tennis.

More nendos, Yowapeda boys, South Park boys, very random (likely bootleg) Asuka. Poor Eren is stuck with that pole forever, and Levi and Erwin don’t seem to be very eager to help him out.

Peanuts…. Some of them are from McDonald’s, some of them are proper figurines. I love collecting these a lot. Lucy in her psychiatric booth is my favourite, I am very happy that I have her lol She is a morale booster.

Some tiny ones. Marchen and Elise are actually keychains, and boy were they overpriced, but SanHora merch is so rare that I really wanted to get them. Also I know you are not surprised to learn that Ichimatsu is my matsu-boy.

Last but definitely not least, my Trixie Mattel doll. Nothing to say about her, she is special and absolutely perfect. Worth every penny and all the nervous breakdowns I had when I wasn’t sure if I would be able to get her because of all the shit that happened in the world after the preorder.

This is it for now, I think. I’ve been collecting figurines for more than 15 years now, and I at some point I sold some of my older ones, but I’ve been getting very excited about making my collection look good lately. I’ll keep working hard…

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Yandere British empire England x motherly nation reader. After meeting her via catching her in the act of playing with chibi America he decided 'Yep, that's my wife' since she has his ideal traits of a woman (beautiful, motherly, ladylike and timid). But since he's an empire and has his hands full, he knows he doesn't have time to court her properly. So he resorted to manipulation and social pressure. First he used chibi America and made him get attached to her to the point where she's barely able to leave their house, and then proposes a union between them in front of his monarchy, her monarchy, and lil' America. Who all proceed to encourage her to say yes due to all the benefits, despite really not wanting to because she's uncomfortable with the Brit. Since he has made his infatuation known through bold and uncomforting means but being nice and afraid of what he'll do if she rejects him. Just let it all slide and pretended to be flattered, because she's a bit of a pushover.

I finally finished this one. I hope you enjoy! Sorry for the long wait!

The summer sun hits your skin, giving it a shimmery glow. The gentle breeze plays with your long, flowing hair. That's when you felt the tiny prying eyes on you once again.

You place down the book you were reading.

“I know you’re there, dear. You can come out. It’s okay.”

You knew you had stumbled upon an emerging country since there was no way a toddler like him could roam around on his own like he is. Not to mention that he was carrying with him a large Mastiff dog on his shoulders.

Since little America was lonely, you devoted much free time to the lonely child. He didn’t have his father figure around often due to being on the battlefield, being on the seas, or finding some new place to plunder. Said figure wanted you & so did little America who was always left to his own devices.

You never really did get to know America fully before he started to bring you over to the home that he England, Canada, & occasionally France (after he’s forced him to grovel at his feet when he’s lost another battle to him). It wasn’t long before you found yourself as the main caretaker. You made his meals, taught him how to cook, how to sew, [insert one of your talents here] , & other basic home ec skills.

“Y/N! Y/N! How does this one look? I made it for you! You should try it!” America excitedly bounds over to you with a sloppily made but made with tons of love put into the apple pie.

You were outside tending to the flowers when the hyper young boy raced to you to show off his creation. You’re amused by his intelligence and adaptability.

“Good job, Alfred. You’re resilient & will make a fine country one day.” You pat him on the head, admiring the fact that the entire kitchen wasn’t set ablaze.

“[Country Name]?”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to marry Britain?”

It felt as though someone had punched you in the guts.

“I ….. What in the world had prompted that question?” Bewildered, concluding that England was in little America’s ear again about being married and having a merger of your governments.

“Britain, he complains about being lonely a lot. And wanting to have someone. And you’re a nice nation who’s good with lots of stuff. You could fix his problem. You’re also really nice to me and my twin brother Canada when he’s over. You make the best pastries and breakfasts! When Britain is here he lo-”

“NO! America….No, we’re good friends…. And thats enough.” Weary of more conversation about pressuring nuptials onto you. You try to divert his attention to something else.

You pick him up and swing him around to change the subject abruptly.

“Anyways have you ever had a chance to find that secret meadow? I heard it has species of flowers we haven’t been able to document yet!”

“Oh so you’re scared.”

Ice freezes over your entire body, and you come to a complete stop. You hated how he was right. You hated how the truth within you was always so see-through. However, that didn’t mean that you weren’t determined to keep up the facade that all of the inquiries, pressure, & prodding didn’t eat away at your nerves.

“No….no. I’m just good on my own America. I don’t need to be married to Britain to be ‘happy’

& ‘fulfilled’. I’m alright”

You wished that Britain wasn’t so sneaky about putting ideas into people’s ears because when he did said thing it spread like wildfire.

‘Damn him! Why does that man have to be so pushy? And to use a child to try to convince me?!?! Real gentleman like.’

“But isn’t that a thing that all women want? A dashing gentleman like him. I mean he’s cool and stuff, especially when he uses his sword.”

America absently mindedly shoved his hand into the apple pie while he contemplated your saccharine, tense, and complicated relationship.

“Britain is just….”

America’s blues are on you 100%. The innocent and intent hues on you made you uneasy. As if whatever you said would have a counterargument to it later….

“He’s just being a guy. After all its not like nations need to be married. It purley is just a thing humans do. After all they don’t have everlasting life like we do.”

You boop his nose and relish in his cute giggle. You hoped your explanation would be enough to quell further questions.

“But even with everlasting life. That doesn’t mean that the heart ceases to yearn.” His voice came from behind.

‘Oh fuck. Can he not?’

“Holy butter! Can you not sneak up on me like that?” Not liking the fact that he invaded your personal bubble. You attempted to step away from him only for him to use his wiry & toned arm snached you to his chest. You squeak & begin to tremble a little. Looking into his verdant eyes it made you even more nervous.

“Can you not deny my marriage proposals?” He says half playfully, half seriously.

“Ha. Ha. You’re funny Britian.” You once again attempt to move away but he manages to keep you close to him.

“Yeah, [country name], why do you? Britain is an Empire and he could keep you safe if there was ever another nation who’d attack you.”

It felt as if ice had been poured all over you. You didn’t know how to maneuver out of it. You knew to some degree he was right, but that didn’t make him any less scary. However, you knew better than to anger a superpower like him unless you wanted to be at the business end of his sword.

“I know that having a strong specimen like myself, showing interest in someone weak….” His eyes take a few moments to drink in every inch of you like a shot of bourbon.

“But extremely beautiful….” He utilized his hand to force your chin upwards. You weren’t going to look away when he talked.

“[Country Name] you need to consider not only your safety but that of your own people. It’s not like you can fight & others have been eager to conquer lovely figures such as yourself…..” His glowering look scared the hell out of you. All you could really do in response was set little America down & run for it.

*************

America visited your little cottage multiple times before you finally decided to open the door.

“Yes, America?”

“[Country Name]!” He jumped at your legs as if they were a life buoy ring. “[Country Name]!” He stated again and nuzzled himself into your form.

“America, what are you doing here???”

“[Country name] ! Y/N ! Y/N! Please! PLEASE! Come back to the house. Britain isn’t there & I’m lonely and I need you! You’re kinda like my mom and I don’t want to lose you! I can’t lose you!” He begins to cry profusely.

“America….” You put a gentle hand on his head to comfort him.

“[Country name] please… come back the monsters at the house are scary too…”

“Okay…. I’ll come over, but …Just for this afternoon.” You tried not to let your heart shatter at the fact that he was crying so much that the skirt of your dress began to have a small puddle on it.

“Yay! Mama [country name] is coming over!” He says while batting tears away with the sleeves of his shirt.

“Mama? Amer-” The blues that look up at you filled to the bring with another round of tears and stars. You weren’t prepared to deal with the incoming flood that was building in the overflowing dam. So, you decided not to complete your sentence.

“Come on, let’s go! I want to eat [your country’s famous dish] I’m starving! And I don’t remember how to make pancakes, and I almost burned down the kitchen.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Come on, mama [country name] !” He eagerly yanks at your dress to follow along.

“Hang on, America, I must lock up before I leave.” You were able to escape his tiny grip for just a few moments. You wandered through your home's walls taking in all its simplistic features… the paintings you made and were given to you, sewing projects that were strewn around.

As you began to close all of your windows, a feeling of dread hit you. You really wanted to tell America no. Your mind, heart, and spirit debated whether it was really a good idea to go over to Briaitna's home even if he wasn't there. His domain held power and all of the advantages to convince you to merge with his empire. It was already strange that he was calling you “mama”. Just as you were about to change your mind, a glass shattered somewhere within your home.

“Oh no! America!” You rushed towards the sound. He’s accidentally broken the swan that was given to you by another country.

“Mama [Country name], there you are! What’s taking you so long? Closing windows and locking your back door? Also, I accidentally cut myself.”

He showed you some of the shards of glass that had pierced his hand. Blood was now rapidly flowing from it.

“America! What were you thinking?!?! Hang on, let me go get my medical supplies so I can help you.” You rummage through your home….unable to find what you need.

“No….no….no….no….no…..NO….”

“We have some at my place, but can we hurry [country name], please? I’m beginning to feel lightheaded…..” Intentionally not using ‘mama’ or ‘Britian’ just to ease your anxieties about coming back to your golden cage.

“Okay, okay, sweetie. Just hang tight.” you rushed to him, scooped him up, and raced for the trap that had awaited you.

Once there you carefully removed the shard of glass from his palm & bandaged him.

“Better?”

“Yeah, thanks, mama [country name].” He gives you a hug and kisses on the cheek.

“But, I’m starving. Why don’t we make food together? I feel like fish and chips.” He bounced up and down excitedly. He was happy you were finally at your real home.

“Alright, I’ll peel the potatoes, and you can help dry them and get the flour for the fish.”

From there, the day slipped into the night, and the man that made you tremble still wasn’t back. Fine with you. You were exhausted from assisting the small boy with cleaning up the burn marks on the walls, food that had been turned into coal, and broken utensils. While the sun began to sink below the horizon, little America wrote his updates about you and sent them off on a carrier pigeon.

*************

The crisp paper was unrolled within the notorious green pirates' hands. He was giddy to see America’s progress in hindering you from being free from your inevitable union. His eyes absorbed every word and his smile became like that of a Cheshire cat painting his face.

‘I’m teaching that kid well. He’s learning how to manipulate and use his waterworks. Sweet Y/N is vulnerable to that like an eroding rock.’

I managed to convince Y/N to stay until you get back in a couple of months. I intentionally got injured so she’d be obliged to stay with me longer. I’ll introduce the idea of the ball to her soon. Anyways bring me back a cool souvenir.

-America

Britain allowed himself to drift off into his thoughts. [Country Name] had driven him insane since the day he laid eyes on her. Though blatant social subjugation, he wanted to keep you intact. From the day that his fiery green fae eyes rested upon your gentle figure, he knew he wanted to claim you. You managed both America and Canada with ease. You were insanely beautiful & patient, all of the things he sought in a woman.

Arthur bit down intensely on his black glove. He wanted you in his arms so badly. Sooner rather than later. He didn’t want to fight you. He did consider your feelings, however, his desire to have you would never allow him to release you. One way or the other you were going to be married to him. He picks up his quill to begin the next phase.

*************

“Mama! [Country Name] ! Mama [Country Name] ! I need help! I can’t find my shirt!”

America is going to depend on you for everything: cooking, cleaning, sewing + repairing his clothes, etc. He is essentially a toddler with superpowers that he tends to hide from you. So his being able to pick up a bison and being able to stop a carriage with his foot is not a thing he showcases. He pretends that he’s weak as hell. He will also intentionally injure himself to make you extend your stay and dote on him. Lil’ Alfred was so incredibly dedicated to the bit that he purposefully got himself sick. This was done to buy England more time while he was away expanding his empire. You’d been cast into the role of ‘mother’ without your consent. Both knew how to take advantage of your caring nature and naivete.

“Oh, America, what am I going to do with you?” You placed another cool towel on his head as you checked his vitals. Worry has consumed you. He’d been ill for the past 3 weeks, and everything was touch-and-go. You’d sent off another carrier pigeon to ask for assistance. You could not leave the poor little boy unattended for long & you had too much integrity & fear of what might happen to him otherwise. You only had yourself to talk to these days & your journal that you kept.

“Hopefully he’s not back soon.” You utter under your breath. You grabbed your quill and began to write.

I tremble every time I hear a nurse, doctor, or maid at the door. I dread hearing his commanding voice ring out from the foyer. That makes my anxiety increase.

Your palms become clammy and you put down your quill to steady yourself. Your mind wanders to the letters yours and his dignitaries had begun to bring up inquiries about becoming merged with him.

‘It will be great’ They always imply.

‘Life will be easy and sublime.’ Your boss wrote to you in one of your letters.

“Ms. [Country Name] Come look at this dress, isn’t it great?! Won’t you want to use it?” A maid came in your room.

It was an over-the-top lacy number that essentially was a wedding dress.

You shook your head ferociously at the dress.

“No, thank you.”

You wanted to toss the dress into the deepest depths of the ocean along with the persistent pesty pirate.

Since most have caught onto your trepidations whenever England is mentioned. Your boss omits that one detail from the mandatory ball invitation your King also required you to attend. Your hands began to involuntarily shake at the fine print on the parchment.

“No, I have such a bad feeling about this.”

A tear rolled down your cheek. Something within your soul told you that this was a setup. But what could you do? What choice did you have? You donned the opulent (favorite color) dress that the letter had arrived with.

“Breathe, Y/N breathe.” You had to try and find your peace so you could fulfill your duties even if they did involve that terrifying British man.

“It’s just a standing government get together. It’s fine.” As you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Your outside didn’t reflect your inner turmoil.

“Mama!” Little America rushes towards you. He immediately gloms onto your legs.

“Hey Alfred.” You pat him on the head.

“Come on mama! We’re going to be late for the party.” His tiny hands begin to showcase the strength to drag you to the carriage that was waiting for you.

“Feeling better today?” Shocked at the way he’s able to manuver you through the grand home.

“Yes, I’m just excited! I get to go to a party! I’ve always wanted to go to a big fancy party!”

*************

The gravel hitting the carriage wheels only managed to fry your nerves more. Your life felt as fragmented just like the millions of tiny rocks. You’d struggled to keep lil’ America alive; he’d been sick & injured so often ….he cried for you profusely even when you’d only left his room for a few minutes. He refused to be left alone with the maids for long as well. Nothing but your full attention would satisfy the young nation. Your hands mindlessly fiddled with the silk on your (favorite color) ballgown. The smooth & almost water-like fabric helped ease your nerves some but there was still a voice at the back of your head that told you, you were headed for an emerald-eyed pirates trap.

“Mama! We’re almost there! Aren’t you excited?” He excitedly grips your arm.

“Sort of. Alfred. Sort of.” Your eyes quickly maneuvered from his excited sparkly blues down to the velvet floor of the carriage. You just wanted to return to your home & be alone for a while.

Once your carriage pulled up to the pristine castle, which stood against the backdrop of the American countryside, your heart dropped into your stomach. You couldn’t even be distracted by the beautiful high green hills and wildflowers.

“We’re here! We’re here! Come on, mama this is going to be fun!” He bounces up and down, shaking the entire carriage. It shook up all of the nervous butterflies in your stomach, transforming them into bees.

“Alright, Alfred. Alright, but you’re a representative of your nation. Even if you’re young, you must behave properly.” You take his hand to prevent him from simply bursting like a firework.

As the two of you wandered up the stairs with the other guests, dignitaries, & other members of your and England’s monarchy, your stomach began to tighten more. Seeing some of the members of the British royal court immediately put your nerves on edge.

The bees in your stomach changed, this time into angry wasps that pierced your stomach lining. Your heart began to sink into one of the seas that Britain controlled.

‘No….no…’ you accidentally grip lil America’s hand tighter than you should have.

“Mama? Are you alright?”

“ Yes, I’m just a little tired and homesick. I simply want to get this ball over with.” Came your honest response.

“I’ve heard that whatever they’re going to announce might actually make you happy mama.”

‘I doubt that.’

As the guards greeted you & showed you to the grand ballroom where everyone was beginning to take their assigned seat…. There you saw him.

You bit down on your bottom lip causing some blood to dribble into your mouth.

The feared Great British Empire was sitting next to your empty assigned seat. Your pace slowed & almost came to a halt. America reclaimed oblivious to your hesitation & dragged you along like a pet who didn’t want to be taken to the vet.

‘I wish I were mortal right now. I could die like how I wanted to right now.’ As you made it to your seat Britain swiftly got up & pulled out your chair. You sit and give him a curt ‘hello’ avoiding his hungry green eyes.

“Is that any way to greet your future husband?”

Your head snaps over to combatively meet his gaze.

“Delusional and daft. I’d never say yes.” Fight mode through your entire body kicked in. All of the angry wasps in the pit of your belly moved faster revving up to attack a target.

Britain took a hold of your chin sharply. There was a mixture of anger and amusement swirled on his face.

“Aw, the soon-to-be wedded are having a lovers quarrel.” You heard some of the people in the high courts giggle about your interaction.

“Oh, she’s lovely. She’d make a great Queen of England.”

Other whispers of similar wedded bliss seemed to be the top points of the gossip. The words poured from their mouths …creating a tornado inside of you mixed with all of your emotions.

The attack-ready wasps had been sucked into the raging winds extinguishing any fight you may have had and replacing it with fear. The devious smirk that Arthur flashed at you made the hair on your neck stand on high. Goosebumps littered your skin.

“Then maybe your boss can speak some sense into you.” He releases your chin as if on cue. Horns and trumpets beckon everyone's attention to the center of the ballroom, where your boss and his arrive together. Your nerves are still fried, and you begin to have an out-of-body experience.

“I’m pleased to have all of you here! To announce the engagement of [country name] & the Great British Empire!” Thunderous cheers beat down your eardrums. Your worst fear were becoming realized.

‘Oh shit….no…no….no….no… nooo’ Your grip on your seat tightened. You were hoping that you were having some twisted lucid dream of sorts but you weren’t.

“Y/N Arthur, why don’t the two of you share advance to start the night?”

‘Is me dropping dead an option right now?’

It felt as if your legs turned to jelly and frostbite had overtaken your feet.

Arthur yanks you to your feet despite your hesitations. You were on autopilot now & Arthur had no issue taking control.

“Oh look everyone, my poor little love is so overwhelmed with shock she’s like a doll.”

The crowd laughs at his quip. The they began to chant

“Merger! Merger! Merger! Between [Country Name] & the Great British Empire! Merger! Merger! Merger! Great British Empire & [ Country Name] !”

The crowd's chants signaled to you that you’d already lost. There was no real reason to fight. Arthur could tell that you were beginning to accept your sealed fate. He squeezed your hand before he snaked it around your waist. He wanted to be closer to you.

A ballad began to play. Arthur took hold of both of your hands. He guided your through the dance. Your feet followed his flow. Even though you were living a nightmare just like a lucid dream….. You had no other choice but to dutifully follow.

You did your best not to look at his triumphant eyes.

“She’s bashful, how adorable.”

“Aweeeee, she’s so shy.”

“One strong, dashing gentleman paired with a demure lady. A match made in heaven.”

These comments hit your head like a flurry of stones. A few tears escaped your eyelids. Arthur dipped you down and inched towards your face. He kissed your tears away and drank them away like a sweet wine. He trails his way down your soft skin to your lips.

His kiss will be drawn out, taking all of your air and attention. Your wet (eye color) orbs will interlock with his verdant eyes.

“You’re mine [country name], and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

[karkatbug]

🦀🕶️🫂

A tight, hot sensation works its way along Dave’s arms and sits at the pads of his fingers, which he taps restlessly against the cool, waxed wood table of their local coffee shop. He continues the motion despite his classmate’s evident irritation, hoping the contact would somehow encourage the feeling to pass through his fingers and onto the table via osmosis. It’s a familiar tension after enduring copious amounts of stress. Assignments, exams, working part-time. His social life, hobbies and habits. College had a knack for narrowing time and forcing life into a bottleneck. If you’re lucky enough to come out the other side alive, you’re left an exhausted shell of yourself, stiffly trying to relax your shoulders and convincing yourself that’s all you need and are totally fine now. Booking a back massage was pussy shit. No way in hell was he ever gonna let some man rub oil on him and get all touchy feely with his nude bod, no the fuck thanks.

Not to mention things were good. He’s quite literally in a better place. There was no reason to be rigid with stress now when he wasn’t going through anything like back then. Sadly logic did little to work out the knots in his shoulders. 

“Mind over matter my ass,” Dave mumbles to himself.

“What’s with you?” Karkat demands. “You’ve been fidgeting all fucking day. All week, actually! Usually I let your human quirks slide but at this point I’m starting to get worried.”

Dave winces at the other’s raised voice.

“I’m fine, dude,” he says quietly, hoping to lead Karkat by example. “Finish your thingy.”

“Our thingy,” Karkat corrects. Dave huffs and glances back down at his laptop screen. A word document is open, and Karkat’s cursor flashes where he stopped typing. “And I’m not writing another word until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, man.” Dave forces himself back into his quiet facade—fixing his calm along with his posture. They work some more. He grits his teeth when a leg begins to bounce. God how he’d love to crawl out of his skin right now. Instead, he sits up straight, grabs the side of the table and twists one way, repeating the motion as he does the other. His back pops both times. He lets out a satisfied sigh. 

It’s still not enough. 

“That’s the third time you’ve done that,” Karkat notes. His eyes are fiery despite the lack of red. Dave is one of the few who know about his blood color. He knows they’ll kick in a few years from now, and yet sometimes Dave can feel the color on him. Or maybe he’s projecting. It is his favorite, after all. The color. Not the troll.

Karkat pushes the screen of his laptop down as he points an accusatory finger at the restless human sitting across from him. “You’ve also rubbed your neck twenty seven separate occasions in this past hour. You’ve kicked me in the shin twelve times trying to stretch those freakishly long appendages you call legs. I’ve heard your back pop more times than Egbert’s fucking “grandma” and I lived with them for an entire year!”

“Why did you put quotations around grandma?”

“My point is what the fuck is happening to you? Are you about to molt? You’re acting like your frail skin is about to rip open.”

“Your inexplicable obsession with me is duly noted, and flattered as I may be that you watch me like a hawk—sorry, a talonscreecher— you can park those observations back at the Target parking lot you were at just this morning along with that awful thing on your wrist that you bought from there.”

Karkat tugs his long sleeve over his wristwatch with a scowl and flips Dave off.

“I usually exercise,” Dave explains, figuring he was one more digression away from Karkat finally deciding to kick him back for all the times earlier, most of which were definitely intentional points of contact on his end. “And I haven’t been able to for almost two weeks now because of—” he gestures to his laptop, the cafe they’re in and the campus visible outside the window they’re sitting by. “Our muscles get stiff and shit if we don’t move. It’s kind of unbearable for me.”

“Well, go! Go run a lap and come back!”

“What did we say about asking people to fulfill your furry kinks? I know our recently established friendship is cool and all but I’m not moirailling with you, dude. Next thing I know you’re going to ask me to get on my knees and bark—” Dave sucks in his breath and clenches his teeth, fighting the instinct to yelp following the sharp pain in his shin.

“Fuck off, Strider! Suffer in that meatsack for all I care.”

“I jog at ass in the morning or in the middle of the night, there is no in between.”

“Those are our peak cram hours.”

“I know! That's why I haven't been able to go!” Dave exclaims. “I hate feeling watched while I workout.” That’s not incriminating to admit, right? Most people hate the gym for the very same reason. There’s no way Karkat’s tragic-past detector would go off.

“‘Cause of your Bro?”

Dammit.

“No,” Dave utters stubbornly while raising his knee for easier access to rub his throbbing leg. “Can’t a guy be a little self-conscious when asked to run around his school in tight jeans and a baggy hoodie at peak hours? Can’t a troll accept that nothing will fix me right now besides getting on my stomach, spreading my legs and praying some forklift certified fuck accidentally gets in a steamroller and runs me over?”

“Jesus, Dave. If it’s that bad… just let me sit on you!”

Dave’s mind is pulled in so many different directions that for once in his life, he’s at a loss for words. The imagery, one he’ll never admit to having, even if burnt at the stake, takes hold. It’s so vivid in his mind that he closes his laptop with an abrupt snap and shoves it into his backpack.

“I think we’re done here.”

“Humans do it all the time!” Karkat continues. “You lie on the couch and your friend sits on your back, right? John and Jade fucked with me like this all the time but they’d make me do it back. They said it feels good.”

“You have got to remember that those two are outliers when it comes to what is considered ‘normal’ by human standards.”

“Right, because you’re a sensible being and should be considered the standard life form for your race.”

“You’re not convincing me to let you sit on my back, dude.”

“Fine, but where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Home?” Dave shifts out of the booth and shoulders his backpack. 

“No the fuck you’re not! We’re not even halfway done with this paper!”

“I’ll bullshit something tonight.”

Karkat follows him, protesting the entire time. Dave tries and fails to shake him off. The sticky heat of the summer has yet to take hold of the city. Accustomed as he may be, Dave never looks forward to it, and the dread along with his current bodily aches makes him clench his teeth and curl his fists. He snapped at Karkat once, two years ago, in the summer. He was in a bad mood. Sweat-slicked hair framed his features. The humidity sat heavy in the air and made his clothes cling to the small of his back. He was tired, his brain had reached capacity after back-to-back lectures. The sun drained what little energy he had left, so when Karkat tried to lecture him about his romantic life, embarrassing him in front of their friends, he was genuinely mad. They weren’t close then, but were in each other’s circle. Dave had regretted it instantly. Karkat was a good dude. Sensitive in a way that made Dave cringe, sure, and outright obnoxious at times, but it was from a place of caring. He was fooled at first, with the way the other talked and typed. Karkat Vantas came off aggressive, loud and arrogant, but in actuality was all bark no bite (though his throbbing shin would argue otherwise). When he apologized, Karkat hugged him tight and everything seemed to magically get better after that. 

Dave’s pace slows to a stop once they round the corner, officially off campus and away from the crowds of students. 

“Sorry,” he blurts when the other stumbles to a stop to avoid crashing into him. “For getting all pissy.”

Karkat raises a brow and tilts his head to the side.

Dave uncurls his fists and tries to relax his shoulders. He doesn’t want to be uncool like back then, two years ago. Not to the troll he now knows well. Someone he genuinely likes despite pretending otherwise.

“It’s not anything you said or did.” Why was communicating so hard? And so fucking awkward? Why did he have to explain his feelings instead of relying on the people around him to telepathically understand what was going on in his head?

“Yeah, I know,” Karkat snorts. “You just need to book a fucking massage.”

“Phrasing,” Dave smirks.

“No, Dave. I know what I said.”

Dave flushes at the other’s nonchalance. He hates when Karkat has the drop on him. 

“I hear you can request a happy ending from some plac—mph.”

Dave gets him into a headlock with one arm, the other going over his mouth. There’s a familiarity to the action. “Be glad there’s no table to suplex you over,” Dave threatens. He releases Karkat the moment he detects the other open his mouth to bite him. Yet another familiar action. 

They tussle for a while longer until they’re giggling as they pull away. The distance between them lasts only a brief moment. On a whim, Dave reaches out and pulls Karkat back in, this time for an embrace. Karkat squeezes him tight. It knocks the air out of Dave in the best way possible. Karkat pops his back and nearly lifts him off his tippy toes. God he loved this fucker’s hugs.

“Did that help?” Karkat asks with a small smile, sharp teeth peeking shyly over his lips.

“I’m not sure,” Dave lies, chest tightening at the sight. Shit. “Can you do that again?”

Karkat embraces him with all he’s got. Shit, shit, shit. Dave fights back the groan. He’d never hear the end of it if he made a single sound in front of Karkat. But he can’t lie, this shit felt good. He wraps his arms around Karkat and hugs back. It becomes a competition. They embrace each other until Dave is certain one of them is going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

They release each other with dizzied laughs and crash back into each other, initiating another round. This time Dave reaches around Karkat’s waist, leading the other to lock his arms around Dave’s shoulders. Karkat squeezes the tension right out of those muscles. Dave strengthens his grip until that tight, hot sensation that had wormed its way along his arms and to the pads of his fingers dissipates completely. 

They stumble apart with dopey grins, wordlessly resuming their walk home with nothing to fill the air between them but the sound of passing cars and chirping birds. He should have known. All it took was Karkat hugging him tight. Everything always seemed to magically get better after that.