#curt wild fluff

[lovebugism]

hi! reader doesn’t like kids at all, but somehow eddie’s child is just different and the cutest sweetest child who warms their heart

✶ ┄ MAYDAY ! [ the beginning ]

summary: when steve harrington brings you as a plus-one to a munson birthday party, he forgets to tell you it's for eddie's four-year-old, maeve. (1.8k)

pairing: dad!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: strangers to lovers (eventually), slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love, meet ugly-ish, fluff, girl dad eddie munson™, r is not used to being around kids (and it shows), baby blurb turned spin-off universe <3

When Steve Harrington invites you to a birthday party, he fails to mention it’s for a four-year-old. 

The tiny trailer is decked out in decoration. A fusion of black and rainbow, of bats and unicorns, of vampires and Tickle Me Elmo — like no one could land on a singular theme. 

Steve guides you into the home with a golden hand on the small of your back, his other clutching a sparkly black bag with Count von Count’s face on it. You stop very suddenly in your tracks. Happy 4th Birthday, Maeve! reads a handpainted sign draped beneath the ceiling.

You become very hyperaware of the whiskey bottle in your right hand, something you figured would be the most sufficient thing to gift someone you’d never met before. You just hadn’t expected the stranger to be a child.

“What the fuck, Steve?” you bite under your breath, glaring at the boy beside you. “I thought you said this was your friend’s birthday party?”

“Maeve is my friend,” he answers with a stupid shrug. “Though, to be fair, I did say it was my friend’s kid’s birthday party.”

He most definitely hadn’t.

“What the hell— I brought booze!”

“That’s okay,” assures a wild-haired boy with a pretty pink grin as he walks up to the two of you. The friend in question. 

Eddie Munson wears a silver ring on each finger and a thick leather jacket despite the warming spring season. His laughter sounds like sunshine. His smile is bright enough to give you a goddamn sunburn.

“Maeve’s been getting presents all day— It’s about time someone got somethin’ for me,” he jokes.

You grimace while the two boys laugh. “Sorry…” you murmur as you pass him the bottle, shrinking inside yourself in an attempt to hide from the moment. I’m never letting Steve convince me to leave the house again, you think to yourself.

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously. I’ll go stick this in the kitchen— Make yourself at home.”

Your racing heart quells only slightly. He must be more of a good guy than Steve made him out to be, if he’s willing to keep you around after you brought booze to his daughter’s party. Though, you’ll contend that you were only half at fault for this.

Steve bites back a chuckle as he walks you to the back door, standing with you on the little wooden deck lined with sparkly streamers. There’s a picnic table off in the distance, covered in a bat-patterned cloth and set with Sesame Street-themed utensils. A small crowd of teenagers gather around it, and a couple of their parents, you figure.

The spring breeze only half soothes your burning skin.

“See?” he lilts, trying not to laugh and failing. “He likes you already—”

You swat his chest with a less than kind hand. 

“Ow!”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Harrington, I swear to—”

“What’s your favorite animal?” a tiny voice asks from behind you, a smidge too loud and confusing their R’s with W’s.

You look over your shoulder, face flooded with horror. A kid with wild chocolate hair stands at less than half your height, wearing the tiniest Ozzy Osbourne shirt you’ve ever seen beneath a rainbow tutu. You don’t know what to say, so you just blink at it for a moment — at her.

“Hey, Maeve,” Steve greets with a curt wave.

The girl beams, missing her very front tooth. “Hi, Uncle Steve!”

“Wha— Huh?” you stammer mindlessly. ‘Cause you’re not exactly the best at talking to people your own age, let alone to children. They’re too honest. And too loud. And beyond still feeling like a kid yourself most days, you don’t have anything in common with them.

“What’s your favorite animal?” Maeve repeats in the same inflection, smiling until a dimple appears in her freckled cheek. “Mine’s a Hefflelump.”

“Hef… Hefflelump?” you echo quietly, only vaguely registering Steve’s laughter as he disappears through the screeching screen door, leaving you all alone. You’re definitely killing him for this.

“Yeah… From Winne the Pooh!” she says like it’s obvious.

“Oh… Okay…”

“What’s yours?”

You stumble over your words to find an answer. “Um… Uh… I don’t— I don’t know…”

“Everyone has a favorite animal,” she scoffs like some kinda critic with a speech impediment. She tilts her chin to her chest and peers up at you with a pair of doe eyes, so brown they’re almost black. You shift your weight on your feet, visibly uncomfortable beneath her unwavering stare.

“Maybe like a… A blobfish, or something?” you shrug.

Her tiny face screws in disgust. “Gross,” she spits.

You flinch. “What? Why is that gross?” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest, more defensive than you’d like to admit.

“They’re so ugly,” Maeve giggles.

“Why?” you squint. “‘Cause they look differently than we do?”

“No!” she laughs, loud and golden, just like her father. “’S ‘cause they’re so slimy.”

“Well— You— You’re slimy,” you stammer.

The wild-haired girl grins with all her baby teeth (well, besides the front one, anyway). “You’re slimy!” she echoes with a mischievous twinkle in her chocolate eyes.

The screen door squeals open again, the rusted hinges screeching in protest. “Who’s slimy?” a male voice questions from behind you, a smile audible in his voice.

“You are!” you and Maeve chorus at the same time. 

You whip your head around a second too late. Your heart drops to your ass when you find Eddie lingering in the doorway behind you. You stumble over your words while Maeve giggles. “Sorry! I thought— I thought you were Steve! I’m so sorry!”

A chuckle sputters from Eddie’s mouth. He’s nearly as grieved by it all as you are. “He just left,” he tells you with a lopsided smile, cocking his thumb over his shoulder. “I think he’s helping Wayne out front. They’re putting together Maeve’s d-o-l-l-h-o-u-s-e.”

His eyes flit upward as he tries hard to spell the word correctly. Upon your confused look, he says, “I can’t say it, or she’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“Right,” you nod.

Eddie crouches and holds his arms out for his daughter. Maeve’s tiny feet patter against the wooden deck as she rushes to him. He huffs at the weight of her — heavier than he remembers and getting bigger every day (which is weird ‘cause she was a newborn, like, a week ago). He grunts when he picks her up, propping her weight on his side.

“What were the two of you talkin’ about, then?”

“Blobfish!” she shouts with a beam.

Eddie breathes out a faint chuckle and turns to you. “She’s forcin’ you to pick a favorite animal, huh?” he wonders, then laughs a bit louder when you nod. “Yeah, she’s been doing that all day. It’s her new thing,” he says, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her curls. 

Realization seems to him then, and his brows furrow when he looks at you. His face, all twisted in confusion, is an exact replica of Maeve’s. 

“Wait— Your favorite animal is a blobfish?”

“That’s what I said!” the girl laughs.

You shift your weight on your feet and cross your arms over your chest. “I’m… feeling very judged in this moment…” you murmur under your breath, only half joking.

“I think that’s the most creative answer we’ve had yet, huh, Mae?” Eddie chuckles.

You scoff. “Well, I think Hefflelump’s pretty creative considering—”

The boy clears his throat, seeming to sense the rest of your sentence. His eyes widen in a lighthearted glare before he nods to the girl on his hip. Only then do you realize the words sitting on the tip of your tongue. You swallow them down immediately.

“Right…” you nod instead. “Nevermind…”

“Here—” Eddie huffs as he sets the girl down again. “—Go find Aunt Robin, alright? She’s probably decorating your cake as we speak.”

Maeve rushes off at the word cake, tottering on lanky, ungraceful legs. The two of you watch her go and linger in an awkward silence. Neither of you is quite sure how to make conversation without her there. You decide to start with an apology.

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry, by the way. Again,” you laugh awkwardly at yourself, scratching at the back of your neck. “I’m not… I’m not really… great with kids. If you couldn’t already tell.”

Eddie grins, pink and lopsided and pretty. You don’t feel deserving of the warmth swimming in his button eyes, glimmering beneath an early setting sun. “It’s okay. Seriously. You should’ve seen Robin and Steve the first time they met her— they were hopeless. And now they’re… Sort of alright, I guess.”

You force a faint chuckle. “Yeah, I’m— I’m just not used to being around them, I guess. I don’t even think I’ve talked to a kid her age since, like, elementary school.”

“I was the same way. ’Til I had Maeve and all…”

“Well, I couldn’t tell,” you assure him with a wavering smile. “You’re, like, a total pro. You’re great with her.”

He ducks his head to hide his blushing cheeks. The apples of them speckle warm and pink beneath the weight of your compliment. 

“Well… thank you,” he says, deflecting from your praise with that stupid, posh, D&D accent he always uses when he gets nervous. You don’t notice him grimacing at himself because you’re still stewing in your own embarrassment.

“And sorry for the booze, too. I seriously didn’t mean to bring— I mean, Steve didn’t even tell me that—”

“Stop apologizing,” Eddie chuckles warmly. “That part’s not your fault, alright? I don’t know if you know this or not, but your boyfriend’s a total idiot.”

Your face screws up. “Oh, he’s not— Steve’s not my boyfriend.”

The boy’s smile ebbs. “No?”

“No. No way!” you laugh before you mean to. “I’m pretty sure I’m just, like, his replacement best friend since Robin started dating Vickie.” 

Wide-eyed and distantly relieved, Eddie stammers like a teenage boy. “Oh. Right. That’s… That’s cool. Yeah.”

“Yeah…” you echo.

“Well, uh— I’m gonna see if Wayne wants any help,” he blurts despite knowing he’s been barred from doing handy work since he nearly drove a nail through his own finger. He just needs a way out, lest he keep stumbling over himself and lose all of his cool points with you. 

He saunters backward through the opened door and nearly trips over the frame.

You bite back a laugh. He forces a wavering smile. 

“But, um, I was thinkin’ about cracking open that bottle you brought. You know, after Maeve’s in bed and everything. If you— If you wanna hang around that long…”

The silence makes him as nervous as a teenage boy, all writhing and uncomfy in his skin. You nod in agreement, and his sparkling chest swells all over again. “Yeah,” you reply, lip quirked in a poorly hidden smile. “Sure. I’d— I’d like that…”

He smiles, all proud of himself. “Good. That’s… That’s good,” he stutters, then swallows hard and scurries off before you change your mind. 

Before he shuts the squealing screen door behind him, you hear Robin’s voice exclaim loudly from the kitchen. “What the hell’s a blobfish?!”

if u have any other ideas for hijinks these two idiots (and maeve) can get into, feel free to leave 'em here! (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

[strawberrychampagneglass]

Roses - pt. 1

Paige x Azzi

CW: cursing, implications of domestic violence (ONLY AT THE END), angst, maybe some fluff?, pining

9.3k words DAMN

A/N: holy shit guys I did not think I could pull this off and to think that this is gonna be a series is wild to me. Jokes aside, this took me about 2.5 weeks so expect (somewhat) infrequent updates due to school work and all that. Ik y'all have been waiting so I'll drop the first chapter. Something to be mindful of: initially this thing was in GSV then I changed it to LA last minute and then I changed Nika to Cam and Gabby to Dearica because Gabby and Nika didn't make sense to me at all so yea enjoy AND PLEASE DO GIVE ME FEEDBACK!!! I appreciate it a lot I WILL ADD A MASTERLIST WHEN MY HEART COMPELS ME TO

October 15th, 2028

Los Angeles, California

“Azzi,” her urgent voice calls out to the dark. She nearly trips over the entrance mat as she enters her apartment in the early morning hours. She drunkenly yells for her again as she stumbles towards her bedroom. 

The only response she gets is an echo of her voice.

She lands in her bed with a soft thud, her hand searching for the familiar warmth of another body. When she feels the cold bed sheet under her hand instead, the only thing she can hear is the hammering inside of her head while her heart throbs, threatening to pry itself out of its cage. Tears well in her eyes as she falls asleep. 

When she wakes up and checks her phone, she has one notification: a text message from Curt Miller. While it makes her heart palpitate as she remembers the happy memories, alarms blare in her head, reminding her of the bad that outweighed the good. 

Her excitement quickly turns to bitterness. Paige doesn’t want to play on the same team as Azzi. Not after the incident in her redshirt senior year. Not after their catastrophic argument at the 2025 WNBA draft. Not after she saw a new person with her Azzi. Not after she saw the diamond-studded ring on her fourth finger. 

Most of all, not after she built a stronghold with the most formidable defenses around her heart. 

July 29th, 2018

Minsk, Belarus 

The Belarusian crowd roars during the FIBA U17 Women’s Basketball World Cup final, drowning out the melody created by a screeching flute and deep, dulcet drum. With a very comfortable 32 point lead against the French in the middle of the fourth quarter, Paige is subbed out. She accepts the high-fives from her teammates before taking a seat at the end of the bench. Cheers flood the bench while they watch the clock wind down intently, waiting to relish in the intoxicating adrenaline following the victory. 

The blonde raps her foot against the floor anxiously; her jaw propped up by her clenched fists. From the point of view of her teammates, she is engaged in the game. However, inside of her mind, a storm brews.  She thinks of her best friend, the brunette girl with the number 6 on her back who is sat two seats to her left. Paige indulges in the memory of her fingers lingering on Azzi’s for that extra second after a high-five, their intertwined hands during the national anthem, and even when their shoulders brushed together in the team huddles and neither of them moved.

Her mind continues to wander until the bench unexpectedly explodes with chants of “USA” as the clock winds down into the last minute of the game. Paige springs from her seat on the bench, hollering as the adrenaline pumps through every vein in her body. When the final buzzer sounds, she shakes hands with the opposing team before hurling herself into the sea of navy jerseys. 

The rest goes by in a blur, her adrenaline depletes rapidly. The energetic girl is uncharacteristically quiet during their team dinner and even on the bus ride home where she opts to sit alone in the back, leaning her head against the cool window that soothed her aching head. 

As the bus pulls up to the hotel, Paige and Azzi lock eyes from opposing ends of the bus. The fatigue she once felt is quickly replaced with delight when Azzi gives her a tired smile with softened eyes, making her heart beat erratically. It’s still early in the evening, but the team agrees to celebrate in Cameron Brink’s room, without the coaches’ knowledge. While the team shuffles off the bus in a single-file line, Paige pushes through the never-ending hoard of her teammates until her eyes rest on a familiar brunette. She puts her hand on the brunette’s cold shoulder, catching her attention as she leaned into the warmth of Paige’s hand. Azzi chooses to ignore the pink that rose to the older girl’s cheeks and smiles at her. 

“Are you going to Cam’s?” Paige asks sheepishly, trying to hide her smile. Azzi chuckles before responding with a nod. 

“She is my roommate, so I guess I’m obligated to go.” Paige grins from ear-to-ear as they chat until they reach their respective hotel rooms. She changes into sweatpants and opts for a Hopkins Basketball hoodie. Although it's the middle of summer, the temperatures in Minsk are frigid compared to the Minnesota heat. 

Furtively leaving her hotel room, she spots her teammate, Zia Cooke, attempting to sneak several bottles of cheap vodka into Cam’s room, her shoulders are tense and eyes rove across the empty hallway. Paige giggles before walking over to the shorter girl to offer a hand. When her teammate’s eyes land on her friendly face, the muscles in her shoulders loosen.

“Paige, thank god,” she breathes, relieved. “I was so scared that Carla or Stephen would jump out of their rooms.” Paige laughs at the image of Coach Berube catching Zia while looking like a deer in headlights, juggling 5 bottles of vodka. Feeling bad for her teammate, she takes three bottles from her arms and opens the door to Cam’s room. The two girls are met with 10 pairs of curious eyes who cheer at the sight of the vodka bottles.

***

An hour later, the potent odor of vodka floods the room. Most of her teammates gossip about their crushes back home; others watch the late-night shows on the Belarusian TV channels, a few are even snoring obnoxiously on Azzi’s bed. Paige, who is completely sober, feels irritated from her spot on the floor as she watches the dramatic show that is being projected on the TV. She isn’t sure if it was the lack of alcohol, or if it was the sight of her best friend who presses her body against Hailey Van Lith while an arm that wasn’t hers is strung around the brunette’s waist and resting on her toned abdominal muscles. 

When Azzi notices the blonde’s glare at Hailey, she walks off the bed and carefully treads towards the table of alcohol, pouring a full glass of vodka. Her eyes flick to Paige, who stares at the glass of vodka in her hand. Unamused and frustrated, Paige returns her attention to the show on the TV until she feels a warm hand tilt her chin back. Azzi looks at her, emotionless, as she stands behind her. They stare at each other wordlessly before the older head lands on a soft, toned leg. Her lower lip meets the cool rim of the glass that Azzi filled with vodka.

The brunette moves her face closer before she tips the glass upward while noticing a light streak of red across Paige’s cheeks. “Drink,” she whispers, and Paige complies. She feels the alcohol burn her esophagus as she swallows the oily and bitter liquid. Their faces linger in the close proximity as they breathe in synchronization. It takes every ounce of self control in Paige’s body to not close the distance between their lips. 

“You look pretty,” Paige smiles, hoping for a laugh and a friendly slap across the shoulder from her friend. Instead, Azzi returns a frown with furrowed eyebrows, moving her head away. 

“Paige, I can’t enjoy my evening when you’re glaring at everyone I’m sitting with,” Azzi huffs with an edge to her voice. “Go get drunk and leave me alone.” Paige scowls; she knows that Azzi isn’t exclusive to her, but she wants some exclusivity. At the end of the day, they’re just best friends, nothing more. Nevertheless, the thought of another girl’s body pressing her body flush against Azzi infuriates her. From her spot on the floor, she feels the warmth of her friend’s body disappear as she walks back to her spot next to Hailey. 

She grabs her wallet and phone and leaves the room. 

***

When she returns to her hotel room hours later, she slams the newly-bought bottle of vodka on her nightstand, shaking the entire room. It isn’t a big bottle; it’s around the size of a Gatorade bottle. The cashier at the convenience store didn’t bother checking the 16-year-old’s ID, assuming she was of legal drinking age. She popped the cap off the bottle and brought it to her mouth. Her lips begin to form a suction around the opening as she tilts her head back, swallowing the searing liquid. She throws the rest of the liquid down her throat when the thought of Azzi’s words cross her mind. She tightens her grip on the bottle and her tongue scours for the last few drops of the liquid, hungry for the feeling of the alcohol. She sits on her bed in silence, staring at her feet until she feels the effects of the alcohol course through her veins. Her vision begins to blur and the entire room begins to swirl. Through her blurred vision, she still manages to identify the lamp that sits perfectly still on the nightstand. Her free hand reaches for the dangling chain that serves as a lever for the light. Giving it a slight tug, the light flickers briefly before illuminating the entire room. To her shock, a familiar brunette girl with bronze skin sits across from her.

“Are you done being an alcoholic so we can talk?”

“Azzi, what the fuck?” the blonde stammers, frustrated. She sets the bottle down and stares at her friend in disbelief. When Paige gets no response from her, she stands up and starts stumbling towards the door, nearly tripping over herself.

“Paige, wait,” Azzi catches the blonde, observing the older girl’s cloudy eyes. Even while drunk, her blue eyes remind her of her lake house; her second home. The thought makes her heart flutter despite the agonized look painted across her best friend’s entire face. “I’m sorry, we can talk about this if you want. I know I hurt you, and I take full accountability for it.” 

Paige knows she is in damage control mode, but she has a soft spot for the girl; a part that is willing to forgive her and move on. 

She chooses to ignore it and let her irritation control her words. “You didn’t want to talk before, so you don’t get to talk now,” she hisses. Azzi flinches, unaccustomed to her hostility. “You told me to leave you alone, and now you’re in my room, begging for forgiveness. I don’t understand you.” Her arms fly erratically before reaching the collar of her hoodie, tugging it down to ease her tense muscles.“For god’s sake, we’re best friends. Sure, best friends tell each other everything, but my best friend doesn’t get to tell me to leave her alone and show up in my hotel room 2 fucking hours later.”

“I’m not yours, Paige. You don’t have any right to control my actions.” The retort makes Paige wince. “If I want to be with Hailey, you have to respect that. I have a right to be frustrated because I don’t belong to you.” 

“Okay, how about a heads up next time instead of you getting cozy with someone else in front of your best fucking friend. I thought we agreed that we would ‘see each other later’” 

“She was drunk and she came up to me, and we did see each other. There was nothing binding about that agreement. I can be friends with other people and you can too, unless I’m your only friend.” Azzi’s anger rises as well as she picks at her cuticles. 

“You’re an asshole.” Paige breathes, releasing the hoodie. “You tried to get me drunk while trying to seduce me.” The other girl’s mouth opens before getting cut off. “Then, you went back over and cuddled up to her. I don’t have a problem with you seeing people, but even a short-term notice would’ve been nice. It’s fucking awkward when I’m sitting there–surrounded by drunk people who are all passed out on the damn floor–and my best friend is cuddling up to a person we barely even know.” 

“You know what? You sound really fucking insecure right now. Maybe you should go book a flight back to fucking Minnesota and we’ll never have to see each other again. You’ll never get jealous over me when I go on dates with other people.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she wishes that she can take them back and shove them down her throat. Paige stares at her, emotionless. After a few minutes, Azzi’s voice cuts through the thick air. “Say something, please. You’re freaking me out.” 

“I wish I was yours, Azzi,” Paige whispers softly, so softly that Azzi thinks she mishears. She scowls, but her heart flutters from the confession.

“I need you to tell me that when you’re completely sober. I can’t trust you when you’re drunk.” she sighs, looking at the blonde who has tears brimming in her eyes. However, she can’t shake the warm, fuzzy feeling in her heart from her words. She can’t describe the feelings, and the thought of treading into unexplored emotional territory makes her queasy. 

“I wish I was yours,” Paige urges, with genuine sincerity in her tone despite the alcohol.

“Paige–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Paige grabs her wrist and pulls the younger girl into her. The blonde drags her along a premeditated route, stumbling several times. Biting the nails on her free hand, Azzi’s mind swarms with endless possibilities of danger; they could be kidnapped by random Belarusians, the coaches could catch them while getting a midnight snack, or they could get lost and never see their families again. But Paige was Paige, guiding her to their destination. The warmth radiating from the other girl’s body hypnotized her. It felt safe. Too safe. 

Paige leads her through the maze of the city until they reach the edge of a river. Even under the late-night sky, airplanes weave between silhouettes of clouds; their green and red lights blink, bringing life to the sky. The city is calm and serene at this hour, with the occasional passer-byer that ignores the two girls. The solitude is disrupted by cars gliding across the bustling road across the river bank with horns that blare occasionally. Street lights hug the river bank; streaks of yellow and orange rippled back and forth on the water. The breeze is soft, like a baby’s blanket. It carries the occasional, faint scent of cigarette smoke which is unexpectedly comforting. 

The two sit in mutual silence, away from each other. They both avoided the topic of the prior conversation. Paige hums softly, her body warm from the alcohol. “I didn’t know they had fireworks this late at night.” Her speech is slurred, yet Azzi still laughs in response. The sound of her laugh is like a piece of music written by Beethoven to her; a sound that can be played over and over without getting old. 

“They’re not fireworks, they’re street lights reflecting off the water.” The blonde squints, squatting on the large cement block that she had been sitting on. As she cranes her head closer, nearly falling off the block, Azzi scrambles to catch the blonde as she reflexively yanks her waist backwards. They laugh before Paige puts her hand on hers. 

“You’re acting really sober,” Paige declares while studying Azzi’s facial features. 

“I am sober, so I think it’s a good thing that I’m acting sober.” The younger girl chuckles, punching her friend’s arm lightly with her free hand. Flustered, Paige averts her gaze to the shimmering undulations on the surface of the water. Unsure of whether it was the alcohol that was twisting her mind, or if it was the dim, golden lighting that lights up the left side of Azzi’s face, all she can think about is that her best friend is beautiful.  It drives Paige insane; her bronze skin gleams and her umber eyes light up and become a light, almost golden shade of brown. 

“Sometimes I wish that you could be in Minnesota with me all the time.” 

“Well, you could come to Virginia and stay with me…” Azzi proposes before smiling at Paige, but she doesn't meet her eyes. The blonde is scrunching her face with her attention on Azzi’s arms, and not her face. “What’s wrong? Paige?”

“You’re cold,” Paige whispers, shifting her weight so she and Azzi sit facing each other. Trailing her hand up the other girl’s arm, her fingertips dance along the mountain ranges of goosebumps on her tender skin. Paige’s warm touch makes her feel something. Their eyes clash, uncertainty swarming in both pairs. “I meant what I said earlier,” Paige glances at her lips, breaking the eye contact. “I wish I was yours.” Her hand reaches for Azzi’s cheek, cupping it lightly, and the brunette melts into her touch.

Panic rises as a lump in her throat. They’re young–too young. Azzi’s feelings are new and confusing. She doesn’t know what love feels like and it scares her. As a kid, she was told that “love” was when two people cared for each other a lot. It was obvious that they care for each other a lot. They talk for hours, each word flowing effortlessly while they howl in laughter about something that the other said. Every touch they share is electric: sparks fly erratically through every vein of their bodies. After every argument, Paige is the first to apologize because she knows that Azzi overthinks. 

She moves her face closer and drapes her hands on the blonde’s nape. Paige takes the bait.

Her slightly-parted lips meet Azzi’s warm and soft lips. She closes her eyes, pulling the younger girl’s face in before pulling away after several seconds. The kiss is short, but sweet. Azzi looks at her hands, not wanting to meet the blue eyes knowing that she made a mistake, and the kiss shouldn’t have happened. The once well-established boundaries of their friendship are permanently breached. Yet her cheeks flush and she misses the warmth provided by the close proximity of Paige’s body.

“Raise your arms,” Paige mutters shyly as Azzi is enveloped in the warmth of a thick hoodie. Paige’s hoodie. The scent of Paige’s rosy perfume encases her and a contented sigh escapes her lips. 

“Are you cold?” Azzi observed her best friend’s exposed arms. 

“Nah, I’m alright. You can keep that by the way,” she motions to the hoodie that hugged Azzi’s torso. “It can be a souvenir from Belarus from me. Something that can remind you of tonight forever.” The brunette smiles and wraps her arms around the blonde; she is the clay that Paige can shape into anything she wants. They just fit together. 

The girls dance through the city and totter unsteadily to the hotel, where they collapse in the comfort of Paige’s bed, satisfied laughs slipping out of their mouths after sneaking past the rooms of their teammates. 

“Would you like me to walk you back to your room, Madame Fudd?” Paige teases before a pillow slams into her face. “Hey! Azzi!” She shrieks, scrambling to grab another pillow before falling flat on her face. Azzi laughs hysterically for a few moments until the room stills into an unsettling quiet. 

“You’re so chivalrous, Bueckers.” Azzi looks around her room, fidgeting with her fingers. “But, uh, since there’s a few drunk bodies on my bed,” The blonde cocks her head at her and smirks; the simple motion makes her heart lurch. “And also because you also don’t have a roommate and I thought that you might be a little lonely tonight, especially because you’ll be hungover in the morning, I was wondering if I could stay here tonight.” Paige breaks out into an ear-to-ear grin and tackles her in a bear hug, shoving them to the bed where their bodies melded into each other. 

Amongst the clamor, there is an uneasy feeling in Paige’s gut that she can’t shake, but she chooses to ignore the feeling as she lets her body intertwine with the younger girl’s. 

October 19th, 2028

New York City, New York

Azzi is selfish. 

Anything she gets her hands on, she wants to keep for herself. She is a hoarder who wants to keep everything that she loves forever. 

Unfortunately, when you fall in love with everything, you can’t have it all.

She paces back and forth at the gate, biting her nails and avoiding the gaze of her fiancé. Tugging the collar of her hoodie from her high school days over her head, she allows a satisfied sigh to escape her mouth as she is cloaked with a comforting rose scent. It was nostalgic; it held so many memories that felt so important and so irrelevant at the same time. But the scent made her feel hopeful of something she couldn’t place. 

“Is everything okay, babe?” startled, she drops the hoodie to smile weakly at her fiancé.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little tired. The thought of everything scares me a little.” Azzi chuckles. Instead of a friendly smile from her fiancé, she notices his scowl at the text on her hoodie. Her heart drops into her stomach, knowing that this would prompt an argument from him over a certain college teammate. 

“I’m so happy you finally chose to leave the cesspool of New York,” her fiancé sneers, “and, I’m so excited to soak up the LA sun.” Azzi doesn’t react to his comments, avoiding an argument at all costs. He came to all her games and cheered her on, but he always hated New York City. It was either too cold or too hot, too rainy or too sunny and never the perfect balance between the two. 

As long as he’s happy, I am too. 

Los Angeles, California

Paige is protective. 

She loves her possessions and hates it when people take them. She wants to shield everything she loves from hurt and pain. 

Orange and pink rays of sunlight stream through the tall glass panes by Paige’s bedside, bathing her bedroom in a warm glow. She stirs awake, her sore body begging for 15 extra minutes of sleep. Her throat feels raw and her eyelids are weighted. Instead of fighting against the weight, Paige lets her eyes close while thinking about the consequences of not showing up to Azzi’s welcome party. When she first caught wind of the news, she called Cameron Brink to come to her apartment. She complained to her for hours while blackout drunk before inevitably passing out. When she woke up the next morning to dozens of angry texts from Cam, she apologized profusely, showing up to her apartment with the shoes that her friend had been eyeing for months and bags of Sour Patch Kids.

It was safe to say that Paige wasn’t allowed anywhere near alcohol tonight if she chose to go. At least, not under Cam’s watch. 

The Sparks had an extremely successful campaign last year and capped off the season with a championship title along with Paige’s first league MVP and finals MVP awards. The feeling is still surreal, and the thought of it pumps more adrenaline through her body. Even though the season was extremely successful, the threat of injuries plagued the guards last year. Also, the Sparks were in desperate need of a guard with the ability to knock down shots and step into the role of a strong playmaker.

Was she expecting Azzi to join the Sparks? Eventually, yes. She is desperate for a championship run. 

Did she want to celebrate a piece of her past she let go before her birthday? No. 

Is she happy about it? Absolutely not. 

Her phone began to vibrate violently under her pillow, prying her from her thoughts. She rolls over to scrutinize the contact name with a groan. Her blood runs cold and she taps the green phone icon on the 4th ring.

“Paige! Thank god I got in contact with you.” Katie Fudd exhales. Paige feels the weight of her panic that reciprocates her own through the phone. “I know we haven’t really talked in about, um, three years,” she pauses, unsure of how to continue when she hears Paige’s sharp inhale, “but, have you heard from Azzi recently? She’s supposed to be arriving in LA today, at least that’s what the media says.” 

“No, I…I haven’t heard anything, Katie,” she rasps, her throat ablaze. Her lips run dry. The media?

Paige makes small talk with Katie, catching up on major events in their life while both of them try to avoid the topic of Azzi. It was brought up once and Paige could barely perceive the muffled, yet pained sobs on the other end of the phone.

“I know you have your Unrivaled league coming up in the new year, but it would be great if you could come visit us during Thanksgiving or even Christmas,” Katie proposes as they near the end of their conversation. 

“I’ll take a look at my schedule and try to pull some strings, but no promises. I have plans to visit my dad and Drew over the Thanksgiving weekend in Maryland, so we’ll see what happens.” Paige replies, acknowledging the piece of her that wants to let the past go. The part where she was too close to Azzi and her family. She knows that visiting them means treading into foreign territory. 

“We miss you, Paige. Jon and Jose miss their ‘son’ too,” Katie laughs, relieving Paige of a heavy, bone-crushing weight on her heart. “Happy early birthday too, we could never forget. We love you, you’re still family to us.”

Paige smiles, a genuine ear-to-ear grin. “Love you too, Kaite. Tell the brothers and Tim I say hi as well.” She says before hanging up. 

“You’re still family to us.” The words rang in her head, warming her frozen heart. It wasn’t enough to thaw it, but it was enough to invoke thoughts of hope. She was torn from her reverie by a knock at her door. Humming to herself as she sauntered out of her bedroom, she opened the door to her apartment.

“Woah, I never thought I’d see you smiling like you’re on Disney Channel,” the blonde at the door laughs, surprised. Paige scowls at her words which prompts Cam to laugh harder. “I did bring breakfast though, knowing your current mental state. You look like shit, Paige.” She sets two paper bags on Paige’s kitchen island. They sit across each other on the spinning bar stools Cam loves. 

The two chat buoyantly; Cam tells her stories about her boyfriend, Ben, and his new obsession with cars or whatever. Paige doesn’t really pay attention to her rambling because of a painful ache in her heart. Even though it had been a year since Cam moved to Los Angeles, the two still learn new details about Over the past year, Cam used the fact that the shorter woman struggled to maintain a relationship for more than a few weeks as the butt of all her jokes. Despite being annoyed at first, Paige was quite amused with herself.

“Azzi’s mom called me earlier,” Paige abruptly says, interrupting Cam in her spiel about her brother’s recent breakup.

“...is that why you were smiling earlier? Paige, not even 5 days ago you made me-”

“From what I’ve…figured out, they haven’t been able to get in contact with Azzi. Katie seemed distraught when she accidentally brought her up.” 

“Are you implying that she got kidnapped?” Cam laughs uncomfortably, trying to avoid the weight of the situation. 

“It’s a possibility.” Paige mutters. Cam stops laughing and an uneasy silence drapes the room like a heavy curtain.

“I guess we’ll find out later, but don’t stress about it. You could be overthinking the entire situation. Don’t make that face, I know that you don’t want to go, but out of respect for your future teammate, you need to.” Cam sighs while rubbing circles on her temples. “I’m going to pick her and her supposed fiancé up at the airport. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Thanks for breakfast, Cam. Drive safe,” she calls out as the door to her apartment shuts. And suddenly, her mind is thrown back 5 years to the keychain that Azzi bought them in their early 20s as a gift. Drive safe, I need you here with me. I love you. 

***

“Azzi Fudd! This is Kendra Andrews with ESPN. What are your thoughts on the Sparks franchise?” 

“What prompted the move from New York to LA?” 

“How do you plan to integrate yourself into the team?” 

“What excites you the most about the LA Sparks franchise?”

Dozens of reporters and journalists surround her. They fight amongst each other to thrust microphones into her face. Sweat beads down the back of Azzi’s neck as she tries to answer as many questions as she can while being mindful of her fiancé’s limited patience. He had gone on his phone, ignoring Azzi as she drowns in a sea of cheap cologne and felt-tipped microphones. She quickly interrupts the reporters after 10 minutes and bid a polite farewell. Her heart stings with a bit of remorse when some of the reporters in the crowd express their frustration through whisper-shouts to their colleagues because they got a different answer than what they would’ve hoped. As she makes her way to her fiancé, her head hanging low, she mentally prepares herself for the incoming argument. 

“You’re a piece of shit,” her fiancé hisses, “you took ten fucking minutes to talk to some fans.”

“Please, not here. Not while the reporters are still around,” Azzi whispers, frantically scouting for reporters. 

“Save your bullshit for later. Call an Uber and get me out of here.” While leading her fiancé towards the airport exit, Azzi picks at her cuticles. “Oh, and next time,” her fiancé continues, “don’t be a pussy-sucking people pleaser and just give them an autograph. I don’t have the time for this, there are better things I should be doing that does not include waiting for you.” Tears begin to well but she blinks them back, trying to put up a facade for the public as she smiles half-heartedly for selfies. The lump in her throat threatens to roll out of her mouth. The thought of a night in the hotel sends a cold bead of sweat down her back. She doesn’t want to be left alone with her fiancé. She doesn’t trust him. 

A firm hand grabs Azzi’s wrist, pulling her back into the present. She rips her hand away reflexively before processing the familiar face that belonged to her temporary roommate in Belarus. For the first time since she left New York, Azzi breaks out in a full-faced smile and throws herself into Cam’s open arms.

Her mind wanders to the other future WNBA teammate, who she had not seen since the 2025 WNBA draft. The thought of her quickened her heart, but the feeling sours when she becomes aware of her fiancé by her side. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, oh my god,” Cam laughs, punching Azzi’s arm lightly, a gesture from her USA basketball days when Coach Berube made an off-handed comment. She flinches in response, which Cam chooses to ignore. “Oh, and you must be Azzi’s fiancé. I’ve heard so much about you, and it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Cam,” the blonde chirps, turning her attention to Azzi’s fiancé, offering a friendly smile and a hand. “I don’t think I ever got your name.” Her fiancé remains silent, but his jaw muscles tighten and his cold, green eyes look at her with animosity and spite. Not wanting to raise suspicion, Cam plasters a smile and leads them to her car.

Cam makes a mental note to tell Paige about their interaction with an emphasis on the flinch. 

“...This is the Uber you ordered?” her fiancé snarls when the other woman is out of earshot. 

“You need to calm down. She’s my teammate, and this is a thoughtful gesture,” Azzi retorts before covering her mouth. Her breathing becomes shallow and her face pales as her fiancé inches his face closer to her ear until his hot, rancid breath drowns out her awareness of everything around her. The hustling environment of the airport disappears and her world is engulfed in silence until four words snap her out of her trance. 

“Drop this shit, now.” 

***

The ride to the hotel where the two would be temporarily staying was brisk, although Azzi wished it would have lasted longer. The brunettes reminisced on their college days while laughing hysterically. 

“Have you talked to Geno after he finally retired?” Cam asks playfully, making eye contact with Azzi through the rear-view mirror. Instead of Azzi’s warm brown eyes, she meets her fiancé’s swampy green eyes. The blonde feels a chill run down her spine, unable to detect any emotion on the fiancé’s face. 

“Nope, not at all.” Cam raises her eyebrows, clearly amused. 

“Wow, it’s been two years since he retired. He even went to the draft to support you and, um, nevermind.” The blonde shakes her head, cursing to herself. Azzi laughs awkwardly, trying to lift the guilt off her friend’s shoulders, but her fiancé is unamused. “About time though, I thought that he nearly got a heart attack during the March Madness championship in 2025.” The two erupt in laughter, tears falling from their eyes. Her fiancé glares at Cam through the mirror, prompting her to awkwardly change the topic to the Sparks and their team culture. Azzi ignores the glare and continues her conversation with her friend. 

Her fiancé isn’t completely out of the loop despite his apathy towards Azzi’s WNBA career. He knows who Paige Bueckers is, the national championship they won in 2025, but he only vaguely knows about the relationship that she and Azzi shared during their collegiate campaigns. If their relationship was an iceberg, her fiancé only sees the tip of the iceberg, the visible part that the media shared, the two in a million SLAM cover, their rise to stardom in USA U16 basketball, and most importantly, their adversities through injury together. What she doesn’t know is the true depth and complexity of their relationship, veiled beneath a thick layer of dark, murky water that neither she nor Paige are ready to uncover. As their lives began to diverge, so did the currents in the water; they pushed and pushed on their relationship until it came crumbling down, splitting the iceberg into two parts that are now just Azzi and just Paige. 

Thanking Cam as they slip out of the car, Azzi checks into the hotel room where she and her fiancé sit on opposite sides of the king-sized bed. Her head hangs and she looks at her hands before her fiancé breaks the silence first.

“Hey,” he sighs, walking over to Azzi. When she lifts her head to meet her fiancé’s eyes, branches of tears stream from her eyes and down her cheeks, splitting into multitudes of different directions. 

“Am I not good enough for you? One moment you hate me, and the next you’re suddenly in love with me again.” Azzi sobs, pulling her hair in frustration. “I’m trying my hardest, and it hurts when you don’t reciprocate the feelings.” She wipes her eyes while her fiancé stares at her in disbelief, masking his anger. He paces to the door before walking back to Azzi, feigning an empathetic look. 

“No, baby, you’re perfect.” Her fiancé mutters , pulling the brunette’s head to his chest as he kisses her forehead softly while wiping her tears. “I love you so much. I appreciate everything you do.” Azzi could feel that his words felt wrong and uncomfortable coming out of his mouth. 

“Love you too”

***

Paige walks in circles around her room while Cam summarizes the airport pickup, sprawled out on the blonde’s bed. “You didn’t even get his name. Damn.” Paige’s voice is laced with worry. 

“All you need to know is that her fiancé is fucking weird. He was like ‘I’m so sick of this bullshit’ the whole time without speaking a single word. I introduced myself to him like a normal fucking person and he stood there and stared me down, as if I was competition or something.” Cam breathes, putting her face in her hands. Paige feels the same, unable to piece together the puzzling situation. “This whole situation is  crazy. I was talking about Geno’s retirement and she hasn’t talked to him in years. Isn’t that weird? I feel like he’s also the jealous type. She wore your Hopkins hoodie and her fiancé kept eyeing it the whole time.”

Paige’s heart skips a beat at her words. Her Hopkins hoodie. The one from the night in Belarus: even though it had been over 10 years, Paige remembers it clearly. It was the first time she was in love. “That’s weird. You picked them up from the airport, and he was glaring at you the entire time in the car. Then, you- like, jokingly punched her. How hard was this punch?”

“KK-punching-Ice-after-losing-a-bet-about-your-life hard.” 

“Okay, so not that hard.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard her fiancé call her a stuck-up pussy eater while they argued about the reporters before I picked them up.” Paige raises an eyebrow at the statement before coughing awkwardly, mumbling under her breath.

“Just– be careful Paige. She isn’t yours anymore. I know you’re still not over her,” She winces at her friend’s words, “and it’s the harsh truth, but I seriously think that you need to find someone else to distract you.” 

“We both know that finding someone else hasn’t worked for me either. I’m worried about her. She’s my best friend, my ride or die.”

“She betrayed you. You need to move on. Best friends don’t betray each other like… that.”

***

Flanked by her fiancé, Azzi walks through the large, wooden doors of the restaurant next to her hotel. It was a short walk, but she took in the salty smell of the city. The breeze was sharp and it nipped her exposed arms. She was shivering and rubbing her hands up and down her arms. 

“You must be Ms. Fudd,” the waitress waiting for her arrival smiles at her, “your table is over here, please follow me.”  The short walk through the labyrinth of tables set with velvety red cloths that had a golden trim on its edges was interrupted by a crimson-colored curtain. The chatter behind the curtains feels daunting, and she wants to turn around and run back to Arlington. The waitress pulls the curtain to the side to reveal a table full with people, her teammates, laughing and talking boisterously amongst themselves. The first person to stand up is Cam, who embraces her in a loose hug. Seconds later, nearly all of her new teammates have thrown themselves into her arms.

The last person to stand up is the blonde. Her wavy, blonde hair, lighter from the Californian sun, is tucked behind her ears and falls down her back like a loose shawl. Her skin glows gold against the yellow lighting of the dining room. She wears a freshly ironed button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose her toned forearms. Only the right side of her shirt was tucked into her brown trousers that hang loosely from her hip, ghosting her ankles. A beige bomber jacket that matches her pants is slung around her shoulders and a watercolor-patterned scarf is draped around her neck. The gold studs and helix ring on her left ear reflect the light of the chandelier that hangs from chains above the dining table. When their eyes meet, Azzi searches her eyes for a sense of comfort in her familiar blue eyes that her dark mascara emphasizes. Instead, she finds nothing in her cold and emotionless eyes. Paige embraces her new teammate in a stiff and loose hug, her muscles tense when Azzi’s hands roam her back. Immediately, she is engulfed in her rosy perfume, the same scent that she finds solace and comfort in. Her stomach churns, yet there is a certain warmth that flickers in her heart. Everything about the blonde screamed Paige, and Paige is beautiful. 

“Welcome to LA,” she says while pulling out of the hug. Refusing to look at her, she turns to the man looming in the corner while offering a hand. At the table, Cam sucks a sharp breath in, casting a warning glance at Paige which is ignored. Azzi stiffens and her heart hammers. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Paige, and you are?”

“I’m Charles,” he murmurs, accepting the handshake and offering a small, sly smile. Azzi’s eyes widen. Her fiancé is rarely friendly, especially not to Paige. They glare at each other for a brief moment before she takes a seat next to Cam. 

Her fiancé and her sit side-by-side at the table, across from Paige and Cam. Charles slides his hand into Azzi’s under the table, squeezing it softly. The small gesture makes Azzi smile as she leans into her fiancé, enjoying his comforting presence. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to take her mind off of the blonde sitting directly across from her, laughing with her WNBA teammates. It annoys her.

Azzi is selfish. 

***

The entire table has some sort of alcoholic beverage in their hands or in their stomachs. Paige sits awkwardly, sipping a Shirley Temple whose sugary and overly sweet grenadine has become bitter on her tongue. Nausea seeps into the edges of her head and begins to spread like wildfire and she finds herself rubbing circles on her forehead. She can’t stand the sound of Azzi’s bubbly laughter across the table. The sound that threatened to burn a hole through her heart. 

“So, how did you guys meet?” Dijonai Carrington cocks an eyebrow at the couple while swirling her cocktail in her cup. 

A brief panicked look flashes across Azzi’s face before Charles cuts in. “We met in college.” His answer is curt and dry, yet polite. Several of her teammates cooed at his response, gushing over the couple. The two women jump into a conversation about their college lovers. 

That should’ve been me.

“What a fucking people pleaser.” Paige snickers to Cam while blinking back the unwelcome moisture that began to form under her eyes. She throws back the rest of her drink before dropping her head into her arms.

“Are you sure you don’t want any alcohol? Like, a thousand percent positive?” Dearica Hamby, the star forward of the Valkyries asks Paige while rubbing the taller woman’s back. Through the seemingly innocent image of the question, she notices genuine concern painted in the woman’s softened eyes.

“She’s alright without it,” Cam answers before she could open her mouth. “We made an agreement that she would have no alcohol tonight because I had to clean up after her last time.” The entire table howls in laughter, and Paige joins them with a half-hearted smile while heart fractures. 

If her smile didn’t split into a frown at the corners of her mouth or her chin didn’t wrinkle, Azzi’s heart wouldn’t have stopped and she would’ve been laughing with her teammates. 

“Yeah, I had to show up to her apartment with shoes and a shit load of candy because I felt so guilty.” She sneaks a glance at the brunette sitting across from her. Instead of laughing with the team, she was engaged in a conversation with her fiancé, prompting her to avert her gaze. It takes every piece of her dignity not to stare at the brunette. Her dark, curly hair is braided and hangs just above her shoulders; the same hairstyle that she jokingly called a bob back in their college days. She wears a baby blue knitted tank that reveals her muscular arms and white, flowy linen pants that hug her hips. 

However, when Paige’s eyes pass by the soon-to-be married couple, searching for something, they follow the pattern of their intertwined arms and hands hidden under the table. Looking at Cam, she whispers, “I need to get out of here.” the taller woman waves a hand at her, signaling for her to go ahead. She files through her wallet and grabs a few hundred-dollar bills and hands them to Cam, which she graciously accepts. Dearica flashes her a sympathetic look before returning to her drinking game. 

“I got a call from my mom and I gotta take it. I’ll be right back.” Announcing to the table, she grabs her phone and stands up, stepping over her drunk and overly rowdy teammates. When she finally slips behind the thick velvet curtain, she finally feels as if she can breathe. The curtain has become a barrier between her and a certain pair of brown eyes that burns holes through the back of her head. She knows that man. The blur of dark curls and olive and brown skin became too vivid. She needs to get out. It hurts her. 

Paige is protective. 

*** 

The neat blonde bun disappears behind the curtain with a soft, almost inaudible swoosh. She tries to talk with her teammates, laughing at their jokes, but everything feels forced. The image of Paige's stiff posture and the death grip she had on her phone haunts her. All of a sudden, her fiancé’s once soft hand feels heavy and scratchy against her skin.

“I need some air. I’ll be right back,” She announces as she gets up, dropping her fiancé’s hand. Cam and Dearica pause their argument over their stupid drinking game and stare at her with their mouths agape. There is undeniable panic swirling in both pairs of wide-open eyes, but Cam gives a hesitant nod.  

“Is everything alright babe?” Charles’s voice is soft but urgent. “I can come with you.” Azzi looks at him with a warm smile before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

As she exits the restaurant, she is met with an intricate spectacle of orange, pink, and blue. The light of the day quickly disappears, but she discerns a hunched silhouette on the beach that glows under the golden light. Her attention shifts to the orange circle that barely peeks out through the edge of the horizon as it slowly sinks underneath the water, leaving a trail of orange and pink light rippling across the surface of the water. Waves crash loudly against the shore before they are drawn back to the ocean while laughter and joyful screams from children join the peaceful ambience. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or do you wanna sit?” A tired voice rips her out of her thoughts as she tears her gaze from the astonishing scene in front of her. She glances at the woman sitting next to her who has her knees up to her chest and her head resting on her forearms. Azzi decides to sit a few feet away from her. For a split second, it feels like their fragmented friendship could be salvaged again. 

She slips her sandals off and lets her feet absorb the texture of the flaky sand while shivering when a gust of wind hits her skin. Instead of ignoring the mechanical sound of teeth chattering, Paige shakes the jacket off her shoulders and hands it to her which Azzi graciously accepts. When she wraps it around her shoulders, she is engulfed in the aroma of roses again. 

“I thought you had a call to take,” Azzi remarks, her voice soft. Veins snake down the woman’s arms and hands until they disappear behind her knuckles. Her pale skin had become golden and her biceps protrude from the rest of her arm. The neat braids in her hair are now ruffled and frizzy, and small wisps of hair dance with the breeze. On her wrist is a beaded bracelet that reads “RESILIENCE.” The bracelet from her camp before their explosive argument. The sight of it makes her heart flutter, but when she reaches her face, a cold wave of dread washes over her as she notices the smeared mascara and faint patches of salty skin on her cheeks. 

“Yeah, I did.” Paige answers bluntly, her voice cracking slightly. An uncomfortable silence falls upon them; the air heavy from their unspoken words. Azzi’s heart throbs at her cold tone. “What brings you out here?” she asks after a few moments. 

“I felt nauseous.” Paige scoffs at her response, shaking her head. 

“Bullshit.” 

“Paige, why are you so fucking blunt?” Azzi exasperates, throwing her hands up in the air in surrender. “You hugged me earlier and that whole time, you were stiff as a rock. It’s been 3 fucking years, it’s time to grow the fuck up.” When Paige says nothing in response, Azzi continues. “I’m trying to be the bigger person here and you’re being unfair. I told you that we can stay friends and then you fucking gho-”

“Your fiancé,” the blonde sneers, tearing Azzi out of her rant. Her voice is shaky and dangerously close to breaking. Through the golden light, she can see the tears brimming behind her smudged eyelashes. “He’s the one that you met at Ted’s, right?” Azzi stays silent, giving Paige the confirmation she needed. “You’re not being the bigger person, not at all. You’re only talking to me because you want something out of me. Azzi, you’re being selfish.”  The last word hits Azzi like a cold bucket of water. 

“You’re being unfair,” Azzi says shakily, refusing to meet the blonde’s eyes. 

Paige lets out a strangled sputter before opening her mouth. “I’m being unfair? Me being mad over you getting cozy with another man after our natty suddenly means that I’m being unfair?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant. You’re being unfair because you’re hurting him with your comments. Do you think I can’t hear the derogatory names you’ve called him tonight?” Azzi scrunches her face and turns to the blonde, whose attention is on the sand that snakes between her toes. 

“Are you happy?” the older woman finally asks after a period of silence.

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Her blue eyes dart towards hers. 

“P.” Paige freezes at the use of her nickname, “I miss you. My offer still stands. We can go back to our friendship.” The last words are quiet, almost as if they aren’t supposed to be spoken. Memories of what they were rush through both of their minds. The women have something unreadable in both of their eyes as they stare at each other. 

“No, we.. we can’t.” Paige finally speaks, tearing her gaze away from her, letting out a shaky breath and gets up to leave, but before she can take a step forward, she feels a forceful hand clasp around her wrist that prompts a wave of panic to flood through her. “Azzi, let me go. You can’t do this. You’re getting married soon for god’s sake.”  

“Our last night in Belarus, I know you remember it. You wear the same perfume, you even gave me your hoodie. Shit, Paige, that was the time I knew that I fell in love with you. Every little thing you did for me felt like you were giving me your entire world. You fell in love with me too. Every argument we had, we made up, and we can make up from this too. I’m asking you to believe in us again. I won’t leave you.” For a split second, Paige’s eyes soften and she lets her walls down. She desperately wants to let go of her "tough guy" facade and let herself taste Azzi's lips again.

“No. You don’t get to say that now. Not when you have a fiancé waiting for you in the restaurant.” The vulnerability that Paige showed is once again blocked by the ramparts of her castle. The remembrance of Charles’s presence hits Azzi like an 18-wheeler. “It’s evident that you can’t own up to any of the mistakes that you made.” 

“You’re not taking any accountability for it either! Do you think I haven’t tried?” Paige flinches, backing away from Azzi who is now screaming. “You had to address it at the fucking draft. For fuck’s sake, let me explain my side of the story.” 

“I tried to give you space because clearly, you wanted to fuck around with him. You don’t get to explain your side of the story. It was the night of the March Madness championship and you ch-”

“Oh, shit.” A new voice joins their argument. Paige whips her head around and sees Dearica and Cameron looking at them with wide eyes. “Azzi, I don’t think you should-” 

“No it’s okay,” Paige feigns a smile before pulling out of Azzi’s grip. “Welcome to the City of Dreams, Azzi. I’m sorry for having to leave so abruptly.” 

And she’s gone. Packed away in the backseat of an Uber. It hurts Azzi more than it should. The doors to Paige’s heart that used to be held open for Azzi are now barricaded off, isolating her. 

“What the fuck happened?” The blonde turns to Azzi with an edge of hostility in her tone. Dearica glares at her, and Azzi’s heart free-falls into her stomach. 

“Azzi?!” Charles’s deep voice calls out, and Azzi is grateful to be saved from the awkward confrontation. When his eyes land on her, they soften and he wraps her into a tight embrace. Every piece of contact between them feels scratchy and uncomfortable, especially in Paige’s jacket. “Don’t fucking leave me again.” He snarls into her ear before glaring at her jacket. 

The other women turn to leave before exchanging an uncomfortable look with each other. 

***

An empty bottle of tequila is the only company Paige has on her bar table. Right as she lets the effects of the alcohol take her consciousness, her front door flies open. Every muscle in her body tenses and she buries her head into her arms in hopes that she will disappear. 

“P?” It’s Cam. Her body relaxes. 

A second pair of heavy footsteps make their way to the table. She stiffens again.

“It’s me, don’t worry. You’re alright” The other voice belongs to Dearica. She exhales and looks up. Cam’s eyes are fixed on the empty bottle of tequila and a heavy breath falls out of her mouth. 

“Again? Seriously, Paige?” When Paige puts her head back down into her arms, Cam’s hands rub her back. 

“Yeah. Again.” Sobs begin to wreck the blonde’s body and she shakes violently. Dearica and Cam exchange a panicked look before embracing their teammate. 

“I’m sorry, Paige. What she did is fucked up” Dearica’s voice is soft and reassuring. “We tried to talk to her but, her, um, we were interrupted.” She and Cam are walking on thin ice; one bad step and their teammate will plunge in the freezing cold water.

“Let’s get you to bed. You have a big day tomorrow, so let’s make the most out of it.” Cam and Dearica carry their teammate, whose body is shaking violently while sobbing to bed.

For the 5th night in a row, she cries herself to sleep. 

I need you.

***

“Charles, why do you want to marry me?”

“Because I love you baby, and I want to spend every second of my life with you. With us.”

“...Okay.”

“I promise I’ll never hurt you. I’ll be the one to protect you forever.” 

“Azzi Fudd. What the fuck was that?” Charles sneers. His emerald eyes are alive, burning with acrimony. She doesn’t look up from her phone screen where her fingers shakily hover over the call button under Paige’s name. 

“I’m sorry? I told you I was getting some air and I ran into Paige.” Her tone is surprisingly even and steady despite her trembling body. When a dark look falls across his face, she shudders. Suddenly, her phone is ripped from her hands and shattered against the wall with a loud smash that rings in her ears.

“Don’t fucking talk back to me. You saw what happened to your phone, and I know that you don’t want to be next.” He slams the door of their hotel room and stomps down the hall. When she doesn't hear the obnoxiously loud footsteps anymore, she allows her body to collapse and cries into her pillow while she thinks about the promises that they made on their engagement night.

I need you.

[jvnluvr]

nightplumes ; sylus ♡

author's note: hello... it's been like a year. >< blog will be going under some theme changes soon- and i'm writing for love and deepspace as well. not proofread. loosely based on sylus' 'nightplumes' card but majorly just fluff written by yours truly. comments and feedback are appreciated! otherwise enjoy soft sylus, <3

after a quick ride out of the N109 zone, you and sylus reach a somewhat secluded bridge with the dove he had been taking care of over the past week. you perch the dove onto his hand, giving him a nod as he releases it back into the wild. you look up as you watch it fly off into the distance, a tiny smile making its way to your lips knowing it'll find its way somewhere. you move your hands into your jacket, letting out a sigh as you turn back to sylus, who is surprisingly looking at you intently. "what's wrong?" you question, moving slightly towards him as you notice the city lights behind his figure.

he remains silent, putting his hands into his pockets before turning around to view the scenery. you tilt your head slightly, confused by his demeanour; yet, you have little time to ponder upon it as you hear a sudden burst in the sky. your head whips up and a beautiful array of fireworks lights up the area in front of you, the light falling of snow making the sky seem all the more magical. you run up next to sylus, leaning against the side of the bridge to get a closer look at him.

the light of the fireworks is reflecting in his eyes... he looks... surprised?

"...sylus, i've noticed that whenever you want to protect something, you always make sure to protect it well." you breathe out, continuing to look at him. "whether that be a dove or a person."

he turns around, raising an eyebrow at you as he replies, "is it only when i'm willing?"

you think, only for a moment, before saying, "yeah, only when you want to do it."

you pursed your lips before turning back to the view in front of you. the lights of the ongoing fireworks reflect into the river underneath. it's peaceful for another moment, only the wind breezing past you two before sylus speaks again.

"you think too highly of me. i'm not a philanthropist." his words almost send another gust of cold wind into your face. almost.

but you don't really seem to care about the meaning of his words in this moment.

"doesn't matter. after all,-" you look at him once again, "i'm not a dove that needs your protection."

sylus lets out a little sound, turning his head to the side before looking back at you. "...is that so?" he questions, to which you give a little nod.

another couple of seconds pass, and you both return to watching the fireworks in silence. they're stunning, but there's a lingering tension amid the air, which makes you gaze back at sylus. he notices your staring, turning in your direction once again.

"what?" he says in a curt voice.

"there's snow in your hair." you point out.

sylus immediately moves his head down, closer to your face as he replies, "help me."

you reach out your hand and lightly tussle his hair, the snowflakes quickly dissipating as they fall to the ground. you let yourself smile again, finding it a bit silly that he asked you to remove the snow. as you pull your hand away, he grabs onto it for a moment, only to quickly let go as he sees your eyes widen. and once again, you both turn back to watch the fireworks.

the silence is a bit awkward...

"the fireworks are pretty, aren't they?" you muse, putting one hand on the ledge before looking at sylus.

his crimson eyes bore into yours; yet, a gentle smile lights up his face, moving his fingers to draw a small cat into the snow. is it supposed to be you? you didn't realize the leader of onichynus would be so playful.

"pretty, like a little kitten i see here," he remarks, finishing his tiny drawing with a smug expression.

you take some snow and press it against his face as a retort, laughing at your own trick. sylus flinches at first- an annoyed look plastered across his face. but once he takes your laughter in, his gaze visibly softens. he pats your head gently, wrapping your scarf properly around your neck.

"don't want you getting cold now, do we sweetie?" he teases, grabbing your hand and wrapping it around his. you both resume admiring the fireworks, indulging in the cold and quiet night outside of linkon city.

maybe this weather was enough to turn a crow into a dove.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

pheromones, m | myg | nyangnyang au

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Just a married couple fucking as they do, passionate and intense, and their cat that does what all cats do – judge. Nyan.

warnings: husband!Yoongi x wife!reader; smut (fem reader, m-receiving oral, ball torture, edging, face-fucking, multiple orgasms, fingering, light nipple play, marking, penetrative sex, hair kink? idk); domestic fluff and a judgy fluff that interrupts (nyangnyang!au but can be read alone) and clearly wiyllt is obsessed with long-haired, sweaty Yoongi, oop

--

Hot.

Wet.

Tight.

And your husband’s palms pressed to the back of your head, his long fingers tangled in your hair, swearing roughly under his breath as you swallowed his hard cock, swiping your tongue along the underside as you ascended, pinching his balls between your knuckles and not letting him cum.

“Fuck…”

You curled your tongue around him and felt him twitch, shiver, growling deep in his chest. He didn’t need to shove himself into your throat. You were already doing that, deep and suffocating, a punishing rhythm that he didn’t want to interrupt, so instead those talented fingers gripped your hair and tried to hold on, biting back any pleas because they both wouldn’t get him anywhere and Min Yoongi was not a beggar.

Couldn’t stop you either though.

You got into, hm, moods and Yoongi would simply have to take it. He wouldn’t admit to it willingly, but there were many reasons why you were married and your moods was one of them.

“Fuck, why are you… so good at sucking dick… fuck…!”

You opened one eye to peek at his body lines. Flexed arms, tense chest, broad shoulders glistening with almost-there sweat. His head tilted back, jaw tight, wild tangles of black waves brushing his neck and shoulders. You liked his hair long so he kept it long. You also liked that he wore jewelry, so his chain necklace was still on, draped against striking collarbones below strained tendons. His earrings caught the light, two hoops on each ear, all of it gleaming silver and perfectly sexy.

You lessened the pressure on his balls and kept moving up and down, up and down, contained wet tightness and tongue all around the head, steady but precise pressure, rubbing your thumbs against his abused balls to massage them.

Yoongi’s chin snapped down, black hair flaring around piercing dark eyes, and he swore very loudly, glaring at you with feral high.

Well, actually it was a combination of your name and cursing, which was exactly the kind of reaction you wanted. His grips tightened but he did not press toward himself, mindful of his movement even as he orgasmed, gasping hotly above you. It was salty and immediate, flooding your mouth, and the taste of his release thickly coated your throat, more than usual because of the edging and the extended length of time that you had kept him in your pleasure cage. You had to tip your head back and swallow quickly, amused as you hard Yoongi’s low and coarse voice above you.

“You’re swearing a lot,” you commented, licking around his cock, tracing the contours, sucking off excess cum and your saliva.

“Fuck off,” was his curt response, pushing your hair away from your face and shuddering, combing his fingers through the crown of your head. Could have been mistaken as cold if you didn’t know him so well.

It was an endearing fuck off, really.

You started again. Slow but persistent. He hadn’t softened this entire time, constantly stimulated by your tongue and your nails raking over his balls. A soft shudder that you felt rather than heard. The pad of his thumb grazed over your temple, following his shudder, keeping your hair away from your face. Usually, you clipped your hair out of the way or tied it up but apparently tonight was one of those nights that Yoongi wanted to mess it up. Your husband had a kind of wordless attachment to it. He would reach over in bed and just run his fingers though the strands. You would be kissing and he would slide his hands into it and pull the silken strands over your vision, then gently brush the dark curtain aside, deep brown staring into your eyes, his lips soundlessly moving against yours.

I love you.

Yoongi looked down at you sucking his cock and you rubbed your tongue against the underside of the swollen head. Raised an eyebrow even, burying his twitching length deep in your throat. He smirked, open-mouthed and devious.

Then he started fucking your face.

Hey, you were married. Nobody said you two were romantic.

Immediately, you stopped your pace and gripped his hips, letting his deliberate and steady rhythm take over, focusing instead on the placement of your lips and tongue. The power was not in his hands but in his lower body, driving forward and back, letting you adjust your jaw and rub your soft lips against the throbbing head when he almost pulled out, twisting his fingers in your hair, pain and adrenaline meshing together, the sensations so saturated that time seemed to slow, potent lust building, your tongue following the veins along taut skin, watching Yoongi throw his head back and his hair flaring out like obsidian flames, groaning your name, throaty and vicious.

You saw the flinch of tension snapping ripple across his chest.

He hissed and jammed his cock straight into your throat, forcing you to still and constrict your neck muscles, clamping down around his jerking length. Thick cum spilling out in hot, tight bursts, seeping both up to the roof of your mouth and below to your tongue.

You collected his orgasm with one expansive lick and swallowed, hearing Yoongi hiss but not move his hands, pinning you to his softening length. Closed your eyes and calmly licked him all over, listening to the erratic heavy breathing above, pretending like you didn’t just edge your husband with ball torture and then make him cum twice back-to-back.

Yoongi didn’t say anything about it.

He did yank you up a bit roughly when you were satisfied with cleaning him up though.

You grinned at him and he kissed you to stop seeing such smugness.

Even under lowered lashes you could feel the sharpness in his stare midst kiss. There was fervor and fondness in those deep brown eyes. Loud desire in the silence broken only by shared breath. There was nothing like this. No one like Yoongi. You could feel it in every electric kiss, every second under his fingertips, every forever in his eyes locked with yours.

He gave everything to satisfy you.

Everything he had to match your energy and burn with you.

His lips against your neck, his chest against your back, his hand between your legs. You sucked in a breath, wary, shivering as his lips grazed your shoulder, his other hand curving around you to cup your breast, rough fingertip pressed to your hard nipple, teasing lightly. You leaned back against him, not seeing the darkness of the bedroom, but instead slipping into the sensations, into the shiver that came from his fingers sliding against your wet slit, into his tongue against your neck, into the sparks dancing over your skin from the light pinch of your nipple, exhaling heavy and slow, murmuring his name.

“Yoongi…”

He didn’t say anything.

He just knew.

His lips curved into a smirk against your neck and he slid two fingers into you.

You half-expected him to use his mouth to stimulate your other nipple, but instead Yoongi stayed behind you, teasing your neck with his teeth, running his tongue over his marks and making your body tense, unsure how to react from the roughness of his thrusting fingers and the swift teasing of your nipples paired with his tongue and kisses, faster, deeper, on the edge as he sucked the skin just under your ear, moans slipping from your tightened jaw.

Your fingertips landed on his forearm.

Shuddering, angling your hips more towards his hand, spreading your legs even more.

His lips curving against your earlobe, serene whispering despite the blinding scorch of passion.

“Look at me.”

You turned your head as he shifted his body. Opened your eyes, vision hazy, but your husband clear, those dark eyes and flushed lips, black strands shadowing his cheeks, the scent of sweet sex drifting up, the sound of repeated, wet thrusts echoing under, your inner walls throbbing around his fingers, sucking him in, pulses of ecstasy drumming through your veins.

Your lips parted, no breath leaving.

Yoongi’s hand left your chest and he gripped the back of your head, dragging you into a kiss.

Fast and hard in the only way he could, inhale shallowing, trapped in lip-lock, closer, hips moving in his rhythm, closer, him taking your breath away, there, moaning, there, your eyes rolling back and kissing Yoongi fiercely, your own hand sliding into his hair and pressing him to you, breathing him in like oxygen, rocking your hips into his hand and riding the high, violent convulsions radiating through your blood.

Fuck, he was good.

Your palm rested against his jaw.

Heat exchanged in breath, touch, and tension.

People on the outside could pretend that they knew what this was, but no one knew the meaning of the look shared between you and Yoongi except those involved – the intensity of fire and flow of water becoming one, burning in churning emotions, tangled in limbs and shadows, a conversation in silence as fingertips danced across smooth skin, watching Yoongi’s eyes close because he couldn’t look at you any longer.

You half-smiled.

Pulled him to you, your lips against his cheek, kissing down in a line, humming against his throat.

“I want you,” he had said to you a long time ago.

You had frowned at him, not understanding. “I don’t have emotional sex,” was your confession.

“I know,” Yoongi admitted. “And I want to love you.”

You understood right away.

Maybe only you could and that was why Min Yoongi had chosen you to call love.

And, sometimes, he just couldn’t look at you because he loved you that much.

Now, you sank your teeth into the hollow of his shoulder, just past his necklace, teasing the skin with your manipulation of tongue and lips. Nails raking over his back, dragging him over the bed, his hand flying out and swiping at the nightstand, your tongue running against the vibration of his moan, and you didn’t have to look at him to know he wanted your hot breath over the red mark you had left on his fair skin.

Your lips moved against the hickey.

I love you.

You parted from him and his raspy murmur followed.

“My love.”

You tilted your head back against the pillows and extended your tongue past your lips, framing your graceful fingers over your breasts like art. The corner of those devious lips turned upward, black hair over his dark eyes flaring with lust. The sound of the condom packet ripping open but you kept your focus on your husband’s face, trailing your hands down to lift your thighs, your tongue grazing over teeth, and you saw the tip of pink trace his flushed lips, Yoongi mirroring your action, leaning forward, pushing his sweaty hair back with one hand as he loomed over your body, casting you both in familiar shadows.

“There is only you,” you breathed into the darkness between you and him.

“Heh, no one else could ever satisfy you,” Yoongi chuckled and thrust into you.

One hand on your thigh, pressing it to your chest, pushing in deeper, making you clench your teeth and take it, not quite relaxing your inner walls because there was no reason to make this easy. And maybe you just wanted to feel his force.

Your husband shoved your other thigh between your chests and bent down, cocking an eyebrow.

“So, it’s gonna be like that, hah?”

You smirked, mirroring his well-known expression.

“Give It to me.”

Not a question. An order.

Yoongi’s calm expression didn’t change. He simply rammed his hips into you and made you gasp with the force, your hands flying up to clutch the pillows, but fierce pace already begun. Your hips immediately followed, lifting up to match his descent, both of you moaning at the sudden intense depth but neither stopping, chasing the power and the pleasure with equal ferocity. You wouldn’t dream of backing down and Yoongi wouldn’t dream of not giving his all even if it meant bruises and soreness, bunching the sheets beside your coiled body and fucking you hard with your legs on his shoulders. Breathing shallow, erratic. Pressure building, pussy clenching around hardness, each thrust shooting through you, up your spine and into your head, thoughts dispersing, heartbeat roaring, burning in the heat, pressing your head back, savoring it, fuck, Yoongi, his name like addictive smoke and sucking the air back in quickly, so hard to breather but so violently alive, closer, closer, husky rasp, I’m close, and your tight hiss, fuck me.

“Fuck me, fuck me, ah, fuuuuck–”

You bit down on your lip and moaned behind gritted teeth, burying your head into the pillows and your hair sweeping into your vision, covering your face as your whole body shuddered, pleasure both a potent venom and an uncontrollable high punching into your lungs, jerking your hips up and squeezing his twitching length. Heady pulses drumming at your temples, gasping for breath, hearing Yoongi groan and flinch against you, pressing deeply, squishing your leaking juices between your joined bodies, his head pitching forward, scalding hot breath against your throat.

For a moment, time froze.

Suspended in the sensations, the ripples of orgasm flowing through him and through you, the afterglow petering in as the blinding ecstasy dissipated. Tingles and prickling racing over your skin. You felt fingertips against your forehead and then your vision cleared, your hair pushed away from your eyes by your husband.

You looked up at Yoongi.

His long hair was all over his face.

You tried to chuckle but you were too breathless and no sound came out. Instead, you also reached over and planted your hand into a sweaty mess.

“You’re sweating.”

“And you’re a slave driver,” was his instant response. There was no malice behind it. More of a matter-of-fact, borderline unbothered if it wasn’t for how hard he was panting. This wasn’t Yoongi complaining. Surprisingly, despite his stern exterior, your husband did, amusingly, whine sometimes.

It was cute.

“We should clean up.”

“Mhm.”

You were getting back into bed when your husband reappeared from his own after-sex routine.

“Nyangnyang gave me a dirty look.”

You frowned. “Isn’t she on her cat tree? I thought she was asleep.”

“I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water and she was judging me from the top perch,” Yoongi sulked. Uh, what was the cat was supposed to do? Give him a thumbs-up?

“I’m sure she’ll show up when we settle in bed,” you remarked soothingly as you slipped under the blanket.

“Nyan.”

“Oh, look who it is.”

All of a sudden, a white furry bullet pounced onto your side of the bed and sat on your arm.

“Nyangnyang, please wait until I adjust on the pillow.”

She did not.

You had to wrestle your arm out from under your furchild and adjust the blankets as impatient paws stomped around your moving hand and then she plopped against your side. Purr-purring away. One would think Nyangnyang the cat owned the place.

“Weirdo.”

“She just loves your pheromones after I rail you,” Yoongi said in the most monotone, unaffected voice ever, which meant he was greatly annoyed.

You nodded sagely. Understandable. “Guess that makes two of us.”

“Don’t make this weirder than it already is.”

“Nyan.”

“Don’t talk back to me.”

“Nyao.”

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[avonne-writes]

https://www.tumblr.com/avonne-writes/757613623658102784?source=share

Hello! Love the list :) so many good ones. But how about either 6 for the angst, or 13 for the (potential) fluff? Whatever you prefer!

Thank you for the prompt! 💖 This will be a HS AU drabble, set on the night of their prom. Just some simple fluff.

13. Drunken/drugged/sleepy confessions

Gale drifts on the gentle currents of sleep, giving in to the heavy weight dragging his eyelids closed. Long arms hold him warm and safe, and Bucky's chest rises and falls under his head like waves of the sea. It’s easy to imagine that Gale’s floating, rocked asleep by water - he certainly feels light enough for it.

Bucky brushes the back of his knuckles over Gale’s cheek. "What a night, huh?"

Gale hums. He knows he doesn’t have to add anything more to the conversation - Bucky can tell from the tone of his hums what they’re meant to say. They had their senior prom tonight, their last school dance. It’s hard to believe. Four years have gone by in the blink of an eye. But at the same time, Gale feels so... old. So sober, looking at the layers of naivety growing up scrubbed off him. He feels like an adult, but also not at the same time, and he doesn’t know what to do with that thought.

For now, he’ll just let himself bask in the afterwaves of the evening. In the new memories - the fun they had at the dance, then all the celebration that followed in Bucky's bed. Warmth pools in his chest and stomach when he thinks about it.

"I had the most gorgeous arm candy in the whole room." Bucky teases, running his fingers over the parts of Gale's arm that Gale's pj shirt doesn’t cover. "I wonder how our photos are gonna come out."

Here, the sound Gale makes is more of a groan, and it pulls a rumbling laugh out of Bucky. "Mom's gonna frame one for sure."

When Gale just continues dozing peacefully, he adds, "Maybe I will too." He thumbs at the inside of Gale's elbow, his voice as whimsical as it usually is when he's happy.

"You’re sleeping on the couch then." Gale mutters.

"Why?" Bucky laughs, then clicks his tongue. "We don’t even have a couch yet, and you're kicking me out of our bed."

Gale shifts to lie on his back, his head pillowed on Bucky’s arm. Under the blanket, he tangles his feet with Bucky’s. "We don’t have a bed either."

Predictably, Bucky rolls after him, draping himself over Gale with his elbows propped up on either side of Gale's head. Although Gale doesn’t open his eyes, he can’t help but smile in anticipation of the kisses that Bucky peppers all over his face a second later.

"We gotta look for a mattress together." Bucky mumbles against his cheek as Gale's hands slip under his shirt to stroke his back. "Something nice and bouncy."

Gale cracks his eyes open and raises a playful eyebrow. The shit-eating grin he expects appears on Bucky’s face without delay. Bouncy. Right.

Truth is, the idea that they're going to buy things specifically for the two of them makes his stomach flutter. They're going to have their own space, their own bedroom. Privacy. Anything they want to do, anytime they want. No one to judge them, no one they'd bother. The promise of that kind of freedom feels intoxicating already.

Bucky tucks his face into the crook of Gale's neck and sighs in contentment. "Tell me a secret."

Gale's fingertips settle in the valley of Bucky's spine. "You know all my secrets."

"Come on, everyone has secrets."

"Yeah? Tell me one then."

Silence reigns while Bucky thinks it over. "Curt and Kenny are back together again. I saw them making out in the bathroom tonight."

Gale snorts. "That’s gossip, not a secret."

Bucky shifts on top of him, fidgety. It’s obvious to Gale that his thoughts are running wild again, but Gale doesn’t acknowledge it. He's too sleepy. He could drift off like this, with his boyfriend's weight on top of him. Wouldn’t it be nice? He sighs and leans his head against Bucky's.

He waits patiently, and it pays off as usual. A moment later, Bucky opens his mouth again. "I'm so sleepy."

That's not a secret either, Gale wants to poke at Bucky, but he just yawns and hums again.

"But I keep thinking of you in that tux."

Gale bites his lip. Considers it. He almost tells Bucky that he’s on board if he doesn’t have to move too much, but Bucky continues before he could say it.

"While we were dancing tonight, I kind of imagined it was our wedding." Bucky kisses his neck. "Didn't wanna tell you, but you got it out of me."

Gale grins at the ceiling. Secrets don’t remain secrets too long when Bucky has to keep them from him. "Didn't take much, did it?"

Bucky laughs and kisses him on the lips. When he pulls back, Gale cups his face. "Guess I owe you a confession now."

Even in the dim light, he can see the corners of Bucky’s eyes crinkle. "Guess you do."

Gale combs his fingers through Bucky's curls. "What if I told you I imagined the same?"

Bucky's exhale rushes out of him in surprise, but he recovers quickly with a smirk. "Well, I imagined our wedding night too."

Gale snorts a laugh.

[sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast]

haiii I was wondering if you could write a fic with nanami and a chubby reader with a big chest, I'm fine with anything so go wild with the fic :))

*sips tea* my first nanami request, giggles. All I could think when I read this was ceo!nanami with his pretty new assistant, so that's what I'm going with♡ it'll be a mix of fluff w/ nsfw bc why not? Hope you don't mind

Content: ceo!nanami. Chubby!reader. Sfw/nsfw. Mdni. Talk of titties, bj, slightly horny Nanami, smidge of jelly nanami, cum on tits.

Part two.

When Nanami first met you, he didn't really know what to think. A new assistant was a new assistant. They were all the same. He hadn't cared much for most of them. Now, that wasn't to say he was mean, but he treated it strictly professional. Like he should. Teaching them the ropes, giving detailed plans of what their tasks were. The usual. And for the most part, they'd done their job. Albeit slow, messy; he found himself cleaning up after them. Which ultimately led him to cut them loose. Earning a reputation as a strict boss who asks for too much.

But not you. You were diligent, punctual, tidy, kind.

After having you as his assistant for over a week, he could tell you were different. And he didn't have any plans on cutting you lose anytime soon. There was one problem, though. It seemed he had become... too, infatuated with how you did things. It was innocent at first. He found it cute how you'd chew the end of your pen when you concentrated hard on a document you were reading. Or how you'd always pass out coffees in the morning, unprompted, as you remembered everyone's coffee orders. How you reminded him, even though you didn't need to, that he needed to have dinner. You'd noticed he was staying late recently in the office and would always poke your head in. Brows furrowed but still a smile on your face. "Sir, don't forget to eat dinner! It's important to eat your meals." Nanami, of course, would always nod, giving you a curt thank you before secretly watching you leave. His heart thumps rather irregularly whenever you'd say those things.

Eventually, his thoughts began to...turn a lot less innocent. The first occurrence was when he saw you outside of work, a pure coincidence. You were in casual clothes. Showing a lot more skin than you would at the office. And your makeup was a lot less..subtle too. Nanami found that he liked it. A lot. "Oh, Sir! I didn't think I'd see you out in the open like this." You gave him a smile, and it was then he truly paid special attention to your plump lips. And soon, his gaze would wander. To the curve of your waist, the plush of your thighs. Your...assets, sitting particularly perky today. Or had they always been like that? Safe to say, he ended that conversation early with an excuse before you noticed the boner that made a surprise entrance.

And ever since that day. He's paid special attention, more than before, to every move you made. You chewing cutely on your pen? Turned into him thinking about your lips wrapped around him. Bringing him a coffee? Turned into his wandering eyes on your ass as you left his office. And anytime you'd poke your cute face in, reminding him to eat. He had to force himself not to ask if you'd care to share a meal. One where, preferably at the end, you'd be his dessert.

With his head in his hands, Nanami sighed. What was he supposed to do about this peculiar situation.

A knock came to the door. "Enter," he said, sounding exasperated. And of course, your cute self just had to waltz in here. Your curves especially on display today with your outfit. Someone take him out.

"Sir? Are you alright? I've been calling you for the past five minutes. You have a call on line one. Should I tell them to call back?" The worry on your face made him feel guilty. Guilty for all the definitely not safe for work thoughts he had and were currently having about you. "I'm fine. Stress comes with the territory." A lie. Somewhat. You pouted your lips-fuck.

"You know what helps me? A shoulder massage. I could give you one!" His mind immediately sent alarm bells. Telling him to say no, to decline. Yet still, he found himself saying, "If you're offering." You smiled wide, coming around behind him. Setting your notepad on his desk before cracking your fingers, and soon they were on his shoulders. Digging into his tensed muscles with astute precision. God, it felt good. Too good, he reminded himself. He shouldn't be letting you do this yet he couldn't find it in himself to ask you to stop. That was until you did, unprompted, with a clearing of your throat.

"Um, Sir?" You questioned and he was confused. Until he finally tuned back into his senses and that's when he felt it. The heavy weight of his dick between his legs. Hard and leaking, simply from your lithe fingers working at his muscles. He stood up immediately, running a hand down his face. "I'm sorry, this is totally-"

"I can help with that, too." He heard you say, making him blink. And before he could question you further, he watched you drop to your knees. Fumbling with his belt and buttons before slipping him out of his slacks. What was happening? He should stop this. This wasn't appropriate. But he didn't. Instead, he laced his fingers in your hair, helping guide you onto his length. Eyes hazed with lust when he looked down at you, your pretty lips wrapped so sweetly around him. How your tits would bounce with the movement of your head, really driving the urge to slot himself in between in his head. But that could come later. Later? He wouldn't-he couldn't.

Nanami swore, feeling you suck him with expertise. He wondered how many times you've done this. How often. And for some reason, jealously, slowly creeped into his veins. He had no right to be jealous, thinking of how many cocks you've had in your mouth before him, but it did. And it lead him to fucking your mouth roughly. Making a true mess of your mouth before he pulled out, stroking with persistence as he came all over your breasts. Marking you, in a weird way.

And he was going to apologize. His brain fog slowly fading but when you smiled at him. Seemingly happy with what had occurred, he snapped his mouth shut. Tucking himself back into his pants and offering you some tissues. "Thank you," you said. Cleaning off his seed, tossing it into the trash before standing up.

"Let me know if you ever need help relaxing again, Sir." And you said nothing more as he watched you leave.

He was fucked.

A/N: low key kinda wanna make a pt 2 for this. Thoughts?

[smolvenger]

Dangerous Stubbornness (Caius Martius Coriolanus x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: Life as wife to Caius Martius Coriolanus has its benefits. You married him for stability, protection, and status- not to mention the delights of his bed. You expect to be no more than his dutiful wife. Yet...it seems perhaps there is something more there then all of that....

From @muddyorbsblr's request of Coriolanus with the trope "he flals first."

Word Count: 2954 (oop, she exploded from a blurb)

Warnings: There is smut, NSFW 18+ please refer to Dick-tionary (rougher sex, dirty talk I stole from Ana Huang's books, doggy style, some light dom/sub, voyeurism), a creepy sexual harasser gets what's coming to him, Caius being a grumpy angy babygirl sharko bite blorbo who actually is soft for his wife and is wrapped around her little finger, Reader uses Caius as scary dog privilege. Attempts at accuracy to Ancient Roman culture and characterization but at the end of the day it's about the wish fulfillment and the vibes. Lots of fluff. Grammar mistakes bc i just want to get. This. Shit. Done after the wild two weeks I've had.

Dick-tionary: Smut starts at "Three little words. That was all he needed." and ends at "You felt his breaths from behind you, his touch gentler against your arm." Use to your discretion.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

You were never afraid of walking through the streets of Rome because your husband walking behind you would scare all who dared to harass you. You would go about the streets, your veil fluttering on your head, smiling bright in the afternoon sunshine. Caius always had a frown and glare in his eyes that dared any fool to try to cross with you. 

The marriage was purely for status- you were a good woman from a respectable family. Yes, that was probably why it was arranged between your parents! They wanted someone with a good heart and reputation, and Caius only wanted a wife to manage his house and give him children. Why should you say no? Not that you were scared of him at all- for he never once was cruel to you. Perhaps curt and blunt on occasion, proud and stubborn- but he never bullied you. With his famous wealth, you would never go hungry. He’d be away in battles and you would be alone and be free to do as you wished for months on end. If he died in battle, you figured, the more the better! You would have his money and the freedom of a widow with the respect of his name. Besides, you weren’t in love with anyone and never thought any suitors would show interest in you. 

Such was one walk, early in your betrothal. One fellow had not heard the news or knew who you were and came upon you. Trying to touch you, invite you to dinner or the bathhouses. You kept refusing, he kept insisting.

Then, the braggart leaned over and grabbed your arm.

In about ten seconds flat was Caius, unsheathing his sword, upon the braggart, pulling him by the collar. You shoved him off and ran behind him. The man trembled as if Thanatos stood thundering before him.

“I shall be quick in work and send you to your death-do you understand, villain?”

He nodded, shaking. He already seemed to learn his lesson. You edged forward to your dragon of an intended.

“Please- don’t kill him, there are too many people out watching- just scare him!” you whispered to Caius.

Caius shoved him down. The man shook where he stood and you thought you smelled urine leaking from his bladder.

“If you ever as much as speak this lady’s name-I will kill you.” he threatened quietly.

The man, having learned his lesson, mumbled a whimpering “yes, dominae” and fled.

Since your marriage, and with your new status as a general’s wife, such incidents never happened.

As you peered about one stall in the market, admiring the fresh fruits offered, you smiled bright.

“Oh, how lovely these berries look! So ripe and fresh! Wouldn’t you agree, dear husband?” you asked.

Caius remained frowning, though eyed down the berries. The man selling them looked pale and kept eying the sheathed sword on Caius’s hip.

“They’re fine,” he said. His pride kept him from commenting further on a simple farmer’s wares. But you felt his eyes over your smile seeing them.

Caius lent his coin to buy you some. The trembling farmer scooped up some berries, and popped them into a little bag, and handed it to you. You thanked the farmer and paused to admire them.

You smiled at them, as if they were jewels in your hands. Then you tried a little handful, popping them into your mouth.

“Mhm! They’re delicious! Thank you, Caius,” you replied.

You leaned up and gave him a peck on the cheek. He blinked, and his shoulders loosened down from the feeling of your lips. You could have sworn a faint pink was on his cheeks as he continued behind you- not that he dared smile or keep his guard down in public.

You thought it would be another ordinary quiet night. But Caius Martius was many things. Quiet and ordinary were neither of them.

At home, you wanted to rest your feet from all the walking today. Your loom was coming along and weaving it felt relaxing. As you sat, you heard footsteps. Turning around, you saw Caius standing there.

You stood up. “Husband? Is something the matter?”

“...no…” he said.

“Oh…then, what…what brings you here?” you asked.

“I wish only to sit, I have…scrolls to read.”

“This is, er, not the usual room for a man,” you said, taking note of the loom and embroidery, the flowers from the garden.

“I am going to sit and read. In this room,”  he said determinately.

Letting out an exhale, you relented.

“Oh- your mother is always right! Your dangerous stubbornness- oh, you are welcome here, Caius, dull as it must be for you compared to a fight with a Volsce…” you teased.

He made no answer. But you sat and weaved. Watching how the lines all came together and became one for the latest project.

Little did you know that his eyes were more on you than on the flimsy scrolls. Seeing your profile and your eyes over the work then the dusty work.

Though as you ate dinner, His eyes were on you, the neckline of your dress, showing your shoulders.  Your tempa mesa was presented, eaten, and sent away as was the meal. He moved closer, to sit beside you. You felt him move an arm around you. Speaking to you in soft tones.

 As a slave came in to take an empty bowl, you felt him close, he held up a hand. Talking about some silly complaint with the tribunes Brutus and Sicinia. But it was useless- he only wanted to touch your hand, trace it, and bring it to his mouth as his lips ghosted a kiss onto your palm. You took in a sharp breath as he did.

You felt your breaths become shallow and saw his eyes flutter boldly to your chest. He sat beside you, one hand always lying on your thigh.

“What…is this….”

“I only want to enjoy all that is mine- my house, my meal, and my wife.”

With that, he propped you upon his lap as the slave brought more wine. You felt yourself get warm, feeling him on you. Such…intimacy sent your heart aflutter. Though…after plates were cleared before he could tighten his arms to hold you, you slid off. He let you, his blue eyes widening.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” you announced softly.

His hand was still on your skirt. As you walked away, the fabric pulled and then slid lightly off his fingers. His hand is still in the air as if still touching you.

You sat down before the vanity. Making sure your face was washed, you removed the jewelry you had. Smiling at how lovely they were. Gifts he still found to give you even though the wedding was some time ago. Gifts he still would give you.

The slaves were still around. They kept fanned cool air with peacock feathers. Played soft music on harps and little reeds and made sure there was always water for washing and kept about.

The door opened, and your heart beat hard as he got inside. You continued your nightly routine, removing the ring and necklace as well as the belt before you. Getting ready to change- and yet…here he was. A shadow in the corner. He walked up.

“Husband! My…I’m not in trouble?” you asked, slightly teasing.

“No…”

The servants all shot a look, he gestured at them to stay. To continue their business.

His arms wrapped around you slowly. Then, he laid his head down, looking at you in the mirror.

“But…I didn’t say I wanted this evening to end…” he breathed, he began to pepper kisses down your neck. His hands running down your arms.

“I said I was going to bed…not to sleep…” you said. Enjoying the teasing and playfulness. How you could still hold this mighty, fearsome warrior like wet clay in your hands.

He whispered into your ear for only you to hear.

“I’m going to burst if I don’t have you now.”

You grinned.

“Then have me,” you replied.

Three little words. That was all he needed.

He tore off your veil to where it flew down, fluttering like feathers. He pulled you in and kissed you. You moaned into it. His hands grew bolder, feeling down your sides. You moaned in response as he slid his tongue inside. You pressed yourself next to him, feeling his desire prod against you.

Then he was on you like an animal starved. At once he began to kiss you, cupping your face, keeping a hand on your back to keep you close. You waved a hand through his short, dark blonde hair. His own were going down to feel all over your skin, though his firey kisses never stopped. The man had a craving for you in the bedroom like no other. Not that you complained about it.

You took his hand and led it to your breast to squeeze.

“Caius…yes…more…” you moaned.

“You want more…” he replied.

“Yes- give it to me…” you asked.

“All of it…”

“Yes…”

“And you will take it?”

You looked into his eyes.

“...yes. I want more. Not like on our wedding night. I want it hard. And rough. I can take it. I will take it.”

At once he threw you upon the bed. Lush with blankets and pillows, rich and comfortable. He walked towards you, eyes filled with lust, his steps slow, his head tilted, but not smiling.

“When I take you, I want you to cry out. I want all of Rome, every plebian, every senator, every person, and every animal and god to know you are mine.

He was on you, feeling a hand on your leg and kissing you. You began to grind against him. The servants blushed and looked about, he gestured to them.

“Stay,” he ordered them.

They stayed.

“I don’t want you dignified. No, wife. Show your loyalty-” he moved his hands through your dress.

“Take off your clothes.”

“If you want me naked that badly- take them off yourself,” you dared.

He obliged.

You let a sound as he roughly reached into your dress and shoved down the sleeves. You began to let a sound, a gasp as it broke open. It nearly ripped it. Shaking, you helped remove his own clothes still on him. Amazed at though his chest was filled with those dark, bloodied scars, the muscles still on them. 

He smiled.

“Such a tongue you’ve grown to have on you, delicae,” he said

The music of the slaves continued, as did their fans. Though you could feel their eyes.

 Now you were naked in his room, feeling his hands explore all over you, one squeezing your breast as the other spread around your back, wrapping you in, fingers into your skin as if to mark you.

“Then shouldn’t I be punished?” you asked coyly.

He smirked as looked at you. Then he let the last of his clothes fall. Showing his impressive thighs and impressive cock so hard it dripped against his stomach,

“It was everything in me not to take you at that table…then we’ll make up for it…”

He half threw you to the study part of the room. There sat a desk.

“Lean over that desk.”

You obliged, heart beating hard.

“Spead your legs,” he ordered.

You opened your two shaking legs, your wet sex glistening before him.

“Put your hands on the edge,” he ordered in a rasp.

Two shaking hands of yours gripped the edge. He laid your hips up. Then thrust into you at once. You let out a sound. Then roughly, he began to take you. Pounding in, his large cock straining inside you. You let out a sound.

“Yes- yes keep that- you are- you’re mine, you’re mine now- now-say it-say. it.”

“I’m” you cried between his thrusts. “I’m-I’m-your-yours-you- gods!” 

He pounded into you with a fury. His own groaning increasing. It was so filthy, so depraved, and you loved it. You had to grip the edge tightly as he pounded into you. Grunting like an animal. 

The music from the slaves continued, as did the footsteps from their business. Harps continued on as Caius took you like a whore. You could feel them still watching everything. Wondering if they were frightened, aroused, amazed, disgusted, or all four at once. 

He began to growl to you between pounding you.

“So you-” 

thrust.

 “-never-” 

thrust 

“-forget-” 

He pulled you up by your shoulder to your ear. His voice right next to it, his cock and his voice overtaking you.

“You-” 

thrust 

“-are-” 

thrust 

“-my-” 

thrust 

“-wife.”

He reached a hand, finding your opening between your legs. The bud inside you, swollen and needy and overcome.  One large finger began to strum it and you let out a whimper feeling it. His large, long fingers could already play it so easily. He let you down, and you were gripping tight to keep from losing it all. You weren’t going to last long at this rate.

“Caius! Caius please-please-Caius-”

It was already crawling up, the desk thudded loudly, perhaps breaking if it weren’t so thick and sturdy. The slaves would know he was yours and you were his. That only he and you could bring each other this.

“Yes- cum, dammit, wife- cum for me, cum- just cum, cum with me-”

“Caius-caius! I- Caius-caiuscaiuscaiuscaius-” you repeated, feeling it break. Your voice gets higher until you let out a noise, as your climax hits you.

Then with a shout from him, the seed shot forth inside you. You moaned as you panted, catching your breath. He steadily pulled out. 

You felt his breaths from behind you, his touch gentler against your arm. One wrapped around you for protection. 

“Get her something to drink now!” he barked at the servants.

They nodded their heads and ran off. Caius with one swoop got you into his arms. You felt your breath light, almost dizzy with joy- he hadn’t done that since your wedding when he brought you to this house. You could still feel his strong arms supporting you so easily. He carried you over to the bed, settling you amongst the blankets. One slave brought a cup of your drink, and you sipped at it with both hands. He made sure a blanket was draped over you for a bit of modesty.

“What kindness…I never would have guessed you would have kindness in you…” you remarked.

“I…want to be honorable…” he said quietly.

He waved a hand, and the flushed slaves left, Granting you privacy at last. You saw Caius look at you, then glance down like a shy maiden.

This wasn’t like him.

“What is it?” you asked.

“What is what?” he asked.

“You and your dangerous stubborness! Well I have some in me too. You have enjoyed me. And you wish to speak of something, I can feel it. You can tell me. Is there something you want of me? A son? I’m sure at this rate, you’ll have one…” you urged, a hand consciously at your belly.

Caius tilted his head again, his hand moving you away from yours. But touching it softly. 

“It…isn’t that. What I have…you must think it isn’t for a man to say aloud,” he said

“But you must say it! Is something wrong? Are you ill? Is your mother ill? What did Menenius try to weasel you to do? Where are they sending you now!? Caius, Why not-”

He quickly got up and cupped your face. He spoke quick, plain, and to the point.

“I love you.”

You paused your breath tight and the room spinning

“You…love me?”

“Why did I ask my mother to arrange us married?”

It struck you.

“I was…am a virtuous daughter of a respectable family-”

He looked into your eyes.

“I’ve loved you the day I met you. I wanted to have you as my wife or no one.  I couldn’t resist you if Diana herself ordered me to.”

Struck silent, you saw his face soften. The orange glow of the candlelight making him that more beautiful. 

“When…when did you know for sure…did Eros really strike the moment you saw me ”

“I…I remember it was- it was the race for the senate. All the crowd gathered to see me speak, to see the consul. I tried to ignore you there, and I could not. I was in denial all that time. But seeing you-when you looked at me, and smiled, I forgot it all. I didn’t want the seat. I wanted you. Honestly, I don’t know when it happened. But it did. And yet- all at once I-I-”

He paused.

“Maybe it was when we were betrothed. Maybe I walked with you to the markets. Or when I saw you there. Maybe it was every dull dinner and banquet I had to attend, that I still went, hoping to see you. To just see you…”

He caught himself.

“But no…I think most of all…it was each time I spoke to you. And you knew of me….and now …”

He touched your hand and you brought it to your lips, kissing it tenderly. You almost saw a tear drop despite the stillness of his face.

“I know what I am. And I thought you should hate me. Beyond whatever duty you may feel to me as your husband-”

“Caius, I don’t hate you. Not at all.”

“Then…could you-”

“I could learn to love you, and choose to love you, Caius.”

You pulled your face to his and kissed him. Then you tucked yourself into him, embracing him as you both lay on the bed. Not just as husband and wife, but as two people deeply in love.

[barbika1508]

Star struck (Steven Grant x Reader)

Word Count: 2,7 K

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Cuteness

Summary: Y/N meets a celebrity and Steven doesn’t quite know who she is talking about, but still manages to get jealous which doesn’t go past Y/N, who finds it all amusing, given she only has eyes for her boys.

/ Masterlist 2023 /

I’m barely able to hold back my squealing from excitement, the bus ride home eventful as I can’t stop humming. I could barely sit still. And of course, the elevator takes forever when you least want it to. So, power walking down the corridor I restrain myself in that aspect. Until I reach the front door of the apartment, fumbling with the key, almost walking into the door as one of my boyfriend’s did a double lock.

‘’Open c’mon.’’ I whine, stubbornly pushing patience lost. Jumping inside I’m surprised that I catch my balance looking up seeing Steven peeking around from the bookshelf having stood up I’m sure due to my commotion.

‘’You will never believe what happened!’’ I call out still containing my excitement while my boyfriend cutely tilts his head, confusion written all over his handsome features. Spinning on my heel I close the doors, leaving the key inside the lock.

‘’I was at Piccadilly; random I know it bustling with tourists’ dear gods. A little bit of sun and everyone just comes out from hiding, unbelievably predictable humans are, aren’t they?’’ As I ramble, I pull over my head my purse, hanging it onto the newly acquired coat hanger we’ve gotten just the previous weekend having stumbled upon a market where they sold antiques.

‘’I wanted to pick up some cakes from the new place they opened. The one I mentioned that I saw from TikTok?’’ I make a gesture stopping briefly as he walks slowly closer looking cosy. So handsome and cute at the same time, a dark green sweater, and comfy grey sweatpants his curls are wild enticing me to just hug him and never let him go.

He gives the slightest nod making me clap my hands ‘’Yes!’’ I cheer beginning to pull of one sleeve of his padded jeans jacket I lately am obsessed with wearing ‘’Anyways the line was insaneeeeee!’’ I give him a deadpan look ‘’I swear babe, I would've waited until tomorrow.’’ Slipping my right arm out I throw the jacket over the entire coat hanger ‘’ANYWAY I digress.’’ I shake my head bringing my hands together as I walk up to Steven who is still looking at me tentatively, confusion gone a smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

‘’Wow you look handsome.’’ I find myself getting distracted once I’m standing in front of him, earning myself his chuckles, one hand settling over my hip the other cupping my joined hands delivering a sweet kiss on top. Unable to move past how handsome he is, how he makes my heart speed just by a look let alone the sweet gesture of kissing my hand.

‘’So, you were at Piccadilly.’’ he reminds amused, his hands crossing together as he settles them on the low of my back holding me close. I shamelessly press both of my palms flat over his firm chest.

‘’Yes, there! The crowd on the bus just got too rowdy and I figured why not get the deserts. Anyway, I jumped out the first moment I could. Had to make my way from the very back, bloody hell…’’ his smile widens ‘’...I almost had to wrestle a woman to give room so I could go out!’’

‘’And you’d win the fight if a drawl broke lose.’’ he teases to which I point my finger confirming his words giving a curt nod.

‘’You know I would.’’ I snort ‘’So, I jumped slash got thrown out basically. Almost kissed the ground in relief.’’

We both make grimaces at that Steven still amused and unusually standing still as he watches me ‘’Okay the good part. So, I looked up to the front of the bus hearing the doors closing and then, barely got a step forward when a guy followed, landing not so graciously behind me. The bus just took off.’’

He shakes his head tsking to which I nod ‘’Right??! So rude.’’ I shake my head along with him ‘’I instinctively grabbed the guy’s arm and his way too fancy coat and literally dragged the man onto the sidewalk and away from the buses splash zone. Of course, there was a huge puddle there.’’ I raise my right hand giving him the OK gesture.

‘’Uh oh dove.’’ he begins but I put my finger on his lip, stopping but mostly surprising him as his eyes dares from my hand back to me.

‘’Stop thinking ahead!’’ I warn ‘’The man who I grabbed and “saved”...’’ I do the quotation marks ‘’Was none other than Kit Harrington!’’

I look at him pointedly watching his blank expression as it switches from puzzlement to tenses as soon as I raise an eyebrow pointedly, the whole reveal not reaching what I hoped it would.

‘’Jon Snow?’’ I try giving him the biggest hint, his perplexity turning into furrowed brows as he offers a sympathetic smile.

‘’I’m sorry my dove, but I’m really blanking. Is he the character from yesterday's movie?’’

Not to be over dramatic but I mentally face-palm myself. For a man who knows names of pharaohs, and can read Egyptian hieroglyphs, and remembers history dates better than anyone I’ve ever met, and also absurd details I tell him about myself and in general he really, reaaaaallly sucks at remembering the names of characters, shows and movies.

‘’Wow.’’ I begin attempting to take a step back as I raise my hands as if in surrender ‘’Woww!’’ I repeat intent on ducking to get out of his hold, but he’s faster knowing all my moves after all picking me up even as I twist around in his hold ‘’Whelp- STEVEN!!!’’ I shout grabbing onto his arms resting under my belly.

‘’Relax…’’ he begins with a smile in his voice.

‘’YOU’RE GONNA DROP ME, STEVEN…’’ I continue twisting, not sure what to hold onto as he has me in a weird position and quite high up, holding me in such a way that I’m far from the ground. Okay sounds dramatic again but he could drop me at any moment, I would not get the chance to turn and catch myself like a cat. In any case.

‘’I’m not dove!’’ he reassures making his way to the couch, hold firm ‘’Stop wigglin’ so much, you little fox.’’

Twisting me in his hold effortlessly I must add I cling onto his shoulders the moment I’m turned, one hand settling around his head the other, around his shoulders, legs settled over his upper torso.

‘’Why raise me so high up?’’ I whine as he stands still his hands barely supporting me as my grip is enough to keep myself steady ‘’I know you’re strong but, my gods love. Did Marc talk you into this?!’’

I grumble keeping still as I can my thighs beginning to strain ‘’Didn’t have to. I just know you to well.’’ comes his muffled reply ‘’Now can you slowly let go of me for a moment pretty girl? I kind of don’t see where the couch is anymor’.’’

His chuckles are way amused by the tingle of fear that’s still present. Only when I feel his hands move under my thighs do I register his words, slowly letting go, thrusting him to hold me.

‘’Please don’t drop me, please don’t drop me…’’ I repeat under my breath switching into glaring at him as he twists me like a gymnast effortlessly, lying me down first and then settling himself atop of me, his weight welcomed as he keeps me pinned, arms caging me in, head settling over chest, looking up at me.

‘’I would neva.’’ for good measure he shifts and presses a kiss to my nose.

‘’I know.’’ I admit watching his eyebrows raise up as he stares at me ‘’It’s something about height that makes me irrational I guess.’’ I make up a lame excuse although not so farfetched either. Cupping his cheeks I admire him, how soft his eyes are, his tolerance for my rambling saint like. All the boys are patient with me.

‘’So, about this Kit fellow…’’ he begins his face slightly hardening eyes averting from me for a moment. I recognized his train of thought where it’s going with it, I’m sure the other boys present as his eyes drift towards the blank screen of the TV.

Albeit awkward as he’s further down on me, I hold myself up with my left shaky arm but end up being successful as I direct his face upwards bending enough so I can press my lips against his distracting him. It lasts a second or two, unfortunately the position completely comfortless.

‘’Okay you gotta move up, pretty boy I can’t kiss you like that.’’ I say as I fall against the pillow reaching back to rub the back of my neck ‘’I feel like I almost sprained a muscle there…’’

This time he stops me with a kiss, having raised just perfectly shutting me up in the best way possible. I can feel his smile as he moves his lips slowly taking his time. I savour him likewise, always eager for whatever my boys give me. Fast, slow, hard, teasing. I'm just happy to be with them.

The kiss gets broken too soon for my liking, my fingers barely sliding into his glorious curls. I watch as his dreamy look shifts into a serious one. Before I can question him further, he ends up burying his face into my neck as rest atop of me, his weight not a problem as he’s strategically lying down. He’s that considerate yeah.

‘’Are the boys annoying you?’’ I whisper running my fingers over his scalp to calm him down, his nod subtle to which I hum ‘’Lads it’s rainy. And its cuddle time. You’ve got plenty of cuddles, okay? Stop bothering Steven.’’

As I speak, I stare up at the ceiling and the wood planks holding the roof above us - literally. I raise my hand just in sync as Steven turns his head the other way, my eyes following his onto the still blank TV screen. For a second, I watch Marc as he glares at himself his hold tightening.

Knowing no words are going to help as the boys share one body and can behave like brat’s, I reach for the coffee table grabbing the remote thank the gods successfully, turning the TV on immediately.

‘’Do you wanna watch a documentary on Atlantis?’’ I break the silence and I hope their arguing, feeling the shift in my boyfriend's hold, the man snuggling closer moving his head so that he has it tucked under my chin but not uncomfortably as I move the buttons of the remote, onto my profile and my list to watch.

‘’I would love to, mon amour.’’

My cheeks are hit with heat instantly. Steven doesn’t often speak French but when he does, when he uses French nicknames…safe to say I’m ready to throw my panties at him. Clicking onto the documentary I slowly exhale trying to calm myself down, content to be where I am.

The intro drags out the whole explanation kind of unnecessary as I know the entirety of the alure that is the lost city. Its reason enough to avoid some documentaries as the information tends to repeat itself. But not even 10 minutes into it the host gets revealed to which my hand shoots out as I point ahead!

‘’That’s Kit Harrington!’’ I reveal excitement again hitting me, Steven raising onto his elbows as I wiggle in excitement ‘’He was so nice. Kind of nervous to be honest looking around but not in a creepy way. Let me up I want to show you, we took a selfie…’’ giggling in excitement to show him the said selfie Steven lies back onto me keeping me in place his pouty and grumpy expression making me halt in confusion ‘’So now you take selfies huh??’’

‘’I mean…’’ I drag the word out ‘’He is a celebrity.’’ I raise my eyebrows in question, my answer not satisfying his query. I watch as he looks at the TV, Kit explaining something, ending up giggling with his co-host.

‘’Celebrity or not, he ain’t tha’ special.’’ Steven grumbles getting up sitting on his knees glaring at the TV raising his arm up ‘’Look at him. Shave much?’’ the insult has my lips retreating into a line as I try to keep laughter at bay admiring my boyfriend as he gets unusually grumpy Steven being a sweetheart at all times and unapologetically himself, grumpiness not really something I associated him by.

That’s Marc’s thing.

‘’Must be the curls.’’ He concludes pointing his finger at me as in accusation his action having me raise my hands in surrender ‘’You have a type don’t ya?’’ he grins in triumph as if he had figured me out.

‘’If my type is cuddly, extremely handsome and knowledgeable in ancient Egyptology who kick’s ass and is very smart then I definitely have a type.’’ I muse spreading my arms out to invite him back in. But instead, my boyfriend remains on his knee’s hand still in the air as he looks at the TV, and at Kit still speaking the silence and his lack of reaction self-explanatory.

‘’You dofus!’’ I shout grabbing the pillow behind me swinging it over my head with both arms blindly to hit him ‘’I was taking about you Steven!!! My gods!!!’’ I complain staring at him in disbelief at how he doesn’t automatically think about himself ‘’The man is married for the love of, wahhh.’’ Frustrated I can’t even end the sentence grabbing the second pillow my head landing not so nicely on the arm rest as I swing it again.

But my boyfriend is deceiving under the lose clothing he prefers to wear. The man is strong as an ox – he displayed a fraction of his strength when he carried me over – pushing the second pillow out of the way landing atop of me once more grasping my hands making sure to pull me lower and flat against the couch.

Blinking in downright bafflement I look at the calm expression Steven is sporting as he’s observing me, I’m sure holding himself back from firing another sarcastic comment against the forgotten documentary still playing in the background. Thanks to his closeness I’m pulled into glorifying my boyfriend’s handsome features. The was his lips had gone in a line portraying sternness, pointy nose curving nicely, half closed eyes providing a mystery as to what is going through his mind. As he subtly shift’s a lose curl from his unruly hair falls over his forehead my eyes flickering to it.

‘’It’s the curls.’’

The statement has me meeting his gaze, a bright smile spreading over his features ‘’I knew it.’’ Smug as ever he muses, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

‘’Hmm.’’ I begin any rebuttal dying down as I take him in ‘’Must be.’’ I murmur getting serious myself, cupping his face feeling how warm he is refocusing his triumph back onto me ‘’But I like you the most.’’

I end up whispering as if I’m telling him a secret.

And que back my wonderful shy Steven, whose cheeks under my palms heat up. He ducks down lying half on me face buried under my chin his movements of rearranging us hurried but effective and soft in nature, leaving me giggling halfway through.

‘’Cutie patotie.’’ I cheer wrapping my arms around my boyfriend even hocking a leg over his thigh, my head falling to the right as I look at the TV. Rising my hand higher I begin playing with his curls smiling quietly to myself as the documentary has ended. I watch as the next suggested show begins the countdown to be played.

3. 2. 1.

At the grandiose music intro, the title gets spoken out loud Steven immediately turning his head to face the TV, not moving an inch his attention stolen. It’s always about Egyptology. Even though a good 3 minutes into the show Kit appears again, my boyfriend remains quiet this time around.

So, I let him be enjoying my position, and his warmth and gentle fleeting touches. It’s a good day today. Having met a celebrity not at all that much of an accomplishment.

This right here…oh yeah. Perfection.

Copyright 2023© by barbika1508. All rights reserved.

[finniestoncrane]

Semblance of Self

Arkham!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 1k commission: urgh ok thank you @necromances-chances for this soft prompt with eddie!! please also note that in my mind, there was 5 months of constant arguing to get him to the point where he considered dressing up nicely lmao commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: stubborn eddie, some angst with eddie's inner turmoil, soft fluff

When you found the source of the noise, and along with it, Eddie, you put on the sternest voice you could muster and flicked on the light switch.

“Shower. Now.”

This morning you had reminded Eddie that he had an event that he had promised to go to. When you placed his lunch down in front of him at his workbench you had reminded him again. And an hour ago, you had told him that he had to stop what he was doing and go take a shower. But when you had walked past the bathroom, there was no sound of rushing water, and the lights were out. And it wasn’t that he had forgotten, because after traipsing around the sewers on the hunt for him, you found him crouched amongst some of his old robotic prototypes, idly tinkering with them. 

“I’m a tad busy.”

“With old parts and machines that weren’t up to your standard? Sounds completely believable.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder, showing your support. It wasn’t easy for him to live as though things were normal. In solitary confinement down here he could be exactly who he was without worrying about social conventions, small talk, and the odd rules he couldn’t quite follow with regards to being polite and modest and human. 

“Come on, I’ll give you a hand.”

“I don’t think we have time for that.”

It was impossible not to smile, or to blush, at the nonchalant comment, but he was right. You couldn’t indulge yourself. He had to get ready, there was no getting out of it. He couldn’t charm his way out of it by charming his way into you.

He stood with a sour face the entire time you tugged at his clothing in the cold air of the bathroom. Not once did he make an effort to lessen the burden. Instead, his awkward, dead limbed stance made everything harder. And he pouted, sighing and grumbling under his breath when you informed him that you wouldn’t be leaving the bathroom until he was finished. Muttering his complaints under his breath, he washed while you stood cross-armed waiting on him. 

When he was finally finished, you marched him to the bedroom where he stood awkwardly, wrapped in a towel and dripping onto the concrete floor. 

“Come sit on the edge of the bed, please. Since you refuse to wear gel, I’m going to brush your hair while it’s wet, that way it might settle nicely.”

Edward did as he was told, but that didn’t at all mean that he was pleased about it.

“I’m not a child. And I am certainly intelligent and capable enough to dress myself.”

“And yet, you couldn’t get showered and ready on time?”

“That has nothing to do with my abilities, and far more to do with my unwillingness to attend this ridiculous party.”

Tutting, you tried to focus on combing his hair, brushing the dark, brown strands into a neater style than you were used to seeing on him.

“It’s not as though it’s some wild party with karaoke and cheap alcohol. It’s Harvey’s birthday. You have to show. It’s in the sort of… ridiculous rogue code, no? You have to pretend to get along. Or something.”

Eddie’s reply was curt, to his usual standard.

“Or something.” 

Sitting down next to him, you placed your hand on his. Sometimes, a simple gesture was all it took for him to open up or to better express himself. You hoped it would prevent an all-out huff if you could get him to talk.

“What is it that’s bothering you about tonight, Eddie?”

“Everything.”

“Because it’s out of your comfort zone? Because you have to speak to people? Because you have to wear that suit I bought you?”

You glanced over to the wall where the suit was hanging by a hanger and a rusted nail. In your peripheral, you could see Eddie was staring at it too. 

“It’s a boring suit.”

“It’ll look very good on you.”

With a sigh, Edward stood up from the bed and began to pace, as he was wont to do when he found himself overwhelmed or emotionally spent. He picked up the white shirt on one of his loops and began to button it up as he walked, clearly trying to keep to the schedule you had set. Even in his determination to express to you how deeply he did not want to go, he was bound by his odd habit of being punctual. 

“Regardless of how it might look when draped over my body, it is not emblematic of the Riddler. Hardly. This isn’t me. That is what I have a problem with. I am stripped of the essence of self. There’s nothing recognisable, nothing truly Edward Nygma about this facade that you-”

His mouth stayed open, lips parted in surprise as he stared at the items in your hands. 

“It’s not you as you are right now. But how many changes have you gone through? How much of you is kept in your appearance, and how much more is in your actions and your words? I know it’s difficult to lose the items that make you feel secure, but hopefully…”

You looped the dark, forest green tie around his neck, letting the ends hang over his shoulders against his chest. The tiny silver cufflinks, which you had custom-made, you fastened onto his sleeves, watching his smile stretch out as he admired the shape of them. Subtle, but still question marks. Still something identifiable. Something that made him feel like himself. 

“I can assure you, Edward Nygma, that the moment you begin monologuing about their various inadequacies, they’ll know it’s you.”

He smiled towards you, ignoring the obvious but playfully intended insult, knowing it was hard to argue with the reasoning. 

“Do you think so?”

“Of course. You’re a very difficult man to forget or ignore. No matter how hard someone might try.”

His lips curled up at the edges, a mischievous grin you were very familiar with. He might not be happy about attending the party, but in true Riddler fashion, he would make sure the party was just as unhappy about that.

[captaincryolicious]

trapped in misery...

...until he comes to save the day

➳ scaramouche x gn!reader

➳ oneshot ; 1.3k

➳ cw. fluff, hurt/comfort, y/n has no motivation to do anything, scara is ooc but idc i just wanted to write scara comfort

zep's note ; this is so self-indulgent that i'll probably take it down sooner or later heh

content under the cut | masterlist

The clock on your nightstand read two-point-eighteen pm. 

Scintillating rays of the autumn sun filtered through the closed blinds, but through the change of seasons the strength and gentleness of the sun was fading, and they reached you no longer. All that seemed to reach you was an impending feeling of gloom, and you couldn’t shake it off. 

Completely still, you lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. At some point your thoughts had been running wild, one miserable thought following another, but by now your mind was empty and blank. It had been hours since you woke up, but your mind ran out of fuel and there was nothing left to think of. Yet, you didn’t move. You didn’t kick off your covers to get up and do something, even though that was probably the best thing to do right now. You couldn’t get yourself to do so, and you remained in bed idly, with no motivation or whatsoever to make a change to your current setting.

Oh, you could come up with plenty of things to do, that wasn’t the problem here. You could grab a book and read a little, get up and grab yourself something to eat, go outside to take a walk to feel better, tidy up your room to be productive, and so on. So many ideas, but they all lost their spark as soon as they popped up. It wasn’t laziness that kept you from acting, you were well aware. No, you wanted to do something, you wanted to get out of your current state, but nothing seemed promising enough to reel you out of that downward spiral. Nothing sparked your interest anymore, not even the things you usually loved to do. 

It was one of those days.

With a sigh, you pulled the covers a little higher up to your chin. You were buried in your soft duvets comfortably, but discomfort still coursed through your being. You wanted to close your eyes and go to sleep, just so that this day was over. You were tired, so so so tired. You didn’t want to feel anymore. And it was still so early in the afternoon. You allowed yourself to curl up into a little ball of misery, your gaze finally straying away from the ceiling as your eyes fluttered close. 

Darkness wrapped around you, literally and figuratively so. 

     “Y/N?” a voice filtered through the door, followed by a curt knock. 

You recognized that voice, and your heart jumped a little. But you didn’t reply, your voice gave in. You couldn’t get yourself to speak so loudly to allow him inside, and you stared at the door with the everlasting sadness lingering in the pit of your stomach. You felt so useless, even something as simple as calling out was too much for you today.

     “Whatever, I’m coming in,” you heard the person mutter, and the door opened. Scaramouche stepped into your room, merely a silhouette as the fickle rays of sunshine barely brought any light to your room. The blinds worked well to shroud your room in darkness. 

Scaramouche was quiet for a while, you felt his eyes observing you as he connected the dots. You, surrounded by darkness, still in bed even though the day had progressed for a big portion already, not saying a word upon his arrival. That could only mean one thing, and he knew all too well. 

     “Y/N…” he spoke, his voice unusually gentle. “You’re doing it again.” 

     “I know,” you whispered. 

     “Can I open the blinds?” Scaramouche asked, though you knew he would do it anyway regardless of your answer. 

     “Go ahead,” you mumbled, not looking forward to the sea of light that would flood your room in a moment. As much as you despised the darkness, it was also strangely… comforting, but in a way that smothered you slowly. 

You had to squint when the blinds no longer filtered out the sunlight from outside, and you pulled up the blankets to cover your face. Scaramouche was doing the right thing, you knew that much. Dwelling in the darkness wouldn’t get you anywhere, but you didn’t feel like being in the light either. 

But your boyfriend knew what to do, so he acted confidently. After all, he had seen you in such a state too many times for his liking, and over time he figured out how to deal with it when you were about to drown in another episode of misery. Though you didn’t act like it, you were always relieved when Scaramouche interfered with those moments. There was nowhere to run when you ran from yourself, and he was your only escape. 

     “You really have to treat yourself better, Y/N,” he lightly scolded you, softly pulling the duvet down to reveal your doleful face. “You look miserable, but I know you’re stronger than this.” 

     “I’m tired of always being strong,” you quietly admitted. “I can’t do it anymore.” 

     “Shut up for a moment,” Scaramouche said, though his tone held no malice. “You say that as if you have to suffer alone. Don’t forget you have me by your side. I may be an ass who doesn’t know much about comforting you, but I’m trying my damn best and I will never let you down. Now scoot over.” 

You did as he asked – or commanded – and made room for him to join you under the covers, like he always did when you were having a miserable day. He was cold, and his presence sent a chill down your spine. But it was a different kind of cold than the one that consumed you today, one that you grew to love. His inhuman form melted against you as he held you close, allowing you to snuggle up against him. Bad thoughts evaporated now that you had him near, his fingertips drawing circles on your back to distract you a little bit. You didn’t know what it was, but simply the idea of having him with you made you feel a lot better. Scaramouche wasn’t the nicest and warmest person, he could be quite harsh and blunt sometimes, but when he knew you needed him the most, he tried his very best to be your comfort. 

And it worked.

     “We’re going to make a plan for today, Y/N,” he started. “Staying in bed all day won’t help you.” 

     “Okay,” you muttered, playing absentmindedly with a strand of his violet hair. 

     “First, you’re going to try to eat a little,” Scaramouche began, still drawing little shapes on your back. “It doesn’t have to be much, just try it or I’ll have to force-feed you.” – you smiled a little, making a face at him – “Then we’re going out to do some grocery shopping and we’re going to treat you to something nice. As much as I hate to admit it, you know I can’t cook for shit so you’ll have to help me with that. Is that okay with you?” 

You nodded. As much as you didn’t feel like doing anything, the idea of doing things together with Scaramouche made it a little easier to find motivation. He was right; staying in bed all day wouldn’t make you feel any better. Going out with him would. So many times had that been proven. You knew it would do you good. The male knew very well what you needed in moments like these. Him. It was as if he possessed magic, motivating you when nothing else could. This guy singlehandedly pierced through your misery as if it were nothing. 

     “It’s time to get up, Y/N,” he announced. “Can you do that for me?” 

His cold fingers folded between yours as he got up and slowly helped you as well. You swung your feet over the edge of the mattress and rose, gaining a rare little smile from Scaramouche – one that made your heart swell with the smallest speck of joy. With your hand still in his, he guided you out of your room, away from your little pit of misery. 

He did it again.

[holylulusworld]

Before you (7)

Summary: King Steven Grant Rogers once was a good king and a gentle alpha. Now he’s a cruel shadow of his former self. Can he find the light again?

Pairing: King(Alpha)!Steve Rogers x Maid(Omega)!Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Warnings: angst, language, softer Steve (he tries), Bucky is the best (soft Bucky is a warning, okay), mentions of loss of loved ones, undefined age gap, a hint of fluff, true mates, a/b/o, scenting, Steve is still a little possessive 

Before you masterlist

<< Part 6

“I want you to stay here,” Steve tries to keep his voice soft and even. “Please.”

“Steve, a word,” Bucky watches you hug yourself. You stand in the corner of Steve’s room, looking like a scared animal.

“I got no time, brother,” the king doesn’t want to leave your side. Now, that he finally has you back in his life, Steve cannot let go of you again. Ever.

“Brother,” his brother walks toward the king to cup the back of his neck. “I love you; you know that. But right now, I’m concerned about Y/N. You need to be more patient, and less aggressive. If you want her to trust you, give her room, and let the healer take care of her.”

Steve snarls. “I know what you are trying to do, brother,” the king puffs his chest and pushes against Bucky’s chest. “You can’t take her away from me. She’s my omega.”

“Steve, you may be the king, but you are acting like a feral animal. I will not let you hurt Y/N only as Peggy was a monster. This is not about her, this is all about you, and the hole in your chest you desperately try to fill.”

“Bucky,” Steve swallows thickly as you look at him, tears in your eyes. The king has the urge to bring you into his arms as his brother holds out his hand for you. “You can give her the chamber next to my private library. It’s not too far away.”

“Good,” Bucky gives his brother a curt nod. “I’ll make sure Y/N is safe. Samuel and Clint will guard the room.”

“You should bring her away from me,” the king whispers. “I don’t know for how long I can tame my alpha. You’re right. She’s scared of me, Bucky.”

Steve turns away from you, not wanting to witness your departure. He doesn’t know if you will ever open up to him. The girl he once knew seems to be long gone.

Just like the boy he used to be…

The king paces the throne room. He stops in his tracks and looks at the knights watching him with stoic faces before he starts pacing back and forth again.

“Do you think I should-“ he looks at one of the elder knights. “No. Forget it.”

It’s been two weeks since he last saw you. The healer reports on your health to the king daily, but he won’t tell Steve if you asked about him.

“Brother,” Bucky watches his brother with amusement. “Steve, you need to stop, or your boots will catch fire.”

“I need to,” Steve huffs. “No, I cannot ask her to join me for dinner. Maybe I should go to her. What do you think?”

“I had to beg her to stay here. The poor soul is afraid you’ll change your mind and punish her for speaking up.”

“She didn’t do anything to anger me, Bucky. If anything, she made my heart beat a little faster.” The king chuckles. “For a short moment, she reminded me of the wild girl she used to be.”

“Steve. Give her more time. A few days ago, you wanted her to leave your kingdom. She lost her family, home and I’m afraid, her hope too.”

“I must give her hope,” Steve concludes. “I just need to find out how to give someone hope. How can a man who lost all hope a long time ago give someone hope?”

“Be the man you should have been for all these years,” Bucky pats his brother’s shoulder. “If you can try to be a better man, king, and alpha for Y/N, she might find hope again.”

“Come in,” you softly say as someone knocks at your door.

Over the last few days, you got comfortable in the room the king offered to you.

It’s not a home, and will never be. But it’s warm and safer than the stables, or being on the run.

If you trust one soul in this world, it’s Bucky. He’s a good man and would never hurt you.

Unlike the king who still scares you.

He can’t be Grant. There is no way the gentle and kind boy turned into this person.

“Y/N, omega,” you immediately take a step back as the king enters your chamber, not Bucky, or the healer you got to know better over the weeks Steve left you alone. “I wanted to see if you are better.”

“I-“ dropping your eyes to the ground you nod. “Thank you, my king. I’m honored.”

“No—no,” he runs one hand down his face. “I’m not the king, my love. Please, let me show you that I’m still your Grant, the boy you let into your heart.”

You look at the king, eyes wide and fearful once again. He sighs as you drop your gaze only moments later.

Taking a deep breath you muster all the strength left in you to talk to the king.

“The queen’s horse, when did you get it from my father?”

“Long before I had to marry her. I imagined we ride together again one day,” he whispers. “She didn’t give it a name.”

“Beleza,“ you mumble. “That was the name I gave her when she was a foal. I was so sad when my father told me he sold the mare.”

“Beleza,” the king repeats. “A beautiful name, Y/N.” He carefully takes a few steps toward you. “Do you want to see the horse? Maybe it remembers you.”

“I spend many nights at the stable and didn’t recognize her,” you sniffle. “How could I not see that it was Beleza? She’s the only survivor.”

“No, she’s not,” he closes the distance between the two of you to bring you into his arms. “You’re here. Peggy didn’t win. She failed.“

“The queen?“ you close your eyes and allow yourself to inhale his scent. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Steve lies. He cannot tell you about the queen’s betrayal. Not yet. If he does, he’ll lose you forever. “Do you want to see Beleza? We can go to the stables. I got time.”

He runs his hands up and down your back, purring low in his throat as you make a soft noise. “I’d like to see her.”

“That’s Amis,“ Steve points at his horse. “A strong horse. He once saved my life. I got heavily injured, but Amis found his way home.”

“Amis,“ you gently run your hand over the stallion’s back. “Strong, and majestic. He’s worthy of being a king’s horse.”

Steve watches you talk to the horse. His heart beats a little faster as you whisper something in the horse’s ear. “I hope to be worthy of being his rider.”

“You’re a king,” you remind him.

“Being a king doesn’t mean I’m worthy,” he stands behind you to sniff at your neck. “I think that I lost the right to call myself a king since my queen died. Maybe even for a longer time.”

You wrap your arms around the stallion’s neck, sighing as the familiar scent of horses and straw fills your nostrils.

“You lost your way, your majesty. Maybe your brother can help you find it.”

“Bucky tried. The Lord knows he tried so hard to tell me Peggy is not a good wife. I almost abandoned him,” he admits. “He’s my brother, and I turned my back on him. How could I?”

You’re not sure if you can tell the king what you think about him, and his behavior. You are still scared of the alpha.

He can change his mind at any time and throw you into the dungeon.

“It’s not my place, my king,” you lower your eyes as Steve moves to your side to watch you. “You’re a king. I’m a peasant.”

“You’re my true mate, my love,” he corrects. Steve can see the fear in your eyes return. “You should greet Beleza now. She’s waiting for you. I’ll be outside, Y/N.”

“Thank you, my king.”

“You showed her the horses, that’s good,” Bucky watches his brother bury his nose in a book. “What else did you do?”

“I walked her back to her chamber, and wished her a good night,” Steve looks up from his book. “I followed your advice. Y/N is scared and vulnerable. I need to take things slow.”

“It must be hard not getting what you want, your majesty,” grinning Bucky closes his book. “She will make sure you court for her like an alpha, and a king should.”

“Y/N is worth it. I will try my best to become the alpha man she deserves.”

“Well then, brother. I’ll help you…”

Before you (8)

More tags in reblog.

Before you

@sebsgirl71479​, @rosemirrors, @patzammit​, @stoneyggirl​, @openup-yourmind​

[aquagirl1978]

Bad Romance - Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

A/N: This is a surprise fic is for @vioisgoinginsane and based upon the drawing she made of Gilbert for my request HERE. It is also part of the Different Universe Same Love ccc hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady - thanks for hosting this wonderful event!

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader

Prompt: Celebrity AU / Gilbert wearing your pink shirt

Tags: Fluff, slightly suggestive (but no smut)

Word Count: 1293

“It’s too early…” you grumbled, your forearm shielding your eyes from the sun’s bright early rays. Your head was pounding as if you were hungover, the result of a late night love’s passion.

Bolting up in the bed, you looked around the room – one that was not yours. Yes, that’s right, you quickly remembered. 

The concert. 

*****

Last night, your favorite band was performing at a local concert, and you and your best friend, Rio, were lucky enough to snag some hard to get tickets. The concert was amazing; the band sang all of your favorite songs, leaving your voice hoarse from singing along. The air was electric as you danced the night away with Rio; you were one with the music as its beat thrummed through your body. It was your first concert, and you knew no other could ever come close to this one. 

And then your life changed.

As you and Rio were leaving the concert, a man approached you. From the badge he wore on a lanyard around his neck, “Roderich” was part of the band’s crew, maybe a roadie. He handed you a ticket - a VIP pass - and told you how to get backstage. 

Like a fish swimming upstream, you pushed past the people leaving the concert hall, your knuckles turning white as you clutched the pass in your hands as you headed towards that secret place others only dream of. 

A gruff man guarding the door gave you a curt nod when he saw your pass; with an outstretched arm, he held open the door for you. No longer in Kansas, you crossed the threshold into the tiger’s den, and in a strange twist of fate, met Gilbert von Obsidian, the lead singer, whom you spent the entire evening with. 

*****

Thankful to find your body covered in a white button-down shirt, you glanced around the bedroom, looking for any sign of Gilbert. When it became clear that he was not in the room with you, you rolled out of the warm, plush bed and began looking for your belongings.

Strewn across the floor were clothes – yours mixed with his – discarded carelessly as you stripped one another bare late last night. You picked up Gilbert’s black jacket from the floor; holding it in your hands, your fingers traced over the lapels as you recalled your first kiss.

******

It was your first time riding in a limousine; with Gilbert seated next to you, everything felt like it was your first time. His hand was firm on your knee, his ruby-red eye locked on yours. He was so close, his scent was overpowering – a mixture of incense masking a faint medicinal smell. His lips so close you could feel his wintery breath on yours, doing everything in their power to send you wild with desire.

Your lips parted, and your eyelids drifted closed, anticipating his kiss. His lips were cool against yours as his long fingers wrapped in your hair, your fingers clutching his lapels as he deepened the kiss. 

It was the perfect kiss, the kind that you never wanted to end. Gilbert himself was addicting, intoxicating; all it took was one kiss, and you were his.

So naturally, when he suggested going back to his hotel room, there was no way you could refuse.

*****

The soft sounds of music drifted into the room, a gentle reminder that you were not alone. Realizing you couldn't hide in the bedroom all morning, you headed towards the source of the music – faint at first, but growing louder as you approached the kitchen. 

"I want your love, and I want your revenge

I want your love, I don't wanna be friends

J'veux ton amour, et je veux ta revanche

J'veux ton amour, I don't wanna be friends."

You slowed your steps as you stood hidden in the hallway, listening to Gilbert sing along with the song on the radio. The dance-pop tune was so different from what you were used to hearing him sing, and if you didn't know any better, you might have thought it was someone else singing.

But that voice. No one – absolutely nobody else – had a voice quite like Gilbert’s. Laced with a seductive edge, there was a light and airy quality about his voice that made it feel otherworldly, as if he was an elf. 

Looking in the large mirror in the hallway, you ran a hand through your hair, the bright bite mark on your neck catching your eyes as you fixed your bed hair. Taking a deep breath in, you entered the kitchen, your heart still pounding with nervous excitement.

Just a few steps in, and you stopped dead in your tracks – Gilbert, still singing along to the radio, looked quite domestic as he made breakfast. 

He was also wearing the pink shirt you were wearing last night. You know, the one you were looking for on the floor covered with all the other articles of clothing discarded during your night of passion. 

“Good morning,” he said with a wide smile. “Do you like blueberries? I’m making waffles.”

Your jaw moved; the ghost of the word babygirl wanted to escape but faded into thin air. Nodding, you pointed to his chest.

“That’s my shirt you’re wearing. Why….”

Gilbert put down the container of blueberries he was holding. “Oh, this?” he replied, looking down at the shirt he was wearing, and then laughed. “I stepped out into the hallway to get the newspaper. I didn’t want to go out without a shirt, and this shirt was the closest. Sorry if I stretched it out.” 

Heat rose to your cheeks as Gilbert lifted his arms and quickly pulled your shirt off and over his head. He tossed it to you casually like it was a ball and not precious fabric that had hugged his body; thankfully, your reflexes were sharp, and you caught the shirt in one hand. You looked down at the soft pink fabric cascading through your fingers as you held it gingerly as if it was a treasured memento. But then something inside you nudged you to look up. Your gaze lifted slowly, following Gilbert’s figure, your eyes lingering on where his waist narrowed, the vision before your eyes at this early hour doing many things to you. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, interrupting your reverie.

“Just water, thank you.”

Gilbert walked over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water; his fingers grazed yours as he placed the bottle in your hands, his light touch sending shivers down your spine. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, his claret-colored eye locking on yours before returning to the waffle iron. Opening the iron, he removed the warm waffles, placing them on two dishes and handing one to you. 

“It smells good,” you commented as you watched him pick up a strawberry. With a small knife, he made a few cuts before placing a berry rose on your dish, a boyish smile gracing his beautiful face. 

As you took a seat next to Gilbert, you weren’t sure where this day would lead you. The chances were high that after today, you might never see Gilbert again – he was a famous rock star on a concert tour, and you were, well, a student at the local university. But as you sat and chatted over breakfast, you realized that he wasn’t this unreachable celebrity; he was just a guy named Gilbert. 

And this guy named Gilbert, the way he looked into your eyes gave you chills. The good kind of chills that you wanted to feel every day for the rest of your life. The kind of chills that gave you a small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could be more than just friends.

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @violettduchess @umi-adxhira @bellerose-arcana @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @scorchieart @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage

[allthatmay]

ya take prompts? if so, can ya write a shanksace fluff? only request i have is that is on the pirateverse rather than a modern au, but besides that ya can go wild.

Here ya go! Sorry for the wait. It's set within my Shanks/Ace TCoH universe at some ambiguous point in time. Hope you like it. I couldn't resist a classic sick fic.

Ace has never seen Shanks so much as waver in the face of danger, but in the face of a cold? He's defeated unequivocally within minutes of waking, planting his face against his pillow with a groan. His hair is unkempt, sticking to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed in a way they've only ever been when he's drunk.

"Sweetheart," he mumbles. He gropes around sightlessly for Ace who, with a bitten-back smile, takes his hand. "I feel like utter shit."

The lamplight splutters. Ace flicks a swirl of fire in its direction, strengthening the flame until its blooms brightly, suffusing Shanks within its light. It's strange to see Shanks' face so still—muted by the grogginess of sickness—where it's usually so expressive and open.

"Can I get ya anything?" Ace asks.

"Bottle of whiskey."

Laughing, Ace strokes along the dorsum of Shanks' hand, appreciating the bumps of his knuckles as if they were piano keys. "Don't think that'll help much."

"Might make my head stop hurting."

"Let me fetch Hongo, then."

But Shanks doesn't let Ace leave, holding on to his hand as tightly as possible. He draws Ace in, his grip so much feebler than usual that Ace willingly goes to him, taking pity.

"Don't leave me, angel." Shanks presses his nose into Ace's neck, sighing. "You're so warm..."

"For once, I think that's you." Ace tries to rotate in Shanks' hold, but is largely unsuccessful. He smooths down the flyaway strands of Shanks' hair. "How about some water? Soup?"

Another sigh from Shanks. His grip tightens, then loosens. "For you, treasure."

Of course, Shanks still doesn't let him leave, though it doesn't seem to be a conscious decision. His eyelashes flutter against Ace's skin, as featherlight as the hot puffs of his breathing. He mumbles something indistinct, getting quieter until he stops altogether.

"...Shanks?"

The only reply Ace receives is the soft puttering of the lamp, followed by a long, deep exhale from Shanks, one that curls around Ace's neck. He tucks his hand around Shanks, curbing a smile that nevertheless spreads, as mellow as butter.

"Chief? Ace?" There's two curt knocks on the door. "Up and at 'em, fellas."

Ace keeps his voice as low as possible as he replies, "Benn! I need your help!

"Why?" Amusement laces Benn's every word. "Did the chief leave you tied up again?"

"No!" Ace's refusal is so vehement that his shoulders jerk, making Shanks grumble in his sleep. "And you said you'd never mention that! Just get in here, already."

The look on Benn's face when he opens the door is exactly as Ace expects: a sort of tired amusement, so common to him now that it's all but written in his bones. He leans back against the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed, eyebrows raised.

"What's up with him? Hungover?"

"No." Ace pulls the duvet a little higher up Shanks' chest. "He's sick. Wouldn't let me get Hongo."

"Well, that explains it. The captain doesn't do sick. You should've seen him when he lost his arm."

Laughter is startled from Ace. "To be fair, Benn, he lost a fucking arm!"

"Yeah, Benn." The drowsy reply comes from Shanks himself, who's only half-returned from sleep. "I lost an arm."

"And you never let us forget it." Benn fishes a matchbox from his pocket, but Ace beats him to the punch, igniting his kiseru before he can do it himself. "Look, sit tight, Chief. I'll grab Hongo."

"It's just a cold," Shanks protests. He presses his hand into Ace's stomach, humming happily. "I have my own little furnace here. I'll be fine."

Ace rolls his eyes, pointedly ignoring the affectionate warmth ballooning in his chest. "Could you get him some soup, too?"

Benn nods, blowing a mouthful of smoke out of the ajar door. He inspects Ace carefully, then asks, "You want something, too?"

Aptly, Ace's stomach rumbles. "Yeah, if it's not any trouble."

"Never any trouble for you, Ace."

The door closes behind Benn with a click that goes unheard beneath Shanks' soft chuckling.

"Aw, Benn likes you..."

"Naw," Ace says. His face is unfortunately pink. "How ya feeling, anyway?"

"Like you do when you're dropped in the ocean, I'd bet."

Ace snorts. "That bad, huh?"

"Never that bad when you're here." Shanks opens his eyes, squinting against the light. With a heavy blink, he focuses his gaze on Ace's face, his pupils dilating. Then he smiles, more dopily than usual. "You're so beautiful, sunshine."

Ace fidgets. Shanks' fingers dig gently into his ribs. "That's the fever talking."

"But you are, angel. I'm so lucky." Shanks touches his forehead to Ace's shoulder, lips parted against his skin. The next words he speaks are just as much felt by Ace as they are heard. "You mean everything to me, sweetheart. I adore you."

Heart in his throat, Ace gently cards his fingers through Shanks' hair. "Yeah, and I..." He swallows, his pulse jumping in his neck. "I really care about you, too."

"Mm." Shanks' smile is wide enough that his teeth tease Ace's skin. "See, treasure? I'm feeling better already."

Yet he falls asleep promptly after, his snores wending out of the porthole. Ace's arm is still trapped beneath him, but that hardly matters, as Ace has no intention of leaving. Not yet, anyway, and maybe not ever.

He'll stay as long as Shanks will have him.

[iyote]

storm aroace moments

A compilation, because I recently re-read Survivors: The Gathering Darkness and Storm is an aroace icon.

[Spoiler alert for the series obviously]

Storm is consistently shown being confused at the idea of romance, finding the idea of it uncomfortable and not understanding the point:

For a time, she even chalks this up to her "Fierce Dog (doberman) nature,” although this is quickly disproven:

^(once again calling romance “nonsense” here)

When she finds out that Arrow has been sneaking off to spend time with Bella - well, this whole section speaks for itself:

It must be noted that Storm is plenty affectionate with her friends.  She’s repeatedly described licking and nuzzling them.  But as soon as that’s put into a romantic context, she finds the idea repulsive.  

She’s relieved that Arrow isn’t a traitor, and she supports their relationship, but... 

"Sickly load of romantic rabbit fluff”

When Storm learns that Whisper has a crush on her, she’s horrified and says “I don’t want a mate!  At all!” and “I can’t think of anything I want less!”

Mickey seems surprised that she never considered having a mate, and laughs off her discomfort, but Storm is genuinely upset and uncomfortable.  She is even more disturbed by Whisper’s affection from this point forward.  

Then there’s this whole conversation with Moon, where Storm asks why dogs take mates at all.  Beyond the practical need for reproduction, she simply does not understand.  

“That’s not how I’m going to live my life.  It’s not the way for me,” Storm says, and carries on to say: “I’m not afraid.  It’s what I want.  To be my own dog.” Moon tells Storm that she is young and inexperienced, but Storm knows who she is, and she firmly isn’t going to force herself into anything she doesn’t want.  “I think a dog should know what she wants, though, and I’m very sure of my path.” (Again, Storm’s disinterest in finding a mate is treated with amusement, as if it’s naïveté.  It must be noted that although Storm is relatively young, she is an adult dog, not a pup.  She is constantly dismissed when she tries to express her disinterest in romance or mating, and it unsettles her.  This is very much the same sort of treatment that aro and ace people get in real life.)

After Whisper’s death, Storm regrets her curtness towards him, but every time she thinks of him fondly, it’s still only as a friend.  She never thinks of him romantically - her dedication to avenging him is out of loyalty as a good friend.  

Here, once again, she simply does not understand appeal of having a mate (Storm supports her straight friends, even if she doesn’t personally understand their lifestyle choices):

Storm is fascinated by how close Bella and Arrow are, but feels disturbed by the thought of herself being involved in a relationship of that sort: 

(I want to note here that Storm craves to be understood.  She loves her friends and wants close relationships with them.  When she spends time away from the Wild Pack, with only Bella and Arrow and the pups, she reflects specifically on how nice it is to be surrounded solely by friends who understand her and love her and accept her for who she is.  However, when that sort of deep understanding is put in a romantic context, she is not comfortable with the idea.)

Once again, Storm is bewildered but supports her straight friends:

And finally, in The Exile’s Journey:

“She would never understand what made dogs want to be mates”

Storm never wants a mate.  This is a fact which is consistent throughout the series and does not change.  It will never change.  It’s just who she is.  This is about as much confirmation as you can get in a series about talking dogs who don’t use terms such as “aromantic” and “asexual.”

tl;dr: Storm expresses multiple times that she has no interest in ever becoming mates with anyone.  She's also consistently confused at the concept of romance and mating - she can't understand the appeal.  And even though others initially dismiss her as being "too young" to know what she wants, it stays a consistent element of her character through the entire series.  

Storm is aroace.  

[trashbag-baby666]

Twenty Questions for fic writers!

Tagged by: @antiquitea

Tagging: @austeenbootler @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @clevenhq @winniemaywebber and anyone else who wants to play!

Answers under the cut besties :3

how many works do you have on ao3?

134 😭 I’ve written for a lot of fandoms. So far BofB is in the lead at a total of 93.

what's your total ao3 word count?

282,731

what fandoms do you write for?

Currently, Masters of the Air although if I got a request for BofB I’d happily write it :3

top five fics by kudos

•Buck From Manitowoc -Clegan (MOTA) 169 kudos

•Heart of Glass -Rooster x oc (TGM) 110 kudos

•Hotels in London -Clegan (MOTA) 100 kudos

•Time, Wonderus Time -Clegan (MOTA) 98 kudos

•It’s Always Been Just Him and Me -Clegan (MOTA) 96 kudos

do you respond to comments?

Yes!!! I luv luv luv comments and feedback so much! I always get scared that people don’t like what I write 💀 so constructive criticism is loved <33

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I had to think about this one… because I usually try to wrap up the angst in a nice fluffy bow…. If anything it’s either one of these ehehehehe

Willow -Webgott (BofB) -in my fully defense I did plan on writing a part two…is it gonna happen? I don’t know?

Worst -Baberoe (BofB)

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Like I said, I don’t like leaving things angsty!!! But I mean here’s some of my current fav fluff fics!

Oh, Baby! -Casper FD au (MOTA)

Tomorrow Morning -Curt/Ken (MOTA)

do you get hate on fics?

I honest to god don’t think I ever have…? I think maybe some wattpad comments here and there way back when.

do you write smut?

Yes, but I have to be in a specific mood to write it 🕺🏻

craziest crossover?

I think I’ve only written hbowar crossovers. Besides my bandom days. But I feel like those don’t really count.

have you ever had a fic stolen?

YES LMAO

have you ever had a fic translated?

As far as I’m aware, no…?

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes I most certainly have, me and the besties, @austeenbootler and @mangokittokatsu are always going buck wild over something. They’re my associates for some of my AU’s.

all time favorite ship?

🎶webgott🎶 I literally have a webgott inspired tattoo…I don’t play guys…honorable mentions: Luztoye, clegan, Curt/ken.

what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The entirety of the Deli on Fifth and Main au -(BofB) (unpublished)

what are your writing strengths?

Personally, I think my writing is ugly, but I’m really good at lore building and head canons though!!

what are your writing weaknesses?

Finding motivation/focusing 🙃

thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Occasionally here and there if it fits with a characters, characteristics. But it’s only small amounts…

first fandom you wrote in?

🧍🏻‍♂️twenty one pilots🧍🏻‍♂️

favorite fic you've written?

As of recently:

It’s Always Been Just Him and Me -Clegan (MOTA)

But my top two are tied…

Ways He Says I Love You -Webgott (BofB)

Fly Me to the Moon -Baberoe (BofB)

[braemjeorn]

CHAPTER XII [masterlist]

pairing: bang chan x ofc

genre/notes: general audience; regency period drama; family fluff; domesticity; ocassional angst; slowburn; governess!oc; nobility!BC; age differences; age changes.

wordcount: 2.2k

summary: the Bangs New Year mischief.

also available in ao3, if you prefer that format

© Do not repost, copy, or republish into another site or under another name.

⚠️ All characters that shares the name of real life person in this story are represented in a fictional manner for entertainment purpose, and not to be alluded with real life.

TAGLIST: @spookykryptoniteperson @nixtape-foryou @do-you-know-what-else-is-big

“Faster!!” Minho crowed, as his father dragged the sledge and the eldest atop it up to the hilltop.

“Minho, you’re quite capable to pull it up yourself,” Mari sighed, waiting for the two at the top.

The lad merely giggled, tumbling aside from his sledge into the soft snow.

“‘Tis fine Miss Son,” Commodore Bang said, grunting as he righted the sledge to face downward, then turned to Minho. “Shall we go down again?”

The lad nodded, grinning and happy like he was five. “Let's!"

“All right, then.” Despite her disapproval, Mari couldn't hide her smile. Giggling, Minho settled down in the front. The Commodore took the reins behind him, feet planted on the snowy ground to launch downward. “Ready?” The Commodore pushed, and their laughter carried on as they slid downhill.

“He’s my first child after all,” the Commodore mused to Mari, while Minho gaggled with the twins. ”He’s been very good to his younger brothers, but I ought to let him have more fun at times.”

Their relationship had improved much since the reconciliation. Mari was glad for it; Commodore Bang cosseted them an equal amount without care for age. Thus, despite entrusting Minho with more responsibilities as the eldest, he indulged and adored the boy. Not that there was anyone else to do it; there were few people around to whom Minho might let his voice trail off into a whine or laugh with childish glee.

“Look at them,” he chuckled as the boys took snowball fights to rain snows down each other's collars. “Those little goblins.”

“Your boys are a particular set, Commodore,” Mari acknowledged.

“Will you have your turn now, Miss Son?” Commodore Bang turned; Mari followed his gaze, towards one additional sleigh resting by a withered oak. In truth, Mari would like to slide down the hill on it, like she had years ago. The wild sixteen-year-old in her heart would soar at the chance. But as a teacher, she refrained with a curt smile.

“I should not, sir.”

“Come now. I would not think less of you for stumbling.”

Mari shrugged. “I may not be hesitant in my abilities, but there are other things I am considering."

“I only wish for you to share the thrill,” Commodore Bang said.

“I do not think it is necessary in my sedate age,” Mari laughed. A shriek came from down below—Yongbok and Jisung were tangled in a scuffle, shrieking and throwing lumps of snowballs at each other.

“I could not even persuade you with the sleigh,” Commodore Bang mused, unperturbed by the scene.

“Do you not think nine people and four horses are a bit precarious?” Mari laughed.

Commodore Bang had unveiled his two-seater cutter sleigh from the depth of his stable. Once polished and cleaned, took his boys on a ride to turn about the country. But despite the two rows of seats, Mari was still reluctant to ride alongside them. “I would not leave one of them behind. But now that I have returned, they would not leave me in the house.”

“When Minho’s old enough I shall get another one,” Commodore Bang decided. “A narrower sledge, for four of them to tuck in warmly.”

“Do not forget the bells.”

“Of course not,” he scoffed good-naturedly. “If a sleigh would not do, nor sledges, then there can only be one thing left to entertain you in this good winter...” 

Mari saw the Commodore in contemplation, which soon bloomed into a brilliant glint of mischief — much like Seungmin before he tucked into the biscuit jar. “Commodore?” she stammered, stepping back as he grinned wider. “W-What is it?”

Two days after he threw a large rock— at least five kilograms worth—to the frozen lake in the back garden. There was a loud boom as it landed far near the middle, but hardly a crack. The Commodore then tied up his skates and slid towards and around the rock. After a moment, his hand rose, calling the boys over. Hyunjin zoomed first with a whoop, followed by the twins. Mari sat down at the steps of the port, Minho having persuaded her to fit a pair of skates over her boots.

“Dear boy, I never knew how to skate,” Mari murmured.

“It’s like dancing, Miss Son, except without the steps,” replied Minho. Quite done helping her with the contraption, he offered her hand to help her up. “It’s great fun really, and not that scary after you’ve got some help to find your way around it. Don’t you worry—try standing up first—Appa and I will catch you whenever you need help.”

Mari was quite ready to kneel on the ice the second she rose—how does one keep their balance on these thin, long steels?

“You’re doing great!" Minho exclaimed assuringly. His feet were easy as he glided towards the others, hand steady despite her grip to guide her stiff legs. "Just keep your balance— now I’ll push you to Appa. (Oh, dear…) He’s a mere short way ahead, all you have to do is just—glide a bit by pushing your feet forward one by one. Then you can stop near him. Ready?”

“No…”

“I’ll push you, Miss Son.” Mari was grateful that the boy took care to warn her of the actions he will do. "You can do it."

Mari bit her own tongue from making any noise, heaven forbid a shriek. With only one moment to reign her panic before Minho pushed her, her foot stepped forward and her form slid. By the sheer force of Minho's push and her stiff, frightened figure, she managed to glide ahead for five seconds, after which she gave into reaching for the Commodore's hold.

“Caught you,” he chuckled, between her muffled wince. His hands held her by the elbow, righting up her poor jelly-like form. When Mari looked up there was amusement in his eyes, but it was not condescending. The man was in a merry mood, and Mari thought her incapabilities ought not to ruin such humour.

“The least I can do is not fall—the boys will worry,” she panted.

“You must not fear," the Commodore replied. "Minho is right. It is such great fun—but he’s a terrible teacher."

Mari suppressed a snort. Commodore Bang held one of her hands as the other hovered by her elbow; he steadied her to face the lake again. The boys were making merry with themselves, trying to outdo one another in whatever way they could manage. Even Jeongin skated quite well on his own, giggling as the others clapped when he made a smooth glide.

“Will you try again?” Commodore Bang offered. Mari was startled at hearing his voice so near. The sun hit his face, warming his dark eyes into honey-brown pools. It was but a half-second notice, but enough to make her conscious of herself. She turned away, muttering a  yes  in a flustered hope for distraction. The Commodore pushed his foot forward, and being in his hold, Mari followed with some alarm.

“I’m holding you well, have some courage,” he said, as they circled a bit farther around the boys. “Now, I’ll need you to march, push your right leg ahead, then your left... Go on, right and left, and right and left — go on ahead, don’t stop.” He manoeuvred his hold on her that she skates right by his side, and holding to his forearm instead. Mari had a firm grip on that arm, her eyes shifting between her legs and her track—the Commodore had a smile by the lilt of his voice.

“That’s a nice turn, go on, right, and left….”

Mari glided on, ceasing her movements and slowing her pace. She faltered again in trying to stop before crashing into a tree or the edge of the lake, but again a pair of strong hands steadied her.

“Got you!”

With heavy breaths Mari straightened again, pushing away the hair over her eyes and setting her screwed bonnet. Commodore Bang was showing her to stop in skates, and she nodded to his words, even while chuckling at her hesitance and her sudden halts of panic. But the Commodore’s eyes had kept the warm mirth, and he grasped her hand in encouragement.

“You shall do quite well, with that eagerness and a little practice.

“I think my feet have their own fright to overcome,” Mari considered, then laughed again. “But I understand now why Seungmin asked you to throw him back to the lake.”

“Pardon?”

“Like that time you swung him about in your arms, claiming you’d throw him out of the water. He was screaming out of his wits when you swung him away and laughed his head off when you clasped him back. But the shameless lad asked you to swing him again like it was fun being induced to scream his head off.”

“A thrill, perhaps?”

“Yes.”

Commodore Bang chuckled. Mari looked ahead to the boys, circling each other in their own games or racing by the outskirts of the lake. Minho paused to wave and grin at meeting her eyes.

“Chin up, Miss Son,” said the Commodore. His hold moved to her elbow again to push her away. “And look ahead. Why don’t you try to go over to Minho?”

Mari managed to make a turn by herself at the end of the day and returned to the house with delight and fatigue set in her. It was a day well spent, exerting and pleasant all the same. But the boys had no notice of weariness and went to play with their toys by the fire. Mari settled under her shawl with some tea and rice cakes. Commodore Bang sat with the eldest two on the couch. He had obtained school recommendations from his friends and currently disclosing the specifics; there were concerns over the distance and the tuition, with occasional comparisons to their previous school. Mari attended and contemplated on her own, relishing the warm tea flooding her mouth.

“I should inspect these two schools—and B– School too, to see if their offers are worth the expense,” settled the Commodore. “Once the snow melts, possibly.”

“A high price does not guarantee high quality,” Minho remarked.

“Quite right, that is.”

“Unfortunately, it would be hard to know exactly the quality offered under such pricing,” Mari mused.

Changbin turned to her. “How to distinguish them then, Miss Son?”

“I’m not sure… To judge by the impression you receive the first time?”

“If you are a good judge of character, that is,” Commodore Bang returned.

They shared a glance, and with some embarrassment, Mari became conscious of herself. But the Commodore’s eyes were mirthful—teasing man.

“I would not vouch for myself,” Mari mumbled.

“Appa, can I go to school?” Seungmin piped up. Commodore Bang turned to him and called the lad upon his lap. Seungmin bent himself over his thighs instead, hanging his arms over one side while his legs slouched.

“Of course. When you’re eleven years old.”

“No—I want to go with Minho and Changbin-hyung.” the child insisted.

“If you go, then what will Miss Son do?” Commodore Bang's gaze flitted back to her.

“She’ll stay with Jeongin, no?”

The youngest was sitting beside her as she assessed the tear on his fox, looking up with confusion at the mention of his name.

“But if you go, soon enough Jeongin will want to follow,” Commodore Bang said. “If you all went to school, then what would she do?

”Then you keep her company,” Seungmin decided nonchalantly. Minho and Changbin snorted at the words. The Commodore sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. But his humour was apparently spurred as well, for his body shook with laughter as he tickled Seungmin. The boy cried and giggled, lighting the hushed with commotion.

“Easy for you to say,” Mari sighed, rubbing her temples. Even so, the flippant suggest both amused and despaired her. Seungmin was a complete master of the menace he embodies, with his innocent air and a toothy little smile.

“You be Miss Son’s student!" he said when he turned to Mari. "Appa’s a bit old and boring but you won’t mind,  ssaem , won’t you?”

Commodore Bang’s laugh pitched higher. “Seungmin-ah…!” he bemoaned.

Mari shook her head. This child... “I’d tease your father less than you, that is certain. The Commodore and I will survive.” She leaned to the child across her, pleading with her face, “But then I will miss you terribly, Min-ah, then what shall I do?”

Seungmin paused at the remark, then muttered that he might come home for the seasonal holidays. Commodore Bang settled down from his glee to tighten his hold upon the child, exhausting his adoration. The child was not pleased, but he was then hoisted up his father's shoulder, head down to the floor. The Commodore rose while hauling him so, and as Seungmin laughed and begged to be put down, the others were ushered along to nap.

“I don’t think I should play with him anymore,” Jeongin declared quietly by Mari’s side. He held her hand as they exited the room, the fox plush in his other.

“Why so?” Mari asked.

“I’m going to be six soon,” he said. “That’s too old for a plush no?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Well, then. And Mr Ennie gets old way faster than me—he’d better rest by my bed instead.” Mari might only pry the fox away when the youngest is to attend school. But Jeongin's hands were empty the next morning, much to his brother's bewilderment. His fingers fiddled often but his mouth deflected determinedly at his brother's despair. Commodore Bang let out nothing but a long sigh. Either warmed or in agony at the youngest growing up.

commodore bang: flinging off weights away and along with him in an unconscious attempt to preen/flirt. this man, really. but sparks are sparkling, yes?

i hope you like this update. we only have seven more!! let's get to it, braem!! please look forward to it, and please stay healthy and happy ^^