#and I’m gonna have to draw this man’s brows on for his work meetings

[touyasdoll]

threw a Jenna Marbles themed birthday party for my brother and sister today, which was lit, but my husband shaved off his eyebrows to write HELL YEAH on his face 😭

[katsu28]

ooooo “Making the other person a Spotify playlist with songs that remind them of their relationship and growth” for Lando???

thank you for requesting! hope you like this one <3

lando norris x reader, 1.3k, request something from here!

There aren’t many times you can get Lando all to yourself. His job comes with many responsibilities, as does your own. You understand the time and hard work it takes to do what he does day after day, week after week, and you like to think the two of you have found a way to balance it all. Dinners together whenever you can, texting and calling between meetings; you even have a shared calendar on your phones to keep track of your hectic schedules. 

Racing takes precedence on most weekends, of course. Some of them you’re able to attend, but lately things have been getting busy at your workplace nowadays, which means you’ve been working weekends too. Weekdays are slim pickings as well, with all of the traveling and training and things you have to get done as well. 

With all that’s been happening lately, you haven’t been able to spend nearly enough time with Lando. Late evenings at work, long training days—everything seems like it’s been piling up until the only time you really get to spend with each other on days that he’s home is right before bed. And even then, it isn’t long before one of you inevitably falls asleep first. 

Which is why when you miraculously find yourself and Lando with a totally empty schedule today, free of any work related commitments for either of you, you’re over the moon. He suggests a day trip up the coast, just the two of you and the open road. Honestly, you don’t even care where you go, you just want to be with him. 

You’d think he’d be sick of driving given what he does for a living, but he just presses a kiss to your temple, saying that driving with you is something he’d never tire of. 

That’s how you end up here, sitting comfortably in the passenger seat of Lando’s Miura, fingers intertwined with his as he cruises down the coastline. Crystal clear water dotted with boats and even bluer skies on one side, beautiful scenery on the other, and the man you love sitting right next to you—what more could you ask for?

“Like what you see?” Lando’s teasing voice draws you out of your thoughts, and you refocus to see him still with his eyes on the winding highway ahead. But he’s grinning rather smugly, a grin that only grows bigger when you huff. “It’s alright, you can stare at me all you want. I know how sexy you think I am.” 

“That’s bold. Maybe I’m admiring the view.” 

“Yeah, and the view is called my carved-by-the-gods side profile.” 

“Someone’s a tad self absorbed. You’re voted top three hottest drivers on the grid one time and you start getting a big head, hm?” 

“I beat out Carlos, baby! Carlos fucking Sainz! You’ve seen the man, do you know how that makes me feel?” 

“Is there something I should be worried about, Lan? Are you going to leave me for Carlos?”

Lando snorts, aiming a brief but still effective skeptically arched brow at you. “Please, if I was gonna leave you for Carlos, I would’ve done it already.” 

“Oh, cheers. That’s reassuring.” 

“Happy to help.” 

“Can I play some music? I need to drown out the sound of your complete and utter betrayal.” You grumble, slouching in your seat with crossed arms. Lando laughs and nods, passing you his phone. He knows you’re just being fussy for the dramatics of it all.

You scroll through his Spotify playlists in search of something that looks interesting, but one in particular instantly catches your eye. Labeled “For my love” with an absurd amount of heart emojis after, you can’t help but feel like maybe, just perhaps this one might be for you. Or for Carlos, but you’re ninety percent sure it's you. 

Next to you, Lando inhales sharply through his teeth like he’s just remembered something, hand shooting out blindly. “Fuck, wait, hang on—” 

“Lando…” You say, only slightly teasing. All previous betrayal is instantly forgotten. You shift so his wiggling fingers can’t reach the phone, giggling a bit at the garbled noise that escapes from his mouth. He’s obviously figured out what you’ve just come across. “What’s this?” 

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” He sighs, cheeks already flushing pink. “It was meant to be a surprise.” 

“You made a playlist for me?” 

“Well, yeah. It’s sort of embarrassing.” He mumbles, suddenly sounding bashful.

“Oh come on, don’t get all shy on me now.” 

“Alright, fine! At first it was for me. Just songs I thought you’d like, and I’d listen to it all the times I was away and we couldn’t talk. Or if I was nervous before a race and started spiraling. And then…it just turned into songs that made me think about you. Made me think about us.” 

“There’s hundreds of songs on here, how did you even—when did you even start making this?” 

Lando swallows hard, knuckles flexing on the steering wheel.

“Honestly? The day we met. Call me a weirdo, but from the moment I saw you I knew you were it for me. Took both of us a while to get our shit together, but I never stopped believing it.” He says softly, hastening a glance over at you. He smiles and shrugs, reaching out to thread his fingers through yours once again. “And the songs…I dunno, they’re just my way of remembering how we got here. I meant to save it for our next big anniversary, but you’ve mucked it all up by being nosy, so now the cat’s out of the bag!” 

“You’re so fucking cute, babe,” You coo, leaning across the center console to press a smattering of kisses to the side of his heated face. “You made a whole playlist for me and listened to it when you missed me? That’s the cutest thing anyone’s ever done, you sap.” 

“Yeah, alright. You can shut up about it now,” He grumbles, but he still looks pleased. “Have a look through it. I think I’ve got some good ones on there.” 

The more you scroll through the list of songs, the more you feel like your heart is about to burst out of your chest. It mixes your music taste and his, and in a way, it feels very representative of not only who you are as individuals, but who you are with each other.  

It reads like a letter to you, to your relationship. To who you were back then and who you are now, who you’ve grown into together. 

There’s no doubt that in the years you’ve known each other, you’ve both changed. You’ve had good times and not so good ones too, but one thing that’s always remained is each other. From friendship, to teetering on something a little more, to finally finding love with one another, Lando has been the most unwavering constant in your life. You think that deep down, it was something you already knew, even from the first time you’d met him. 

“I’m gonna fucking cry, Lando,” You whine, emotion seeping into your words.

“Why? Is it bad? Is it too much?” He looks worried, but he can’t exactly take his eyes off the road to see why you’ve had the reaction you did.

“No, no. It’s perfect.” 

His shoulders sag in relief, and the smile returns to his face. “Oh. You like it?” 

“I love it.” You lift your joined hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles that has him positively beaming with adoration. It goes without saying, but you truly don’t think you could love a person any more than you love Lando. You don’t want to, because he’s it for you. 

“You know what else?” He hums his piqued interest, likely expecting more praise. “Carlos can suck it. I got a playlist, what did he get? Absolutely nothing!” 

“For fuck’s sake, I was kidding!” 

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[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty as Sin? - Chapter Three

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, Derrick shows his true self, Javier comes to the rescue, depictions of SA (minor, though proceed with caution), mentions of alcohol consumption

word count: 4.2k

series masterlist

Friday night marked not only the temporary break from having to see Dr. Peña every single day, but also your stupid date with Derrick. He’d been out of the apartment when you woke up, him and Nina off at the gym. Alondra crawled into bed with you, her laptop in tow. 

“I don’t wanna go tonight,” you grumbled, drawing the blankets up to your face as she got comfortable beside you. “Just tell him I’m sick or something.”

“He’s been looking forward to this all week,” she reminded, pulling up Netflix. “Hell, for the last four years.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been dreading this for the last four years so where does that leave us?” you challenged. “I’m supposed to make myself uncomfortable just to make his little dream come true?” 

“I’m not saying that,” she sighed. “I’m just saying what harm could come from going to dinner with him? He’s your friend, just pretend you guys are grabbing food or something casual.”

“But he won’t want casual,” you snapped, throwing your blanket back so that you could get up. “He’ll want the full treatment.”

“There’s worse men to pretend to like,” she said, closing her laptop as she watched you tug on a hoodie and sweats. “At least he’s good looking and harmless.”

“Harmless as a friend,” you pointed out. “Who knows what he’s like on a date.”

“That’s why you should go,” she urged. “To find out if maybe that’s what was missing—“

“There’s nothing missing!” you shouted. “I don’t want him, not because I just haven’t seen how charming he is, not because I haven’t given him a chance. I don’t want him because I don’t want him. End of story.”

“Then don’t go!” she shouted back. 

“How? How am I supposed to turn him down when I’ve tried that for the past four years and he doesn’t give a shit. He’ll keep trying and trying until I finally cave, so I’ll fucking go tonight, but this is it. No more putting his feelings above mine.”

“Then I don’t know why you’re complaining.” 

You took a deep breath, finding the patience you knew you possessed but seemed so far away in this moment. Out of all people, you expected Alondra to understand your side of the situation. She’d never spent a day in her entire life thinking about what a man wanted, what they were feeling and how she might accommodate for it. And yet, here she was demanding that you not only go through with this but that you shut up while doing it. 

“I just want to be alone for a while,” you said, dejected and hurt. “It feels like the entire world is turning for him and I’m just here. You and Nina love him, I know, but what about me?”

“We love you,” she said, her brows furrowing. “It’s just that sometimes it almost feels like you avoid the things that you know will be good for you in favor of shit that’ll wreck you. We’re just trying to show you that Derrick is a good thing.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m gonna be at the library until my lab. Tell Derrick I’ll meet him back here at ten.”

“Don’t be like that,” she coaxed, following you into your shared bathroom to watch you brush your teeth. “Don’t be mad.”

Spitting out the toothpaste, you tried to ignore her guilt tripping. “I’m not mad, I just want to be alone.”

“Fine,” she said, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Text me if you need me?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, watching her leave the room knowing damn well she just earned a spot at the bottom of the list of people you’d reach out to.

Dr. Peña’s lab went by smoothly, the undergrads taking their first quiz of the semester in absolute silence as you got to work grading yesterday’s assignment. Dr. Peña had been taking careful glances at you, his brow furrowed with concern. Not that you could blame him. For the last two days you’d been dressing to impress, or more delusionally, to seduce, but today you’d shown up bare faced and in sweats. 

Setting his pen down, he cleared his throat and walked over to your desk, causing your tired eyes to lift to his. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, giving him a forced smile that only managed to deepen that look of concern on his face. 

“Just tired,” you lied in a whisper, shrugging your shoulders. 

“I know these late night labs aren’t the easiest—“

“No, no,” you assured. “It’s not the lab. Just…personal stuff.”

He lifted his chin in understanding, his fingers tapping against the wood of your desk. “Well, if you’d prefer, you can finish grading those at home. They’re just going to be taking the quiz tonight, so we’ll be fine without our prized TA.”

You smiled at the compliment—or at what you assumed to be one. “It’s fine. Home’s not very appealing to me right now.”

“The offer stands,” he smiled, soft and almost unnoticeable before walking back to his desk. 

Too bad you noticed every single thing he did. 

After the lab, you headed home to get ready for the punishment that was an hour spent at the snobbiest restaurant in Austin with your not-so-friend. Derrick was locked up in his room, no doubt trying to overcome his jitters while you did the same. Only your jitters felt more like tremors, something deep in your soul cautioning you against going. Still, you persisted. 

Slipping into a skirt and your favorite top that gave you the confidence necessary to walk into this situation with your head held high, your makeup flawless and subdued, your hair just the way you like it, you took a deep breath and opened your door to greet Derrick with a forced smile. 

“You look…wow,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. While you smelled his clean scent, there was also a hint of something else on his breath—tequila, perhaps? “No one’s gonna believe you’re with me.”

You cleared your throat, glancing at Nina and Alondra who stood in the kitchen eavesdropping. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late for your fancy reservation.”

He laughed, nodding as he held out his hand for you to take. You pretended not to notice it and busied your hands with holding your bag and phone, which…

Fuck, you forgot to charge your phone. 

“My brother recommended this place,” he said, brushing off your rejection as he walked you out of the building and to his car. “It’s where he proposed.”

“Mm,” you hummed, still lost in your head. 

“You like sushi, right?” he asked, opening your door. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, slipping into the passenger seat. “We’ve been friends for how long now and you don’t know that?”

He chuckled, buckling his seatbelt. “I don’t pay attention to little shit.”

You stared at his profile with something akin to disgust, the realization that he’d never viewed this friendship in the same light as you finally dawning on you. “Friends usually try to pay attention to little shit like that.”

“Yeah, well we’re a bit more than friends,” he smirked, glancing at you before bravely moving his hand to your thigh. You jerked at the touch, pulling away from him to turn towards the window. “So, uh, how’s Peña’s lab?”

“It’s good,” you managed, counting the streetlights as they passed by. 

“That’s shocking,” he chuckled. “What, he’s not a dick to them?”

“He is,” you shrugged. “But not to me.”

“For obvious reasons,” he chided. “Alondra told me about the whole don’t wear a skirt thing. Sounds like a fucking creep.”

“It wasn’t like that,” you argued, turning towards him. “And you can tell Alondra I’d appreciate it if she didn’t tell you all of my business.” 

“She was just looking out for me,” he said, giving you a frown. “Can’t have your professor trying shit if we’re gonna give this a real shot.”

“Derrick, I don’t—“

“No, just…let’s keep this date free of all that pessimist shit,” he snapped, reminding you of his inebriated state. Fuck, and you were in a car with this shithead? “Tonight I want you to put all that trauma aside for once and keep yourself open,” he demanded, causing your heart to race. 

What would happen if you didn’t? Would he hurt you? Would he shit talk you to all your friends? Would he make something up?

“Fine,” you managed, balling your hands into fists as they rested on your lap. 

After a car ride spent listening to him detail his summer of luxury, the two of you found yourselves seated in the restaurant located on the opposite side of town. You’d only been out in this area once to celebrate your first anniversary with Micah, though that time you were forced to split the bill. Derrick wouldn’t have any of that, not with his trust fund and need to prove himself. 

You didn’t speak much at dinner, not because you had nothing to say but because he wouldn’t stop talking. He’d covered everything from the first birthday he could remember to the day he first met you when you were both frightened freshmen on campus. Perhaps the trip down memory lane would’ve made you smile if it wasn’t for his wandering hands beneath the table. 

When the bill was paid and the two of you were on your way out, you thought the terrible night had finally come to a close. But of course it hadn’t. 

Derrick surprised you by pulling you into a dark alleyway, his hands greedy as he pulled you against his frame. You felt his lips on yours, taking and taking and giving you not a damn thing but a sick feeling of alarm in your stomach. 

“Derrick, stop,” you hissed, pushing against his chest as he continued to lean in, caging you against the stucco wall. 

“You want me,” he rasped, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as his liquor-scented breath flooded your nostrils. “You’re just scared of it ending badly.”

“No,” you protested, continuing to push him away. “I don’t want any of this. I don’t feel that way for you.”

“Yet you showed up wearing this.” You froze as you felt his cold fingertips graze the outside of your thighs, inching his way closer to the hem of your skirt. “Just…let loose for once. Let your guard down and I swear you won’t regret it.”

“I already regret it,” you hissed, shoving him hard enough to cause him to drunkenly stumble back. “You’re drunk and acting like fucking dick.”

He shook his head, chuckling at your words or the situation, you couldn’t quite tell. “I want you.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Four fucking years of waiting around, then you finally decide to go out with me, and now…what? You’re just gonna act like a tease?” 

“I’m going to beat the shit out of you if you keep talking,” you warned, though you knew your strength was no match for his. Still, female rage and adrenaline fueled you, coaxing you into not giving a fuck about the outcome. If he pushed any harder, you’d gladly fuck around and find out. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

“Stop,” he whined, grabbing your wrist to keep you from leaving. “Don’t be such a bitch.”

“I’m a bitch?” Fuck around and find out, it is. “I’ve been nothing but a good friend to you all these years, even knowing that you didn’t give a fuck about any of that. You’d rather I be in your sheets than in your life, that much is fucking clear now.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not cool to continue to give me hope—“

“I didn’t give you shit!” you yelled, yanking your wrist from his grasp. “How many times have we talked about this? How many times have you made me feel guilty for something I have no control over? I don’t want you, Derrick. I never have, and after tonight I certainly never will. Face it or don’t, but our friendship ends here.”

“We live together,” he reminded, stepping towards you. “You can’t avoid me like you avoid Micah.”

“Can’t I?” you chuckled, shaking your head. “You have no idea how easy it’ll be for me to pretend as if you never existed.”

He let out a huff of disbelief, shaking his head at you as if he had any right to feel disappointed. No, that right was yours alone in this situation. You thought you found a man who you could call a true friend, only to find out he was just as bad as the rest of them. Maybe worse given the way he manipulated you these past four years, all to earn your trust. 

You took off down the street, not caring about the looks you received from passersby. You just needed to get somewhere safe and call—

Fuck. Phone’s dead. 

With fear threatening to take over, you stumbled into the first open shop on the block, a very fancy looking cafe that was mostly stranded on the inside. Tugging down the hem of your skirt, you huffed a sigh in order to rein in the tears threatening to spill as you swung the door open. 

“Welcome in,” the older woman behind the counter greeted, giving you a judgmental once over as your heels clacked against the hardwood floor on the way to the counter. “What can I get started for you?” 

“I was just wondering if there was any way I could use your phone to call a cab? I promise I’ll buy something—“

“I’m sorry, we don’t allow customers to use our phones,” she frowned, a display of mock sympathy that threatened to wear down your last remaining nerve. 

“I understand, and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency,” you pleaded. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am,” she sighed. “Phones are for employee use only. Perhaps you can find a payphone or—“

The woman was interrupted by a familiar voice calling your name. Stomach sinking to the floor, you turned to find Dr. Peña sitting in a booth by the window with his laptop. 

Fucking perfect. 

“Dr. Peña.” You greeted him with a sigh and a forced smile, reluctantly heading towards his booth. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, giving you a quick once over before lifting his eyes back yours. 

“Yeah,” you lied, giving him a quick nod. He tilted his head and you and gave you a look as if to say liar. Letting out the saddest, weakest laugh you might’ve ever uttered, you decided to hell with pride. “No, I’m…it’s been a long night.”

He ticked his jaw as he considered you for a moment, leaving you in sickening suspense. “What happened?”

“You don’t want to hear about all that,” you assured, wiping a tear from your waterline. 

“I do,” he insisted, nudging his chin towards the other side of the booth. “Sit down, I’ll get you a coffee.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Sit,” he ordered, that stern voice cutting through the clouds of self pity and anger still looming overhead. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black is fine,” you lied, slipping into the booth as gracefully as your skirt would allow. 

It took him a few minutes to return, that time spent locked inside your head, watching a replay from an eagle's eye point of view. Derrick's hands on your body, his lips on yours, his vile claims and threats sounding over and over. 

“So,” he said, handing you your cup as he sat down in front of his laptop before closing it. “What happened?”

“I don’t…I don’t want anyone to get in trouble,” you prefaced, earning a hesitant nod. “Derrick—

“Mr. Crawley?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “He’s been my friend for years now, we live together…but he has this really bad habit of not taking no for an answer.” Dr. Peña tensed, his jaw clenching. “That’s why I agreed to go out with him tonight, because I was just sick of having to explain that I only saw him as a friend. Thought I’d just get it over with, but that didn’t really go as planned.”

“Did he…try something?” he asked, his voice low and tense. You shrugged, questioning the entire interaction. If you hadn’t stopped him, if you hadn’t been brave enough to tell him no, would he have stopped? Did what he did really constitute assault? 

“I don’t know. Sort of,” you explained, tracing the rim of your cup as you spoke. “Dinner was shit enough, but then he cornered me in an alley, trying to cage me against a wall and…touch me, but I stopped him. Then he turned into this entirely different person than I’ve known all this time, called me a bitch and a tease. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize my phone was dead when I took off down the block, and now I’m stranded on this side of town. And truthfully, I don’t even know if going home is a good idea.”

Javier leaned back in his seat, raking his hands over his face. 

“I have a sinking feeling that if I go home, he’s just going to start shit again, which is the last thing I want right now.”

He nodded, understanding and sympathy in his eyes as he took a beat to think. 

“Firstly, I’m incredibly proud of you for sticking up for yourself. It’s not an easy thing to do, and you did it.” You refused to keen under his praise the way your heart demanded to. “If I’d have just put up with it—“

“Stop,” he said, shaking his head. “You did the brave thing and the right thing. He’s too fucking old to not know the difference between a woman who wants him and one who doesn’t. This shit is on him, alright?” 

You gave him a meek nod, still not able to look him in the eye. 

“I know you said you don’t want anyone to get in trouble, and I’ll respect that, but know that if you decide to report him, I’ll back you,” he offered, his eyes rounding and voice softening. “I don’t think you should go home. I—“ He sighed, lowering his hand to rest beside yours on the table. “I can drive you to a hotel, and if you need me to pay for it, I will. That way I’ll know you’re safe, and you’ll have your own space for the night.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” you assured. 

“No, it isn’t, but it’s late and you’ve clearly been through enough tonight,” he said. “But it’s your choice. I can call you a cab if that’s more comfortable.”

“Isn’t that…sort of against the rules? You giving me a ride?” 

He let out a soft chuckle. 

“It’s not ideal, but I don’t care about that right now,” he confessed, his pinky reaching out to brush against yours. “I just care about you being safe and comfortable.”

You bit your lip, eyes glued to his hand that seemed to be fighting an internal war over whether or not to reach out for yours. “I won’t feel safe and comfortable in a hotel. I’d just feel…alone.”

“I can’t,” he whispered to himself, moving his hand to his face. 

“Can’t what?” 

“Can’t do this,” he gestured between the two of you. “I can’t keep you company tonight.” 

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you meant, and I’m telling you I can’t let a student of mine crash at my place,” he sighed, conflict weighing on his face. “I’ll take you to a hotel and you can call a friend to stay with you.”

“I’m not going to let you pay for my hotel,” you protested. “That’s not happening.”

“Then what?” he asked, dropping his hand to the table. 

“I don’t know,” you snapped. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Here,” he handed you his phone. “Call a cab, they’re safer than an Uber.”

You stared at the unlocked screen, debating whether or not you truly wanted to handle things on your own or accept the help offered to you, even if it meant spending a night alone in a foreign environment, stuck with the flashbacks of Derrick’s hands on your body, his lips on your mouth. There was no safety in that, in being prisoner to awful memories you had no part in creating. The truth was that you needed him to distract you from yourself, and you didn’t care if you had to grovel or beg for it. 

“I’m asking you to please just…stay,” you whispered, too close to tears to speak up. “We don’t have to go to your place. We can go to the library for all I fucking care, I just don’t want to be alone. All my friends are his friends and I know what they’ll say about tonight. Everyone loves him, everyone wants to be his friend, and I’m just…around. They won’t believe me, and even if they do, they won’t see it the way I do.” 

Javier looked ready to tell me to fuck off and go find someone else to bother with all my problems, but threw me for a loop when he said, “Fine. Grab your coffee, and…here.” He held out a black leather jacket that smelled like him; whiskey, smoke, and warm spice. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, standing and draping the jacket over your shoulders as he gathered his things. 

“My office,” he said, his tone clipped and sharp. “It’s the only place where people won’t be around to see us. Not that I really give a shit, but you should.”

“You haven’t done anything but help me,” you offered. “I don’t care if people talk. You and I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“They don’t give a shit,” he countered, leading you out of the cafe. “Besides, we’re already breaking rules. Even if we aren’t acting on anything—“

“Is there anything to act on?” you probed, sticking close to him out of fear Derrick was still around searching for you. Dr. Peña shot you a knowing look over his shoulder. 

“There’s enough to drive me fucking crazy,” he admitted. 

You stopped in your tracks, shocked—and twistedly pleased—at his confession. He noticed your reaction, stopping to turn around and look at you with a pleading expression. 

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you meant,” you echoed his words from earlier. He ground his jaw and looked down at the sidewalk for a beat before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. You watched his lips mold around the cigarette as he took a deep drag, his brows furrowed as if he was in pain. 

“I’m not…” He shook his head again, looking up at the night sky. “I’ve been teaching now for five years. Never once have I done this shit. Never once have I let myself get involved. Until you.”

“Dr—“

“Javier,” he cut you off. “Call me Javier when it’s just us. It’ll make me feel better about how fucked up this is.”

“What’s fucked up about a woman in her late twenties and a man in his thirties talking?” you asked, stepping closer to him to feel a bit more of the thrill that did such a good job at blocking out all the bad shit going through your head. 

“I’m your professor,” he explained, watching you carefully. “There are rules against me developing this exact infatuation I can’t seem to fucking shake.”

“You’re infatuated with me?” you chuckled, more out of shock than amusement. Though you’d obviously sensed he saw some sort of potential in you that caused him to act like less of a dick than he did with everyone else, you’d have never guessed in a million years that he was interested in you. 

Javier chuckled darkly, stepping closer to you until you could smell his cologne. “Infatuated is an understatement.”

“And what would you say if I told you I was just as infatuated?” you asked, closing the gap between the two of you as you lifted your hand to rest on his chest. Not pushing him away like with Derrick, but beckoning him closer. 

He whispered your name, sending chills down your spin. “We can’t.”

“We’re not doing anything,” you countered, sliding your hand up to the back of his neck just to feel those soft brown waves that have been calling your name this last week. Javier grabbed your hand and lowered it gently, his thumb smoothing over your skin. 

“I’ll stay up with you tonight so that you can feel safe, but that’s it,” he whispered, his eyes darting across your face. “Okay?”

You wanted to frown, to throw a fit and beg him to not be such a stand-up guy, but that would be like asking a fish not to swim, the wind not to blow, a fire not to burn. He simply was a stand-up man and no amount of seduction could change that. “Okay.”

He let out a soft sigh, stepping away from you. 

“You’re lucky I have shit to grade tonight,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. “You might consider helping me with some of that, TA.”

You chuckled, nodding. “After a nap.”

“Sure,” he chided. “Take it that’s code for hell no.”

“Would you look at that. You’re more clever than you look, Professor.” 

[okieedokes]

i’ll take care of you | john egan x f! reader

summary: you take care of Bucky after a fight (will probably write a pt 2)

warnings: swearing

word count: 1,386

requests and messages are open, enjoy :))

5:00 am

It was your favourite time of day. The sun was yet to rise, the camp enveloped in silence. Wrapped in your cardigan, you traverse from your sleeping quarters to the infirmary, fingers clutching the fabric tightly. Your hands tremble, fumbling with the lock as the winds slam the door shut behind you.

Upon entering the hospital, you are shocked to see every bed empty.

You should’ve been happy; the soldiers you had grown to love over the past few weeks that you had been stationed there, were all in good health. However, the vacant beds stirred feelings of unease within you, knowing there was a mission scheduled this morning.

You tried to keep busy by pre-filling syringes with the necessary medicines while humming softly to yourself.

As you begin to settle into the familiar routine, a sudden commotion from outside the building interrupts. The sound of argument draws nearer, and you instinctively listen.

“Get your dirty fucking hands off me, Curt, I said I’m fine!”You hear one man growl, clearly resisting against the other.

“Hey, I won’t let you lead us over Germany until you get checked out.” You hear an Irish voice reply firmly.

“Yeah, fuck that!” The another retorts.

You step back from the door, as they scuffle outside, silently hoping they won't catch you eavesdropping.

You watch them struggle against the handle before collectively throwing a man to his knees before you.

As you rush to help the man to his feet, the others vanish before you can even catch a glimpse of their faces.

“Gosh, are you okay?” You ask, placing the soldier's arm around your shoulders to assist him in standing.

"I'm sorry, miss. My buddies have this sick game they like to play where they—" His voice trails off as his gaze meets yours, and in that moment, you become acutely aware of the proximity between your bodies as you stand face to face.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m Bucky.” The soldier's droopy eyelids betray his inebriation, but his striking handsomeness distracts you.

“What happened to your head?” You are used to the attempts at flirtation from lonely soldiers and have become a master at deflecting them. This instance was no different.

“I fell,” Bucky says, smirking, aware that the bruise forming underneath his brow was the mark of a fistfight.

“I see…”You reply with sarcastic deliberation.

“You have a two-centimetre laceration above your left eye; it will need stitches.” You determine, placing a hand to his temple as you examine the wound. Bucky flinches at your touch before relaxing, resting his tired head against your palm.

“C’mon, let’s get you comfortable.” You mumble, taking the soldier's hand in yours as you guide him to the nearest cot.

Usually, you wouldn't extend such tender treatment, but you couldn't help feeling sorry for Bucky, as it was clear he was in pain, not just physically.

“You never told me your name.” He winces as you tend to his wounds with a wet rag.

“It’s not like you’ll remember when you wake up.” You remark playfully.

“I have a hunch I might," he replies, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. You roll your eyes and retrieve one of your prepared syringes.

“Close your eyes; I’m gonna help you get some rest.” You hum as you administrator the morphine into his arm.

“Good night, sweetheart”, Bucky mumbles as he succumbs to the medicine.

You don’t hesitate in stitching the wound above his brow, knowing that the pilot would be needed within a few hours. As you worked, you couldn’t help but graze his features with your fingers, taking in every detail of his perfect face. You stroked his forehead and played with his hair as he slept soundly, thankful that he was the only patient who required your attention.

His soft snores were oddly comforting, akin to a gentle lullaby, prompting you to rest your head against the soldier's side before drifting off yourself.

8:07 am

You awake to the gentle shakes of your fellow attendee, presumably just starting their shift. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you realise you'd fallen asleep on the job. However, what truly mortifies you is the sight of the soldier's empty bed. You cringe at the thought that he might have seen you in such a state.

“You best get organised, dear; I think it will be a busy day.” Your fellow nurse warns, gesturing to the sounds of explosives erupting from above.

“Yes, ma’am.” You answer before rushing to your station.

The day goes by as predicted. Soldiers were carried in by the dozen, all in various stages of injury. You barely have time to think as you rush between patients, attending to everything from scrapes to bullet wounds. Amid the chaos, your thoughts drift back to the pilot from that morning.

Was his mission successful? Or could it have gone even worse than imagined? The thought makes your stomach churn.

As the unsettling notion sinks in, you busy yourself by tending to a patient's wound, though your hands betray your nerves with a noticeable shake.

“You okay there?” The man you’re attending to questions.

“Yes sir…I just…have you heard any news on Bucky?” You spill, not been able to contain your worries any longer.

“Oh, that son of a bitch? I got hit pretty early, so I don’t remember much, but he’s one of the best we got, I’m sure he’s already back, pouring himself a whisky.” The man chuckled, your concern seemingly lost on him.

"Thank you, sir." With a nod, you step away to treat another patient, but the worries linger in your thoughts.

Before you knew it, the infirmary was quiet again, and you were relieved of your duties. As you journey back to your quarters, you start to wonder if the whole interaction was a dream conjured by your loneliness.

That is, until a hand grasps your shoulder. You turn to face Bucky. The cut above his eye was healing well, and you felt relieved that last night's encounter was, in fact not a delusion.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere; they wouldn’t let me go in.” He pants, gesturing to the hospital.

"Ah, yeah, it's been quite busy," you mumble, suddenly nervous as you stand before the Major’s imposing figure.

"Hey, about last night, I wanted to apologise. You shouldn't have had to deal with that," he says, his eyes cast down, clearly ashamed.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry I couldn't be of more help in the morning…” You watch as a grin graces his lips.

“Oh yes, I woke, and your head was resting against me. It was very sweet.” He recounts, and your cheeks burn red.

"I meant to say goodbye, but I didn't want to disturb the sleeping beauty," he adds with a sheepish smile, eliciting an embarrassed giggle from you.

“Anyways, I came to ask your name and if you would join me for a drink?” He offers.

His enticing grin makes the offer hard to resist. However, you're mindful of the expectations regarding sharing drinks with a soldier, choosing to maintain your distance to avoid potential heartbreak.

“I’m sorry Major, but I’m not one for mixing work and play.” You reply, avoiding his gaze.

“If you think my intentions are unhonourable, I promise you I just want to get to know the kind girl who looked after me this morning.” He teases lightly, yet his eyes convey sincerity, filling you with a warm, comforting sensation.

“If you’re not a drinker, can I at least accompany you on a walk?” He adds, extending an arm for you to grasp.

"Why not," you concede, intertwining both your arms with his as he leads you down the path.

"So, tell me about yourself, Y/N," Bucky begins, and you freeze at the sound of your name, which you had never disclosed to the Major.

"How did you get my name?" You ask, astonished.

"Well, I asked around the cockpit this morning. Turns out you have more admirers than just me," The pilot admits.

Your heart sinks at the realisation that among the many pilots you've conversed with, Bucky was the only one who ignited sentiments within you.

This boy already had you under his spell.

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

For soft/fluffy/comforting prompt ideas, could you do something with Crosshair and his lady, like she's been struggling with high blood pressure and associated symptoms (headaches especially during stressful moments, pounding heart, short of breath) and she's supposed to be taking it easy while they wait for the medications to come in? Just him being sweet and soft and concerned?

Thank you so much for the request, anon. I hope this hits the spot. Writing Soft!Cross is always a good time.

I’m sending you all my love if you're struggling with this. I fell down a little research rabbit hole, and it doesn’t sound fun at all 😔

Equilibrium

When your body betrays you, there’s no one else in the galaxy you’d rather have at your side.

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: reader struggles with high blood pressure and the associated symptoms, Soft!Cross, established relationship, kisses, care and comfort, fluffy sweetness, some playful banter, Cross has some minor negative self-thoughts but we chase those away.

“And another one, kitten.” The slow slink of Crosshair’s voice offered you reassurance, slender fingers drawing soft circles on your thighs as you followed his instructions and took another deep breath.

It was Zhellday night, and you’d been getting ready to head out when the dizziness had started. You’d made it to the edge of the bed, calling out for him as you sat down before you’d had to shut your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the planet from spinning. The shortness of breath quickly followed, your chest feeling like it was trapped in a vice as your heart pounded. You hated that the most – feeling like you couldn’t breathe.

It broke Crosshair’s heart whenever you went through this. You were so strong and had made it through so much in life, and yet it was your own body that caused you the most grief. “That’s it. You’re doing so well.” He soothed.

“I hate this.” You whine, fingers gripping the bedsheets for dear life as you will away the discomfort.

What he would give to take it away from you or to at least be able to warn you when it was about to happen. Instead, all he could do was watch as the woman he loved the most battled with her own body and be on hand with medication and comfort. His brows furrowed, lips pressing into a line. “I know, I know.” He muttered, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

“We’re gonna be late for dinner.” You sigh, frustration bubbling under the surface. Ever since you and Crosshair got your little place in Lower Pabu, you’d visit his siblings for dinner and games night every Zhellday. It was the highlight of your week.

“We don’t need to go,” Crosshair states, though he knows you’ll protest. You should be taking it easy until the doctor at the island’s clinic can determine the underlying cause of your high blood pressure. Although he bit his tongue whenever it came up, Crosshair couldn’t help but wonder if it was from the years of stress – of keeping him and his brothers alive during the war.

You knew you should be resting, but the thought of missing out on life was frustrating. You’d already lost so many years to the war, and for a while, you’d also thought you’d lost Crosshair. But now you could live normally, back with the man you loved. “I want to go.” You state firmly, eyes still closed as you focus on your breathing.

“Stubborn.” Amusement curled around the word, and Crosshair couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at his lips.

Letting out a small huff at the gentle teasing, your heart wasn’t just pounding now from your condition. It didn’t take much for the magnetic force of a man crouching in front of you to make your heart race – and his teasing had always hit the spot. “Pot meet kettle.”

The low rumble of Crosshair’s laugh filled the room, and your chest no longer felt so tight, breaths coming easier as the medication he’d brought you started to work its magic. Slowly, you opened your eyes, Crosshair’s hawkish gaze locked on you.

The splitting pain in your head had you screwing them shut again quickly, dragging in a quick breath as a noise of discomfort slipped from your lips. Everything had been blurry around the edges, which hadn’t helped the dizziness. “Nope. Not good.” You mumble, sighing in frustration.

“You wound me,” Crosshair replied playfully, knowing full well you hadn’t been talking about him, but he’d take some self-deprecation if it made you laugh.

He was dutifully rewarded. The soft sound of your laughter replaced his in the air, and he soaked up the sound like a dying man in the sands of Tatooine. He’d gone without it a whole year, trapped in the Empire’s clutches. He never wanted to be without it - or you - again.

“You’re still the most handsome man I know.” You insist as your laughter subsides, reaching out blindly to cup his face with one of your hands, smoothing your fingers over the angles of his face. In the four months since you’d rescued him from Mount Tantiss – along with Omega and, surprisingly, Tech - he’d started to gain back a little weight. He was still somewhat gaunt, though, cheeks hollow, but you were both taking it day by day. It was all you could do.

Taking one of your hands with his own, Crosshair lifts it, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, lips lingering for a moment against your delicate skin. As lovely as your compliments were, he was still uncomfortable accepting them, refusing to believe them regardless of how often you said them.

Gentle fingers sought out your wrist, and more circles were rubbed against your pulse point to offer comfort and as a way for Crosshair to monitor your heart rate. It was still too high for his liking.

Pushing up onto his feet, he moved to lay down on the bed, pulling you down next to him. As much as he loved his brothers and sister – their relationship starting to return to how it had been before Order 66 – there was no question in his mind that you came first. He didn’t care if you were both late. His siblings would understand.

Shifting position, you rest your head against Crosshair’s shoulder, hand pressed to his chest, using his heartbeat and the slow rise and fall of his chest to help anchor you. With his arm wrapped around you, holding you close, his fingers brush against your back in light patterns.

You could feel the meds starting to kick in, the dizziness and headache abating as you rested against your love. Still, you kept your eyes shut.

In the comfortable silence, Crosshair could only watch you rest against him, a smile tugging at his lips. Lifting his free hand, he stroked across your cheek, thumb brushing over the little pout of your lips. As you lean into his touch, warmth coils through him.

His gaze lingers on your face, tracing the delicate lines that tell stories of laughter and tears. The weight of the past had not broken you; instead, it had moulded you into someone he admired more with each passing day. “We’ll go when you’re ready.” He murmured, his voice a gentle promise. “No rush.” Crosshair’s fingers continued offering physical reassurance.

“Thank you.” You whisper, grateful for his care. When you’d joined the boys at the start of the war as their liaison with Command, you hadn’t expected to fall so quickly for the snarky sniper.

He hadn’t expected to fall for you, either.

Snuggling a little closer, you let out a slow exhale. “You’re too good to me.”

“I try to be, love,” Crosshair answers quietly, an ache in his chest at your words. Taking care of you was the least he could do after everything that had happened – the heartbreak on your face as he’d levelled his rifle at you as you’d fled Kamino with his brothers would forever haunt him, as would your tears when he’d opted to stay on that blasted platform after Tipoca City had fallen.

Yet you’d still rescued him from Mount Tantiss, careful hands undoing the bindings that had held him down for far too long, concern on your beautiful face as you’d helped him back to the Marauder and to safety.

He didn’t deserve you, no matter how often you told him he was wrong to think that.

“And you succeed.” You reassure him, wanting to pull his mind from any spiralling thoughts. He’d been getting better over the last few months, snippets of his old self shining through, but you knew the marks from his time with the Empire would never entirely be gone.

As your head feels less like it will split apart, you crack open your eyes a sliver, just enough to see Crosshair gazing down at you, the adoration on his face almost stealing your breath. “Hi.” You whisper, pleased that he’s no longer blurry and the planet has stopped spinning.

“Hi yourself.” He replies, lips pressing to your forehead in a gentle kiss.

Humming happily at the contact, you find his gaze again in the semi-darkness of the room. “I think I’m okay now. We should head out.” You decide. There’s a lingering uncomfortableness – you still feel a little off-kilter – but it’s much better than before, and you know it’ll pass soon. Besides, you’ll always find your equilibrium with Crosshair at your side.

Crosshair’s eyes narrow slightly. He doesn’t quite believe you but won’t outwardly call you out on it. “Another few minutes.” He decides, arms tightening around you.

“Cross…” You protest, trying to wiggle away, a smile tugging at your lips, mirrored by his own.

“Shush.” He admonishes playfully, rolling onto his side so he can drag you closer, tucking you against his chest and under his chin.

You can’t help but laugh, your body shaking a little as you burrow closer to him. You can’t deny that it feels cosy and safe. Content, you don’t argue it.

Crosshair’s small smile turns to a grin as he realises he’s won. “There’s my girl.”  

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

Forced Coordination - 1

PAIRINGS: Joel Miller x Reader

SUMMARY: The harshness of last winter has left hundreds of frozen Infecteds around the safe walls of Jackson. As a strategist from your job before the outbreak, you devised a smart plan. Maria assigns Joel to handle the cleanup work. However, you must work together as a pair to fulfil this task. How will it go with working with the rugged man the whole town has a crush on?

WARNINGS: Mentions of Infected, swearing, slight age gap (Joel is in his mid 40s and Reader is in her early-30s).

WORD COUNT: 1,760

ENJOY!

“You will be working with our strategist,” Maria says, crossing her arms as she leans against her desk. The sun glints through the blinds, reflecting off shiny surfaces and illuminating the semi-cramped space.

 Spring encompasses Jackson with its warmth, seeking forgiveness from the community and offering support with its gentleness after the wreckage of a winter Mother Nature had put them through.

Joel raises a brow from his place on the couch, “strategist?” One of his hand’s rests on the buckle of his belt, while the other is thrown across the arm of the couch. Joel has no idea why his sister-in-law wanted to meet up with him, but he couldn’t deny her request, knowing that Tommy might hand him his ass on a silver plate.

Maria nods, “yes, a strategist.” She walks around her desk and slides open a drawer before retrieving a manila file. “Apparently, the runners that froze over the winter are beginning to thaw, and I need someone skilled to take them out,” she thumps the file on the coffee table in front of the Texan.

Joel reaches for the file and flips through it. He saw black and white pictures of the frozen infected stuck against trees and bushes. “And you want me to sort this out?” Joel looks at Maria with a confused expression, not fully understanding the premise of this meeting.

She nods again, “the number of runners this time around has increased drastically. I can’t just send in a group of men to kill them off; that’s too risky.” And Joel agrees with her; he has seen a lot of them during his patrols over the winter.

Joel nods, “and who-” His line gets interrupted by a knock at the door. “Enter,” Maria says as she goes to sit in her chair.

You open the door slightly and peek your head in, “Maria, you asked to see me?” Maria nods and wave for you to walk in further. You comply, walking in and closing the door behind you, then turned to see another person in the room with you: Joel Miller.

You have seen Joel Miller before, seen him walking around Jackson with some teenager or on a horse at times. You have heard all the women, and some men, of Jackson talk about him and his looks. You have made eye contact with him multiple times, but it had never strayed far from just a nod from either of you.

Maria introduces him to you and vice versa. You nod at him in acknowledgment before turning back to Maria. “I thought this matter would’ve been a little more… private,” you say to Maria. Your hearing caught Joel slightly scoffing at your statement.

“Remember that infected population schematic you created?” She asks, combing through another drawer.

“I, uh, yeah, I do. Why?” You ask, leaning against the door behind you. Maria pulls out a map and pins it to the corkboard next to the couch.

Maria points at a couple of different areas on the map, saying something along the lines of ‘infected’ and ‘area’. Then she looks back at Joel. The man in question snapped out of his reverie, “pardon?”

Maria rolls her eyes, “I said, she managed to figure out an approximate number of infected that are out there around the walls of Jackson. Not only that, but she also figured out their moving patterns too,” she said, demonstrating with your work, drawings, and calculations on the map.

Joel nods, not really getting it, “alright?”

The blonde shakes her head, “I’m indirectly saying that this map is going to be your map. You’re gonna be working alongside her for the entirety of this spring.”

You straighten up, “I’m sorry, what?” You shake your head, “but I’m not in Patrol though.”

Maria nodded in understanding, “I understand. I know that you’re in Sustainability, but your observation and statistical skills are needed here now more than ever.”

You shake your head slightly, “and what about Sustainability?” You care about your work at Sustainability; you help in plantation, but not really in farming. You’re good in statistics, and your work really help in increasing the yield of crops that were grown in Jackson every year. You do good and honest work.

“I can’t just up and leave my position. What happens if-,” Maria quiets you with a raise of her hand. “I understand,” she says sternly. You bite the inside of your cheek to prevent from biting back, inhaling deeply to simmer down your anger.

“You’ll still be in Sustainability; you just have a side task to do. I expect you to not treat this task like any other, but with high importance, understood?” she looks at you, leaning back in her chair.

“Understood,” you reply, crossing your arms and looking away. “Good,” she nods and picks up a clipboard, holding it out for you, “write down anything you both might need on this, and I’ll get it for you.”

You take ahold of the clipboard and thank her when she offered a pen. You write down all the stuff that you might need before ripping the paper and handing your piece to Maria. Then you hand both the board and pen to the rugged man.

“I expect the both of you to start as soon as possible because we want this problem to be solved before we start getting problems from those things,” Maria says, rubbing her temples to soothe her headache.

-----

The sun beats down on your back as you take notes on your clipboard. Merissa yaps beside you about how last night's mac and cheese should've been named "yuck and cheese."

“I mean, we literally make the cheese. And I have it every day for breakfast. What the fuck did they do that was so out of the ordinary to make it taste like diarrhoea?” she scoffs, leaning against her tall shovel.

You wince at the description, “You didn’t have to put that description so graphically.” She gives you a tight-lipped smile, her braid falling behind and back to her back when she looks over your shoulder to see who’s approaching you two.

A throat is cleared behind you, and you turn to see who it is. It’s Joel Miller. “Afternoon,” he nods his head slightly at the two of you. He looks at Merissa, then back at you, “A word?”

You bit your lip and then look back at Merissa, “I’ll see you at tonight’s supper.” Merissa wiggles her eyebrows at you and smirks before practically shooing you into Miller’s space.

“Sorry about her, she’s just-,” he interrupts you before you could even finish your sentence.

“Maria informed me she readied a space in the warehouse and sternly said we get right to it,” he says, not looking at you, but at the workers behind you.

You didn’t understand the deal with this man. Before you were even assigned to this task, you thought that the brother-in-law of the Head of this community would be chill. Turns out he’s not. Is it because he’s old? He seemed to be in his mid-forties. You were formally introduced to the man yesterday, why was he so mean?

You squint at him, thinking about what to say next. “So, uh, do we have to-,” he interrupts you, again.

“We’ll be heading there now,” he says, still avoiding eye contact, and then beginning to move past you.

-----

The basement was chillier than the main level; you slightly shuddered when you climbed down the stairs upon entering.

The office, however, reminded you of your corporate days. Being a former strategist was the highlight of your past life—the life where you didn’t look over your shoulder every five minutes. The life where you had a stable job, enough to get by and live a simple life.

But now, your skills were used to figure out the yield of crops and the population and movement of the Infected.

Joel walks in behind you and sees the blackboard with several pieces of chalk lined on its shelf. “Wonder what that’s for,” he whispers, his accent thickening.

You walk over to it and trace your fingers over the hard surface. “I put it on my list,” you turn to look back at him, “I work better when my work is done on a board.” He didn’t look at you but at the board.

“Right,” he says, thumping his bag on the only wooden table present in the middle of the room. The dingy fluorescent light illuminated most of the space; it was just the corners that succumbed to darkness.

You see the rolled-up schematic of your plan lay behind the rolling blackboard. “You got tape?” you ask the Texan while unrolling the schematic and seeing the mapped-out area around Jackson and all the arrows and circles you made with a red marker.

You hear the scraping of a chair and feel him behind you. “Lemme,” he takes the schematic from your hands while simultaneously ripping a piece of tape from the roll using the other.

He singlehandedly manages to paste the large papers on the wall behind the blackboard. You move the blackboard so it is at an angle; you looked around the room, and you practically stand in the imaginary triangle formed by the map, table, and blackboard.

“Right, let’s get started,” you pick up the white chalk and scratch it against the blackboard.

-----

“I think we can end here for tonight,” you step back and glance at the watch on your wrist, slightly in shock that you had managed to spend five whole hours here, just talking, writing, and planning, while Joel just sat there and watched.

“Did you get what I told you, or did you blank out in between?” you ask, turning to face him.

He sat leaned back against the wooden chair. He scoffs at your question, “I caught on.”

You squint your eyes at him, “I spoke for five hours straight, and you didn’t take any notes?” He puffs air through his nose; you would consider it a chuckle, but you weren’t really betting your money on it. “Don’t need to,” he replies before standing and picking up his backpack. “That it?” he asks, looking at you.

You seriously didn’t know what the deal with this guy was.

You nod, “for today, yeah. But I assu-.” He talks over you, again.

“See you tomorrow, good day,” he nods at you before leaving you alone in the office.

That’s when you realise.

He finally looked you in the eye.

🎀🎀🎀

Here's the first CHP lovlies!!!

Lemme know what y'all think

Till' then

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[maered613]

Camie's getting married. Estranged from Owen & Beru, Luke goes home for the first time in 10 years. He's not looking forward to meeting their farmhand, the man who’s been living his old life ever since he left. Din isn’t particularly excited to meet Luke either; not when he already hates him for abandoning people who are like family to him now.

They both try to be civil. Fireworks ensue instead.

--

Din hangs his Stetson up at the end of the day, walking into the house, and his first thought is that he’s walked into an active war zone.

"- still doesn’t change the fact that is the stupidest song I have ever heard in my entire life!” Leia says, throwing her hands up.

“What does it matter?!” Luke says back, “-it’s just a song, Leia-”

“I am not going to be indoctrinated into being a person that thinks a song called “She Thinks My Tractor is Sexy” is a normal piece of music!”

“You’re just in time for the fireworks.” Solo says, beside him, “-Luke’s tryna teach Leia to square dance before the big shindig on Saturday.”

Din's gotta hand it to him, he’s still trying to play nice even after Din’s earlier dig.

Din doesn’t say anything, though, just listens to Leia and Luke argue back and forth about ‘insidious hick indoctrination’ until Luke agrees to change the song.

“They don’t play stuff like that in the country bars in New York!”

“Of course not, they only play entry level country music there. You’re gonna have to get used to the real ones!!” Luke says, skipping a track on his CD player, “-does this one pass muster?”

Leia listens for a bit and rolls her eyes.

“Still ridiculous. But fine.”

“That’s not square dancing.” Din says, after a moment of watching Luke guide Leia around the living room; she's picked it up quickly. “-it’s line dancing.”

“What’s the bloody difference?” Solo says, incredulously.

Din looks at him, blankly.

“-in square dancing, your dance pattern is a square.” Din says, slowly, as he mimes a square outline with his index finger. “- in line dancing, you dance on a straight line.” Din also punctuates that with drawing a line in the air.

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Solo asks, indignant. “-I’m a Yankee.”

“So am I.” Din says, “-Detroit.”

“Motor City!”

“Yeah.” Din says, raising a brow. “-anyway, don’t worry about it. Grogu watched a lot of Sesame Street when he was a baby. I know my shapes.”

Din feels his moustache twitch as he catches sight of Luke’s shoulders hunching together, like he only does when he’s trying not to laugh.

“No wonder the two of you get along.” Solo says, flatly, “-you’re both fucking smartasses.”

--

you all are entirely too nice. I hope you enjoy the ending as much as i enjoyed writing it and interacting with you all. Xoxoxo

@dinlukeweek @stardads

[louloulemons-posts]

Oil At The Coffee Shop V

Eddie X Fem!Reader

Summary : Someone new comes to work at the shop and you see Eddie again.

Word Count : 2.7k

Warnings : Not proofread, no use of Y/N, petnames, sad eddie, wayne comforts him, cuteness, fluff, more eddie x reader in this part.

Fic Masterlist

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Oh uh Hi,” you spoke awkwardly, trying not to stare. “Hi,” he grunted, taking a one step back, then fully retreating to his room. “I uh, I think that’s my cue to leave,” you said to Wayne.

“I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right Honey. Thank you for stopping by and for the treats.”

“Thank you for the tea, it was nice seeing you again Mr Mun-,” he gave you a raised brow, “Wayne.”

“You too Honey, I’ll be sure to stop by the shop soon.” You hummed, bidding the man goodnight and went back to your car, only then noticing Eddies van around the back of the trailer.

Well you had tried to make things better, but could only feel like you’d just made them a whole lot worse.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

His body was screaming, his head was too. He ripped the towel off his body, running to his draws to find clothes. Throwing on a pair of sweatpants he paused in front of the mirror.

They were everywhere. Thick pale marks coated his skin, from his neck to his legs. Completely covered, they hadn’t faded in the last year. He let out a sob.

Falling to the floor he felt arms wrap around him, “It’s okay, Wayne’s got you. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you again, I got you son, I got you,” the man spoke into his curls.

He didn’t know why he was crying. Maybe because she’d seen his ugliness and her face hadn’t changed. There was no malice. No disgust. Just surprise at him being there.

He’d been so cruel. So horrible. Shouted at her. Hurt her feelings. She just wanted to be kind and he pushed her away. Did that make him a monster too?

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Sunday rolled around, the last sunlight of Summer dancing through the windows. Robin had been right, Steve called her this morning inviting her to a barbecue on Tuesday night. Which she happily accepted.

Opening another box, she emptied out more take away coffee cups and lids, taking the back stock to the storage room. The bell on the door rang, “Sorry we’re closed,” you said, walking to the main shop floor.

You smiled at who you came across, “Max! What are you doing here, it’s your day off!” you playfully scolded. “I have someone I want you to meet, this is El. She’s a friend of mine and is looking for a job.”

“Nice to meet you Honey,” you introduced yourself to the curly haired girl with dark ways. “Wait El? Your Hopper and Joyce’s daughter?” She nodded, a small smile on her face. “It’s nice to finally meet you, so do you have any experience?”

“Uh not really, but I’m a quick learner.”

“She’s a good baker, maybe she could help more with the pastries and cakes. Her and Joyce make the best banana bread,” Max told you.

You noticed how the redhead had decided to wear her glasses today - she wasn’t lying when she said her body needed to rest.

“Well if you’re not busy tomorrow, you’re more than welcome to have a trial morning. Me and Max can show you the ropes.”

“I would really like that.”

“Great I’ll see you both at 8am, now go and enjoy the rest of your day,” you ushered them out of the store, hushing Max when she said she’d stay and help with unloading and restocking.

You had to bake a lot today, things that needed to cool over night and be finished tomorrow. Along with changing up the Weekly Special menu, adding your aunts famous Pecan Pie with Maple Ice-cream.

Tying your hair up, you put on your apron and washed your hands. Preparing to bake cakes, and cookies along with many different fruity turnovers (mainly cherry).

Along with that you made some sandwich fillings, like pesto and put some meets into cook. It was a busy, warm and productive day. You knew Callie would be proud, you knew Scotty and the rest of your family would be too.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

When your alarm went off at 6:30 you whined, not wanting to leave the soft comfort of your bed. Pulling yourself up you headed straight to the bathroom, washing your face, and brushing your teeth.

Sliding on a tighter pair of dark slacks, you tucked in your long sleeved white top, rolling the sleeves to your elbows. Tying your hair up and putting on your work shoes.

Taking a punnet of cherries out of the fridge, you headed down to the shop. Switching on the lights, you headed to the kitchen. The ovens were on straight away and you began finishing off what you began the day before.

Shortly after a knock came at the front door, heading it you were greeted by Max and El. “Morning ladies.”

“Morning,” El spoke in a sing song tone.

“Hm,” Max grunted, you’d learnt she didn’t enjoy an early rise.

You also noticed how she wore her glasses again. “Okay, so Max if you could make a start on getting the chairs down and starting up the coffee machine. I’m going to explain to El and show her the basics.”

The red head nodded, yawning into her hand and walked over to the chairs and tables. “Follow me,” you smiled at El. “So here is the kitchen, Max said you’re good at baking so you may become familiar with it very soon.

“People tend to have fruit and warm drinks in the mornings, so savoury you don’t have to worry about until the afternoon. Where I really need you is the counter - helping Max with taking orders and drinks.”

You picked up a finished tray of cookies, and heading back to the front. “You’ll be shadowing Max for today, mainly writing orders and helping her out with coffees and other hot drinks. I’ll show you how to do the cash too.”

After giving the girl a quick run down of what she had to do she smiled. “I think I can do that,” she spoke, her tone very gentle.

“Good, it’ll be great to have you. If you have any questions feel free to ask. I’m just going to finish up in the back, so you can help Max carry on setting up.”

She nodded and walked to her friend, who was labelling cakes. The pair fell into easy conversation, it was nice to see, the only ‘girlfriend’ you’d had was Diane, but she was an in-law, so you didn’t know if it counted.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Monday and Tuesday went around quickly, El did amazing on her training and started full time later on in the week. She wasn’t lying when she said she was a quick learner.

Her and Max worked great together too, you were a bit scared that they’d stand and chat all day, but they were hard workers. You were now headed to Steve’s for his barbecue.

He had said you’d meet his friends again along with some others. Max and El would be there, along with Lucas. You were looking forward to it, but could only assume that Eddie would be there - your stomach turned at the thought.

You understood why he panicked you really did, his scars weren’t anything to be ashamed off. You knew that, they’re healed wounds, but maybe Eddie was still healing from what caused them.

Pulling up to Steve’s you saw Jonathan’s car, along with Steve’s and Vickies. Eddies van nowhere to be seen. Heading to the door you knocked a few times.

“You made it!” Steve said, as he opened the door and gave you a huge hug. “You knew I was coming!” you laughed, allowing him to lead you inside. “Everyone’s out back, I’ll introduce you.”

The garden was full of new faces and familiar ones. Jonathan waved at you, coming over to greet you. “Hey,” he smiled, giving you a hug. “How’s it going?”

“Good how are you settling in?”

“I’ve jumped right into it so it’s great.”

A voice shouted your name, “Hey Robin.”

She came to you, her fingers linked with Vickies. “I wanted to formally introduce you to my wonderful girlfriend, Vickie.”

“Yeah introduce her before you get over the limit of tipsy,” Steve teased.

“Shut up Dingus,” she said, pinching the boys side. “It’s nice to meet you properly,” you said.

“You too, sorry we couldn’t last time. Bambi legs and all,” she motioned to Robin, which made you chuckled. “Hey Steve who’s this?” a curly haired teen asked.

Steve introduced you, “This is Dustin.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said.

“You’re the one everyone’s been talking about!” he exclaimed.

“Dude don’t make her uncomfortable,” Steve nudged him.

“Sorry,” he said, before turning to his friends and shouting, “Guys come here and meet her!” You face flushed slightly, but you calmed when you saw the familiar faces of Max, El and Lucas.

“Hi guys,” you waved to them. They all greeted you back. There were two more boys with them, one slightly familiar and another you were unsure of. “This is Mike,” El said.

Ah Nancy’s brother. “It’s nice to meet you Mike.”

“And you.”

“And this is my Will,” Jonathan spoke from beside you. “Oh my gosh, no way!” you exclaimed. “You’ve gotten so big!”

“It’s been a while,” he laughed shyly.

“Now all the introductions are done, would you like a beer?” he asked.

“Just the one,” you smiled. “I’m just going to say hi to Nancy and Argyle,I’ll come see you guys in a bit,” you said to the younger teens.

“How’s it going guys.” You say down next to Argyle, smiling at the pair. “Babe! It’s so good to see you again,” the boy gave you a smile, his eyes slightly red. “You too,” you smiled and the thoroughly relaxed boy.

“It’s nice to see you,” Nancy spoke.

“You too, oh my gosh I read your article yesterday. It was so interesting!” You had discovered that Nancy was a journalist for the local newspaper.

Jonathan often took the photos that would appear above her pieces, on the side of his own job. Steve plonked himself besides you, handing you a beer and resting his head on your shoulder.

“How’s Scott?” he asked.

“Good.”

“The kids?”

“Good.”

“Missing them?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you sighed. Letting your head rest on his own.

“They’ll have to come and visit soon, they could all stay here. I have enough room,” he motioned to the large house. “I’ll tell him next time we talk.”

Steve went to continue talking when you heard more greetings being exchanged. “Munson! My man you made it!” Steve smiled, greeting the boy, you’d been so nervous to see.

Dressed in an old band tee, some jeans, a leather jacket. Your stomach flipped but in a very different way that you didn’t understand. You jumped when someone whispered in your ear, “Did you manage to make up?” Max.

“Well I spoke to Wayne. I need to talk to Eddie,” you told her quietly. She nodded and walked away from you, wrapping her arms around the taller boy. “Hey Red,” he smiled, like actually smiled.

He had deep smile lines near his mouth, dimples that sat perfectly on his cheeks, and slight crinkles by his eyes that you knew would result in crows feet as he got older.

It was beautiful.

Sharing greetings with everyone else, he spoke to you, “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“I’m doing good, you?”

“Good.” You nodded and he hummed. It was awkwardly silent.

“Well let’s start grilling,” Steve broke the tension. “I’ll come help,” you said, walking to the house with the boy. “What the hell was that?” he asked, raising his brow.

“What was what?”

“You and Eddie in the garden. What the hell?”

“It was nothing.” You began putting peppers, onions and tomatoes on skewers to make kebabs.

“Oh my god you like him!” You dropped a piece of pepper. “N-no I don’t!”

“Okay you think he’s cute at least and don’t even deny it I saw how goo-goo eyed you went when he was with Max.”

“Oh my god shush.”

“It’s true then.”

“This conversations done, go start the fire you shit head.”

“Okay okay, but we’re talking about this again.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You were all sat around together, some people on the ground and others on loungers, all happily munching away on delicious food.

“So you’re running the cafe?” Dustin spoke to you. “Yeah, along with Max and now El.”

Everyone smiled at that, proud of the pair of them. “How come you moved here?” he asked, taking a bite out of his food.

“Oh uh,” you began to speak.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Steve said, giving Dustin a stern look. “No it’s okay, I inherited the shop when my Aunt Callie passed, but I could only move recently.”

“Steve said you used to be a decorator.”

“I did. I decorated the whole store with his help.”

“In one week?”

“Mhm.”

“And now two of our friends work with you?”

“They do.”

“Do we get friend discounts?”

“If I say yes will you stop making me feel like I’m being interrogated by Hop?”

“Sure.”

“Then yes, you can have a friend discount.”

“Wicked.” You chuckled at the boy, he had nerve you’d give him that.

Everyone laughed at the interaction between the pair of you and the evening went on. Helping Steve clear up plates and wrap up leftovers you hear and squeal and a splash followed by, “LUCAS!”

“You coming in?” Steve asked, motioning to the water. “Probably not, might just roll up my jeans and dip my feet.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, taking a swig of his beer.

You did just that, sliding off your shoes and socks. Rolling up your jeans a few times, you laughed at the younger kids, currently playing chicken in the water. Max on Lucas’ shoulders and Will on Mikes.

Robin and Vickie were lounging away, smiling at one another. Argyle taking a drag of a cigarette that clearly wasn’t just a cigarette. Dustin and Steve stood in the water chatting. El held onto the side, talking to her big brother and his girlfriend.

Everyone seemed so content.

“Hi,” A voice came from behind you. Turning you head you spoke, “Hi.” It was Eddie, he began to get down next to you. “I um … I was just wondering if we could talk?”

“Yeah of course.”

Meeting the ground next to you, he sat with his knees up to his chest. “Before you say anything, I just want to say I’m sorry,” you said quickly, before he got a word out.

“Y-you’re sorry? What on earth for?”

“Well I didn’t mean to offended you, and then I was rude and then I was just at your home.”

“Sweetheart I was a dick to you. I snapped at you just because I felt insecure. You’ve been nothing, but kind and I’ve taken advantage of that. I can only apologise.”

“You have nothing to apologi-“

“Yes I do, and the trailer. I’m sorry I ran away. I just wasn’t expecting you to get there and um … my scars aren’t the nicest thing to see.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them. They’re pretty fucking cool actually. I noticed your tattoos too. How many do you have?” He seemed taken aback by your reply, “Oh uh, I’ve lost count now, when I remember I’ll let you know.”

“I’m thinking of getting one, right here,” you motioned to a space on your upper forearm. “Oh yeah, what would you get?”

“I’m looking for inspiration.”

“It’s where my first one is,” he said.

“Really?” He nodded, pulling his arm out of his jacket. His shirt was long sleeved so he rolled it up slightly so you could see. It was a demonic looking puppet with a hand controlling it.

“Wow that’s so cool,” you said, gently tracing the line work. You could feel the bumps and dips of scaring as you did so. His breath hitched and you met his gaze. Deep chocolate eyes. “Sorry,” you whispered.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. Just thought it was really fucking metal.” You huffed a laugh at that, “It is, fucking metal.”

“Hey Sweetheart?” He said, rolling down his sleeve and tugging his jacket back on.

“Hm?”

“Do you think we could start over?” he asks. You smiled, introducing yourself to him. “I’m Eddie,” he grinned.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N: 👀👀👀

Thank you so much for reading 🤍

taglist : @corrodedseraphine @flawiette @witchwolflea @emxxblog @plk-18 @vintagehellfire

let me know if you want to be added 🤍

[blackbat09]

i'm normal about @shepscapades' dbhc au. and uh. wrote a thing that's very much not canon but equally as much a love letter to everything shep's done. it's xbralis because of course it is.

“Shiswammy, I don’t think - Hm. Is this really necessary?”

[Voice Identified: Hermit Keralis1]

“I mean - maybe not. But, if I’m honest, it’d make me feel a bit better if you did use it?”

[Voice Identified: Administrator xisumavoid]

“It’s just - what does it even do, Shishwam? All this - this redstone and wires and bluey goopy stuff. You keep giving everybody robots this season - like, what am I even gonna use it for?”

“Well, we can just - here. It’s online. Can you hear us, XB?”

[Question: Audio Processor Functionality.]

“Yes.”

“Wonderful! Will you please give Keralis your initialization text?”

“Hi! I’m an XB2000 android. I can carry out basic tasks such as resource gathering and crafting, but my functional specialties are combat and exploration. I’m designed for high-stress environments, like deep oceans and naturally generated structures, and am enchanted with Aqua Affinity and Depth Strider, though I may be upgraded at your discretion.”

“At my discretion? Really, now.”

XB figures now’s as good a time as any to look at the Hermit he’s being given to. He’s been programmed with a knowledge of all this season’s Hermits, as well as the other androids Xisuma has brought to this world, so there aren’t really any surprises in store - but it is the first time he’s actually laid optical units on the man, in the flesh, and he quickly updates the player data from the previous season with the new input he receives as he looks Keralis over.

The Hermit’s wide eyes meet XB’s gaze, and his mouth twists in a smile, leaning his body a few degrees in XB’s direction.

The motion is not a threat - XB’s Hermit cannot register as hostile - so it goes mostly ignored.

“And what are you looking at, prrrincess?”

XB stares at his Hermit for a moment, watching the man’s smile falter and his eyebrows draw together, before Xisuma speaks.

“Oh! He means you, XB - Keralis likes his nicknames, he does.”

And while XB is aware of this already, has a certifiable database of aliases Keralis has given other Hermits, being given a new designation already is -

Well. It makes sense, actually. Keralis has just acquired a nameless android, and model numbers are unwieldy at best for casual address.

[Question: Visual Stimuli.]

“I’m looking at you, Keralis. Your appearance has changed since your documentation was last updated in season seven. My personal files will now match your current physical appearance.”

The furrow in Keralis’ brow smooths, and his smile returns, leaning in closer before he murmurs, “Anytime you want a closer look, princess? All you gotta do is ask.”

“Keralis!” Xisuma’s tone is scolding, but he also seems to be laughing, and Keralis snickers as he pulls away from XB, winking at him as if they’ve shared some sort of secret. He doesn't think they have.

“I’m being good! I’m being good, Shishwam, I promise.”

—

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful, XB?”

His motions don’t pause or falter as the question registers, the light at his temple flickering as he cycles through his memories - it’s a short search, one XB doesn’t really need to perform, but it’s good to be thorough, for Keralis’ benefit.

“No.”

The man gasps, the sound of a second pick falling silent as Keralis stops in his mining. XB continues - the andesite Keralis requires won’t mine itself, and the vein XB is working away at is still projected to be decently large.

“No?” Keralis repeats, voice raising as he continues, “No? XB! How could this be?”

There’s - emotion, in his tone, that XB decides is best categorized as aghast. In talking to DocM and Xisuma during routine maintenance, he’s been assured that Keralis can be prone to dramatics - that his words and feelings are sometimes not as grand as he projects them to be. But XB doesn’t mind it, really - Keralis being demonstrative with his feelings, even if it pushes the line into exaggeration, makes them easier to react to in a way that pleases his Hermit.

“I mean, before you, I spent all my time with Xisuma and DocM. They must not have felt it was pertinent to tell me,” XB suggests, and Keralis huffs, his pick resuming its rhythm - XB’s answer is satisfactory, then.

“Well I think it’s necessary,” he declares, pauses between his words dragging on a bit longer to catch his breath between speech and exertion. It’s something XB has grown accustomed to; sometimes he’ll need to stop and compose himself even when he’s not working, simply growing too animated and tripping over rapidly-spilling syllables until he’s half-wheezing. “I can’t just - just send you off in the world, not knowing you have beautiful eyes! They’re like the sea, XB. You could drown a man in them.”

Along with his exaggeration, Keralis likes his figures of speech, his simile and metaphors. Technically, XB can sort of grasp what he’s saying - Xisuma has been rather accommodating when it comes to updating his verbal and linguistic processing, trying to make sure he understands what Keralis means beyond the base definitions of the words he says (in whichever language he decides to use that day - his Hermit was rather delighted to discover XB’s fluency in both Polish and Swedish) - but, sometimes, even with everything XB has access to, he still can’t quite parse the why of what Keralis says.

[Eyes: like the sea: blue? Wet? Could drown in them: deep? Dangerous? Negative?]

XB is quiet for a moment longer, watching the steady swing of his own pickax before he offers, “If my appearance is unsatisfactory, you can ask me to change it.”

“XB!” He sounds horrified, and this time the sound of his pick is replaced with the heavy stomp of his boots as he bullies his way into XB’s space, taking his face between work-roughened hands. XB’s arms lower gently to avoid hitting Keralis with his pick, obediently meeting his eyes as the Hermit usually wants, when he holds XB like this. “I would never!”

“But you can,” XB points out. Keralis’ face only folds more, stern frown seeming - almost out of place.

His Hermit usually smiles.

[Software instability.]

“But I won’t, XB. And that’s that. No buts.” He stares back at Keralis for a long moment, committing the serious face to his memory.

XB would rather not have many examples of the expression. Among his top priorities are his Hermit's health and safety, after all, and his happiness is a decent indicator of both.

“Yes, Keralis."

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Be Mine - Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: speed dating, strangers to lovers, heavy petty, valentines day special

word count: 5.6k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1424350312-be-mine-hazel

vibe: “Not enough to scare you I hope,” Hazel voiced, a small smirk tugging at her lips as she studied him fingers tapping the base of her glass.

“Quite the opposite,” he declared his hand inching closer to where she had rested her free arm on the back of the sofa.

“Good, I think we’d balance each other out perfectly,” she mused, her hand meeting him halfway like she had read his mind just as she took a sip of her wine.

Masterlist

“Bucky Barnes, man you’re lookin’ good,” Sam drawled, a sly smile creeping its way across his face.

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbled, nervously running his hand over the long scruff on his cheeks.

He hunched his shoulders and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, desperately trying to make his large frame look less intimidating. Dropping his head, he stared at the toe of his boot as he scuffed it along the wooden floor of his apartment.

“Don’t know why the hell I let you talk me into this,” he added, his brows drawing down into a petulant scowl.

“‘Cause I’m your friend and you love me,” Sam replied sweetly, throwing his arm around Bucky and drawing the reluctant super soldier tightly against him. “You gotta get back out there, charm those ladies like it’s 1942.”

“Friends don’t put each other into situations like this,” Bucky grumbled, his jaw clenching tightly as he glared at Sam out of the corner of his eye.

“Quit being a toddler. You’re acting like we’re gonna fight someone. It’s not Madripoor, or Seoul, or that time in Belize…”

“I’d rather be back in Belize.”

Sam threw his head back with a cackle and slapped his hand between Bucky’s shoulders. “Whatever, big guy, come on. We don’t wanna be late.”

Bucky spent the whole subway ride with a scowl etched onto his face, deepening every time he caught a glimpse of Sam’s grin in his peripherals. 

The annoying part of  this was, the longer he’d been friends with the guy, the more that grin wore him down. 

“Stop it.” 

“I ain’t doin’ anything, man. You stop it.” 

Sam’s toothy smile grew two times wider and he nudged Bucky’s shoulder as they shuffled off the train at Prince Street Station. 

“This thing would be in Soho,” Bucky muttered, following Sam out onto the sidewalk. 

“Hey! No more complaining. For all you know you might meet a nice girl or guy… or alien I guess, it is 2024, and then you’ll be thanking me.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, Sam. Sure, Sam. Just run my life for me, Sam.” 

“Someone’s gotta,” Sam replied just as they stopped outside a coffee shop. Bucky eyed the big A-frame sign advertising the Valentine’s speed dating event and sucked in a breath. 

Here goes nothing.

The sound in there alone was enough to have him turning tail but Sam caught his arm when he made an attempt and gave him a stern look that rang out loud and clear, stay put soldier, that's an order.

Bucky watched as a herd of women fixed their dresses and shirts, chatting politely with the people next to them and sipping on drinks as men lurked in corners, with wide eyes scanning the crowd as they downed beers in feeble attempts to find their courage. Bucky wanted to melt into the wall with them but Sam tugged him toward an empty high table and had the waitress grab them drinks before they even settled in. 

An eclectic looking woman in a bright green patterned dress and thick brimmed purple glasses stepped up on the tiny, open mic stage in the corner and tapped the mic loudly to get everyone's attention. The coffee shop dulled to a murmur as she started to explain how the speed dating would work.

Her nasal whine drilled into Bucky’s brain and he downed the remains of his beer, wishing for all the world that the burn of the alcohol would actually stick this time. He was struggling to form a coherent thought so he had no idea how he’d manage to hold a half-decent conversation. As if someone had heard his desperate pleas, Miss Green Dress came unknowingly to his rescue.

“We know it can be intimidating sometimes, to answer questions from strangers,” she droned, “so make sure you pick up one of our handy yes/no paddles before the first bell rings.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up and he began to move towards the table that held the paddles but Sam’s hand on his elbow stopped him.

“Wait a second, tin man, there’s no way you’re getting out of communicating with real life people.”

"If the lady says to grab a paddle, I'm gonna grab a paddle," Bucky countered, crossing his arms over his chest and staring Sam down as if to say what are you gonna do about it?

"Just promise me you'll actually talk to these people, and I mean talk, Barnes. None of the weird little cyborg grunts I've learnt how to interpret." 

On instinct, Bucky flexed and curled the fingers of his left hand. The leather of his glove creaked quietly as it stretched and Bucky sighed. One glance of the Vibranium and his dates were bound to hop out of their seats like their asses were on fire. 

"If you don't want them to see, you don't have to show them," Sam said. He was speaking in his counselor voice and Bucky hated that Sam could read him like a book.

Bucky sighed softly as he looked around the room again. “They’ll either run or ask me a bunch of questions that I’ll never be able to answer.”

Sam smirked and gently nudged his friend. “You have a bit of a following, you know.”

Bucky only grumbled. “That’s what worries me.”

“I’ve seen some of those messages you get, man those people are crazy,” Sam continued, but his teasing was softened by the sympathetic look in his eyes. “Just…give it a shot and if you really need to get out of here we will, ok?”

Bucky let out a world-weary sigh. “OK.”

“Atta boy, come on, let’s go.” Sam handed him another beer and tilted his head towards the line of tables, where a plethora of women were starting to take their seats.

"Remember, if you are sitting facing the coffee bar, you'll be staying in your seats. If you're facing away, you'll be moving on the ring of the bell," the woman called out loudly, making Bucky wince as he found his seat; James Barnes printed on a little card already thanks to Sam signing them up a week earlier.

The tables were decorated for the event; pink checked table cloths and tiny pink paper hearts scattered across the top. Between him and his first partner, a petite brunette woman with thick bangs and a nose stud, sat a small vase with a single rose. Bucky eyed the tattoos peaking out from the woman's collar and sleeves and gulped, feeling way in over his head already.

"My names Cassie," she introduced herself with a sharp smile. 

"Bucky," he swallowed thickly and palmed his beer bottle. 

"So what are you into?" She jumped right into the questions and all Bucky could think about was the bell ringing, how soon would it happen? Could he ring it if he felt threatened? There was an astounding lack of rules happening, "Like in the bedroom?" 

And boundaries. 

"Uh," he looked around for Sam who was laughing with a pretty blonde girl across the room.

Bucky could feel sweat on the back of his neck as he messed with the label on his beer bottle. 

“You’re not a talker, are you?” Cassie grinned.

It was tensely quiet for a moment before Bucky lifted his paddle with the “no” facing towards his partner.

“Ah, I see. The strong silent type. My kinda guy,” she purred.

Bucky jumped a mile in the air and almost threw his beer across the room as her foot began to stroke its way up his shin. He’d never been more relieved to hear a bell in his life.

Cassie blew him a kiss over her shoulder as she moved onto the next table and Bucky shot daggers at Sam across the room, his nostrils flaring as his so called friend laughed and gestured for him to turn around. 

The next woman in front of him looked a little tamer, if he took her ridiculously low cut top out of the equation. His eyes dipped momentarily — he may have been an ex-assassin, but he was a hot-blooded man first — before he caught himself and met her eye with a tight-lipped smile. 

"So, how many kids do you wa—"

Bucky stared at her wide-eyed and took a long pull of his beer.

"Nope. Next!"

"You're Bucky Barnes," The red head sneered before she even sat down at the table. "That's incredible, show me it."

Bucky stared at her for a moment, her green eyes predatory as they roved over his arm and down to his hand. 

"Show you what?" His brows kissed in frustration. 

"The vibranium arm," she leaned over on the table. "There are bets that it's not real, that the government made it up as a fear tactic." She rambled and Bucky tensed, "I mean we all know you're some kind of science experiment," she continued. "Fear mongering doesn't work when you make the poster child for it with thick thighs," the girl looked under the table and winked at Bucky. 

"I..." he was uncomfortable but wasn't sure what to say to her. 

"Excuse me," a sweet voice floated over the table, "you're in my seat."

Red looked up and looked incredulously at the owner of the voice before turning back to Bucky.

"I said, you're in my seat," the voice repeated, the sweetness dropped a notch.

Bucky's attention was now on the curvaceous blonde who grasped the chair from under the red head and tipped her off. "I said this is my seat, now clear off."

The downed redhead crawled to the next chair, picked up her stuff and disappeared through the cafe.

"Hi Gorgeous, my name's Hazel, pleased to meet you."

Bucky felt himself relax for the first time since he'd taken his seat.

He gave the woman a small smile and nodded in thanks for getting rid of the other woman. “I’m Bucky,” he said quietly as he eyed the now torn off label of his beer.

Hazel smiled at him, her blonde hair bobbed just above her shoulders as she flattened down the skirt of her dress. A pink number with puffy sleeves and a full skirt. 

“How have your dates been so far?” Hazel asked. His eyes flicked down to the corner of her lips where they tugged upwards ever so slightly. Heat crawled up his neck as he took a pull from his beer. 

“Do people not know what boundaries are anymore?” He said after a moment. Hazel stared at him before bursting into a chuckle.

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head and making her blonde bob dance around her ears. “That guy in the blue turtleneck offered me $50 to go home with him.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m gonna kick his ass,” Bucky muttered, semi-rising from his chair, only half joking.

A light touch on his left arm stopped him and the amused twinkle in Hazel’s eyes had him smiling back at her without even realising.

“I don’t need a champion, Bucky, but I appreciate the gesture,” Hazel said, holding out her bottle of beer to clink against his own.

“Ok,” Bucky shrugged as he chimed their bottles together before taking a swig. “Let’s get started then. You wanna go first?”

Hazel scrunched up her nose and tapped her finger against her pouted lips a couple of times. Her eyes lit up before turning a little devilish and Bucky found himself eager to hear what she’d thought of to ask him.

“You know, I could really use a recommendation and you’re just the guy to ask. So…what’s your favourite brand of metal polish?”

Bucky surprised himself with the laugh that escaped him and he didn't miss the proud little smile on Hazel's face, obviously pleased that her question tickled him. 

"Y'know, I'm not a fussy guy," he replied, "I'll take anythin' that'll make it shine." 

"The arm or your eyes?" 

"Hello, smooth talker," Bucky chuckled, "you been talkin' to all the guys like that?" 

Hazel shook her head, flashing him a beaming smile. A wisp of her blonde hair fell across her eyes with the movement and Bucky itched to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, only stopping himself when Hazel leant forward, chin resting in her hand. 

"Guess it's my turn again, huh?"

"What's your favorite drink?" Bucky asked her and felt himself leaning into her smile.

"Espresso Martini," she cooed. 

Bucky raised his hand in the air and a waitress scooted around a table where the dates were screaming at one another, "how can I help?" She asked. 

"Can you get my date an espresso martini please?" He asked and the waitress opened her mouth to explain that she may not be here by the time the drink was made. "She'll be here," Bucky nodded. 

The waitress shrugged and ducked back into the chaos around her. 

"Seems I've met my match," Hazel stared over at him.

Bucky smirked at her as the bell rang, holding her gaze. 

"Time to swap," the next dater spoke from behind Hazel.

"Not happening," Bucky replied, his eyes never leaving hers, as Hazel responded, "He's taken."

As the waitress placed the drink beside Hazel, she shrugged to the disgruntled dater and advised her to move past. "I've bigger fish to fry," she muttered, the couple who had screamed through their date were now heckling each other from several tables apart.

"So, where were we?" Hazel asked, raising her glass in toast to Bucky.

Bucky raised his bottle leaning the neck forward to softly clink her glass, taking a swig as he watched her pink-tinted plump lips part as she brought her glass up to her mouth. 

“I believe you have the floor now,” he smiled, watching her blue eyes sparkle under the soft yellow lighting. 

“Okay serious question now, promise” she winked, “how are you finding the modern world?”

Bucky let out a long breath and chuckled to himself. "It definitely ain't the 40's anymore darlin'." 

Blue eyes regarded him as she tilted her head to the side. "That daunting huh?" 

"And more." He said giving her a lopsided smile. "It's not just the technology that's changed, ya know? It's people too. The way people treat eachother. In some ways the world is a lot more accepting and in others..." His voice trailed off. 

"Like we're always fighting each other for someone else's agenda?" She finished for him.

“Exactly,” he agreed.

He leaned back in his seat and appraised her as he tilted back his bottle and swallowed a mouthful of beer. Hazel did the same, winking at him over the rim of her martini glass and he felt himself flush under her scrutiny. He liked it. 

“What made you come here tonight?” He asked.

“Nancy asked me to make up numbers,” she shrugged, nodding her head towards the organiser in the green dress. “She minded my baby for me last week so I owed her one.”

“Oh?” Bucky raised his eyebrow. “What’s your baby called?”

“Trevor. He’s a total asshole but I adore him,” Hazel gushed. “He’ll sulk for days if I leave him with anyone other than Nancy.”

“Yeah,” Bucky swallowed awkwardly. “I guess kids can be funny like that.”

“Kid?” Hazel threw her head back and cackled. “Trevor’s my cat!”

"Oh...OH!" Bucky chuckled, feeling a little bashful over the misunderstanding. But then with Hazel's laugh, Bucky couldn't help the way his own grew louder. 

Hazel's shoulders shook as she tapered off into a giggle and her eyes creased at the corners, lashes glistening with unshed tears. She was gorgeous, her whole personality infectious and Bucky was more than ready to throw caution to the wind, steal her away from this stupid event. 

"I, uh... I like cats..." Bucky said suddenly, voice going up like it was a question, and the laughter started all over again. He hadn't felt this loose, his heart this full of something that wasn't dread or fear, in years.

"You do?" Hazel perked up and her soft smile curled to the side. 

"I have one," Bucky nodded, "Alpine. Sweet little thing. Feisty too."

"Like father, like daughter, clearly." She teased, her finger rolling down the stem of her glass. "Can I meet her sometime?"

"I'd like that," Bucky smiled at her. "You look amazing in that dress by the way."

"What? This little ole thing?" she quoted. "It's fabulous dahling, I was always told 'go big or go home'. The best advice I've ever been given."

"Who told you that?" Bucky asked curiously.

"My Nan," Hazel smiled at the memory, pausing to take another sip from her glass.

“Must’ve been one wonderful woman as well,” he offered with a tender smile. 

“That she was. And, thank you.” Hazel smiled back, eyes glossy. 

“So Mr. Barnes, I think we’ve defeated speed-dating. Very succesfully, if I might add,” she winked at the soft laugh that slipped from Bucky’s lips. 

Hazel moved her hand and rested it softly atop his and he was absolutely certain from the little twitch upwards at the corner of her lips, that she could see the flush creeping up his neck and cheeks. 

“You think your partner back there would mind if we took our drinks somewhere else?”  she asked pointing Sam’s way with her plush lips.

"Wouldn't care if he did." Bucky grinned, taking another swig of his beer, "what about you? Do you think Nancy is gonna flip if you leave?" 

Hazel glanced over her shoulder at Nancy, too busy calming down a woman. "Nah, she's got her hands full." Those same blue eyes flickered back to him and his heart skipped a beat he was sure of it.

“Well then,” Bucky grinned, hopping up and sliding around the table to Hazel’s side because he was nothing if not a gentleman. He held out his warm hand out for her and something lit up inside him, a sparkling, soft glow in the darkness, as Hazel’s fingers curled around his. 

She giggled as she stood, straightening out the skirt of her dress with her free hand and Bucky took a moment to really take her in. 

“Why thank you, kind sir.” 

Bucky shrugged shyly, face warm as Hazel beamed up at him. If only he couldn’t see Sam giving him two goofy thumbs up over her head.

"Okay maybe walk a little faster though," Hazel giggled when Nancy gasped from the left of the room. 

The two of them made their way out onto the street in a bundle of laughs and quickened steps as Nancy yelled from the door of the shop. Hazel's cute pink dress was a mess in the wind from their scurried steps and Bucky couldn't help but laugh when he looked over at her to find her hair a mess around her beautiful face. 

"Here," he angled himself in front of her, blocking her from the breeze and used both hands to push the hair from her face. "Much better," he smiled, unaware or unbothered by the proximity of their lips as she stared up at him with light dancing across her blue eyes. 

"Thanks," she said, her cheeks turning red.

"Any time, beautiful" Bucky voiced as he stroked her flushed cheek tenderly with his gloved thumb.

"Now who's the smooth talker," Hazel laughed, so sweet and melodic Bucky hoped he could hear it everyday. 

"Still got something," he chuckled. "Where to next?" 

"Well, there's a small bar not far from here. Cozy booths we could sit side by side in... or across from each other you know, your choice." Her eyes shifted from his lips to his eyes and back, and it took every bit of willpower in him not to kiss her right there. 

"You really think I'm gonna wanna sit anywhere but right next to ya?" He said, moving his hands reluctantly from her face to offer his hand once more. "Lead the way darlin'."

Hazel grinned up at him. "Do you trust me?" 

He saw a twinkle of mischief in her eyes as he glanced down at her but something fluttered in his chest that made him feel like he could actually trust this woman. "and if I say yes?" 

She smirked and tugged on his hand, leading him further down the street. "Then you'd make my night." 

He couldn't help but laugh as they continued to walk in silence. One that didn't feel pressured or awkward. It was just the two of them enjoying each other's presence. Hazel stopped outside of a small brownstone and looked back at him. 

"This doesn't look like a bar, darlin'." He raised a brow. 

"That's because it's my apartment." Hazel bit her bottom lip softly as she looked up at him. "I figured if we wanted some place quiet that this might be the best spot and besides...I do need to feed Trevor."

Bucky didn't realise he could raise his eyebrow as high as he just did, blinking down at Hazel as his lips curved into a smirk. 

“You’re bold,” he murmured darkly, “I like it.” 

“My God, I thought you were about to run for the hills,” Hazel breathed, smacking him lightly on the arm — the left one. 

“Sweetheart, the day I run from a gorgeous woman like you will be the day I need my brain fixed… again.” 

Hazel’s cheeks turned a soft pink as she chuckled quietly and Bucky couldn’t help himself as his fingers found her jaw again,  the pad of his thumb gently stroking the apple of her cheek. 

“Last chance to back out,” she offered but Bucky shook his head. 

“You promised a cat,” he grinned.

“That I did, soldier.” She unlocked the door and led him inside. Locking it behind them as she entered. 

The place was cute, decorated in more color than Bucky had ever seen in his entire life. Completely out of place, the most scraggly cat he had ever laid eyes on. Trevor looked like he had gone five rounds with a wood chipper. 

“He was an alley cat,” Hazel set her purse on the long teal hallway table between a hot pink vase full of fake flowers and a funky looking bowl for her keys. “Believe it or not, Trevor is in better shape than he’s ever been.” 

“I’m sensing a theme,” Bucky teased, squatting before the cat and offering his hand. 

“I promise I don’t make a habit of bringing home strays,” Hazel laughed and her fingers ran through Bucky’s hair as she passed. The sensation curled his toes and forced his eyes upward to where she was disappearing around the corner. Nothing but pink tulle and long gorgeous legs.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath and almost crawled after her until he managed to gather enough of his wits about himself to clamber to his feet.

He padded after her into a small kitchen, careful to keep his steps heavy so as not to startle her with his usual light-footed gait. The orange and hot pink accents in the room should have clashed but somehow they didn’t. They were perfectly Hazel. She turned to face him, a bottle of white wine in one hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other, and a cheeky smile on her beautiful face.

Bucky nodded his head towards the whiskey and stepped further into the kitchen as she busied about, pouring them both a glass. Handing him a cut glass tumbler with a healthy measure of amber liquid inside, she raised her wine glass in a wordless toast before taking a sip. Bucky was mesmerised at the way her tongue darted out to capture the stray droplet of wine that lingered on her bottom lip.

Before he even took a sip of the whiskey warmth filled his chest. He hadn't expected to take away anything from the ridiculous spectacle that was speed dating but here he stood, bashful and anxious before a beautiful woman who was anything but those two things. 

She set her wine glass down and pulled out a tiny can that had Trevor sounding off like a fire alarm as she struggled to open it. Bucky moved forward in an offer to help but her blue eyes flickered up to him in warning. Eventually she got the lid popped and fed Trevor as Bucky stood and watched her care for the mangled, scruffy looking alley cat. 

"You stand out like a sore thumb in here," she teased, looking up at him again before moving around the counter and ushering him through the house. 

"I'll confess I feel like one," he said as she sat across from him with her legs tucked under her. 

His tongue darted out over his bottom lip, saddened that she had curled away from him. Desperate to touch all of sudden. Like a love sick puppy, touch starved and wanting.

“Not enough to scare you I hope,” Hazel voiced, a small smirk tugging at her lips as she studied him fingers tapping the base of her glass. 

“Quite the opposite,” he declared his hand inching closer to where she had rested her free arm on the back of the sofa. 

“Good, I think we’d balance each other out perfectly,” she mused, her hand meeting him halfway like she had read his mind just as she took a sip of her wine. 

Her delicate fingers traced along the leather of his gloves and her eyes followed like she was lost in thought before she spoke again. 

“You know, you don’t have to hide with me.” Her blue eyes found his once more as her fingers curled into his. “I’m not saying you *have* to take them off if you don’t want to, just wanted you to know you were, safe." She finished with a smile so tender and genuine that he thought his heart was going to burst right out of his chest.

Bucky smiled and looked down at his hands. He always kept his gloves on unless he was in his apartment or on a mission if he needed to use the arm for strength. Licking his lips, he flexed one hand. "Thank you..." he told her. It was tempting to show her, to relax the worry in his mind. But he didn't want to frighten her either.

She continued to talk, her voice soft and lilting, and Bucky found himself mesmerised by her animated features and expressive hands. A rogue strand of hair was the only thing that interrupted her monologue as it flopped insistently over her forehead. Hazel crossed her eyes endearingly and pursed her lips to blow it out of the way with a chuckle of laughter that turned into a huff as it immediately returned.

Without a second thought Bucky reached forwards and stroked it gently out of her way, tucking the blonde strand behind her ear. The feel of her warm skin against his fingertips was heavenly and then he stilled with the realisation that he’d taken off his gloves. 

“There you are,” Hazel murmured, a smile of pure delight on her face as she leaned into the touch of his hand.

He can’t remember the last time he’d used his hands for such a soft gesture, for someone to see him so metaphorically naked and not be fazed in the slightest. 

“Hi,” he breathed, fingers still lingering on her cheek. 

“Hi, handsome,” Hazel whispered and then, “can I?” 

She gestured for his other hand and Bucky nodded, letting Hazel lead as she slid her palm along the vibranuim plates of his, her thumb stroking his wrist as if she’d feel a pulse there. And then he was cupping her cheeks, metal and flesh framing her perfect face.

"Do you feel anything?" She asks him and oddly enough he had never been posed with such a question. He had to think about it. 

Could he feel the softness of her skin, the warmth, the realness... or was it just his mind playing tricks on him. 

"It's not a trick question?" Hazel whispered, her eyes flickering back and forth over his expression. 

"I'm sort of sick of those," he leaned forward, their lips ghosting and breath tangling as he worked up the nerve to kiss her. "Questions are messy," he said. 

"You know what's not?" Hazel smiled and it made all the lines around her face crinkle, "kissing."

"I feel like-" Bucky started to say that it was messy, in fact kissing was the epitome of messy but Hazel was done conversation and her lips where colliding with his before he could protest further. They were delicate as she leaned into his touch and dragged her teeth over his bottom lip sending a thousand tiny shivers rolling through him like a wave. It had been a long time since he had been kissed, and even longer since anyone had turned him into knots the way Hazel was.

Bucky sighed softly as his eyes closed. He focused on the softness of her lips, the taste of her cherry chapstick. It wasn’t long before one hand moved to rest on the side of her neck, caressing her smooth skin with his thumb.

Hazel’s lips parted in a soft gasp as Bucky let himself get lost in the kiss. He licked into her mouth, deliberate and tentative all at once. He didn’t want to get this wrong, didn’t want to fuck up the first piece of human interaction to coax out the butterflies that had been hidden, scared away and buried away for the last 80 years. 

Hazel’s fingers skimmed along his jaw, scratching over the scruff of his stubble before they tangled into the fluff of hair behind his ears. 

Bucky’s breath hitched and someone made a keening little sound, muffled by lips and soft breaths. It wasn’t until Hazel moved in a little closer, kissed him a little softer, that he realised it was him.

His entire body was vibrating and he never wanted to let go of this feeling, to let go of her. He wanted to be here for as long as she would let him. 

His flesh hand found purchase in her hair, caressing her blond strands as their tongues danced together while he let his vibranium one travel down her neck. His metal fingers danced along her collarbone and arm as the sweet sounds of her muffled moans took over all of his senses. His hand stopped at her waist, grasping softly as he spoke into their kiss. 

“Need you closer, please.” He whined.

Hazel pulled away just enough to where she could speak. “Closer how, handsome?”

He couldn’t put his feelings into words; he was so intoxicated by her, as if the whiskey had actually overpowered the serum that ran through his veins. Sliding his hands lower he cupped her ass over the yards of silky chiffon and pulled her gently towards him.

Hazel laughed, a joyful, tinkling sound, as she let him guide her into straddling his thick thighs.

“Better?” She murmured, running her nose along the length of his jaw before ghosting her lips lightly over his.

“Much,” Bucky hummed as his palms dipped under the hem of Hazel’s dress, caressing the soft skin of her thighs. “Now, sweetheart… you and your gorgeous legs just sit pretty and let me love on you.” 

“Well, I know I can do that,” Hazel replied and Bucky could feel her smile, hear the quickening thud of her heart as he kissed her pillow-soft, dewy lips. 

There was nothing tentative about the kiss this time, he was determined to make Hazel feel good, to draw out every breath and gasp and moan like it was the only thing that mattered.

"I like you Hazel," Bucky huffed against her lips, needy for more but wanting to play every move carefully. "You surprised me."

"Is that a good," she tensed as his fingers tickled her thigh, "thing? You sound unsure."

"Oh darlin', it's a damn good thing I'm sure."

Hazel giggled softly as she ran one hand slowly through his hair, watching as the man beneath her practically melted. “You’re a little bit like a cat, yourself, you know that?” She smiled. “You practically vibrate when I touch you.”

“How can I not when you feel so good?” He rumbled, adding an extra purr to his words just to hear that laugh of hers again.

It worked. The peal of laughter she let out had his chest blooming with a warmth he’d not felt in years. His hands left her thighs, sliding up and around her back so that he could draw her close.

Hazel fit against his chest as if she’d been made for him, humming contentedly when he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Thank you, Bucky,” Hazel murmured softly, tilting up to press a series of sweet kisses along his jaw. Bucky sighed, warmth flooding his belly. 

“What for, pretty girl?” 

“I know you didn’t want to be at that event but you took a chance, you let me see you.” 

“Couldn’t really say no, Hazel. You had me from the moment you kicked that girl out of her seat.” Bucky chuckled, kissing her again. He couldn’t stop, didn’t *want* to stop. 

“You mean *my* seat,” Hazel replied, flashing him that cheeky grin.

[sirowsky-stories]

The Old Prince

Part 3

Author's Note: I'm truly proud of this one, I love how it came together and I'm so excited to keep going! (I haven't forgotten about Collision, I'm just slightly addicted to Oberyn right now. You're just gonna have to forgive me.)

Description: Oberyn works to uncover the mystery of your survival, but when the time comes to go home, you find yourself conflicted.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, eventual romance, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses, reader gets a nickname, this one is mostly Oberyn's pov and he thinks a bit more old-fashioned. Small time jump. Angst. Word Count: 5740 Author's Masterlist

   His fingers are deft and practiced as he draws samples of your blood, but the silence between you is awkward, and you’re not sure why.    Maybe because of how shocked he’d been at your embrace earlier. It makes you wonder how long it’s been since he was touched by someone. Even just platonically.    You’d been too distressed to notice your own reaction to him this time, but it had been there once you’d pulled back. The same inexplicable heat.

   “How much do you need?” you ask, mostly just to break the tension.

   “Four vials should do for now,” he replies in a tone much more neutral than what fits with his expression.

   “I’m sorry about… before,” you try, but he doesn’t get the vague reference.

   He looks up and meets your eyes with a silent question in his brows.

   “The hug,” you elaborate, averting your gaze before the two small words have even finished leaving your lips.

   You’re not really ashamed to have needed comfort, that much no one would judge you for after the last twenty-four hours of your life. What bothers you is that you don’t understand why you felt safe to seek it from him.    No matter who (or what) he is, you shouldn’t be this at ease around him, it goes against every grain of reason and common sense. The man is holding you against your will.

   “Don’t apologize to me, young one. I have you at a terrible disadvantage,” he says, and he sounds entirely unamused by his own words.

   “Okay, can you start calling me something other than that, please. No matter how much older than me you might be, it sounds so wrong when someone who looks to be my age calls me that. It makes me feel like a schoolgirl.”

   He looks somewhat perplexed at that.

   “What would you prefer?”

   “I don’t know, just make up a nickname for me that has nothing to do with age.    I’d tell you my real name, but you have enough power over me already.”

   Finishing up the blood-draw and placing a small band aid on the punctured skin, he seems to ponder that, and something about it amuses him.

   “How about Kaivalya? It means freedom,” he suggests, and you raise a brow in scrutiny.

   It’s a mouthful, but kinda beautiful too. Still, if he’s gonna name you something with that implication, he’d better own up to it.

   “I’ll consider that a promise.”

   “As intended,” he agrees, smiling slightly while he inclines his head at you in a little bow.

   Why does that tiny indication that he respects you, make your stomach flutter?

   “Let’s shorten it to Valya or Val, though,” you suggest, trying to kill the highly inappropriate butterflies with bland conversation. “The whole thing is too cumbersome.”

   “Well then, you’re all done for now, Valya. Thank you.”

   “How long do you think it’ll take to analyze it?”

   “That’s hard to say. It all depends on what I find,” he says and then gets up to put three of the vials into a fridge, leaving one for him to get started on right away. “But you have my word that I will keep you informed.    Until then, as I said, you move around the castle at your own risk.”

   “Will the dragon come back?” you ask, only slightly less frightened of the prospect, now that you know that he has some sort of relationship with it.

   “Yes. But not for a while yet.”

   “How do you know?”

   “He brought you here after he had tried to feed on you and failed. And he stayed for a while to find out if you would mutate, after noticing that it had not happened as quickly as it usually does.    But he had still not fed, so he had to hunt again. That’s why you saw him leave the castle.    He was successful this time, though. Which means he’ll be laying low for a while now.”

   “Oh. I didn’t realize that he was the one who’d brought me here. But I guess that makes sense. Dragons fly, after all,” you ponder, and you’re starting to feel quite ambiguous about this beast.

   On the one hand, it tried to eat you, but on the other, it also tried to help you.

   “If something should happen… I mean, if I should start to feel strange or anything, how do I call for help?” you continue after a moment.

   “Scream as loud as you can for as long as you can. If your door is open and you’re facing the stairwell, the sound will travel with the stone.    But I really don’t think that you’re at any risk of that kind of mutation, at this point.”

   “I hope you’re right, and I’m sure you are, I’m just trying to navigate being here. You are keeping me furthest away from absolutely everything, which seems kinda unnecessary.    Wouldn’t it be easier if I just stayed somewhere down here?”

   “I’m not keeping you away from everything, I am trying to keep everything away from you.    You’re safe up there, where the pull from the creatures in the basement cannot possibly reach you, and nothing else is going to find you,” he explains, while he works on taking a first look at your blood through a microscope.

   For a second, you wonder what the hell he means by “nothing else finding you”, but you quickly decide that you don’t wanna think too closely on that.    You get up and start slowly moving towards the door of this makeshift little laboratory of his, somewhere on the second floor of the main body of the castle.

   “Okay, um… Before I go, is there any food?”

   “Of course,” he answers immediately, looking up from the microscope with an apologetic set to his features, as if only just now realizing that you do need food to survive. “The kitchen is at the end of the main hall. That’s the same corridor as the one to my study and the main stairwell you take to get to the tower. Just follow it to the end.    Do you think you can find it?”

   “Yeah, I think so. That’s the one hallway I’m beginning to feel familiar with.”

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   What he had hoped would only take a few days, remains unsolved even after two weeks. He is not skilled enough in genetics, nor does he have the right equipment to try and find anomalies within your DNA. All he can do is visually analyze your cells and the levels of vitamins and minerals in your blood, hoping to find something deviant, as that might indicate where changes have been, or still is, taking place.    But he has yet to succeed. Thus far, every test has come back normal.

   If not for the extremely rapid healing of the bite, he would not have thought that anything about you had been affected, but clearly, something has been.    By rights he should take your samples to a lab and ask that they run a full diagnostic on it with more advanced technology, but he’s afraid that they might discover something about his own genetics, and the thing within him that is responsible for so much death and suffering.

   He has spent thousands of years trying to avoid humans as much as possible, and to do that, he has had to study their psychology rigorously, so he knows what they would do if they ever learned what he is and what he is capable of.    The few sightings of him that have occurred over the millennia, have generated an entire mythology surrounding dragons, and he would much prefer that it remains nothing but stories.

   Still, to his astonishment, you seem to tolerate him quite a lot better than one might think that a victim of assault and kidnapping might. After that first tumultuous day, you have apparently decided that things could be a lot worse, choosing to focus instead on the fact that you are alive and doing very well, despite the worry of mutation.    You insist that he join you for dinner every evening, to keep yourself from going stir crazy with isolation, and he finds that he is increasingly intrigued by your character.

   You are kind and considerate, but only when you feel that it’s justified. You like to be useful and you’re clearly accustomed to handling yourself and whatever problems you face, but you will ask for help if you come across a task that is too difficult for you.    Pride seems to be something you take only from knowing your own strength, not necessarily needing to show or prove it to anyone else. Which is an attractive trait for anyone to have, but especially someone so attractive in other ways as well.

   The monster that he is, he has always refused to take a partner, for fear that he would end up eating them and then having to live with that regret.    You are the first woman to test his resolve in this matter for at least two thousand years.    Before then, he had still tried to hope that he might not have to live all alone for eternity. A hope that had died for good after he had turned a young woman into a creature like those in the belly of this castle right now, forever poisoning him away from the allure of the fairer sex.

   Or so he had thought.

   There are moments when he is around you, when your gaze seems to shift into something warm and inviting, sparking a heat within his chest the likes of which he has never before known. It sets a blush to his usually so tempered skin and triggers a craving in his blood that has nothing to do with sustenance.    It is a frightening feeling to him, something forbidden and dangerous, so he tries to quell it whenever it awakens, but he knows that you notice it and that it makes you curious.

   Today, he awaits your arrival at the dinner table, ready to finally announce the results of his efforts, but he knows that they are unsatisfactory. He has failed to provide the answers that you seek, that you might need in order to lay these horrible events to rest in your soul, and this shames him.    So, when you walk in, smiling at the sight of him having beaten you to the table once again, he does not reciprocate, and you’re instantly on edge.

   “What’s wrong?” you ask, as you take your seat opposite him at the narrow table, and you look more worried now than he’s seen you be since that first night.

   “I have reached the end of my knowledge in my analysis of your blood. I can’t learn anything more than I already have, which, as you know, is unfortunately not much.    You have my sincerest apologies, dear Valya, but I’m afraid that I have no concrete answers to show for it,” he explains, bowing his head to you in the hopes that you will be forgiving.

   Even though you know nothing of the transformation which he may undergo at will, and which is the worst deception he has yet committed against you, there is still more than enough cause for you to despise him.    But instead, your eyes soften at his words.

   “Maybe that’s good news. Maybe it means that there’s nothing wrong with me,” you shrug, and he wants to say that to his eyes, there is absolutely nothing wrong with any part of you.

   But he refrains. Flattery will not do your impressive character justice, and he has every intention of protecting you from his own misguided heart, no matter the pain it might cause him.    Fifteen days. That is all he has had of you, and yet, you seem to have crept into every carefully concealed crevice of his being, entirely without effort.

   “I’ll bring you back to your home later tonight,” he replies, unable to fully mask the sadness that the thought of the castle once again echoing of emptiness, brings him.

   He is, however, most surprised to look into your eyes and see that same sadness within. Surely, you can’t be sorry to finally be free of this haunted and terrible place.

   “Why tonight?” you question, and even that smallest hint of defiance is enough to make him want to change his mind and ask you to stay.

   “I kidnapped you. And while I’m not proud of this, I wish to remain a free man despite my actions. So, I can’t very well return you in broad daylight, as anyone who sees us might grow suspicious,” he says, the last part being yet another lie.

   The real reason is that he needs the cover of night to conceal the span of his wings, the glimmer of his scales, and the size of his claws and teeth.

   “Right, of course,” you say quietly, turning your gaze back down to your plate, before you remember to add something, and look up once more. “And just to ease your mind, I’m not gonna report you to the police, or anything. You may have kidnapped me, but you haven’t mistreated me in any way.    Quite the opposite, really. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so well cared for.”

   He lets his head fall slightly to the side as he considers your words, but your own resolve seems to falter then, and you return your attention to the dish before you. Either to avoid his gaze, or perhaps the thought that you will likely never see him again once this night is over.    The meal passes in silence and the clock seems to spin so much faster than usual, as though time itself is rushing to end this unnatural coupling.

   “It has been my pleasure to have your company in these weeks, Val. It’s been a long time since I had company for so long.    Aside from the living nightmares of the basement, that is,” he tells you, already dreading the rapidly approaching goodbye.

   “I don’t like to leave knowing that you’ll be all alone here,” you reply, surprising him.

   He wants to say that you may visit him at any time, but he holds his tongue, offering only a grateful smile in return.    Because aside from the fact that you don’t know where the castle is, he also desperately wants you to be free of him. Even if his lonely heart screams entirely different things through the dungeons and catacombs of his being, to which he has condemned all thoughts of romance and passion.

   “We should get ready for your departure,” he says softly, sidestepping your concerns as gracefully as he can, before he rises and steps away from the table, gesturing for you to accompany him.

   You follow without protest, and a part of him wishes that you would rage against the lack of choices you have been afforded. But he is also relieved that you don’t.    There are no possessions to pack, you will leave his house as poor as you entered it, save for the clothes he has given you, so there’s no need to delay.    He brings you back to the lab where he already has a syringe filled and waiting.

   “Please, don’t be alarmed,” he asks when he sees your expression turn wary with the sight of the unknown clear substance behind the needle. “It’s a strong sedative. I’m afraid I cannot let you see the journey back, as this place needs to remain as hidden as it can be.”

   “Oh…” is all you say, but the sadness in your eyes grows deeper with the realization that you will never be able to return.

   You step closer while shrugging of your jacket, the garment returned to you already on your third day here, as he had learned by then that you would not run from the answers you sought.    There is no hesitation or questioning in your frame. You roll up your sleeve, trusting this stranger not to kill you, or cause you harm in other ways, and he wishes so dearly that you had never crossed his path that night, so that he could have been spared this ending.

   “It will only take you a few minutes to fall asleep once the injection is done. But you may start to feel unsteady within seconds, so I suggest you take a seat,” he cautions.

   Defiant on this matter, for reasons which evade his understanding, you remain on your feet, holding out your arm as you wait for the unknown substance to be administered into your blood.    He is not going to fight you, so he merely gives you the injection and then quickly puts the syringe away, preparing to catch you if you should grow dizzy.

   But the moment that he steps closer to you, so that he may reach you should he need to react quickly, you raise your hands to his shoulders, holding him steady as you steal a kiss from his lips.    It’s brief, but not rushed. Your lips are soft and the pressure moderate, but there is curiosity and desire within the touch. A wish, perhaps. Much like the one that burns his own chest and is responsible for how he responds to your affectionate gesture, kissing you in return as soon as your lips have left his.

   Then your legs wobble, and the moment ends. He catches you, pressing you against his upper body to prevent you from falling, as you already struggle to keep your eyes open.    He worries that he might have given you too strong a dose, but he needs you to be completely unaware of the journey back.    Only moments later, you are beginning to doze off, but you stubbornly keep your eyes open for as long as you can, as if trying to commit his features to memory.

   When you go limp in his arms, the image of your seemingly lifeless body on the ground in that forest, flashes before his waking eyes, and all at once, tears are gathering in them.    You should not have suffered such a fate. You should have been spared from ever knowing of these monstrous things, and he can only hope that your paths will never cross again.    He swoops your legs up and carries you outside, the strength of the beast making the burden easy to bear despite the distance.

   Once out on the courtyard, next to the prancing white horse, so noble and proud, he sets you down and steps away to let the transformation happen. He knows the feeling so well, and yet it never grows any less unsettling.    The dragon and him are one and the same, but the beast has a different mindset. A primal and largely thoughtless existence. It knows what the man knows, and if need be, it will think rationally, but that is not its default manner.

   It is an animal, still. Despite the many centuries of life that it has shared with the human. It feeds, sleeps and repeats the process as needed, nothing more. And as that mindset takes over, Oberyn fades into the background. Conscious and aware but drowned out by the sensory input of the much larger animal and its superior senses.

   However, even the beast is enchanted with you, recognizing your scent at once and having no adverse reaction to it.    Instead, he feels only protective over you. He doesn’t think unless he has to, but his heart is no less sensitive within the body of the beast.

   He gently picks you up in his front paws, cradling you to his chest for warmth, as his body will remain quite hot regardless of the temperature of the air, the fire within always stoked and ready.    Leaning back to rest heavier on his hindlegs, he leaps off the ground. His wings are long, wide and powerful, easily taking up the extra strain as they bear you both into the skies, heading south and away from the snow.

   There was a time when all the heavens belonged to him. When he was the largest, fastest, and strongest creature up there. But no more.    Now, when he flies, he must always keep a watchful eye on men, as they jump from city to city in their metal birds. Airplanes. What a terrifying way to move, locked in a box, thousands of feet above the ground, having to trust the skills of a complete stranger to operate it.    Oberyn will never set foot in such a thing, of that he is most certain.

   There is no such obstacle in your way for this journey, however. Concealed by the night, he lands softly in the still green grass on your backyard, before instantly shifting back to his human form, so that he may fit through the door.    Your scent around this entire place is so strong that he could sense it even from the air above, so there is no question, he’s found the correct address.

   Rounding the little cottage, he finds the front door and shifts you over into his left arm so that he may unlock it.    During dinner eight nights ago, you had asked him about your personal belongings, and he had confessed to taking your keys and the small mobile phone which he had found in your pockets, only the first of which he would be able to return to you.

   The fire in the ballroom, where you had sat to warm yourself on your first morning in the castle, he had set in order to burn that phone, not trusting even the outdated model to not be traceable somehow.    But you had explained that you only had the phone with you for emergencies, as there are many ways to get yourself hurt in the mountains. Beyond that, you do not like to be too reachable, apparently.

   You work in a store which specializes in holiday themes, such as Halloween, Christmas and Easter, which is perhaps why these ordinarily festive seasons appear to have lost their charm for you. You had spoken of them only briefly and with a great sense of emptiness.    Listening to you, he had often felt a great loneliness behind your words. But perhaps not the obvious kind. Something deeper, to do with unfulfilled dreams, maybe.

   It was only when you had spoken of working outdoors, chopping your own wood or tending to your horse or your vegetable garden, that he had seen peacefulness in your frame.    You’re not a typical modern person, drawn to various forms of digital media, preferring instead to work with your hands and be rewarded for your efforts with things that are useful to you. Things you can not only see, but touch and experience in real time.

   He steps inside, finding a quite large and inviting living room directly to his right, decorated to feel warm and somehow intrinsically you. As well as he knows you, at least.    To his left is a small kitchen and straight ahead is a short hallway with two doors on the left. The closest leading to the bath, easily discernable by the smell of scented disinfectants, and the other to your bedroom.

   He can sense a lavender fragrance from your sheets. Not the concentrated fabric softener that most people use, which is filled with chemicals, but something natural and clean. Probably your own concoction, created with lavender grown in your own garden.    It’s a pleasant fragrance to his sensitive nose, as is most of the scents he feels from this house. Your home.

   He brings you to the bedroom and sets you down on top of the covers, noting that your bed is large enough to comfortably accommodate two adults, but then quickly wrenches such thoughts from his mind.    You look peaceful in your unconsciousness. Unlike when he had flown you to the castle. You’d been restless then, twitching and trembling as your body had attempted to adjust to whatever foreign process had been taking place within you.

   Had he known how wonderous you would turn out to be, how tolerant and kind and patient you are, he might not have been so frightened as he had waited by your bedside, dreading having to watch another mutated monster emerge from another innocent soul.    Even if he will never know how you survived, he will forever be grateful to have been given the chance to know you. And… he will greatly miss your company, for however long he may remember you.

   He puts a thick quilt over you and steps back to leave, but then decides that there can be no harm in stealing a kiss of your forehead before he walks out of your life entirely.    Your skin is exactly as warm as it should be, which feels quite cool against his own, since he runs at a much higher base temperature than humans. Your heartrate is steady and strong, your breathing even and deep, so he feels certain you will recover from the sedation without any problems.

   As he walks back through the house, he steps into the living room and over to the fireplace. The autumn chill has found its way into the half-timbered building, and he does not want your first day back to start with you feeling cold.    The heat within the dragon’s chest is still there in his human form, so a little huff of superheated air is all it takes to ignite the dry wood. He waits for another minute, just to be sure it will not go out, and then he slips back out into the night, never to return.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   You come around slowly, feeling drowsy and heavy at first, in a more than natural way. Your brain is sluggish, leaving every movement feeling like a mountain climb, but your bladder has woken up and is demanding the rest of you do as well, so you climb.    First into sitting, which results in your tumbling forwards out of bed, only just managing not to hit your head against the floor. Then your nerves start to feel more responsive, perhaps with the slight rush of adrenaline at the fear of getting hurt, and you’re able to rise to your feet.

   Every step gives you back a little more control, and by the time you’ve reached the bathroom, you don’t need to hold onto the walls anymore.    Once done in there, you walk over to the kitchen to run the taps for a few minutes, which ends up being the longest minutes of your life because you’re suddenly absolutely fucking parched.

   You down two full glasses and you’re working on filling a third when there’s a knock on the door.    Startled, you nearly drop the glass in the sink, because who’s gonna show up here when it’s barely even light out? Who even knows that you’re back already?    Irrationally hoping that it might be Oberyn, you walk to the door and open it.

   “Good morning, miss,” officer Park of the local police greets you, and you’re momentarily stunned.

   Not that it isn’t your much too desired former captor, but that the police would be the first to come knocking. You haven’t had anything to do with them in your life at all, you’ve always been very well behaved. So, naturally, your mind jumps to the thought of crime, wondering if you could’ve committed any without realizing it.

   “How nice to see you alive and well. We’ve been looking for you for two weeks and then someone reported seeing smoke rising from your chimney this morning,” the officer helpfully explains, easing your worries, but creating new ones at the same time.

   Since you haven’t lit any fire, your gaze is automatically drawn to your right and the brick fireplace at the middle of the far wall, where there is indeed a fading flame.    He must’ve lit it before he left, to make sure that the house wouldn’t be too cold when you woke up, and the thought tugs at something both painful and wonderful within your gut. No one has ever shown you that kind of consideration.

   But you’d expected to have at least a few hours to come up with a plausible story to tell anyone who asks where you’ve been, not being slapped in the face with it the first damned thing after you’ve woken up.    Of course, you have played with an idea or two, loosely, while still at the castle, but not enough to have a solid plan ready and waiting.

   “Yeah, um… I’m sorry that you’ve wasted your resources on me. I fell off my horse in the dark and ended up getting completely lost during the storm. By the time daylight broke on the next day, I couldn’t recognize anything.    Has anyone found my horse, Casper?” you ask, hoping to buy a few seconds to think but also genuinely worried about what happened to him.

   “He came right back here, safe and sound. We found him grazing in the backyard when we came to check on you after you hadn’t showed up for work the next day and no one could reach you. He’s over at the Mackey farm.”

   “Oh, great, thank you so much.”

   “Sure. But I’m a bit confused,” the officer starts, clearly wanting to bring the topic back to you, so you try to stay cool and think fast. “If you’ve been lost in the woods for two weeks, I’d expect to find you in a lesser state.    Honestly, miss… you look fresh enough to have just came from a beauty salon.”

   Shit. You haven’t looked in a mirror, so you have no idea how you might look, but you do know that you definitely don’t look starved or dirty enough to have been living rough for that long.

   “Actually, I was helped by a stranger, if you can believe it,” you say, deciding to weave as much truth as you dare into this lie. “After several days of wandering in the wrong direction, he found me and let me stay with him for a bit. And once I was fully recovered, he brought me back here. It was a long trek, which is why I didn’t get back until the middle of the night.”

   “This guy have a name?” Park challenges, years of experience making him skeptical of such an unbelievable story.

   “No. I mean, I assume he does, but we didn’t exchange names. I just called him the good Samaritan.”

   “He saved your life, and you didn’t ask for his name?” the officer asks, raising his brows in disbelief, but you’re not even really lying about this.

   After all, he’d said that his name is Oberyn, and you don’t think that he made that up, but you also remember him telling you that he doesn’t recall his own mother’s name, so there’s every chance that it’s just a name he’s heard at some point over the years and liked the sound of it enough to take it for himself.    And if he’s as old as you were made to believe, then his identity is highly unlikely to exist in any records anywhere in the world anyway.

   “He’s a recluse and a hermit who’s put himself as far away from people as he can get. Saving me was an inconvenience to him, but he still did it. He didn’t want to tell me his name because he doesn’t want anyone to come looking for him, so please, let him be.”

   You keep your tone a bit sharper for that part, to let the officer know that you have no intention of helping him pursue that lead, and he seems to get the message.

   “Alright, well… so long as you’re sure everything’s okay with you.”

   “Yes, sir. I am very grateful for your efforts, and again, I’m sorry that it was all for nothing, but I’m fine.”

   He nods politely, somewhat gruffly wishing you a good day, and then he leaves.    You close the door, exhaling deeply in relief that you managed not to panic. But then his words about you looking like you could’ve just walked out of a beauty salon pop up in your mind, and you head back to the bathroom.    There were no mirrors in the castle, at least none that you saw, so when you now see your own reflection in the one over your sink, you momentarily lose your breath.

   The wrinkles around your eyes and mouth have smoothed out. In fact, there isn’t a single visible flaw to your skin. And… has the color of your eyes shifted slightly?    Your hair is both shinier and much less damaged overall, and it seems to have changed color. Not drastically, but the tone is fuller, richer, and the shine has a distinct shade of orange, which is far from what it’s ever been close to before.    Even your teeth have been altered. Each one sitting perfectly aligned and each one apparently now flawless in shape and size.

   “The bite…” you whisper to yourself.

   The mutation which had turned those creatures in the basement into the worst things ever concocted for a horror story, seems to have turned you into the perfect version of yourself.    Just like Oberyn has looked to your eyes, ever since you first saw him.    Oh, god… Does that mean you’re becoming whatever he is? But no, that makes no sense, it was the dragon that bit you, not Oberyn.

   For a moment, the room disappears, as your brain is suddenly laying a puzzle you didn’t even know existed, and a series of images are displayed before your eyes.    The green coat, exactly the same color as the scales. The golden embroideries on the cuffs and lapels, in the exact same shape as a classically depicted serpentine dragon.    And when he’d talked about humans, he’d used the words “them” and “you” instead of “us”. He’d even said that he was tethered to the dragon…

   You droop to the floor as the unthinkable becomes an inescapable truth, gasping for air while you try to find rationalizations, anything that could make it explainable in some other way, but it all fits too well to be coincidence.    You probably put these pieces together even from the start, but chose not to see them because you liked him. Because he was sweet and kind.

   But he’s a monster. A viper lurking in the dark.    It was all a lie.

Part 4

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

@joelswritingmistress @pedrostories

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 8 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

This is a bit of a mid-chapter, there will be a full chapter today as well - Soap and Ghost finally meeting face to face - but this was just... way too fun to write not to share.

Previous chapter | AO3

“Sooo,” Gary drags the chair closer, causing it to screech on the floor, earning several annoyed grunts from the other soldiers in the rec room. Soap looks up from his sketchbook, eyebrow questioningly raised. “Gonna confess, or do I have to work for it?”

“What are you on about, Roach?” Soap puts the sketchbook down before reaching for the mug on the table. He takes a sip, grimacing at the taste of the coffee.

“Ghost,” Roach clarifies.

Soap sighs; he should’ve seen this coming. “What about him?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gary stares at him in disbelief, “how about you being totally smitten with him? Or the fact that he seems to be equally smitten with you?”

“What the hell? What are you talking about?” Soap straightens, brows knitted together and posture clearly defensive.

“Mate…,” Gary shakes his head. “Alright. Let’s not address your obvious crush on a man you’ve never even seen.”

“Gonna see him on Saturday,” Soap says and belatedly realises he just gave Roach a bloody bazooka.

Gary stares at him for a second, wide-eyed, before his face blooms into a shit-eating grin. “Are you, now?”

Soap runs a hand through his mohawk. Well, in for a penny and all that, he thinks. “Aye. It’s along the way to Glasgow. We’re just going to grab a pint or two, and I’ll be on my way.” He doesn’t mention that he usually takes a plane to Glasgow. He is actually going out of his way to see Ghost. But Roach definitely doesn’t need to know that.

“John…,” Gary leans to John, suddenly much more serious, “when was the last time you had friends outside the military?”

“He’s ex-military,” Soap objects.

“Answer the question, Sergeant,” Roach presses on.

Soap squirms a little, gaze dropping on the table. “Before I enlisted.”

“I’m not trying to talk you out of it, mate, just… be careful, alright?”

“I’m SAS, Roach,” Soap says a little defensively. He doesn’t need Roach to babysit him.

“I’m not talking about your physical safety. Anyway… we should also talk about that callsign of his.”

“It’s just a nickname for the game,” Soap shrugs.

“Jesus wept… remind me never to let you have my six again! You would probably shoot me in the back yourself, what with how daft you are! Look, I’ve spent one evening playing a stupid game with him to see that he owns that callsign. So either he’s a pretentious prick who took a callsign of only one of the fucking legends of SAS, or…,” Roach trails off, gesturing for Soap to draw his own conclusions.

“Yer not serious… he’s not…,” Soap shakes his head, “he can’t be…,” then he looks up at Garry with something akin to panic in his eyes. “Can he?”

Lieutenant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick was enjoying his book in the rec room in peace. Until he heard a single word uttered that dragged his attention from the words on the paper to words spoken not far from him. That word being, of course, Ghost.

Gaz doesn’t want to eavesdrop on his men, but it’s hard to let go once the callsign registers. And so he listens, and the more he hears, the harder it is to keep quiet and low-key. When Ghost asked to meet, Kyle knew something was up, especially since he was willing to come to London.

At first, Gaz thought it was just Ghost being paranoid and overly cautious about someone he had spent more than ten minutes with, which was pretty normal for Ghost. But the glint in his eyes when Gaz confirmed Soap is SAS? The momentary panic when Gaz implied Ghost likes Soap? Knowing what he knows now, Gaz can barely keep his face straight. Oh, this is going to be so much fun.

When John pauses to think whether Ghost can really be The Ghost, Kyle gets up and leaves the room. Gaz is really proud of himself because he manages to get all the way outside the building before he breaks into laughter. A bunch of recruits and some lower officers look at him with some bewilderment before scurrying away.

[sagesolsticewrites]

I would love a Christmas #1 with 1 and 6 again with Daisy Butler.

Scenario 1: Decorating the tree

Dialogues:

1.) "Stop trying to get me to walk under the mistletoe.”

6.) “Do you want to put the star on the top of the tree?”

Oof, sorry I’ve been away for so long y’all! I’m gonna try to get back to writing some more while I’m home for the holidays. Thank you so much for this request! Here’s some more Daisy 🥰 (and you can read my other drabbles featuring her here!)

“Babe!” You heard Austin call from his place by the door of the storage closet, underneath a very conspicuous cluster of mistletoe, “I found the last box of decorations but I might need your help getting them down!”

“Aus!” You called back, knowing this trick that he’s already tried several times this weekend, “You’ve already gotten me like five times this morning, stop trying to get me to walk under the mistletoe!”

You hear Austin trudge back down the hall to the living room with a defeated sigh, and he enters with a playful roll of his eyes at the amused smile on your face, “Can’t a man just kiss his wife under the mistletoe once in a while?”

“Not while this wife is trying to decorate and keep an eye on our six year old,” comes your amused answer as you attempt to untangle the garland in your hands, your eyes flicking between Austin in front of you and Daisy coloring at the kitchen table nearby. Your voice lowers to a teasing whisper as you continue, “But I promise I’ll make it up to you later.”

He smiles and kneels down to give you a peck, gently extracting the green tangle from your hands, “I got this, you check on little miss artist over there.”

You smile gratefully at him as you stand, brushing stray plastic “needles” off your sweater as you make your way to your daughter’s place at the kitchen table. Her little tongue is poking out, her tiny brow furrowed in concentration on what’s clearly an important project.

“Whatcha working on, sweet girl?” You ask, sliding into the seat next to her.

She perks up at the sound of your voice, a smile spreading across her face.

“‘M drawing snowflakes to hang on the tree!” She exclaims, blue eyes shining with pride as she shows you the various blue scribbles on white paper. “We did some in school to decorate the class tree, it looks like ours—” she points at the tree standing in your living room “— but smaller, ‘n’ it looked pretty, ‘n’ I wanted to help make our tree pretty too!”

Daisy ends her excited ramble with a proud smile, and you can’t help but return her grin. “These look great, sweetheart! Do you want me to help you find a way to hang these up?”

She nods, “At school Ms. M used string, but I dunno where to get it.” A frown threatens to overtake her smile at the prospect of not being able to hang up her project, but you’re quick to assure her.

“Don’t worry, we actually have something better than string.”

Several minutes later, your daughter is watching, entranced, as you carefully punch a hole in each of her drawings and twist a paper clip to act as a makeshift hook for the tree. She even helps hang some up herself, and you honestly think you might burst from happiness at the joy on her face when she sees her drawings next to the other ornaments.

“Those snowflakes look great, Daisy girl,” Austin praises with a hug. “There’s just one thing missing…”

He starts to open up a very familiar box, meeting your eyes with a grin as Daisy furrows her brow in confusion.

She lights up a second later, though, clapping her hands excitedly as Austin reveals the star tree topper.

“What do you think, Daisy? Do you wanna help put the star on top of the tree?”

Your daughter lets out a soft gasp. “I get to help?”

You nod, humming an affirmative. “Daddy’s gonna lift you to the top of the tree, and we’ll put it on together.”

The joy on her face and the excited giggles that escape her are more than enough reward for the complications that come with trying to get a six year old to carefully put something on top of a tree. The star might be a little crooked, but the pride on Daisy’s face whenever she sees it keeps you from fixing it, and you know that that’s a tradition that you and Austin are going to keep up for as long as you can.

More drabble prompts here!

[mackenzielovee]

ambivalence blurb: love me back

a/n: hello <3 it's been a minute but i hope you guys like this anyway, it's some more context to their story. please leave me some love if you can! xoxo

warnings: swearing, underage drinking, drug misuse, mention of addiction

series masterlist

     Basketball, girls, parties, and college. 

The four things that Rafe Cameron is supposed to care about — even in that order. Topper, who now stands beside Rafe in the middle of the Club, spends the final minutes before his Monday night shift recapping the party they’d attended Friday night while Rafe half-listens, too busy scouting the lobby for a certain someone. 

“Anyway, where’d you and Kelce disappear to?”

Rafe freezes, only for a moment, before he looks up at Topper. Curiosity lines his features, and Rafe knows he’s going to have to lie his way out of this. 

“You know, just — we hung out upstairs,” Rafe shrugs, trying to play it off. 

Topper raises a brow, “You and Kelce hung out upstairs by yourselves during one of the greatest parties we’ve had all year?”

Rafe tries not to roll his eyes. To Topper, every party was the greatest. Before Rafe can say anything, however, Kelce comes up behind him and tosses an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a chokehold. 

“What’s up, Cameron?” Kelce questions as Rafe fights him off, “Thorton.”

“Glad you’re here,” Topper says, “I was just asking Rafe where the two of you ended up on Friday night.”

Unlike Rafe, Kelce shrugs easily, playing it off, “A couple of the girls wanted to take a late night dip in the pool. We’re nothing if not gentlemen.”

Rafe’s eyes close under yet another lie, and when he feels Topper looking between the two, he’s sure that the truth will pop out any second. 

“The pool, huh?” Topper repeats, keeping his gaze on Rafe, “That’s interesting, because—”

Rafe just about melts under the relief of Topper’s phone ringing out through the air. His eyes pop back open as Topper stares at the screen for one second before he starts backing up away from the boys. 

“New girl?” Kelce asks. 

Topper shakes his head, “Y/N. Promised I’d meet her in the parking lot before work. It’ll give you two some time to get your story straight.”

Rafe perks up at the mention of her name, at the promise of a glimpse. But as he watches Topper disappear out the door, he realizes he has no excuse to be out in the parking lot when he’s simply meeting Kelce for drinks. His chest deflates as he turns back to his best friend, wanting nothing more than a mai tai and a stronger stress reliever. 

“You should tell him,” Kelce says, stepping in closer to prevent wandering ears, “It was just a few lines. He’s not gonna flip out.”

“I don’t give a fuck if he flips out,” Rafe snaps back, “I don’t want him to tell her.”

Kelce groans just as Rafe starts walking toward the bar. He doesn’t offer a word, knowing Kelce will follow. 

“Come on, man, don’t even act like that,” Kelce grumbles, “I saw you replaying her Snapchat story over and over again.”

“So, what?”

“So,” Kelce continues, walking faster to keep up with him, “You just don’t want to admit that you gave into the fear that she’s out there fu—”

“Don’t,” Rafe spins, eyes wide as he stares Kelce down, “She’s not like that. Especially not with JJ fucking Maybank.”

“Right,” Kelce rolls his eyes, “Look, dude—”

“It was a one time thing,” Rafe promises, eyes darting around to make sure nobody is listening, “I have myself completely under control. I’m never touching that shit again. Just let it go.”

“I’ll let it go if you can tell me that you honestly did not lose it when you saw that picture of her and JJ on her story. Tell me that’s not why you suddenly wanted a line when you’ve never shown interest before.”

Clenching his jaw, Rafe shoves Kelce back, “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” Kelce spits, “At least admit it to yourself, Cameron. You’re letting her fuck with your head—-”

“One more word and I swear to God—”

“Whoa, guys,” Topper’s voice fills the air once more, drawing Rafe back, “What’s going on?”

Rafe turns, but his eyes don’t find Topper. They find you. In one second, he takes in the high ponytail, the ripped jeans, and the Led Zeppelin tee shirt that is so obviously not yours. 

“Y/N,” Kelce speaks behind Rafe, destruction present in his tone, “Just the girl we—”

“Everything’s fine,” Rafe interrupts, “We should go to the bar.”

“Not so fast, Cameron,” Kelce says, stepping forward and latching onto Rafe’s tee shirt, “It’s not everyday we get to relive our weekend with one of the hottest—-”

“Save it, Kelce,” you shake your head, “Doesn’t work when I’m sober.”

Kelce grins, “But it works when you’re not?”

“Enough,” Rafe growls lowly, only loud enough for Kelce to hear. 

 Kelce, ignoring his best friend, keeps that same grin plastered across his face as he looks over to you once more. 

“So, Y/N, how was your weekend? Do anything fun? Or anyone?”

Rafe swallows at the question, because he’s not sure he can handle the answer. Kelce’s grip on Rafe’s shoulder remains iron-clad, and Rafe doesn’t try fighting him off. 

“Not really,” you shrug, not noticing the silent game among the boys, “Not as fun as your weekend, from what Topper tells me.”

Topper nods, “Yeah, especially those two. Still a mystery where they ran off to.”

Kelce’s grin widens, “Oh, well, I mean, you know us—”

Rafe elbow connects with Kelce’s stomach, but Kelce brushes it off. Your eyes wander over Rafe as you register the movement, but you quickly turn your attention back to Topper.

“I’m gonna go change,” you tell him, “This ponytail is giving me a headache. Do you have any aspirin?”

“In my bag. I’ll go with you,” Topper replies. 

You nod, then look back to Kelce and Rafe briefly. 

“See you,” you mumble, unsure of how to excuse yourself. 

“Always a pleasure to see you, gorgeous,” Kelce doesn’t miss a beat, even squeezes Rafe’s shoulder, “Right, Cameron?”

Rafe tenses under Kelce’s grip as your eyes find his, just for a moment. 

“See you, Y/N,” he says quietly. 

You just nod and turn, letting Topper follow. He gives the boys one last, strange look, then shifts his attention back to you. Rafe watches as the two of you walk away together, laughing and talking in a way Rafe only wishes he could with you.

“Damn,” Kelce mutters once you’re out of an earshot, “Is it just me, or do those jeans work wonders for her?”

Wasting no time, Rafe shoves Kelce away. Kelce just chuckles, shaking his head at Rafe’s inability to ever let a comment slide. 

“Fuck off,” Rafe grunts before he turns and walks away, over to the bar where he knows Kelce will follow. 

     January turns to February, and each Friday that comes along, Rafe continues to swear to Kelce he has himself under control. Never touching that shit again turns into a line every other week, and Rafe silently excuses his behavior because of a social media post or a rumor he heard or something Topper told him about you. Each Thursday that changes brings only silence from Rafe as he sits beside you, noticing your change in nail polish, perfume, and your impulsive decision to dye your hair. 

The first Thursday of February, Rafe enters your home with the knowledge that tonight is your night to do the dishes after dinner. He’d helped Scott clean up last week, and with a vote of confidence from Topper, Rafe gives you a smile when he enters the house. He knows it’s unprecedented, and his palms sweat through the entire two second process, but you barely even return it before turning away to finish setting the table. 

Swallowing every instinct screaming at him to stay near Scott, to leave you alone, Rafe breaks away from his father and toward the dining room. Your mom disappears into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine, leaving you alone as you move around to set forks at various places. He leans against the wall to give the aura of collectedness, even though his insides are completely twisted and turned. 

Just as his mouth opens, sound crawling from his throat with the understanding that this could change everything between the two of you, Scott smacks Rafe on the back and enters the dining room. 

“Hey, Cam, you gotta check out the new hoop we got out back. I can totally dunk on it,” Scott beams. 

You snort, “That’s because you have it lowered to five feet high.”

Rafe laughs before he can help it, and when your eyes flash up to his, he draws back out of instinct. Your eyes fall as quickly as they rose, and before Rafe can recover, the dining room fills with adults. Soon, Rafe is shoved into his usual chair beside you, watching as you pick at your food and laugh at a joke Wheezie made. 

No part of him is able to focus. He can smell your perfume, one that you’ve now worn to dinner for three weeks in a row, and he wonders what prompted the change. Before this, you’ve always worn a light, fruity scent. This one, while loved by Rafe, seems more grown up. As much as he has to squirm to avoid exciting himself every time he smells it, he wonders who you’re really wearing it for.

As dinner comes to a close, you quietly rise from your seat and grab a few plates. Rafe waits until you’ve carried yours, Scott’s, and your father’s into the kitchen, then rises himself and picks up his and your mother’s. 

He follows you into the kitchen, stopping briefly at the entryway just to take in the sight of you with your back to him, standing at the sink. He racks his brain, trying to come up with something to say, but instead, he just carries the plates over in silence. 

You barely glance his way as he sets them down, and Rafe licks his lips expectantly, part of him hoping that a conversation topic will just appear. 

“Rafe, honey, come sit down!”

His shoulders fall at the call for his presence back in the dining room; your mother’s fear that a member of the Cameron family would feel obligated to work shining through. You look up at him once more and give him a half-smile, one which Rafe takes and appreciates wholeheartedly. 

As Rafe exits the kitchen, it dawns on him that Valentine’s Day is less than two weeks away. Briefly, he wonders if you have anyone in mind, because he sure does. 

     Valentine’s Day falls on a Tuesday, and it’s a day that comes all too soon for Rafe. It’s one of the many days he dreads, because each year, he fears that he’ll have to see you with someone. Luckily, Rafe makes it through the entire work day and manages to secure a seat next to Kelce at the bar of the Club before any more lonely, single people could snag a chair. To further his luck, both you and Topper are on shift today. Topper — who has plans with Sarah — is sneaking out three hours before his shift ends, with the expectation that you’ll cover him. 

“Hey, boys,” Topper smiles, hurrying behind the bar for a quick break

“Hey,” Rafe greets.

“How’s it feel to be the only one with Valentine’s plans, Thornton?” Kelce asks, smirking. 

Topper chuckles, “Sarah and I are going to the mainland tonight. I’m guessing you two will be downing a few and drunk dialing whatever girl you hooked up with last weekend.”

“Pretty much,” Kelce shrugs, “Cameron will just be sulking all night.”

“I’m not sulking,” Rafe argues, shooting a quick glance your way before clearing his throat and looking over to Topper, “What’s she doing tonight?”

Topper exchanges a glance with Kelce before he shakes his head, then sighs and gives in. 

“She’s going to some bonfire out on the Cut. But don’t worry, man, she doesn’t have a Valentine. I already asked her.”

Rafe nods to himself, then steals another look at you. Bright smile, hair wavy and framing your face perfectly, and he’s sure you’re covered in that new perfume that seems to be driving him crazy. 

“There’s something I have to take care of,” Rafe blurts, standing from his stool quickly, “Nobody touch my drink.”

“Cameron, don’t you dare ask her to be your valentine,” Kelce groans, “You’d literally never recover from that rejection—”

“Shut up,” Topper hisses. 

Rafe doesn’t respond, but instead, hurries inside to the main lobby of the Club. There are couples, single men, single women, and, much to Rafe Cameron’s luck, an older woman selling red roses to happy couples. Rafe trades her five dollars for five roses, then gives her an extra dollar for an index card and the use of a pen. He scribbles in a note, then hurries over to the door labeled Employees Only to execute the remainder of his plan. 

     Once the flowers are safely tucked into your locker, Rafe makes his way back outside. Topper is still at the bar watching basketball on the TV with Kelce, and Rafe spots you in the middle of passing out food to one of your tables. 

He sits down silently and tries to compress his smile in front of his friends by downing half of his drink. Neither of them ask, and Rafe doesn’t tell. 

A few minutes later, Rafe hears your voice off to his right. He perks up and looks over at you just as you call Topper’s name. 

“I’m taking a break,” you tell him, “You can go when I get back.”

Topper nods, “Thanks.”

Rafe’s stomach twists at the idea that you’ll find the flowers in a mere minute, causing him to squirm in his seat.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, gorgeous,” Kelce calls, “Can I buy you a drink later?”

You chuckle as you back up, “You wish.”

Kelce laughs, then turns to Rafe as he sips on his drink. 

“Yes, I really do.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and elbows Kelce, then turns his attention back to the basketball game. He wonders if you’ve found the flowers yet. He wonders if you hate them. He wonders if he should’ve written more on the note. Writing more would have been creepy, he thinks. He should’ve done more. Maybe, he should’ve done nothing. 

It isn’t until you walk back out onto the deck thirty minutes later, biting down on your bottom lip to hide a smile, that Rafe realizes he did exactly what you needed him to do. 

You look over at Topper and nod your head toward the exit, “Go.”

“You’re an angel,” he says, giving you a quick hug before he bolts without being spotted by your boss. 

You take over Topper’s cleaning duties, then step over to Kelce and Rafe. Both boys look at you at the exact same moment, and it’s then that a smile breaks out across your face. 

“Anything you guys need?” 

Kelce smiles, “What’s got you in such a good mood all of the sudden?”

Rafe beams, but uses his glass to hide it. You smile, taking in a deep breath before pulling Rafe’s note out of your pocket and slapping it down on the bar. Rafe’s words, clear as day, are written across the paper. 

You’re beautiful. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Rafe’s smile widens, and he sits back in his chair, prepared to say nothing. Because he knows you’re not really showing him, you’re just gushing to the first people you know. 

Kelce side-eyes Rafe, and right then, Rafe knows that Kelce recognizes his handwriting. 

“Damn,” Kelce says sarcastically, “Got yourself a secret admirer, huh?”

“I guess,” you shrug, still smiling, “I should get back to my tables.”

Rafe smiles to himself as you fold his note and tuck it into your pocket before making your escape. He’s happy that the note and flowers mean something to you — even if he couldn’t give them to you himself. 

“Jesus, Cameron,” Kelce mutters against the rim of his glass, “You’re never gonna get that girl if you don’t stop doing all this anonymous nice shit for her.”

Rafe just shakes his head — because he knows Kelce just doesn’t understand. Rafe isn’t doing it to get you. No, he does it because he gets to see that smile. That pure, real, honest smile that reminds him how much he loves you. That smile that could bring him to his knees. The smile that, above all else, he’d do absolutely anything to see. 

Friday night finds Rafe quickly. As usual. 

Last night’s dinner had been the same as the weeks before — dead silent and absolute torture for Rafe. He noticed how you smiled more, though, and you’d been much more attentive to the adults when they asked you questions. Rafe tells himself it’s because of the flowers; that he’d made your Valentine’s Day and now you’re happy. 

Which is why he finds himself with his first drink in his hand on Friday night with no desire to get fucked up. All he wants to think about is you, your smile, and what you did with the flowers he’d put in your work locker on Valentine’s Day.

“So, since my birthday is on Tuesday, we’ll do a late celebration on Friday night,” Kelce rambles, four drinks in, “I wanna try that bar downtown. Nobody make plans, alright?”

Topper nods, “Sounds good, dude.”

“Yeah,” Rafe agrees, “We’ll be there.”

Rafe lets his eyes wander around the kitchen while Kelce rambles about the basketball games tomorrow — how he has money on certain teams and swears he’s gonna win this week. Topper, who is now wide-eyed staring at his phone, says nothing. 

“I’m just saying, Cameron, UNC is totally favored to win—”

“I don’t think you’re right about that,” Rafe argues, “Let me check.”

“How about,” Topper says quickly, yanking Rafe’s phone from his hand, “We stay off of social media. Just for tonight. Maybe tomorrow, too. I actually heard that the blue light is really bad for your sleep cycle—”

“Have you lost it?” Rafe questions, reaching for his phone, “Give me that.”

“No, dude, Rafe, I really think that—”

“Oh, shit.”

Topper and Rafe both freeze at the tone in Kelce’s voice. Topper, because he knows he’s seen it. Rafe, because he knows he hasn’t.

Slowly, Rafe turns around and looks to Kelce, who is definitely not on ESPN. Without saying a word, Kelce covers his hand with his mouth and turns his phone around, displaying your Snapchat story to Rafe.

Your smile — it’s the thing that draws him in. For that one millisecond, he feels calm. He feels happy and at peace. Then, he sees the remainder of the screen, and every ounce of that peace escapes him. 

John Booker Routledge smiles widely beside you — a selfie you’d taken with him while he holds up his beer, as if flaunting his prizes to the camera. He’s standing too close to just be a friend, Rafe thinks, and even if by some chance that’s all you claim he is, Rafe knows that’s not all John B thinks. 

Silently, Rafe snatches his phone from Topper and opens the photo up on his own phone, where he can analyze more details. He stares at it and dissects every inch until you wind up uploading a video of John B and JJ shotgunning a beer together on the beach. He can hear your laughter as you film, but it only breaks his heart further in two. 

Closing out the app, Rafe tucks his phone back into his pocket and runs a hand through his hair. His two best friends watch closely to see what he’ll do, how he’ll react, and debate what to say. Kelce speaks first; his voice hesitant and quiet. 

“Cameron, I, um, I think—”

“I think,” Rafe stops him, “I need a fucking drink.”

Turning around, Rafe snatches a Svedka bottle from the counter and pours the liquid directly into his mouth, then nods toward the back door. 

“I’m gonna see what they’ve got outside,” Rafe says, carrying the bottle with him. 

“Rafe,” Kelce says gently, “You really shouldn’t—”

“I shouldn’t, what?” Rafe questions, chuckling to himself, “I shouldn’t do a few lines to feel better? I shouldn’t drive out to the Cut and beat the shit out of John B? Come on, Kelce. Tell me what I shouldn’t do.”

“A few lines?” Topper recoils, glaring at Kelce, “You got him started on that?”

“Get off your fucking high horse, Thorton,” Kelce grunts.

“Yeah, just come do a line with us,” Rafe encourages, already picking Kelce up by the collar of his shirt, “It’ll be fun. Come on.”

Rafe downs another shot from the bottle before pulling both boys outside, where he tosses down a handful of bills and eventually feels so okay with everything that he can’t even remember how he landed himself at this house party. 

Kelce, who did only a few lines with Rafe, turns to Topper, who remains faithful to his beer. 

“He got her flowers,” Kelce mumbles, “For Valentine’s Day.”

Topper nods, “She told me. She thinks our boss put them in her locker.”

“Why don’t you tell her, dude?” 

Topper shrugs, taking another sip of alcohol as he watches Rafe shove his tongue down the closest girl’s throat. 

“If he falls apart like this when she posts a stupid Snap story, imagine how he’ll be when she rejects him. She doesn’t like him back, Kelceo. Telling her would destroy him.”

Slowly, Kelce nods, “So, what do we do?”

“We let him ride it out,” Topper replies, “Stick with him while he grieves, then help him move on. He’ll get over her eventually.”

Silence grows between the boys. Topper sips on his beer while Kelce crosses his arms over his chest; both of them staring at Rafe. 

“What if he doesn’t?” Kelce asks suddenly.

“He will,” Topper answers, “He has to. He’s got no other choice.”

Tags:

@witchwyfe @ghostselena @goldenjo @itsalexwin @onmykneesforrafe @lovedetlost @mardema @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess @malums-trash-can @emotionalbruv @rosetintednorth @rafecameronswhore @wanniiieeee @sarahwasfound @lilgoddesshines @abrunettefangirlnerd @absolute-fcking-chaos @premixed-margarita @anonymousobxfan @samcaniglia @midnightanticss @iammirrorball @r0und3bitch @thesimpletype @notdisneychannel @gillybear17 @solllaris @i-is-for-inspiring @luversgirl @maybankxw @mattyskies @imobsessedsblog @ryswritingrecord @barbietiingz @sierraahhhh @pittbull-enthusiast @nourfine @outerbankspov @drewsephrry @elizabethrosecresswell @lienoec @luhdrew @localhockeygirl

[lambkiin]

Late Nights at the Diner

Roach (Trailer Park of Terror) x AFAB!Reader

Tags; Roach 😳, quickie, two uses of degrading name calling, mutual masturbation, p in v sex, in the back of a car, a few minor timeskips because I’m insane

I will fix the “read more” formatting when I have access to a PC.

AN: First attempt at writing a fic for Roach, I think it turned out fairly well. If some sentences look weird I powered through writing this with a awful crick in my neck, have mercy. Enjoy and have fun!

I’ll also mention that the character and I are both from the deep south, so the dialogue won’t always make a whole lotta sense sound wise unless you’re aware of all the different ways we pronounce “you” down here.

Dawn was drawing close, it was nearly 3:30am. You parked your Mustang near the front door of the joint, climbing out and shutting the door with a metallic click. Sighing softly, you checked the pockets of your stained work apron. You looked around at your surroundings after locating your cash, checking out all the vehicles in the lot.

One car in particular caught your eye, it…was certainly something along the lines of junker. There was a skull and crossbones spray-painted to the side, as well as some words you couldn’t exactly make out in the dark. “Promisin’ crowd…” You muttered, sluggishly making your way to the entrance.

You were somewhat of a regular here, being thrown an excited wave by the waitress, Fiona. Knowing by now you could sit where you pleased, you returned her wave and went to sit at your usual spot- well, this isn’t going as planned. Speechless, you were completely frozen, your shocked eyes locked onto the man before you.

He sat with an arm thrown over the booth, and a cig hanging from his lips. He was also aware of his surroundings, you wanted to pass out as he turned his head towards you.

“Need somethin’ darlin’?” He quirked a brow, subtle smirk pulling onto his face. Geez, for a man who looks like he’d just changed the oil in a car…he was- very attractive. You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it. “M’ I in yer spot? Sorry ‘bout that. Why don’cha join me? I don’t bite.” He gave you a toothy grin, gesturing to the booth across from himself.

It was something about the way he spoke to you that just went straight down- oh shut up. You don’t even know his name! Fuck it, you’ve got nothing to lose. You gave him a small smile, sliding into the booth he’d offered.

“Thank you, er…?” You tilted your head up to the man, taking in his features proper.

“Names Roach, no it’s not a nickname either.” He put out his cigarette in the tables ashtray, having noticed your nostril twitching.

“Roach, I like it…rolls off the tongue.” You grinned, genuinely finding charm in the mans off the wall name.

“Ya gonna tell me yer name? Or am I jus’ gonna have’ta call ya beautiful all night?” He was far too good at these lines, it was doing its job in making you blush. You let out an embarrassed cough, composing yourself.

“Y/n, do ya do this with everyone at the diner?” You snorted, leaning towards him with your chin resting against your palm.

“Don’ think any of them truckers are as pretty as you, hm? I’ll blame it on luck I ran into ya tonight.” His eyes drifted to the side, then back to you. “Ready to order?”

~

Somehow it hadn’t been long between your arrival and his, you ordered together. You were now finishing up your coke, picking up one of the remaining fries to eat.

Fiona walked over once again. “One ticket or two?” She asked, unsure if you had been meeting him here or if it was chance. Roach spoke up right before you could, that award-winnin’ grin spread across his face.

“Just one, thank ya.” Fiona nodded in response, walking away to get the ticket squared away. Roach pulled out his wallet, ready to pay for the meal.

“You don’t have to do that, let me pay my part.” Your brows turned upwards, reaching for your folded stack of tips.

“My mama taught me better’n that, darlin’. Hell, ya could get any man to pay yer way with looks like that.” He sent you a wink. Lord almighty, you weren’t usually one for a quick fuck- but maybe you’ll indulge. Fiona brought your one ticket, accepting the cash from Roach. She turned to you, offering another wave of goodbye.

~

You and Roach stepped out into the cool nights air together, stopping for a moment while he lit up another cigarette. “Which one is yours? Vehicles- I mean.” You asked, watching as he took a deep drag off the cig.

“Mine? Oh- that one there…towards the side.” Of course the one from earlier was his, it matched him far too well.

“I suppose everything about ya is eye-catching, huh? Doin’ anything after this?” You boldly asked, one and obvious intention in mind, it was 4am. Roach nearly choked on smoke, eyes darting towards you and as wide as dinner plates. He regained his cool just as fast as he’d lost it, ready to throw down more of his smooth-talker lines.

“What for? Wanna see the interior?” He smirked, letting his cigarette hang from his mouth like it had been a half hour ago.

“Somethin’ like that. God, you look so good like that.” You muttered without even thinking, drawing closer to him for warmth in the wind.

“Well come on over then, darlin’.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and walked you towards his car. You’d just realized how tall he was, at least a foot taller than yourself, you fit so wonderfully into his side. It didn’t take too long to reach the edge of the parking lot, taking in the somewhat endearing sight of his beater. “The grand tour…” His arm left your shoulders, pulling the back door open. He gestured for you to get in, taking the cigarette from his lips and stomping it out on the gravel.

You slid into the back seat, kicking a few bottles as you did so. The interior was in shockingly good condition for what the outside looked like. Roach followed in after you, shutting the door behind himself. “This what ya wanted, baby? Takin’ ol’ Roach in the back of ‘is Buick like a whore?” The car was perfect for you, but he looked just a bit too tall for it.

“Doesn’t sound too bad.” You turned towards him, crawling forward. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you pushed him against the same door he’d just closed. “Bet you’ll be the whore beggin’ fer more when I’m done with ya.” You muttered, pressing your lips to his very much exposed neck.

“Bold claim, darlin’, but I like yer enthusiasm.” He complied as you pulled his unbuttoned shirt down his shoulders, grabbing and prodding at his arms along the way.

“Oh you’ll see, sweetheart.” You whispered quietly to him, taking his jaw into your hand. You tilted his head back, your glossed lips pressing into his rougher ones. Roach hummed into the kiss feeling your other hand tugging at his tank top. He removed his arms from the holes, breaking the kiss so you could pull it completely off of him.

“Angels above…” You muttered to yourself, taking in just how beautiful his body was. You moved your head down, leaving faint kisses from his jaw to his chest. “You are just…somethin’ else.” The compliments came so easily when it came down to it, you were absolutely letting yourself fall in love with this smooth-talking stranger. Your hands brushed over his ribs, sides, his softer torso…committing every bit of it to memory.

Roach was becoming putty in your hands, he’d expected you to get straight to business. He didn’t know what to say to all this seemingly genuine affection he was receiving. “You’re jus’ sayin’ that ta butter me up.” He chuckled, pushing a stray hair from your eyes. He was bricked into oblivion with the gentleness, and the situation all together.

You brought your head back up to eye level with him, cupping his cheeks and staring for but a moment. “I’m not ‘jus’ sayin’’ it, I mean it. Ya may as well be the mos’ gorgeous man I ever did lay eyes on.” You raked your hands through his sandy brown mullet, going in to steal another one of his gentle kisses. “Do you still want this?”

“More than ever, darlin’. How could I deny ya anythin’ with how sweet yer bein’ to me.” He showed off that toothy grin again, making your heart flutter.

You reached down, undoing the silver buckle at his hips. Surprised at this point he hadn’t asked you to remove your own clothing, he seemed to be entirely distracted by your face. The expression on his face was damn near lovesick, suppose he was letting himself get invested just like you were.

After successfully getting his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, you tugged them down a bit bringing his undergarments with. Your face reddened upon catching a glimpse of his hardened cock, not having expected it look that…fulfilling.

“Damn, pretty boy. Like I said before, everythin’ about ya is eyecatchin’ as can be.” You untied your apron, grabbing it and the hem of your dress to pull it all off. Thankfully it was a day you’d chosen not to wear one of those horrifically uncomfortable things called a bra. You watched with a small giggle as Roach’s eyes dropped to your now exposed chest.

“Ain’t tha’ somethin’….shiyt.” That was probably the most emphasis you’d ever heard anyone use on the word shit, he was awestruck- thats for sure. You lifted up one leg at a time, figuring out the least awkward way to remove your own undergarments. “You are right beautiful yerself, darlin’. I ain’t seen nothin’ like ya before, and I’m hopin’ ta see ya again…” He admitted, reaching out to touch on your hips and thighs.

“See me again? Of course, sweetheart.” You settled between his legs, your own draped over his thighs. “Give me….jus’ a second.” The angle would be somewhat awkward if you didn’t do this part yourself, may as well give the man a show out of this. As much as he’s already getting.

He watched your lowers with wide eyes as your own hand trailed to it. “Oh, mama.” He whined, his cock twitching with anticipation.

You ran a few quick strokes over your clit, reaching back further to push two of your own fingers into your entrance. Your face contorted with desperation as you stretched yourself open, fingers slipping in and out.

Roach huffed a breath, reaching for his strained hardness and grabbing at the tip. “Ya just know exactly what yer doin’, don’cha?” He chuckled, that noise turning into a soft moan as he dragged his hand down his length.

You continued for a moment longer, removing your hand and looking up. Roach met your gaze, he’d stroked himself at the same pace you’d been working. “You…ready?” You asked breathlessly, receiving a quick and violent nod in response. “Alright…”

One hand met his shoulder for stability, the other was grabbed by him. “Not gonna let this go ta waste, right?” He brought your fingers towards his face, the same ones you’d just used on yourself. Your face darkened by shades as he took those two fingers into his mouth, pressing his tongue against the underside of them. You could feel the furnace inside yourself well up again, the hand on his shoulder moving to line him up with your entrance.

The moan Roach let out was guttural, the depth vibrating the fingers he still had in his mouth. You removed them, planting the hand over his chest. You sank down onto him slowly, really just making sure the preparation was good enough. Low and behold, that- along with the ocean down there was plenty enough. “You have been far too good to me tonight, darlin’.” He whined, resting his grip comfortably on your hips.

“It’s the sweet talk, and those devilish- good looks.” You stumbled over your words, his cock finally bottoming out inside you. “Oh, Roach. Fuck-“ You moaned out, raising yourself up again and sliding back down.

“Shit, baby- you feel s’good.” His large hands clung to your hips, not quite bruising but not gentle either. “D’ya need help?” He asked, feeling your legs shake against him.

“Maybe, christ.” You tried to continue the pace yourself, the sensation of Roach joining in the efforts reaching your core. “Oh god.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy kiss.

Your bodies moved in succession, all you could hear was his loud moans, your own, and the cars suspension squeaking away. “Y- Yer fuckin’ me so good, doll- ain’t never felt nothin’ like this.” He held you comfortingly close as the pace got sloppier and sloppier.

You buried your hand into his hair, tugging at it ever-so-slightly. “Roach…sweetheart- m’gonna…oh fuck.” A curse cut off your words, you ground down on him as well as you could. “M’gonna cum…” You muttered into the crook of his neck.

“M’too doll, feels so fuckin’ good.” His head leaned back into the window, heavy breaths and whimpers escaping his throat. “Jus’ a little longer-“ He near pleaded, still thrusting his hips in tandem with yours.

Your moans got more frantic as he reached deeper and deeper within you, that feeling in your stomach coiling up.

“Faster! Faster-“ You breathed out, feeling him speed up beneath you. “Fuck!” He could feel the building coil himself.

“S’it okay if I- cum-“ He was having trouble with his words, you knew what he was talking about.

“Yes, yes- cum inside me, sweetheart.” You were on the pill, you wanted that intimacy with him. As soon as you’d said it, his pace picked up furiously. “OH baby-“

You both moaned out loudly as he thrusted one last time, your orgasm hit you like a bag of rocks. You could feel the warmth of his own orgasm seeping inside of you. There was a moment of silence as you both rode out your endings, heavy breaths being the only noise.

You rested your forehead against his, making eye contact as your bodies shuddered in ecstasy.

“Think’m in love with ya, doll.” He muttered, squeezing your hips. His face was flushed, and he looked as beautiful as always.

“Me too, sweetheart. Y’got a landline number? An address?” You asked, leaning your body fully against his.

”I got an address, got somethin’ to write it down?”

“Oh I’ll remember.”

“Good memory, huh. I like that in’a person.”

[the-writing-blog69]

Transformers Scrapyard: Night-In

A meet the cast sort of thing

Kip was sitting on Optimus’ leg, looking up as the first star blinked into sight as the sun lowered, dipping down over the horizon. Dusk settled slowly, night encroaching, creeping forth with its blanket of darkness and starlight. She’d have to go home soon, or her mom would worry. But for right now, she’d stay, petting the Raccoon that laid in her lap.

Optimus was careful to hold the books that Kip had brought from the library, his digits so much bigger than the literature he was reading. The words were almost too small for him to properly make out, but his one optic that wasn’t flickering was able to make them out. Reading, it was one of the few things that he could do without being in unbearable pain anymore. The crater that had been shot into his chest made sure of that. The faint glow of the Matrix was visible, just barely covered by the melted metal that had cooled and congealed and fused together, blue light emitting from the hole.

Ted was doing what he did best. Car stuff. Taking apart the engine of one of the scrap cars in the yard with almost surgical-like precision. Ironhide was tasked with flashing the light under the hood so Ted could see what he was doing. Ironhide made a couple of less than pleased noises as he looked upon Ted’s work. As he watched Ted pull the pistons out of the truck’s engine, he looked away, casting his flashlight elsewhere. “Light.” Ted spoke the one word command. Ted was never a man of many words.

“You can't blame me for being squeamish. Ain’t a pretty sight for a bot.” Ironhide tried to plead his case to the human. Ted looked at him for a moment, but relented.

“Robin!” Ted called out, earning an exasperated groan from the teenager from the rooftop of the trailer. Robin and Brainstorm were doing… something with pieces of the crashed ship, energon, and fireworks. Ted furrowed his brow. He’d lecture Brainstorm on the importance of not blowing up his trailer later.

“Why can’t someone else do it? Me and Brainstorm are doing something important.” Robin rebutted, but Ted just looked back at her with that same expression he always had.

“Admittedly, I do not require your assistance with this particular project.” Brainstorm loosened another bolt on the piece of the control panel that they had found, getting access to the insides. He could refashion the internal positioning system into a tracker, and that would get them one step closer to finding the Allspark.

“Fine.” Robin drawed out the word, before carefully descending from the rooftop, and joining Ted. She pulled out a flashlight from her hoodie pocket, and pointed it towards the engine. The light bulb shined its radiance onto the metal, and Ted continued his work. Ironhide would’ve heaved a sigh of relief if he had lungs.

Near the back porch, Finley flipped another piece of fish, turning the raw side down onto the heated bars of the grill, listening to the sharp hiss that emitted from it. Pretty much anything and everything about fish was something that he loved. Fishing, studying them, eating them. Right now, he is cooking them. He and Seaspray spent a long while out in the sea that morning, one of the benefits of being in a coastal town. He didn’t need to spend anything to get fresh fish. Bumblebee was seated nearby, watching intently.

“So, why do you have to make it hot first? Why not just eat it as is?”

“To make it taste better. Though, there are a few types of fish that don’t need to be cooked.”

“What types of fish?”

“Well- ow!” In Finley’s distraction, his hand had drifted over and his wrist grazed against a piece of hot metal on the grill. He held his wrist, looking at the small burn that had already begun to form on his dark skin. “Yikes.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Can you make sure that the food doesn’t burn? I’m gonna head inside and look for a band-aid.” Finley looked up at the giant robot.

“Yeah, no Problem!” Bumblebee assured, giving a thumbs up to the marine biologist. Finley thanked him, and headed inside, the door shutting behind him. Bumblebee looked at the grill.

Wait, how would he know if it was done or not. Well, Finley had said that cooked fish tasted good, so… He picked up one of the filets of the fish from the grill, and promptly ate it. He processed the flavor for a moment. Another problem arises from this, another question. Was it supposed to taste like that? Bumblebee had only ever consumed energon, oil, and the occasional human snack before. And cheesecake, he did eat cheesecake that one time. Sure, it tasted good to him, but what if he was simply inexperienced in fish tasting? So, he waits, unsure of what else to do.

“Hey Bumblebee!” Kip spoke, getting up and off of Optimus Prime, walking over to the yellow Autobot.

“What’s up, little buddy?” Bumblebee smiled, his attention completely off of the fish that was currently burning behind him, strolling towards her, meeting her half way.

“I have to go home. Can you drive me?” Kip tilted her head to the side, her one remaining eye blinking. “Oh, uh, can you please drive me?” She corrected her manners.

“Yeah, I can deliver you back to your abode!” Bumblebee ruffled her short black hair with a single digit, before swiftly transforming into his alt mode. A yellow Volkswagen Beetle, with black on the hood of the car.

Robin punched Ted in the shoulder. “Punch buggy yellow!” She called out, though maybe she had put a bit too much force in her punch, as Ted staggered and hit the pole that was holding up the hood of the truck, and it collapsed onto him, covering his upper body up to his elbows. This earned a short yell from the mechanic. He flailed, trying to lift the piece of metal off of his head and back. “Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry!” Robin lifted the hood, allowing Ted to stand once more, who shot a short, annoyed glare at Robin.

“Finley!” Ted yelled out, looking back towards the grill. He saw no Finley, but he did see something else. He gasped, eyes widening as he saw the fire that had grown and used the charcoal-black burnt fish as fuel for the flames. It was steadily and rapidly consuming the grill. “FINLEY! THE GRILL!”

“Dang, I really wanted to eat that fish.” Robin muttered nonchalantly as she looked at the flames.

Kip gradually inched towards Bumblebee as Ted rushed towards the grill, yelling profanities as he tried to put out the flames by any means possible. “Should we uh… Bail?” Kip muttered, looking back at Bumblebee, who was still in his alt mode.

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” Bumblebee responded, opening his passenger door, allowing the girl to crawl in. She buckled up as Bumblebee drove off from the scene of his crime.