#and here we are... WELL IT SUITS HIM WELL!!! I LOVE IT!!!!! I LOVE THAT MAN

[satorus-princess]

she loves me not, she loves me

synopsis: gojo satoru - the oh-so-confident, strongest sorcerer - becoming a nervous wreck on his wedding day? no way. (one suggestive joke, but otherwise sfw)

fem!reader x gojo satoru, canon au but geto never defected 🥰

gojo thinks he's successful in being able to conceal the effect of his doubts and worries on his demeanour. but, obviously, his best man picks up on the way that he constantly fixes his pushed-back hair, straightens his tuxedo for the umpteenth time, and redoes his tie for a third time. well, honestly, anyone would be able to infer his fears from his behaviour, no matter how forced his smile is.

“are you nervous, satoru? you have no reason to be, you know,” geto says, sitting on a chair in his own suit as he observes his best friend standing in front of the mirror who brushes off atoms from the sleeves of his tux.

“hah, why would i be nervous? i'm hard to resist, and she loves me,” the tone and manner in which gojo says that sounds as if he's reassuring himself rather than trying to convince geto he isn't nervous.

“she does. i've seen you get into destructive relationships, but not this one. (y/n)'s perfect for you,”

“she's so perfect... what is she doing marrying me?” gojo groans, stepping backwards and slumping into an armchair behind him.

“she said yes for a reason,” geto reminds gojo.

“you're right, you're right. she said yes to me. she wants to marry me.” gojo's head is tilted back over the edge of the chair, trying to keep his thoughts under control. that lasts a minute before he's grumbling under his breath, “shit, i'm a mess.”

while gojo is consumed in his whirlwind of thoughts, he doesn't even hear geto calling someone on the phone and talking to them. that's until he scoots closer to the groom, holding out the phone to him with a short “here”.

“what are you doing?” he asks, lifting his head up, confused as to why his rambling is cut off and what could possibly be more important.

“‘toru?” your sweet voice chimes through the speaker, and suddenly, gojo feels as if his heart has stopped. he takes the phone from geto, who steps out of the room to let you two have your moment, knowing that the only person who can ease gojo's nerves is his future wife herself.

his fingers slightly tremble around the phone as he presses it against his ear. he swallows thickly before speaking, “(y/n)?”

“yeah, it's me, my love. are you okay?”

a gentle smile paints over his lips, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he lets out a sigh - subconsciously relieved. he nods, despite you not being able to see him. “yeah... yeah, i'm okay now that i've heard your voice. fuck, you sound so pretty through the phone, i might cry,” he jokes, but the choked-up laugh that tumbles out suggests that he might not be completely joking.

he hears you laugh on the other side of the phone and his heart signs up for a marathon. “hey, save the tears for when you see me.”

“oh, those aren't gonna be tears. that's gonna be full-on sobbing and snot everywhere,” his tone is light and playful, feeling much calmer now.

you laugh again, this time louder. “you're ridiculous. although i'm not sure i doubt you.”

“i'm definitely not joking. just thinking about you in your dress is bringing me to tears.”

“you love me,” you state simply in a quieter tone, but it's such a powerful affirmation.

“i do, with every fibre of my being. i can't wait to marry you and spend forever together.”

“me too. you know what else i can't wait for?” you ask playfully in an attempt to lift his mood, waiting for gojo to respond before continuing. he gives you a soft hum in question. “the honeymoon. spending lots of quality time together. in bed, especially.”

he lets out a surprised laugh, though his deep, ocean eyes soften into something more tranquil, like a fresh stream shimmering in the sun. “god, i love you. this is why you're my wife-to-be.”

“but seriously, you have nothing to be nervous about, you know? we're getting married because we love each other, there's no doubt about that.”

gojo releases a heavy, shaky sigh. “i know... you're not gonna leave me waiting at the altar, are you?” he jokes, but there's an underlying concern that's more serious than he lets on. but, of course, you sense it.

“that's the most ridiculous thing you've said in your life, my love. i wouldn't be here, dressed up to marry you if i was going to leave you. i'm not going anywhere or leaving you behind, no matter what, okay?”

he hums in understanding, and you assume he's chewing on the inside of his cheek to hold back his emotions.

you continue, “satoru, my heart belongs with you. if, in the craziest scenario you can think of, i leave you, my heart will still be with you. it'll always love you, and it'll never forget about you. i hope you know i love you more than anything.”

he swallows again before speaking, “i do know. that's why i can't believe you only want me; do i even deserve you?” he whispers, and the broken crack in his voice makes your heart crack along with it.

“hey, none of that. i don't think i can stress how much you deserve everything good in the world. and you were the one that taught me that i deserve only the best, that i should never settle for anything else. so, here i am, only marrying the best,” you say softly with a smile that you hope he can hear in your voice.

and you assume he can when you just about hear the hitch in his breath. “... thank you, (y/n),” he murmurs. it's a simple utterance, but it means everything to you, knowing you were able to reassure him in such a vulnerable moment. he didn't think his words could be used against him in the best possible way - if he believes that you deserve the best, then it must be true that you believe he deserves the best too. “who knew the strongest would be so nervous on his wedding day, huh?” he attempts to lighten the mood again, but this time, he isn't burying his emotions - he's overcome them thanks to you.

“ah, but you're the weakest when it comes to me, aren't you?” you tease. “i love this side of you, you know. the human side, the one that you only show to me.”

“alright, i get it, i get it. you don't need to make me cry again yet. we haven't even gotten to the vows yet,” he chuckles lightly, revealing the fact that he may have shed some tears while you were reassuring him.

“my sweet boy, you really are gonna be sobbing, huh?”

“without a doubt. continuously from the moment i see you.” his heart flutters when he hears your laugh ring through the phone, half filled with amusement and half with love.

“well, now that you aren't doubting anything, why don't you go out there and wait for me, hm?”

“mhm, yeah... i love you, sweet girl.”

“i love you, too, ‘toru. i'll see you out there, okay?” you confirm in a tender tone that is unreplicable, tugging at his heart strings that form a beautiful melody that only you manage to orchestrate.

“okay, mrs gojo.”

[norrisainz33]

baby blue || cs55

☆ summary: carlos sainz is married to famous pop star y/n who has been connected to the f1 world for years having been a mercedes ambassador and good friends with lewis hamilton. after a video of y/n and lewis surfaces, y/n shares some big news with the spanish driver.

☆ pairing: carlos sainz x famous!wife!reader x lewis hamilton

☆ fc & warnings: rihanna! a little angsty, mentions of pregnancy, translated spanish

☆ requested: yes! thanks for this idea and for your patience. had to add in some written parts to this to tell the story! hope you enjoy xxoo

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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ynuser: 📍 bahrain

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user1: pink is your color

dualipa: real! miss u my sweet gorgeous girl

user33: you just gonna post like we didnt see the video from the paddock

user18: no for realllll like girl be soooo for real

user1: nah nah nah you guys need to but out you know nothing!! they're just friends. we dont need to scrutinize everything they do

tatemcrae: my icon fr

user2: ynlewis supremacy

user8: seems like shes a ynlewis truther herself bsed on that video

user3: lewishamilton come get your girl

user4: more like carlossainz55 come get your girl yikes

[comments on this post have been limited]

✿

staring down at your phone you watched as the video played over and over each replay making your stomach twist a little more. you cursed yourself for not remembering where you were before having your very public breakdown in front of lewis at ferrari hospitality. what was supposed to be a quick visit to tell lewis (one of your closest friends) that red suited him and say a quick hello to alexandra had spiraled into something entirely different. one moment you were complimenting him and the next you were sobbing in his arms. of course, the media caught every second of it and in true fashion they plastered the video everywhere. the rumors started flying almost immediately with the world convinced you and lewis were more than just friends as they have been for years.

but here's how the conversation really went:

"hi lewis!! god that red is doing wonders for you right now," you smiled as you took in the sight of your best friend decked out in ferrari gear.

"thanks, y/n/n. i think so too," he grinned - his confidence and happiness clear.

"you ready to hop in that car and show everyone you’ve still got it grandpa?"

"absolutely. you know better than anyone how much i want to make this work." his voice was full of sincerity and something about the way he said it made your chest tighten and tears started welling up in your eyes.

"oh no, don't cry on me now…" he said his hand gently brushing at your cheek.

you laughed but it was shaky as the tears fully spilled down your face. "sorry, sorry… i just - i'm so excited for you, and i miss danny and checo," you rambled suddenly feeling overwhelmed. he gave you a confused look not exactly sure where all of this was coming form.

"something tells me there's more to this, y/n/n," he said his tone shifting as he took a step closer.

without thinking, you blurted it out. "i’m pregnant."

lewis froze for a split second before pulling you into a tight hug, letting you cry into his shoulder. the kind of cry that left you feeling both raw and relieved at the same time.

"hey, hey— the cameras are loving this," alexandra’s voice suddenly broke through and she frantically pushed both of you toward the ferrari hospitality area her tone full of urgency.

as she led the way you couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything.... the unexpected turn your life had taken and the way the world was watching every moment unfold and it was too late to take it all back now.

✿

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user1: wow a rare carlos sighting on a story.. awk timing after that vid....

carlossainz55: wow posting me? surprised its not lewis.

ynuser: carlos don't start please. you know its not like that

carlossainz55: then why was it lewis holding you while you were crying and not me? and why won’t you even tell me what happened?

ynuser: i did tell you. it’s just been so overwhelming lately especially with the pressure from my label to release new music. on top of that i haven’t been feeling great which makes everything harder. you literally held my hair while i threw up all night. come on carlos please.

carlossainz55: mi amor you know I’ve had a hard time with your relationship with lewis. and now that he’s taken my seat… it just gets harder to see him in ferrari red while comforting my wife. it’s hard not to feel jealous!

ynuser: i’m really sorry carlos. i can’t even imagine how that feels. focus on your last practice session and get the data you need. we can talk properly when you’re back at the hotel ok?

carlossainz55: fine but you’ll explain everything word for word right?

ynuser: of course. now go -- i see on tv that the power’s back on

carlossainz55: yeah yeah ill go. i love you -- even when im upset

ynuser: i love you too. always

user33: damage control?

alexandrasaintmleux: love you pretty girl. please let me know if you need anything both charlie and i are here for you too

ynuser: i love you more alex 🤍 thank you for always supporting me. oh and for noticing the cameras before they got too much

alexandrasaintmleux: thats what friends are for. please please please keep me updated

user10: i just know everyone's tearing u up in these replies so im here to say i love and support you bb

lewishamilton: did you tell him yet?

ynuser: considering you’re both at the same testing... no I haven’t

lewishamilton: oh don't give me that. you could have told him last night!!

ynuser: yeah well i was scared!!

lewishamilton: sweetheart, the faster you rip off the bandaid the faster he (and everyone else) stops getting the complete wrong idea

ynuser: i know i know i know!!!!!! easier said than done here lewis.

lewishamilton: he tried to approach me this morning and i was able to avoid it but if he comes to me and starts asking what is up... i'm not going to lie

ynuser: alright message received. him and i agreed to talk everything out tonight.

lewishamilton: good.

user11: idc abt this man release new music pls im begging its been ages

schecoperez: mi amiga what in the world is going on?

ynuser: too much honestly... i'll call you bc BOY do i have a lot to share and ALSO i miss you SO MUCH

schecoperez: will be impatiently waiting :)

user44: tbh idc abt f1.. id rather see pics of u. free my queen from this nonsense sport!!!!

✿

you flopped back onto the giant hotel bed letting out a big sigh. alex and lily had just left after giving you the pep talk of a lifetime and dropping off the cake. if it wasn't for them and all the effort they’d put into running around bahrain to find someone who could make you this cake, you probably would’ve chickened out of telling carlos altogether. it wasn’t something either of you had planned for yet. you’d only gotten married a few months ago and between carlos switching to a new team and the insane pressure your label had been piling on you, it felt like the wrong time to be having a baby. hence, your breakdown in the paddock with lewis. but like alex and lily said everything happens for a reason and maybe this was just the moment it was meant to happen, no matter how daunting it all felt.

you quickly sat up when you heard carlos fumbling with the door to the hotel room and immediately, tears started to well up. you tried to hold them back but they came rushing down as soon as carlos stepped through the door. his brow furrowed when he saw you crying on the bed.

"mi amor..." he sighed setting his things down on the couch and shrugging off his williams jacket. "what’s going on with you?" he asked gently kneeling in front of you and placing his hands on your bare knees.

you were fully sobbing now desperately wiping away the tears as he watched you in silence. "i just... i..." you tried to speak but the words got tangled up in your sobs making it harder to get them out.

"cariño take a deep breath," he said softly taking your hand in his and giving it a firm squeeze. you obeyed and took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down. which wasn’t easy these days with all the changes your body was going through. eventually you shook your head not being able to calm yourself enough and pointed toward the box on the table hoping he would understand. carlos’ eyes followed your finger and he stood up walking over to the table. "y/n, what is...?" he stopped mid-sentence struck silent as he stared down at the contents of the box—a small cake with 'we’re having a baby' written on it and a pregnancy test sitting next to it.

you kept focusing on your breathing summoning the courage to look at your husband who stood completely still. in the endless seconds it took for him to react - guilt, panic, and despair began to settle in. "i’m sorry, carlos, i know this is a horrible time. i should’ve told you earlier, we should’ve talked about this first, and i just—i’m sorry this—"

"stop, y/n," he interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. you couldn’t tell if the tears in his eyes were good or bad. but then in the blink of an eye, his face softened and his expression lightened up. "don’t apologize for this, my love." he picked up the test and glanced back at you. "this is real?"

"yes," you whispered.

he dropped the test moving swiftly toward you and pulling you into a tight embrace. "we’re going to have a baby chili," he mumbled into your neck holding you like he never wanted to let go. and with that all of your worries melted away.

✿

ynuser has posted to their private story

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lando: what u posting close ups of food for

ynuser: you’ll find out when you’re older

lando: tf that supposed to mean

ynuser: means you can’t keep a secret to save your life

lando: a man accidentally includes a photo from a wedding in 1!!!! photo dump and he can’t ever come back from it

ynuser: exactly

lando: 🤨

lilymhe: THE CAKE HAS BEEN EATEN???

ynuser: it has!!!!!! and everything is ok

lilymhe: i’m so relieved

carlossainz55: the best cake i’ve ever had 🤍

ynuser: i'm really quite glad you think so

carlossainz55: of course gorgeous. i am so excited that we get to be parents

ynuser: i'm so happy that you're happy

carlossainz55: over the moon actually. i already called the florist and local bakery near casa de mi familia to get everything sorted for when we tell them in a couple weeks. i also sent you room service and some special deliveries so if you hear a loud knock on the door this morning, just know its from me

ynuser: carlos 😭😭😭😭

carlossainz55: i also may or may not have already slipped and told teto..........

ynuser: I THOUGHT WE WERE TELLING HIM AND GIGI AT DINNER ONCE YOU OFFICIALLY FINISHED TESTNG

carlosainz55: ....... i mean that was the plan originally but we were cycling this morning and he could tell something was up and well i couldnt lie!! i swore him to secrecy it is ok

ynuser: i'm making my lawyers send him an nda

carlossainz55: LOL

ynuser: i'm serious

carlossainz55: oh... well in that case… whatever makes you feel best my love!!!

alexandrasaintmleux: details mon ange

ynuser: he finally got back after testing and i completely broke down into tears bc of course i did—im a mess with these hormones. he immediately was worried ofc and was like “mi amor, what’s wrong?” but I couldn’t even stop crying long enough to explain. so i just pointed at the cake box instead and then be opened it, stared at it for what felt like an eternity… honestly, it was probably 8 million years and then HE started crying. which just made me cry even more. but honestly after we got everything out it felt like really good. he was beyond excited like already talking about the little one and brainstorming names and looking up where to buy baby clothes in spain and already planning how to tell his family and mine

alexandrasaintmleux: 🥹😭 see!! it was all ok!!! i’m so so so glad he was excited. i knew he would be!! he wanted so badly to be dad

lewishamilton: so?

ynuser: i told him

lewishamilton: thank god!! now i can assume uncle duties without getting my face bashed in

ynuser: you’re so dramatic

yourbff: i’m so happy for you guys 😭

ynuser: thank you sweetheart 😘

dualipa: assuming i’m missing context here

ynuser: i’ll face time you baby girl

carlossainz55 has posted to his story

[sharing the joy with our family ☀️💙]

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anasainzvdec: mi hermano i am so excited for you. i can't wait to be an auntie 🤍

carlossainz55: i love you ana! you will be the world's best aunt

user2: PINON!!!!!!

carlossainzoficial: ¡tal vez la mayor alegría que hayas podido compartir con nosotros! [perhaps the greatest joy you could have shared with us!]

carlossainz55: me alegro. no puedo esperar a que seas abuelo, papá. [i am glad. i can't wait for you to be a grandfather, dad]

carlossainzoficial: estoy muy orgulloso del hombre en el que te has convertido y de la vida que has construido con y/n. [i'm so proud of the man you have become and the life you have built with y/n]

carlossainz55: ¡no me hagas llorar papá! [don't make me cry dad]

user4: sharing joy??? with your family..... what does this mean?

lando: google translating this as we speak

lando: and what joy are you sharing and why are you not also sharing it with me?

carlossainz55: i will be on sunday muppet. you are coming to dinner at my house no?

lando: oh heck yeah ill be there

user18: what an interesting wording you have here mr.sainz - what are you talking about?

ynuser: petition to bring pinon with us everywhere

carlossainz55: jajaaj i don't know that she would like that

ynuser: 😭😭😭😭😭 fair ig. tho i think a baby and a puppy would be a perfect pair......

user55: the world is healing youre back with pinon

alexandrasaintmleux: EEEEEEK!!!!!! y/n filled me in on how it went. truly so excited for you. i can't wait for the big dinner party where you're telling all of us 🤍

carlossainz55: i am very much looking forward to this weekend. we'll see you soon mi amiga

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carlossainz55: spent the weekend celebrating the news with some of my favorite people. you are so loved already baby chili. you're mommy, daddy and loads of aunties and uncles can't wait to meet you so very soon 💙🌶️

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user55: crying my eyes out rn you have no idea

ynuser: thankful for you, our baby boy, and the amazing people we have supporting us 🤍

carlossainz55: even more thankful for you for giving me the greatest gift i could have ever asked for my beautiful wife

user85: may a love like this find me expeditiously

user1: well…. a baby wasn’t on my bingo card

lando: dibs on teaching baby chili how to drive

charlesleclerc: i already called dibs

georgerussell63: no i believe i did

carlossainz55: frankly, i dont trust any of you to teach him

charlesleclerc: WOW

user4: congratulations 😭 i'm seething with jealousy 😭

alex_albon: can't wait to be the favorite uncle

lilymhe: with me as the favorite aunt

alexandrasaintmleux: um hello? i'm going to be the favorite aunt

lando: FALSE I AM THE FAVORITE AUNT

ynuser: guys please lets not fight

user23: carlando having their own pic at the end is sending me. classic carlando behavior

user13: man this vroom vroom got my girl and now they’re having a baby? smh

lewishamilton: congratulations you two! overjoyed to see two of my favorite people becoming parents ❤️

carlossainz55: thank you 💙

user88: tea

user56: so many of the drivers being at their baby shower has me in genuine shambles im not ok this grid baby is going to be so loved

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: phew this took me forever... hope you enjoy!! likes and reblogs appreciated as always ❤️‍🔥

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[fireinmoonshot]

all this time | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Despite the fact that you're his older sisters best friend, Joaquín has always had a crush on you. Little does he know, you feel the same way. But how can either of you act on it when you can't hurt his sister? Warnings: Reader wears dresses, has hair long enough to at least reach her shoulders. Mentions of food. Joaquín being completely oblivious... other than that I think it's all fine! Word Count: 7.8k A/N: I think this is the longest fic I've ever posted on this blog (not including my multi-parters)... this was requested by a lovely anon and I started brainstorming the idea when I was at work the other day (plenty of time to think when I'm in the walk-in fridge) and then I got so hooked on the idea and it somehow became this almost 8000 word piece. I loved writing this one so much though. In this, I have named Joaquín's sister Catalina, nicknamed Lina – if this happens to be your name, feel free to just pick another name for her. It's just one I liked! I really hope everyone that reads enjoys this. It was a challenge to write but I loved every second of it! 💗

“It’s like the forbidden fruit, huh?” Marcos turns to Joaquin with a grin. He takes a sip of his beer and then points the bottle across the backyard towards where you’re standing by the back door of his parents house.

Joaquin frowns, his eyebrows knotting together and undoubtedly causing an expression to appear on his face that his mother would berate him about making in public. “What?”

Marcos points the bottle towards you again. “Catalina’s friend. She’s like the forbidden fruit. The most gorgeous girl here but the only girl that none of us can have, unless we want to deal with your sisters wrath. And no one wants Catalina’s wrath.” 

For a moment, Joaquin simply stares at his cousin. He can’t say any of the things that are currently swimming through his mind. Though Marcos deserves to hear all of them, none of them are particularly family friendly and there are several people sitting around the two of them that he’d rather not offend. 

“Don’t talk about my sisters friend like that,” is all he can manage before he picks up his own beer from the table and walks away, leaving Marcos staring after him, dumbfounded. 

He shakes his head as he walks over towards the barbecue where his uncle has just started to grill some meat. How his favourite uncle managed to have a son like Marcos, Joaquin will never be able to comprehend.

“What did he say now?” Uncle Jorge says, glancing over at Joaquin as he turns over a piece of meat. “There’s only one reason you would’ve walked over here and it’s not because you want to talk to your favourite tío.”

Joaquin chuckles. “Believe me, you don’t wanna know.”

He looks around the backyard, taking in the scene. His family, neighbours, friends, everyone he really cares about all in the same place, except for Sam – he’d been summoned away to help his sister and his nephews for the weekend. Despite his absence, this is a rare occasion, and one he’s glad to be experiencing.

He can’t help it when his eyes catch on you. You’re still standing over closer to the back door of the house with his sister, a drink in your hand. The sundress you’re wearing suits you a lot. The colour compliments your skin perfectly. The breeze blows some of your hair back off of your shoulders and his breath catches in his throat. He’s well aware the situation is all very similar to a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles. 

Joaquin has barely been able to take his eyes off of you ever since he first saw you arrive, and who can blame him when you look like that? To be fair… you always look gorgeous, but today you look especially gorgeous. 

The words Marcos had said trickle into his mind again and he winces a little. He wishes that people like Marcos didn’t get to enjoy looking at you when you looked so beautiful. 

“Joaquin, are you listening?” 

He blinks, tearing his eyes away from you and back to his uncle. “Sorry, I got distracted. What were you saying?”

His uncle looks over his shoulder, looking exactly where Joaquin had been looking, and chuckles to himself. “Yeah, distracted, sure. Can you pass me the tongs over there?”

Joaquin passes him the tongs, ignoring the comment about him being distracted, and forces himself to look away from you. Even when he hears you laugh and he wants nothing more than to look at you and see the smile on your face. He loves seeing you smile.

Thankfully, his uncle doesn’t say anything more about catching him staring at you. Joaquin helps him with grilling up the rest of the meat, completely unaware that you are now the one staring at him from across the yard.

You can’t help it – Joaquin is and always has been gorgeous.

You watch as a girl around Joaquin’s age, a few years younger than you, walks up to Joaquin where he’s standing near the grill with his uncle and starts making conversation. The feeling that settles in your chest isn’t an unfamiliar one, but it is unwelcome.

“Catalina,” you start, getting the attention of your friend. “Who’s that Joaquin’s with?”

She looks up from her phone at you and then across the backyard to where you’re looking, right at Joaquin. “Oh, I know her but I can’t remember her name,” she says, thinking for a moment to try and remember it but failing. “She’s the daughter of one of the neighbours, I think they live three doors up.”

You make a noise of understanding to let Lina know that you heard her but you can’t manage to tear your eyes away from Joaquin and the young woman. They’re both smiling as they speak. It’s when she reaches out and touches his arm that you force yourself to look away. You take a long sip of your drink to try and push down the feeling in your chest.

Catalina looks at you, amused. “Why are you asking?”

“No reason,” you shake your head, sipping your drink again just for something to do. “I just thought she looked familiar, but obviously not. I wouldn’t have seen her before.”

You can tell that Lina doesn’t believe a single word that you’re saying. She’s been able to read you like a book for over half of your lives at this point. You just hope that she’s not intuitive enough to realise that you have been harbouring a major crush on her little brother for most of that time, despite your exhaustive efforts to stop it.

You’ve known Joaquin for as long as you’ve known Lina. When you’d met her at school, she’d introduced you to her younger brother not long after. He had just been a kid, then – a young boy who wanted to follow his sister around all day. It had been fine as children, Joaquin almost becoming like a little brother to you too, but once you’d become teenagers and you and Lina just wanted to spend girl time together, things had changed.

When you’d sleepover at Lina’s house as children, it was fine. You didn’t care about Joaquin seeing you in your pyjamas or in the morning when you’d just woken up. As a teenager, though, those were things that started to matter to you. For the first time since you’d known Joaquin, you’d started to care about the way he saw you. It had all been downhill from there.

“Yeah, no reason, sure,” Lina huffs from beside you, putting her phone in the pocket of her shorts. She’s heard the exact same question from Joaquin while referring to people who were talking to you more times than she can count. He’d never managed to come up with excuses as to why he’d been asking, though. 

She reaches out and takes your now empty glass from you. You hadn’t even realised that you’d drained it completely while trying to distract from the conversation with her.

“I’m going to get us some refills,” she says, starting to walk back towards the house. “Go and talk to my brother, will you? He looks in need of saving, judging by the look on his face.” 

You watch her, confused, as she retreats inside the house. It’s only when she’s gone that you look back over at Joaquin. His uncle, who was standing beside him, has now disappeared, and the smiles that Joaquin had been giving the young girl have turned to grimaces, despite his best attempts to keep his facial expression neutral.

You don’t waste time, knowing there’s not long until Catalina returns with your new drinks, and start crossing the yard towards Joaquin. He sees you in his peripheral vision not too long before you reach him. He notices instantly that you look even more stunning in this outfit up close.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” you start, sounding not sorry at all. “But your sister is looking for you, Joaquin. She asked me to come and find you.” 

Joaquin looks between you and the girl. He’s so terrible, he can’t even remember the poor girls name. “Ah, duty calls,” he flashes the girl what he hopes is a genuine grin instead of the look that he’s sure was on his face before you arrived. “I’ll see you around.”

Smiling to yourself, you start to walk away, knowing that Joaquin will be following you. He falls into step beside you as you walk away from the grill and back towards the house. You feel his hand brush against your back, hovering behind you as you walk – a feeling you’re used to when you’re around Joaquin. 

“Lina isn’t looking for me, is she?”

“No, but she did sense you were in need of rescue.”

Joaquin laughs softly. “Ah, so she sent you. My knight in shining armour.”

You glance over at him as you stop just outside the back door of the house, not far from where you and Lina had been standing before. “I see a damsel in distress, I don’t hesitate.”

Something passes between the two of you as you look at each other, but as quickly as it came, it disappears. You’re both aware of it, of the spark of energy between the two of you. 

It’s the kind of feeling that you’d chased in several other men during your adulthood. None of your failed relationships had ever been able to create such a feeling, not even the best of them. Not even the one relationship you’d thought might turn into marriage and a future together. The one that Joaquin had seen you crying on Lina’s shoulder over when you’d had your heart smashed into a million tiny pieces.

Joaquin doesn’t like to think about that, though. Or any of your exes.

“So, are you enjoying the barbecue?” Joaquin asks in an attempt to break the silence.

You smooth your palms out on your dress, feeling them start to become sweaty with your nerves. You’re not sure exactly why you’re nervous – it’s just Joaquin, the same Joaquin you’ve known since you can remember. But there are tiny parts of him that are different. He’s an Avenger now. He’s the Falcon. He’d almost died a few months ago. The fact that you’re even here having this conversation still feels a little surreal to you. You remember sitting in the hospital waiting room holding Lina’s hand and trying to keep it together yourself when you were just as terrified as she was. 

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you hum, meeting his eyes briefly. “It’s good to see everyone.”

Joaquin nods. “Yeah, it’s not often everyone gets together like this. I–uh– I’m really glad you could make it,” he stumbles over his words a little. “Lina said you had to move some things around in your schedule to make it work, but I’m glad you did. It’d be weird without you here.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “Weird without me?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, just cause… y’know… you’re practically part of the family.”

“Ah,” you nod, smiling a little. “I guess I am at this point.”

An arm drapes around your shoulder and you’re immediately torn out of the moment with Joaquin by Lina’s return. She hands your drink to you and smiles over at her brother.

“Did she save the day, little brother?” Lina asks, grinning at him.

You’ve always loved the relationship between Lina and Joaquin. They’ve had many an argument in your presence, mostly as teenagers, but as adults it’s fairly civil. Joaquin has always looked up to his older sister and Lina has always wanted to make a good impression on her younger brother. It made for a pretty happy relationship most of the time. It’s part of the reason you’ve never brought up your crush on him to Lina. You never want to come between them.

Joaquin nods. “Yeah, ‘course she did.”

“That’s our girl,” Lina says proudly, removing her arm so she can stand next to you properly. “How was your conversation with our neighbour? She’s cute, no?” 

You look between Joaquin and Lina, a little surprised that she’s bringing up the girl when she couldn’t even remember her name and even more surprised because she’d sent you over there to rescue Joaquin from that girl.

He raises his eyebrows at his sister. “If you like that sort of girl, sure. You asking for my opinion, Catalina? I thought you weren’t interested in dating anyone at the moment.”

Lina scoffs and waves her hand dismissively. “Not for me, you fool. I’m talking about you. I thought you told me that you wanted to start dating again now that you’re all healed up from your accident? Sam told me you have women and men lining up for you now that you’re the Falcon. He was worried it would go to your head.”

Joaquin opens his mouth and tries to come up with something to say but eventually settles on a very weak, “I did not say that!” He looks at you and then at his sister, internally cursing her out for saying that in front of you. Not that Catalina knew any better. Joaquin was very careful about keeping his crush on you a secret. 

“If you say so, little brother,” Lina shrugs her shoulders and then reaches down to take hold of your wrist. “I just saw Uncle Jorge put the burgers out on the table, let’s go and get some before my cousins raid the table and get them all first.”

Before you can say anything else to Joaquin, Lina starts dragging you away. You turn around and catch his eye as you walk away. Joaquin sends you a small wave, smiling at his sister and her ease to exit a conversation without a single thought. They’re more alike than Joaquin realises.

–––––

Later in the evening, after the barbecue is long over and most of the guests have returned to their homes or retired inside for the rest of the evening, you and Catalina are helping to clean up some of the mess that was left in the backyard. All things considered, it’s pretty clean except for a few pieces of rubbish here and there. Lina and Joaquin’s parents had insisted that everyone clean up after themselves and mostly, people had. 

Joaquin had gone home a few hours ago, saying that he still needed plenty of rest after his accident since he was still recovering from it, and none of the family had disagreed with him even though none of them wanted him to leave.

He’d hugged you before he left, like he’d hugged all of the family. You can still feel the small kiss he’d pressed to your cheek out of pure habit after kissing the cheeks of his abuelas and tías. You hadn’t missed the way his cheeks had flushed a little after he realised.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Catalina says as she puts an empty paper plate in the trash bag that she’s holding. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You look up from where you’ve been cleaning a spilled drink off the top of the table. “You wish I’d give you a penny for my thoughts, Catalina,” you chuckle, using her full name just to irritate her a little. 

Lina rolls her eyes at you and then takes a seat at one of the chairs. She motions at you to take the other one and reluctantly, you do. You know that Lina initiating a conversation like this is never going to end well. 

“I’m not going to beat around the bush on this,” she begins, making your stomach start to do backflips with nerves. You’re not sure why – Lina has never given you a reason to be nervous around her in the entire time you’ve known her. But for some reason, this time feels a little different. “I know you have a crush on my brother, querida. I know why you’ve been trying to stop me from finding out, but I know you and I know what I see.”

There’s no point trying to deny it. You know that even if you did try and deny it, Lina wouldn’t believe you for a second. That’s just the kind of person she is and always has been.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter sheepishly. “I won’t lie to you, Lina. I’ve liked him for a while now and I’ve been trying to get over him but I’ve failed a million times. And after his accident a few months back, I can’t seem to get him out of my head.”

Lina reaches across the table and places her hand over the top of yours. “You don’t need to be sorry. I kind of understand. I’ve been worried about him even more than usual since the accident. It’s made me want to spend every second with him that I can. It’s also the whole reason why I’m bringing this up with you now. I tried to start a conversation about it when Quin was there earlier, about him wanting to date again, but obviously he’s not ready for that conversation…”

“What conversation?”

“We almost lost Joaquin a few months ago, querida. Why waste more time? You don’t need it, but I’m giving you my blessing to pursue things with him if that’s what you want. You’re my best friend, have been ever since I can remember. If there’s anyone that I trust with my brother, it’s you,” Lina says. You can hear the honesty in her voice.

There’s still doubt in you, though. 

“Are you sure?” You question, a little hesitant. “I mean… he’s your baby brother.”

Lina smiles. “Yeah, he is. Which means his happiness is one of the most important things in the world to me. And if he likes you back, like I’m pretty sure he does – call it sisterly instinct – then being with you would make him very happy. He’s obviously not going to do anything about it, judging by the way he deflected me earlier, but you just might.” 

You look at her for a few moments before getting up from your chair and walking around to her side of the table, your arms extended. She laughs as she stands up, happily hugging you back. She squeezes you tight. 

“Besides, if you and Joaquin work out, it would make you my actual sister… and I secretly always wished that I could have a sister instead of a brother when I was younger…” Lina mutters in your ear.

You laugh at her as you pull away from the hug. “I basically already am your sister, Lina.”

“I know,” she shrugs, picking up the trash bag again and starting to pick up the last few pieces of rubbish. “But this way, it’d be official. And… y’know, if Joaquin starts dating someone then it might make our parents stop asking me when I’m getting married.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” you pick up the cloth you’d been using before. “This is all just a ploy to make it so that Joaquin and I are the ones being pressured to get married so your parents will get off your back… fair play, Torres. Fair play.”

She flashes you a grin. “Come on, let’s finish cleaning all this up so we can go home.”

–––––

There’s an added pressure the next time you see Joaquin. Even though it’s not the two of you alone and there are other people there, the fact that you know Catalina is silently cheering you on and that she thinks Joaquin likes you back makes it a little more real.

It’s not just a little one-sided crush anymore.

Joaquin throws his hands up in the air and cheers as his bowling ball knocks down all ten pins and scores a strike. “Did you see that!?” He exclaims, walking back towards the rest of you. 

“Well, yeah,” Lina replies, “We are all watching you.”

He gives her a look as he takes his seat beside you and one of your other friends, Jack, goes up for his turn. Joaquin pulls his phone out and takes a picture of his score on the TV screen above your heads.

“First strike of the night,” Joaquin grins, turning to look at you. 

His thigh is pressed against yours, owing to the small benches at the Bowling Alley. You’ve squashed four people onto each bench when they’re really only made to sit three and have split your group into two teams – it’s basically you and Joaquin vs Lina, with your other friends split evenly between the teams. 

“Oh, did you get a strike?” You feign surprise. “I must’ve been looking at my phone when you did it and I definitely didn’t hear you yelling about how excited you were afterwards.”

Joaquin laughs and nudges his shoulder against yours. “Shut up,” he says jokingly. “Have you been spending too much time around my sister? I might have to kidnap you and try and get rid of the mind-wipe she’s obviously done on you.”

“Who said spending time with your sister is a bad thing?” You reply, amused. “I never get to see you anymore since you’re always off saving the world so at least I still have one Torres around.”

It’s the truth. Joaquin is barely around anymore and you have to admit that you miss seeing him. You were surprised when he’d replied to the group text and said that he’d be joining you all at Bowling tonight. 

Joaquin’s face drops ever so slightly at your words but he tries his best to mask it. He didn’t realise that you had noticed his absence so much. “Well, someone’s gotta do it,” he jokes. “And if Lina is such great company, why aren’t you on her team, huh?” 

You look over at Lina, right as she stands up to go and take her turn. You try your best to summon some of her confidence. “Cause I missed you, that’s why,” you say, trying desperately to stop your voice from shaking. Telling Joaquin you miss him should not be this terrifying, yet it somehow is. 

He looks at you for a moment, lips barely parted. You watch as his tongue swipes out, running across his lips, before he closes his mouth and nods at your words. “I, uh, I missed you too.”

You glance up at the scoreboard. There are still a few other people who have to bowl before it’s your turn again and if you’re going to flirt with Joaquin tonight, now is your chance. “You did?” You hum, raising your eyebrows at him. “How much did you miss me?”

Joaquin is pretty sure his brain is short-circuiting. Are you trying to flirt with him? Is that what’s happening right now? He’s no stranger to people flirting with him, especially since becoming the Falcon, but you? The last time you flirted with him was when you were teenagers and you both hadn’t quite figured out what your feelings were yet. 

You can’t be flirting with him, though. You wouldn’t dare – especially since Catalina is your best friend. Joaquin is sure of that. There’s no way you’d even try something with him on the off chance you’d hurt Lina’s feelings. But there’s a look in your eye that Joaquin hasn’t seen there before and if he wasn’t internally panicking so much, he’s pretty sure he’d flirt right back.

“Uh,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, a bit.”

He stands then, taking you off guard, and excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you confused and a little hurt at him brushing you off. Were you that bad at flirting or was he just not interested? 

Lina finishes her turn and comes to take Joaquin’s empty seat beside you. She leans in close so that none of your other friends can hear what she’s saying. “What was that with Joaquin?”

“I tried flirting and he totally shut down,” you admit.

She rests her hand over yours and gives it a reassuring pat. “Remember what I said after the barbecue? About him not being ready for the conversation I wanted to have with him?”

You nod, the night coming back to you as clear as day even though it was a couple of weeks ago now. 

“Give him some time to warm up to the idea,” Lina finishes. 

She stands up and heads back over to her own seat just in time for Joaquin to come back and rejoin the group, sitting beside you again.

There is silence for a few moments as the last member in your team has their go. You’re trying to summon Lina’s confidence again when Alex finishes her turn and tells you that it’s your go again.

You stand, brushing your sweaty palms on the fabric of your jeans as you head to grab your bowling ball. You’re pretty sure it comes across as just trying to dry your hands before bowling, but you know that Joaquin has seen through that when you hear him cheer your name to try and hype you up for your go.

Jack and Alex join in with the cheering and you smile at them all over your shoulder as you walk up to take your turn. You don’t end up hitting a strike like Joaquin, but you do manage to take down a few of the pins and help in getting your team a better score.

As you walk back towards the group once your turn is over, Joaquin is walking towards you to take his own turn. He raises his hand for a high-five, which you give him. 

“Great score,” he grins, grabbing his ball from the machine. “I mean, it’s no strike but it wasn’t terrible.” 

You can’t help but smile at his teasing. Maybe Catalina was right, maybe you did just have to give him time to warm up to it all and you’d just come on too strong earlier. “Are you offering private lessons?” You ask, not intending to flirt but just trying to joke with him. You only realise once the words are out of your mouth that they sound much more like flirting than a joke.

Joaquin looks at you for a moment and then laughs, but you can tell his heart isn’t in it. Your stomach drops. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

He walks away, heading up to take his turn, and you know that you’ve really put your foot in it this time. He’d basically just rejected you. No, I’m not. His words ring out in your mind. You’ve clearly misread the signals and so has Lina. If Joaquin actually really liked you, he surely wouldn’t have brushed you off so strongly. 

Instead of heading back to your own seat, you head over to Lina. She eyes you, a little concerned just based on the look on your face.

“I’m not feeling too good, I think I’m gonna call it a night,” you tell her. “My turns are over anyway, it’s just the rest of the team to go. You can text me and tell me who won.” 

Lina stands up immediately, knowing something is wrong. “You sure? What’s going on? Do you want me to come home with you?” She lowers her voice a little. “What did my brother say?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “I swear. I just feel sick.”

She looks at you for a moment and you can tell that she doesn’t believe a word but thankfully, she agrees to let you go. She walks you to your car and doesn’t leave until you’re in it and out of the parking lot.

–––––

The second Joaquin sits in the passenger seat of Lina’s car, he regrets not driving himself to Ten Pin Bowling. The game is over and your friends have all gone home. Joaquin’s team won, mostly owing to him throwing two strikes in his last two games, but he never really felt up to celebrating the victory once you went home.

It’s silent until Lina pulls the car out onto the road. 

“So, do you think you’re too good for her now that you’re the Falcon or something?” Lina says, completely out of left field. “Cause it’s my job as your sister to humble you and believe me, I will.”

Joaquin’s jaw drops. “What the– Lina, I’m so lost here.”

She glances across at him before looking back at the road. If she looks at him too much, she knows she’ll get distracted arguing, and she is driving a car at the moment. That still has to be her main focus, even if she’s busy yelling at her brother.

“Why are you fucking things up with my best friend?” Lina is basically shooting daggers out of her eyes at him. “I’ve known that you’ve had the hots for her since you were like fifteen, Quin! So, why, after she shows an interest in you, are you brushing her off?!”

Joaquin is completely lost for words. His sister knows that he likes you? She’s aware that you were flirting with him tonight? He feels like he’s missing out on a lot of crucial information right now.

“Because she’s your best friend!” Joaquin replies, defensive. “Are you telling me that you want me to get together with her? Did you get hit in the head by a bowling ball tonight?”

Lina lets out a groan as she pulls up at a red light. “Ay dios mío, Joaquin.” 

He stares at her, confused by how annoyed she is. Does she not care that he likes you? But why wouldn’t she – as a teenager she’d told him on more than one occasion that you were her friend and that he wasn’t allowed to even consider stealing you from her. Why, as an adult, would she allow him to basically do that very thing? 

“Lina, would you please tell me what’s going on?”

She turns to look at him and he’s already a little afraid just based off of the look on her face. Catalina never looks at him like that. It’s the exact same look of wrath that Marcos had referenced at the barbecue a few weeks ago, the one he’d said no one wanted to deal with. And here he was, the very subject of it.

“She was flirting with you at the bowling alley tonight, Quin,” Lina sighs, clearly already exhausted from this conversation. “You’re the reason that she left early. You must’ve said or done something that hurt her feelings. She didn’t say anything to me, but she’s my best friend. I can tell when she’s lying to me, and she was.”

Lina looks back at the road as the light goes green and puts her foot down on the accelerator. She doesn’t say anything else after that, deciding to let her words sink into Joaquin’s mind for a bit.

He was the reason you left early? Admittedly, he had been a little confused as to why you were flirting with him tonight. He probably hadn’t dealt with that in the best way. But hearing you say things like ‘How much did you miss me?’ and ‘Are you offering private lessons?’ in the way that you did had left him all hot under the collar. How else was he supposed to deal with that? 

You’re his older sisters best friend. You’ve been in his life ever since he can really remember. He’s been basically in love with you since you were teenagers, but he’s never let himself even consider the possibility that you weren’t the forbidden fruit Marcos had called you. That all along, Lina actually never cared if he liked you. 

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” He looks over at his sister.

Lina nods. “You did, little brother. You really did.”

–––––

Three days have passed since the failed attempt at flirting at Ten Pin Bowling. You’ve seen Lina, going out for coffee with her twice. But Joaquin hasn’t so much as texted you, so you assume that he’s gone back to work with Captain America and try to get back into your daily routine. 

You misread the signs and that was okay. Or so you’re telling yourself anyway. Even though every time you think about the way that Joaquin had shut you down, your stomach ends up in knots.

It’s late at night and you’re just about to get up from the couch and finally go to bed after staring at the crappy TV programmes for way too long when you hear a knock on your door. 

Stifling a yawn, you head over to the door. You’re so exhausted enough from your long day at work that you don’t even think to look through the peephole on your door before you open it. If you had, you probably would have pretended not to be home.

Because Joaquin Torres stands on the other side of your door.

He’s dressed in dark jeans and a white shirt, his hands tucked into the pockets of the jeans. He has a sheepish look on his face, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking about him turning up here at this time of night, but all you can think about is the fact that he looks good… too good, really.

“Hi,” Joaquin manages.

He sounds nervous, which is strange. Joaquin Torres doesn’t get nervous, not really. He’s the most overconfident person you’ve ever met and you love that about him. You’ve barely ever heard him stutter or stumble over words.

“Hi,” you mutter. “What are you doing here?”

Joaquin is pretty sure he blacked out on his way to your apartment. He remembers getting out of his car, but the walk into the building and the elevator ride up to your floor is all a blur. He’s not sure what he expected to see when you opened the door, but seeing you standing there in your pyjamas, hair out and face make-up free, is not it. You look even more gorgeous than you did at the barbecue. 

“I’m sorry. It’s late,” Joaquin blinks, the fact that you’re in your pyjamas finally hitting him. He’s hit with a memory, then – you’re sixteen years old, staying over at his house for a sleepover. He’s almost fifteen. He walks into the kitchen as you’re getting a glass of water early in the morning and all of sudden you’re whisper-yelling at him to get out, saying something about him not being able to see you when you’re in your pyjamas. He almost laughs at the memory and then composes himself. “Should I go?”

You shake your head. “No, you can come in.” You’re not sure what you’re doing. You’re letting Joaquin into your apartment at 11 o’clock at night? And you’re letting him see you in your pyjamas. Your sixteen year old self would freak. 

Joaquin hesitantly steps into your apartment and closes the door behind himself, then kicks off his shoes. He notices that all your curtains are drawn and the main lights are off, the room only lit up by a few lamps. The TV is still on but the volume is so low he can’t make out what’s being said. 

“You never answered my question,” you state, walking over and leaning against the arm of your couch. Joaquin tries not to look at the way your pyjama shorts rise a little as you sit. 

He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t,” he nods. “I was thinking about that time in my old house where you yelled at me in the kitchen because I wasn’t allowed to see you in pyjamas. And here I am, seeing you in your pyjamas.”

Against your better judgment, a small smile makes its way onto your face. You and him had been thinking about the same thing, then. Funny, how even after all these years, things hadn’t changed in some ways. But in others, everything had. 

“That doesn’t explain your presence today, Joaquin,” you hum, though you’re still smiling a little at the memory. “You said it yourself. It’s late. But you wouldn’t be here without a reason.”

He nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am here for a reason,” he confirms. “I wanted to say sorry about the way I acted at Ten Pin Bowling the other night. You were flirting with me and I got freaked out. Catalina was there and I was worried about what she’d say.”

“It’s okay, Joaquin. You don’t have to apologise. I should be the one saying sorry for flirting with you in the first place,” you shrug. “I misread the signs and I was wrong.”

Joaquin shakes his head and takes a step towards you. “No, don’t apologise either. I, uh… I got yelled at by Lina after we left the bowling alley. She was driving me home and she said some things that I didn’t realise I really needed to hear.” 

Lina had filled you in on the conversation that she’d had with Joaquin on their drive home when you’d had coffee with her two days ago, but she hadn’t told you anything that Joaquin had said. She’d only explained to you that she’d tried to knock some sense into him, but that with Joaquin, it could have all gone in one ear and out the other. 

Clearly, some of it hadn’t gone out the other ear.

“I’m listening.”

Joaquin takes another step towards you and then he begins. 

“I started crushing on you not long before that morning in the kitchen when we were teenagers. I didn’t really realise what the feelings were at the time. All I knew is that I loved whenever you came over to hang out with Catalina and I loved when you both let me hang out with you, too. Then, when you were seventeen you started dating Bobby Hernandez and I discovered what it felt like to be jealous. I was so mad when I found out that Bobby had cheated on you with another girl in your grade that I would have beat him up if Lina hadn’t beaten me to the punch, quite literally.”

Your heart starts beating a little faster in your chest at his words. He’d had a crush on you as a teenager and you had no idea? Even when the only reason you’d started dating Bobby Hernandez was because you were so desperately trying to pretend you didn’t like Joaquin?

“When you and my sister went off to college, that was the hardest part,” he continues. “It was the first time in my life that I was really alone. I had friends, but learning to live without seeing you and Catalina every day was tough. Then, that first summer you came home and you brought your boyfriend home to visit. I remember his name was Seth and every time I saw you with him, it was like I was being punched in the stomach. As much as I wish I didn’t, I remember the name of every guy you brought home. I was trying so hard to pretend like I didn’t care. Catalina apparently saw through me every time.

I remember when I came home after being deployed and I met Gabriel. The first thing that my mom said when I saw her after you’d introduced her was ‘That’s the man our girl is going to marry’ and all I could think about was the fact that it was so wrong. He wasn’t the man you should be marrying. I remember coming around to my sisters house a few years later and letting myself in only to see you in tears on her shoulder. I left before either of you could see that I was there. It’s a good thing I never knew much more about the man other than his name and his job otherwise I probably would have done to him what I wanted to do to Bobby Hernandez, and that probably wouldn’t have gone down well as an adult.”

You have to keep reminding yourself to breathe as you listen to Joaquin talk, but every word he says seems to knock the breath out of you. Every word is as unbelievable as the last. His crush hadn’t just been when you were a teenager. It had lasted through your other relationships, through Gabriel. The man you thought you would marry. And all along, Joaquin had been there, knowing that you wouldn’t because he’d been hoping it was him.

“Why– why did you never say anything?” You ask, even though you already know why.

Joaquin smiles, slightly sadly. “You know why, angel. The one person that ties us together is the one reason neither of us said anything. Hurting Catalina was the last thing either of us ever wanted to do. But…”

“But she’s known all along,” you breathe.

“She’s known all along,” he agrees.

You look at him for a moment, then, noticing the way his eyebrows are drawn together, at the small, sad smile on his face. The way his arms look as they’re crossed over his chest, the way his white shirt accentuates everything you’re trying not to notice. The man in front of you, the one you’ve been in love with all this time, feels the same way about you.

“I only dated the men that I did because I was trying to avoid my feelings for you,” you admit, your voice soft. It’s something you’ve never said out loud before, not even to yourself. Before now, it’s only been a thought in your head, admitted to yourself only.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod. “I really did think I was going to marry Gabriel, though. But I think it’s just because I convinced myself he was what I deserved. In the end, he hurt me just like Bobby Hernandez did. He would’ve deserved what he got if you found him.”

The whole time Joaquin has been talking, he’s slowly been walking closer towards you. Now, he’s so close that you could reach out and touch him. That feeling, the energy that runs between the two of you, you can feel it again now. It usually disappears quickly, but today it lingers as you both look in each others eyes. 

“You still have his address?” Joaquin jokes, lips twitching up into a smile.

You huff out a laugh and roll your eyes. “What, now that you’re the Falcon you think you can just swoop in and kick his ass for me? You don’t have vibranium wings yet, honey.”

He shrugs. “I do have wings, though. I’d be gone for a few days at least, though. You’d have to live without me while I was gone. Do you reckon you could manage that?” He teases.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I might miss you when you’re gone.”

Joaquin takes a step towards you. “Oh, yeah?” He raises his eyebrows. “How much?”

“As much as any girl misses the man she loves.”

Upon hearing your words, Joaquin can’t hold himself back any longer. He closes the gap between you and cups your jaw in one of his hands before leaning down to press his lips to yours. Kissing you is instantly as easy as breathing, like he’s done it a million times before when in reality, this is one kiss over a decade in the making. He feels your hand on his waist, feels the warmth of it through his thin t-shirt, and the sensation urges him to kiss you deeper. His other hand rests on your back, holding you upright so you don’t tip backwards onto the couch as he kisses you.

The feeling of your lips on his is unlike any feeling he knows. Your lips are sweet, owing to the lip balm you’re wearing, and your skin is soft under his. He never wants this moment to end. He’d kiss you forever if it were possible.

But, eventually the two of you have to break apart to breathe and the moment comes to an end. You rest your foreheads against each others as you attempt to catch your breath. Your hand is fisted in his t-shirt and his thumb is swiping gently back and forth over your cheek. 

“So, do you offer private lessons?” You manage to say.

Joaquin laughs, the sound like music to your ears. “That depends,” he replies. “Am I a better kisser than your exes?” 

“I’m not even going to answer that question… just kiss me again.”

“Whatever you want, angel.” 

His lips meet yours again and the sound you make as they do sets Joaquin’s heart alight. His hand grips your back tighter as he feels your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer. Your legs in those tiny pyjama shorts. The pyjamas he wasn’t allowed to see you wearing as a teenager, the ones he’s kissing you senseless in now.

He’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to leave this apartment.

–––––

“Finally,” Lina exclaims, clapping her hands together as she sees you and Joaquin walking into the diner, your hands entwined. 

You and Joaquin share a look, amused, before sliding into the booth opposite Catalina. She looks at you both, eyebrows raised, pressing you both to explain everything to her. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen her since you and Joaquin had finally gotten together. That night had ended up being a particularly long one and Joaquin hadn’t left until the following morning. You’d had a lot of catching up to do, among other things, after discovering you’d been pining for each other for so many years without really realising it. 

“We talked things out,” you state. “I don’t think you’d wanna hear all the details, Lina.” 

Catalina screws her nose up. “Oh, please no. Gross. Don’t even plant images like that in my mind,” she shakes her head. 

Joaquin laughs and strokes his thumb over your hand from where he’s still holding it. “You walked right into that one, Lina.” 

She makes another look of disgust and takes a sip of her drink. “Anyway, moving swiftly on from that… when’s the wedding?”

It’s your turn to laugh, this time, but Lina stays deadly serious as she looks between you both. It’s only when you stop laughing that you realise that she wasn’t asking it as a joke.

“We’ve been officially dating for like four days.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been in love for what, fifteen years? Let’s go, chop chop,” she claps her hands in time with her words. “I want to officially be able to call you my sister.” 

Joaquin chuckles. “You’re part of the reason we’ve wasted those years not being together, Lina. Forgive us if we want to actually date for the first time before the whole marriage thing.”

You squeeze his hand under the table and he turns to look at you, a smile on his face. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, ignoring the sound that Lina makes at the public display of affection. 

He’d almost died a few months ago without knowing your true feelings. You’d both wasted so much time trying to get over the other without knowing. 

Joaquin is going to make sure he never wastes another second with you.

–––––

Joaquín Torres Tag List (Please ask if you'd like to be added!)

@sidkneeeee @dead-inside-but-happy @lay-lay-5 @marchingicenotes7 @phucboy @davinashifts333 @lomlbuckybarnes @laurenjbb @chansburgah @blackwidownat2814 @mischiefmanaged71 @madzlovez @marvelwitchergilmore @brittnicki @rheas-ripley @bcystar @victorsbathroomstall @giona45-5

[aringofsalt]

we're going down, but not today

BUCKTOMMY | G | 824 WORDS | AO3 spec fic for the upcoming two-parter! entirely based on the bts photos. i got to thinking about potential bathena parallels and this happened 💛

The helicopter is so still in the air it looks like it's floating, like the entire world is just as frozen as Buck feels.

"Evan," Tommy's voice crackles softly over the radio. "Evan, I need you to know—"

"No way," Buck interrupts. "You're not doing this to me, Tommy."

He has a brief flash back to September, to the way they'd all told the story of Athena's landing over and over. Of how Bobby had been so, so sure of Athena.

"You tell me in person, okay?" He echoes Bobby's words. "You land that thing, you get the hell out of there, you come back to me, you hear me? You come back and you—you tell me in person." His voice wavers, cracks a little in front of Athena and God and everybody who's listening in on this channel—he doesn't even want to think about how many people are listening in on this goddamn channel—but his eyes never leave the chopper. "You're going to tell me, and I'm going to tell you. Okay?"

There's silence for a moment. Then,

"Copy that, Firefighter Buckley. See you on the other side." Click.

"Buck, I need the radio," Athena says softly. She takes the radio from him with one hand, wraps the other around his bicep and squeezes briefly. Distantly, he can hear her talking, coordinating with Tommy in the air. He doesn't understand a word of it; it all sounds like it's coming through water, all distorted and muffled. His heart is in his throat as the helicopter gets closer, as they're ushered backwards for the bomb squad to get through.

It's a tense few minutes, made worse by the fact that he can see Tommy now, through the windshield. He knows flying isn't easy, but Tommy always made it look easy; now the cracks are showing. But they all do their jobs, and finally, finally, the chopper is on the ground. The minutes it takes for the engine to stop and the blades to stop turning are the longest he's ever felt. Tommy very carefully doesn't look at him the whole time, entirely focused on his job.

It's so fucking hot, now that the danger is past.

By the time Tommy steps out of the cockpit, Buck feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He's forcing himself to stay in place, ignoring Athena's amused smirk, but the second Tommy looks his way, he's done for.

He's halfway across the roof before he's even processed that his feet are moving, and Tommy's just as eager, stepping right around the guy he's been debriefing with. They crash together, wrapping around each other without a care in the world for all the people around them. Buck feels like he could crawl right into Tommy's rib cage and he still wouldn't be close enough. All he can do is cling tighter, bury his nose into Tommy's neck and dig his fingers into the coarse fabric of his flight suit and finally let the tears fall.

He doesn't know how long they stand there, just that by the time they break apart—eyes red and shoulders suspiciously damp—their corner of the roof is pretty much empty. There's some distant murmurs, people milling around the helicopter, but nobody is nearby to watch them press their foreheads together and breathe each other in.

"You said tell me in person," Tommy murmurs into the space between them.

"Well, here we are," Buck murmurs back. "Whatcha got for me, Kinard?"

"Dork," Tommy says fondly, then his face grows serious. "You don't know what you do to me, Evan. I'm not exactly a stranger to the idea of death—you know what that's like, this job. But this time...all I could think about was all the things I never got to tell you. All the time I wasted."

"We wasted," Buck breaks in, because he's not about to let Tommy take all the blame for the time they spent apart. "But that doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't," Tommy agrees. "I'm...I'm done running from you, Evan. I love you—it scares me, honestly, how much. But the idea of being without you..." He takes a deep breath. "That scares me more. I'm so sorry."

"I am too," Buck laughs wetly, fighting down a sob. "God. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I'm never letting you out of my sight again, I hope you realize."

"Deal."

Buck looks up, and Tommy takes his breath away, as always. He's glowing golden in the setting sun, eyes wide, looking at Buck with that same look of fond amazement he always does, like he can't quite believe this is real.

He's missed this. Missed him. And he's waited weeks; he's not waiting another minute. He slides a hand around Tommy's neck, the other around his waist, and tugs him in, and it feels like home.

[sakuraszn]

hey bookie bear I’ve been a silent reader but I just had an idea!!

so here me out on you and fiancé!Bakugo had a plan to “square up” with each other at the alter before the rings are brought down the aisle. Like imagine all the guests laughing in confusion or some being genuinely concerned as to why the bride and groom suddenly squared up at the podium.

lol idk if this made sense but it just came to my brain

-🥭

﹒♡ SQUARE UP, ft. katsuki bakugo

note: hello mlll😚💕!! don’t worry I understand what you meant, hopefully I was able to execute this well for you!

Weddings are supposed to be elegant. Romantic. Sentimental. A once-in-a-lifetime moment filled with love, tears, and gentle smiles.

The grand hall was stunning—white roses, gold accents, and a whole bunch of fancy decorations that probably cost way too much, but you weren’t about to complain. Your friends and family filled the seats, waiting for the big moment.

Apparently, no one told you and Bakugo Katsuki that.

And then—

“Alright. Square up.”

A wave of confusion rippled through the crowd.

Standing at the altar in his crisp black suit, Bakugo loosened his tie, rolling his neck like he was about to go ten rounds in a championship fight. And in front of him? You, standing there in your absolutely drop-dead gorgeous wedding dress, lifting your fists like you were about to make history.

The tension? Immaculate.

The reactions? Priceless.

Kirishima nearly choked on his own spit. “Oh, man. They’re actually doing it.”

Mina gasped, hands over her mouth. “This is the most on-brand thing I’ve ever seen.”

Kaminari, utterly lost, turned to Todoroki. “Wait—this isn’t a normal wedding tradition, right?”

Todoroki, deadpan, replied, “Not unless I missed something in wedding etiquette class.”

Don’t even get started on your mother. She’s in distress. “WHY ARE THEY FIGHTING? THIS IS A CEREMONY, NOT A CAGE MATCH!”

Your father, arms crossed, just shook his head. “I mean… this is kinda how they flirt.”

The priest looked at the two of you, then at his script, then back at you, before sighing in utter defeat. “Should I… continue, or…?”

Bakugo ignored him, his eyes locked onto you. “C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t get cold feet now.”

You scoffed. “Cold feet? Please. I’m just trying to decide if I should humble you now or after the reception.”

His smirk was all sharp edges. “Tch. Try it.”

And just like that—

The moment you took a step forward, Bakugo was already moving, sidestepping with a smoothness that was honestly a little too attractive for a man in a wedding tux. You threw a fake jab, just to mess with him, but he caught your wrist, spun you seamlessly, and then—

He dipped you.

A deep, dramatic, ballroom-style dip, your wedding dress flowing like something out of a fairy tale.

The entire chapel lost their minds.

“A DANCE MOVE FAKE-OUT?!” Kaminari screeched.

Mina wiped a fake tear. “They’re so in sync.”

You, upside down in the dip, burst out laughing. “Alright, alright! You win this round.”

“Tch. I always win,” Bakugo said, but he was grinning, the usual sharpness in his expression softened by pure affection. He pulled you upright, still holding onto you like he had no intention of letting go.

The priest, now sweating profusely, tried again. “So… can we proceed with the vows now?”

Bakugo sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes before lacing his fingers with yours. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with so I can kiss my wife already.”

The guests cheered. The ceremony continued. And for the rest of eternity, people would talk about how that was the day they witnessed the most badass and ridiculously romantic wedding of all time.

2025 © SAKURASZN !

[specialgradefckr]

here, kitty, kitty!

tw: dubcon, hybrid au, reader is literally a pet, loss of bodily autonomy, examination kink, slight medical play, piercings, possession

So, Satoru wants to get a cat hybrid.

Suguru supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Satoru's never hidden his porn history or anything. He's constantly suggesting they find a third, while instantly rejecting all suggestions.

A diva like him couldn't have sex with just anyone. And for Suguru himself, well, he preferred to have a certain level of... control in a relationship.

Which suited Satoru fine, most of the time, and Suguru was willing to concede on the rare occasion.

But Suguru doesn't have cat ears, a tail, and a pussy, and he can even admit that he misses the fairer sex sometimes, too.

They've been together so long, know each other so well. Familiarity breeding boredom, maybe. They're happy together, but Satoru wants more.

He's also incredibly needy, exactly the type of child who would beg mommy and daddy for a pet kitty.

That's also the type of child cats tend to despise. But no matter how many times he tries to explain it - "It's not that simple, Satoru" "A pet is a serious commitment, you know" - Satoru, much like a whining child, just doesn't listen.

And, well, Suguru is getting tired of telling him.

So that's how they end up here - with you.

A beautiful thing. All curled up in the corner of your stall - cage, really. Your ears twitch at the noise, and you look up, wide-eyed and anxious in a way that tugs his heartstrings.

It's truly a pity that you're at a place like this.

The interior is well-decorated, clean, with lush carpets and furnishings. The interior of your cage has a soft-looking blanket bunched up in it, and plush bedding in the back.

But there's no mistaking its purpose. In the background, there are moans, whimpers, and the occasional sob.

Throughout the wide room, a few pets were being taken out, paraded for potential owners. Poked and prodded and played with.

You, like all the others, are completely naked.

These hybrids are for sex.

Suguru had almost wanted to leave right away, but Satoru had been so excited, dragging him in by the hand. "Just look! We only have to look!"

After the assistant, a tall, well-dressed blonde man, guides them to the cat section, he's starting to think this isn't Satoru's first time here.

And that's when they'd found you, the sorry thing that you are.

Something trickles down his spine at the thought that you'll be seen by others, sold off, used for sex at your owner's discretion.

"Ooooh, I love this one!" Satoru sounds excited. "Can we take a closer look?"

Nodding, the assistant unlatches your cage. You look out, carefully, with big wide eyes, and the assistant waves you out, but you don't move.

He goes in with a leather lead, latching it to your collar, tugging until you finally crawl out, ears tilted back as your tail curls around your body.

Suguru accepts the lead in one hand as the man steps out for a moment.

The assistant reappears pushing a cart of what looks like medical instruments. Tongue depressors, stethoscopes... lubricant.

"All our pets are virgins. You aren't permitted to have sex but you're free to examine them however you like."

Suguru stands there, silent and shocked while Satoru gleefully agrees.

With a tap of his hand to your back, the assistant guides you to lean forwards, chest pressed against the floor, ass up, right in the middle of the shop in front of them.

Your tail sways gently, curling around Satoru's hand when he grasps at it, delighted, running his hand through it and down the length of your body.

"She soooo cute! Look at her pretty tail. And that ass." He whistles, smacking you on the flank.

Suguru watches your whole body flinch at the contact, but you stiffen up, staying in position. He feels a weird, light flip in his belly. This sort of thing was crazy to begin with... but wouldn't it be better to adopt you than leave you here?

He can't even see your face, meet your eyes. Something inside him screams to comfort you; gather your smaller figure up tightly in his arms and squeeze.

"It'll be all right," Suguru finds himself saying, effortlessly smooth as he approaches you. Gently petting the side of your head, watching the ear on that side tilt to accommodate him. Cute.

Well. He supposes he's a cat person, too.

Satoru is still cooing and groping over your admittedly fine body. Suguru can't help but notice how you stiffen under Satoru's wandering touch, but lean into his gentle pets.

He kneels by your head so he can scratch behind your ear, catching the side of your pretty face.

You reward his efforts with a slight, barely noticeable purr - one that goes away when you gasp, face flushing.

That'd be Satoru.

"See, look at her getting wet already! I bet she looks real good taking dick." Satoru says with a giggle as he reaches your pussy, giving your clit a little rub and teasing your entrance.

The employee, straight-faced, gestures towards the instruments beside him.

"As I said, our pets are kept as virgins until they're sold, so you can't have sex with them. But any other form of examination is permitted, including penetrative ones."

Satoru gives him that terrible, impish grin. "C'mon Suguru. We should check she's in good health before we get her."

"Who said we're getting her?" Suguru shoots back, stroking tenderly over your head, down your back, in soothing motions.

There's a sparkle in Satoru's eyes; he knows Suguru isn't willing to leave this shelter without you.

Those terrible, wicked, beautiful eyes glance over the instruments, mouth splitting into a grin as he fixes his gaze on one of them.

Pulling out the speculum, Satoru slinks towards your backside. Tracing lines over your folds, fondling your clit with purpose.

"See! Soooo wet," He coos, positioning the speculum at your entrance.

Suguru pulls away from you to sit next to Satoru, "Be careful. That's not a toy."

"I know, I know!"

Satoru's tone isn't exactly reassuring to you. Still, you can't do anything but hold yourself up, your ass and cunt bare and exposed to them as the cool metal slides in.

Just the feeling of it spreading you open has you whimpering, tail curling around your thigh.

Suguru's hand comes to rest at the base of your tail, near your back, petting down it in a gliding motion.

"There's a good girl, hm," His voice has a heady satisfaction to it, fingers curling around your tail, "Just hold still for us, don't be afraid. We won't hurt you."

You can't help your reaction, keening under his soothing, affectionate tone. A little whine escapes you as the cool metal slides deeper in, and Suguru makes an effort to reach down and pet your head again.

"Yeah!" Satoru chirps. "See, it's not so bad!"

Somehow, this, too, fails to reassure you. However, one of his hands sneaks around to rub over your clit, until you're dripping, clenching around the metal instrument.

"Good kitty," Suguru murmurs, and you find a shameful, low rumble building in your belly.

Satoru notices, though, "She likes it!" - to your horror, he slides the speculum all the way in, and starts spreading it - you - wide open.

"Here, Suguru, don't you want a look?" Satoru says, spreading you one-handed. His other hand rubs just close enough to your clit to keep the arousal lit.

"Hm..." Suguru hums.

But Satoru knows him - knows that this is as close to a yes as he can bring himself to admit to an idea he hadn't suggested himself.

You're so cute, too, he can't help but stroke your pretty little folds, all soft and wet for him. Even as he gapes your cunt wide, it's drooling all over his fingers. You're a natural. So perfect~

"Just look!" Excitement shoots through his chest, "You can see inside... that's her cervix, right?"

He does see it, they both do, that tender, reddened roundness at the end of your pretty little passageway. Walls straining against the speculum, a tight little hole winking at them at the very end.

Like a prize. Like an invitation.

It stirs a terrible, primal heat in Suguru's loins. Seeing so deep inside you. So far. You've almost certainly never even seen this part of yourself... it's only for him. For him and Satoru.

For them to see right now. And later, feel it kissing their dicks, hot and wet as you get filled up with their cum...

"God," Satoru says out loud, "I just want to take her here and now, you know? This cute cunt would look so nice all swollen and dripping with cum, yeah? Right, Su-gu-ru~?"

It's so painfully obvious by now; Satoru had already scouted you in this shelter. He'd picked you out on purpose.

Somehow, he's not even upset. But he can't just say that. Even if he's already itching to have you home, with his name on your collar and your leash in his hands, to play with...

"She looks... healthy." Suguru says, glancing at the employee.

The assistant nods shortly. "As you can see, she has a very strong pelvic floor, and she's in prime breeding condition. Our pets are kept in perfect health." 

A pause. "Is she in fit to go home today?" Suguru asks, ignoring how Satoru nearly cheers at the statement.

"All of our pets are. If they weren't completely healthy, they wouldn't be on display. We take their care very seriously here."

Suguru nods again, and the assistant leaves to retrieve the final adoption papers.

Satoru pulls the speculum out, and Suguru takes a moment to press his body into your thigh, supporting you, petting over you.

"You were so good for us," He cooes, "Don't be scared. There's a good girl," Suguru hums as your tail slides against him, "You're coming home with us, now. Aren't you excited?"

There's a terrible relief that pours through you at the words good girl, at the gentleness with which those large hands guide you to a much more comfortable position, sitting at his feet.

You press yourself against his lower legs, looking up at him shyly, feeling a purr glow through your chest as Suguru smiles down at you.

He's so nice. The other man is lecherous, a bit scary, but it'll be okay as long as this nice man is here, right?

It seems almost finished, as the employee returns - but the white-haired man, the extra pretty one, raises a brow at an option on the paperwork.

"Clit piercings?" Satoru's voice seems extra excited, "Is that an option? Instead of the microchip?"

Piercing? You stiffen at the word. To say you didn't like pain would be a dramatic understatement. Just the thought of some needle near your flesh, a hole that won't heal...

Suguru's hand comes down onto your head, running through your hair, brushing all the thoughts away as you lean into his touch.

It's hard not to crave the warmth, the gentleness. You're only a hybrid, after all, bred for companionship and affection.

The employee pauses for a moment sighing, "It's not an option for all pets. It's a clitoral hood piercing, which can house a micro-sized, state of the art gps tracker. The issue is, it requires some delicate handling. You would have to keep her still, and ideally, keep her clit hard, so it's easier to avoid."

Satoru pulls you up into his arms, like you're no lighter than a switch - you yelp, but he just laughs.

He sits back onto a chair, holding you in his lap and spreading your legs. With one hand, larger than your whole pussy, he spreads your lips open, revealing your cunt.

Your feverish eyes look for Suguru, who approaches from the side, squirming in Satrou's lap anxiously.

Those dark eyes run over you, and for once, the look on the handsome, dark-haired man's face makes you shiver.

"That should be easy. You've been playing around it all this time, haven't you, Satoru?" Suguru's tone is half-accusatory, but Satoru only laughs.

It's easy for you to follow the line of his sight to between your legs, right at the crest of your clit, where Satoru's long, clever fingers stroke heavy circles around it.

"Just hold her like that" The assistant states, pulling out a piercing gun, "This will only take a moment."

"Look at her cute little clit!" Satoru snickers, "Gonna look so pretty with the piercing over it. Plus, if she ever gets lost, we'll find her right away!"

You can feel his body better now, pressed up as you are against him. His chest is solid, muscled, and he's wiry but lean behind you as he holds you easily in his grip, locking his legs inside yours.

Your ears tuck down as you squirm nervously, but Satoru's grip holds you tightly in place. The tip of your tail swishes as it winds against Satrou's leg as it presses into yours.

Suguru sits down next to you, one arm wrapping around your back and up over your chest. He presses his cheek to your poor quivering ear, nuzzling into it.

"Mmmh, don't be scared," He hums lowly, a noise like involuntarily relaxes you, "It'll be over quick."

His voice changes, deepening, hardening, and it's like it's coming from someone else entirely when he says - "Satoru. Keep her on the edge, make her cum when it goes in."

A whine escapes you. Goes in? You don't want this.

The assistant's gloved hands nears you as he gets on his knees, sharp eyes darting at your exposed sex, pulling the strange, unfamiliar tool right up to your most vulnerable place.

You whimper, and Suguru kisses your ear, folding it against your head, "Shhh, shhh. Don't be scared. You feel good now, doesn't it?" He says in a voice like honey.

Satoru's fingers dance over your folds. The strokes get shorter and shorter, the bud of your clit swelling up with pleasure and sensitivity alike. Gut churning with arousal, dripping from you, and a rapidly growing anxiety.

"I don't," You say, but your head is already spinning, "I don't, don't, wanna, I don't wanna, please..."

Leaning forward, Suguru tucks some hair behind his ear, showing you his own gauge piercings.

"I have one too, see?" He hums, "Yours will be much smaller, just a little one. It'll barely hurt."

You stare in confusion, tearing up as your own ears flick nervously. He has one too? But this is between your legs!

"No, no no no, please no," You plead with him, "I don't want it, please-"

"Shhhh." Suguru's hand darts up to your mouth, fingers pressing down on your tongue, "Yes you do. You'll love it so much once you have it, don't worry."

He feels silly for trying to explain. That won't calm you down now.

It makes sense that you can't understand. You're just a sweet little kitty, as much as you look like a human, and this is all just scary and uncomfortable for you.

You're a cat hybrid, a domesticated creature. Pets don't have to think about what's best for themselves; their owners do that for them.

He feels your rough tongue squirming against his fingers, drool pooling around them.

It makes him lick his own lips. His pants are tight. He wouldn't be surprised if Satoru hadn't already -

"Hnngh... yeah, kitty, you'll love it," Satoru pants, grinding up against your ass, making you whimper even more.

Suguru lays another heavy kiss on your ear, "Shh, shh. Hold still, kitty, you can do that, can't you?"

In the midst of all the pleasure, the quickening strokes that have your core clenching in anticipation. The fingers in your mouth, the iron grip on your hips, your legs, holding you in place, the bodies against you; Suguru's soft voice is your anchor in a sea of overstimulation.

But all you can do is warble, fangs teething against his skin, just barely not breaking through. You tremble at the effort, gnawing at his knuckles, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

"You're so sweet," He croons, "So good for me. There's a good kitty."

His fingertip draws down along your tongue, triggering your reflexes to suckle at it.

"There you go, nice and ready," Suguru coos, stroking your head, "Keep her close, Satoru."

With one large hand on your hip, holding you steady, Satoru starts rubbing your clit in sharper, fierce circles, coaxing it to stiffen and peek out further.

The assistant tugs back the delicate skin over your clit, all dripping and swollen. He gives it a quick wipe as he pulls the piercing gun in, making you panic even further.

Suguru pets and kisses as you, squeezing at the tension in your shoulder and your neck, while Satoru rubs just beneath your clit, in hard presses that send pleasure shooting through you.

"Feels good, right?" Satoru pants in your other ear, pinning your hips tightly against him and his throbbing erection, "I'm gonna make you feel even better real soon, kitty."

You sniffle helplessly in his lap, clit throbbing as his fingers work your sensitive nub. It sends you closer and closer to release, a tightening coil of anxiety and pleasure curling in your core.

"Hold still," Suguru murmurs softly, "Be good."

And you try; you try to be good and hold still for Suguru, who pets you and strokes you and says nice things to you. But it's so hard. Every fiber of your being wants to flinch away, and the constant stimulation against your clit is nearly blinding, burning hot arousal searing through you.

You're half-trembling with terror. Heart racing as you stare at the piercing gun sliding into place over your wet, exposed cunt.

"You're being so brave," Suguru whispers, "Such a brave little kitty. Just a little longer."

With a final click, the employee pierces you, sending a sharp jolt of pain through you. You shriek at the sensation, and would have jumped if it weren't for Satoru's iron grasp around you.

But Satoru keeps rubbing, your sensitive bud throbbing with both the effects of his touch, and the pain of the piercing now settled in place just over your clit.

It's all too much, the swell of pleasure building in your core until the pain only adds to the intensity. The dam bursts forth, and you choke on Suguru's fingers as you tense up, breathless, all discomfort melting away in the airy bliss of your climax.

"See," Satoru purrs, arms moving to wrap around your chest and hold you close, "Told you I'd make you feel good."

"That wasn't so bad, was it, kitty?" Suguru lays a kiss against your heated cheek, pulling his saliva-slick fingers out of your mouth so you can pant in the aftermath of your release.

"Look, Suguru~!" Satoru grins, cheeks red, as he taps at your new piercing, "It's so cute!"

Suguru straight up smacks his hand away, muttering some admonishment you don't catch; dimly, you register a wetness against your ass, at the front of his pants.

Panting, sweat-soaked, you slump forward as soon as Satoru's grip on you loosens - but it only tightens right up again, drawing a confused mewl from you as Satoru tugs you up to carry in his arms.

There's more kisses to your head, your ears, your burning hot cheeks. A buzz between your legs so sharp you can't even tell if it hurts or feels good, so you settle for whining whenever you're jostled.

"Be careful with her, Satoru."

"I am, I am - aren't you gonna do the paperwork? I think she needs a little aftercare."

You slump helplessly against Satoru's chest, ears flicking to pick up conversations you're too tired to pay attention to. Tail swaying underneath you, slung over one of Satoru's arms.

"Don't start monopolizing her already. We can do that together once we get home."

"I'm the one who wanted her in the first place!" Satoru whines.

Suguru rolls his eyes, "So you admit you went here without me and picked her out first?"

"But you like her, though," Satoru says, giggling, shifting you carefully in his arms to better support your head.

He looks down at you, curled up in his arms, with a satisfied smile, as the paperwork is signed and they're about to leave.

Aren't you just the cutest little kitty he ever did see?

He just knew Suguru would love you. He's playing it cool, but Satoru knows he can't wait to get you home to dote on you, set up rules and routines. He's probably salivating at the thought.

A pet just for them. Docile and sensitive and fuckable, a loving companion to come home to every day, a toy for them to use together or apart.

Satoru tucks your head against the crook of his neck.

He can't wait to break you in.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM THE "FALL GROCERY SHOPPING IN '99/'00" PLAYLIST ON SPOTIFY *  assorted lines from this incredible playlist i found on spotify. it's so comforting. some lines are slightly reworked to suit a roleplay format, adjust as necessary

you wear those shoes, and i will wear that dress.

kiss me.

we'll take the trail marked on your father's map.

kiss me beneath the milky twilight.

i don't want to wait for our lives to be over.

i want to know right now.

will it be yes, or will it be sorry?

the war he saw lives inside him still.

it's so hard to be gentle and warm.

i want to know right now what it will be.

you're wearing your anguish again.

believe me, i know the feeling.

breathe a little more deeply.

all we have is this very moment.

i want to be here now.

when will they stop?

i believe that fate has brought us here, and we should be together.

my world crumbles when you are not near.

i may seem all right and smile when you leave, but my smiles are just a front.

i need your touch.

there's no easy way out.

love comes to those who believe it.

i don't know what to say.

you're gonna find the way.

i promise i'm not trying to make your life harder.

i'm in love.

i caused nothing but trouble.

i understand if you can't talk to me again.

we all want something beautiful.

i wish i was beautiful.

show me some of that spanish dancing.

believe in me.

she's looking at you.

grey is my favorite color.

just take my hand.

i will protect you.

i will be here. don't you cry.

my arms will hold you.

this bond between us can't be broken.

why can't they understand the way we feel?

they just don't trust what they can't explain.

we're not that different after all.

you must be strong.

i can change.

she doesn't own a dress.

i don't really wanna be the queen.

i don't really wanna live this life.

don't leave me in all this pain.

don't leave me out in the rain.

i need your arms to hold me now.

say you'll love me again.

i cried so many nights.

i will remember you.

you can go. you can start all over again.

maybe someday we'll figure all this out.

give it to me straight.

i don't know him anymore.

i'm all out of faith.

this is how i feel.

i'm cold and i am shamed.

you're a little late.

isn't it ironic?

life has a funny way of sneaking up on you when you think everything's okay.

you're beautiful, that's for sure.

i don't know where my home is.

i don't care who you are.

live while you can.

it might as well be my fault.

god, it's better than nothing.

these are the days you'll remember.

i wish i was your lover.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Haymitch Abernathy & The Dead Donner Girl (Part 2)

Summary: Haymitch is forced to mentor the niece of his former ally, aka the prequel to all things Moves & Countermoves. (Warning: Sunrise on the Reaping spoilers.)

Part 1

Haymitch knows it is bad when he’s summoned by letter to the Capitol, the week before Y/N’s victory tour. He knows it is worse when Snow wants to recap her interview following the games.

“Well I didn’t win because I was the smartest, or the strongest, or even because I deserved it the most.”

“Then how did you do it, Y/N?” Caesar leans in, “we’re all dying to know.”

“I won because someone loved me.”

“Aww.” The audience coos.

“Tyson was more than my ally, he was my friend. He protected me. He deserves to be here today, not me.”

“I don’t know how true that is,” Caesar says.

“I think if we all loved each other; everyone in the districts and everyone in the Capitol, maybe we wouldn’t need the games to remind us of the rebellion. If we all love each other, why would anyone rebel?”

“How sweet,” Caesar holds a hand to his heart. “What a sweet girl.”

The audience roars with applause.

“I have no idea what the future holds, for any of us. But I would very much like to be your friend.” Caesar tells her.

Y/N smiles and nods, extending her hand to him. “Of course.”

“She wants to end the games.” Snow tuts, “didn’t you warn her what a careless mouth could do?”

“I haven’t spoken to her,” Haymitch admits. “I’ll get her under control before the tour.”

The man hums. “I’m not sure you can.”

“All I’m asking for is a chance.”

At this the older man smirks. “If I grant you the opportunity to correct her behavior, what are you willing to give me in return?”

“Anything.” Haymitch decides.

“Does loyalty to your former ally run so deep that you would do anything to save a girl you can’t even bear the sight of, simply because she is her kin?” President Snow cocks his head to the side.

“I guess it does.” It’s all for you, sis.

Coriolanus steeples his hands on the desk before him. “A car will be sent for you this evening, I have something special in mind for your retribution. Be sure to wear something nice.”

“Nice?” You want me to dress up to be tortured?

“Suit and tie,” Snow nods.

“Fine, alright.” Haymitch agrees.

“And moving forward, do keep her contained. I know you’d hate for her to join you.”

Haymitch purses his lips, where the hell are you sending me?

————————————————————————

“Man, I wish you had to do this instead of me.” Y/N laments, arranging flowers against Tyson’s headstone.

“Little girl, there’s a train rollin’ in for you.” Tyson’s mother, Cherry reminds her.

“I’m aware.” Y/N sighs, turning to face the woman.

“You be good now, ya hear? Remember who you are.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cherry.”

“That’s Ma to you.” The woman taps her chin, affectionately. Tears welling up in her eyes.

“Yes, Ma.” Y/N forces a smile. She can’t cry now or she’ll never stop.

“Wish we coulda met you different, but I’m glad to know you all the same.”

Y/N allows herself to be pulled in for a chaste hug. “Me too.”

“Make us proud.” Make our boy proud.

“I will.” Y/N takes off, out the side gate. Purposely skirting Tyson’s father, Tucker, and his siblings, in an attempt to keep her composure. Racing home to her house in Victor’s Village.

Haymitch is back. The lights in his house are on next door.

She wonders where he ran off to, but Haymitch never tells her anything. Still she pushes through the open door of his house. “Knock, knock.”

No answer. She finds her mentor passed out on the dining room table. “Haymitch, it’s tour day.” Again nothing, he doesn’t even stir. Hesitantly, she reaches for his shoulder, giving it a jostle.

“AHHHHHHH!” The man springs to his feet, knife at the ready.

“Haymitch,” Y/N holds up her hands, “it’s just me.”

“Why are you here?” He blinks rapidly, attempting to settle his nerves. He’s not in the arena, not in that house in the Capitol where he had to-

“It’s tour day.” She reminds him, before turning on her heel to leave.

“Wait.” Haymitch calls after her, “wait.”

“Yeah?”

“You need to be careful.”

“Careful how?” Y/N asks, “I’m not kissing Snow’s ass in front of the people whose kids he just killed.”

“That’s exactly what you’re gonna do.”

“You want me to sell out?”

Haymitch slams his fist against the table. “People are going to die. If you say the wrong thing, people are going to die.”

“Haymitch, they believe in what I’m saying about the games. They-”

“Aren’t going to stand between you and Snow if it comes to that. Nobody is gonna do that but me!” That’s never been more clear.

“I never asked you to!” Y/N shouts back, “I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to you.”

“And you think it was my dream to become responsible for you? Whether you live or die? You think I want that on me?”

“Then let the peacekeepers take me off your hands. A public execution ought to be enough to stop whatever I’ve started.”

“I made a promise!” Haymitch snaps. “I promised Maysilee that I would take care of her family. Bang up job I’m doing, already lost Merrilee.”

A promise like that is something Y/N understands very well. “That wasn’t your fault, what happened to her.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was.” Haymitch digs the soles of his hands into his tired eyes.

The silence hangs heavy between them.

“Look, I won’t say anything reckless.” Y/N whispers, “just stop blaming yourself. You tried your best to keep your promise, Maysilee would understand.”

————————————————————————

Vanity arrives, zipping her victor into a lime green dress with feathers around the neckline and wrists. When she is deemed camera ready, Y/N is escorted to the stage in front of the justice building. Y/N bounces into view, clutching what appears to be cards in her hand.

President Snow shifts in his seat, waiting for a proper performance.

The victor finds the cameras, waving them closer with a smile.

What’s your play? Coriolanus leans toward the projection.

The shot tightens to the words scrawled on her index card. ‘I’m sorry! I lost my voice.’

Y/N taps her throat for emphasis.

You

little

shit.

———————————————————————-

President Snow sends a doctor to assess Y/N in district eleven.

“Her throat is raw and her vocal cords are inflamed, other than that she appears healthy. It’ll be at least a week before she can speak again.”

What have you done?

The tour must go on. Without a voice booming from the microphone, the fallen tributes from each district are able to speak for themselves. With no sweet words to sugarcoat and glorify their crimes, the Capitol is forced to own what they’ve done. After all, how can she say the wrong thing if she says nothing at all?

Y/N grins and waves, blowing kisses to the crowd and paying special attention to the cameras.

Haymitch says nothing about her antics, all he can do is sell the lie. But in this lie, there is some truth. Y/N cannot speak. Not in any meaningful way, not in the only way she would.

Punishment for this act will surely come, but for now she is free.

Miraculously, Y/N’s voice returns just in time for her tour to end, in the heart of the Capitol. The audience for Caesar Flickerman’s show is packed full, practically overflowing into the aisles.

“It is such a pity that you didn’t get to speak in any of the districts. I, for one, was eager to hear your speeches.”

Y/N makes a show of unwrapping her cough drop and popping it into her mouth. “Well Caesar, laryngitis is no joke. If I could have spoken, you know I would have.”

“Of course, of course.” Caesar smiles, “we are so happy that your voice has returned in time to see us all here tonight.”

“No place I’d rather be,” Y/N tells him.

————————————————————————

Two years pass and Haymitch does not speak to her, the girl whose noose hangs around his neck, in lieu of her own. Mercifully she leaves him alone.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

The pounding on his door alerts Haymitch to the fact that the dead Donner girl is back with a vengeance. Only she would dare to visit him on his birthday. His eyes remain cast downward, looking anywhere but at her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m hoping you can.”

She sounds different. Older.

Curiosity gets the best of him and he looks at her, for the very first time. Because she has outgrown her nickname, too old and too alive to be the ‘dead Donner girl.’

This is the girl the Capitol can’t wait to get their hands on? This is the girl men fall to their knees for? Who he’s spent the past three years in servitude to? This is Y/N? “I imagined you’d be different.”

Y/N crosses both arms over her chest, “that’s what eyes are for.”

Pain in my ass. “What do you want?”

“You, actually.” Y/N informs him, “come mentor with me.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Haymitch can’t help but laugh.

“Because I need you.”

“Laying it on thick there.”

“And,” Y/N raises her brows, “because you’re one of the few people I can trust.”

Haymitch shifts between feet, uncomfortably.

“Allies?” The girl offers, holding out her hand.

Haymitch sighs, looking up towards the sky. For you, sis. “Don’t make me regret this.”

[bellfilmz]

𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚, 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭?

Drew starkey x interviewer!reader blurb

The energy at the movie premiere was electric—bright lights, flashing cameras, and a sea of fans lined up behind barricades, screaming for their favorite stars. You adjusted the mic in your hand, taking a deep breath. This was one of your biggest opportunities yet—an exclusive interview with Drew Starkey, the star of the night.

You had prepared questions, rehearsed in the mirror, and promised yourself you wouldn’t let nerves get the best of you. But as Drew approached, looking impossibly good in a tailored suit, that promise wavered just a little.

“Hi, Drew. It’s so great to meet you,” you said, offering a professional smile as he stepped up to your interview spot.

“Great to meet you too,” he replied, flashing a dimpled grin that could make anyone weak in the knees. “And I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?”

“No, this is my first big premiere as an interviewer,” you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Well, then I’m honored to be your first.” His voice was smooth, teasing, and just suggestive enough to make your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, willing yourself to focus. “So, tell me about the film. What drew you to this role?”

Drew smirked slightly at the way you rushed past his comment, but he played along. “You know, I love a good challenge. This character was layered with flaws but complex. Kind of like me.” His eyes flickered with amusement as he waited for your reaction.

You bit your lip, forcing a neutral nod. “Right. And what was the most difficult part of filming?”

“Staying in character.” He tilted his head, eyes scanning your face. “Especially when there were distractions on set.”

“Distractions?”

He shrugged, but his gaze remained locked on yours. “Yeah, you know. Things that catch your attention and make it hard to focus.” His smirk deepened. “Kind of like what’s happening right now.”

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second. You had interviewed actors before, but none had looked at you like that—like they were enjoying watching you try not to blush.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I’m just doing my job, Drew.”

“Of course,” he said, leaning in just slightly, voice lowering. “But I think you might be enjoying it a little, too.”

Your professional facade was hanging on by a thread, but you refused to let him win. With a composed smile, you straightened your shoulders. “Last question, what do you hope audiences take away from this film?”

Drew studied you for a beat before answering, as if deciding whether to keep teasing or let you off the hook. “I hope they connect with it,” he finally said, his tone softer now. “That it makes them feel something real.”

You nodded, satisfied with the answer and relieved the interview was back on track. “Well, thank you, Drew. Enjoy your premiere.”

“Thanks,” he said, but before he stepped away, he leaned in just enough for you to hear him over the noise of the crowd. “Maybe I’ll see you at the after-party? Strictly professional, of course.”

Your pulse skipped. You didn’t trust yourself to answer, so you just gave him a polite smile.

Drew Starkey was dangerous. And you were in trouble.

𝐀/𝐍: here’s a blurb while I edit part five of out of your league but it should be posted Saturday.

[deadboyfriendd]

The Holy Shape Becomes a Devil, Best.

Summary: When he returned to the inside of the sheriff’s depot, he could not help but spare himself a single glance at you. From where he could see a sliver of your face, the part that was not tucked away within the cell of your folded arms, you looked like Nellie. If you had been strangers and he saw you in passing, he would have assumed you were sisters. 

Though, he does not feel as though he could love you, not in the way he will not allow himself to love Nellie.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Sheriff/Wyatt Earp!Steve Harrington x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, death of a spouse, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, feminine rage embodied (I couldn't give her a gun this time because, if I did, everyone would be dead), discussion of The Civil War and the politics that came from it, period appropirate racism (namely against Native Americans during the conflicts in Mexico from 1850-1870), suicide, gun violence, death, blood, gore, botflies, mentions of parental abuse, a nod to the Yellowstone spin-off 1883

My Content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 5.2k

Find the series masterlist here!

"What art thou, Faustus, but a man condemned to die? Thy fatal time doth draw to final end; Despair doth drive distrust unto my thoughts: Confound these passions with a quiet sleep." Christopher Marlowe, Faustus

Nellie, 

I’m afraid the circumstances of your cousin’s stay have changed. The tenants are not producing enough sorghum and cotton to keep their children fed, much less my house standing. I do not have the means to keep my ten hired men or the provisions to provide an adequate dowry for my daughters. 

We had been lucky with William, lucky that his family had their stakes buried deep in Wells Fargo and Union Pacific to be enough to provide for her, but now, with no legally binding marriage, she cannot be claimed as his widow, and she cannot establish the rights to their wealth. She has nothing. 

Whether my daughter may believe it or not, you are both the mirror images of your mothers and, in turn, each other. I only wish that you had not lost them so early. You have been woven and mended from the cloth of generations of women much like yourselves, and now you find yourselves joined in death. I am sending her to you out of my desire for nearness when her mother passed, and I believe that, despite herself, she craves that same nearness– and I think that you may be the one best suited to give that to her. 

I do not believe it will be easy- the throes of death never are- but I fear that you may have something to offer her in ways that I cannot. She has become stagnant, much like the marshes that surround our lands, and she, too, is as wild as the West. Please ensure her safety if you cannot ensure her well-being. 

You went west to disappear, Nellie, and, even though she might not have forgiven you, she needs to disappear, too. 

Regards, 

Uncle Ned

+

Steve had seen battlefields less stagnant than this. 

Even the chatter of Faro and early bargoers had succumbed to the brass band crescendo that filled these walls just steps above the main floor, insults and accusations disrupting the air. Clips of conversations and remnants of family ties tilled up and exhumed from the soil of years past. They hadn’t had it easy, either. 

Steve lifted his gaze from where it was affixed to the polished wood of the bartop, meeting Eddie’s wide, owlish stare. He lifted his eyebrows at him in question, and he shrugged back. A “let them work it out,” said silently across the palpable tension in the room where the others sat. 

Steve tried to imagine the hurt from either side, the stinging wounds of your accusation licked clean by the ache of Nellie’s abandonment. He hadn’t known that Nellie had a family until her Uncle Ned had begun to write–until you stepped into the light, a strange genesis for him to come to terms with. 

All of this had been strange to him, he hadn’t had a family to compare it to. At least, in the traditional sense. A mother lost to the black death of childbed, a father succumbed to laudanum and drink. Steve had, in the familial sense, been alone for as long as he could fathom, had known the embrace of hot sand in Mexico, and had only known the comfort of being alive another day.

Zacatecas, 1870

Like flies, the bodies dropped, though he still waited. Twenty-five per scalp. Up to fifty if it's one of them big fuckers. The promises they had been given at the border died on the tongues of the skeletal Mexican army. They were no match for the Comanches in number or combat. One by one, they were massacred in a spray of blood and violence, some scalped alive, some killed outright. The boy hoped they’d kill him outright. 

But even the promise of twenty-five whole dollars– more money than the boy had ever held in his two god-given hands- could not coax him from the creosote, its sticky sweetness deriving nausea from the cavernous depths of him even as an adult. He remembered the way the petrichor mixed with the metallic sting of iron and then the rot, the way it coagulated from the sprayed blood of the Mexican army by the hands of the Comanche. The whistling screams of pain and death turned to the hum of flies, and that metallic warmness dripped down onto him in syrupy congealed horror. 

It was days that the boy sat there, long, droning days. He thought of death then, in all of the sickest ways a boy could conceive. If not by Comanche, then by infection. Then starvation or thirst. Then exposure. His mind had landed on botfly, long, droning hums of a bug too deep to dig out, being eaten from the sinuses inwards until his head had become a hole. 

When the Comanche man found him, heavy feet reverberating against sand in a funeral procession of one, his body had not been able to tremble. He stared into the sullen eyes of that hardened man. He could not draw his weapon, he could not do anything other than stare. 

And the man stared back, haughty and stoic and terrifying as his gaze fixed down a strong nose at the shriveled creature before him. 

He lifted his head, the sand sticking to his burnt, leathery skin, and tried to speak. Nothing but a hoarse whisper escaped– and yet the man still stared. For hours, he felt, they stared like this, waged a war between gazes, and walked the line between life and death. The boy had not known how to pray, but he did anyway– searched for God in the eyes of the godless– that it would be a swift and painless end. He dug through that whirling blackness of eternal oblivion, fearing a botfly eating through his sinus cavities that leaked where tears could not well. 

That day, he wondered if he had seen God, if that Comanche man had been some divine test, if God himself had walked in the shoes of the thing he feared most. He had stared into the eyes of his creator and found nothing. 

Steve did not know if he had granted him a kindness by letting him live. In the days that followed, he was sure it wasn’t. 

+

The clattering of metal and the shrill tincture of breaking glass returned him to The Whispering Sands– pulled him out from the clay floor of the first house he could reach in the Mexican village, pulled him from the repugnant sting of water and lye as they washed his burns clean of death. For a split second, he hung in the air between two realms, remembered the way the water ran red with blood, that crimson glycerine clinging to his hair and hardening against his scalp, the way the woman had gagged as she pulled the maggots from him. In that moment, he had cursed the Comanche for not killing him, too. 

“Like two spitting mares.” Eddie managed, watching the doors to the private stairwell swing open and slam against the wall, dust and shrapnel raining down in a blizzard of hurt feelings and resonant anger. 

You emerged from behind them a monarch, stewing in your own misery, a whirlwind of cream-colored linens and stomping boots hollow against the polished floors. Steve did not placate this anger within you; his memories of you were reduced to flowery, ornate lettering and solemn recounts of love and loss. He didn’t think you capable of rage like this, but he also didn’t take the world as cruel as it was.  

“Where are you going?” He asked before he can stop himself.

“Out.” You didn’t spare him a second glance, didn’t offer him that pain. He wonders if you are doing him a kindness by sparing him from your wrath, but the coldness with which you offer him this is enough to make even Eddie recoil. 

In your rage, you stirred the stagnant air, a wave of it traveling over his face and taking hold of his senses, the scent of overturned earth and marjoram clinging to his brain. You have not yet been tanned and dried by this place, the moisture of Louisiana still clinging to the last hopes of life within you. He thinks of his wife then, allows himself the rare moment of reprieve 

He only spared himself glimpses of her, lets them take side saddle in his brain to enjoy as rare delicacies when he loses control. Golden sparkling sunlight trailed over dark auburn hair, a flash of teeth so bright it was blinding. You hadn’t smiled yet here, not for him.  

Nellie descended the stairs as soon as the glass rattled in the front door with more tact, but looking slightly more bothered and slightly less angry. While the few other patrons averted their gazes, Steve and Eddie looked to her, Eddie’s brow raised in questioning. She turns to brush her skirts, settling pleats and brushing the conversation from her clothes. 

“I hope she wanders off into the desert,” She lamented, woefully, which proved to be enough of an answer for Eddie, “but then Uncle Ned may have to kill me.”

“If you don’t kill each other first.” Eddie nodded, peering out the window in the direction you had gone, the dust already settled in the wake of your wrath. 

“That is right, Edward, if we don’t kill each other first.” 

+

The Crystal Palace was a high-class bar, far nicer than The Sands, and perhaps even the ritzy in-house saloon at The Grand Hotel, three grand arches framing the bartop creating an opulent backdrop in which you sat. This was just the kind of place he’d picture you in, rich and sparkling, the perfect burial ground for the girl from the letters. 

Crystal teardrops refracted warm light from above, where he could envision it warming the arch of your cheekbones as you bat pretty eyelashes at silver-haired men who would spare no expense for your imported whiskey and authentic Parisian linens. He would watch you in the mirror, the way your lashes kiss the apples of your cheeks, and the perpetual curve of your lips until you’d catch him and watch back. Not directly at him, no, that was too confrontational for a woman as soft as you. Instead, kind eyes would hold his gaze in the mirror, longing for him and only him. 

He thought of your skirts draping over your legs, swinging in off-beats to the way you kick your legs back and forth, allowing the toe of your boot to bounce against the mahogany, a delicate hand cupping the soft fat of your chin, ruching slightly beneath your fingers as you listen to stories of war and west. 

He would love to savor this image of you in his mind, soft and pliant for his fingers to meld– would love to keep this ornate version of you stowed away in the apothecary of his mind on the shelf beside his wife. But no, you were not kind, and you would not allow him this kindness. 

Instead, he finds you leaning back, legs extended and crossed beneath the velvet kidney table stowed on the opposite side of the room, the pile of your provisions stacked in gold and silver and paper glittering in the warm light of those crystal teardrops. Two fingers of golden liquid sit in a crystal glass in front of you, and, by the gazes surrounding you, both intrigued and lustful, he knows you didn’t pay for it. 

The cartilage of his elbow rolled over itself when he placed it against the chair next to you, the other men around the table pausing their games and banter, “Now what kind of business does a woman like you have in a place like this?”

“Now, what exactly kind of woman am I, sheriff?” Your voice deepened and your eyes narrowed, much like the hiss and rattle of a snake in warning. 

“I believe I asked you a question.”

“Money business.” Your tone was gangrenous, full of rot and dripping with tar– the palpable tension could be scooped with a spoon, “Now I believe I asked you a question, too.” 

“I’d beg your pardon?”

Steve had been in gunfights less stagnant than this– had stood face to face with a barrel, and, somehow, it had made him less uneasy. 

Abilene, 1882

Steve had never faltered when the Comanches had shown no mercy on the villages surrounding Zacatecas, when they scalped the Mexican women and burned their children. But somehow, some way, seeing a white man drive his hatchet through a white woman seemed more harsh, more barbaric. 

He knew there was no difference. The killer had killed, and the dying had died. The dying had died more and more every day since El Paso. But something about it felt too personal, something about it looked too much like him. 

She had not been older than sixteen, still a child in her own regard, not much younger than himself at that point, a round face and wide eyes set hardened like stone under the iron fist of her mother. He had watched her slap another girl into submission for disrespecting her mother. But no amount of discipline could save her daughter when those bandits came around. 

Her daughter’s face hardened into a scream as she died, eyes still wide, set blank with death.

When the cattle drovers guiding them west had come back around, they had counted eighteen dead. The highest count since they crossed the river. The Germans could not swim, and none of them could have learned in time. The water had proven to be a killer, with cholera and drownings claiming twenty-two in the last week. Their group of seventy was quickly dwindling. None of them would make it West. 

They continued, just a day’s walk to Abilene, the Germans dragging their feet behind them in a droving funeral march, a cloud of dust looming over them like the devil himself. 

The mother had chosen to stay, and he stood behind her, staring outward in the same direction, watching the water crash over rocks and swirl back around again. He knew what she thought. He would not be the one to stop her. 

Drowning seemed an awful death. He knew as well as anyone how hard the body fought to live, even when the soul had wanted to die. 

“I have had seven children,” She spoke aloud, to him or to God, he would never ask, “and all of them ended up in the dirt, just as this one. Seven times I have kneeled down and I am tired of leaning. Now, I must lie down.” 

There was a split second in which he could see the silver line between life and death, in which he could walk the plane between realms. There reaped a morosity heavy his your heart in the fractions of a second before her life ended, just as there were fractions of seconds as she held her daughter. He assumed it was that way for the other six. It was entirely too familiar to him, and he could crumble under the weight of it all.

He still didn’t know why he gave her his gun, maybe to bring some semblance of peace after using to to murder. Perhaps to suggest something about the duality of man. He buried it there with her, alongside the cattle drovers, and, in turn, left the last piece of Mexico alongside her– the last piece of a family no more. 

 It didn’t matter anyway. The killer had killed, and the dying had died. 

+

Your breath pulled him back from the metallic tang of hot blood and smoke. He remembered that his ears rang with the tenor of your voice and not the high-pitched clack of an army-grade gun anymore.

“What kind of woman do you think I am, sheriff?” You grew impossibly closer. He could feel the heat of angry breath, soft out of your nose as you stilled too impossibly still.  

He didn’t know anymore. His vision of you now dressed in the velvet skirts of a poker table and doused in whiskey perfume. All that was left was to set her ablaze and watch her burn to ash. He tried to match up the woman from the letters, draw parallels, and connect invisible strings between her and you. He searched in your eyes for that softness, sifted through it like silt beneath water, yet he could not find her.  

“A woman whose cousin thinks you walked off into the desert.” It was the safest answer he could muster, and, even then, he thought you would reject this with your same blistering dismissal. 

“I don’t give a kitchen rat’s ass where Nellie thinks I’ve been.” 

He spotted it then, something flickering beneath that blue flame of rage beneath your eyes. This anger had not been for him; this anger was older than that, passed down to you like silver spoons and jewels. 

You were close enough now that he can see it burning between the fibers of your iris, watch the incantation of your words dictate the dilation in your pupils. He could see the reflection of himself in it all. There’s a split second where his resolve begins to crumble.

But Steve knew who he was in this town, and knew who he must be in this moment. Now, he must perform, or disorder would rain down upon this town like hellfire. 

His voice was low and gravelly, building like darkened sky before that flash of light and the inevitable fire that would follow: “Now I’m in here looking for a reason, do you want to give me one?”

He sees it, subtle as it may be. The way you fall back on your heel, shrink, but do not concave. There is a falter in your serpentine warning. A cease to the rattle of the snake. 

“Are you arresting me?” Your voice is quiet to match, though that falter is gone, now. 

“I’m gonna give you two options here, and know that I’m only doing this because I like your cousin a whole awful lot.” He dips further towards you, tobacco and smoke stuck to your skin where he brushed it, “You’re gonna let me take you back to The Whispering Sands, or you’re gonna spend the night in a cell.” 

“I pick the cell.” 

He could not remember the last time he had felt the plush of a woman beneath his fingertips, much less a time when he had to arrest one. He could not recall the niceties and precautions that came with handling them. When he gripped you, he did it roughly, though, you did not squeal or gasp. He watches you falter once more, this time, just a second longer, and, when he looks into the mirror glaze of your eyes again, his father glares back.  

+

You were silent as he walked you back to the sheriff’s depot, watching the people watch you like the setting sun over the valley. An icy stare you had perfected, stay above and look below. 

You caught Nellie from The Sands, the flimsy door smashing against the bell and the subsequent clatter of thin wood against the wall behind it as she runs out, far from her typical stature. 

“Now, where in the hell have you been–”

You tore your arm away from his grip hard enough to leave a trailing bruise across the fat there, and, for a moment, he thought you may have been angry enough to hit Nellie. She must have shared the sentiment because she recoiled violently away from you: “You are not my mother, so quit acting like it.” 

He saw that blue flame again, flickering and roaring and less steady than before. He watched the way it overtook you, in the same way barnfires consumed brush and feed. If this is who that anger was reserved for, then you decided to fully unleash it now. 

Nellie shrunk back. The kind of hurt that was generational, in the same way that your pain was generational.

He tried not to imagine in, but he thought of your mothers in the way he thought of you. Thought of the war and thought of everything that comes with it. Steve had seen war, had known times of violence spurred by rasping, sputtering breaths of peace in between. He didn’t have a mother to return to, the parallel of his wife’s life another rasping, sputtering breath of reprieve in the war he waged within himself. 

You were too drunk to hold a grudge against either of them, settling yourself on the floor as the sheriff sat you on the bench within. You saw the reflection of Nellie in the window and hold tight to that anger, savoring it for tomorrow when you feel more prepared to bare your teeth. 

+

The warmth of day still clung to the stone walls of the sheriff’s depot, hot and rough against Nellie’s back. She had never been a mother, and most likely never would be. If this is how it is, she thought to herself, then thank God I never did. 

Steve met her outside the door as he walked out, taking one last glance behind him to make sure you were going to stay put. 

“What's the price? I think I’m good for it.” Nellie asked, turning her body to face him. Her shoulder still rested against the stone wall, letting the roughened edges dig into the pliant skin there. 

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Steve feigned a smile, more for Nellie’s sake than his own, “You know I’m not gonna charge her.” 

“Maybe you should.” 

“You want me to charge her?” Steve raised his eyebrows at her, folding his arms across his chest, “I didn’t even lock the cell.”

Nellie couldn’t help the soft grin that seeped across her tired face as she leaned forward to peer through the glass window. Sure enough, behind the painted letters against the glass you slept on the floor, head rested on your folded arms against the bench, and the cell door cracked open.  

“Maybe it’ll scare her some,” She shrugged, still watching you, “keep her off the bottle and out of the gambling houses.” 

“Do you think she will? Really?”

“I don’t know who she is anymore.” She sighed, running worn hands over her face, still tacky from the warm day of searching all over town for you, “If she’s anything like her mother, then she could.” 

He wanted to ask, to figure you out. He wanted to read the lines of your story in the way you seemed to read him. You were elusive, a mystery shrouded in parchment and ink, one that exploded in a pilgrimage of question and doubt the second you’d stepped on to the tarmac and wreaked havoc on his life. 

A deep silence settled in; it was never comfortable between him and Nellie when it got like this, even though talking to her had always been easy. He could see the images in her mind, of a world he never knew and the woman she was in the before times. He tried not to dwell on it, tried not to let her see her mirror reflection in him, too. 

But Steve had been in gunfights less stagnant than this. 

Tombstone, 1890

Nellie knew this life was for her, knew she was not born of this place, but instead welcomed it in her heart. He saw the sing of the mourning dove in her heart and the bated heat of the breeze as it exhaled her chest. But, in another life, at another time, she would have been a concert pianist. 

She didn’t speak much of down south, didn’t talk about parents or upbringings, but something in the way she held herself told him all he needed to know. Her back straight and shoulders high, a grace in the way she gazed upon keys. She would have looked like she belonged on the steps of one of those big plantation houses, wrapped in white linen and a humid air. 

The Sands did not have a player piano, instead, when the bar was slow and Nellie didn’t need to be pouring drinks or waiting tables, she played, and Steve allowed himself to picture her then. 

She would have liked Nellie. The only woman in town who could play piano– the only woman he had ever known who had been allowed to learn. She was a tough woman, too, one of the toughest he knew. 

But he would not allow himself the reprieve of loving Nellie, though he could have. She was easy to love, in the same way his wife had been.  But she belonged to Wilhelm, and then she belonged to death. 

There was not a scuffle or a commoition during the raid, at least, not one he could remember. 

He remembered the buildup, the nimbleness of Nellie’s fingers as they danced their nocturne dance. Fortes and fortissimos kissing against ivory and blackness and back again, watched the way her body swayed ever so slightly, as if she felt its vibrations somewhere deeper within herself. 

It was the last time he would hear this Nocturne. 

He let the song bubble, build frameworks of glittering glass around him as he twisted the glass against the bar. He watched the yellow light of evening refract off of its beveled edges and pictured them against the alabaster of her skin, pictured his pink bite against it once more. 

For just one moment, in the song and dance of flesh on ivory, he could reach over that gilded line and touch her hand once more. Could see her face before it rattled with death and see blood rush beneath her skin once more. 

One shot shattered this glass house, dissolved him to pieces and reduced her memory to powder and ash once more. One high pitched clack of a pistol reduced this song to a memory, reduced Nellie to a heap of blood and linens on the floor, where he could not discern the shape of her from the shape of Wilhem. 

He did not hear the second shot, did not have time to reach for his peacemaker or to even see what had happened. Nellie had not allowed him the reprieve of being her savior, did not allow him to step into the place of Wilhelm as he died. He knew then there would be no promises. Nellie could take care of herself. 

“Don’t leave me, please.” Nellie’d begged him, before the coroner came to take the bodies, “Don’t leave me alone.” 

This would be his promise, and this would be his demise. 

“They’ll have to hang me from a fuckin’ tree.” 

+

Steve has a look, one derived from a mother he never knew. Maybe was the air about him but it made Nellie want to confess everything she’d ever done. In another life, he would have been an excellent priest. 

She’d sighed, deeply. The kind of sigh that releases the noxious gas of things unsaid, “I think it’s easier to hate me than to admit we’re the same. I don’t blame her much for that. I hated the world after Wilhelm.”

“I think I did too. After… everything.” He nodded back towards her, looking out into the street where no one but the ghosts of their pasts stirred. 

“Her mother did, too.”

He knew better than to ask, to reopen this old wound, even though it brought him a sick sense of relief to see oozing blood that wasn’t his. To know that others bled in the same way he had. 

“What makes a woman like that, Nellie?” He whispered. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, not when he knew her eyes were wet with tears she would not allow herself. Not when she looked like she’d beg him not to leave again. 

“A woman like elsa’s got a great big hole right in the middle of her. She could never spit or claw or inflict enough pain to ever fill it.” 

“What does she need?”

“Revenge.” 

“For what?”

“Being born.” 

Now, he turned to face her. A single, silver line streaked down her face and cut through the redness and ash there. She had been holding her breath, “Do you think she has that hole, too?”

“No, no I don’t think she’s like that.” She shook her head, thumbs pressing into her tear ducts, “I think she’s got a hole there, too, but I don’t think she was born with it.” 

“Then what does she need?” 

She paused for a moment, weighing actions and answers, “Time. Same as you and same as me.” 

“She’s not like… her–” He couldn’t bring himself to say her name. It made her feel too real again, which made her dead, which made everything he had seen real “ – is she?” 

“No. And she never will be.” 

+

When he returned to the inside of the sheriff’s depot, he could not help but spare himself a single glance at you. From where he could see a sliver of your face, the part that was not tucked away within the cell of your folded arms, you looked like Nellie. If you had been strangers and he saw you in passing, he would have assumed you were sisters. 

Though, he does not feel as though he could love you, not in the way he will not allow himself to love Nellie. 

Instead, he tucks himself into his chair, and slides his hat over his face. 

With one last glace, he cannot help but to sigh. 

“What the hell are we gonna do with you?”

+

Sheriff, 

I do believe that your notions of the woman I am have hindered your perception of who I may be. That holy shape becomes a devil best. 

I am Hell, Sheriff, in all of her fiery fury. I am the heat that reaps over the place in which you live so furious and great that I have no desire to do anything other than exist. Wherever I walk, her wake burns along my path. Soon, I believe, the flame will meet at my heels and I will combust into smoke and ash and be no more. 

This feeling, like wild dogs chained and snarling, pulls at the convexes of my ribs and gnashes its foamy jaw. I am not violent, I do not know why I bite. All I know is that I must. 

I was not born of your land, but I believe I am forged in its fire. I believe I am the anger of my mother hammered into a razored edge and I will cut you if you step too close. I believe that if you are in Hell then that is where I belong. I believe that if there are people to be feared I will walk alongside them, unload the baggage of death on the train, and be its harbinger. 

I think you believe me to be a woman such as my cousin, sheriff, but I am not soft, and I am not kind. I have never had that kind of grace and I will not allow it for myself, now. 

I do not think the Hell that Marlowe described resides in your land, nor do I think it lives in your heart. Hell is where my mother hangs, and Hell is where I belong. 

[stickyspeckledlight]

Tidal Cesspool [Yan!Chrollo x GN!Reader]

Chrollo brings up your favorite literary genre in a typical conversation.

WC: 3.6k

Tags: n0nc0n mention (chrollo hasn't done anything yet, but there's...there's just a VERY brief mention), potentially a bit OOC *sweat*, not beta read whatsoever, borderline crack at the end

Note: Ngl I think there's an ask which covers this crack scenario. However I can’t find it but this silly lil thought was still plaguing me so here we go. If I’m not hallucinating, then don’t fault me for the “plagiarism…on accident [which I will fix immediately]” (Somerton, 2020). IF anyone knows abt such an ask then pls put it in the reblogs. Anyways this wasn't necessary I just wanted to put in a plagiarism joke before the fic starts lel

Anyway here's chrollo being a pretentious shithead who should just go and die or something (ngl sometimes i can't help but think he's shalnark expect he tries to pretend to be a gentleman lol).

enjoy my yandere comedy piece <3 xoxoxoxoxo

There is something inane to the way you stare up at the ceiling. You're sprawled over the couch like a sea star, waiting for the tide to come take you.

However, the air continues to waft over you. Continues to prick at your skin, tangling your hair and stinging your eyes.

But you're stuck to your rock. You can't move from your tide pool to the nearshore, much less the deepest of depths, even if you wanted to.

It's not because of your own attachment to the rock walls, however. Rather...

"Deep in contemplation again, love?"

A hand keeps you pressed and trapped against it; a hand that currently runs down the leather spine of a book that you think he's been going through for about a week. Probably about this or that; but most likely, a word salad of pretentious philosophy he’ll use to justify his usual fatalism and/or the Troupe’s actions. Taking after his name (which you’re convinced he must’ve chosen for himself), he does play the devil’s advocate well; but you’d say his ability to twist words to suit his own needs is much, much more impressive. And annoying. But begrudgingly, impressive all the same.

You only wish you weren’t on the receiving end of it.

Chrollo regards you with a patient smile. Joy doesn’t reach his eyes—even if he was capable of such an emotion, he’s irritatingly good at concealing his emotions—but he can never fully mask the hunger that crinkles his eyes; crinkles, like a wolf’s snout, right before it tears into prey. It's the only reason you believe in his insistence that you're of some interest to him. You don't believe in that interest being 'love,' as he likes to say, but you're wholly assured in being a passing, if not intense, interest. Like being enamored with a new show, movie, or game; for a bit, it'll be all your life is defined by, etched into the sand, but eventually, the tide will come back and wash it away like it was never there in the first place. Only truly precious things can be engraved in rock, after all.

For him, only the Troupe is engraved there. And you'd be a fool to think you would be there, too.

The couch shifts. Chrollo's closer to you, his hand barely a pace away from the edges of your hair. Though it tries to beckon, you only ever feel repulsed by it.

...That said, if you only try to delay the inevitable, the inevitable will become much, much worse. And if he gets in a bad enough mood, he might suction you to his chest come nightfall, rather than his usual trick of the room's temperature coincidentally dropping to where cozying up to his warm body would be nice. Well, nice, if you disregard the fact that it's Chrollo's body, and not someone you actually like.

You roll over with a grimace, looking up at him from where you lay. You don't bother to sit with him eye to eye yet, and soon enough, you look straight ahead. All you see are his legs and the rest of the couch.

"And I thought you were deep into that book," you unenthusiastically respond, tracing patterns into the cushions.

“Quite,” he admits, “But few things match your level of salience.”

Salience? Really? “What’s with you and talking like a book? Talk like a person, please.”

“But you understood what I meant,” he breezily counters, “Seeing as you are my only present company, it follows that in this rhetorical situation, I need only ensure that you understand me, love. And in that, I have succeeded.”

You frown, “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Not this again.” You would normally bury your face in your hands, but given your position, you bury it in the couches. Sure, he’s technically not wrong, but goddamnit if it doesn’t annoy you. You thought hearing stuff like that was far behind you, with the completion of your required writing and communication classes all the way back in college…

“You’re admonishing me, yet here you are taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Says the guy whose last name is a letter off from Lucifer. Shouldn’t you be alight with exuberance?” You suppress a sneer at your own mocking mimicry.

“I never claimed any moral superiority before, though. I’m only stating facts, love,” the book is set down on the couch, next to your head. His hand inches closer. It’s a sign for you to get up.

As you rise, he continues.

“If you have complaints about my language, then you should watch your own…that’s all I’m trying to say, love. I'm not contradicting myself.”

You grumble. “I’m only saying you should talk more…casually. More normally. Swearing is a part of that.”

“Ah, but I am speaking to you like that,” Chrollo tips his head, “Casual and normal are both subjective. No two people will have the same definition of them. My and your speech are wholly normal, both from our perspectives.”

“Not from my perspective. You've always been a weirdo.”

He challenges, “Even if I cared about what was ‘normal’ or not,” his fingers entwine with yours, despite everything, “I wouldn't call your situation...normal. Do you think 'normal' applies here?"

Now he's just deliberately pushing your buttons. Raving on from some weird, philosophical ledge, twisting out technicalities to craft arguments the average sociologist would drool over. Maybe you could appreciate it more if you were the academic type, but you were never really interested in that scene. Most of what those types talk about just seem too abstract, too pedantic (pretentious) to be of any use at all. Whenever you'd overheard some of the sociology majors (either kids with no idea what they wanted to do, or kids with parents too rich to let them fail---though, that's not to discredit the kids with a loose screw or two. You actually like those kids, but those kids also talked normally), you'd end up scoffing to yourself and rolling your eyes. You swear that those kids were doing everything in their power to use as many big, weird nobody-could-find-anywhere-besides-the-annals-of-a-dictionary words as possible to describe something that could be more easily described as "power activate many monkeh brain, so monkeh fight."

It's exhausting, and you want him to stop. At least---at least stop pretending that there's some sort of deep meaning to be twisted from this, and not just what the situation really is: "an obsessive psychopath kidnapped and imprisoned you and is trying to make you obsessive for him too."

"Whatever," you mumble, already drained. It's not a response; your response would've been begrudging agreement, followed by you sulking and him preening (even though he never seems to have to try too hard to win an argument against you; but you think it's just because he likes the overwhelming power and 'superiority' he holds over you).

No, you just want him to shut up. In an ideal world, his mouth is either sewn shut, or its not there at all. Actually, the latter would be truly ideal, because if that were the case, he would've died from dehydration hours after leaving the womb.

But, that's wishful thinking. Even when he has you stuck against sharp rock, he never resists the urge to twist his palm, grinding you impossibly closer to it.

"So you don't care about what's normal or not after all?" Chrollo muses. You bristle as his grip firms up. As you feel sharp rock edge on puncturing your skin. "That's a curious change of heart."

You groan, "Chrollo---" you swear he glows "---it doesn't matter. You can talk like some sort of cult member or something for all I care. Just because I'm annoyed at your weird pretentious hoity toity thing doesn't mean you'll stop it, considering the circumstances." You feel even more heated, and take a deep breath to try and quell it. A bit of shame creeps up your cheeks regardless, though. You're getting worked up for the worst reason. Even if Chrollo egged it on, even if you hate him, even if you're just lonely and want to di---you're getting worked up over so, so, so little. "Just...just chill out or something, man."

(Or is that just his manipulation creeping into your thoughts?)

"But it's indicative all the same," He hums. His smile has dropped, leaving behind the blank expression wholly characteristic of him (the only expression that looks like it belongs). Now, he did little to hide his observation. He prowls out in the open, right below the overhead sun. Perhaps it's a contradiction, given his profession, but you understand it as sheer, almost lackadaisical confidence. "If you're able to drop your conviction so easily, even for something as small as this," his hand raises so he can rest his chin on it, leaning forward in thought. He does not let go of your hand. "Then it stands to reason you could drop the conviction that has you refusing me."

You don't mention Chrollo's many, prior claims that you'd give into him, eventually. There's no need to, because from the look in his eyes, you're both thinking about those exact same claims. A futile pursuit, he called it.

And you know? It's true.

But if you've gone this far with futility, then there's no reason to not indulge in it for as long as you can.

"Just because I get annoyed with your conversational meandering doesn't mean I'll just suddenly get all kissy wissy with you," you snap.

"You're getting caught up on the macroscopic level. Today was just a microscopic display, no?"

Despite yourself, you feel heat returning to your cheeks. To your heart. Your whole body, really.

"As if. There's nothing redeemable about these circumstances."

He'll probably cheekily mention your use of room service, curling into the luxurious bedsheets---things like that. Expected things. Actually, things that have already happened, because he really likes mentioning that. It serves its purpose of pissing you off.

He doesn't say any of that, though.

"Are you sure?" he raises an eyebrow, "I was sure you’d enjoy this kind of situation."

Anger spikes in your heart. You realize in the back of your mind its bait, that he's trying to draw out this exact reaction, but emotion already courses through you. Maybe it's because you're so shocked that he didn't go the route you were expecting---or, or---

"Me? Enjoy?" You bitterly laugh, because what else can you do in front of such sheer audacity? "Wh-what," you sardonically chortle, "The kidnapping? Losing my friends, my family---my life?!" And oh, oh no, tears bead at the edges of your eyes--- "How you---how you force me to be with you, to---to kiss you---" the words are hissed, "just so you don't massacre the people I actually care about?! And---and even then," you swallow a lump, unpleasant scenes of sufferance and cruelty unwillingly passing through your mind, "You'll just kill other people anyway?! Steal, plunder, kill, massacre---" your mouth runs with words now; your mind feels too white, too raging hot to string together coherent sentences---

And Chrollo wears that patient fucking smile.

“Love,” he blinks languidly, fluttering his eyelashes, “Are you sure you aren’t lying to yourself?”

"Why would I be lying?!" You snap. Your hand now has a vice grip on Chrollo's, which he simply responds to by drawing circles on it with his thumb. It only incenses you more. "What, annoyed that I can't be your happy little doll of your fucking fantasies and, and---"

For the first time, a chuckle rumbles in of his chest. Somehow, it makes you freeze. It sends a shudder up your spine, and though you still shake with unreleased anger, it's forcibly tempered. It shouldn't be. Chrollo laughs during your conversations often. Before everything went to hell, he'd laugh with and for you. After everything went to hell, he laughs at you. Nothing boastful, of course; Chrollo's a reserved man to the greatest extreme. But it's always small. A slight rumble through his chest, a huff accompanied by a smile, and a chuckle in his throat. They're much different than the laughs with or for you---sometimes they were chuckles with a smile ear-to-ear, or even boyish giggles---but they ARE the closest thing to 'genuine' you think you'll ever be able to get with him. You hate them, but you've developed some defense mechanisms against them. They don't happen often, but when they do, you tend to be able to largely ignore them.

But what's so different about this laugh? You don't know, but something about it feels meticulous and planned. It feels---

It reminds you of the day he took you. It reminds you of all the times you've unwittingly sprung a trap.

Now that you think about it, Chrollo's smiled more in this conversation then he has in entire weeks.

"You used to ask me what kinds of books I read," Chrollo calmly starts, lifting his head to raise his book up. You did, but ever since that fateful day a few weeks ago, you haven't bothered.

"And?" You spit.

"Aren't you still curious?" There's a twinkle in his eye. It tells you that there's no choice but to be curious.

You don't want to take it. You're not going to give him the clean segway he surely wants. If not, prefers.

"No," you sneer, "I've got no interest in what a murderer likes to read. Like I said, if you want some nice little doll, go somewhere else."

"If I wanted a doll, I'd have killed and displayed you somewhere," he flippantly replies. You don't think he's serious (you think maybe it's a joke, as cruel as it is), but you can't tell at all. "What I want is you."

"Oh, so then, the 'me' you want is one locked up and currently miserable?"

"You catch on quickly," he teases. He chuckles at the glower you give him.

You think you're bleeding from the sharp rock.

"Since we both understand this, then you should know I love nothing more than some conversation, darling," Chrollo sweetly says. Sweetly, as in a weird, perverted approximation of it. You would've fallen for it before, but you don't anymore. Can't, anymore. "You haven't engaged with my interests for a good while. It worries me about the state of our relationship. Don't you think so?"

He delivers the word lightly, like a soft spring breeze, but the subtle threat doesn't go unnoticed. You like you're being plunged into sharp rock directly, now. Like you're being placed on a series of pikes.

"Ok, ok, ok," you breathe---you still want to scream, but maybe Chrollo's patience has started to wear, and maybe if you don't play along with his stupid little game, maybe he'll do something to you you'll really, really hate. Even more than being spooned by him in your sleep. "What are you reading? ...Chrollo."

Chrollo regards the tome in his hands almost tenderly. Almost dearly. Like a treasure. A priceless one, even, and not just something to admire before pawning to the highest bidder.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" He offers it toward your bloody, pinned hands.

You gingerly accept it, and when you do, he finally lets go of your hand. The tide still hasn't come for you.

You start to read. But you quickly notice...perplexing things. The language seems too...too normal, too casual. Not the sort of thing you'd expect to be printed in this sort of fancy leatherbound book. It's not bad, of course. The prose is solid, the imagery magical, and the dialogue vivid; but it's just so...understandable. And familiar, but you can't quite place your finger on it.

Then you come a name, and you swear you've just lost a good 10 years of your life.

“What…” a cold sweat forms on your back. Should you laugh? Should you cry? Should you rage? What are you supposed to do but ask? What CAN you do but ask? When this whole conversation---when you've been put on edge over this fuc---

“Shal has a way of tracking down info even I can't match,” he explains, running his hand over the paper, “Before his help, I never would’ve thought…” his eyes lock onto yours with a devious grin, “You had this…interest. It was a pleasant surprise."

You want to scream. You'd love nothing more than to take his head and slam it into the ground over and over---you'd love nothing more than to scream into the couch and flail your arms and legs with revulsion---you'd love nothing more than to laugh until you're blue and choking.

"H-how," you choke, "The book. And just. This. How'd you---how'd?"

"I went to a bookbinder," he explains. "I'm quite happy with the results. It was worth every single jenny I spent."

Your eyes are wide. "...How long? How long did you know?"

"Long enough."

You're too mortified to be properly offended by the non-answer.

The bastard went to a bookbinder so he could physically behold the copious amounts of yandere fanfiction you consume.

You look over at him helplessly.

"It's a fairly niche genre," he explains, like you aren't currently going through the five stages of grief, "But above all, fascinating."

Someone should just kill you.

"You've been so resistant to loving me because I stole you away. Yet, for years, you've taken escapism in these narratives of the unwilling 'darling' and doting lover."

Doting lover? That's what Chrollo is using to describe the person who imprisons? Who quashes any semblance of individuality out of a person whose only crime was being loved by the wrong person?

The leans in. "Rather than being my fantasy, don't you think you're the one living out a fantasy? I certainly never fantasized about this, at least not until I decided to take you on as my lover."

"N-no," you weakly defend.

"No?" He hums, "But there's everything. You, unsuspecting of a charming man, who eventually betrays your trust to whisk you away. And yes, you fight. But...you aren't truly threatened. You are surrounded by all manner of luxury---even if you say you don't like it."

"Don't tell me you can't differentiate fiction from reality," you stammer. "Why the fuck do you think just because I read about it meant I actually wanted it?"

"I didn't," he admits, "How long do you think I've had this book anyway?"

...A week or so, you think. After he took you. But he could've read a ton beforehand and only had his favorites binded. You just glare up at him in lieu of an answer.

"It doesn't matter," you raise your hands and let them fall unceremoniously, "The fact that you've read all of this makes everything worse. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised given the whole murdering thief thing, but I'll never not be surprised at just how depraved a man you really are."

"Depraved?" He smirks. That's not a good sign. "Darling," he pointedly says, "I'm not sure how much more depraved I can be than someone who gets raped vicariously through transformative fiction."

Humiliation punches you in the gut.

You choke. "If---if you---" you feel heat rise to your eyes, "You don't let me even have silly little secrets," you helplessly breathe, unable to say anything but the first thing that came to your mind when you read that damning name, "You can't let me have anything of my own."

"Not necessarily. You possess a portion of my heart." A lesser half than the one belonging to the Spider, you'd bet.

"And I'd be happy to relinquish it."

"It really does put a lot of things in perspective," Chrollo ignores you, attention turning back to the accursed book you have half a mind to tear, "How, sometimes," his eyes become lidded, "There's a small part of you that wants to give into me."

"Bullshit," you spit, reflexive more than anything, "A bunch of stupid fanfiction doesn't tell you shit about me."

"Clothes maketh the man, as they say. I imagine a similar principle applies to fiction."

"Have you even heard of---" you bite your lip, "Well, sometimes really good people read stuff that isn't deemed good or vice versa. I hear there was an artist who painted lots of cottages, but was a horrid drunk in real life. My favored sorts of stories doesn't inform my desires, and with you, I desire to skedaddle and never see your face ever again."

"Your most common tag is Stockholm Syndrome." He hums. "Say what you will; about the barrier between fiction and reality, but it tells me that, at least, a small part of you is...receptive."

You groan. "You do realize you sound like some weirdo pearl clutcher with that line of logic, right?"

"I'm not speaking in absolutes, love," he preens, "Merely that it's not remiss to consider you have some semblance of an agreeable predisposition to all of this."

"You---you're just," you want to scream, you want to tear out your eyes and ears and--- "fucking delusional and I---"

You don't realize you're heaving until a hand is placed on your shoulder. The ice it sends down your spine is enough to freeze over the fire of rage, embarrassment, and humiliation fueling you.

"Often, when people read," he begins, "They envision themselves as the perspective character while they do so. They try to feel what they do, and think as they do. Given the genre's heavy use of the second-person perspective, it's safe to say you were able to do that with ease."

"So, if that's the case..." he doesn't smile, not anymore, because there's just no need,

"Why don't you start eroding that barrier?"

It's going to be a long time before the tide comes back, you think. Until it does, you've nowhere but this cesspool.

ㅤㅤ Works Cited

Hbomberguy. “Plagiarism and You(Tube).”

Youtube, 2 Dec. 2023, youtu.be/yDp3cB5fHXQ?si=KsUuykgb8Xswn_he. Accessed 26 Mar. 2025.

Somerton, James. “James Somerton Stream .”

Youtube, 11 Dec. 2022, cant.be/botheredto?si=findlinkonwaybackmachine.. (qtd. in. Hbomberguy, Plagiarism and You(Tube)) .

plagarism joke after the fic 🔥

(it'll be off on mobile i think RIP)

im tired so i'll post it but tbh i might go back and edit this fic lmao

[urdreamydoodles]

A Warren Worthington III X gender neutral reader where they’re also a mutant with abilities like Superman? Childhood friends who bond together over having to hide their mutant abilities everyday, the reader loves his wings, they always talk about running away to find a better place for themselves, to finally be free to express themselves away from their strict families and when the day arrives— their first steps into the X-Mansion, they confess their feelings for one another

WHERE THE SKY IS WIDE — A Warren Worthington III One Shot

Pairing: Warren Worthington III (comics) x GenderNeutral!Reader

Description: You are Warren Worthington III's childhood friend, and one day you escape from your prisons together and confess your feelings.

Theme: Pure fluff and comfort

Words: 1700

Reply to anon: OMG yes, my first one shot request! Just so you know my dear readers, my favorite type of request is "one shot". I love my baby boy Warren.

The first time you saw Warren Worthington’s wings, they weren’t bathed in golden light or spread wide in defiance of the world that wanted them hidden. No, they were trembling. Half-open, half-furled, their silken-white feathers shaking in the moonlight, caught between the instinct to stretch and the fear of being seen. You knew that fear well. It sat in your chest like a stone, made your hands curl into fists when you walked through hallways lined with portraits of ancestors who would sooner disown you than see you as you truly were.

You stood there, at the edge of the Worthington estate’s grand garden, the cold biting at your skin, watching him try to fold his wings away as if they were something shameful.

“They’re beautiful,” you had whispered.

He had flinched at the sound of your voice. You had seen the war in his expression, the hesitation before his fingers twitched—then relaxed, as if daring himself to believe you.

“You think so?” His voice had been quiet, uncertain, so very different from the confident, charming mask he wore in school, in public, in the presence of people who only ever saw what he allowed them to see.

“I know so.”

And that was how it started.

●

Years passed, and secrecy became second nature to you both. You grew together in the careful shadows of expectation, your stolen moments carved out between the weight of your families’ demands and the ever-looming threat of discovery. Warren learned to tuck his wings beneath fine-tailored suits, to smile in a way that put people at ease, to pretend he was something softer, something human, something normal.

And you—well, you learned restraint. Learned to pull your strength into yourself, to move carefully, to never let the heat of your power rise too high, lest you accidentally make the world feel as fragile as it was in your hands. You had been made to feel like a monster for as long as you could remember, forced to contain yourself within limits set by those who would never understand you.

Warren understood.

Perhaps that was why you always found yourselves returning to this place—this quiet sanctuary where no one was watching, where the weight of expectations couldn’t reach you. The world outside demanded smallness, demanded obedience, but here, beneath the open sky, it was just the two of you.

“Do you ever think about running?” you asked once, lying in the grass beside him, staring up at the stars as if they held the answer.

Warren huffed a soft laugh. “Every single day.”

“What stops you?”

“The same thing that stops you.” He turned his head then, watching you with those piercing blue eyes, searching for something he already knew was there. “Fear. Obligation. A thousand reasons that shouldn’t matter but do.”

You exhaled, long and slow, feeling the ache of it settle in your chest. “If we left, where would we go?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Anywhere. Somewhere with wide skies and no walls. Somewhere we don’t have to hide.”

It was a foolish dream. You both knew it. But it was yours.

●

The night before Warren was set to leave for one of his father’s business events—a weeklong affair where he would be paraded around like a prized possession, a Worthington heir rather than a person—he found you waiting for him beneath the old oak tree in his backyard. The place you had claimed as your own when you were younger. The place where secrets had been exchanged in whispers and where, for fleeting moments, you had been allowed to be free.

He said nothing as he approached, his wings rustling as he let them stretch slightly, no longer bothering to fold them away in your presence.

You smiled. “Are you ready for a week of pretending?”

“I don’t think I ever stopped,” he admitted, dropping down beside you. “But you? You don’t belong in a cage, you know.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Neither do you.”

Warren looked away. “I think I do. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Something in your chest tightened at the quiet resignation in his voice. You had seen Warren angry, defiant, reckless—but this was different. This was the exhaustion of someone who had spent a lifetime trying to fit himself into a world that had no space for him.

And you—you—understood that feeling better than anyone.

So you moved before you could think, before you could stop yourself, reaching out to brush your fingers against the soft curve of his wing.

Warren inhaled sharply, freezing beneath your touch.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, as if those words unraveled something deep inside him, something that had been held too tightly for too long.

“I know.”

●

The stars were fading into the first blush of dawn when you finally spoke again.

“One day,” you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the quiet rustling of the wind, “we’ll go. We’ll find that place where the sky is wide, where no one can tell us who we’re supposed to be.”

Warren’s fingers curled into the grass, his wings shifting ever so slightly, as if they wanted to lift him away from all of this.

“One day,” he agreed, so soft, so sure.

You didn’t know when that day would come, if it would come at all. But for now, for this moment, it was enough to know that he was beside you. That when the time came, when the weight of this world became too much, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

And maybe—just maybe—that was love, even if neither of you had dared to say it yet.

●

The night you left, the world was silent.

No alarms, no shouts of protest, no final attempts to keep you bound in golden chains. Just the sound of your breath, steady and certain, and the quiet rustling of Warren’s wings as they stretched against the cool night air. You had spoken of this moment for years, whispered it like a sacred promise beneath moonlit skies. And now, here it was—no longer a dream, no longer a fantasy, but something real. Something tangible.

You glanced at Warren as he stood beside you, the dim glow of the streetlights casting his face in sharp relief. There was no hesitation in his expression, no flicker of doubt. He was ready. You both were.

With one last look at the world you were leaving behind, you stepped forward.

And you didn’t look back.

●

The X-Mansion wasn’t what you expected.

You had imagined something grand, something imposing, something that carried the weight of the legends whispered about the X-Men. And in many ways, it was. The sprawling estate, the towering windows, the sheer presence of the place—it all spoke of power, of history, of something greater than yourselves.

But it was also something else. It was warmth. It was home.

The moment you crossed the threshold, a strange kind of peace settled into your bones. Here, Warren didn’t have to hide his wings beneath expensive suits and forced smiles. Here, you didn’t have to cage yourself, didn’t have to measure your every movement for fear of being too much.

For the first time in your life, you could simply be.

Charles Xavier had welcomed you with a knowing smile, his gaze understanding in a way that made your chest ache. “You’ve both been running for a long time,” he had said, his voice kind, unwavering. “Rest. There is no need to run anymore.”

And so you stayed.

●

Days passed in a blur of new faces, new routines, new freedoms that still felt too fragile to be real. You watched Warren shed his old self like a second skin, watched as the weight that had clung to his shoulders for years began to fade. He flew more now—not in secrecy, not in stolen moments of defiance, but freely, openly, the way he was always meant to.

You had never seen anything more beautiful.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found him on the mansion’s rooftop, his wings stretched wide against the fading light. He was lost in thought, the golden glow catching in his hair, painting him in shades of fire and divinity.

You stepped closer, quiet but not unnoticed. Warren turned at the sound of your approach, his lips curving into a soft smile.

“Getting tired of all this yet?” you teased, tilting your head.

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Not even close.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that spoke of years spent knowing one another, of unspoken words that no longer needed to be said. And yet—there was something left. Something unfinished.

You took a breath. “Do you ever think about that night?”

Warren’s gaze flickered to yours, searching, understanding. “Every day.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of it press against your ribs. “We made a promise to each other.”

“I know.” His voice was softer now, like the brush of wind against your skin. “And I meant it.”

The space between you felt impossibly small, charged with something unspoken, something that had always been there, waiting. Your fingers twitched at your sides. His wings shifted, feathers rustling in the quiet.

“I was never running from something,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I was running to something. To you.”

For a moment, there was nothing. Just the sound of the wind, the distant hum of the mansion, the rapid beating of your own heart.

Then Warren moved.

It was slow, deliberate—his hand finding yours, his fingers tangling with your own as if they had always belonged there. His other hand lifted, brushing against your cheek, hesitant but sure.

“You were never alone in that,” he murmured.

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was right. Like the answer to a question you had both been asking for far too long. Like the final piece clicking into place.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “We made it,” he whispered.

You smiled. “We did.”

And for the first time, you believed it.

[ccbb2222]

One Shot: The Richmond Vixen

I have a wine buzz and haven't written in forever. Ted Lasso is renewed for another season and I'm missing these characters so much, I couldn't wait any longer. Please excuse any typos, this is a stream of consciousness. Love you all! Note: This one-shot takes place prior to season 3 (before Ted returns to the States & before Roy and Keeley break up — because if I'm honest, that wrecked me.)

Summary: When Richmond's latest employee gets a makeover from Rebecca and Keeley, Ted finds it hard to keep his eyes off of her...and he's not the only one

Warnings: Body insecurity, minor ED mention, creepy men, jealous/protective Ted

_____________________________________________________________

Three months had passed since your first day working as a Communications Manager at AFC Richmond. While you loved reporting into Higgins, you knew you needed to find some female energy. He was adorable, but he wasn't someone you could share your dating woes with. Needless to say, it didn't take long for you to join the girl gang on their daily lunch breaks. Your dating life was a hot topic for Rebecca and Keeley, namely because the two had relationships of their own. You didn't mind though. Frankly, you needed their input on the string of dates you'd been on, your most recent leaving much to be desired. They loved to give you honest feedback, and joke about the suspected crush Ted had on you. This, to your knowledge, was far from true. He was nice to everyone.

Speaking of — "Hey there, ladies!" Ted greets the three of you from the doorway of Rebecca's office.

"Ted, hey!" You reply, grateful for the reprieve of your latest dating disaster recap. "Whatcha doing up in this neck of the woods?"

He smiles, a faint blush twinging his cheeks, "Oh ya know, just wanted to swing by and say hello to my favorite coworkers." Keeley and Rebecca both glance your way discretely and you promptly ignore them.

"Ted, why are you really here?" Rebecca asks, cutting straight to the chase.

"Right, well," he shakes out his shoulders and stands taller, "I wanted to double check with you on the dress code for tonight. Is this like a suit thing? A golf shirt thing? A toga thing?" He laughs at the end of his joke while you simultaneously snort out your nose.

Clapping a hand over your mouth in embarrassment you just let out a humiliated, "Oh my god." You're met with a chorus of laughter and a stare from Ted that makes you want to melt. It's that soft look he gives, eyes curved around the edges, a smile on his face.

"That was fucking adorable," Keeley says between laughs. "Anyways, Ted." She turns to address him, "I will answer that question given my role as the resident party planner. Please look your sharpest, we will have donors at the event so, dress to impress, yeah?"

"Aw fuck," You say, before looking wide eyed between Keeley and Rebecca. "Sorry. Slipped out. I had no idea this was a, like, fancy thing." Suddenly you're hit with a wave of anxiety. You'd thought you could get by with a casual but professional look. Clearly you'd missed that memo.

"Oh my god." Keeley says, gripping your arm, "This is my moment. I'm going to Princess Diaries you."

"Hey now," Ted points a finger at Keeley, "Miss Thermopolis was perfectly fine the way she was. Frankly that Paolo guy had a bad attitude." Rebecca barks out a laugh, "I have to agree. Plus this case isn't nearly as difficult. I mean, look at her, she's stunning." Rebecca's compliment draws a deep blush to your face.

"I'm not equipped to handle compliments, please stop before my face starts on fire," you moan. You don't miss Ted's soft chuckle from the doorway.

"Oh come ON," Keeley begs, shaking your shoulders as Rebecca laughs besides her. "You always look beautiful babes but please, please let me." You roll your eyes and look exasperatingly at Rebecca for help. She just shrugs in response, a silent communication that you were, in fact, NOT winning this argument.

"Ok FINE. But only because I'm like, two seconds away from spiraling over my lack of outfit options."

"Prin-CESS of Genovia," Ted salutes you as he turns to head back down to the locker room. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One thing you hadn't expected was the wave of dread settling over you as you looked through the racks of dresses. A history of disordered eating left you feeling depleted when it came to body confidence.

Rebecca, ever the intuitive friend, notices first. "It's a lot, I get it. Trust me, do I get it," She huffs out a self deprecating laugh. You nod with a small smile. "You're going to look beautiful in anything you wear. We'll find the perfect dress." It took an hour before you finally found the perfect dress. Pulling back the dressing room curtain, Keeley lets out an excited squeal and Rebecca nods in satisfaction. "Absolutely stunning," she compliments.

You smile at them both, looking in the full length mirror at the short but tasteful little black dress. It clung to your curves in the most flattering way, showing a little cleavage while also being appropriate for a work event. You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt this beautiful.

"Ok Ted is going to lose his fucking shit," Keeley holds both hands up to her cheeks, "And I know you're going to deny that he likes—" "Who said I'm denying anything?" You reply, a newfound confidence in you.

Keeley and Rebecca cause a scene in the dressing room with their loud reactions to your comment. "Fucking YES," Keeley high-fives Rebecca, "Ok put it on my card, we're on a time crunch. We need to do hair and makeup at mine."

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

At eight o'clock on the dot, the three of you (and Roy, your chauffeur for the evening), arrive at the venue. Your stomach flutters at the thought of seeing Ted tonight, and you're suddenly concerned your look is too much.

"Um, Rebecca." You prompt, before opening the car door, "Are you sure this isn't...too much?" You gesture to yourself. Your hair was blown out and styled with loose waves (a la Keeley) and she'd insisted on a "dewey makeup look." Needless to say, it was a lot more than you usually wore, but at the same time, not too over the top. Your mind raced as you tried to fend off the negative self talk encroaching on your evening.

"Love," She takes your hand, holding it in hers, "You are absolutely stunning. Tonight? Tonight you're just an elevated version. The Vixen Version." "THE RICHMOND VIXEN," Keeley shouts excitedly as Roy turns to her with a soft smile.

"Oh, yes, I love that!" Rebecca snaps her fingers, "Now go, I need to witness Ted's reaction." As it turns out, Ted wasn't the only one with a reaction — half the Richmond team also couldn't keep their eyes off of you. "Love, don't take this the wrong way, but you look unbe-fuckin'-lievable." Jamie greets you with his classic smile, and you laugh and roll your eyes.

"Thank you Jamie, you look wonderful yourself." The two of you had a totally platonic friendship. He was not your type, and frankly, you were too tame for him.

"You should dress like that more often." Jan Maas says from beside him, "I think you'd probably have a boyfriend if you did, no?"

You throw your head back in laughter as Jamie shoots him an incredulous look, "What the hell is wrong with you, mate?"

Jan Maas looks confused, as if he didn't insult your daily wardrobe, and you give him a pat on the shoulder, "Maybe you're onto something there."

You take a minute to scan the room, meeting eye contact quickly with Ted, who smiles and sends you a wave.

"I'll be back, boys," You say to Jamie and Jan Maas, heading over towards Ted. You feel his eyes on you, and don't miss how they rake over your body. Your prior insecurities fade as you make your way toward him, his kind eyes making you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Well hi there," He greets, and you give him a quick hug. His hand lingers for a few seconds on your lower back as you pull away.

"Ted, you look nice!" You compliment, taking in his navy suit.

"Oh right back atcha. That dress is —" he stutters over his words, and you smile with a blush staining your cheeks.

"It's courtesy of Keeley," you finish his sentence, sparing him.

He shakes his head with a small smile, "I was gonna say, that dress looks fantastic on you. If it's not too forward of me."

Your heart slams against your chest as you take in his words. Was he...flirting?

"Not too forward at all," You say, staring down at your heels shyly.

"Damn near took out half the team when you walked in here." Ted joked, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh shut up," you smack his arm, face turning even more red.

"Gettin' all red again," He points out, and you could swear you hear him say "Adorable," softly, as if to himself.

"Urgh I know, all the foundation in the world can't cover it." You start to fan at your cheeks, "Stop making me blush on purpose. It's mean."

He smiles, taking a sip of his beer, "I apologize, you're right. I gotta be chivalrous. Say, what do you think about —" A man interrupts Ted and moves in to stand beside you, "Sorry to interrupt, Coach Lasso," He greets, and Ted gives him a curt nod.

The mystery man turns to you and extends his hand, "I don't believe we've met, I'm James Langley, President of the AFC Richmond Board." He smiles at you, his eyes twinkling in a way that doesn't sit well.

You introduce yourself, smiling politely, and nervously run a hand through your hair when he continues to ask you questions as if Ted isn't even there.

You glance sideways at Ted, who is standing by idly with an unimpressed look on his face. You've never seen Ted Lasso regard someone with disdain before, and you'd be lying if you didn't think it was sexy.

"Thank you for supporting the team," You say as the conversation hits a lull, "Ted and I actually need to make some rounds, meet the rest of you generous donors!" You say with a false sense of gratitude. Not that James Langley picked up on it, he was too busy staring at your chest.

"Ted," You say extending your arm to the side as the two of you make a speedy escape.

"Fucking creep," Ted mutters, his hand once again finding your lower back to help guide you through the crowded space.

Once you take refuge on the far side of the room, you let out a laugh, "Didn't realize my eyes relocated to my chest," you comment, shaking your head at James' blatant lack of decorum.

"Ain't right," Ted shakes his head, that same sexy angry look on his face, "What, he thinks just because he gives the club thousands of pounds a year he can stare at you like that?" Your eyes soften as you gently touch his arm, "It's okay Ted," you say.

"No, no it ain't. I'm sorry that you had to endure that. I shoulda done something," He runs his hand frustratedly over his mustache.

"Ok, no it's not okay that he's a total creep. But it's okay now, we're hanging over here," You run your hand up and down his arm gently, trying to ignore the electric current flowing through you as a result.

"Yeah," He nods, his eyes going soft again.

"Plus," You say, grabbing two flutes of champagne off of a passing waiter's tray, "I like hiding in a corner with you." You hand Ted the other flute and the two of you clink them in cheers.

He smiles at you so genuinely it nearly breaks your heart, "Me too." You both stand in silent contentment for a few minutes before Ted clears his throat and looks at you, "So that date you were telling Rebecca and Keeley about before I walked in today..." You groan, "I swear to God, Ted, don't make me relive it." He laughs and shakes his head, "Well, I couldn't help but overhear that he took you to the Crown and Anchor, which is actually my turf." He points to his chest in a joking way.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed. And ain't nobody deserves to have a bad time at the Crown and Anchor." You laugh at that, "I am so sorry to report that was me. I had a bad time at the Crown and Anchor." Ted smiles, looking down at his feet before his eyes meet yours. Suddenly a bit more vulnerable, "How 'bout a redo?"

Your cheeks warm as you consider his words, "A redo?"

He nods, searching your eyes and his mouth lifting up at the corners when he sees a smile overtake your face, "Yeah. You and me, a drink at the Crown and Anchor after this fancy circus is done?"

You take a sip of champagne and pretend to think it over, "Yeah, I think I'd like a redo."

[randomkposts]

E:-Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! Some wrote their thoughts out!!!! K!!!!

THEY WROTE THEIR THOUGHTS ON OUR POST 💕💕💕💕

MORE FEM LIGHT

K:- Eclipse this is! Wow!!

E:- Engagement!!!!

K:- I want to respond!! 

E:- Do it K!! Be friendly kyaaaa

K:- Do it with me! Its a K and Eclipse Post after all!

E:- ! Should I? Ohhh this makes me nervous

K:- Did you want to post it, or should I?

E:- you post it. Everytime I remember the cameras I die a little inside

K:- Moood. 

So Jenne D'Arch seems to be setting it in a more modern time then we were setting it, and leaning a lot more into the christianity religious symbolism that death note borrowed

Or is there more use of christian symbolism in death note than I remember?

E:- Personally I saw it was using symbolism and more aesthetics. Especially concerning the apple and how Light is painted in the official art. I can agree, Light would be filled with a lot of repressed anger. But I can't see her as humble.

K:- They seem to be taking away Lights Narcissism. I don't think thats something that is changed by gender so much as changed in manifestation. 

E:- Btw they did bring up a question for me regarding Light fangirling over L, (again hard to see) did Sochiro already know who L was (as a detective not the person). Matsuda was with Soichiro when they had the meeting for it. 

K:- Sorchio was the chief of police so maybe? World Famous detective should be known by crime solving fans (and Light is pretty big on justice) 

E:-  Yes, that was my thoughts too. Light as a person is narcissistic, egotistical, a tad vain, God complex. But that wasn't the case. Perhaps L can only be accessible after a certain level of clearance.

K:- ... Well not everyone knows about the BB murder case. And L is known as a world famous detective. Which means the name has rep. Or the title rather. 

E:- Then L must have cases that are known globally at least for die hard fans. 

K:- I think so

E:- Still, you think Light would have some inkling about him.

K:- so its interesting to me that Jenne has Light with a lot more religion in this AU. Both more respectful of Japanese Deities and ‘the gods will guide my hand’ variety. Jenne, I like how you are incorporating the eve and Eden imagery.

E:- Ngl Male Misa will always be unhinged simp to me. 

K:- Misa is a simp in general

E:- Male Misa praising Light for being so smart, you can take that from my cold dead hands. I still live for Fem L and M Misa being low key besties. 

If L can indulge in otome games I will be happy. Dating sims K. They were a hit early 00's. Jk.....but still

I'm all for Fem Light being more considerate in her use of the Death Note. Love her not rising to the bait like Light did✨

K:- The hesitation suits both her cautious nature and her increase in Piety. 

I like this use of Syau (I always like Syau inclusion). How its Syau that is the trigger from hesitation to righteous, protective rage. And it opens a floodgate. 

Jenne, you  have changed Lights brain taking away her narcissism, but you have your own direction you want to take the character and other themes you want to explore, I can see. 

-I loved coming up with Bestie L and Misa with you, Eclipse!

Honestly L playing an Otome game with L would be comedy gold. This one seems to be set in a more modern time then OG, so maybe some Hatoful Boyfriend?!?!

It's nice to see a Light that doesn't rise to the bait, and a slower crawl towards Evidence on Ls part. Or maybe if its really modern, Cat president!

E:- L playing some tasteful and cringe otome game and then fun ones like Hatoful Boyfriend hehehe

I say this as it's nice in a way to relax your brain. 

And then her longing for the desert art

L isn't concern about dating or marriage. "I already have my partners right here," she holds up her Gameboy

K:- Gamer L! So much desert art!

E:- They look unfairly good in otome games. 

K:- I keep forgetting, is Ls strawberry obsession canon or Fanon?

E:- He eats plenty of desserts with strawberries in them. 

K:- ok, but I remember a lot of fanfiction where L had a strawberry obsession. To the point of a strawberry bathing suit print being a thing that grabbed his attention??

Does that fic still exist? 

Anyway, food art!

E:- Oh. Oh thank God. He does eat meat and fruit (without frost)

K:- Jenne Your Light certainly has a more nuanced sense of Justice then canon Light, which makes sense, as a woman Light is probably a lot more aware of the ways the law fails to take care of people- thus her intense reaction over what happened to Syau. 

The contrast between male "I am God of the new world" Light and your female "God will guide me to the new world" Light is an interesting angle to go with.

Did either of them do background checks in canon? 

Admitibly Light had a lot more resources to do so, what with being the kid of the chief of police, and also accessing the police database by hacking his dads computer. 

Misa could not do that.

E:- Light had access to names on the database but I don't think he actually spent time back ground checking each one 

While we have Mishima running checks on the Kira Site, I know for sure there are petty people adding names of people they just hate. 

And I am glad to see Jenne's Light not use the site. 

K:- He trusts the justice system in a way that female Light wouldn't

E:- Light is a man, it benefits him more.

As a woman, my God you get discouraged for even trying to report what happened

K:- Not to mention the salt they take the statement with

E:- And you seen those videos of women only trains? Men purposely go on it just to make a point. 

Once again the other Light himself is sexist, which makes me very upset Misa wasn't offing offenders in the entertainment industry. 

Male Misa has no issues with that nor our PDN Misa. 

Also kudos to Jenne, she wrote so much and she ate with her take. 

I like how Fem Light straight up (in both takes) not be too hasty to set fire like Light.

Yearning K,  I can write my non canon Takada and Fem Light. The yearning from Takada (one sided) let her be gaaaay (in my one shot)

K:- write it!

E:- Will if I can

Just ugh let her yearn. 

K:- We should post it under ‘Always a different gender’. 

E:- Absolutely

K:- So I'm pretty curious about better ways to use the note, and where the changed direction is going, that Jenne mentions. 

Got any ideas of what they might mean with that?

E:- Am not sure in what way. But I was gonna say using origami as back up death note. You know how many kids and some adults have a paper shuriken on them?

K:- I did not.

E:- I wrote on those , I like making one ad no one is gonna bat an eye at a girl making one or a Fortune teller paper

K:- Oh!!!

E:- I can write names under those things,

My binders had mini pressed t shirts and origami cranes (from a friend)

K:- And if it's searched (by L?)

E:- Eyo what are bras for?

K:- wouldn't female L check that?

E:- I dunno K. Be weird if someone put their hand down my boobs

K:- Since when does L care for social faux pass?

E:- Ass grabs vs titty grab. 

Light is discreet, flush it down the toilet. 

K:- Light would probably manage to hide it like that. Gross thought, but imagine Light hiding it in her pad? 

Unreadable by blood coverage. 

E:- Mmm I can see her hiding it in her pad when she goes to use the bathroom, taking her time writing names, wait a full minute before tossing it in the toilet. 

Besides.....Death Note has so many rules. What if I accidentally sold my soul by getting my period blood on it

K:- I don't remember anything about blood in the rules. And anyway, using the death note means you don't go to heaven or hell anyways. You go to Mu. 

E:- True but like....just in case

I can see Fem Light getting annoyed with the amount of rules that grow by the day. 

K:- I think deliberately killing someone with a shinigami (deity ) artifact is more then enough of a pact then your own blood spilled on it

E:- True true

K:- Back to Jennes post, she doesn't consider herself Kira. Which is another contrast to Male Light whose Ego skyrocketed at the worship, and considered himself Kira god of the new world.

E:- Light had expressed disdain for the name Kira as well but it stuck with him the whole series. 

Jenne's fem Light does retain her ego under all the take of divine righteousness

Regardless of both Lights feelings on the Moniker chosen for them, it's what the public feelings regarding the two entities killing criminals

K:- L and Light. 

As Light is interested in investigation, it makes a lot of Sense for Light to be interested in Ls cases and know them, as world famous detectives should be, world famous.

E:- Exactly! Would have been interesting to see at least some books about famous modern cases

K:- right!

E:- Especially considering L has been doing this as a teenager (maybe younger)

And using another famous detectives identity. 

K:- two other detectives identities 

E:- ......does L have legal rights to that

K:- Probably not, but it seems to be a pride thing. They bet their names and when they lost L committed identity theft, and yoinked it. 

Actually, I have no idea how it went down. Let me look it up. 

-“L engaged in a war with the real Eraldo Coil, and the real Danuve, and emerged victorious, claiming their detective codes.”- 

What is a detective war? 

E:- "Hello. It's me. Hi" L about Lights book collection

K:- With the Lind decoy, Light being Passive and Misa entering earlier is interesting! 

I really feel Misa was the most dangerous character in the show before she aligned with Light, as once she got what she wanted from him (dating) she was nerfed. So Misa getting to be a threat longer is always something I'm curious to see. 

If Kira forces you to pray or confess, will it help you get into heaven? That is a theological question I am not qualified to answer. 

E:- Being Catholic I would have said that's Blasphemy. Being Catholic and American I ain't kneeling to a man on an ego trip

K:-The tatemae of humble piety hides the honne of repression and spite and rage at society. 

L- "I believe Kira is a psychic" * gets netflix death note flashbacks. 

But yah, L does kind of have to believe in some crazy theories to get to the conclusions he does in canon. 

L would have difficulties with the taskforce anyways, but moreso as a woman. They are in base form, pretty traditional japanese men. 

Matsuda doesn't get it, but has spirit. 

Depends on time. Gay marriage is a lot more accepted today in Japan then it was when death note was first made, but of course there are still hurdles. 

As for pronouns, that might be less of a problem in japanese. 

Generally in Japan they refer to people by name, so L-san or, Eru-san would be the go-to for address anyways. 

For L referring to themself, Watashi-ra, or I pronouns might be the neutral thing to go with.

Personally I don't think the gender of the voyer should matter when privacy is still being invaded by putting cameras in a family home. 

As for objections, I don't think L is the only person watching. After all, theres a lot of nothing going on for a lot of it, and someone has to edit. 

Light fangirling about L is kind of cute to me. As well as her drawing up these rules of engagement (that L doesn't know and probably wouldn't follow) 

And Light wanting to team up with L to catch Misa is quite a pivot. Nice twist. 

And then Light takes being on camera as a challenge. Watch me Flex at you L!

E:- Honestly I would giggle if Light played up the antics. You seen It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia? Where Dennis stares at the camera unblinkingly for several hours

K:-  Staring contest Go!

Light being closeted is not an uncommon idea, and while it wouldn't fly well in the original 2000s settings , its nice to have it more talked about in a more modern AU. 

An attempt to catspaw Syau into doing away with the cameras sort of. But she overdid it, and L caught on. 

Later when Light decides she "believes" L, and enough time has passed that shes "no longer mad about the cameras" I think it would be funny for Light to fangirl over L. And Ls just embarassed, and Light is playing the fangirling up because of it. 

Origami with deathnote as infinate paper source. 

Jk, too much risk

I look forward to hearing about Misa!

If you actually think about it, if Light was the only genderbent character in deathnote, the show would take very dark turn and would communicate a different message.

K:- " If Light was the only genderbent character in death note, the show would communicate a diffrent message, yes, primarly because the show was written in the early 2000s with 90s values, and its creator was not good at nuanced portrayal of women, to put it mildly. Look at how Death Note treats Misa. Shes treated as a legit threat until she joins up with Light where she becomes more of a joke. Yes the sexism and being talked down to for being a girl would drive Light nuts, but its nothing she didnt already deal with growing up. Would it be harder for them to take her seriously? Yes-"

E :- "Which is obvious considering the early 90's 00's Japanese work culture. Even now it's still a breakthrough.

But they may or may not be trying to say Fem Light would suffer under male hands or something of that issue.

Would the Task Force hurt fem Light? Doubt it. Most of them are respectful men, the worst I can say is they can get hot headed with each other as men.

Laying hands on Fem Light? No.

They never did that to Misa not counting the time with Soichiro as that was with Light under the impression they were suspects."

K:- "Misa being under arrest and filmed was pretty yikes. And Solitary confinement was already a pretty dark and messed up angle to go. But Light here is the chief of police's daughter. She has the power of Neoptisim and a prior connection with most of them on her side. "

E:- " True true. He already had a bond with them. Misa's arrest was more hostile. Maybe that is what they were referring too?"

K:-"Misa was both treated like a threat and not.

Later on in the prisonorship she had police escort shopping privlages, but at first that image is pretty wack.

And why? What are we supposted to infer from this?"

E :-"I know right? She's a threat enough to keep around surveillance but not enough to stop her from swapping places with friends.

She can show she is capable of fooling people but it's not enough to treat her as a genuine threat. I doubt Misa minds it. It gives her so much leniency to get away with things.

But for fem Light it's infuriating.

But here I wonder if L would see her as a threat?

My canon L doesn't give a fuck about your gender. Only if you can actually play the game. Violence is not restricted by gender. Anyone is capable."

K:- " Are we supposted to infer something about L from Misas outfit while being filmed? I guess its interpritive, but I see it more as L breaking social boundries to make her unconfortable and push her closer to hopefully breaking. Same with the handcuffs really."

E:- " L does that with everyone. She ain't special in that which makes it oddly open minded.L does that to me by getting his damn feet on things."

K:- " I don't think L cares about Gender. But the steryotypes at the time imposed preformances of gender upon most of the players"

E:- "Right right. Such as expected reactions"

K:- "And I admit, I AU for fun. I'm not intrested in exploring the darker timeline where the taskforce is a skeevy to female Light.

And we acknowledged that the world would treat them diffrently by gender from where the concept was first incepted with female L.

Its always been part of the considerations, the Sexisim present in Japan at the time at which Death note was written. Hell, I'm probably missing nuances from it, from not being Japanese nor Not being an adult in the 90s"

E:- "We can only gather what we know and work with it. And once again this is for fun."

: )

[cent-scratchnsniff]

here together

[cyellolemon]

AMBROSE AND OLIVE!!!! SILLIES :)